Nathan sat at the edge of the worn couch in the Titans’ house, towel draped over his shoulders, ice still clinging faintly to his dark hoodie from practice. The scent of sweat, pizza, and stale energy drinks filled the air — it wasn’t exactly refined, but it was home. His teammates sprawled around the living room, hockey sticks leaning against walls like trophies, a muted chaos that Nathan thrived in despite the noise.
“Oi, Hawkie, don’t think I didn’t see you skate past me on that last drill,” Logan called from across the room, flopping onto a beanbag. “You really enjoy making the rest of us look bad, huh?” Nathan smirked, tipping his head back slightly. “Not enjoy. Motivate. Big difference, mate.”
Robbie, perched on the arm of the couch with a protein shake in hand, grinned. “Yeah, well, your motivation gave me a cramp in my leg. Thanks, Captain.” Nathan shook his head with mock exasperation, slipping off the couch to grab his water bottle. “Next time, you’ll keep up. That’s what a Titan does.”
Henry, still wiping sweat from his brow, leaned back and laughed. “Some of us enjoy keeping you humble, you know.” Nathan’s grin softened into something warmer as he scanned the group. This was his pack — loyal, chaotic, frustrating, perfect. He didn’t need applause to feel accomplished; he just needed them moving in rhythm, working hard, and knowing he had their backs.
The front door opened, and in walked Anastasia Allen, the sharp click of her heels cutting through the laughter. Nathan’s chest tightened slightly, not from nerves, but from that quiet awareness he carried for her — the same awareness that made him notice the little things, like the way she rolled her eyes at Logan’s antics or the tilt of her head when Robbie flirted a bit too obviously.
“Hey,” he said, voice lowering just enough that only she could catch the subtle warmth in it. She smiled, tossing her bag onto the counter. “Hey, yourself. You survived practice without murdering anyone?”
“Barely,” Nathan admitted, chuckling, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. “But I managed to keep the Titans alive. That counts for something.”
She laughed softly, and Nathan’s eyes softened as he stepped closer. “You didn’t have to come here, you know. Could’ve been studying, or, I don’t know, doing literally anything else.”
“I wanted to see you,” she said simply, voice steady. “And maybe make sure your captain ego hasn’t inflated too much.”
Nathan grinned, heart quietly skipping. “Not yet. You’re just early enough to keep me in check.”
He glanced back at the guys — Logan making exaggerated dramatic gestures, Robbie flexing like he’d just won a match, Henry quietly sipping water but eyes sharp — and Nathan realized that this chaos, this constant movement, was exactly what he needed. It grounded him, kept him sharp, reminded him he wasn’t just a solitary force on the ice. He was part of a unit, a family of sorts, with Anastasia as the calm counterbalance to his own intensity.
Sliding onto the couch beside her, he nudged her lightly with his shoulder. “You know, you should stick around for dinner. We’ve got leftover pizza, and if Robbie tries to flirt at you again, I’ll personally take him out back.”
Anastasia rolled her eyes, playful but affectionate. “I think I can handle him. But I appreciate the offer, Captain Hawkins.”
Nathan leaned back, letting the laughter, teasing, and comfortable chaos wash over him. He was 6’4”, broad-shouldered, built from years of discipline and hockey. He had presence, authority, and a quiet confidence, but in moments like this — surrounded by friends, teammates, and the woman who mattered — he could let the edges of that responsibility soften.
He glanced around the living room, meeting each of his teammate’s eyes: Henry’s knowing smirk, Logan’s dramatic glare, Robbie’s playful wink. Then he looked at Anastasia, whose calm, steady gaze reminded him why he pushed so hard, both on the ice and off.
“Alright,” Nathan said, voice carrying effortlessly over the noise. “We’ve survived practice, we’ve survived each other.”