#anthony beauvillier imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year

Text

communication skills

anthony beauvillier x f!reader; platonic!mat barzal x f!reader

warnings: swearing, throwing up, based slightly on 'hits different' by taylor swift, i wrote a good 80% of this drunk so i apologise for everything

word count: 8.7k

The water was warm – not too hot that it burned your skin, but warm enough to encourage you to stand in front of the mirror – refusing to look at your own reflection – and keep your hands held under the steady stream. There was something relaxing about it, watching it cascade off your skin, fragmenting the light.

It was a twisty tap, and after a long period of you washing off the feeling of his last words, desperate to scrub any and all traces of him off your skin, even despite the pathetic futility of such a feat – another hand reached out from behind you, twisting it off and handing you a small pile of paper towels.

Much like your own reflection, you refused to look at the man on your right, keeping your head down and eyes entirely focused on the task at hand. If you even so much as caught a pitying or equally heartbroken gleam in his face, you’d be done for; that unwanted well of emotion would shatter, and Mat would be left to pick up the pieces in a bathroom of a club you’d only been to once before.

The last thing you wanted to do was talk about it, but when you chucked the scrap towels in the bin, the frustration had gotten the better of you, and your words spewed out of your mouth seamlessly. Mat was leant against a wall, nodding along to almost everything you were saying, and you could tell from the grave expression on his face that he was just as affected by the matter, too.

How could he not?

He’d known Beau since they were kids, and because of the inhumane system surrounding transfers, they’d be separated from each other for the first time in years.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, a stern yet altogether curious look about him.

You froze, knitting your brows together in slight bewilderment, “What am I gonna do about him getting transferred?” You checked, puzzled as to his query.

There wasn’t much you could do about anything; transfers were legally bound contacts as far as you knew, and you wouldn’t be able to hammer even the slightest dent in that framework – not that you’d even thought about doing that anyway.

It wasn’t your career, he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t going to mess with something set in stone. Still, that harsh truth didn’t exactly do anything to numb the stinging hurt prickling at your chest. Your throat tightened, and you pressed your lips together, trying to suppress the mounting build of sadness climbing up your throat.

You hated the helplessness of it all; you couldn’t control a single aspect of anything that had occurred within the last fifteen minutes and it petrified you. It sent goosebumps trailing down your skin, and a spike of adrenaline through your system.

“No,” Mat frowned, blinking at you, “What are you gonna do about Tito moving to Vancouver?”

You swallowed, trying to maintain the knot slowly building, “I don’t follow.”

You weren’t going to do anything. He was the one that had ended it. You were, however, going to go home and watch New Girl to cheer yourself up. Maybe call your parents; the time difference would mean they’d still be awake – and long term? Probably mope.

You weren’t sure you could quite stomach the thought of someone else at that moment – which was a shocker to you.

Moving on was always easy for you to do – it tended to be a benefit of never truly giving yourself to anyone. Yet, somehow, Anthony Beauvillier had worked his way under your defences and you’d given yourself to him in ways you never pictured yourself ever doing.

“I mean,” Mat rolled his eyes, “Are you going to let him break things off and jet across to the other side of North America?” He asked it like it was obvious, his shoulders shrugging as he watched you carefully.

He thought you were taking the entire situation rather well. You had since Anthony had panicked and dumped everything on you – how he’d literally just shouted in your ear ‘I’ve been traded to Vancouver and I’m leaving within the week’ – and how the only reaction you had was a poor ‘oh’ after you’d ingested his words. Other than that, you’d been in a sort of reverie, floating around the rest of the night, a haunted look on your face as you watched him leave.

He’d broken up with you, and Mat was almost certain that you didn’t know why.

Mat knew, of course he did. After Tito had told him, the first thing he’d worried about was you.

“I don’t want her to leave New York for me. She deserves better than that.”

And no matter how many times Mat had tried to persuade Tito that, no, you deserved each other wholeheartedly, Tito was insistent on the fact that the only way to solve that issue of his was to break up with you.

Obviously, he’d neglected to confide exactly why he’d broken up with you, to you.

And that left Mat in this current predicament: you in shock hiding in the bathroom, and Tito, no doubt, packing his suitcase and mourning your entire relationship.

Honestly, Mat was sick of you both. You were too blind to realise that you guys were made for each other – you were just too stubborn to connect the dots and allow yourselves to be happy – with each other.

Your reactions just seemed to lack emotion; it was as if someone had snuffed out your ability to feel – you looked subdued, an empty vacancy hidden behind your eyes.

And when he’d asked you if you were going to go with Anthony to Vancouver, you’d just stared, looking mildly unwell at the prospect.

“What else am I supposed to do?” You asked, placing a hand on your stomach as though to ease the rising sickness. Where had it come from? “He told me he was moving to Vancouver and that he didn’t want me to go with him. In fact, his exact words were ‘I don’t want you to come to Vancouver with me’ and ‘I want to break up’.”

Mat blanched, frustration fisting an angry hand in his chest, slowly pushing its way through his sternum.

He swore you two would be the death of him.

He didn’t say anything, but took your silence as an answer. You’d been throwing hopeful glances at the door, and he’d elected to ignore it in wanting to try to get you to see sense, but it seemed Tito had left that job even more difficult to follow through on with his harsh words.

Reluctant words. Words that Mat knew absolutely killed him to say to you.

He’d seen the way his friend had looked at you, and to know that he was moving to Vancouver – away from him and New York, a feat that he’d be doing alone – and leaving you behind was something that broke even Mat’s heart, and in that, he knew that it destroyed both yours and Tito’s.

If Mat hadn't known that Tito only broke up with you because he didn’t want you to drop everything for him, he would have assumed the guy was running from something.

In a sense, he was running away from you – but in doing so, he was running away from quite possibly the best thing he’d ever had in his life, and Mat wasn’t about to let either you or Tito make that mistake.

He didn’t voice any of that, however, just moved aside and let you through the door, making sure to keep a steady hand on your back in reassurance as you both made it out of the club, past the millions of couples devouring each other – who only served as a sour reminder of the night’s events – and outside.

It was chilly, and the frosty air nipped at your exposed skin.

You’d barely had time to string together a coherent thought before hands were tugging you in all directions; cold and clammy as you were pulled back and forth, concerned touches on your elbows, shoulders, and chin. You barely even registered exactly who you were looking at.

“Are you okay?”

“There’s a cute guy inside that’s been checking you out all night–”

“I can’t believe he just broke up with you.”

“Why isn’t she looking at us?”

Questions were fired left, right and centre, and you were numb to it all; their voices trickling in through one ear and flowing out of the other seamlessly. They sounded like they were underwater, and you felt Mat’s comforting hand on your back once more, gently guiding you away from your friends.

You heard him say something, it must have been something about getting you home because they all let out a chorus of disappointed ‘ohs’ and patted you sympathetically on your arm.

For some reason, hearing the truth of what actually happened barely half an hour ago seemed to set it into stone; it felt different keeping the breakup in the bathroom just between you and Mat – it felt more private somehow, like you could walk out of the room and pretend Anthony hadn’t left you in that club, heart shattered into oblivion and mind stuck on his words and the way he looked like he might break if you so much as even stepped towards him or touched him or whispered even a word of protest.

But you’d wandered outside in the hope of clearing your head, only to be bombarded and heralded and overwhelmed when you were busy trying to deal.

Why did he break up with you? You would have gone with him - you knew you would.

Did he get bored of you? He couldn’t have; he’d just told you he was wildly in love with you three weeks ago.

Had he met someone else? Was he in love with someone else?

And that was when you saw it; although they were further down the street, Mat pushing you into a walk as you both strolled down the sidewalk, you could just make it out in the hazy darkness.

They must have been illuminated by the light from the inside of the bar, because each time a door opened, their section of the sidewalk practically glowed, highlighting them.

You couldn’t see who the girl was, she seemed to be hidden from view by the man, but it was him who’d caught your attention. If it weren’t for Mat coaxing you along, you’d have frozen in place, eyes fixated watching them with the slow drip drip of dread pounding your body.

You were entranced by the way he brought his hands up to the side of her face, throwing his head backwards in a laugh – a real one, unbridled with joy – and then leant forwards, peppering kisses all over her face as she giggled sweetly at his attentions and affections. It wasn’t the PDA that had you stalling.

That man was Anthony. You could only see the back of his head, and he was further down than you, but he was around the same height and you could see the curls in his hair. He was even wearing a typical Anthony outfit.

It was simple, and you were sure almost every guy in the vicinity was wearing some variation of it, but what caught your eye was he was wearing the same grey t-shirt Beau had just left in.

It could have been any grey t-shirt.

But Anthony had just left wearing it and it was logical that he’d broken up with you because he was in love with that girl.

Mat seemed to sense your hesitation, and he slowed to a stop, brows furrowing at the intensity with which you were watching the young couple in front of you. His eyes drifted from you, his hand now gently grazing your forearm as though he was afraid you’d peel and leave him, to the couple.

He didn’t understand what was so compelling about them that had you completely fascinated. Granted, you looked horrified, and your eye twitched, a flash of pain appearing and then disappearing almost as soon as it had made its presence. If he thought you looked ill before, you looked like you were about to throw up–

He’d barely managed to steer you against a wall and wind your hair up before you’d thrown up on the side of the road.

You quickly pulled yourself up, hating that your eyes instantly drifted back over to the couple.

You frowned. The man wasn’t Anthony.

Then you hurled again, and Mat’s level of concern skyrocketed.

“How much did you have to drink?” He asked, helping you to stand back up, a slight grimace to his face as he made sure there were no splashes coating his jeans.

You briefly shut your eyes, stomach turning, feeling your heart break in real time as the emotions you’d bottled started to manifest itself in physical symptoms – completely against your will. Your eyes pricked with hot tears and the lump in your throat was back as your chin wobbled. You tried to hide behind your hand, but Mat had caught the momentary vulnerability before you could turn away.

He sighed, letting your hair fall back down and automatically pulling you into his chest.

“I didn’t have anything to drink.” You admitted.

His chest rumbled, and you didn’t know if it was the comfort he brought, because no one else seemed to understand what you were feeling at that moment, or if you simply craved a human touch from someone you trusted, but you felt your demeanour shatter, the tears tracking down your cheeks before you could catch them and reel them back in.

“I didn’t have anything to drink.” You repeated, shaking your head.

All you’d done was picture Anthony Beauvillier with other girls in love, and then promptly thrown up on the street.

Yeah, you were pretty fucked.

___

Yet, despite the fact that Anthony had moved to Vancouver, there was a temporary feeling about it – as though you didn’t believe the breakup had actually happened, or you didn’t believe it was really…a breakup?

It definitely had something to do with the fact that Mat was currently in your apartment, a rental, pre-furnished – one that rather conveniently, you hadn’t had the time to move into properly yet, and he was helping you box your belongings, taping the edges together and piling them up in the corner.

You were sorting out your clothes, placing them into a suitcase, and he was in the living room, going through your kitchen.

It hadn’t happened quickly. It took Mat a week to plant the seed in your mind, and it took you another three to decide to move out. Honestly, after Mat had pointed out that, in fact, your ‘friends’ weren’t really your friends; your job had previously offered you a different position in Surrey, not too far out from where you’d just rented another apartment – and it was a career move. That was what you kept telling yourself; technically the job move was a promotion – your salary had been upped and it was more of what you actually wanted to do job-wise.

Plus, your parents lived in Vancouver. You grew up there, went to school there, your friends still lived there. The only reason you stayed in New York was because you’d managed to snag a job straight out of college and you’d established a sort of life for yourself. Albeit, completely apart from your family, but you’d gotten used to the loneliness in college.

If anything, the only reason you’d stayed in New York and hesitated to accept that job offer in the first place – one that you’d gotten even before Anthony had dumped that bomb on you – was because of Mat.

You guys were pretty close, and it felt like a betrayal leaving him (especially after Anthony had just done the same thing, though it was out of his control) for the person he’d introduced to you.

And to say he was eager to send you back to Vancouver – ‘for your job opportunity’ – would be a bit of an understatement, if his volunteering to help you pack had anything to do with it.

It almost felt like someone had taken the knife already living in your chest and twisted it when you heard the song playing through the speakers. The song.

The melody was instantly familiar, even more so the croning of the voice, and it sent a pang of nostalgia ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

There were people everywhere; though it could have had something to do with the fact the venue was only one room – a large one at that, with tall ceilings and rather gorgeous curtains. The back wall was made up entirely of windows and the view overlooking the city was gorgeous from where you were standing. You swore you could see stars when you looked up.

Not that you looked very hard; your eyes were indefinitely locked onto Anthony as he leant back against the glass.

You were both sitting on the floor, him with his back to the glass, and you perpendicular. Somehow you’d both managed to find a quiet corner – literally – and sit down, because after you’d gone to get drinks, your chairs were occupied by some unfamiliar faces, and it was the perfect excuse to get him alone, at least to some extent.

You weren’t entirely isolated from the celebrations, but you made it work.

Your legs were stretched out along the floor, and because of the limitations of you being able to wear a dress in public, Anthony had elected to place his legs over the top of yours like some sort of criss-cross pattern. You were pressed together, him almost sitting on your lap, and you could tell he was comfy.

He’d shrugged his blazer off and a few extra buttons had come undone somewhere along the lines. Your hand stroked delicate motions on the material of his suit trousers, and although his head was resting against the glass, his eyes were watching your fingers.

There was a glass of champagne on either side of you both, yours empty, his only half.

Perhaps that was the reasoning behind your exaggerated reaction when you heard ‘Crazy in Love’ begin to play over the speakers.

You smiled to yourself, unaware of the soft look of mild amusement he was giving you. You’d noticed a pattern recently, and even through your high state of mind you’d somewhat remembered it.

“What?” His voice had your attention snapping back over to him, the motion of your hand on his leg never stopping. You could tell he was trying not to laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You haven’t noticed?” You ducked your head, disbelieving of his obliviousness. You threw your free hand in the direction of the music, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Clearly not.” He breathed a laugh, eyes lighting up at the mock offence you’d managed to implicate on your face.

“Everytime we go somewhere together, ‘Crazy in Love’ plays. Yesterday, at the restaurant; Mat even played it when he hosted dinner the other day…it’s just something I’ve noticed.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” He trailed off, a cheeky smile donning his face as his cheeks turned a rosy pink.

“Now that I’ve mentioned it? How convenient–” You started, but were promptly cut off when he leant forwards, reducing the short distance already between you both, and kissed you.

It was an effective silencing method, one that he’d used on you many times before and one that you’d used on him before. You were at that stage where little displays of affection, no matter how intensely they made those butterflies swarm, didn’t swerve or particularly hinder the one-sided conversation anymore. In other words, they’d lost their effectiveness, and even after this realisation, it didn’t seem to stop either one of you giving or accepting such attentions.

“I was thinking,” he muttered, pulling away whilst you kept a hand on his wrist, preventing him from moving too far.

Usually you would have teased him, warned him to be careful in doing such a thing, and it seemed he was expecting some sort of comment, because he paused, brows furrowing when he was met with silence. You nodded, however, unable to hide the fact that you were completely enthralled by his existence – you were sure he could see it on your face; you could even feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason at all other than the magnetic pull you felt towards the man sitting in front of you – and urged him to continue.

“Maybe it should be our song?” He asked, lifting the hand in your grasp up to your face, momentarily brushing a strand of hair from your face with his thumb.

He wasn’t nervous about the suggestion, that much you could tell. He was comfortable, eagerly anticipating your answer.

You smiled, tilting your head and you felt your eyes widen slightly. It didn’t seem like a silly idea.

“Why?” You asked, unable to help the quick glance at his mouth.

“I think it’s fitting to us.” He shrugged.

You nodded, not entirely surprised by the implication. You hadn’t said the words yet, but you knew how you felt. Rather shockingly, however, it didn’t fill you with a sense of dread or unease.

So you replied, “I think it is too.”

Despite the complexity of love, it seemed remarkably simple with Anthony.

It certainly didn’t feel that way when you walked into your living room, seeing Mat half attempt to dance along with the music as he placed various cups and mugs into a box on the kitchen counter.

It felt irrevocably wrong to hear it without Anthony there, and that mere fact was what spurred you on to lean over the phone on the coffee table and hastily press the skip button.

You ignored Mat’s groan of disapproval as you wordlessly made your way back to the bedroom.

“What are your neighbours like?” It was Mat on the phone, his face in the frame on FaceTime as he virtually kept you company as emptied the last couple of boxes.

You’d officially moved back to Vancouver a month ago, your parents offering your childhood room back for the first few weeks until you moved in properly. You didn’t exactly have the heart to say no to them, but their coddling (however attentive it was) had begun to get a little overbearing, so you’d taken every opportunity to sneak over to your new apartment and empty as much as you could.

It was fairly livable now: your main priority had been the kitchen and bedroom, and you’d emptied nearly everything to the point you were comfortable actually moving in. In reality, you knew if your parents hadn’t been there you’d have easily put up with living in a skeletal apartment – so for that, you were grateful.

All the nighttime sneaking out of your parent’s house and into your apartment had meant that you’d neglected to actually talk and meet your neighbours. All you knew was there was an elderly couple living two doors down, who’d only smiled at you in passing, and there had been a card posted under your door from your neighbour on your right, but you didn’t know what they looked like.

So when Mat asked you that question, you sighed, “I don’t actually know.”

He didn’t seem too shocked, and nodded in understanding.

“I probably need to, to be honest, I got something posted under my door the other day.”

At this, his interest peaked, and you saw him look up from his plate, raising an eyebrow, “Who was it from?”

You frowned, his rather exaggerated interest raising your suspicions, and froze from where you were unwrapping a glass, “Why?”

He shrugged, playing it off, “Because I think it’s important to know who you’re living around. What if something happens and you need help? Forget your key?”

You returned to your previous task, mulling his words over. You knew he was right because you’d had that exact same reasoning drilled into you since you’d left home in college, but your why hadn’t really been directed at meeting your neighbours, more, “Why were you so interested in who it was when you asked?”

He swallowed, shrugging once more, “Just am. No reason.”

You didn’t believe him, and he could clearly sense it, because he rolled his eyes, not saying anything else.

“It was from ‘Number Twenty-Three’.” You answered, watching him carefully, still not entirely trusting him.

He just nodded, ensuring to keep his facial expressions impassive as he shovelled another spoonful of rice into his mouth, not caring when a few grains fell back onto his plate.

There was a few more minutes of general chatter, and you found yourself sitting back against the sofa, pensieve as you took in your new living quarters.

“Do you think I was silly moving here?” You asked Mat, not looking at him as he pondered the question.

“No.” Was all he said, and you turned your eyes back to him.

The thought was something that had been majorly playing on your mind since you first agreed to move back to Vancouver. There was a part of you that knew you wouldn’t have even considered moving back if Tito hadn’t gone – and it freaked you out. You were aware putting Tito above all else was risky, especially considering the fact you hadn’t messaged him since you’d broken up; you didn’t know where he was or if he’d even want you anymore, if he had a girlfriend. It had been months, and you knew he was a desirable guy. You wouldn’t blame him if he’d moved on.

But there was always that nagging thing that had you feeling like you’d moved only because of Anthony, and you hated it so much. It made you want to curl up and teleport back to your old life in New York, but even the thought of that made your stomach turn because you knew he wouldn’t be there.

It just kept coming back to him.

You didn’t know what would happen if he saw you – that was assuming you ever gained the courage to actually face him again.

A part of you felt almost sheepish at the mere idea of seeing him. Sure, your heart rate picked up and your hands trembled against your will, mouth going dry as you remembered the night he broke up with you.

And the only reason you knew you could confide in Mat was because he had both sides of it; although he didn’t talk about it much – presumably for your own fragile heart – you knew he talked to him as much as he could, if not, everyday. You felt like you were using him as a bridge, and even then his words of encouragement fell on deaf ears, your own insecurities drowning them out with fears of rejection.

You wouldn’t have even moved to Vancouver if it hadn't been for Mat’s support and help.

He sighed, and you could tell he’d sussed you and your doubts out.

“He told me he’s not been able to even look at another woman without feeling like he’s gonna hurl.” He started, pausing to gauge your reaction. You swallowed, feeling a little guilty at the relief you’d felt upon his confession, “He asks about you everyday, and he’s not doing too well. I don’t even know if he’s sleeping properly.”

You remained silent, instead choosing to reach a hand into the box next to you.

Fuck.

One of Anthony’s Islander’s caps.

Almost instantaneously you felt your eyes begin to water, both at the hat and everything Mat had just told you.

It was a lot, all of this new change, in one go.

“I think I’m gonna go.” You said quietly, trying to hide the way your voice cracked a little at the end. You refrained from sniffling, not wanting to raise Mat’s concern.

“Okay,” he muttered, his voice soft, “Look after yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Maybe think about replying to number twenty-three? Look at making a few new friends, yeah?”

You laughed, though it was watery – the kind that had you questioning if you wanted to cry or not, “‘S not one of your worst ideas, actually.”

“Hey.” He mocked, faking offence, “But, really, I think you should.”

“I think I might.” You admitted.

You missed the way he sagged.

“Good.” There was a brief pause, “Anyway, love you, miss you, have fun unpacking.” He waved at the camera, flashing you a charming smile, which you didn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

“Miss you too, Barzy. Try not to hurt yourself before I next see you.” It was a low blow, and you saw the hurt flick over his face momentarily.

Then you promptly ended the call, unable to stop yourself laughing a little.

___

Tito had just finished washing up when a piece of paper slipped under his door.

He’d stopped what he was doing, midway to the living room. The paper had slipped under his door coincidentally at the exact moment he was walking past it, and he’d frozen, creeped out at the timing. It was almost as if the person on the other side had known he was walking past the door and chosen that specific moment in time to post the letter through with the purposeful intent of freaking him the fuck out.

Nevertheless, he’d put his coffee mug down on the counter, reaching to inspect the piece of paper.

He almost dropped it when he saw the writing.

His face drained of blood, and before he’d even opened it, he’d thrown the door open, hastily checking the hallway.

It was empty.

Disappointment clawed at his chest, but he remained somewhat hopeful, his fingers working quickly to unfold it, his foot holding the door open in case they decided to make another appearance.

Why did he spend so long looking at it? He could have caught her, for fuck’s sake.

It was a stretch, in hindsight. There had to be at least a million people who flicked their ‘f’ like that, and there had to be even more who wrote at an angle like that, with their letters remaining round.

It had to be common.

Thank you for the welcome, 23.

Then when his eyes tracked down to the sign-off, he swore someone was playing tricks on him.

Obviously, his immediate reaction – completely bypassing the excitement and blinding fear of her having moved on from him bubbling in his stomach – and shut the door behind him, scrambling for his phone.

Mat picked up almost instantly.

“You fucking prick–”

Needless to say, the injured Islander knew exactly what he was talking about.

___

He’d not wanted to scare you, truly.

Since Mat had admitted to everything – from the reason you’d moved to his helping hand in finding you a place to live temporarily – he’d taken measures to ensure you didn’t run into him without any semblance of warning, but he’d found it much harder to put into practice.

He’d almost run into you three times in the past week, and every time he had to leave or enter his apartment, he’d take a cautious look down the hall and run – not wanting to startle you too much.

He just didn’t want to catch you off guard was all.

He knew you’d probably want to see him under your own control, and he was all for waiting for you. From what he’d been told, you weren’t doing much better than him.

But he’d known his luck was bound to run out at some point.

Which was how he’d found himself in this exact predicament.

___

You’d been weirdly wanting to go downstairs. You didn’t know why you’d had the sudden urge, but all you did know was that there was a lounge and a bar, and you were in desperate need of some socialising. It had been a gruelling week – and incredibly dull – unpacking your things and overthinking your first day at work, and you needed to escape from it all.

Each and every time you’d left your apartment, you’d cast a curious glance at your neighbour’s door. Number twenty-three.

They were a perfect neighbour: very rarely did they disturb you, and when they did it was only the quiet hum of some music that you guessed must have been played in their bathroom, because when you pressed your ear against the wall it felt as though you were standing right next to a speaker.

The only issue you’d had with them was that you hadn’t seen them; whenever you’d heard their door shut, you’d immediately gone to look through your peephole, only to be met with an empty corridor.

It had frustrated you to no end, but you’d coped, helplessly wondering when you could thank them. They’d been the first person to welcome you and you hadn’t even seen them yet – there had been a nagging in the back of your mind that perhaps they’d been dodging you, but there was no way it could have possibly been intentional. You’d barely been at work a full two weeks, which hardly gave them time to actually deduce your timetable or hours.

You’d been watching the Canucks, unable to help yourself from consuming every piece of media Anthony was part of, and then you’d switched off the TV a few hours later, completely alone and needing to get out of the confines of your apartment – desperately and immediately.

That was how you’d come to be locking your door from the outside – ever-weary – and frozen, nerves tingling and heart pounding with nerves as you heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hallway. They were slow, and you could vaguely make out the sound of their trudging, so you’d stalled, secretly hoping that they’d be Number 23.

You’d pretended to fiddle with your keys as you waited for the footsteps to round the corner only when they did, you heard them stop short of you, a quiet “Putain” whispered under their breath.

You frowned, not yet looking up at the person. There was something familiar about their whisper, something you couldn’t quite place immediately.

It was a different story when you looked up.

You could immediately tell from the soft echo of sorrow on his face and abundant lack of shock at your appearance that he wasn’t entirely surprised at your presence. His hand was firmly holding the end of his duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder, and he was wearing the usual suit, his cheeks still a little flushed from the match you’d only been watching a while ago.

You couldn’t help thinking that the TV screen did him no justice, because even though he wasn’t smiling or expressing any semblance of excitement at your presence, he was stunningly breathtaking in your opinion. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was parted – he hadn’t wanted to see you at that moment, that much was obvious from the expression stagnant on his face.

You, on the other hand, found yourself quite unable to draw oxygen into your lungs at his sudden appearance. You were completely frozen, unable to do anything other than stare dumbly, your jaw half-dropped in sheer shock.

Your heart was thunderous, practically clashing against your ribcage so hard you were sure you could feel the pain of it, and your mouth had dried, eyes watering. You weren’t on the verge of tears, by any means. In fact, you felt rather numb to any sort of emotion, because you’d prepared yourself for this moment for months, and now that he was standing in front of you, looking almost sheepish at your lack of understanding, you were unable to string even a coherent thought together.

There was a moment when you had thought he’d arrived in your hallway purely to see you, but that had quickly dissipated when he regained his composure, seemingly on the verge of saying something, and slowly walked past you, unable to tear his eyes away.

You let out a shaky breath when he reached the door branded ‘23’, and furrowed your brows.

He’d been in front of you this entire time–fucking Mat.

He’d orchestrated this car crash. He was the one who’d suggested you speak to your boss whilst he’d look at possible apartment rentals for you, and you’d naively agreed, assuming he had no ulterior motives in his uncharacteristic generosity considering he’d been nothing but helpful with your entire move, but right now you hated his guts.

Anthonylooked away, briefly, considering something for a second, before looking straight back towards you, a hand smoothing his hair back unconsciously. Neither of you said anything as he blindly unlocked his door, taking one last look at you, before stepping through.

It was only when his door slammed shut that you were able to take a breath.

The hand that had been fiddling with your keys dropped to your side, and you were hardly able to realise what you were doing before you’d unlocked your door, flinging it open and making a direct beeline for the box you’d purposefully avoided since your unfortunate FaceTime call with Mat. Your hand immediately sought out the cap, and operating purely on adrenaline and the mindset of ‘what-the-fuck-I-have-nothing-to-lose’, you’d made your way back out of the door, plans to head downstairs completely forgotten.

You wouldn’t have done it if you hadn't had the confidence instilled in you from Mat, that Tito had been miserable since he’d left New York, even despite the efforts of his new teammates to introduce him to Vancouver society.

Your brain must have been running a mile a minute, because when you clashed into a suit-clad chest, not entirely taken aback by his sudden appearance, you were pushing the cap at him.

“You made me cry over a fucking hat, did you know that?” You asked, the Islander’s cap hanging between you.

Tito blanched, unable to speak.

You waited in anticipation, pursing your lips harshly to stop yourself from speaking.

You wanted him to say something to alleviate the doubts you’d had.

He gave you nothing.

“Say something.” You implored, hand dropping.

He took a breath, relaxing as his shoulders slumped forwards, “I’m sorry I made you cry over my hat.”

Your jaw clenched, fighting the burning in your eyes. You absolutely refused to cry until he confirmed what Mat had been telling you – only then would you let yourself break. You also had to be inside an apartment; you weren’t about to let yourself cry in the hallway for all your new neighbours to see.

“I’m sorry I broke up with you.”

It was quiet, so much so you would have had to strain your ears to hear him. His voice sounded broken and weak, and when you looked up at him his eyes were pooling with regret, lips turned down in what you could only place as sadness. It was plain and bare, and so hopelessly effortless than you felt yourself soften, even despite the bitterness you still held against him.

“Why?” You asked, not reaching for him. You were determined to keep him in the balance, refusing to give him even a snippet of what you were feeling. It may have been a harsh play on your behalf, but you weren’t about to forgive him too easily for unnecessary heartache.

He hesitated, fingers tapping his thigh uneasily, “Because we’d only been dating a few months and I didn’t want to ask you to uproot your entire life to Vancouver just for me.”

His honesty was startling, and you took a sharp step backwards.

It seemed too good to be true, yet you hated the doubt and mistrust placed in him to the point you felt like you were betraying him.

“I uprooted my entire life to move from Vancouver to New York in the first place, you know that.” You replied, somewhat coldly, turning around and entering your apartment.

There was that prickling feeling as though you were being watched through peepholes, and you desperately needed space to breathe.

You heard Anthony follow you, the door clicking shut behind you with ease, and you threw yourself onto the sofa, dreading and anticipating the late conversation.

“I do.” He admitted, hands in his pocket as he seated himself on the coffee table in front of you, “But I also know that you don’t enjoy change and I felt guilty even—”

“You didn’t even ask.” You interrupted, irritation flaring up.

He sighed through his nose, and you could tell he was almost as fired up as you were. This argument had been a long time coming, the reasons and excuses simmering beneath your skin for far too long, and now you were facing each other with no particular time constraint considering the fact you now shared a wall — something you couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

“If I had asked, would you have come?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” you snapped back, looking at him as he rolled his eyes, “You really fucking made sure of that, didn’t you?”

“Well I apologise for trying to protect you from making a decision that could have ruined your career–”

“I don’t need protection, Beauvillier,” he winced, the surname jab stinging, “I can make my own decisions perfectly well.”

“Let me rephrase: I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to come with me because I wanted you to.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, jaw clenching.

“I would have wanted to go with you, dipshit.” You fired back.

“Would have?” He repeated, tilting his head, that wild element of determination flashing through his eyes. He was clearly referring to the past tense you’d used.

“Yes.” You breathed, “I would have, because I’d gotten a promotion located in Vancouver, and the only reason I would have said no, as much as I’m ashamed to admit it, was because of you and your stupid hockey team. I thought you’d stay an Islander so I held off–”

He spluttered, “And you didn’t think to tell me?” His voice raised in pitch, hands flying in front of him as he tried to convey his exasperation.

“No!” You raised your voice incredulously, unable to hide your appall from him, “You left before I could even argue against the breakup and I haven’t seen you since.”

“Ah,” he held up a finger, dodging your lame attempt to swat it away, “But when did you get the offer, huh?”

You paused, feeling your cheeks flush with colour, “You don’t have to patronise me, Tito.”

“Tell me when, and I won’t have to.” He explained, eyes wide as he waited for your answer.

“I got it a couple of days before you broke up with me.” You admitted, voice now a few notches lower.

“And why didn’t you say anything before?” His voice tipped with an edge of regret as he spoke, desperation coating his words as he finished his question.

You were both breathing heavily, adamant to portray your points and frustrations. Neither of you seemed to be thinking much of anything but about the other – much less of what or who you’d been doing since your departure – Mat’s words to both of you seemed to have eased that question, allowing you to freely have at one another without any holding back or worrying about the other’s antics.

You were both clearly still hung up on each other, and that knowledge had you feeling both euphoric and hopeful – a dangerous concoction you’d acknowledged amidst partially yelling at each other. Despite that, it was obvious you’d both been holding back – voices strained for the sake of not wanting to disturb your neighbours, even if you were closer to the wall you shared with Tito than your other neighbour.

“Because I didn’t want to be that girlfriend who says ‘oh, by the way, if those crazy rumours of you getting transferred to the other side of the continent were true, you totally wouldn’t have to worry about our relationship because I’d most definitely go with you anyway’, and then before I could tell you that you ran out of the club. Then when I tried to ring you literally a day later, you’d blocked me on everything!” You rolled your eyes, groaning when he took his blazer off, his hands on his hips after loosening his tie.

You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose to gain an upper hand in the argument, but it had you losing your train of thought briefly.

“Oh, so now it’s all my fault?” He frowned, a crease forming between his brows.

You laughed bitterly, “Dude, of course it’s your fault. You didn’t let me not allow you to break up with me.”

“But you didn’t tell me about the job offer – which, by the way, is amazing, so congratulations, I’m incredibly proud of you,” he sidetracked, his voice becoming gentler and allowing himself to express a little sincerity within his facial expressions, before returning to its previous sternness, “But you telling me about that job offer would have quietened any doubts I ever had about dragging you here.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” You muttered sarcastically.

“You’re telling me? I just didn’t want you to be unhappy for the sake of my own happiness, okay?” He held up his hands in surrender, waiting for you to respond.

You shrugged, still not quite believing where he was coming from, “Why were you doubting it, I’m literally in love with you. I told you that.”

“Well, I’m in love with you, too. But I guess my guilt overpowered that. I wanted you to come to Vancouver because you wanted to, not because you felt like you had to.”

“You didn’t even ask me, though. You took that right away from me.” You said.

You’d both softened, voices dropping a few octaves and flailing limbs reducing as your frustrations slowly poured out of you.

“And what would you have said if I’d have asked?” He echoed from before, slightly breathless as his chest heaved.

He was looking straight at you, curiosity and a destructive hope practically radiating from his face. He wanted you to say no, to reassure him he’d made the right decision.

“I would have said yes.”

His face collapsed, and his hands immediately went to cover his eyes for a few seconds. You stayed rooted to your spot, watching him mutter to himself and shake his head. You couldn't hear what he was saying – some complex French mutterings, your ears may have picked up a string of profanities.

Then, just as you were beginning to submit to the gravitational pull towards him, he lifted himself back up, eyes watering and rimmed red – it had you wondering if this was how he’d spent your days and nights apart; torturing himself with what could have been if only he’d had the courage to ask you the question. You knew you were in no position whatsoever to criticise his lack of action, however. It was just the only thing you could stomach to blame.

At least this way you knew the fate of your misery the past few months had been out of your control, even if that small voice in the back of your mind screamed against that.

“Of course you would have.” He nodded, foot tapping against your floor. He still had a lot of pent up agitation begging to be relieved.

He’d just played a match and he still had energy to burn.

Instead, you did the thing you weren’t entirely expecting, and you could tell from his face that he wasn’t expecting you to pull such a move, either.

What you really wanted to do was launch yourself at him – there was no doubt in your mind he’d catch you, he always did – and not let him go, but you held back, both for your own sanity and his, as well as the fact that you knew you were both going to have to spend the night in your own beds, absorbing and mulling over every single thing that had come to light.

“We’re both idiots that should probably work on our communication skills a little more.”

The trace of a small smile worked its way onto his face, an idea flashing through his mind, “What was that?”

You didn’t even think before you’d picked up a cushion from the sofa and launched it in his direction. It felt like you’d been anticipating such a trashy joke because your aim was spot on; the cushion smacked him squarely in the face, eliciting a shout of surprise.

After he’d let it fall to the floor you both stood in your half-made-up living room, both your hands on your hips and considering each other carefully.

You didn’t know how you were going to go from here, but you knew what you wanted to get out of it, and what you wanted was the man standing in front of you, bravely looking as confused as you felt.

“You played really well tonight.” You said, desperately wanting to break the tense silence.

You could tell what he wanted to do, and you couldn’t exactly deny that you also felt that same desire begin to burn you from the inside, but you knew you had to make him work for it.

“Thank you.” He replied earnestly, not entirely shocked by your revelation. Since he’d found out you were his neighbour, he’d been keeping an ear out for your TV patterns.

On more than one occasion he’d been able to hear the NHL channel blast through the walls.

“No problem.”

“I think I should go.” He made no move to do such a thing.

“I think you should.” This time, he took a few steps towards your door, his hand hovering over the handle as though expecting you to change your mind, before throwing it open and leaving as quickly as he could.

Your head was a mess and your chest was surely about to implode.

You let yourself think it over for about five minutes, hands pressed together and resting against your mouth as your eyes darted across the room. You caught sight of the Islander’s hat on the sofa – when had you even let go of it? – and picked it up, leaving your apartment to knock on his door.

He must have been standing behind it waiting for you because it swung open only on the second knock and you barely had time to breathe before you were tugged roughly against his chest, your hands not wasting any time in burrowing themselves in his hair, and moving your mouth against his, tongues intertwined and breathing just as heavy as it had been when you were arguing.

It was short, possibly about ten seconds of unadulterated desire and lust and love, before you were shoving him away, attempting to maintain some seriousness. It failed drastically, your eyes working to keep up the act, but your mouth giving you away hilariously as you still felt the remnants of his kiss on you, leaving you able to do nothing but smile dumbly at him.

“I’m giving you this back.” You shoved his hand against his chest, but he made no move to take it off you.

“I don’t want it.”

“Neither do I.”

“It looks better on you.” He argued, taking it from your hand and placing it on your head.

You pulled a face, and swiped it off, “I’ve always been more of a Nucks fan than an Islanders, so, no thank you.” You let it drop between you, before failing to resist pressing another hot kiss to his mouth, dodging out of his needy hold and leaving. You hear the vague protest of “I’m telling Mat you said that!” and you spun on your heel, inappropriately shouting, “Fucking go ahead!” Before you shut your door, unable to process anything until you collapsed onto your bed face-first, cursing Mat Barzal’s wicked plotting.

#tito beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier oneshot #tito beauvillier imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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fallinallincurls · 1 year

Text

OT Winners & Baby Kisses

a fic?? from me?? it’s been a little bit but this little blurb finally got finished and i couldn’t wait to share it! the whole idea was inspired by a gif set thanks to @tonyspep and it was the cutest thing to write! also yes, beau is an islander here so we’re ignoring the trade lol.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 1.4k

~~~~~

It might be the prettiest goal of his career. Not that Anthony cares. All that matters is the Isles won the game against Toronto in overtime thanks to his top shelf beauty that found the back of the net. His teammates surrounded him in one big hug almost instantly and he got endless helmet taps from everyone for what he did.

But when the celebration is over on the ice and he’s heading back to the locker room for an interview with Shannon, his thoughts are focused on something not even closely related to hockey or the big win.

The love of his life and his little boy.

“Beau! Thanks so much for taking a couple minutes to chat.” Shannon greets him with that same warm smile she always has whenever she catches the boys for interviews. Anthony says it’s no problem and that he’s happy to do it, especially because the fans love these little videos too. “I won’t keep you long. I know there’s a few others who want to congratulate you on the big win.” She continues and Beau nods in agreement.

After going over the questions and trying to think of good responses, Anthony puts all his attention on Shannon and the short interview. The faster it gets done, the quicker he gets to see you and his son.

“I’m here with Anthony Beauvillier, who scored the gorgeous OT winner to give the Isles yet another victory. Beau, can you walk us through the play and how the goal came to be?”

Anthony answers, words leaving his lips in a coherent way and he can’t help but smile thinking back on the goal that doesn’t seem like it just happened. He lucked out in terms of getting great teammates and he loves every second of playing with these guys.

He’s so zeroed in on the camera and his statements about the game, that he almost completely misses the soft murmuring that distinguishingly belongs to a toddler. But he listens to Shannon and tries to tell himself it’s not who he thinks it is.

“We heard your family was here tonight, and if they were, how did that impact your game?”

At that very moment, when Anthony’s breath is stolen away just at the mention of the two most important people in my life, he hears an unmistakable “dada!” followed by toddling footsteps that are heading in his direction. When his blue eyes shift, he spots his sweet little boy running towards him with his arms wide open.

“Frankie!” Anthony immediately mirrors the excited tone of his son as he kneels down to scoop him up in his arms. The happiest giggle escapes past Frankie’s lips and it’s a moment Beau wants to remember forever. He knows that you can’t be far behind and sure enough, he spots you in no time.

Just behind the crew and others passing through the hallway, Beau finds you with a look of adoration and panic on your face. When his gaze meets yours, you mouth a simple “sorry!” even if you both know nothing would’ve stopped Frankie from getting to his father the second he recognized him.

“Sorry, Shannon. Looks like we have a special guest joining us.” Anthony chuckles, adjusting Frankie against his hip. The little boy waved enthusiastically at the woman before settling against his dad’s shoulder.

“Dada win game!” Frankie exclaims, placing a hand against Beau’s cheek while flashing the biggest grin possible. “Win!”

“That’s right, we did win. Good job!” Anthony replies before kissing the top of Frankie’s head and turning back to Shannon. With one silent look, he gave her the okay to ask his son a question which is something he knows will be too cute to pass up.

“Frankie, how cool was it to see your dad score tonight?”

“This much!” Frankie says, holding his hands as far apart as he can. “I yell for Dada when he got goal.”

“I heard you on the ice, buddy. You and Mama.”

The little boy giggles, the sound filling Anthony’s heart with so much love he swears it might burst, before he nuzzles his face into the crook of his dad’s neck. It’s the telltale sign that Frankie has gotten a little shy which only seems to make the moment even sweeter.

“Thanks so much for your time, Beau. Enjoy the rest of the night with your family. Back to you guys!” Shannon finishes the interview, giving him and Frankie a quick goodbye before the broadcast crew leaves.

Before he can even adjust Frankie’s little Islanders beanie so the one floppy piece of hair on his forehead gets tucked back underneath, you’re walking right up to them. The smile on your face can only be compared to the sun and Anthony swears he has never known a love like this.

“Hey, bub.” You say softly, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips that immediately makes Frankie giggle. “You killed it out there tonight. We’re so proud of you.” Anthony can’t stop the swelling in his chest at the compliment. He usually hates any kind of attention surrounding his play, but from you and Frankie, he would take it anyday.

“Thank you, mon amor.” Anthony murmurs, the French rolling off his tongue so smoothly. “What a surprise this one was! Surprising me in an interview.” He continues, bouncing Frankie on his hip for a moment and the little boy laughs before burying his face against Beau’s.

“I happy for goal!” Frankie exclaims with a laugh before squishing a big, dramatic kiss against his father’s cheek. A giggle slips past your lips at the sight. You’ve never known this kind of happiness before and you don’t ever want it to disappear.

“Well, I’m just as happy to see you.” Anthony says, booping Frankie’s nose to get an adorable smile in response, “And you.” He finishes and pulls you in for a soft kiss that’s full of love.

When the two reluctantly pull away, everything in the world feels just right then. Frankie is fisting Anthony’s blue jersey in his tiny hand as he snuggles into his dad and the adrenaline of the game is still rushing through each one of you although your son seems to be getting sleepy. If this is what the rest of your life will be, will feel like, because of Anthony and your little boy, there’s nothing else in the world you want.

“C’mon bubs, Daddy needs to get changed so we can go home and you’re getting tired.” You prompt, reaching over to transfer the toddler to your arms. But before Frankie can respond or Anthony can hand him over, you hear someone yelling as they turn the corner towards where you’re standing.

“Beau! Dude, where have you been?” Barzy calls out before he takes in the scene. “Hey, Y/N! And Frankie! What’s up, little guy?” Mat says with excitement, holding out a fist for Frankie to fist bump.

“Unca Maty!” Your son almost squeals and Anthony has no choice but to put him down so he can toddle over to his best friend on the team.

“I didn’t know you two would be here.” Mat continues with a smile as kneels down to Frankie’s level before picking him up. “Dad scored a goal just for you, Frankie, huh?”

“Yeah! You score too!” Frankie replies, beaming while gently patting Mat’s cheeks. You can’t help but laugh at the scene and you lean into Anthony for a moment, just watching the little boy who you both love so much interact with one of your closest friends.

“Wanna go say hi to the boys? They would be thrilled to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Frankie cheers in response to Mat’s question and you only shake your head before Mat promises he’ll be back with him soon.

“I should go supervise. Make sure nothing crazy happens.” Anthony says quietly, hands finding your hips and his gaze never breaks away from you. It’s almost as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“That would be a good idea. Plus the faster we get home, the faster Frankie goes down for bed and the faster we celebrate, yeah?” Anthony’s eyes go wide as you keep talking and your voice begins getting softer and softer. OT winner or not, you still would’ve wanted to celebrate him but you already had the perfect thing in mind.

“I’ll make sure Mat doesn’t hog him for too long.” Beau smirks, kissing you deeply before heading towards the locker room. And as you’re standing there shaking your head as he runs away with a dopey smile on his face, you know you couldn’t be any happier.

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fics #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #new york islanders #vancouver canucks #anthony beauvillier fluff

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nycbaby21 · 8 months

Text

"I really hope so pt. 2"

*so glad you guys enjoyed the last part. here is part 2, hopefully you like it as much as I liked writing it. also sorry for the love interest change. I promise I'll give Mat his moment soon*

word count: 3,780

Running outside to my car, I got completely soaked. It seemed like the rain didn’t want me to feel alone so the sky cried with me. I thought about going home, but with the downpour and my teary vision, I settled for the next best thing. I pulled up to Tito’s house and sat in the car. I sat there for a few minutes finally taking in what all happened tonight. My phone buzzing brought me out of my thoughts. I try and clear my throat to make it seem like I hadn’t been crying, “Hey T. What’s up?” I hear shuffling from the phone,” Oh nothing much just wondering how long you were gonna sit in the car?” I look up and see him through the now-open door.

I make my way to him and he wraps a towel around me. “It’s warm,” I smile enjoying the warmth compared to the chilling rain outside. “I put it in the dryer when I saw you sitting in the car,” he says leading me inside and stopping when we get to the living room. He goes to his room and comes back with a pair of boxers and an old sweatshirt. I give him a small smile and head to his bathroom. My mind hasn’t stopped since I left Mat’s place. Was this how he felt a few weeks ago, heartbroken and needing a friend.

I left my wet clothes on the floor in his bathroom and wiped off what little makeup I had worn today of. I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror. Unlike Mat when he showed up all wet and sad, I looked like a total mess. My eyes traveled down to the sweatshirt and I immediately let out a small smile. His Team Canada sweatshirt was the one thing he never let anyone borrow. I had seen people try and he always gives them another one.

I slowly walk back into the living room and see him setting up the couch. “What are you doing,” I laugh seeing him fuss over a blanket. His head snapped up and he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. His shocked expression turned soft almost instantly. “Uhm when I was sad when I was younger Francis would build a blanket fort in the living room. I thought maybe it would help you too, but you probably think it’s stupid right? Of course, it is. You are a grown woman why the hell would a fort make you feel better,” he rambles trying to tear it down.

“Don’t you dare mess that up! Tito this was really sweet. It means a lot to me okay, even more now that I know why you made it,” I say grabbing his hand and pulling it away from the blankets. He lets out a deep breath and nods. I shake my head and laugh at him. “Okay, where do you need me, boss,” I say turning and looking up at him. He looks over and pauses, staring intensely at my face, and then instructs me to grab pillows from his room. After a couple mishaps, we finally had a stable enough fort.

“I see why Francis made these as kids, you suck at them,” I joke poking his side once we get settled in. “You take that back,” he acts offended by my moment, but his eyes show that he really isn’t. “Never,” I laugh leaning over him and opening the Netflix app on his laptop. “Okay, so what do you wanna watch,” I ask looking up at him. He shrugs his shoulder,” I don’t care what you pick.” I give him a weird look. “What was that for,” he asks smoothing down the wrinkles I made in my forehead.

I let out a small laugh because it tickled. “I don’t know, it’s just I never pick,” I shrug scrolling through. “Wait in all the years you and Mat have been friends, you have never picked something for you to watch,” he asks sitting up looking over at me. “Nope. He always made fun of what I picked, even if it was in a joking way. I just thought it was easier if he picked,” I say still scrolling. “You should just pick because I’ll probably pick something stupid and take forever,” I say pushing the laptop towards him. He shakes his head and pushes it back. “Not happening. We are going to sit here and watch whatever you pick. If it’s something you like you shouldn’t be embarrassed by it. I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is.”

His words kind of stunned me for a second. I shake them off, not trying to think too far into things and finally click some Adam Sandler movie. I look over at him and he is smiling. “See I told you it would be good,” he bumped my shoulder with his. I roll my eyes and lean back into the bottom of the couch. He quickly follows and throws a blanket over our legs. After two movies, we both fell asleep in the fort. I did first and Tito was too scared to move so he slept in a very uncomfortable position.

The next week almost every night I spent over at Tito’s place. We slowly started to create a small routine. It was kind of weird how normal it felt. We were always close friends, but I thought that was because of Mat. I was quickly learning that wasn’t the case, we weren’t friends because of Mat. We were friends. Period. That is the whole sentence.

“Hey I have a question for you,” I hear his voice over the phone. I had come back home giving him a break from playing therapist. “Hey, I may have an answer,” I say back. I can almost hear his eye roll. “So you remember how I said I didn’t have a date for that fundraiser gala next month,” he says causing me to think back. “Yeah, I think so,” I reply wondering why he was bringing this up. “Well, I want a date because I knew I could make an appearance and then leave. Well, apparently we have to stay the whole night. And I am going to be bored out of my mind. So I was wondering if you would want to come with me,” he says almost sounding nervous. “Tito, do you want me to go with you,” I ask smiling at him. “Y/n. Don’t tease me okay. I just thought you would make the night more bearable,” he sighs.

Suddenly I feel bad for teasing him. He had been so good to me these past few weeks and I really did owe him big time. “I would be honored to be your date, T,” I say with full sincerity. I hear a small yes and then something falling onto the ground. “I’m okay,” he says quickly. I can’t hold back my laughter and his dorky self knocking something over in excitement because I said yes.

The more time we had been spending together, the less I thought about my feelings for Mat. Of course, a small part of me was still sad over the whole thing, but for the most part, I was fine. It was so strange how I thought my whole world would end if Mat didn’t feel the same way, but it was still very much intact. “Just send me what you are wearing and I’ll match it okay,” he said. “Aw. It’s kind of like prom,” I say lightly picking on him. “Shut up,” he grumbles. We talked for a little more and then hung up since he had an early morning practice.

The next morning I woke up to a text from him saying he wanted to treat me to lunch for helping him out. I reassured him it was no big deal and he didn’t have to do this. But if I knew one thing it was that Anthony Beauvillier was stubborn and once his mind was made up that was it. I threw on some leggings and his team Canada sweatshirt I still hadn’t given back and hopped into my Uber. I had been to the arena so many times with Mat that he got me a badge to get in and out with.

I show it off to Ernie, the security guard, and he smiles and sends me on my way. I wander through the halls and follow the noise of yelling and skates scooting over the ice. I find a spot in the stands out of the way and watch the guys practice. I find Tito easily and he looks up and sends me a confused look. I shrug my shoulders and smile. He continues practicing and my eyes drift over to the movement on my right side.

“Hey girly,” I hear her sickeningly sweet voice and wonder is it too late to run. I turn and look up sending a small smile her way. “Hi. How are you,” I ask confused when she pulls me in for a hug. “Listen I heard you okay. So I want you to hear me, Mat is mine even when he hasn’t got it,” she whispered into my ear during the hug. I pulled back and went to say something but the guys were walking our way. They both send each other a look and speed up their walking. “Everything good over here,” Tito asks with caution. He knew all the nasty things she had said to me over the years. “Oh yeah for sure. Just catching up really,” I say in the fakest voice I can. Every one of us knows that it is fake but we all pass right over it.

“Hi Matty,” she smiles up at him pulling him into a deep kiss. I look up at Tito who is trying so hard not to laugh at the obvious jealousy. When he finally looks my way I can’t hold it in any longer. I turn and tuck my face into his chest and let out a laugh. They break away rather quickly after that. “Something funny,” her voice sounded like it was laced with venom. “Oh no sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt, whatever that was. I was just making a stupid face and she laughed. Right Y/n,” he pulled me out of his chest and sent me a wink. I couldn’t help the small dusting of blush that came onto my face.

“Right. You know him and his stupid faces,” I smile back at the couple. For the first time, I meet Mat’s stare. “Great practice Barzy, you really gave them a run for their money,” I smile genuinely. I didn’t hate Mat, in all honesty, I did miss his friendship. “Thanks, Y/n,” he says sending a small smile my way. “So how long has this been a thing,” she asks referring to Tito and I who were still standing close to each other. “It’s not a thing. Just two friends here,” Tito says resting his arm on my head. I elbow him in his open side and he groans. I stick my tongue out at him. “Oh well you know, I’ve heard that one before,” she looks straight at me when she says it.

Mat went to say something but Tito beat him to it,” well we better get going. We both know how hangry this one gets if she isn’t fed.” Normally I would give him a dirty look, but I would go along with anything to get out of this conversation. “Bye, guys. Hope you have a really good night,” I say honestly turning and locking arms with Tito and heading to his car. “We will,” she calls out, just having to have the last word.

“I would never put my hands on a woman but oh my gosh that girl is just plain nasty,” he groans walking over to my side of the car opening it for me, and then chuncking his bag in the back. I laugh as he gets in and starts the car. “She’s not worth it T,” I say flipping through the stations and finally settling on one I liked. “I don’t know how you haven’t slapped her yet,” he laughs heading to get something to eat. “Because only one of us in this car looks good in orange, and it sure as hell isn’t me,” I joke looking over at him.

He blushed and cleared his throat. “So where do you wanna eat,” he asks trying to change the subject. “Oh, no sir. We are not skipping over this. Is that blush on your face? Did I make the Anthony Beauvilliern blush,” I reach over and put my hand on his cheek. “Whatever,” he laughs grabbing my hand and pulling it away from his face. I don’t know what made me do this, but I laced our fingers together and rested them on my leg. It’s a good thing we were at a redlight because I’m pretty sure he would have crashed the car.

In the next two weeks leading up to the gala things slowly started changing between us. Not in a bad way, but in a very unexpected way. I found myself laughing a little harder at his jokes, spending more time in his clothes than mine, and making an excuse to just be near him. Apart of me was beginning to have feelings for him, but another part was scared. The last time that happened didn’t end too well for me. And I didn’t want him to think I was taking advantage of his friendship. I had two options; hide my feelings like last time or do something about them. Each one of them scared me.

Rapid knocks filled my house as I tried to put on my dress. “Oh my gosh, I’m coming,” I yell and run into the door holding the dress together. “It’s about time. Your neighbor was giving me the weirdest,” his words stopped when he looked in at me. I was thankful for the makeup I had already done because the way he was smiling at me made my face warm. “Sorry this stupid zipper is giving me hell,” I say making my way back to the hallway mirror, turning around and trying to reach it.

“Here let me,” he says softly and I turn around facing the mirror. I watch his face filled with concentration. It was sweet how gentle he was trying to be. His fingers brushed up my spine as he pulled the zipper up with ease. He stopped at the top and looked into the mirror locking eyes with me. “There you go,” he whispers. I clear my throat and smile at him. Turning around I stand on my tiptoes and place a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. Give me three seconds to put on my shoes and we can go,” I smile at the frozen man in the hallway.

The event was boring by any means, it was for a really good cause. But I would rather have another conversation with Mat and his girlfriend than sit at this table and listen to this guy ramble on and on. I try not to seem rude and pretend interest but I am failing miserably. “I’m so sorry Hank. Would you mind if I stole her for two seconds,” Sydney Martin wraps her hand around my wrist and drags me over to a smaller table with some of the guy’s wives.

“I could kiss you right now,” I say deflating throwing my head onto the table. The girls laugh and Syd rubs my back on the open part of my dress. “Hank is a great guy but man is he boring,” we all laugh sharing stories about the sweet older man. I do a quick scan of the room and see Tito standing with Sydney’s husband Matt. He looks my way and I make a face at him. He laughs into his cup trying to pay attention to what Anders is going on about. “You guys are cute,” Syd leans down and says to just me. I smile at her and look back towards him. We make eye contact and I send him a wink. He starts choking on his drink.

Sydney and I try to contain our laughter but we sound like two hyenas. I finally stop and try to breathe when I see Mat walk in arm in-arm with his girlfriend. I look back to Tito who taps his cheek, joking about me slapping her. I roll my eyes at him and Mat leads them over to his group blocking my view. “I don’t know Syd. I mean I think I really like him, but just a little while ago I told Mat all that stuff and I don’t want him to think I’m using him to get over Mat,” I sigh looking over at her. She sends me a warm smile,” sweetie he doesn’t think that. None of us will think that okay? We all see the way he looks at you, it’s not one-sided.”

I look around the group and they nod and agree. I smile and take a deep breath. “Okay well then I guess I’ll be right back,” I say standing up and making my way to the guys. I hear clapping and whistling and directly flip them off. “Oh Y/n, perfect I need your opinion on something,” Anders throws an arm over my shoulder. “Oh I’m scared,” I joke laughing. “Hey that hurts,” he pushes me playfully. I wobble and Tito leans over and wraps an arm around me. I smile up at him.

The conversation flows between everyone and he leans down into my ear and says,” You’re very distracting, you know.” I shake my head laughing at him,” You are one to talk,” I smile up at him. I look back over to the girls who are all sending me a thumbs up. I notice Mat staring at me and he sends me a genuine smile. I send him one back and look over at his girlfriend. “Well I am getting bored so I’m heading back to the cool kids’ table,” I laugh and the guys all gasp,” You wanna come with.” She raises her eyebrows and looks around. “Me,” she asks shocked. “Yeah. You don’t have to but you are more than welcome if you need a break from these guys,” I smile and give Tito a squeeze and turn to walk away.

She quickly kisses Mat’s cheek and walks over to me. I link our arms and walk back over to the table. “Guys you all know Mat’s girlfriend right? I saved her from the goofs over there,” I laugh looking over at the group. Everyone reintroduces themselves and Syd sends me a questioning look. I shake my head and smile joining in the conversation. After a few hours, everyone was getting ready to head home and we met Mat and Tito at the door.

“Thank you for tonight Y/n, I had a really good time. I am sorry about everything. I was jealous and insecure because you are really pretty and the nicest person I have ever met. Mat would always talk so highly of you and I was scared one day he would realize you would be better for him,” she says stopping me right before we get there. “It’s okay, I understand. You didn’t handle it in the best way, but that’s over now. We can start fresh,” I smile giving her a hug. “I’d really like that. I don’t have many girlfriends but I’m glad I have you,” she hugs me back and we walk over to the guys. They both give us crazy looks and we laugh.

“I'm sorry. Did I miss something cause that seemed very friendly and nice,” Mat asked and Tito slapped his chest. “Dude shut up. You may scare the kindness away,” he jokes looking towards me. Mat slaps his chest back and I turn to him,” Thank you Barzy.” He smiles and nods. “Well I hate to leave the good company but someone promised me food and I am starving,” I laugh rubbing my stomach. I reach over and hug them both. “Thank you, for that. And Tito is a really lucky guy Y/n” Mat says hugging me back. I smile and hold my hand out for Tito. He grabs it and leads us away from them and to the car.

“Girls confuse the hell out of me,” he laughs arm wrapped around me walking down the sidewalk. “Me too,” I laugh looking up at him. We get to the car and he goes to open it. Before he walks to his side I stop him. “Hey can we talk for a second,” I asked rubbing his hand with my thumb. He hums in agreement. “These past few weeks have been really nice and I don’t want to ruin this by saying anything. But last time almost ruined me so I need to get it off my chest,” I start and he nods telling me to continue. “I think I really like you, T,” I say looking down at our hands.

I hear him let out a sigh of relief. “Good because I think I really like you too,” he smiles taking his other hand and guiding my face up to meet his. “I don’t want you to think I’m using you,” I say looking into his eyes. “I don’t. I was scared you’d think I was taking advantage of you,” he whispers tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “No chance,” I smile. “So you wanna do this? Give us a try,” he asks smiling down at me. I nod,” My heart has been broken so many times in the past… but you won’t hurt me, right? I can trust you.” He grins and nods his head. “You can always trust me,” he says before pushing his lips into mine and leaning me back into the side of the car.

My hands fly into his hair and we stay there just showing each other how we feel. The moment was sweet and gentle and would have lasted longer if we hadn’t been interrupted. “Get your girl Tito,” Matt Martin yells while poor Sydney tries to get him in their car. We break away and laugh and then wave goodbye. I lean up and kiss him one more time. “Okay, now can we please go get something to eat. I wasn’t kidding I’m starving,” I pout looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Of course. Anything for my girl.”

#nycbaby21works #nhl imagine #new york islanders #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier #vancouver canucks

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laurenairay · 11 months

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we’re lost and found - A. Beauvillier

Summary: “It’s always going to be you, Bells.”

One visit to Vancouver changes everything for the friendship of Anthony Beauvillier and Isabella Thornton.

A/N: This is my entry for @wyattjohnston‘s birthday bingo!! I really hope you enjoy this Demi – I cycled through various combinations and players before I was happy with the following for Beau: trade angst, friends to lovers, playlists as a love language, “it’s always going to be you”, the morning after the night before. I haven’t written a full fic for Beau before so this was a fun challenge! And yes, I fudged the last game in the Canucks schedule for creative licensing. Happy birthday my dear 💛

Title from Wings, by Birdy. Here is the final playlist mentioned in the story.

Words: 14k

Warnings: angst, miscommunication, sappy sweetness, idiots in love.

Thank you @cellythefloshie for being the most amazing beta and cheerleader while I was writing this!

“Cabin crew, prepare for landing. Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving in Vancouver. Please ensure all hand luggage is stowed, tray tables are folded away, and your seatbelts are fastened.”

Even as her stomach swooped with the slow descent of the airplane, Isabella couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. She’d been up since the crack of dawn. Her first flight from JFK airport leaving at 7am, and with the layover stop in Seattle lasting one and a half hours, she was more than ready to be done with travelling for the day. It wasn’t that Isabella disliked flying though – she just wanted to be on solid ground. This trip was to be a mixture of business and pleasure; her work wanted her to go to an industry conference to support a couple of the Sales guys giving speeches, her marketing role allowing her that first-hand experience; the conference was scheduled from Tuesday 11th April to Thursday 13th April, but she had decided to fly in on the Saturday before, also taking a vacation day either side of the conference, to extend her time in Vancouver.

Why? Because one of her closest friends had moved from New York to Vancouver only a couple of months ago, and she missed him more than words could describe. It seemed like he felt the same way, because the moment Isabella had mentioned the conference and that she was able to take a couple of vacation days around it, he’d immediately offered for her to stay at his apartment, giving them the time to catch-up, to spend the time together like they hadn’t been able to in so long.

There was no universe in which she would ever say no to Anthony Beauvillier.

So here she was, Saturday 8th April, ready to spend some time with one of the most important people in her life. Soon enough the plane landed and made its way to the gate, allowing everyone to exit. Thankfully Isabella’s suitcase arrived quickly and her journey through security was smooth, so in no time at all she was walking out into the arrivals hall, eyes scanning the crowd of people.

And then she spotted him.

The moment Anthony noticed her too, smile spreading wide across his face, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Finally. Isabella wasted no time in rushing over to him, dropping her suitcase to throw her arms over his shoulders, Anthony hugging her just as tightly too. It was all she could do to bury her face in his neck, breathing in that familiar cologne as well as the scent that was just Anthony himself while he buried his face in her long dark hair.

She’d missed him. She’d missed him so much. Talking to him over the phone just wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t even close to replacing what it felt like to see and hold him in person. After what felt like eternity and yet somehow not long enough, she let him go, dropping her arms from around his neck, taking a single step backwards to look him up and down.

“Damn, you look good Beau! West-Coast Canadian air clearly does wonders for you,” she grinned, hamming up the compliments to make him squirm just as she liked.

A familiar light flush dusted his cheeks as he shook his head fondly. “Says the New York fashionista gracing us with her presence.”

Her tanned cheeks flushed too at his compliment, but she just laughed and batted at his chest before picking up her suitcase from where it had fallen on the floor. Flattery would always work with her and he knew it.

“I missed you,” Anthony said suddenly, smiling softly as he took the suitcase without saying a word.

Such a sweetheart.

“I missed you too. 10 weeks without you and my life is poorer for it,” Isabella said with a dramatic sigh.

Anthony blushed heavily this time, ducking his gaze, making her smile as she laughed. So cute.

“I know I’m mainly here for work, really, but I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my time with you,” she said, threading her arm through his.

“Me too. You’re going to have a great time, I promise.”

She knew she would, even just by being in his company, but she didn’t need to say that out loud.

With her arm still linked with his, Anthony guided her back to where he’d parked his car, lifting her suitcase into the trunk like the gentleman he was.

“Thank you for the new playlist for my flight, by the way,” Isabella said, wiggling her phone to show what she meant as she got into the front passenger seat.

“No problem, Bells, you know that. It’s our thing, right? It’s not like I could let you travel out here for the first time without a new list to listen to,” Anthony shrugged, starting the engine.

From the small smile on his lips, she knew he was far from nonchalant. He was right too – making playlists for each other really was their thing. When she’d started hanging out with him and Mat and some of the other Isles boys, Isabella and Anthony had bonded over their shared love of music, sharing recommendations on Spotify almost immediately. Making playlists started with creating background music for parties held at their various apartments, but, for whatever reason, over time it grew into the two of them making playlists just for each other. She’d lost count of the number of playlists she’d made him for his long travels on the road, and the amount of study playlists he’d made for her were in the dozes over all her college years. Then there were birthdays, holidays, vacations abroad as a group, and just general ‘you seem down, let me cheer you up’ playlists.

Making playlists for each other was something that Isabella and Anthony had made into something that was just theirs, and she treasured it.

“I loved the Twenty One Pilots songs you chose,” she said, smiling.

“Catchy, right?” Anthony mused, “I wasn’t sure about those Bastille songs though.”

The vibes of these playlists of important, they both knew that. But like always, he’d nailed it.

“They were perfect. The whole list was great, I promise,” Isabella insisted.

This time, his pleased smile shone through. She loved that he loved putting together all these songs just for her – the same way that she loved doing it for him. Was it wrong to cherish something with him that was hers and hers alone?

The drive to Anthony’s apartment felt like it flew by as they continued to talk about the music they’d both been listening to lately, and soon enough she was walking through the front door of his apartment.

“We’ve got a couple of hours before I need to leave for the arena and then you’ll still have a few hours before you should leave to head down too, so plenty of time for you to settle into the guest room and unpack your stuff. I’ve got a fabric steamer if you need them for your conference clothes?” Anthony explained, locking the front door behind them.

The thought he put into everything was astounding.

“I probably will need to steam out some creases at some point,” she mused, thinking of the three blazers she’d packed, “But that can wait until Monday night. How about you give me a tour?”

There was no way she wanted to think about anything to do with work until she absolutely had to. The next couple of days were all about relaxing. Sure, Anthony would be flying out for two games in California tomorrow, but that just meant she wanted to make the most of the time she had with him.

As he showed her around the two-bed apartment, Isabella could admit that it was pretty sparse. At least compared to the apartment he had in New York – but he’d only been here just over two months, so she knew she couldn’t expect him to have fully settled in yet. She could only hope that he was going to give himself the chance to settle in properly, especially since the Canucks season was technically over.

Sure, they still had four games left to play, including tonight’s, but mathematically they were already out of the playoffs. Isabella could only imagine how that felt for him. It was something that they hadn’t really discussed, if she was being honest. The trade was a sensitive subject in their friendship group, and she hadn’t known how to ask how Anthony felt about it when the trade had first been announced. But she worried about him, being out here all by himself. How could she not?

At least there were elements of his personality in the apartment, a framed poster here, photos of his family there, silly polaroids of their friendship group in New York on the fridge with magnets. It was enough to settle the worst of her concerns, and by the time she’d dumped her bags in the spare bedroom he’d declared was hers for the week, she noticed that the edge of tension had melted away from him too.

“I know it’s not much yet but…”

“But nothing, Beau,” Isabella interrupted, smiling as she leant against the doorframe, “You’ve only been here a short while – you’ll make this a home in no time.”

“You think?” he asked, his hesitance obvious.

Well that wouldn’t do.

“I know. Now come on, feed me before you need to leave for the game,” she said firmly.

“That’s the Bells I know,” he snickered.

Isabella just laughed at the accuracy – he really did know her - before sticking out her tongue at him and making him laugh. There was the smile she loved.

Isabella took a quick shower while Anthony cooked them lunch, an easy healthy chicken stir fry, and all too soon it was time for him to leave her alone. While she felt a tiny sense of trepidation about being in a new city all by herself, she knew that she only had a little time to kill before she was going to see him again anyway, so she pushed it down as much as she could.

“You’ve got the phone numbers of people at the arena to call if there’s an emergency, right?” Anthony asked, pulling on his suit jacket.

“I can 99% guarantee you that there will be no emergencies in the two hours before I leave here too. But yes I have them – so go, Beau!” Isabella giggled.

He held up his hands in surrender but smiled down at her anyway, kissing her on the cheek before he walked out the door. Isabella sighed softly, fingers rising to brush over the same skin his lips had brushed, smiling fondly. That was a particular tradition she’d missed as well, the casual affection he’d always shown her. She didn’t know if it was a Québécois thing, or just an Anthony thing, but she’d missed it all the same. It was sweet, just like everything he did.

As she settled in on the sofa, she sent out a few text messages to let various people know she’d arrived safely; some of her friends at work, Mat, her mom. She’d fully intended on ignoring the replies, knowing nothing urgent would be coming through, but when she saw 5 notifications from Mat, she opened up their text thread out of curiosity.

From: Mat Bells! You made it! Beau has been buzzing all morning. Give him a kiss from me. After he’s kicked some Flames ass obvi.

This guy. Isabella rolled her eyes fondly, smiling at the energy she could read even in his words, before biting her bottom lip. Anthony had been buzzing? He hadn’t seemed that way to her – sure, he was happy to see her, all smiles and long hugs, but buzzing? Hm.

From: Isabella I’ll pass along your kiss, weirdo. He seemed pretty chill to me?

From: Mat That’s because he got all of his crazy energy out by texting me. You know he wants your trip to be amazing. You are going to his game tonight, right?

From: Isabella If you say so Barzy. I wouldn’t miss his game for the world.

Mat didn’t text back again, so Isabella just chalked down the strange exchange to him missing his friend too. Still…no. Barzy was being Barzy, and that’s all there was to it. The two hours after Anthony left flew by, Isabella just getting herself lost in a good book, and it wasn’t long before she was walking towards her seat in the arena. Along with leaving a new Canucks jersey (with his name on the back, of course) for her in the hall closet, Anthony had left her ticket at will call, which she picked up easily after the uber she took dropped her right out front. Just as she’d requested when he had asked, she was in the bottom tier but at the back – she didn’t want anything ostentatious – and with an overpriced beer in hand, she took her seat.

Right from the start, the game was a nail biter. She cheered at the top of her lungs as Pettersson and McWard scored for the Canucks with all the supporters around her. Only for her to be left wincing when Lindholm and Kadri scored for the Flames in the third period, on the edge of her seat as the game finished out at 2-2. She could see the frustration in the team’s faces, let alone in their body language, and the moment that the shootout started her heart was pounding in her chest.

As soon as Kuzmenko scored the winning goal, Isabella leapt to her feet yelling in celebration with the crowd around her, the biggest smile on her face as the team celebrated on the ice. What a way to end of the game.

There was no rush she’d ever felt like watching a hockey game live in person - and now she was lucky enough to go congratulate her friend face to face rather than over text. Arriving early ahead of her conference really had been such a good idea. Anthony had texted her the instructions for how to get down to the tunnel to wait for him, so she followed those after the stands had emptied out a bit, not wanting to fight through the crowd. At the very least it meant she didn’t have to wait as long in the tunnel by herself, and soon enough Anthony was walking out to meet her, shy smile on his face.

Shy? No, that wouldn’t do.

“Beau! Congratulations!” she said cheerfully, loudly enough to draw a bit of attention to them and to get that familiar blush she loved to see rising on his cheeks.

“You enjoyed it then?” he mused.

There was enough hesitance in his voice to let her know he needed her reassurance, and she wasted no time in hugging him tightly, smiling as he immediately hugged her back.

“I had the best time. Talk about a nail biter!” she laughed, pulling back just far enough to look up at his face, “You know I love watching you play.”

The rosiness of his cheeks let her know that her honesty had been the right thing to say.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Anthony murmured, squeezing her slightly before letting his arms drop.

“Ooh, wait, there’s something I need to give you,” she said quickly, clutching at his hands.

Anthony froze slightly, but made the most interesting gasping noise as she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a big wet smacking kiss on his cheek.

“W-What?”

Isabella just grinned, letting go of him. “That is from Barzy.”

Anthony’s smile seemed to falter slightly before he huffed out a laugh. “Of course. That sounds like him. I’ll have to text him to say thanks.”

Isabella snickered. At least their mutual friend couldn’t say she didn’t pass along his message. That’s what friends were for!

“What’s the plan now then?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“It’s up to you, really. A few of the guys are going out for drinks if you wanted to go too? It’s not going to be a crazy one because we are flying out to LA tomorrow, but it might be fun for you to meet some of the team? But if you’re tired from travelling then we can absolutely just head back to my place,” he explained.

The hopeful look in his eyes made her smile. He really wanted her to meet his new team, didn’t he? He wanted her to like them – it was important to him, she could tell. So there was only one answer she could give.

“Let’s go out for a couple of drinks then! Maybe if jetlag finally hits we could leave early?” she suggested.

She had been awake since 3.30am after all, having left for the airport at 4am. Relaxing for a couple of hours ahead of the adrenaline of the game had helped keep her going, but she knew it would hit her at some point. But meeting his new team was important to Anthony, so she wanted to do what she could, even if it wasn’t her at 100%.

“Perfect. You just let me know whenever and we can head out,” he said firmly.

Such a sweetheart.

In the end, she lasted around two hours before she felt her social battery dipping into dangerously low levels, starting to space out of conversation even though she’d only had two vodka sodas, and in no time at all Anthony was guiding her through the front door of his apartment all over again. His teammates had been so sweet – at least the ones that she’d met tonight – and seeing the smile that all their interactions put on Anthony’s face filled her heart. Even after 10 weeks, it was clear that he’d found a good space for himself here, just as he deserved to and just as she’d hoped. Brock, Petey, Quinn, Thatcher, Travis and Ethan, along with their partners (those that had them) were all so friendly and welcoming, and she’d enjoyed telling stories about her time in New York with Anthony, as well as hearing how well he was settling into the team in Vancouver.

It had been everything she’d wanted for the first day of her visit – what more could she have asked for?

“Okay I’ve got cold bottles of water in the fridge or I picked up that brand of peppermint tea that you like,” Anthony said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Peppermint tea?

“You don’t drink peppermint tea, Beau,” she frowned, “you bought it especially for me?”

“Well, yeah, Bells. Of course I did,” he shrugged, although a light blush hit his cheeks.

This guy.

“Peppermint tea would be great,” she said softly, still a little stunned that he went through the trouble for her.

What a perfect way to wind down. The two of them sat on the sofa while she drank her tea and he drank a bottle of water, talking about all the things Anthony wanted to buy for the apartment when he came back next season (a couple of throw rugs, art for the hallway walls, a new smoothie maker, and so on). It felt like they were back in New York, like no time had passed and nothing had changed, which only made her heart pang a little more when it was eventually time to go to bed. She was flagging, hard, and he had an early start tomorrow, as much as she didn’t want this little bubble to end.

“Good night, Bells,” Anthony murmured, leaning against the doorway to the spare bedroom.

“Good night, Beau,” she murmured back, not wanting to break the moment as those blue eyes caught with her own dark brown ones.

He smiled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of her head before he walked down the hallway to his own room, leaving her feeling like she was floating on air.

What a first day indeed.

“Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!”

Isabella groaned at the loud sound of her best friend’s voice, eyes blearily looking over to where he was standing in the open doorway.

“What?” she groaned, “What are you doing?”

“First of all, I tried knocking, like, three separate times. Second, I made eggs and bacon and toast, duh. Breakfast, remember? Before I fly out with the team?” he teased.

Oh fuck, yeah of course. How could she forget? Anthony took one look at the expression on her face and burst out laughing.

“There’s also coffee. Clearly you need some,” he snickered.

Rude. Accurate, but rude. Isabella flipped him the bird, making him laugh harder, but at least he left her alone to deal with her bedhead. Her natural curls were a pain in the mornings, especially without taking a shower to deal with them properly, so she just threw them up on top of her head into a loose bun while she headed to the bathroom. She’d already decided she would be straightening her hair for her conference, for ease through those long days, but for now this would have to do. It wasn’t like Anthony hadn’t seen her looking worse.

After quickly washing and dressing into leggings and an oversized sweater, Isabella headed out into the kitchen, wordlessly accepting the coffee mug that Anthony pressed into her hands with a smile. Mmm perfect.

“Thanks for this, Beau. You’re amazing,” she murmured happily.

Interestingly, the back of Anthony’s neck flushed red, his back turned to her as he plated up their food.

“It’s just coffee, Bells,” he said, shrugging.

No it wasn’t and he knew that.

“Okay, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and wholemeal toast, bon appétit.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

Anthony grinned at her attempt at French, Isabella just grinning back.

“So what are you going to do today and tomorrow? Your conference doesn’t start until Tuesday, right?” he asked, scooping up some eggs with his toast.

“I’m not going to do much, I won’t lie,” she mused, earning a grin, “I might take a walk around your neighbourhood today, maybe find a coffee shop or something? And then just a chilled night in, probably with take-out. Tomorrow though…hm, I probably need to do my nails before the conference so I’ll either pop out to buy some nail polish or I’ll book an appointment in a salon? If the weather is nice I might get lunch out, have a walk in downtown, see the sights? And I do want to get a bit of preparation work done before everything starts on Tuesday, ahead of watching your game against the Kings.”

She’d had enough time on her flights to plan at least a few things at least anyway. What? Isabella liked to be prepared.

“You don’t have to watch my game if you’re busy with work,” Anthony frowned.

What?

“Beau, in what world would I not watch one of your games?” she asked, confused.

“I just…I mean, I…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, only confusing her further.

“It’s hard enough that I don’t get to see you anymore. Watching your games is the closest thing I have,” she said, frowning.

The look that passed across his face could only be described as devastation. “Fuck, Bells, you can’t just say things like that,” he said softly.

“Why not? I mean it, Beau. You’re one of my best friends. I love watching you play, you know that,” she said simply.

Anthony smiled slightly at her, but it looked strained. “I know you are. And I appreciate that more than you know.”

“But?” she prompted.

He hesitated for a moment, before letting out a shaky laugh and shaking his head. “But it’s too early and neither of us have had enough caffeine,” he deflected.

Isabella narrowed her eyes but took a big gulp of her coffee in response, making him laugh and roll his eyes fondly.

“Never change Isabella Thornton,” he mused.

“Oh ouch, full name. Definitely too early for that,” she said, grimacing dramatically.

Anthony just laughed louder.

In the end, the rest of her Sunday was spent exactly as she described to him. After he left, giving her a long lingering hug in the hallway after leaving her a spare key, she did in fact wander around his neighbourhood, taking in the cutesy local park and little shops, spending a couple of hours in a coffee shop with the book she’d started reading the previous afternoon. It was a good way to spend a time, nice and chilled exactly how she liked her downtime.

Before he’d left too, Anthony had given her the rundown of his favourite local restaurants, including an amazing Thai place that she knew she had to try – so that night, before taking a shower to sort out her wayward hair, she placed a takeaway order. Isabella hadn’t been able to decide between the panang beef curry with jasmine rice and the tofu pad see ew, so in the end she’d ordered both. Whatever she didn’t eat, she would eat tomorrow after her first day at the conference finished, ahead of watching Anthony play against the Kings. It was just logical, right?

By the time she had her curls plopped up in an old t-shirt, ahead of straightening them when they were fully dry in the morning, the food had arrived. The smell of both dishes was heavenly – she’d have to thank Anthony for his recommendation for sure.

Her phone buzzed twice. Beau 💛. Speak of the devil.

From: Anthony Heading out to team dinner soon. Hope you didn’t get lost wandering around today?

Isabella barked out a laugh at the very idea of her just wandering around lost and not telling him, but found herself smiling anyway. He was concerned about her – so sweet, as always.

From: Isabella No I didn’t get lost. Thanks for checking though. Just ordered myself some take-out actually!

She included a selfie of her holding up one of the take-out boxes, pulling a ridiculous duck face pout to hopefully make him laugh. It was far from the first time the two of them had exchanged silly photos, and she doubted it would be the last. While she waited for a response, she forked some noodles into her mouth, clicking on the TV to find some entertainment for the rest of her evening.

Three buzzes.

From: Anthony The Thai place! Great choice! Kinda wish I was eating that with you rather than the steakhouse we’re heading too lol. You look very cute and comfy.

She found her cheeks heating up with a light blush at his last words, quickly shaking her head to rid herself of any ridiculous thought. He didn’t mean it like that. He just didn’t.

From: Isabella Thank you for recommending the place, it’s SO good. Nah you enjoy the steakhouse Beau!

She didn’t expect to hear back from him, not with the game starting so soon, but the simple ‘xxx’ he sent her made her whole body warm. This guy, seriously.

Isabella knew how lucky she was to have a friend like him in her life. Unapologetically kind and sweet, always had her back, never failed to make sure that she was happy. Anthony was one of a kind, a true gentleman, and the fact that their chance friendship had turned into such an important part of her life was something she cherished.

She’d still been in college when they’d met, a mutual friend dragging her along to a party, and ever since that first night they’d just clicked. It didn’t make sense, not really, their worlds having very little crossover. But Isabella knew back then that all of that didn’t matter, proven by the fact that they stayed closed when she graduated college, stopping going to 99% of the parties, and Anthony stayed up in the show, proving himself night after night.

And now she was here – in his home in Vancouver while he was away, curled up on his sofa with his blanket draped around her. If anyone had told her five years ago that this is where she would be, she probably would’ve laughed – in what dreams was she going to build such a strong friendship with a handsome young NHL player? But this was her reality, it did happen, and there was no way she was letting him drift away, especially now that he’d moved so far away.

Isabella sent Anthony a text before she turned herself in for an early night, knowing she’d need to be up early to give herself the time to straighten her hair properly in the morning. It took less than 30 seconds to get a response back from him, making her laugh softly at his eagerness as she slipped into the guest bed.

From: Anthony Sweet dreams! 💛

She tried not to think too hard about how the little heart gave her butterflies.

Monday passed quicker than Isabella thought it would. Just as she’d told him – just as she’d planned – she treated herself to a manicure in a salon downtown as well as treated herself to a lunch out near the Quayside Marina, going for a walk along the waterfront before she did some prep work for her conference. It was only last minute checks of the presentations she would be part of, but she knew it would allow her to sleep easier without the what-if anxiety playing on her mind.

Along with eating the remaining Thai take-out and taking the time to straighten her thick curls ahead of the conference the next day, Isabella also watched Anthony play against the Kings on his stupidly big TV. The 3-0 loss made her ache inside, especially with how dejected the team looked even through the screen, and the moment that he texted her to ask if he could call, she didn’t hesitate to call him first.

His patented Sad Beau face made her ache even more, and it was all she could do to try to comfort him. She hated when he looked as sad as he did after this loss, the wear and tear of the season bearing down on him, but she wasn’t going to miss the chance to at least attempt to make him feel better. If she could help just a little bit, ease that sadness, then she would – seeing him look all soft with his fluffy hair and glasses in his hotel room was motivation enough.

The sweet smile she managed to drag out of him by the time they said goodnight was everything she could’ve hoped for.

All too soon, Tuesday 11th rolled around, and Isabella walked into the hotel the conference was being held in with her work laptop and an air of confidence she only partially-felt. Usually she had no problem talking to people – give her a bar or a party or a restaurant or even a casual barbecue and she could chat away for hours. But when it mattered? When the opinions of the people she talked to about their impression of her would be a deciding factor in whether her company would get their business in the coming year? It was terrifying.

But she was dressed the part, wearing her grey bodycon dress and black blazer like armour, her hair pin straight and her make-up perfect, and that gave her the boost to be able to fake her she was feeling.

At least her two Sales colleagues couldn’t tell how nervous she was when the three of them set up the company booth. By the time they were finished setting up, people were still walking in, so Isabella volunteered to grab them all a coffee. She hadn’t had time for her usual caffeine intake before she’d left for the conference – something she was definitely going to make sure she did ahead of Day Two – so this was more of an excuse to be able to wake herself up properly, to make sure she stayed at her best on this opening day.

Just as she returned to the booth and passed out the requested coffee, her phone buzzed. Beau 💛

From: Anthony Good luck today! Kick some ass!

Oh how sweet. Even though he undoubtedly had a late night after playing the Kings yesterday and travelled to Anaheim today at some point too, he was thinking about her?

From: Isabella I will do my best to kick ass, metaphorically. Good luck to you too! And kick some actual ass yourself! I’ll be watching the game tonight at yours again.

From: Anthony 💛 💛 💛

Again, his response came through incredibly quickly, making her think he was just waiting for her to text him. Why would he do that? Surely he had better things to do than wait around for her to text him?

And why did he only text three hearts?

Isabella found herself completely lost in thoughts, overthinking everything he could mean and everything he likely didn’t mean, and everything in between. It wasn’t like her to overanalyse every interaction with Anthony, but maybe it was the Vancouver air, or the fact that they’d been separated for the longest time in years. She honestly didn’t know where it was coming from, and she hated how uncertain it all made her feel. What was he playing at? Why was he acting like this, now? Was she just reading too much into it?

“Uh, Isabella?”

A deep voice to her left broke her out of her spiral, and she jumped slightly at the hand awkwardly waving in front of her face.

“Sorry Jerry, the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet,” she said, forcing a laugh, “What’s up?”

He just laughed, taking her lie without question. “We need to go set up for the presentation. We’re up first today, remember?”

“Of course, let me grab my laptop,” she nodded.

It was simple enough to set-up and get the presentation going, if she was being honest, just clicking through the presentation slides while he was talking on stage (and their other colleague was manning the booth), and it allowed her to drift along on auto-pilot, only needing to focus on his talk and the screen in front of her. Thankfully she only needed to give input on one question he was asked in the Q&A portion, and she found herself smiling as everything finished to a hearty applause, accepting Jerry’s subtle high-five with a laugh.

The rest of the conference went smoothly, Isabella mainly able to listen to the other speeches given and take notes to feed back to the executive board while her Sales colleagues focused on schmoozing other attendees. It was one of the perks of being a marketing team member at a conference – outside of the presentations, the pressure really was off her. And at least her two colleagues this time were decent guys, rather than some of the assholes she’d been paired with before, so she didn’t hesitate to accept joining them at the after-drinks. With the conference finishing at 3pm, she allowed herself a few hours to relax and drink a couple of cocktails, but as soon as it hit 6pm she was in an uber on the way back to Anthony’s apartment. There was no way she was going to miss his game, not even if she’d had one of the best cranberry martinis she’d ever drank.

By the time the game started at 7pm, Isabella was dressed in her pyjamas was a bowl of pasta in her lap, willing the team to have a better result than the night before. For Anthony’s sake, if nothing else. And what a game it was. The moment that the buzzer sounded, ending the game with a 3-2 win over the Ducks, Isabella’s face hurt from smiling, and she wasted no time in reaching for her phone and thumbing open her message thread with Anthony.

From: Isabella YESSSSSS! Go Canucks! I’m so proud of you Beau. What a great game. 3-2 baby! I know you’re probably going out for drinks or dinner or whatever with the team. But call me when you get back to your hotel?

Isabella lost track of time while she waited for him to respond, distracting herself with washing up all the things she’d used to make dinner as well as doing her night-time facecream routine, so by the time her phone buzzed with a video call request, she was sitting on her bed up against the pillows. The moment that his smiling face appeared on her screen, something settled in her chest that she didn’t realise she was holding onto. He already looked so much happier than when they spoke the night before, and she found herself sinking against the headboard with a smile of her own.

“Hello Beau,” Isabella said fondly, “That’s the smile I like to see.”

“Hey Bells. You like my smile?”

She blushed at his teasing words, but powered through. “You know I do. Happy Beau is much better than Sad Beau.”

“I wasn’t Sad Beau.”

“You were sad enough,” she mused.

He just huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“No-one else calls me out like you do.”

Her breath hitched in his throat at his words, making her hesitate slightly before answering. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing. You help remind me to keep the bad balanced with good, that there’s still positive things in my life even when everything feels like shit. I appreciate that more than you know.”

She resolutely ignored the butterflies flaring in her stomach, the smile spreading across her face again conveying more than enough.

“Well that’s what friends do, right?”

“Yeah. Friends. Exactly.”

The way his smile flickered at that must’ve been a technical glitch in the call, surely.

They continued to talk for nearly another hour, losing themselves in easy conversation as they always did, until Isabella noticed Anthony started yawning, even as subtle as he was attempting to be in hiding it behind his hand.

“Hey, Beau, I’ll let you get some sleep yeah?” she murmured.

“What? No, I’m fine, really.”

Isabella laughed softly, shaking her head with a fond smile. “You played an intense game today and you have an early flight tomorrow. Get your beauty rest.”

He smiled through the screen, eyes half-lidded with tiredness.

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll see you after your conference finishes, yeah?”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait,” she grinned.

“Me too. Goodnight, Bells.”

“Goodnight Beau.”

When the call ended, Isabella took a moment to indulge in the sweetness of his smile before shaking herself out of her silly thoughts. Was it so wrong to enjoy the way he looked at her sometimes? Surely not. Besides, he wouldn’t smile at her if he didn’t mean it – he’d said as such, how much he appreciated her. She could always work with that. With a b out of inspiration, Isabella grabbed her personal laptop and opened up spotify, ready to make Anthony a playlist for his flight home in the morning. He deserved to have his good mood continue, to arrive back with nothing but positivity in his veins. This was something she’d done dozens of times before, and it didn’t take her long to put together a list of songs nearly two hours long that would hopefully put a smile on his face. She put a few final touches to the playlist with Shake it off by Taylor Swift, Shut Up and Dance by WALK THE MOON, and Come on Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight Runners, finding herself smiling at the good mood she had curated. Done. Perfect.

From: Isabella Sleep well Beau. Looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow! I made you a playlist for the flight – positive vibes only.

From: Anthony You’re the best. See you tomorrow. 💛

Day Two of the conference – Wednesday 12th – found her dressed in a pretty lilac shift dress with a grey blazer of the top, another immaculate set of armour allowing her to get stuck into the networking that was happening in between all of the speeches and presentations. Isabella mostly let the Sales guys do their thing, but she was able to contribute a bit more with people who approached their company booth, supporting the discussions by using examples of the campaigns she’d personally ran. At least, she felt confident enough with the approving nods and the handshakes exchanged with potential clients. Anthony’s flight had landed mid-morning, right on schedule, and he'd very sweetly messaged her the moment he arrived home. So instead of attending drinks again when the conference finished, she headed straight back to Anthony’s apartment. She didn’t feel bad skipping out of the social time, mainly because it mattered more for the Sales guys to be there, but also because she desperately wanted to spend her limited time with Anthony while she still could.

“Bells!”

Anthony’s happy shout combined with the way he rushed over to her and lifted her up in his arms, spinning her around seconds after she shut the front door behind her let her know she’d made the right decision.

“Anyone would think you were happy to see me, Beau,” she giggled, clutching at him tightly.

Anthony just grinned, shrugging apologetically as he lowered her back down to the floor, although his cheeks had a light flush to them.

“Of course I’m happy to see you. It felt weird knowing you were finally in Vancouver but I wasn’t actually there myself,” he said simply.

Yeah she could understand that.

“I missed you too,” she murmured, shrugging off her blazer and hanging it up on the coatrack.

Isabella raised an eyebrow as Anthony’s ran over her formal lilac dress, taking her in like he’d never seen her before.

“I suppose it’s not the clothes you’re used to, hm?” she mused.

Strangely, her words made him jump slightly, as if she broke him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“The dress?” she teased, “I know I don’t usually wear them this formal, but come on it’s not that bad.”

“No, uh, not bad at all. Definitely not used to you wearing them,” he said quickly, nodding as he blushed a little heavier, “You look great though.”

“Thanks Beau,” she grinned.

What a sweetheart. Even if he was still blushing.

“Thanks for the playlist by the way. It really helped me get through the flight this morning,” Anthony said, heading towards the kitchen.

Isabella followed him with a smile, that smile widening as he wordlessly handed her a cold bottle of water from the fridge, nudging him with her shoulder in thanks.

“It was the least I could do. Besides, the good vibes in the songs gave me good vibes too,” she shrugged.

“Great vibes – especially that last song,” he grinned.

“Come on Eileen is a classic for a reason,” she said seriously, making him laugh just like she knew it would.

They talked about day two of her conference as they chose what take-out to order for dinner – they settled on Vietnamese, including summer rolls, beef brisket phở, and tiger prawn curry noodles, settling on the sofa while they waited for it to arrive. It was only then that the conversation took a heavier turn, as Anthony suddenly looked exhausted down to his bones, and not just physically.

“What’s going through your head? What’s wrong?” Isabella asked softly, resting her hand on his forearm briefly to capture his attention.

“I feel like I failed this year,” Anthony said quietly.

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” Isabella asked, confused.

“The team didn’t make the playoffs. The season is over and I just…I failed, right? The Canucks haven’t made the playoffs for the 8th year in a row and the Islanders did make it, so clearly they were right to trade me, and I just…I don’t know what to do.”

His rant flew from his mouth faster than she had ever heard him speak before, and the sadness entrenching every word made her heart ache in the worst way. He really felt like this? Like he was a failure? How long had he been hiding his self-deprecating emotions like this?

“You did not fail. You are not a failure. You’re just one guy, Beau,” she said firmly. “You didn’t ask for this trade, not in the slightest, and you’ve made a good solid start for yourself here. The Canucks needed you and you gave them a boost of course, but it is so not on you. Do you think Petey and Brock and Quinn and literally everyone else feel like you let them down?”

“No,” he admitted softly.

“Then don’t let yourself feel like that. Yeah, it sucks. Not making the playoffs is everything you didn’t want to happen. But you guys are way too talented for it not to build up for next season. You are far too talented, Anthony Beauvillier, and it will work out,” she finished.

“Ouch, full name,” he said with a weak smile.

She just batted his shoulder lightly with a hand, pursing her lips. “I mean it, okay? You worked hard and this year it just didn’t work out. I have full faith that things will click for you next year.”

Anthony hesitated for a second, before letting out a shaky sigh.

“I might just have to let your faith be the only faith for a little while,” he said softly.

Her frown softened to a gentle smile, and she squeezed the shoulder that she batted only moments before.

“If that’s what you need, then that’s fine. My faith in you isn’t going anywhere. You have one final game to play, right? So you go out there and you show them what you’ve got. Show yourself. I’ll be watching with imaginary pompoms,” she mused.

“Can I get you real pompoms? Maybe a cheerleader skirt too?” he grinned.

That was the Anthony she knew.

“You are pushing your luck. Keep that in your dreams,” she snickered.

Interestingly, he blushed furiously at her words, making her laugh. What a reaction.

It didn’t take much longer for their Vietnamese take-out to arrive and they settled as easily as ever next to each other on the sofa, sharing all the dishes in a way that felt so effortless, a reminder of the life they led back in New York. Anthony switched on an old favourite action movie while they were eating, just something to play in the background while they ate and talked and enjoyed each other’s company, and Isabella didn’t hesitate to seamlessly transition that into cuddling on the sofa when the take-out boxes were empty.

She did ignore the butterflies in her stomach flaring up as his thumb brushed her bare shoulder though. No, tonight was about Anthony, giving him comfort, not about her ridiculous notions.

The last day of her conference, Day Three – Thursday 13th – started with Anthony joining her for coffee and breakfast. She knew he had no real reason to get up early with her, but she appreciated the sweet gesture nonetheless. As she caught an uber over to the hotel conference hall, her mind was reeling from the sleepy smiles he sent her way, even more so with the soft parting kiss he pressed to her cheek as she said goodbye to him.

Why now? Why were all the feelings she’d fought so hard to bury surfacing out now?

But Isabella didn’t have time to get lost in her thoughts. She wouldn’t let herself – couldn’t let herself. No, all she allowed herself to do was to brush her shaky hands down her navy blue sheath dress and matching navy blazer as she walked into the hotel before she threw up her confident walls, greeting her colleagues with a practiced smile.

She already knew that the last day of the conference would be mostly final presentations and speeches, so she let them consume her, taking notes as diligently as she was able to be able to report back to her bosses. It was a blessing in disguise really, letting her work monopolise her mind, and she found herself swept up in the last rounds of networking with a genuine smile on her face. In all honesty, the conference had been a success – her Sales colleagues had garnered all of the business and attention they were meant to, and her contributions had been smooth and fruitful. That didn’t mean she stayed around for the final night of drinks though.

No, when the conference talks finished at 3pm, she caught an uber straight back to Anthony’s apartment, ready to go to the final Canucks game tonight. The game started at 7pm so she had more than enough time to shower, eat a little something while she dried her natural curls, and change into comfy jeans and Anthony’s jersey. He was already at the arena by the time she’d arrived back at his after packing up the company stand, so she caught an uber down to the game again.

Same as last time, he had left her a ticket at will call. She had asked for a ticket in the stands rather than in the box. It was just the atmosphere she wanted to surrounded by, the sight of him upclose being a welcome bonus. By the time she was heading down to her seat with an overpriced beer in her hand, it was time for warmups, and as she watched the Canucks skate out to excited cheers, she found her seat right by the glass.

Of course, of course he got her glass-side seats. Isabella rolled her eyes softly but found herself smiling anyway. Anthony always was so thoughtful, and this evening was no different. She caught his eyes as he skated past her and she waved enthusiastically at him, ignoring the looks from people around her as he happily waved back. Let them be jealous. They didn’t share the friendship the two of them had so she didn’t care what people thought of the interaction. She did snicker quietly as she noticed the obvious teasing his teammates gave him when he skated back over to them though. Bless his heart and his rosy cheeks too.

The game was a nail biter, even more so than the other three games she’d watched this week had been. For each Canucks goal she jumped up out of her seat cheering, high fiving everyone around her. For every Coyotes goal, she winced and listened to the boos around her. By the time the third period ended 4-4 ahead of going into OT, she felt like she was in an emotional wringer. This was the last Canucks game of the season; she knew how much it meant to Anthony let alone the rest of the team, so when the buzzer sounded it was all she could do to keep breathing, hoping for a miracle.

And praise Garland for his game winning goal only 1.19 into the OT, hats flying onto the ice to mark his hattrick as the arena erupted in cheers and shouts for the 5-4 win. Isabella’s hands were stinging from clapping by the time the stands started to empty, her cheeks aching from smiling, but she didn’t hesitate to go down to the tunnel like she had that first night, waiting for Anthony to be finished.

As soon as he walked out to meet her, she squealed, making him laugh as he swooped her up in a hug.

“Ahhh Beau! I’m so happy for you! Such an amazing assist!” she said, when he’d put her back down.

Anthony’s assist on Garland’s power play goal was the Canucks second goal of the game, the first of Garland’s three, and she was so proud of him for ending his season so well.

“Felt good to contribute in our last game, I will admit,” Anthony said a little sheepishly.

“See, I told you! Positive thinking!” Isabella grinned.

He just laughed, making her smile soften. He really was so cute, especially when his happiness was shining through like this.

“Most of the team are heading out for drinks again tonight, especially with the win in this last game of the season. Do you want to go?” Anthony asked her, smiling softly.

Like she’d want to be anywhere else.

“Absolutely,” she nodded, “I even brought a leather jacket with me to wear over this tank top instead of the jersey.”

“Oh perfect, I’ll put your jersey in my car before we catch ubers to the bar then, so you don’t have to carry it around,” he said, smiling.

So thoughtful.

The booths reserved in the bar were full of players, various family members, wives and girlfriends, so Isabella didn’t feel like the odd one out for the celebration of the end of their season. That didn’t mean she moved far away from Anthony though. All night they were side-by-side, and Anthony seemed oblivious to the looks he was getting from his teammates where he had his arm round her waist, where he was murmuring in her ear. With the way the drinks were flowing, Isabella didn’t care enough to say anything, to correct their assumptions, letting herself slip to a level that she usually wouldn’t with alcohol. She wasn’t drunkdrunkdrunk, not by any means, but she was far merrier than she usually allowed herself to get, clinging to Anthony in a way that she always had refused herself.

The music blared, shots were pounded back, laughter filled their group, and all throughout Anthony held her tight, his hands possessive in a way they had never been before. He held her closer than he ever had as they swayed on the dancefloor, bodies pressed close, the energy between them crackling. She let herself pretend that it was the heat of the bar not his intense eyes that had her flushed and giddy. The vodka mixers allowed her to pretend anyway, and by the time that Anthony mentioned making a move back home, much later than she thought they would, her mind was a happy haze of BeauBeauBeau. Nothing else mattered, not the knowing winks or the giggles, not the way her feet were aching, not the way she leant heavily on him as they made their way out of the bar to the waiting uber.

They were still leaning against each other as they stumbled out of the taxi at his apartment building, Isabella giggling as she waved goodbye to their driver. Anthony helped hold her up in the elevator, using the wall to prop himself up, Isabella just snuggling into his broad chest with a happy drunken sigh. This was perfect. Did he always smell this good? Was he always this warm?

They slowly made their way to his front door, Anthony holding her close in a way that wasn’t helping them walk in a straight line. Isabella just stayed clutching at him, letting him guide her, humming quietly to herself as she smiled up at him, especially as he smiled widely down at her, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. He struggled to open the front door, making her giggle like she had done getting out of the taxi, and he pressed his finger to her lips in an exaggerated shush, only making her laugh harder. This was bliss, this was heated happiness, this was…her stumbling into the doorframe and falling forward. She slammed into his chest, Anthony somehow holding her upright as he closed the door behind her, his body swaying as he tried to hold them both up.

Isabella clutched as his arms – so strong, so firm – looking up at him with wide eyes, only then noticing how close they were standing. How close he was holding her. Had they ever been this close before? Had his eyes always been that blue?

She jerked out of her thoughts as he pressed his lips to hers.

Isabella moaned softly before she could stop herself, Anthony quickly pulling away, lips red. Wow. Wow. So that was what it was like to kiss him? As she looked back up into his beautiful eyes, some of the fog in her head cleared, only to be replaced by how good that felt. She had to do it again. She had to know what it felt like to kiss him again.

It seemed like Anthony felt the same way, because one of his hands flew up to cup her head as he pushed her back against the door, a loud gasp tearing from her throat just before he took her lips in a kiss once more. There it was. This, right here. She melted into his embrace, clutching as his shirt with her hands as she hungrily kissed him back, Anthony moaning into her mouth before he slid his tongue past her lips. Her head spun as she lost herself in his kisses, her body lighting up with an electricity she hadn’t felt in a long time as their bodies surged together, moaning again as his free hand slid over her ass and squeezed. Never had she felt like this with a first kiss. Never had she wanted this much.

Then Anthony broke the kiss, barely pulling away, just enough so she could blearily see that he was panting as hard as she was.

“Do you want to…?”

“Yes.”

It was her pounding headache that woke her up, paired with the start of rolling nausea. All Isabella could do for longer than she could tell was breathe in and out slowly, measured breaths careful enough to not set off a run to the bathroom that she didn’t really want to do. She knew she drank more than she usually would last night; not enough to be obliterated, no, but these were the consequences that always reminded her why she had her alcohol limits. Her head feeling like it was going to crack in two, her stomach clenching over and over, her bare body clammy and chilled in the early morning air.

Wait, what?

Bare body. She was naked? What?

The moment that her mind processed the new information, the end of the evening caught up with her, reminding her exactly what had happened. Clutching hands, clashing lips, heated breath, stinging bites, pleasure like she’d never felt before. Anthony filling her, surrounding her, moaning out her name as she cried out his. Fuck.

Oh fuck what had she done? Tears stung at her eyes, clouding her gaze as she slowly glanced over her shoulder, carefully so as not to make her nausea worse…and there he was, just as naked as she was. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle any sounds that might escape her, glad she’d done so as the arm she hadn’t noticed draped over her waist tightened slightly with her minor movement.

She’d ruined everything. Everything. How could she have been so stupid to give in to her desires for him? How could anything ever be the same again between them?

Tears finally trickled down her cheeks as Anthony huffed a breath that ruffled her curls, his legs shifting enough to slot one of them between hers. As she cried, biting her bottom lip to muffle her quiet sobs, her headache came back with full force, throbbing like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was all Isabella could do to close her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, hoping that when she woke up again that all of this would disappear. A stupid aimless hope, she knew that, but it was all she could cling to.

She drifted in and out of sleep as the hours went on, head pounding and swimming enough that she couldn’t wake herself up fully let alone move, but by the time that the midday sun filtered through the curtains she knew she couldn’t avoid getting out of bed anymore.

Just as she was gathering the courage to remove his arm from her waist, that arm tightened again, pulling her roughly back against his bare body, making her gasp loud enough for Anthony to flinch -and quickly shoot back across the bed as he woke up in alarm.

“Shit. Shit, Bells…”

Isabella let out a shaky breath before sitting upright, clutching the bedsheets to her chest in a poor attempt at modesty.

“Hi Beau,” she said with a watery smile.

She knew her smile looked as fake as it felt by the way that Anthony’s face fell. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at a loss for words, so she stayed silent too. There was nothing she could say to make this situation better, she knew that. And it wasn’t like she even knew what to say either. Everything she had worked so hard to prevent, the loss of their friendship being the main part, was for nothing. This was the beginning of the end – and by the way he wouldn’t look at her, she felt it in her bones as a certainty.

“I…”

She cut herself off, swallowing heavily to stop the lump rising in her throat as Anthony closed his eyes briefly. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’m going to shower. And pack all my stuff,” she eventually managed to say.

That, at least, made Anthony finally look over at her.

“What?”

She cleared her throat, willing herself not to cry at the intensity in his beautiful blue eyes.

“I fly home tomorrow, and I haven’t packed yet. There’s only this afternoon left to do it, and seeing as I have to be at the airport by 6.30am, I really don’t want to be packing last minute tomorrow morning,” she said as calmly as she could.

“Bells, wait, please,” he murmured.

She forced a polite smile on her face, hating that he winced when he saw it, hating that it was necessary to make her feel even a little bit of normality.

“And I think I’ll book a taxi to take me to the airport too, as it’s early,” she finished.

Rather than Anthony taking her, as they’d agreed previously. Before this clusterfuck ending of their friendship.

“No,” he said sharply.

“What?” she said, bland masking failing a little.

“I’ll still drive you to the airport,” he said.

Why? Why would he want to do that?

“You don’t have to,” she said, voice cracking.

“I want to,” Anthony said, shaking his head, “Please, Bells.”

The desperation in his voice made her heart ache as much as it confused her. Why was he so insistent? Why did he want to do this?

“Sure.”

The relief in Anthony’s eyes only confused her more.

Friday was possibly the most awkward day she’d ever spent in Anthony’s company. Isabella had managed to make it through her shower with shaky legs, eventually sliding down the wall to huddle on the shower floor, the sound of the shower muffling her crying enough for Anthony to leave her in peace as he caught an uber back to the arena to collect his car. Even when he arrived back, he still left her alone to pack all her things scattered around the guest room, which she somehow managed to stretch out into taking two hours. The rest of the day had been spent avoiding him as much as possible, sitting at opposite ends of the sofa while they ate pizza that night, neither one of them wanting to cook for obvious reasons, and she had claimed an early night for her early start the next day.

But it had taken so long for her to fall asleep, her mind not shutting off, overthinking every little interaction the two of them had that day, so by the time her alarm went off at 5am she was even more exhausted than the day before. Still, she knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable, and got up to leave Anthony for what she feared would be the last time.

Because that was where this was heading, wasn’t it? Everything between them – their friendship, their closeness, all that they shared – had been ruined the moment she stepped into his bedroom in an alcohol-fuelled lust haze. Neither of them had made the step forward yesterday to do anything about their dwindling friendship, and now…now it was too late.

Her flight from Vancouver was due to leave at 8.35am, with her due to land in LaGuardia at 8pm, having one stop for connecting flight in Denver for 1.45hrs. Her company had booked flights for the cheapest options available; the timings and airports weren’t her choice at all, but in this moment, the early flight was some kind of blessing.

Unsurprisingly, their drive to airport was quiet. Isabella didn’t even have a coffee mug to distract herself with, not wanting the caffeine in this jittery body before she ate something a little later, so the time in the car with him felt like it dragged. That aching feeling only dragged out when Anthony paid $5.00 for the parkade and walked her to the main departures doors.

“So I guess this is goodbye,” Anthony murmured, handing her the suitcase he wheeled over from the car for her.

Why did that hurt so much more than she thought it would?

“I guess so,” she said softly, clutching at her handbag like it was a lifeline.

Without warning, Anthony stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. Isabella couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her throat, and she found herself hugging him back just as tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck, trying not to tremble at the close contact. She could feel his face pressing into her curls, his breathing shaky like he was trying not to cry, and she desperately willed herself not to cry either when tears stung her eyes. This wasn’t fair. How had everything boiled down to this, after all their years of friendship? How was everything over?

She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t cling onto him when she knew that any moment she would have to let him go for real. So, Isabella found the strength to unclench her hands from his shirt, taking the step backwards that she didn’t want to take. Hundreds of words flew around her head, everything she wanted to say to him that she didn’t know how to voice. And it looked like he wanted to say something too, lips parting and hand raising towards her…until his hand dropped back to his side and he took a proper step backwards, clearing his throat.

A little bit of her died inside at the misery in his eyes.

Was this really goodbye forever?

“Have a safe flight. Let me know when you land?” Anthony said softly.

“It won’t be for nearly 9 hours,” she said, hesitating.

“I don’t care,” he said immediately, “Please?”

She just sighed, nodding. “Yeah, of course Beau.”

He smiled in response, but it just looked sad to her. As sad as the emptiness in his eyes. But before she could say anything to change his expression even the slightest bit, a big shuttle bus pulled up and a group of loud people stepped out, ruining the last chance. Their last chance?

It was all Isabella could to do smile sadly at him as she walked into the airport.

Her flight was restless – she was too awake to sleep but too caught up in her thoughts to read a book or watch a movie. If she was being honest with herself, she couldn’t even remember what she ate. If she ate. All she was able to do, as if punishing herself further, was to put her headphones over her ears to drown the world out and listen to the playlist he had made her for her original flight out, silently crying the whole time.

Her seatmate hadn’t noticed the way she was falling apart next to her.

Eventually she had to face reality as her plane landed in LaGuardia. It would do no good for her heart if she didn’t text Anthony as he’d asked her to, so she pulled out her phone as she waited for the plane to start disembarking.

From: Isabella Hey, just landed.

It was short and to the point, but it was all she could manage while she felt like a dried-out husk. Somehow, tears stung at her eyes when he immediately messaged back, like he was waiting for her in a way that made no sense.

From: Anthony Thank you for letting me know. I hope your flight was okay.

Was that concern? Was that politeness? She couldn’t figure it out in her exhausted state so she just exited out of their conversation and put her phone away. That was a problem for another day. All she could manage right now was standing up out of her seat and shuffling off the plane. Everything else could wait for tomorrow. It would have to.

Seven days. Seven days passed without a word from Anthony. This was the longest they’d ever gone without speaking, the time stretching out like an impossible chasm. She knew she could’ve responded to his message after her flight, but she hadn’t known what to say, and a couple of days later it felt too late to respond to that particular thread of conversation. But Anthony hadn’t contacted her again either. Maybe it really had been politeness, his comment on her journey, but if it wasn’t then she didn’t really know what to think.

All she knew was that the longer she didn’t text him and the longer that he didn’t text her, she felt like her fragile heart was crumbling, and she didn’t know how to salvage any of it – if anything could be salvaged at all.

Her body ached, the loss of contact with him feeling like a missing limb. She hadn’t felt heartbreak like this before, not with any ex-boyfriends, and this time it was all her fault anyway. Maybe she deserved to feel this empty, this aching. It was all she could do to trudge forward on auto-pilot, trying to get back into her routine as a desperate attempt to cling onto some form of normality. By the time Saturday 22nd rolled around though, she was done. Without work to distract her like it had all week, Isabella knew she needed to get out of her apartment or she would go insane from her overbearing thoughts. So she decided to treat herself to lunch out at a secluded café she hadn’t been to in a while, allowing the walk to clear her foggy thoughts, and by the time her sandwich was in front of her she felt a little more human.

“Bells?”

Isabella looked up sharply, breath hitching at the man standing in front of her.

Mat.

She hadn’t forgotten that this was the café that she, Anthony, and Mat used to all go to together. That did make sense why she hadn’t been there since he left New York though.

“Hey, Barzy, fancy bumping into you here,” she said warmly.

Mat just smiled as she stood up from her seat, wasting no time in giving her a big hug, making her laugh as she hugged him back. Clearly he had the same thoughts as her, getting out for a little while, especially considering he’d just had a run of playoff games against Carolina on Monday 17th, Wednesday 19th, and Friday 21st.

“I know we’ve texted back and forth a lot but I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since Beau got traded,” she said, smiling softly as he sat down opposite her.

But the moment that his smile turned sympathetic, she knew.

“He told you?” she murmured, smile falling.

He bit his bottom lip, hesitating, but that only made her feel worse.

“Barzy please, did he tell you what happened in Vancouver?” she whispered harshly.

Mat huffed out a sign before nodding “He did.”

She immediately felt sick, physically and mentally, her whole body seizing - but Mat quickly shook his head at whatever her face was doing.

“Bells, no, only because he’s freaking out that he’s ruined everything,” Mat insisted.

“Ruined everything?” she asked quietly, her voice catching in her throat as she tried to breathe.

“Look, I don’t know the details. And I sure as hell don’t really want to know them, that’s between you two,” Mat said firmly.

She couldn’t help but laugh softly at the dramatic grimace on his face, and Mat’s expression softened.

“He’s in a real mess, Bells. I’ve never seen him like this before,” Mat said, smiling sadly, “Did he ruin everything?”

He was in a mess? Just as much as she was?

“No, no he hasn’t,” she said with a sad smile, “I thought I did.”

“Man, you two are as bad as each other. I thought your trip to Vancouver would’ve sorted that out finally,” Mat sighed.

What? Sorted what out?

“What?” she managed to choke out.

Mat just shook his head fondly. “Everyone saw the way you two look at each other. We all thought you’d get together, although I’m pretty sure some of the rookies thought you were already dating.”

Well that was something she thought she’d never hear. What the hell?

“I just…he’s one of my best friends, you know? You’re my friend too - and you’re good for him. I want things to be back to normal between you two,” Mat said, smiling sadly.

If that didn’t break her heart even further, she didn’t know what would.

“I don’t know if they can ever go back to normal,” she admitted, hating the words as honest as they were, eyes stinging slightly, “But I don’t want to lose him. I just don’t know what to do.”

He pursed his lips, nodding as he fell silent for a moment. It was all she could do to sip at her coffee, especially as it looked like her friend was thinking hard.

“Do you like him?” Mat asked suddenly.

“W-What?”

“Do you like him? As more than a friend?”

She choked out a laugh, glancing up at the ceiling, trying to fight the tears that sprang to her eyes again. What kind of question was that? Of course she did. She’d never denied it, not that anyone had ever asked her. Anthony was her person, one of the only people in her life that she truly trusted. Of course she liked him. Hell, she was already falling in love with him at this point, she could admit that much to herself. And if Mat’s words held any truth…maybe he was falling for her too?

“Yeah. Yeah, I do like him. More than I probably should for someone who’s never heard from his lips how he feels about me,” she eventually admitted.

Mat’s face split into a smile. “Leave this with me.”

What?

“Barzy…” she warned.

“No, I’m serious, leave it with me. Do you trust me?” Mat said firmly.

“Yeah, you know I do,” Isabella said without hesitation.

Because she did. There wasn’t a malicious bone in Mat Barzal’s body, especially when it came to his friends, and Isabella was fortunate to count herself as one of them. But what did he mean?

“Then let me talk to him, okay? This will all work out, Bells,” Mat said seriously, “You’ll see.”

Hope was dangerous for her fragile heart. But here Mat was, dangling it down on a silver string.

“I really hope you’re right, Barzy,” she sighed.

He just grinned. A thousand girls would kill to have that beaming smile sent their way, but all she could think about was his blue-eyed friend on the other side of Canada.

“I’d better go – got the 4th game in our playoffs series tomorrow. But don’t be a stranger,” Mat said, standing up from his eat.

“I won’t. I’m rooting for you guys against the Canes,” she said, smiling despite the whirling of her emotions.

“Damn right you are,” he grinned.

There was the Mat she knew.

A few days more days passed without a word from Mat, or from…anyone else. She knew that Mat was busy, obviously having watched his 4th playoff game on Sunday. She’d even texted him after his 5-2 loss against the Canes, getting nothing but a crying face back which was more than she could’ve hoped for from him in this intense time. But nothing else, and she tried not to let that hope flicker away. She wouldn’t let herself get invested, not until she knew anything for sure. She couldn’t, otherwise she didn’t know if she would survive.

It took until Tuesday 25th for Isabella to wake up with a text from Anthony.

Her hands shook as she flicked open their neglected message thread, eyes stinging as she scanned his words.

From: Anthony I’m sorry that I haven’t texted you. I’m guessing you haven’t texted me either for the same reasons. I hate that everything’s gotten so awkward and distant between us but talking with Barzy yesterday gave me hope. Will you please listen to this playlist? we’re lost and found.

Isabella had already planned on working from home today but this would’ve pushed her to anyway. He’d actually messaged her. There was still hope? Anthony hadn’t given up on them after all. He’d made her a new playlist? And from the sounds of it, if he’d talked to Barzy like Barzy said he would, this was going to be something that was either going to break her heart for good or give her more hope than she knew what to do with.

Rather than opening the link on her phone, she opened up her personal laptop, clicking on the playlist we’re lost and found when Spotify was open, and quickly clicked play.

“Sunlight comes creepin' in, Illuminates our skin, We watched the day go by, Stories of all we did, It made me think of you, It made me think of you.”

As the lyrics to Birdy’s Wings filled the room, Isabella could do nothing to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. This song was one of her current favourites, he knew this. And if he’d remembered that…what else had he included in the playlist? She quickly scrolled through the rest of the list, eyes scanning every song, every choice he made, aching pangs starting in her chest at his selections.

Wings – Birdy Never Let Me Go – Florence + The Machine Hold You – Nina Nesbitt, Kodaline Wherever You Will Go – Charlene Soraia Teach Me How to Be Loved – Rebecca Ferguson Set Me on Fire – Bella Ferraro Kiss Me – Jason Walker Yours – Ella Henderson Still into You – Paramore Adore You – Harry Styles Tongue Tied – Take Me To Your Best Friends House Slow Hands – Niall Horan I Choose You – Sara Bareilles Lover – Taylor Swift Lover Of Mine – 5 Seconds of Summer this is how you fall in love – Jason Zucker, Chelsea Cutler Falling Like The Stars – James Arthur A Thousand Years – Christina Perri Take Me To Church – Hozier Next To Me – Emeli Sandé I Won’t Give Up – Jason Mraz When You Love Someone – James TW

She felt like she wasn’t breathing, couldn’t breathe, the long curated-collection sending her thoughts scrambling. Did he really feel…? Was he really saying…? Why was he only saying this now, when everything had become so fraught between them?

“If I could, then I would, I’d go wherever you will go.”

The Charlene Soraia cover, another favourite. Fuck, he really had put so much effort into this, hadn’t he? The thoughts, the emotions, everything that he was feeling he had put into this playlist. Playlists were their thing, and the fact that he’d made something like this for her, to show her how he felt…it was everything. She let the music wash over her, tears pouring down her cheeks as she let her heart truly feel what it wanted to feel for the first time, soaking in all of the emotion that he’d poured into this playlist. This was him, and this was her, and it was them. What more could she say?

“But with you I’ve learned how to let it out, Now my heart is ready to burst, Cause I feel like I’m ready for love, And I want to be your everything and more.”

Ella Henderson’s voice continued to spill out from her laptop speakers, but Isabella couldn’t take anymore. She had to speak to him. She had to know…she had to…fuck, she needed to hear his voice. And it only took three rings for him to answer.

“Hey, Bells.”

She sniffled as a couple of tears trickled down her cheeks, closing her eyes at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Beau.”

They fell silent for a moment, just listening to each other breathe, before Anthony eventually cleared his throat.

“You’re listening to the playlist then? I can hear Ella singing in the background.”

He knew it that well, that he could recognise a faint song? How many times had he listened to these songs before he sent them over?

“Yeah. Yeah I am. I have to know…Beau, why did you create this? Why these songs?” she murmured, eyes finally opening, staring at the list in front of her.

He huffed out a laugh, sighing softly.

“It’s always going to be you, Bells. There’s no-one else for me.”

The sound that tore out of her throat barely felt human, and her free hand quickly flew up to cover her mouth, a distraught sound coming through the phone as Anthony heard her.

“Hey, talk to me, please?”

She took a shaky breath, willing herself to stay calm, to keep herself together, and she nodded to herself, steeling her nerves.

“There’s no-one else for you?” she murmured.

“There hasn’t been for a long time.”

The smile that tugged at her lips felt traitorous somehow, her mind not believing his words. He’s liked her for a long time? How was this real? As if he could sense her warring thoughts, Anthony sighed.

“I don’t know what to say to make you believe me. Please, just listen to the songs. They show everything that I can’t over the phone. Music has always spoken for us before, right? So I’m trying to let it speak for me now.”

He was right. Music had always been the thing that connected them, that said everything they didn’t need to say. Except this time, she needed him to say something – and here he was, translating himself in a way that spoke to them both.

“You really feel this way about me?” she said softly, her voice filled with wonder.

“I really do. And I’m hoping, from everything Barzy said and the fact that you haven’t hung up on my yet, that you feel this way for me too?”

Right, because she hadn’t actually said anything that was on her mind. It was all him. Just like always.

“Yeah, Beau, I do. I like you so much,” she said, choking out a laugh, “I just…didn’t think you would ever feel the same for me. The last week has been torture.”

“I’m so sorry. I am so unbelievably sorry for ever making you feel like you aren’t the most important person in my life.”

She choked out a sob this time, her body thrumming, her heart aching, Anthony just making soft reassuring noises through the speaker until she was able to compose herself once more.

“I’ve got locker clear out tomorrow, and then…then I’m thinking about coming to New York for a few weeks. I think we should talk, really talk, face to face. We both deserve that much.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’d like that,” she said, a little shyly.

With further tentative plans for Isabella to join him in Quebec after he spent some time with her in New York, she ended the call, her heart full and her cheeks aching with smiling, tacky with happy tears.

Maybe she didn’t know what tomorrow would hold. Or next month. Or even when Anthony was back in Vancouver all over again. But she knew that what she felt for him was worth trying for. And wasn’t that all that mattered anyway? Anthony Beauvillier was falling in love with her just like she was falling in love with him, and she couldn’t wait to see where this journey would take her, especially with him by her side.

#my writing #anthony beauvillier fic #demi's birthday bingo #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier fanfic #anthony beauvillier x oc #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine

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prettytoxicrevolver · 1 year

Text

Trade | Anthony Beauvillier

Requested? No I wish

Warnings? A fuck ton of angst but with a happy ending?

Summary: When Anthony gets traded to the Canucks, the future of your relationship becomes uncertain

Word Count: 1,940

The trade came as a shock.

You had been sitting with your best friend, planning dinner and the rest of night plans when your phone started blowing up. You tried to ignore it at first, enjoying the minimal time you get with your friend but after your phone continued to ring off the hook repeatedly she told you to look.

Firstly it was the tweet notification from the Islanders. Then a text from Anthony. Followed by the ESPN notifications and eventually several texts from several players, wags, coworkers, etc.

“What’s up?” your best friend asks, clearly sensing a shift in your mood.

“Anthony got traded to the Canucks,” you say, still not truly believing the words coming out of your mouth.

“What!?” she yelps, running over to where you’re sitting in bed and yanking your phone out of your hand.

She scrolls for a minute as you space out, trying so desperately to process the news. Anthony was being traded. To a team in a different country, three thousand miles away from where you would be.

You’re snapped out of your daze when your phone drops to your bed with a silent thunk. You look over at your best friend and upon seeing the pity in your eyes you can’t help the tears streaming down without your permission.

“Oh honey,” she says. She pulls you in and you cry on her shoulder, loud embarrassing sobs as the weight of the news finally settles and holds onto your chest like a ten pound weight.

It feels like you cry for hours and hours, your best friend sitting there the entire time. She offers soft, kind, reassuring words to help calm you down. Why did this feel like the five stages of grief rolling through you over and over again?

“I’ll be right back sweetheart,” you hear your best friend say. She moves from your embrace and you fall onto the bed, curling into a tight ball with tears falling messily over the side of your face.

“Baby girl?” you hear.

You lift your head and through the flood of tears and blurry vision, you see Beau standing in your doorway.

“Oh Beau,” you say. You get up and move to him and his strong arms are around your waist in seconds. He rocks the two of you back and forth, one of his hands slowly tugging through your hair and rubbing your back in a perfect cycle.

“I had no clue baby,” he whispers and you can hear the hurt in his voice as well.

It suddenly hits you like a brick wall that this trade was worse for Tito than you could ever imagine for yourself. He has to pick up his entire life and move across the country, be away from you, and leave his best friend and the team he has worked his butt off for for years now.

You pull back, looking up at Beau to find he had started to cry as well. Your hands slide from his neck to his cheeks and you wipe away the stray tears that are left. He leans into your touch, his lips coming to meet your palm in a soft kiss.

“I’m so sorry my beautiful boy,” you whisper.

The next three days are spent helping pack Tito’s stuff up and get it sent out to Vancouver, wrapping up any loose ends, and spending every second possible together. Giving Anthony three days was a blessing from the Canucks especially considering they originally wanted him on the first flight out of New York.

You couldn’t sleep the night before his flight. You tossed and turned and had a rush of nightmares that left you restless for the remainder of the night. When you wake again, sunlight has started to peek through the curtains and you feel Tito’s heavy gaze on you.

“Good morning mon amour,” he whispers. One hand comes up and carefully curls a piece of hair around his finger before releasing it and letting it rest behind your ear. His eyes trace the features of your face, memorizing the way your eyes stay half closed when you were sleepy, the small smile that rested there when you looked at him, the way your hair fans in a million directions when you lay down forming a halo around you.

It feels like the morning happens in slow motion. It’s like your body was put on autopilot, knowing exactly what to do to survive while your brain hesitates due to all of the sadness clouding around you. You swear you don't become coherent until Tito stands before you at the security line.

Your arms are crossed firmly across your chest, your lip quivers as you look at the man you love before you and you look away quickly trying not to cry. Tito keeps his hands in his pockets, it's like you both know that if you hug each other now, you might never let go.

“Call me when you land?” you ask, trying desperately to act as if this is temporary.

“Yeah darling. Get home safe,” he says.

You take a deep breath, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Titos middle and shoving your face into his chest. You couldn’t meet his eyes, if you did you’d do something embarrassing like ask him to stay.

“I love you,” you say, squeezing him tight. He reciprocates, whispering the sentiment back before pulling away from you and turning without a second glance.

The car ride is deafeningly quiet, you’re shocked still the entire time trying desperately not to let your emotions take over. Your body moves on its own accord, pulling you out of the car, trudging up to your apartment and shutting the door.

The sound of your keys dropping onto the counter is what shocks you out of your state. You slide to the floor, tears falling faster than you can think and suddenly you’re a puddle of sadness and missing Tito and wondering how the hell you were going to make this work without him here.

Tito has to work to make his body move away from you. He has to think through every step and every second to make it on the plane in time and off to Vancouver. He wipes away tears as he looks out the plane window that only takes him away from the one thing he wants.

It takes six weeks before you and Anthony can have an actual facetime call. Not quick texts, not short phone calls that last less than a minute, but a real face to face connection for a longer period of time.

When he picks up the phone, your gasp is quiet but audible enough that Anthony makes a face. It’s only been a little over a month, but everything seems to have changed. He started to grow out his beard, his hair a little longer and falling in waves, but his eyes are bright. He’s happy.

“Mon amour,” he greets and your heart flutters at the pet name.

“Tell me everything,” you demand and Beau smiles. “How’s the team? What’s your apartment like? Is the coach nice?”

Anthony tells you everything about the past six weeks and you’re grinning as you find out how well he’s been doing in his new job and his new home.

“I wish I was back home next to you,” he says towards the end of his recap and your smile falters.

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

You both try to continue the conversation after that, desperate to catch up and resume some normalcy in a relationship that seems to have blown up within the span of two months.

“I’ll talk to you soon?” he asks and you nod.

“I love you beau.”

“I love you too.”

The next few months are more painful than anything.

Beau is attempting to fit into the team, working hard to improve his game and help them win as much as possible for the rest of the season. His issue with achieving that? He still looks for you in the crowd every night.

He was losing you in the crowd quicker than he can imagine and it hurts that he’s struggling to remember the way you would scream and cheer when he scored. The way the fluorescents lit up your smiling face and while he was still living that dream for himself it was empty without you there.

This sadness coupled with the fact he just wanted to celebrate a win with you has him calling you after a particularly good game for him. He fails to notice that while it’s only 10 pm for him, it was 1 am for you.

“Hello?” you answer groggily.

“Oh darling I’m so sorry I forgot,” Tito’s voice falls over your ears and you’re quick to sit up in bed and shake yourself awake.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing I just,” he hesitates and you frown wishing you could see him. “I scored twice and got an assist and I’m just so excited and I wish you were here.”

Your head falls, relieved that Tito was okay but you could feel a slice through your heart at his words. You wanted to be there, wanted to celebrate with him and show off the love of your life. You hated this distance. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

“Oh honey that’s amazing,” you choke out quietly trying not to let your emotions overcome the joyous moment for your boy.

“I should have never left,” Tito whispers out and both of your hearts tear a little more at his words.

He can hear it in your voice, the quiet sighs, the hidden sniffles, and the fact that you’re no doubt crying halfway across the world and he can’t do anything about it. He should have never left you. He shouldn’t have caused this pain.

“You didn’t have a choice babe,” you remind him and he nods even though you can’t see it.

“Are we wasting time? Should,” he takes a deep breath trying to get out the next painful words. “Should we call it quits? I can’t keep doing this without you.”

“Beau,” the word is a plea on your lips. Asking, begging him not to do this.

“We only have two more months till you’re home. We can figure it out then but just wait okay? Don’t give up on this.”

You’re twirling a pen around in your fingers, zoning out as you stare at the pile of work in front of you.

“(y/n)?” your coworker asks. Your head snaps up to look at her and it occurs to you that it’s late and everyone has left.

“Oh shit sorry,” you mutter out moving to get all of your stuff and start heading out.

“Hello mon amour.”

You’re dreaming. You absolutely have to be dreaming. He didn’t come home till tomorrow. You knew that because you had been practically counting down the seconds till he’d be back in the states, back in your life, back in your arms, till he was back.

When you look up you’re more than happy to be wrong.

“Anthony,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer.

You’re both stepping quickly towards each other and when his arms come around you it’s like he never left in the first place. Everything has changed in the past six months since he left but none of it matters. Not when he was here, not when he was pressing kisses to your lips and keeping you so incredibly close it was impossible to get any nearer.

“I’m home,” he says into your hair. “I’m home love.”

#anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier imagine #canucks x reader #canucks imagine #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction

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doc-pickles · 4 months

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watching him with those eyes | mat barzal x reader x anthony beauvillier

summary: after you wear tito's jersey mat decides you need to be punished

warnings: mat is a little bit of an asshole, smut (spanking, fingering, p in v unprotected, degradation, threesome, voyeurism), brief blackh*wks mention

a/n: soooooo I wanted to do 12 days of smutmas but my brain no work so this is my last smutmas fic HAHA unless I somehow regain inspiration before christmas. but I really love this one so uhhhhh have fun and enjoy!

xoxo

nina

You knew it was a risky move, knew you’d piss Mat off. But you couldn’t help yourself, slipping on the #18 jersey before you left your apartment. The Islanders were facing the Blackhawks tonight and despite Mat being your boyfriend Tito was your best friend that you hadn’t seen in months.

Tito’s face had absolutely lit up when he saw you during warm-ups, skating over to you with a grin. You’d wished him good luck and he’d skated off.

Then Mat had seen you. And he was not happy.

Mat wasn’t an overly jealous person but he’d always envied the bond that you and Tito had formed over decades of friendship. You assured Mat that he had nothing to worry about, Tito had introduced you two after all. But you knew that Mat was still on edge.

After the game you waited for Mat, your feet tapping anxiously against the linoleum as more and more players trickled out of the locker room. When you finally spotted him you plastered on a smile but Mat didn’t return the sentiment to you. He accepted your chaste kiss before tightly gripping your waist and leading you down to the parking garage.

“Mat-“

“Don’t,” he growls as he presses you into the side of his car. “You think you’re so cute running around with his number on, huh?”

You gasp as Mat’s fingers wrap around your throat, the pressure making you blink back tears.

“You’ve been naughty baby. Do you remember what happens to naughty girls,” Mat asks as he squeezes just a bit tighter, your eyes rolling up to meet his.

“They get punished,” you choke out just as Mat lets go of your throat.

“Get in the fucking car,” Mat spits out as he gets into the driver's seat. You obey, silently following and buckling up as he pulls out of the parking garage.

The entire drive is silent and seems to take twice as long as usual. There’s no casual conversation or music, just you and Mat as he drives you to his apartment.

You bolt from the car as soon as Mat puts it into park. When he catches up with you his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“Oh baby… You can’t fucking run from me,” Mat coos in your ear, his breath fanning across your skin. “You want me to take you over my knee?”

“Mat…” you groan as he slides his hand down to cup your heat over your leggings. “We’re in the hallway, anyone could walk by.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Someone watching me take this sweet pussy,” Mat growls and bites into your shoulder making you gasp. “Mmm, that’s my girl. C’mon baby, time for your punishment.”

Mat drags you down the hallway and makes quick work of unlocking his door. As soon as you’re inside he’s got you up against the wall, pressing his hips into yours as his hand finds your throat again.

“My baby wants to be watched? Want someone to know how much of a whore you are,” you moan against Mat as he brushes his lips against yours. You can feel his fingers ghosting across your leggings, coming closer to the apex of your thighs. “Yeah, you’re a little slut, aren’t you? Wearing my best friend’s jersey? You want Tito to watch me fuck you so he knows you’re mine?”

“Holy shit Mat,” you cry out as he finally cups your pussy through your leggings and squeezes your throat tighter. “Fuck! Yes, I want it! Please, baby!”

A dark chuckle leaves Mat as he lets you go, your chest heaving as you stare up at him with wide-blown pupils.

“Careful what you ask for baby,” he whispers against your lips before throwing you over his shoulder and walking you down the hallway to his bedroom.

Mat sits on the bed, not giving you a chance to acclimate before he throws you over his knee. Your heart is racing as he harshly tugs your leggings and panties down, exposing your ass to him.

“You’re so fucking wet baby,” Mat groans as he runs his fingers through your slick folds. “God, is this all for me?”

The only thing you can do is moan, savoring the feeling of his fingers teasing your entrance and the fact that you’re completely exposed as you lay across his lap.

“Or is it all for Tito?” Mat asks as he shoves two fingers into your dripping cunt. “God I bet you’d love to be watched by him. Let him hear how fucking wet you are?”

“Mat,” you cry as he plunges into you again, his other hand coming down to slap your ass. Your body is already overstimulated and the night has just started. “Oh my god!”

Mat delivers two more smacks, his fingers still inside of you as he doles out your punishment. Your breath comes out in whimpers as he holds you in place, his hand continuously smacking your ass and sending electric jolts through your body. He pauses his slaps, instead moving his fingers in and out of your cunt making the most lewd sounds.

“So loud, so wet. You’re doing so good” Mat chuckles as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. A pathetic moan leaves you as you thrash around on his lap. “Putting on such a good show, showing Tito how wet you are for him, how you’re a slut for him. God baby he looks like he wants to eat you up.”

Your head immediately pops up at Mat’s words, stilling when you meet Anthony’s eyes from across the room. He’s standing in the doorway of Mat’s bedroom, eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. You flung over Mat’s lap, your dripping cunt on full display, and his name on your back.

“Tito-”

Mat shoves your head back down before either you or Anthony can say anything. His hand comes down on your ass and you can’t help the whine you let out, “Love it when you’re loud, baby. Show Tito how good you are for me.”

The thought of Mat’s best friend watching you has you on full alert, your body thrumming with excited energy as your boyfriend continues to spank you. His fingers come back to your cunt, pushing in roughly and catching your breath on a gasp.

“So close, Mat,” you cry out, clenching around his fingers as he continued to mercilessly fuck you. “Please, baby!”

“Come for me baby, let Tito see how pretty you look when you coat my fingers with your cum,” Mat’s words trigger your orgasm, a series of moans and gasps falling from your lips as your hips jerk against him. “That’s it, baby. Doing so good for me. Fuck Tito, she’s so tight. Squeezing the life out of my fingers.”

A low groan escapes Tito and the sound makes your pussy clench against Mat. He lets a chuckle out before pulling his fingers out of you and giving you one more slap to your already red ass. Without warning he throws you onto the bed and you scramble to your knees before he can sit up.

“All fours baby,” Mat commands as he pushes your shoulders down. “Want Tito to see your face when I fuck you.”

Falling onto your hands you look up and meet Tito’s eyes. He’s sitting in the chair Mat has positioned in the corner of the room now, eyes never leaving you as Mat rips off your panties and leggings. His erection is straining in his dress pants, the sight fueling your aroused state.

“You eye fucking my best friend over here?” Mat whispers in your ear, his body encasing you as his hard cock ruts against your core. “Knew you were a fucking slut. You want him to fuck you instead of me, don’t you?”

“Mat, baby-,” you gasp as he pulls back, his hands gripping your waist tightly. His dick is prodding at your entrance and you thrust your hips back into him, eyes still locked with Tito’s. “Want him to watch you fuck me. Please, baby.”

At your words Tito groans loudly, hand coming to palm his erection as his head lolls backward in lust. Mat pushes his cock into you with a rough thrust and you’re crying out in pleasure. Your hips buck back into him as he bottoms out, his hands on your waist squeezing hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises in the morning.

“So fucking tight, so perfect for me,” Mat groans as he thrusts into you, one of his hands slapping your ass again. “Look so pretty taking my cock with his number on your back.”

You realize that you’re still wearing Tito’s jersey and you let out a breathy moan of pleasure, your hips thrusting back into Mat. When you look up to meet Tito’s eyes you nearly collapse at the sight of him watching you and Mat with his hard dick in his hand. He’s not as thick as Mat, but his length makes up for it. Tito meets your gaze and you groan at the connection there.

“Beau, oh fuck,” you cry out as Mat slaps your ass again. “Oh my god, so good baby. Fucking me so good for Beau.”

Both men loudly groan at your words, Mat’s thrusts speeding up as Tito jerks his cock harder. The sight and feeling of both of them has you reeling, your overstimulated body bowing to Mat’s hold on you. Your eyes are locked on Tito’s as he watches the two of you fuck with reckless abandon.

“So close Matty,” you gasp out as Mat’s hand wraps around you to shove roughly at your clit. “Baby, I n-need Tito. Please Mat. Fuck! Want you both to cum on me.”

Carefully you watch as Tito meets Mat’s gaze. You can’t see your boyfriend from this angle but you know they’re silently deliberating something as Mat continues to fuck you. Without a word Tito stands and comes to the edge of the bed, hard cock still out as he jerks it roughly just inches from your face.

“I knew my little slut would want this,” Mat breathes out as he pulls your hips up, tugging at your hair with one hand so you’re face to face with Tito. “You want him so bad, you take him. Show him what I get every fucking night.”

There’s only a moment of hesitation between the two of you before you lean forward and lock your lips with Tito’s, one hand coming up to wrap in your hair while the other continues to jerk his cock. You moan into his mouth, reveling in the feel of him on your lips and Mathew pounding away at your pussy.

“Fuck,” you gasp against Tito’s lips. “So close… So… Fuck baby please!”

Mat works your clit furiously as you cry out your release into Tito’s mouth, his hand in your hair pulling your head back so you were facing him head-on. Suddenly he drops your hair right as Mat pulls out of you and both of their cries of pleasure fill the room. With a pleased smile, you realize that they’d both dirtied the back of your jersey with their releases, your knees giving way so you can collapse on the bed as they both finish themselves off.

You’re dazed for a few minutes until you feel a warm washcloth between your legs just as Tito crouches in front of you, wiping your hair away from your face, “Let me take this off of you, yeah?”

Tito pulls the jersey off of you, throwing it into the laundry basket as Mat finishes wiping you up. You reach up for Tito but he brushes you off, kissing your forehead instead of holding you like you had implied, “Early flight, I have to head back to the hotel.”

With a slow grin you watch as Mat and Tito say goodbye to each other, not an ounce of awkwardness between them despite what they’d just shared. After the front door closes Mat crawls into bed next to you and pulls your naked body against his.

“How you feeling baby,” Mat asks into your shoulder, lips brushing your skin. “Like your surprise?”

“Mmmm yes thank you,” you grin as you lean up to kiss him, one hand tangling in his hair. “But I like just having you here, baby. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mat whispers as he strokes a hand across your cheek. “Should I just block off the whole weekend next time Tito is in town then?”

“Mathew!”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal smut #anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier fanfiction #anthony beauvillier x reader #mat barzal x reader #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #nina writes

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ilyasorokinn · 1 year

Note

for your celly can i request number 14 ("i've been looking for my hoodie-" "my hoodie, you mean." ) from the general fluffy dialogue list with anthony beauvillier ?

CHANGE OF NAME

this is the first time i've had to tag vancouver for tito and i want to cry. also, this one is a little short, but it's good. i promise.

14. "i've been looking for my hoodie-" "my hoodie, you mean." (from this prompt list)

you were laying on anthony's couch, waiting for him to get home. the power went out at your apartment, so you and your roommate frantically had to find someplace to stay while they worked on the power.

your roommate went to stay with her partner, so you went over to anthony's and made yourself right at home. your cat, chowder, who was really your's and anthony's child, hopped onto the couch and looked at you confused.

"i know, he should be here soon." you caressed her head.

he must've sensed you were talking about him because not even a minute later, you heard his keys in the door. chowder, ever the loving child, jumped off the couch and pranced off to greet her father.

"hi, clammy." you heard anthony greet in the voice reserved specifically for your cat, "i didn't know you guys would be here." anthony looked up, and he froze when he saw what you were wearing.

"we wanted to surprise you." you shrugged, rising up to the tops of your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"you know, i've been looking for my hoodie-"

"my hoodie." you cut him off.

"your hoodie? huh, did you change your last name recently? i must've missed the part where you changed your last name to "beauvillier"." he joked, a smile on his face, showing that he wasn't actually too upset over losing the hoodie.

you rolled your eyes, "anyway," you changed the subject, "power went out, so we're here. don't know when it'll be back on, so looks like you're stuck with us for a while."

"won't hear me complaining." he smiled.

"awesome." you smiled.

taylor's 2.5k celly!

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offside-the-lines · 4 months

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tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 5. Evie's Birthday

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 5 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldn’t do. Fuck it, it’s your birthday. That’s what Evie tells herself anyway. There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Warning: mature content in the form of very sensual dancing, alcohol consumption. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 5.6k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

Evie’s Birthday

Tito — April 5

His conversation with Mat ran on a loop in his head; he had not thought about anything else for the last four days. Not on the flight back from New York. Not when he quietly crept into their— her bed. Not when he blankly stared at Instagram, rubbing her ankle that she had perched in his lap as she worked on her book. Not when they were cooking dinner together, working in practiced harmony. Not when she was cuddled up next to him on the couch, watching TV.

He could barely stop thinking about it during training, so distracted that he was missing passes and fumbling drills.

He curses Mat over and over again in his head for forcing him to think about the what-ifs. He curses Mat for making him question everything they do together and whether it’s just friendly. He curses Mat for making him look for signs in everything Evie did, any changes that might mean she may no longer think of him as just a friend.

Tito sighs, looking at the bartender pouring his drinks.

He should be careful not to drink too much; he has a back-to-back to play this weekend.

Tito downs both of the shots he ordered anyway.

PRYSM is a massive club filled to the brim with people on a Friday night. But no matter how crowded it is, when he walks back to the dancefloor, his eyes find her immediately. Tito can’t help that his eyes have been following Evie all evening as she dances with her friends; the way her body moves, so confident and carefree.

She looks happy. Tito’s glad that he decided to come to Evie’s birthday party despite his game tomorrow because he gets to see her look like this.

He stands to the side of the dancefloor, not ready to be pulled into her orbit again. She’s got her head thrown back, laughing easily at something Kelsey was saying. He thinks about the Evie he met on Christmas morning; she looks so much lighter now. It all but confirms for him what he has been thinking: he can’t tell her.

It would be selfish of him to tell her right as she’s starting to feel at home in Chicago, not after knowing how hard it was for her the first few months, how hard it was for her to feel like she belonged. But, here she is, with a small crowd of her friends, a mix of work friends, other writer friends, and even some of the couples from the team.

His thoughts are interrupted as he watches a man come up to her, whispering in her ear. He feels his guts twist and the vodka in his stomach taunting him.

Fuck— that’s new.

It feels like torture, but he can’t look away, even as they start dancing, moving closer together. The man’s hands are on her body— fuck. Tito’s thankful for the dulling blur of the vodka seeping into his mind. He thinks about just leaving for the briefest of seconds before he catches himself.

He’s only got sixteen more days with her. And he's not going to waste it on stupid, selfish jealousy. He made his choice, and he’s going to deal with the consequences. So, if that means being her wingman and feeling the pieces of his heart get torn out of his chest, it’ll be worth it for just a little more time.

Fifteen days and seven hours. The guilt rises in the back of his throat like bile; he still hasn’t told her he booked his flight. He swallows that down, too. Not on her birthday. He’s not going to ruin her birthday by making it about him.

Across the dancefloor, Evie’s eyes snap to him, and he has to breathe through the litany of emotions that bubble to the surface when she smiles so brightly at him. Having spotted him, she starts to push through the crowd towards him, her dancing partner forgotten. A small— evil— part of him rejoices.

“Tito! Oh my god, hey! Where the hell did you go? You were gone for fucking ages!”

“Bathroom, remember?”

She leans in close to his ear, her voice a low growl, “What? Were you getting a handy in there?”

He swallows and squeaks out, “What?”

She throws her head back and laughs, leaning into him, her hands landing on his chest. “You were in the bathroom for so long! I missed you.”

She beams up at him, and he fights the clench in his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone for that long.”

She pulls away and studies his face, her eyes glistening in the club lights. “Hang on a second, did you get a drink without me?” she accuses, jabbing his chest lightly.

“Uh… yes?”

She gasps, “Anthony! It’s my birthday! That’s so rude.”

Her eyes are so wide, looking up at him so seriously that he can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, ma chouette. Tell you what, if you want a drink, we can go get you one now. I will pay for whatever top-shelf tequila you want.”

“You better!” she yells, dragging him away by his arm before he can even respond.

Evie —

Evie's pressed against the bar, protected from the pushing and shoving crowd by Tito’s solid body against her back. She’s waiting for their tequila shots when the thought occurs to her.

“Hey, Tito?” she glances back

“Yeah,” he leans in to hear her, filling her senses with his cologne.

“When did chouchou become chouette?”

He laughs, “Yeah, chouchou. Because you’re my cute little sugar-sweet owl. Big eyes, and so smart.”

She pouts, picking the only part she even remotely knows how to respond to. “I’m not that little.”

“To me, you are,” he says, tucking her under his chin. His body presses her into the bar, and the pressure sends a shiver down her spine. She’s glad that he can’t see the bright blush on her face.

“Fine, then. I get to call you something stupid, too.” She pauses as she thinks. “Solours. Like the yellow Care Bear.”

“Okay… The one with a smiling sun on its stomach? I’ll take that. It's so cute you remember his name,” he says, nuzzling her cheek with a laugh.

“At least you think I’m cute,” she tries to grumble.

She thinks she hears him say, “I really fucking do,” right as the bartender returns with their shots.

Tito spins her around and holds her hand in the non-existent space between them; he sprinkles some salt on it before handing her the lime and a shot. She waits for him to do his own hand but is caught watching his big hand move. She doesn’t realize she’s staring until her eyes flicker back up to meet his gaze, barely a foot from her face; his pupils swallow the normally serene blue as he focuses on her.

He holds her gaze as he licks the salt off his hand, slow and exaggerated, sending a prickling wave of heat through her body.

Her mouth dries up watching his throat bob as he swallows down the shot.

Her eyes snap up to his lips as they wrap around the lime, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucks on the juice.

When she follows a drop of juice roll slowly down his chin, she almost leans in to lick it away.

She’s able to snap herself out of it before she does something stupid. She quickly takes her own shot, blood rushing in her ears. Her whole body feels like a livewire, buzzing. She barely even tastes the harsh slide of the alcohol or the tart sting of the lime. Even though she’s been standing absolutely still, her breathing is heavy.

Although only the edges of her mind are hazy, it still feels like wading into honey as she tries to figure out what they're meant to be doing next.

She says the first sane thing that pops into her head.

“Did you know this place has another dance floor?”

“Oh yeah?” his mouth twitching.

“Yeah! I think it’s downstairs. It’s more for dancing; they move the tables on Fridays, so there’s more space.”

There’s something alight in his eyes as he takes a step back, taking her hand in his. “Let’s go then.”

His expression settles in what she can only call a smolder; it looks so sinful compared to his usual, sweet smile. Evie can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes from her. Seemingly satisfied, he leads the way, keeping her close to him as they move across the room, down the stairs, and into the thick press of bodies on the crowded dancefloor.

The music down here is different: dark and sensual. Once they’ve gone deep enough into the crowd, Tito pulls her close and loops her arms around his neck. She feels the tequila coursing through her veins; her body suddenly warm all over. She can’t help but lean into his space, breathing in the intoxicating concoction of his sweat and cologne.

The crowd around them pulses in time with the music. When he pulls her even closer, she's so startlingly aware of the broad expanse of his shoulders that her forearms are resting on. In front of her eyes, a deep sliver of his chest glistens with sweat; his skin glows in contrast with the black shirt. The soft hairs at the nape of his neck keep brushing her hands and she just wants to bury her fingers in it.

Tito’s arms, locked together on the small of her back, tug her in close. Suddenly, all she can hear is her own breathing; the music of the club sounds far away and muffled like she’s underwater. She refuses to look at him, instead fixing her gaze on a point over his shoulder. She second-guesses the shot she just took because her mind feels too hazy, out of focus, and out of control.

Or maybe she should've taken more shots, enough to get her out of her head like last time.

She promptly dismisses the blurry memories of last time. This isn’t like last time. Last time was just two people with alcohol coursing through their veins, getting lost in the heat of the moment. Neither of them had ever even brought it up again. She shouldn’t expect a repeat of their drunken misdeeds.

The next song plays, even more sultry than the last. She presses impossibly closer to him, their bodies slotting together perfectly. She presses her cheek to his and feels the small puff of air that brushes against her ear. It makes goosebumps erupt across her skin.

Evie tries to not think and just moves to the music, a small roll of her hips to the beat. Tito moves with her: hip to hip, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. She thinks about how easy it would be to move her head to the side and kiss him. She wonders if he would let her press their lips together again and just get lost in the overwhelming sensations, even without intoxication as the excuse.

She thinks she can feel the edges of his lips against her cheek where his hot breath tickles her skin, and it becomes all she can think about. What would those lips feel like on hers again? On her neck? On her shoulders? On every inch of her feverish skin?

Heat builds in her cheeks from that one minuscule point of contact, spreading south rapidly. She suddenly feels desperate and needy but unable to make a move, afraid of breaking whatever fragile balance they have at this moment. If this is all she gets, she’ll take it.

Her hands move as if magnetized to the curls at the nape of his neck that she can’t stop thinking about; when her fingers finally bury themselves in his hair, giving it a gentle tug, she shivers at the shaky sigh he lets out at the sensation.

Her head starts to turn of its own accord, her lips brushing against his cheeks as they seek contact, but he pulls away so suddenly her vision swims. He spins her around between one breath and the next so that he's pressed along her back, his chin hooked over her shoulder, and his hands firm on the bone of her hips.

She moves to make a comment but is unable to when her breath catches in her throat as she feels the heat of his lips pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across the top of her shoulder. He moves up the column of her throat when she drops her head back onto his shoulder, granting him more access.

He finds a sensitive spot right under her ear, drawing a whimpering moan from her lips as her hand flies back to grip his hair. The sound should be lost in the thrumming bass of the club, but she can feel him hear it when his fingers dig into the flesh of her hips briefly.

“Is this what you want?” he growls in her ear. The hand not in his hair reaches down to grasp the corded muscle of his forearm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her flush to his front.

She nods weakly, her mind scattered as she tries to process every single point of contact. In the haze of tequila and adrenaline, it takes a moment for her to register the hard shape that's pressed lightly against her.

It becomes the only place she can focus on. She feels her frustration build; Tito isn’t doing anything, not rocking his hips into her or seeking any friction, just seemingly content to be glued along her back.

Evie can feel her heart racing to the loud thrum of the bass filling her chest; she starts to shift her hips to the music more boldly. There’s a sharp intake of breath before Tito freezes her hips with his arms, his teeth gently scraping the side of her throat.

“Chou,” he growls in her ear.

Sugar. Baby. Sweetheart. Her brain unhelpfully supplies in English.

God, she's going to think of this moment every time he calls her that from now on.

Her hand, the one still buried in his hair, fists the curls hard, pulling him even closer to her neck. He needs no further encouragement as he groans, scraping his teeth along her exposed neck.

His forearm ripples under her hand as he spreads his large hand, covering so much of her ribcage it makes her dizzy; his pressure is utterly unyielding as his thumb brushes under the soft slopes of her breast. His other hand snakes down her body, parting the slit of her dress, until she feels his hot palm digging into the exposed skin of her bare thigh, effectively pinning her to him.

She feels wild; her attention split between his firm hands, his wet mouth, his hot and sweaty body against her back, the thick bulge pressing against her ass. She can feel him everywhere. It’s still not enough.

She slides her hand down his forearm and interlaces her fingers over his, pressing lightly as she encourages him to slide his hand further north.

“Chou— We— Ah, fuck.” His voice is rough in her ear, a whine lacing the edges of his words.

The thing is, she doesn’t need him to say it. He’s right. They should tone it down, but she doesn't want to. In the back of her mind, the knowledge prickles at her that their friends could find them like this on the dancefloor at any moment. She can’t bring herself to care as his hand follows her lead. Pleasure zings through her body when his fingers brush over her nipple before coming to rest against the hollow of her throat.

There’s probably a limit to what she should ask of him as two friends overwhelmed by carnal sensations and the intoxicating atmosphere of the nightclub.

She grinds her hips meaningfully as he tilts her head, kissing her jaw and cheek.

She can’t tell where the line is anymore. She doesn’t care. As long as Tito keeps going.

“Chou, God, you’re so fucking— We probably shouldn’t—” he rasps in her ear.

Evie wants to hear none of it.

She surges up and captures the lips she’s been reluctantly thinking about night and day for the past three weeks.

Impossibly, it feels even better than she remembers. Tito's stunned for a second, but he goes easily when she turns in his arms to pull him closer by the collar of his shirt. It’s a relief when she feels him hum and melt into the kiss.

When they part, he just looks at her with a lazy smile that sends a jolt of fondness through her body. The longer he looks at her like that, the more she feels like a shaken-up Coke bottle. Waiting for what comes next. Building. Anticipating.

Her eye catches on a bead of sweat as it rolls down his face and neck, and she doesn’t stop herself from leaning in and chasing its salty path with her tongue. The sound he makes in response comes from so deep in his chest that she wants to climb into his body to see if she can make him do it again.

His hands, which were resting on her waist, slide down her back and over the swell of her ass— pausing for a quick squeeze— before they settle just below her cheeks, on the back of her upper thigh. She feels his fingers flex as he lifts her onto her toes, and she gasps when his hard length aligns with the valley of her hip.

“Oh my god—” Evie chokes out, throat tight with desire as she catches Tito’s smirk, his eyes so dark there’s barely any brilliant blue around the edge. They pause, lips barely touching, and breathing each other's air; it makes her dizzy.

Falling back into his embrace feels like a flaming star caught amidst the gravity of a black hole called desire, their lips pressing together in a desperate plea for more. There’s a hook in her ribcage that tugs so strongly towards him it makes her ache.

As their tongues swirl, she finds herself wishing that this was real. That this was happening anywhere but here: a few drinks deep in a nightclub. That this was different than every other hook-up they’ve both had on any number of generic, replaceable dance floors.

She wishes this was happening in their bed, in their home—

On her bed. In her home.

The thought hits her square in the chest. She pulls away; their lips separate with a wet smack. Her vision was fuzzy, and she’s gasping for breath as Tito kisses down the column of her throat, unaware of her sudden turmoil. Her head swims with the reality of who she’s doing this with.

This isn’t a stranger. Or an acquaintance.

This isn’t even just a friend—

This is Tito. Her Tito. Her Care bear, sunshine, as she had just called him earlier.

What the fuck are they doing? What the fuck is she doing? This time, she doesn’t have the inebriation as a justification to placate herself with. Just misplaced desperation.

Her mind suddenly feels too clear.

It’s when he gently nudges a thigh between her legs that she's struck by a need so strong that the feverish heat licks at every cell in her body, her skin crackling with it.

They have to stop— She has to stop before Tito does something she’s sure he’ll regret tomorrow. She jumps back so abruptly that she almost pulls them both to the ground.

Frantically, Tito searches her face, brows creased in shock and concern. He steadies her firmly, holding her a foot away from him, fingers digging into her arm desperately as if he’s unwilling to let go.

“Whoa, what’s wr—”

He's interrupted by the squeal of Kelsey calling to them from a few paces away in the crowd.

Evie jolts, eyes wide with panic as she pulls her arms away.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says to the approaching group as she slips into the crowd.

She faintly hears Alandra say, “I’ll go with her,” before her hand is on Evie’s back, guiding her to the bathroom.

She’s grateful that they do not speak; Evie only suffers her assessing gaze for the time it takes her to wash her hands and freshen up. She carefully puts on a neutral face and shrugs at Alandra’s quirked eyebrow through the mirror.

When they get back to the group, Tito isn’t there. Before she can panic, Jason squeezes her elbow to tell her he just went to sit down. She doesn’t think she can face him yet, not while she can still feel the hot brand of his hands all over her body.

So she stays and dances with the group for a while before following the majority of the group back to the VIP booth, where she finds Tito sitting, hunched over and staring into a glass. She sends him a soft smile and watches his shoulders relax when she slides down the booth so she’s next to him. She nudges him with her shoulder amiably.

They both stay in their spots for the rest of the evening. Evie occasionally jumps into the conversation while Tito sits next to her, both uncharacteristically quiet. Eventually, she feels herself flagging, leaning more and more into Tito’s shoulder. When he finally speaks, it’s only to ask her if she’s ready to go home. She nods eagerly.

They wave goodbye to everyone, and he guides her gently outside to a waiting car, his hand never touching her back even though she can feel it no more than an inch away. They sit in silence, listening to the quiet radio, both looking out the window.

She tries to not let their slight jilted awkwardness bother her as they get ready for bed, moving around each other as they do every other night. There’s only one moment where her hold on herself slips: she almost tells him to just fucking come here when he walks into the bedroom shirtless, having forgotten to take it with him to the bathroom. She slams her mouth shut before any words can leave her lips.

“Good night,” she says instead, giving him a soft smile as she settles into the bed, turning towards the wall. She doesn’t even close her eyes and pretend to sleep, tension creeping back into her body.

After a moment or two, the lights turn off, and the bed dips beside her. She feels Tito lay on his back, stock still. For an excruciating minute, they both just listen to the sound of their measured breathing in the stagnant air of the bedroom.

It’s Tito who breaks; he sighs and rolls towards her. He slides an arm around her waist and pulls her close.

“I think it’s past midnight,” he whispers into her hair, “Happy Birthday, chouchou.”

“Thank you, Solou.”

“Good night.” He chuckles at the nickname and presses a light kiss to her temple before settling back down.

With the weight of his arm around her waist, she falls asleep fast.

Evie — April 6

Evie wakes up on the morning of her 29th birthday to an empty bed. Her stomach drops as the weight of last night hits her. For a moment, she looks at the empty pillow next to her and feels the panic seeping in.

Her chest loosens when she sees a note left for her on her nightstand:

Good morning! Happy birthday mon chou. Sorry I can’t be there when you wake up BUT!!!! I made you some tea in a keep-warm mug (first present) ◡̈ I’ll see you when I get back after morning skate. — solours ♡ ☼

She just stares at the note for a while, her finger lightly tracing the heart and sun Tito drew on the page. She smiles when she picks up her new copper-colored Ember mug. She has been looking at getting one for a while and never took the plunge; $200 was a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a mug, even if it keeps her tea at the perfect temperature. She supposes Tito noticed her opening and closing that tab on her computer.

She snaps a picture of her sitting in bed, holding the cup of tea, and sends it to Tito:

To tito 🧸🌞: [attachment: photo] I can’t believe you got this for me. Thank you. I love it.

Her tea is perfect when she finally takes a sip. She closes her eyes, head resting against the headboard, and just sinks into the feeling. The lingering remnants of the panic in her chest are replaced by a warm tingle that spreads from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Some time later, she's still cradling her empty mug while scrolling Instagram when she hears her front door open. There's some rustling in the living room and kitchen before Tito quietly pokes his head into the bedroom.

“Hi,” he smiles brightly.

“Hi,” she whispers back.

His face disappears from the doorway for a second before he returns, holding a small bag and a bouquet of flowers. Evie feels the air leave her lungs as he sits next to her on the edge of the bed.

“Happy birthday, ma chouette,” he says, voice impossibly gentle as he hugs her. She has to breathe through the wave of emotion that hits her, trying very hard not to teeter towards tears.

“Anthony, what the fuck?” she scolds quietly, releasing him from the hug, “I told you you didn’t need to get me anything.”

He shrugs. “I know, but I wanted to,” he says, handing over the bouquet.

She picks up the bouquet of flowers and inhales their sweet scent; it occupies her so that she wouldn’t do or say something stupid.

“Well, thank you for the flowers. They’re so beautiful. How did you know I loved chrysanthemums?” Evie asks as she reverently brushes her fingertips over the spray of petals. It’s probably the most beautiful bouquet she’s ever seen, a bright contrast of colors between the mums, spray roses, peonies, and snapdragons.

“You mentioned it when you sent your mom a bouquet for her birthday. You made a terrible joke about ‘mums and moms,” he chuckles softly.

She looks up at him and searches his face. “That was in February.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs like it was no big deal. Like recalling the most inconsequential tidbit hidden in a joke months ago is a given.

“How do you even remember that?”

He smiles sheepishly, reaching for the bag and handing it to her. “Here. Open the box first, before the card.”

He helps her put the bouquet and mug down on the nightstand before watching her delicately unwrap the box, his leg bouncing in nervous anticipation. When she finally has it open, she gasps.

Inside the velvet jewelry box is a gold chain with three charms hanging down the middle. Evie’s fingers hover over them, almost scared to touch it as if the necklace would disappear if spooked. Eventually, ever so gently, she moves the charms so she can see them better: a tea bag, an ice skate, and a book. When she tilts it towards the light, she can see the title on the book is blank, but her name is engraved where the author would be.

She can’t bear to take her eyes away as she croaks, “Solours, this is…”

“Do you like it?” his voice fragile next to her.

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, “Yes, of course I do. This is— This is beautiful. I love it.”

The smile that lights up his face is blinding; her breath catches in her throat in response. He doesn’t seem to notice the effect he has when he reaches out to poke at the book charm. “The book charm is blank right now, but when you pick a title for your book, they can engrave it on for us. Right above your name.”

A small squeak slips out of her mouth as she fails to contain the tears that well up in her eyes.

“Woah, hey, hey, what’s wrong? It’s okay if you don’t like it. I can get you something else,” he says quickly, hugging her to his side.

Her hands tighten on the box on reflex, pulling it close to her chest. “No— That’s not. Tito, I love it. I love it so much. It’s just— The mug, and this— I think this is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me. It’s— It’s too much.”

He squeezes her tighter, “Don’t be silly. It’s not too much, okay? Only the best gifts for my best girl.”

She makes a noise somewhere between a whimper, a sob, and a groan. It makes Tito laugh, and she sinks into the rumble of his chest against her cheek.

“Here. Would you like me to put it on for you?” he asks, pulling away slightly.

“Yes, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she hands him the box.

He stands and places the box on her nightstand, gingerly lifting out the necklace. She knee walks to the edge of the bed, her back facing him, and pulls her hair to the side. His fingers lightly brush her collarbones and neck as he gingerly puts the necklace on; every single hair on her body is standing on end as he works.

When he finishes adjusting the necklace so it’s centered on her chest, he places a tender kiss on the top of her head.

“Perfect. Just like you,” he murmurs to himself against her soft hair.

“What?” she says, looking up at him upside-down with a smile crinkling her eyes.

He clears his throat. “Go take a look in the mirror, and then you have one more thing to open.” She leaps off the bed and places a soft peck on his cheek before skipping to the bathroom.

When she comes back into the room, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the envelope in his hand.

She beams, “It looks beautiful, Solou. I love it. Truly. Thank you.”

He shrugs and presses his lips together, holding the envelope out. “Here, open this.”

She comes to stand between his legs as she slides the card out of the envelope. A piece of paper flutters to the ground; she bends down to pick it up while she reads the card.

Evie— Ma chouette, I hope today can be at least a top 10 birthday for you. Because that’s what you deserve— the best. You are #1 on my list of favorite people (don’t tell Barz I said this, he will be fucking insufferable). You’re the best person I have ever met and I feel so lucky to call you my friend every single day. I don’t know how I would’ve done the past few months without you. You’ve done so much for me and my career, so I wanted to do something for you. I hope this isn’t overstepping. I know that you probably know plenty of people in the industry, but I figured a few more contacts can’t hurt. On the piece of paper are the contact details of Zach Hyman and his book agent. Zach— because he knows what it’s like to publish a book. And his agent— well. You know how I asked if you had a brief for your book? Well, I may have asked Hyms to pass it along to his agent and she wants to meet you!!!!!!!!!!!! Fuck, I’m so proud. I can’t wait to read your book. Happy birthday, chou. Love, Tito

She stands there, slack-jawed, just reading the card over again and again until the handwriting on the page blurs.

“Chou?” Tito’s worried voice asks. His hands come to squeeze her hips as she stands in front of him.

A tear escapes when she looks up at him, breaking the dam. She’s 99% sure it isn’t a pretty cry.

“Chou— Evie, hey!” his voice is increasingly urgent as he quickly grabs the card and paper and puts it to the side. “Woah, please— Please don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

“I— I can’t believe you did this for me,” she gasps out between sobs.

His hands reach up to wipe her cheeks. “Do what, chou?”

“You— I—” She takes a heaving breath to try to steady out the sobs as she looks down at his furrowed brows. She leans forward, her knees resting against the bed, as she smoothes them down and cradles his cheeks in her hands.

“I’m sorry I’m crying,” she laughs wetly, “I’m very happy. This just happens sometimes. I’m—”

Unable to form any of the words she wants to at that moment, Evie just envelops him in a hug so strong it knocks him back on the bed.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she chants as she crawls into his lap. They both hold each other tightly, unwilling to let go.

After a few minutes, she startles, becoming aware of the position that they've ended up in, and loosens her hold to roll off him.

Next to her, Tito asks, “You hungry? I was gonna make you some French toast for breakfast.”

Right on cue, her stomach rumbles, and she feels his laughs reverberate in her own chest. He taps her thigh gently, encouraging her to sit up, “Come on, let’s go.”

With an outstretched hand, he pulls her up.

“God, Tito, how are you such a perfect—” She catches herself, thinking back to his card, “How are you such a perfect friend? It’s ridiculous.”

He chuckles tersely. “Practice,” he mumbles. Evie misses the bitterness underlying his tone.

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