swagmoneydrew - Tumblr blog

swagmoneydrew · 21 days

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can I be close to you?

summary: after meeting you, he starts seeing you everywhere. while at first he's not so sure, quinn grows to enjoy your company, despite his crazy schedule in a city that demands a lot from him.

warnings: slow burn, neighbour!reader x quinn, neighbours to friends to lovers??, reader has really good friends, lots of pining if you're into that

word count: 7.4k

He always said that he lives half of his life on the ice, and since joining the NHL, it couldn’t be more true. Quinn was busy, really busy. Fitting, he thought, because Vancouver was busy too. A busy city, full of busy people, doing busy things to keep themselves, well- busy.

If he wasn’t enjoying himself so much, he’d miss Michigan deeply. (And on hard days he did.)

Three years in, Vancouver didn’t seem so bad. He knew a few spots around town he liked and could cycle through without too much hassle from fans and the like. He settled into a comfortable apartment close enough to work, and while it was a high-rise with over 300 units, he rarely saw anyone else. Not in the elevator, not in the gym, and certainly no one on his own floor. It both concerned and delighted him- because that was the other thing about Vancouver; it was nosy.

So you can imagine his surprise when the elevator stops at the ground floor when he's coming home one night.

He's coming up from the lower parking levels, and it's a long way up, so he's on his phone when the elevator stops short. The elevator ride is so smooth that he barely notices it stop until the door opens and you step in, turn around, and scan your key-fob. He watches you, face turned down towards his phone, as you reach out to press a button, hesitating when you notice that it is already lit. His floor.

Maybe it's because in the entire first year he was living in the building, he had never seen another soul.

Maybe it was the way your perfume filled the elevator- fresh and sweet.

Or maybe it was the way you covered your mouth with the back of your hand when you yawned.

He stared at you, trying to be subtle, not letting his eyes settle on anything for too long. His eyes narrowed, the more he thought about you coming to the same floor as him. There were 52 floors in the building, he thought. What are the odds that you would be on the same one as him?

Did you know who he was? Were you some crazy superfan? Stalker? Would he have to move, sell the apartment? No, he shouldn't have to do that. Restraining order? Dozens of possibilities flipped through his mind as he leaned against the back wall of the elevator, making sure you exited the elevator first.

And you did. You stepped out and turned left.

With a blank look just shy of a frown, he shuffles out of the elevator and sees you make your way down the hall, his apartment door in sight. He watched you start digging through your purse midway, checking over your shoulder at him cautiously as you did. He tried to walk slowly but if he gave you any more time he'd be standing still, and that would be much creepier, he thought.

When Quinn reached his front door, the corner unit at the end of the hall, you had just managed to pull out your keys. For something so full and tangled with keychains it took you a while to find, he thought to himself, pulling out his own with ease.

"Goodnight." he heard you say over his shoulder. When he turned to reply, your door had already softly shut with a click of the lock.

He felt a little rude not saying anything, but you couldn't have expected a response if you had shut the door, right?

Thinking he would probably never see you again anyways, Quinn decided not to give you any more thought and put his concerns to rest.

The next time he saw you was maybe a month later, but still sooner than he would have liked. Ironically, this time you were both leaving your apartments.

He was moving his work bag through the door and turned around to lock up when he heard another open behind him.

"Oh!” You seemed just as surprised to see him, and he tensed when he realized it was you, fumbling in closing and locking his door, “You again."

"'Morning," he greeted you politely with a nod of his head. You may have beat the stalker allegations in his head, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you.

With a turn of his body so as not to bump into you, he walked by you with his black duffel bag. Behind him, he could hear the chains of your key charms clash as you locked your door, and then the patter of your feet against the hallway carpet as you trailed behind him to the elevator.

"Good morning," you replied once you met him in front of the elevator. He nodded again, acknowledging you. He looked up at the little digital screen above the door, watching the number rise with the elevator. Did the elevator always take this long? It would be a long way down, too... His leg began to bounce a little, and he was lost in his thoughts when you introduced yourself.

"Quinn," he turned his head to look at you, before watching the elevator climb again. It was his first good look at you.

You were cute, to say the least. He pressed his lips together when you reached up to rub the sleep out of your eyes, trying to keep himself from chuckling. And you smelled nice, he knew that. The chime of the elevator arriving at your floor finally sounded, and he faced forward again, letting you enter first. You pressed the ground floor; he pressed parking level 2. The ride down was silent for the most part. He was thankful for that.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Quinn," you said when you had reached the ground level, "Have a good day."

"Yeah, see you around," he said, and wondered why he did, because really, he hoped he didn’t.

“No fuckin’ way you meant to do that.” J.T. Miller’s voice was loud and clear over the noise in the busy pool hall. If Quinn didn’t know any better, he’d think J.T. was trying to get recognized. He glanced around. No one seemed to pay their rowdy group any mind, all immersed in their own games. His friends and teammates were laughing about Demko’s last pool fluke as he looked around the place. “Demmers, you don’t even score on the ice.”

“I’m the goalie, Mills,” Thatcher cried out in exasperation, laughing all the same.

“You all right, Huggy?” Conor Garland tapped his beer to Quinn’s, getting his attention. While he usually kept it neutral, something must have changed in his face when he thought he saw you, five tables down. “You see something you like…?” Garland trailed off, following his line of sight. Quinn cursed Conor for being so attentive and thanked him for not chirping him out to the group right away.

They watched you lean over the table to line up a shot, and Quinn looked away for a moment, feeling like he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. From where they were, he couldn’t tell if it was a good rip or not. Based on your reaction he couldn’t tell either, since you were smiling before and after the shot.

“I think that’s my neighbor,” Quinn told Conor.

“I think your neighbor’s got ass.” They looked over to see Boeser leaning on his cue stick, not realizing he was part of the conversation. Quinn gave him a weird look but couldn’t keep from laughing at the random commentary. He’s not sure what he was thinking when he looked over at you again, eyes trailing down when you bent over the pool table again. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he did it five minutes later, either.

He must have done it one too many times, because you had looked up from across the table, and the next time he looked over at you, his eyes met yours. Yours had widened when you seemed to place him in your memory, and you smiled at him, warm and bright. Five beers down, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

The last time he saw you, he was the one with alcohol flowing through him. This time, he was coming back from a late-night run when he saw you stumbling out of a car in front of your building. He wasn’t sure where the strength in his legs came from when he jogged the rest of the way to the front door. Sure enough, he met you waiting at the elevator.

“Yeah, I’m home.” You were on the phone. “Mhm, just waiting for the elevator.” You noticed him and with a big smile, whispered, “Hi!”

Quinn brought his hand up in a lazy wave, not wanting to interrupt your phone call. The elevator arrives and you both step in. He selects the floor for the both of you, and you let him.

“Just a guy in my building- my neighbor actually,” you say as if he’s not right there, the only other person in the elevator. He wants to laugh but he doesn’t, finding this inebriated personality amusing. “I don’t know if he’s cute.” You say in a lower voice, turning away from him. He remains facing forward, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing at you and your tight grip on the elevator railing. He can feel your eyes on him.

The elevator chimes and to his surprise, you bolt through the doors once they open. What’s more surprising is how quickly you’re able to get a hold of your keys and get your door unlocked, compared to yourself sober. As he walks past your closing door to his own, he hears you giggling.

“He’s cute.”

In Michigan, he knew all his neighbors- he was in college, it was the college town, and he was probably over at theirs for a party at least once and vice versa. In Toronto, he knew his neighbors on both sides and across the street. Vancouver just wasn’t like that, at least not Downtown Vancouver.

Some of his teammates bought houses in the suburbs and he knew that neighborly courtesy was not completely lost in the city. Not long ago, Conor was telling him about going over to his neighbors for dinner with his wife after he helped them fix their shed up. “That’s real nice of you,” Quinn had told him.

And that’s how he found himself in your apartment for the first time.

You were honestly just lucky he happened to have a rest day. He wouldn’t have been home at 2 in the afternoon otherwise, and your knocks at his door would have gone unanswered. He looked through the peephole and saw you, tugging at the sleeve of your hoodie. He couldn’t think of anything he did wrong- he didn’t throw parties, he didn’t blast music, he was barely home out of the 24 hours in a day. It was his day off, and it certainly crossed his mind to just pretend he wasn’t home.

“Hello?” It came out more of a question than he meant it to, but you didn’t seem to take any offence, “Everything ok?”

“Hi.” The last time you saw him you were drunk. You knew that. What you didn’t know was whether you had made a fool of yourself. But that was almost a month ago- he couldn’t hold that against you, right?

You push through the embarrassment in your head, “Yes, um, I have this package downstairs and it was supposed to be delivered up here, but the guy just left it downstairs and it’s kind of a lot and I was wondering if maybe you could help me bring it up?” You managed to get the gist of it out, “You can say no,” you added quickly, “it’s the weekend, I would totally understand.”

“Sure,” he said, speaking before his brain could catch up.

“Sure?” you echoed.

“Yeah, sure.” He grabbed his keys and locked up.

“Oh- ok, thank you. Thank you so much, Quinn.” It was almost like you didn’t think he would say yes.

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs, following you to the elevators.

“My friends were supposed to come over today to help but they bailed,” you explained, though he didn’t ask, “And uh, the building wants it out of the mail room ASAP.”

When you arrived at the common mail area, he realized why. There were maybe nine large boxes taking up the majority of the open space. His eyes widened and he let out a low whistle, “Yeah, I can see why.”

You smiled sheepishly, and were about to tell him that he could still say no, when he picked one up. You had to hold your jaw from dropping. The tracking information said each box weighed at least 90kg, but picked them up without difficulty.

“Oh, it’s not too bad,” he said, “what are in these? Anything fragile?”

Your eyes traced every curve of muscle along his arms. You had never noticed it before, and you had to swallow the drool pooling in your mouth back after he took off his sweater. He was ripped, and it wasn’t just for show, he was strong too. It was never so apparent until now. With both hands preoccupied, he was trying to shake the curls, which had grown out a lot since you had first met, out of his face. You were definitely blushing now.

“They make a couch,” you tell him, shaking the thoughts from your head, “I was just thinking we could just push them. Don’t hurt your back.” You start to push one box towards the elevators while he walks carrying his.

“Do you need help putting it together?” He wanted to kick himself. It’s his rest day, why would he say that? It’s the neighbourly thing to do, a voice in his head says. The door opens to your floor and he makes his way towards your apartment.

“No, I should be good!” You huff from behind him, “just need a hand getting it in!” You’re out of breath and it’s funny to him.

After the second run he suggests you start building and he can bring the rest himself. You’re hesitant to agree, but it’s a better strategy, so you hand him your keys.

They have a ridiculous weight to them, with all the keychains attached. He rotates it in his hand, looking at the different ones on the way down. There’s a variety of animals and characters, some old and dirty, or missing ears or arms. He shoves it in his pocket before picking up another box.

You were right that you didn’t need his help building it. It was a modular couch, with very little assembly required. A neutral color that looked good in your apartment. Your apartment was a lot different than his. A long narrow hall for your entryway, but it opened up to a big space, facing west. You had as good a view as he did, though.

He was sitting on your new couch, after having unboxed and added the last section when the doorbell rang. He looked at you, and you all but ran to the door.

“I ordered pizza,” you said when you returned, two boxes in hand, “Can you believe the pizza guy could make it up here but whoever delivered this couch couldn’t?” You shared a laugh, and he checked his watch for the time, thinking to decline, but his stomach was telling him it was time to eat. You were at your kitchen island, pouring yourself a glass of something.

“Thank you so much, Quinn, really,” you said one box in hand and your glass in the other, “You’re welcome to stay, but I’ve already taken so much of your time. This box is for you. You can take it home, you must have stuff to do this evening. You deserve it.”

In the end, he took the box and went on his way, not wanting to overstay his welcome. Once home, he immediately opened the box and grabbed a slice, and he was on his second one when he noticed the writing on the underside of the lid:

Thanks for your help today :)

I owe you one.

For when you want to cash it in:

604 - 443 - 8866

He didn’t plan on ever taking you up on that IOU, not even when he forgot his parents were flying in, and he hadn’t made arrangements, which was why he was at the nearby grocery store, grabbing flowers for his mom. He didn’t think about asking you until he saw you there, and at that point he was in a rush to get to the airport.

You were in the baked goods section when Quinn passed by you, on a bee-line to the flower stand inside the supermarket. It seemed like he grabbed the first bouquet he saw and then went right to self checkout.

And then he was gone.

You wondered who he was buying them for. He looked like he was in a rush. Was he in trouble with his girlfriend? You wondered. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, he’d have had her over at least once, right? Not liking the way you felt thinking about it, you decided to check out and head home. It was none of your business anyways.

It wasn’t until you got home that you realized you forgot to buy bread.

“Oh my gosh, you have a crush on your neighbour,” your friend squealed, and you shushed her even though you felt giddy, too. “It’s not like he can hear us!” she giggled.

“I don’t know,” you pulled the hem of your t-shirt over your tucked knees. You sat across from each other on the couch Quinn had helped you with. “I don’t even really know him.”

“Isn’t that what crushes are? Liking what you know about them, letting your imagination fill in the rest,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. You see an idea light the bulb behind her eyes before she grins, “What does he look like? Do you have a photo?”

“No, I don’t have a photo of my neighbour,” you laugh, shaking your head at her, in a ‘why would you even ask that’ type of way.

She shrugs, “Seems like you spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t spend time with him,” you amended the record, “I just happen to see him, like, everywhere. Remember Soho? He was there at the pool hall that night.”

“No way, did you say hi?”

“No, we weren’t like that. We aren't like that.”

“Did he say hi?”

“No, why would he?”

“Did you want him to?” Her smile turned shit-eating, as if she caught you in your feelings red-handed.

“Mmm, not at the time, no,” You said slowly after thinking about it. It was a fun night out with your friends, in fact, you had almost forgotten what he looked like at that point.

“What about now?” she prodded.

“Doesn’t matter now,” you said, hoping to put an end to her digging open the superficial wound in your heart, “I saw him buying flowers this morning.”

“Okay, and…?”

“And doesn’t that mean he has a girlfriend?” You say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your friend rolls her eyes and deadpans when she says your name. “In what world does that mean he has a girlfriend? He could be going to a funeral, or buying them for himself! Don’t step on your own feelings and assume he’s in a relationship just because you saw him buying flowers in a Whole Foods.”

“Didn’t seem like he was going to a funeral,” you try to support your statements, but it's measly and doesn’t sound good enough for you, either.

“Now if you saw him with another girl, it’d be different. But just ‘cause they like wearing rings, doesn’t mean they’re married.” she concluded, and with no rebuttal, she asked again, “So what’s he like?”

The wonderfully giddy femininity of talking about a new-found love filled the air.

You must have been manifesting him with all your thinking, because you had seen him every day this weekend, which was more than you had seen of him in the last three months since he had helped you out. Since you came to terms with your crush on him, he was on your mind way too much for a guy you had barely met.

You had decided not to remain cooped up with your thoughts all day, and were almost to the elevators when you heard the chime; it had just arrived on your floor.

Out stepped an older couple, and behind them, Quinn. He looked a little alarmed to see you, but guided his parents in your direction, or at least, towards his apartment. Thinking you would brush past each other, you smiled politely and pressed yourself against one side of the hall. To your surprise, Quinn stopped them to introduce you.

“She’s my neighbour, like right next door.”

“H-Hi,” you say as brightly as possible, not expecting to meet anyone.

"These are my folks," he said, and you found the pride in his voice incredibly attractive. You had to swallow it back.

“Hi dear, I’m Ellen,” his mom shook your hand warmly, “and this is my husband, Jim.” His dad reached out to do the same.

“Our boy hasn’t been causing you any trouble, has he?” He put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. While it seemed like he was joking, his voice held a certain tone of authority. It felt like if you were to say Quinn stepped a toe out of line he would still be in trouble with his old man somehow.

You laughed it off, “No, not at all. I might be more trouble than him. Quinn’s been a great neighbor, really great.”

“You pay her to say that?” Quinn’s dad nudged him, which made everyone laugh again.

“They’ll be in town visiting for a bit, they’re staying at the JW,” Quinn explained.

“They’re not staying with you?” You asked. The JW wasn’t far, maybe at the end of the next block, but you were pretty sure Quinn had a two bedroom. (You actually had viewed his flat before settling on yours, the corner unit being just outside your budget.)

“That’s what I said!” Quinn’s mom swatted his shoulder playfully, as if to say ‘I told you so.’

“Oh, El, let the boy have his space,” Quinn’s dad took her hand and began to lead her down the hall.

“Sorry about that,” Quinn said quietly to you, hand scratching the back of his head bashfully. He pressed the elevator button for you before following after his parents, his arms wrapping around both their shoulders as they walked down the hall together.

Alone in the elevator, you let out a happy sigh. The interaction filled your heart with joy. It was so wholesome. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. It didn’t seem like you would stop thinking Quinn anytime soon.

Two weeks later, you’re leaving just as he’s coming home from work. You’re dressed for the club, and he looks beat.

No, like literally, beat. A small gash above his eyebrow, held together with maybe five or six stitches. His upper lip is banged up too, still bleeding into the tissue he has wrapped around an ice pack. His bag is on the ground and he's fishing in his pockets for his keys. He’s so tired he’s leaning against the wall.

“Holy shit, Quinn,” you say once you get past the shock, and without thinking, you immediately reach out to him. He winces a little when you touch him, and step back. “Sorry. Here, let me help you,” you say, reaching for his keys and slotting it into the keyhole. “What on earth happened to you?”

Quinn was so fucking tired. They had lost a game they could have won; should have won. He took a high stick with no penalty call, and then ate the wall and had to get stitches. Then at the end of it all he had to sit there and talk to the press about why they lost? And his lip was still fucking bleeding. “I got it,” he muttered, but didn’t even have the energy to fight his keys from you.

“No, you don’t,” you said, grabbing the strap of his duffel bag, and when you couldn’t lift it you pulled it into his apartment. He went straight for his couch, melting into the cushions. “Have you eaten? I’ll be right back,” you said walking out his front door.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, you had returned with a first aid kit and a steaming bowl of what looked like pasta. You took the ice pack out of his hand and set it down.

“Quinn, what happened to you?” You asked, leaning over his slumped frame. With a warm, wet cloth you dabbed at his smashed upper lip. He sucked in the pain with a sharp breath. “Did somebody hurt you? God, your mom is going to be so worried.”

“Don’t tell her,” he said, knowing she probably watched it all happen live.

While he didn’t have the energy to actually, he was laughing in his head. His mom has seen worse things on the ice. He’s seen worse things happen. Yeah, he’s sore all over, but it was just another day at work. Like most things about you, watching you play nurse amused him.

Maybe that’s why he let you.

Maybe it was the way your face filled with concern the moment you saw him.

Maybe it was because it felt nice to be taken care of at the end of a long day.

You came in close, dabbing a cotton swab with ointment onto the wound, and he held his breath for a different reason. You brought your other hand up to hold his face steady.

“Are you cashing in that favour?” You raised your eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood. You handed him the bowl of pasta and began to clean up.

“Sure,” he chuckled, smiling for the first time since he got home. He winced as it stretched his lip. He sat up properly to eat, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said, suddenly hyper aware that you were sitting on his living room floor in one of your skimpier dresses. You tried to adjust yourself as modestly as you could. “I’ll, um, let you rest.”

It was a good thing you left when you did, Quinn thought, because he was starting to think he could get used to this.

A couple days pass and your girlfriends have forgiven you for flaking last weekend, pitying you for being in so deep for a man you hardly knew.

“So, what do you like about him?”

“I don’t know. He’s just such a good guy.” They groaned, like the failure buzzer at a spelling bee.

What was it about him that drew you to him?

He was kind. Despite being more reserved, he was well-mannered and so effortlessly chivalrous. You liked that he had a good relationship with his parents. He had a good sense of humour, and an even better head of hair. It was just the cherry on top that he was so easy on the eyes. One look and anyone would understand why you had a big fat crush on your neighbour Quinn.

Three firm knocks on your door made you jump out of your thoughts. With no idea who it could be, you opened the door.

“Hi,” you said, suddenly short of breath.

“Hey.” You stared at each other for a moment before he averted his gaze, unable to maintain such strong eye contact for too long. “I uh, thought you’d want these back.”

He held a clean bowl and fork between you, the one you gave him pasta in that one night. You took them off his hands. “Took you two days to finish, was it that bad?” you joked.

He laughed, “No, no, it was good, promise. Thanks again. I owe you.” He never did tell you what happened that night, and you decided that it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to. “Would a coffee or something make us even?”

“Right now?”

“Sure, if you’re free.”

“Uh yeah sure, let me just put these away. I’ll be right back.” Though it may have been rude, you didn’t invite him inside.

Otherwise, he would have seen you scream silently on the other side of the door. He would have seen you skip giddily down the hall and drop off the kitchenware on the nearest available surface. You didn’t change, even though it crossed your mind to. You pull a hoodie over your head. This wasn’t a date or anything. Still, you quickly brush your hair, spritz some perfume, and put some lip balm on.

Just two neighbours, getting coffee.

From the coffee shop at the corner to the community park a couple blocks down, Quinn learned a number of things.

He learned about your day to day; you told him about your job, what you liked about it and some things you didn’t.

He learned a bit about the neighborhood you grew up in, and growing up the youngest of three siblings. You told him how you felt meeting his parents, and how it made you miss yours. He liked the way you talked about things, honest to your experience and opinion- he didn't feel like you were sugarcoating your thoughts, or telling tales through rose-coloured glasses.

And while he loved hockey and would never run out of things to say about it, he learned that he enjoyed not talking about it, too. He really liked not being asked about his plan for the next game, about his last game, or his brothers, though he did mention them.

“Two younger brothers? What’s that like?”

“I love ‘em to bits,” he said truthfully, “but they can be two pains in my ass.”

“One for each cheek." You made him laugh.

For a couple hours, he was just himself; a regular guy in a busy city. No C on his chest, no expectations on his shoulders, no team on his back. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way since moving to Vancouver. Meeting new people in the city, they always seemed to know more about him than he knew about them. It was nice to really introduce himself for the first time in a long time.

Alone in his apartment, he smiled to himself. He wanted to feel like this all the time, and it took everything in him not to walk out his door and knock on yours.

Instead, he picked up his phone and found the contact under which he saved your number.

As the city transitioned from winter to spring, the ice that coated your relationship with Quinn melted too.

He texted you often, and you saw him more. He’d invite you on his evening runs (even if you couldn’t keep up) and you’d ask him to morning coffee. All nice, neighbourly things. You showed him your favourite ice cream shop, and told him about the sweetest fruit your coworker brought from a farmers market. He suggested you two go, and a man of his word, the next sunny day you did.

He’d text you photos of things he thought you’d like: a dog in boots on a rainy day; a gacha machine of keychains; the menu of a restaurant he thought you’d like, then make plans to go. He always tried to pay for things, which wasn’t fair to him. You made a decent wage and could afford to pay, so you were always sneaking around him to give the staff your card.

He never talked about his work, and you never really asked. He was pretty open about everything else. You assumed he didn’t want to talk about it. Some days he seemed stressed and you figured it had to do with his job, and you didn’t think bringing it up would make him feel better. Some workplaces were like that, you knew. The further you were away from it the better you felt. Besides, if he wanted to, he would.

You felt that way about other things too. If he wanted to change the status of your relationship, he would.

“You could too, y’know,” your friend was back over at yours having another heart to heart, this time at your kitchen counter with canned cocktails poured out into glasses.

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed. You glanced at your phone, itching to check if he had texted you- your phone was on do not disturb, since you had company, “I like where we’re at though.”

“If you like it, then why are you thinking about it becoming more?”

“I..,” you trailed off, partially in thought and hesitating to say the words on your mind, “I don’t like thinking about him doing the same stuff with someone else.” You cringed, hearing how pathetic it sounds out loud.

“So, you should tell him that,” she said seriously, and you glared at her because she was right. She smiled back because she knew you wouldn’t do it.

Spending time with Quinn had become the highlight of your days, and you realized all too late not to put so much weight on something that was not guaranteed.

“I’m gonna be going home over the summer,” Quinn told you, something he had been putting off, but knew he would have to tell you eventually, “y’know, spend time with the ‘rents.”

“Oh, nice. Say hi to them for me,” was all you said, and if he wasn’t so observant of you he might have missed the way your expression dropped before you smiled, “Will…” your voice faltered, giving you away again,” Will your brothers be there too?”

“Yeah,” he smiled at their mention, “Yeah, they will." He thought about inviting you, he did, but if he could put off Jack and Luke taking the piss out of him in front of you, he would.

"What's summer like in Michigan?" you asked genuinely, and he told you.

He told you about the house on the lake, the pool tournaments, and nights spent drinking around a fire pit. You listened with ears and eyes wide open, and he could see you imagining the picture he painted.

In that moment, he really wanted to take you with him.

Quinn left sometime mid-June, and he texted you every now and then. He did say he barely had to charge his phone during these summer getaways- he tried to stay off it as much as possible. He’d sent you pictures he took of the things he had told you about. He said he would be back sometime in early September. He’d be busy with work when he got back but assured you that you hadn’t seen the last of him.

But, come December, it started to feel like you did.

You would text him, but his replies were short and far in between. He had declined your last invitation to get coffee, and you were too embarrassed to ever ask again, because the only thing worse than getting rejected is getting rejected twice.

The city grew cold, and so did whatever it was you had with Quinn.

“Helloo?” You were on the phone with your friend, and she had been calling your name when you went unresponsive.

“Sorry,” you apologized sheepishly. Her sigh came through heavily over the phone, and you knew she was tired of you being like this. You were getting tired of it, too.

“Why don’t you come out with us tonight?” she suggested, but you knew your friend- she wasn’t asking.

“I don’t know…”

“You haven’t been out with us in a while,” she reasoned, “and we’re not going to a club, so you don’t even have to dress up. You can show up in your pj’s if you wanted to.” +1 point, for being a casual setting.

“Where are you guys going?”

“Roger’s Arena for the hockey game tonight, it’s right by you,” +1 point for being walking distance. “Dana’s dad has season passes and they’re out of town this weekend.” +1 point for being free. “And look, if you don’t like vibe of the seats, Lucas and his friends have a suite. If I get drunk enough we can go,” Lucas was a guy your friend had been sleeping with. “You might like his friends, and there’s free food.” +100 points for free food. “The food is pretty good.”

There was just one thing, “I don’t know anything about hockey, though.”

“Were you even listening? There’s boys and free food- you don’t have to give a damn about the game. I know I don’t. And besides, hockey players are hot.”

Dana’s dad had really good seats. Middle of the arena, second row from back of the first set of seats to the glass, across the rink from both team benches. You could see the whole rink really well. Dana had grown up on hockey, and was excited to be at a game with her girlfriends for once. When you told her you didn’t know the first thing about hockey, she happily explained the game to you. Three 20 minute periods, 15 minute intermissions between each one. The lines are important. You couldn’t remember why.

The arena was packed tonight- which made sense, since it was a home game for the Canucks. Dana was relieved that the team’s name was at least familiar to you. She was here for hockey, your other friend was here for Lucas, and you were here to forget about a certain brown-haired boy.

Both teams had hit the ice to warm up on their respective sides. Because Dana asked, you all had arrived at the game extra early, so you were on your phone for the most part, nursing your drink while the players warmed up and the Canucks interacted with fans young and old.

Blurs of white and blue skated around the arena. You looked up at the jumbotron and choked mid-sip.

“Shit, are you okay?” Your friend reached out and dabbed at the liquid you had spat out on yourself.

There, displayed across the big screen was your next-door neighbor.

Quinn, who hardly texted you in the last six months. Quinn, who had hardly made an effort to see you since coming back from Michigan. Quinn, who had once been the highlight of your days. There was no doubt about it.

Your stomach flipped, and your heart lurched out of your chest when he had skated in front of your section to interact with the people that gathered in front of the glass.

“Oh my god, it’s Quinn Hughes, we have to go,” Dana pulled you up out of your seat. You looked back helplessly at your friend who was buried in her phone, without a doubt texting Lucas. Dana dragged you ever closer, with additional trivia, “He was recently named captain.”

A whirlwind of emotions ran through you each step you took towards him. Anger, because how could he have kept such a big part of his life from you? Frustrated because you felt guilty for being mad that he was probably too busy and tired to spend time with you.

Most of all, you felt a type of relief seeing him in person again. Though you tried not to (you wanted to be cold to him), a soft smile spread across your face.

When Quinn saw you coming down the aisle, he greeted you with a smirk and a wave.

The way he moved across the ice was mesmerizing. Quinn was good, really good. At least, as far as you could tell. Dana raved about him; the arena announcers adored him. The Canucks dominated the ice tonight.

At the end of such a succesful night, he did something that players commonly did, but he had yet to do. While other players threw over their game sticks, he took off his jersey, and grabbing a sharpie from an arena assistant, he signed it and skated over to your section. The people seated up front immediately flocked to him. He spoke to the crowd before tossing the jersey up over the glass, and watched as they played a quick game of telephone to pass it up to you.

You glared at him, what the hell are you doing?

He grinned, and to your heart’s demise, he winked at you.

The arena cameras were not oblivious to the events that transpired in your section, and before you knew it, the jersey was in your lap, and you were pictured on the jumbotron. The arena was deafening as they cheered on your new favorite player. You brought the jersey up to cover your burning face, which gave the camera a good look at what he wrote across the back of the jersey:

Hope you liked your first hockey game.

xx Quinn

Quinn snuck out the back of the arena, de-skating in record time and forgoing a shower in an attempt to catch you on your way home. He’d hear from the coaches and administration about it tomorrow, but there were at least a dozen other guys who could handle the post-game interviews for once. When he saw you standing at the entrance of the alleyway, where he had texted you to meet him, he picked up the pace to meet you. Usually, he’d be feeling drained after a good game like today, but the thought of seeing you filled him with adrenaline.

He had missed you, of course he did, after being away from you for so long. Of course he loved his family, and the lake house, and Michigan. But this summer had been nothing like past lake retreats. Everytime he found himself enjoying something- boating on the lake, roasting marshmallows, pool tournaments- he thought about how much you'd enjoy it, too. How much better things could be, would be if you were there.

Then, coming home, and though he knew it was coming, he didn't realize how much more he was taking on. No wonder Petey never wanted to wear the C. He doesn't regret it, though. He regrets not taking you with him to Michigan. He regrets having to trade morning coffee with you for morning skate. He regrets not knocking on your door every time he came home without seeing you. His heart ached knowing how close you were the entire time, separated by only a few walls, yet it seemed like there were always so many things in the way. His ego, his fear of rejection, his packed schedule. Right now he was closing the distance, and this time he wouldn't let you slip away.

“Couldn’t wait to wear it, huh?” He gave the jersey a tug and when you turned around, he leaned down and kissed you, pulling you closer by the fabric.

Maybe it was the adrenaline running through him.

Maybe it was the way you looked in his jersey under the city lights.

When your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled him even closer, kissed him back even deeper, he knew he should have done so a long time ago.

“I missed you,” you sighed as your lips parted, and it pulled at his heartstrings.

“I’m sorry,” he hugged you, and with two hands firm against his chest, you made space to look at him.

“Sorry you’ve been ghosting me, or sorry you never told me about all of this?” you motioned to the jersey and the arena. You weren't letting him off easy just because he was a good kisser.

“Both? The right answer is both, right?” He gave you a boyish smile and leaned down to kiss you again, to which you couldn’t resist kissing him back, and he smiled because he knew it. “Let me walk you home. Or are you walking me home?” he joked, pulling you towards the street that would lead you both towards the building you called home. You laughed and let him, happy to be in each other’s company.

The Captain of the Canucks Scores On and Off the Ice.

Quinn Hughes has been spotted around downtown Vancouver with what eye witnesses say is the same girl from the viral video after their game in early December against the Anaheim Ducks. After that display, there is no questioning his game. Some fans have taken to calling her ‘Jersey Girl,’ since Hughes allegedly asked her out by giving her his jersey.

Jersey Girl has also 'soft launched' on Hughes' social media. Sweet and suggestive pictures of Jersey Girl waking up in the morning were deleted from his official Instagram story not long after it was posted, but long enough for fast fans to clip and repost.

Hughes has always been a mystery man, so these teasers of his private life just drive the fans insane. There's a reason he's quickly become a fan favourite.

A source has told E!ntertainment Online that Jersey Girl appears to frequently go home with Hughes which begs the question: Are they living together? Just how long has he been keeping this a secret?

Just goes to show kids, you may have a chance at a relationship with your heroes.

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