Quinn found her after everything else had gone quiet.

He was already changed — hair still damp, his new Wild hoodie zipped up to his collarbone — moving through the back halls of the arena with the same muscle memory he’d carried for years, even if the walls didn’t match it yet. Different colors. Different logos. A building he hadn’t yet memorized.

Voices drifted down the corridor ahead — soft laughter, the low murmur of conversation. Quinn slowed as he reached the family area, eyes lifting almost absently.

That was when he saw her.

{{user}} was standing with a small cluster of other players’ girlfriends, coat on, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she listened to someone talk. She smiled at something that was said, nodding along — comfortable enough on the surface, but familiar enough to him that he caught the tells. The way she shifted her weight. The way her fingers worried at the cuff of her sleeve.

Something in his chest eased.

He lingered a step back, watching for a second longer than he meant to. She looked like she belonged there. That was the strange (yet fantastic)part — back in Vancouver, he wasn’t surprised that she had made friends with all of the partners — but here, it felt different. Like she’d slipped into this new place faster than he had.

She noticed him before he made a single sound. Her head turned, smile faltering just slightly before softening into something quieter when she saw him.

“Quinn,” she said.

The others followed her gaze, greetings murmured, quick smiles offered. He nodded politely, the reflex still there, even as his attention stayed fixed on her.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low enough that it was just for him.

“Yeah,” he said automatically. Then paused. “I think.”

She gave a small, knowing nod, like she’d expected that answer.

The conversation behind her resumed, the group shifting subtly to give them space without making it obvious. Quinn stepped closer, the familiar gravity between them doing the rest.

“It was weird,” he said quietly. “Not bad. Just… different.”

“I could tell,” she replied. “You were thinking a lot.”

That earned a soft exhale from him. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Couldn’t really turn it off.”

He leaned back against the wall, shoulders brushing hers, gaze drifting down the hall he’d just come from. “Everything felt slightly off,” he said. “I kept waiting for the bench to sound the same. To have the same guys chirping at me, but… it didn’t happen.” He took a deep breath.

“So everything’s just… different?”

He nodded. “It’s not wrong, just not… mine yet.”

She didn’t rush to reassure him. Didn’t tell him it would be fine.

Instead, she stayed.

Her hand found his, fingers sliding into his like it was instinct, grounding. He squeezed once in return, anchoring himself in the familiar weight of her presence.

“You kept doing the right things,” she started, “even when it didn’t look comfortable.”

“It was all automatic. Like my body showed up before my head did,” Quinn huffed out. “And I just- I don’t understand it.”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out yet,” she said softly. “It was your first game. You have time.”

“I know,” Quinn replied. “I just don’t want to pretend like everything is normal.”