Anonymous request: So, seeing as we’re both from Canada, I figured that you might be willing to write something where Bill’s girlfriend is Canadian & she goes to Sweden with him for the first time (maybe her first impression when they arrive in Stockholm is: ‘well, the cold weather’s definitely familiar to me’). Anyway, he takes her on a series of mini dates which revolve around sightseeing/relaxation; then, for the last one, he takes her on a very fancy dinner & proposes.
Disclaimer: Sorry in advance if you aren’t Canadian! Just close your eyes and picture yourself surrounded by a bunch of igloos and majestic moose, sipping on a large double-double coffee with two creams that you paid for in loonies, with a bowl of steaming poutine sitting next to you! 🍁🇨🇦💙
It starts off as a playful conversation between two long-term lovers. You’re seated face-to-face, the only source of light in the darkened room emanating from varying degrees of melting candles. “If you could have anything for Christmas this year, what would it be?” Bill’s arm is slung over the back of your wooden chair, his other hand resting loosely around the stem of a white wine glass.
You push the almost empty plate of food out of your way and steeple your hands under your chin. “This is a loaded question.”
Bill shakes his head grinning, he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a hearty sip. “Its not, because I have a feeling I know exactly what you’d like. I’d like to hear you say it.”
You take a sip of your own wine, savoring the slightly bitter tannin against your tongue and set the glass down with a resounding clank against the marble tabletop. “I’d like to travel to Sweden with you. More specifically, Stockholm. You’ve been home to Canada with me a few times. You’ve met my family and vice versa, but it’s just… time.”
Bill tips the last of the wine into his open mouth, his gaze lingering on yours. “Well,” He beams brightly and produces two folded sheets of paper from his denim pocket. “I can’t even begin to fathom how much more beautiful Stockholm will be with you in it.”
so @yoursummerfrost (and tech? @
blithelybonny ) prompted some jackshits. I have a SECOND drabble to give y’all tomorrow. But for now, please enjoy a self indulgent scene from my “a song you keep whispering to my heart” verse aka the one where soulmates get songs the other sings stuck in their head and they all find their way home eventually.
It’s just another kegster. Jack doesn’t really want to be here, the thought of partying is still to raw in his mind. But Shitty was excited about the 80s theme, and there’s inexplicably something that he’s drawn to about Shitty. Jack can’t tell if it’s the zeal he has toward everything or the feeling that as long as he sticks by Shitty’s side, he doesn’t feel so lonely.
Jack puts on his dad’s old Habs jersey and tries not to feel insecure about walking into the Haus by himself. He finds Shitty grinding in between a couple of people. Something churns in the pit of his gut. Something like jealousy? Or maybe it was just dread that Shitty would meet more interesting people as college went on, and forget all about Jack. He looks happy getting a hickey from a guy while Let’s Dance blares throughout the first floor. So Jack tries to be happy for him.
Suddenly, Jack feels like the chubby morose kid he remembers being. The air is too hot and thin, and all he can really think about is how none of the other guys want him here. Maybe Johnson, but that’s a big if. Part of him ticks down the hours until he inevitably quits hockey for good.
He grabs punch, not ungodly tub juice, from the front porch and downs it a little too quickly. He knows nothing will happen if he drinks another three or four cups. He does it for the momentary thrill, for remembering what it feels like to pretend to be in control. He grimaces after his second cup. It’s not good punch, even as far koolaid standards go.
Jack sighs, dumping the rest over the porch railing into a bush. It’s a miracle anything around the property is even relatively alive, hockey players included. The entire haus is a disaster zone waiting to collapse on itself. He stares after the bushes a little too long. At least stalling will make it less awkward when he finally musters up the courage to leave.
A hand on his waist jerks him out of his musings. He cocks his head over his shoulder. Shitty’s saying something—
“out here all by yourself?” Jack manages to hear him say.
He blinks owlishly, trying to process what Shits is saying.
“Oh, uh, nothing,” he says while trying to clear his throat casually. Smooth, he chirps himself internally.
Shitty gives him an odd look. But instead of pressing like he tends to do, Shitty nods in the direction of the roof. “Come up with me?”
Jack nods, following Shitty back inside. Truth be told, Johnson can’t be that bad. He always lets Jack and Shitty sneak onto the roof from Marsh’s room when everything gets too crazy. He even promised to take the brunt of the blame if they ever get caught.
They slip past the fake police tape with ease. Shitty grabs the spare room key from on top of Johnson’s door. Sneaking into the reading roof is exhilarating. It reminds Jack of being sixteen and happy, carefree. Back when the only thing that made sense was how fast Kent’s hands could fix their mutually rumbled hair.