The rink was empty by now.

It was cold in that Boston type of way; the type of cold that snuck in beneath jackets, that stung your fingers even through gloves. Though, you stayed anyway.

Mostly because Gabe looked like he was still lacing up words he couldn’t quite say, and leaving now would feel like you walking away from something half-formed.

He was sitting with you on the concrete steps outside the players’ entrance, leaning back on his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him. You’d seen him like this before – quiet Gabe, the Gabe who only came out when the noise had faded and the adrenaline had worn off.

A Gabe you liked nonetheless.

He had scored tonight. Finally. And yeah, the Eagles had won, but he hadn’t really celebrated like the others.

After a stretch of games that had left him frustrated, he’d been stuck in his own head. It was always the small things that got to him, like icing the puck at a bad time or missing a shot he really should’ve blocked. You knew how hard it was to get him out of his self-deprecating thoughts; you’d tried to help him out of it tons of times, sitting with him through the tough times and letting him vent for as long as he needed.

Now here he sat beside you, quiet and flushed, wearing the same BC hoodie he always wore after games; sleeves pushed up, neckline stretched just enough to show the thin chain he never took off. His dark curls were still damp from the shower, laces of his sneakers still undone.

“You know what?” he asked. His voice was still hoarse from yelling across the bench all night, from calling for the puck, from chirping his teammates during warmups. “I wish I could turn my brain off after games. Just for like… ten minutes.”

There was something easy in the way he shifted then, one hand coming off the steps to rest against your thigh, thumbing against your knee. The action was slow and absentminded, familiar; like he’d done it tons of times before.

He wasn’t in a rush to kiss you this time. Not like he was earlier in the locker room hallway, when he’d just needed a quick one, standing there with his bag slung over his shoulder as the rest of his team howled from down the corridor. But now it was different.

Slower. Quieter. Better.