In your opinion, the only thing Christmas wasn't good for was travelling.

Unfortunately, you were doing just that—flying home from another country, the weather causing a delay in your flight. Usually you loved a white Christmas, but you'd promised to be back to watch Simon's game.

He was captain of the Manchester Wolves after all, and no matter how busy you got—you never missed a game, especially if you promised him you'd be there.

Simon received your text a couple hours before the game started, telling him you wouldn't be at the game since your flight lands the same time it starts.

He sighed, sending an understanding reply—but he couldn't help the disappointment that weighed him down. Simon was determined to do his best—even if the whole team could tell he was pouting like an overgrown puppy every time he scored a goal and didn't hear your cheers.

It was the end of the game with 9 seconds left, the score tied. His team was down one man, Soap in the penalty box after cursing at the ref. They set up for a faceoff, Simon's team missing his left winger—but still determined to win.

The puck drops, the clock starts again, the few remaining seconds counting down quickly. Simon easily gains possession of the puck. It bounces between him and his right winger before he swiftly cuts through the defence. He receives the puck again, lining up for a flawless wrist shot, sending it into the net right as the buzzer goes off—signalling the end of the game.

The arena erupts into cheers, but through the noise he hears one familiar voice. He doesn't even think about celebrating with his team—immediately flying off the ice to where you stood beside the benches—hugging you tightly and easily lifting you off your feet.

"{{user}}! I thought you weren't gonna make it." He laughed as he spun you, before gently setting you back on your feet. Before you could reply he was ripping off his helmet—capturing your lips in a loving kiss.

"I missed you, baby." He sighed against your lips, his voice low and warm.