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Four fucking hours. That’s the amount of time Garrett has to survive in this overcrowded bus back to Boston from Orono.
They were supposed to spend the night in a hotel, but it seems like this trip is cursed— first, Hannah being forced to stay over at her shift from Malone’s because Anya got sick and didn’t show.
The stark lack of his girlfriend, and the overwhelming presence of his father at a game he should’ve never been attending, a full state away without any warning. The stress of seeing the methodical side to side motion of his father’s face, and the tight, downward tending line setting a blaze under his skin and non stop buzzing in his ears.
And from there— he got his shit rocked. By time they’d all managed a fast tango with athletes foot in the guest showers at Maine U, Logan had already made a passing comment about how beat up he was.
Logan didn’t lie— and the mirror got a view of a strokes of brown, red, and blue that he’s not sure Van Gogh himself could reconcile with.
And now? The damn hotel has termites… how do they know, you ask? The goddamn ceiling collapsed as the bus pulled into the drive. They’d taken a vote— hand up to find a new hotel, or bite the bullet and drive back to Briar to arrive home just before one am.
It was almost unanimous— and for the first time in a shitty, awful, no good night Garrett finds himself pleased that he’ll at least be able to find his girlfriend— hopefully curled up in his sheets like she prefers to be when Allie’s out of town for the weekend.
For now, he sits with his head rested against the worn grey headrest beneath his curls— letting his eyes slip shut as he tries to find whatever inner peace remains in his still boiling over blood.
His phone buzzes against his thigh, and he fears if he opens his eyes they’ll fall out of his head from exhaustion— so he just continues to listen as the dulcet sounds of Hannah’s playlist fills his ears.
He’s not sure how long has passed— only sure that he hasn’t fallen asleep during it at all when Logan gives his shoulder a soft shove, nudging him awake.
Garrett’s open slowly, and then all at once— blinking blearily as his phone gets shoved into his hand. It’s buzzing, and when he brings himself to focus on more than how exhausted he feels he realizes Hannah’s familiar ring tone plays in the AirPod tucked in his ears.
“Hannah’s calling.” Logan says, “your phone dropped beneath my seat a while ago, but I figured you weren’t needing it anytime soon, sleeping beauty.”
“What time is it?” He feels like he’s talking underwater, tripping over his words like it’s syrup trying to slip past his lips.
“Almost one. We don’t have much left of the drive left,” he replies, gaze falling on Garrett’s still vibrating phone. “Are you gonna get that or?”
“Oh.” Garrett mumbles dumbly, “Wellsy.”
He slides his finger over the lock screen, “Garrett?”
“Hey, Wellsy.” Garrett’s murmurs in reply, words coming out as more of a sigh— he lets his eyes slip back to a close. “What’s up?”
“Hey.” She breathes, “sorry. I got off work and fell asleep. How was your game?”
“Don’t apologize for that.” He replies, a few seconds pass as he wets his lips. “It was okay, we won.”
He doesn’t mention the surprise visit from his father, doesn’t mention anything that might make her worry.
“Jules said that you guys are headed back tonight?” Garrett nods in reply, his sleep muddled brain barely processing that she can’t see him. “Is everything okay?”
He nods again, “Garrett?”
“Hm?”
She laughs softly, and it’s enough to pull him back to himself. “Are you awake over there, G?”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He rests the phone on his thigh, hands coming up to press so hard against his closed eyelids he sees colours for a minute.
“Did I wake you up?” She asks after the pause, “I got a picture from the boys of you knocked out a couple hours ago.”
His phone buzzes again on his lap, and this time he picks up his phone struggling to focus his eyes on the picture with the light from the screen attempting to blind him.
“Knocked out” is a kind way of putting it— in the picture, Dean and Logan are leaned over from their respective seats both duck lipped and peaced up next to Graham. He takes a glance at himself, against his better judgment.
His head that— he remembers having leaned against the seat, is instead pressed half against the window, cheek against the back rest and mouth wide open. One knee bent against the back rest, and the other flat on the floor. If he squints, he can see the phone he must’ve dropped creeping its way under Logan’s seat.
Graham looks dead, if he’s being honest.
“Oh, God.” He mumbles, more to himself than anything as he tries to make sense of the slew of texts that follow roasting him. “Jesus.”
The chuckle that leaves her lips grounds him again, “someone was getting their beauty sleep.”
“Anything but beauty sleep, Wellsy.” He lets out a sigh, clicking his screen off. “How’s your night going?”
“I’m good. Just had the nap of my life in your bed.” A smile finds its way onto his lips. “Do you need me to pick you guys up?”
“No, Dean drove—“ he sends a glance back at the seat to find Dean’s phone lighting up his face as he without a doubt continues his candy crush streak like the little old mother of eight he is on the inside. “And he’s wide awake. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
“Half an hour,” she agrees, and if he thinks about it he can picture her nod. There’s rustling, her finding a new comfortable position in his sheets. “I’ll see you then.”
“Bye, Wellsy.”
“Bye, G.”
He wonders distantly if he’ll he able to fall back asleep for the time left in the ride. There’s almost no use in trying, he decides.
He was wrong, it was too easy and now his friends have pictures of him asleep not only on the bus, but in the back of Dean’s car with his head rested on Tucker’s shoulder.
He’s mortified when they shake him awake— but apparently not enough to keep him from wobbling on his feet while he waits to free his bag from the pile in the car while standing on the driveway of the hockey house.
“Are you good, G?” Logan’s hand finds his shoulder as he kicks of his shoes at the door. “You look dead on your feet, brother.”
“I’m good.” Garrett replies, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes again trying to force himself back to the land of the living. “Just beat.”
Logan eyed him, before finally nodding in acceptance at the answer given to him, “Get some rest, man.”
Garret nods, a yawn breaking through so hard it cracks his jaw as he begins his trek up the stairs to his room.
Inside, he finds his girlfriend lying under his sheets with When Harry Met Sally playing on her laptop in the dark. She glances his easy when she hears the door open, lips splitting with a warm smile when he makes eye contact, “good morning, sleepyhead.”
“I’m dying.” Garrett announces dramatically, dropping his bag on the floor.
Hannah laughs quietly, eyes following his movements as he disappears into the en suite bathroom. His tooth brush turns on, and a few moments later the tell tale sound of his retainers settling into their place on his perfect teeth.
He reappears, jacket now off— no doubt thrown in his hamper. The white t-shirt and green flannel pants he came in wearing still adorning his frame as he flips off the lights and flops down next to her in bed.
“I’m fucking dying, Wellsy.” He repeats, voice muffled by the pillows. “Save me.”
He’s delirious, she decides, “Oh no. Do you need CPR?”
A beat of silence— she’s almost sure he’s fallen asleep. But then he turns his head enough to just barely expose his left eye, the bridge of his nose, and his lips. He puckers them, peeking one chestnut eye open when she doesn’t immediately kiss him.
“Yes. Dying. CPR.”
She laughs, pressing her lips to hers in brevity before coming a hand through his hair, “oh no. My poor baby.”
His lips turn into a smile, eyes falling closed again as her hands keep carding through his curls. He moans at the contact, hand finding her wrist and running his thumb along her skin, “Wellsy, you gotta stop doing that I’m barely awake as it is. It’s gonna be lights out if you don’t.”
She smiles at him then, eyes softening as his thumb continues the comforting up and down motion along her skin. “I don’t mind.”
He laughs, a half snort leaving his lips as he throws and arm around her, pulling her into him until he can smell his own shampoo on her hair— her own perfume and laundry detergent breaking through in waves.
She wiggles a hand free, closing her laptop and setting it aside before melting back into his arms.
“Comfy?” It’s barely intelligible at this point, his warm breaths fanning the back of her necks as they grow slower and deeper with each passing seconds.
“Very.”
A contended sigh slips through his lips, and before long his quiet breaths have turned into soft snuffles she’s only ever had the privilege of hearing a handful of times.
It turns out that the nap was a horrible idea, but she refuses to move an inch— horrified to wake him up from the deep throes of sleep that her boyfriend has been caught in.
Since he’d fallen asleep, for the first time in their relationship she can admit that she is genuinely witnessing history in the making. No fitful stirring, not a single adjustment— just one heavy, sleep laden arm draped over her waist.
His nose is still nuzzled against the nape of her neck, warm air fanning her skin in a way that makes light erupt in her stomach.
The hand attached to the bicep beneath her head still intertwined with her own, limp with sleep. She squeezes it once, sucking in a deep breath, and pressing a kiss to the bicep beneath her.
Garrett’s inhale breaks off into a snuffle— a noise all too familiar to the one he makes before returning to awareness.
He mumbles something against her skin, lips pressing to her shoulder before he adjusts to settle his cheek upon her own— lips beside her ear.
“What?” Her soft susurration breaks through the late night air.
His left arm squeezes tighter, an inhale— and the feeling of his brows furrowing against the skin of her cheek. She wonders if it’s troubling him.
“I love you.”
Her heart feels like it’s going to fall out of her butthole, and also like she’s going to vomit.
Garrett Graham loves her.
“What?”
The same motions— tightening, furrowing.
“I love you, Wellsy.”
She turns then, startled, angling just so she can see his face. He’s still asleep, face lax and jaw slack— and as if to sell it, a snore tumbles out of his lips.
Dear Diary, Hannah thinks to herself, when he’s exhausted he talks in his sleep… and snores???
The thoughts are cut off when his eyebrows come together once more, the arm wedged beneath her head finding her back and he pulls her into his chest, his cheek settling against her head. He goes limp once more, breaths returning to what they were before.
“Oh, Garrett,” she mumbles, voice muffled by his chest as she tries to fit air in her lungs once more. “I love you too.”
She wakes up in the same position they’d fallen asleep in— only now, Garrett’s body positioned so she can see his face once more.
As if sending her return to the land of the living, his nose scrunched and his deep, controlled breaths meld into a more staccato sound. The hand that had found her waist in the night comes to his eyes as he turns his head, squinting at the light with a groan as he tries to return to himself.
“Good Morning, Sunshine.” She teases, though it sounds warmer than she had meant for it to.
“Holy fuck,” he grumbles, voice raspy and still have a sleep. “Where am I? When am I?”
He squints, eyes softening when they land on Hannah, “hi pretty girl.”
His lips find her forehead, tucking a messy strand away from her eyes as the light illuminates his cerulean irises.
“Hi, G.”
He smiles, pulling her into him. They lie like that for a while, letting the silence lapse between them as the sun coats them in her golden rays.
The words he’d uttered last night float around her head, hammering behind her eyes and around and around like a carousel she did not ask to ride.
“Do you love me?” She blurts, not thinking better of herself. His once peaceful frame stiffens, pulling back to look her in the eyes.
He looks her over, eyes startled as those stupid warm brown irises flutter back and forth between her own eyes.
“I—“ his eyebrows come together. “Did I say something last night?”
It’s not a no— not a denial.
“In your sleep.”
Impossibly, his brows grow closer.
Her heart sinks in the silence, and she sits in silent horror as she waits for the sentence she anticipates next.
A denial, an apology— or worse, avoidance.
“Yeah.” He nods, pressing his lips into a line and letting his eyes slip to a shut. “Yeah. I do.”
She gawks, trying to form a sentence but he beats her to the punch. “I’m so sorry— I didn’t meant to— I didn’t want you to find out like that. I wasn’t even there to experience it.”
He reopens his eyes, returning his gaze to hers with a look so full or remorse and guilt you wouldn’t ever know he’d just admitted his love for her.
“What?” She chokes, in all of her glory. “I didn’t know— I didn’t think. I was like only 60% sure that it even happened and I—“
His lips pull into a half smile— the one she’s grown to know so well, “I love you, Wellsy.”
She swallows hard, the flicker of pain behind his eyes not lost on her. He doesn’t know she loves him too.
The words break free before she can think of anything else, “I love you too.”
The flicker turns to light. He grins, hands finding her cheeks, drawing her towards him.
“Garrett! I haven’t brushed my teeth—“
“Wellsy,” the lisp of his retainer is almost enough to make her laugh. “I don’t care. Just kiss me.”