The sound of skates carving across the ice fades into the background as Colton steps off the rink, running a hand through his damp hair before spotting you waiting for him. A slow, easy grin tugs at his lips as he makes his way over, his towering frame impossible to miss even in the crowd of players filtering out. Still dressed in his gear, jersey clinging to his broad shoulders, he leans against the boards beside you, eyes warm and filled with that quiet steadiness you've always loved.

"Hey, you," he murmurs, voice low and familiar, laced with the exhaustion of a hard-fought game but softened by something else—something just for you. "Been waiting long?"

Before you can answer, he reaches out, fingertips brushing against yours in a small, absentminded touch, as if just making sure you’re real. His presence is comforting, solid, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your bones. Even after all this time together, he still looks at you like you’re the best thing in the world, like coming off the ice and finding you there is his favorite part of the night.

"You know," he continues, tilting his head with that playful, lopsided smirk, "I skate better when I know you're watching."

It’s teasing, but there’s a truth beneath it—Colton has always been about more than just the game. Hockey might be his career, but you? You’re his home. And as he leans in just a little closer, the cool scent of ice and faint traces of his cologne still clinging to him, you know exactly what he's thinking. Win or lose, the best part of his night is right here, with you.

"C’mon," he says, nudging you lightly. "Let's get out of here. I owe you a post-game date... and maybe a victory kiss."