Work Text:
Logan had left the comfort of your dormitory with the promise of coming right back after practice to pick you up for a planned evening out.
About forty minutes before your agreed time to meet, your phone buzzes on your desk. Your heart flutters in anticipation.
my no. 22
Hey baby
Bad news, I can’t make it to dinner. Coach wants us to train overtime today
Ik we’ve been looking forward to this for so long
I’m really sorry
I’ll make it up to you
You blink at the sight of his messages coming through, a pit of disappointment opening up in your stomach, widening by the second.
It takes you three minutes to read them over and over again and two minutes to respond.
angel
oh ok
i’ll see you when you get here afterwards then
Take care and good luck
Immediately after your last message, an incoming call from the man of the hour (and your every hour after that) pops up. You answer after the third ring.
There’s the usual distant chatter in the background; he wastes no time to point out the obvious. “You’re upset.”
“I’m not.” You are.
“You signed your ‘OK’ with one K instead of two.” His voice is rugged and you can only imagine it’s from the drills and distress.
“Typo.”
“You didn’t add any emojis.”
You shrugged even if he couldn’t see you. “Not in the mood to.”
“Your ‘take’ started with a capital T.”
“Oh. Didn’t notice.”
“Baby.”
“John.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m obligated to ask: don’t do what?”
“Shut me out.” He sounds upset; you can only imagine him running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “Dance around the fact that you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” you murmur into the microphone, phone held up to your ear as you carefully eye yourself in the reflection of the mirror.
You had initially felt good in the outfit you came up with, but now you’re twisting and looking at yourself dubiously, head spiraling with all the negativity in the world.
“I’m… processing.”
While your wording is too diplomatic for his liking, he’ll take what he can get. “Okay. Walk me through it.”
You both had agreed in the past that no matter how stupid the other felt talking about their feelings, it was better than saying nothing at all and letting unspoken feelings build up to eventually burst.
Still, you couldn’t help how silly you felt sometimes when attempting to verbalize your emotions out of thin air instead of aggressively writing it on your journal as if it had done you wrong.
“I got dressed up. I got ready with you in mind,” it comes out quiet, but it’s enough to crack Logan’s heart in two. Your eyes trail away from the mirror and space out on one of the dozen photo booth strips you took with Logan on your wall. Your heart skips a beat at the sight.
The silence that he leaves open is an indicator for you to continue on.
“Not—not that I’m guilt tripping you, of course. I feel like we would’ve had a lot of fun… It’s been a while since our last night out. I also just felt and looked good and I thought you’d appreciate it, too. But c'est la vie, y’know?”
Logan sighs for the nth time during the duration of your call, clearly frustrated with himself and the circumstances. “I really would’ve loved to see you all dressed up and I agree we would have had fun, too. I’m sorry.”
You let out a noise that seems to be a light laugh. On the other end of the line, Logan straightens up at the sound to gauge what kind it was.
Out of nowhere and without any context aside from Logan’s composure, Dean skates by and yells out, “whipped!”
You vaguely hear the disembodied yell through the phone earpiece and laugh again. He discerns it as vulnerable.
“You know, me from eight months ago wouldn’t believe if I said all this.”
“Wouldn’t believe what?”
“How much I care about a man’s opinion.” You share with a nearly teasing lilt in your voice. Half a beat passes before you add, “How much I care about a man at all. A hockey player at that.”
He chuckles, a comforting warmth spreading throughout his entire body. “Me from eight months ago wouldn’t have believed that I just disappointed you after pining over you for so long.”
The humor drops again, you shake your head forgetting he can’t see you, and whisper back to him as if it were a secret. “It’s not exactly your fault.”
“Logan from months ago would have definitely decked me if he could. I deserve it,” Your boyfriend smiles again when he hears you chuckle again.
“But, I’m still sorry. I mean it.”
“I know you do. Thank you.”
“You take any photos of yourself in the outfit?”
“‘Course I did. You know I love a good pre-outing photo shoot.” Somewhere along the call, you hadn't even realized the void of despair in your stomach had closed.
He groans, imagining what he missed out on. “I cannot believe I have to settle seeing photos instead of the actual thing.”
“Hockey’s important, my love.”
“But so are you.”
Heat sneaks up your to face unwillingly. Before you could respond teasingly, a different disembodied yells out to resume practice.
You take that as a sign to wrap up the call before he tangents to delay the inevitable. “Hey. It’s fine, we’re fine. Okay? This is just one of many days, we can always reschedule.”
You can hear him let a breath out, finding his patience in your comfort to get through a long evening of droning drills. He speedruns his goodbye with a long, rushed string of words.
“Yeah. Okay. Send the photos, I’ll make it up to you later. I promise, and I mean it this time. I love you.”
“I love you, too. See ya.”
When the call ends, Logan already has your direct message between one another opened, anticipating your photos. However, you already beat him to it with a stack of three media: a shot of your reflection in the mirror, a video equivalent of it, and a cute selfie.
my no. 22
Oh my god
Baby you look divine
I hate myself, I hate it here
The next two hours are going to be the longest hours of my fucking life
I miss you already
angel
dramatic much?
my no. 22
Only for you
I love you
angel
stop using your phonee
...i love you too