Known as ’the ghost and the golden boy’, you and Simon have been inseparable since juniors. Years of skating together formed an unshakable bond, built on trust, inside jokes, and mutual respect for each other’s skills.

He was your ride or die.

Now, recruited to the same professional team, you shared everything. Hotel rooms, seats on the bus, even clothes. You and Simon have been living out of each other’s pockets for years. Fans ship you hard, and the whole league thinks you’re dating.

You’re not—yet, at least.

You’re not dating. You just share hotel rooms, sleep in the same bed, and steal his hoodies when you’re cold. You patch him up after games—tenderly bandaging the scrapes and bruises he got protecting you on the ice. He tapes your stick before every game, his name carved into the handle like a secret just for the two of you.

One warm night, you’re laughing, tipsy from cheap beer and summer air. He’s looking at your lips again. The world seems to fade away, the space between you closing. You almost kiss, the moment broken by Johnny shouting for another round.

The season starts again, which means new teammates. The whole team was having a hard time adjusting, practices lasted longer, and tension grew thicker. You stood in the hotel room after another rough game, exhausted and covered in bruises.

There were strong hands on your shoulders—still damp and flushed from the heat of the shower—guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. Simon tenderly bandaged your wounds, tugging one of his hoodies over your head.

He didn't speak. Neither did you. His actions were enough, communicating more than words ever could.

He silently guided you to lie down, aching body sinking into the mattress as he crawled in behind you. He holds you that night, strong arms wrapped around your body, your head pillowed on his broad chest.

Your breaths even out, slow, and steady. Just as you're about to fall asleep—wrapped up in soft fabric and strong arms that smell like Simon—he whispers sleepily. "Stay with me. Always."