Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Maria Villanueva

Additional Tags:

Secret Relationship, Getting Back Together, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Canon Compliant, Sort Of, it's the between of the breakup and the ice kiss, 5+1 Things

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-09 Words: 12,584 Chapters: 1/1

blueberry smoothie, no banana

Summary

“Does your heart beat for Scott?”

Kip doesn’t hesitate. He’s on fire today. Number one Blue Moon over Brooklyn maker and number one liar. “No.”

There’s a pause where Kip thinks he might have gotten away relatively scot-free, no pun intended, but then, Maria gets closer, narrowing her eyes at him in interrogation. “Are you sure?”

“I feel like you’re five minutes out from counting my pulse.”

Something sparkles in her eyes, and it makes Kip laugh for the first time all day. “That’s not a bad idea. How much does your heart rate increase when Scott walks in?” She places a hand over her own chest, making her hand thump. “Boom, boom, boom.” Her voice drops to a flat tone. “Oh no, he broke the scale.”

Kip slides another strawberry over. “Not funny, Maria.”
---------
Or: five times, post breakup that scott visits straw + berry for a smoothie + the one time he doesn't

Notes

I wrote this in like four days. It was on a complete whim, and I had the best time investing in this world. It’s meant to slot in between their “breakup” and the ice kiss. I think it fits pretty well for the most part, but if there are any things that don’t, just overlook them. I’m not a girl who listens to timelines for her fanfics. I hope you enjoy!!! And you can probably tell, but I had a blast writing Maria in this. Lmao she’s the best.

It all starts on one very tragic shift, just a couple of weeks after they’d slammed a pause on things, a morning rush behind him, and a faulty blender threatening to break his sanity in front of him.

Well. If you could even call whatever it was a pause. Kip might be more inclined to call it the worst night of his fucking life. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what you’d call it, and he didn’t think Scott was either. What he does know is that neither of them had planned for it, because if they had, it wouldn’t have been so bland. A glass slid across the counter, a jacket shrugged back on, and a muttered assurance: yeah, I’ll text you when I’m home.

So ordinary that it was hard to believe it was an ending. Not when their beginning had been so exhilarating, when everything had been so exhilarating. 

What Kip kept coming back to, as if he was still stuck in that dim kitchen, was that neither of them wanted it. It was the opposite. After Kip had left that night, they’d exchanged a handful of borderline blunt texts, Scott checking in, and then a few days later, Kip checking in. It was all so at odds with the previous texts they’d shared over the months that it made Kip's chest kind of hurt, a dull ache behind his ribs. Elena had already suggested deleting the text thread, but that had just made his chest hurt more. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. He’s just fine, thank you, and welcome to Straw + Berry. 

Kip groans, unlocking the blender that always seemed to behave dramatically if you tipped it just a centimeter too far to one side. Which, yeah, was extremely inconvenient, especially on a day like today, when just about everything was going spectacularly wrong for him. He swipes a cloth over the puddle of smoothie, the mushed fruit smearing over the counter. 

“I think we need to close early,” Kip decides when an unidentified piece of fruit flicks down his front. “It’s honestly a threat—” He looks over at Maria, chopping fruit to his left. “Me being here. Someone's going to get hurt.”

“You can stay on blender duty. Very low stakes—”

“Clearly not,” Kip huffs, gesturing down to the red stain on his apron, some kind of strawberry concoction that he’d actually tasted as it had splattered down the front of him. “What next? I slept terribly, I missed my alarm twice somehow, and I’m back to being painfully single—”

“Kip,” Maria borderline yelps, the raspberry she’d been holding dropping to the floor as her eyes flick to the front of the shop.

Kip turns in place, his heart free-falling out of his chest and joining the raspberry. Well. His bad day just got super bad, which really shouldn’t be a surprise to him, what with the puddle of fruit juice still dripping from the counter and onto his shoes. 

“Uh—” Scott’s eyes land on the puddle rather judgmentally, all things considered. “Is everything okay?”

“Great,” Kip says without thinking, dropping the cloth to the counter with a sad, kind of gross noise. 

Scott nods, that crease not budging from between his eyebrows. “Okay.”

It’s a miracle that there’s no one else in the shop because 1) Kip doesn’t really know what the protocol here is, and 2) the awkward energy radiating between the three of them as they look at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move is kind of unbearable. 

Maria is the first to crack, clearing her throat as she lays a hand on Kip’s arm, shuffling past. “Did you want to—” She glances back at Kip uncertainly, and Kip attempts a conversation with eye contact alone. 

It doesn’t get very far because Scott cuts in, “Can I order a smoothie?”

Kip watches Scott’s lips purse slightly after the words leave his mouth, and he can tell that he’s thinking some variation of Great question to ask in a fucking smoothie shop, Hunter. Kip bites back his smile, turning to Maria.

“You, uh, can?” Maria tries, nodding at Kip as if she’s double-checking for permission. It’s kind of sweet. Not that Kip has any authority on who can and can’t buy smoothies. 

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, and it sounds earnest, like he actually might need Kip’s permission to be here.

Kip sighs, his heart panging determinedly in his chest like the traitor it is. “Yeah, she’s sure.”

Whatever tension that had been tugging at Scott’s features smooths out just a little, and it lightens something in Kip. God, he missed him. Misses. Present tense. Because Scott is just getting a smoothie for his game, and then Kip can go straight back to missing him. It was about the ritual, nothing to do with him or the stupid pause. 

Maria steps forward, straightening her apron. “Can I take your order, sir?”

“Can Kip—” Scott tries.

“Nope. Kip is on blender duty.” She looks back over her shoulder, shooting Kip a glare. That gets him moving. He steps back up to the station, picking up the cloth like the good smoothie barista he is. He swipes it over the counter, keeping his gaze down. He was just so busy. Far too busy to make blueberry banana smoothies for hot hockey players.

“I think that blender duty is perfect for—”

“Nope, sorry,” Maria says, cutting Scott off again. “He made the mess, he has to clean it.” She shrugs before repeating, “Order.”

Kip does his best to hide his laugh, swiping the last of the smoothie away. She was good. 

“Uh, okay. Blue Moon over Brooklyn, please,” Scott says, sliding his phone out. 

“Coming right up,” Maria replies cheerfully, swiping the container of blueberries on her way back to the blenders. She leans against the counter like she’s got all the time in the world, dropping the fruit in the blender one by one as she looks between Scott and Kip. 

Kip ignores it, walking over to the sink. He steals his own glance at Scott as he dumps the blender into the warm water. He’s standing with his back to the counter, head down as he types on his phone. As great a view as it is, Kip tears his gaze away, washing and drying at record speed. When he finishes, he shuffles back, rewarding himself with one last look. Scott catches his eye, and Kip quickly looks away, his neck prickling as he relocks the now-cleaned blender into place. He leans closer to Maria, lowering his voice. “Don’t let him tip.”

Her eyes widen, voice dropping to a whisper. “We’re not letting your rich hockey player ex-boyfriend—” 

Kip shoots her a scathing glare. 

“Ex friend tip?” She corrects. 

Kip nods, watching intently as she drops the last blueberry into the blender. 

She pauses, the lid hanging from her hand. “Why?”

“Because,” Kip tries, knowing it won’t be enough. 

“He’s like rich, makes more in a week than we will make in a decade rich.”

“Okay and?”

“And he won’t miss it.”

“But I’ll feel bad.”

“Good job you’re on blender duty then—”

Kip leans forward, cutting her off as he drops a handful of banana slices into the blender wordlessly. 

Maria looks between the blender and Kip, raising an eyebrow. “Is he allergic to bananas?”

“What? No. He just likes it better that way.”

Maria hums, places the lid on the blender, and finally presses the button, the noise filling the shop. 

“I feel judged right now,” Kip says over the loud whirring. 

“That’s because you are.” Maria smiles, leaning forward to pat his arm. 

“Uh—” They both turn, coming face to face with Scott holding his phone out. “I still haven’t paid.”

Maria pushes Kip forward, pressing the button on the blender to kick it up a notch. 

With no other option, Kip steps up to the counter, fiddling with the card machine, the loud blender providing an excellent excuse not to say a word. Not that he doesn’t want to. He has so many things to say to Scott, half of which start with I and end with love you. 

“I’m, uh, sorry.” Scott pauses, and Kip looks up, his annoyance softening again at the earnest expression on his face. “For coming in,” Scott clarifies, looking around the empty shop. “It was selfish, maybe.”

Kip finds himself shaking his head as he holds out the card machine. He can’t even pretend that seeing Scott isn’t the best part of his day. “It’s fine. I know how big a deal your rituals are.”

Scott pays, then averts his eyes as if looking at Kip is too much. Kip gets it. Looking at Scott feels a little too much, too. A little like a black hole has opened in his chest. There are a few seconds of silence, and then Scott speaks again. “It’s not—”

“Blue Moon over Brooklyn,” Maria interrupts, sliding the smoothie onto the counter with a little flourish that makes Scott huff out a laugh. “With extra banana.”

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the smoothie to take a sip. He nods, humming apprecatively. “Kip has some competition.”

“You’re very welcome.” She shuffles closer to the counter, her hand darting out to adjust the tip jar in a move that Kip would consider the very opposite of subtle.

“Maria,” he scolds, embarrassment prickling his neck. 

Scott doesn’t seem to mind, his mouth tugging into a grin. 

“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” she offers with a smile, backing up to the blenders. The same blenders that are absolutely still within hearing distance of the counter. 

Scott slides his smoothie back onto the counter and digs in his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He slips out a fifty-dollar note and drops it into the tip jar. 

“Scott,” Kip scolds, again, shooting him a look. “That’s a sixty-dollar smoothie. We’re not doing this again—”

It wasn’t something Kip particularly liked when they were together, so it was something he definitely didn’t like when they weren’t. He didn’t care that Scott could afford it a hundred times over every day. 

“It’s for Maria,” Scott says easily, picking his smoothie back up, the straw finding its way back to his mouth. “She makes a mean Blue Moon over Brooklyn.” Before Kip can point out that that excuse won’t work anymore, Scott speaks again, “So, this is okay, uh, if I keep coming in before games?”

Kip feels a little caught off guard for some reason. It could be the emotional whiplash of the last ten minutes taking its toll. He wasn’t sure, but he did know that, for some reason, that had been the opposite of what he’d been expecting to hear. He nods a little jerkily, not thinking it through. All his poor, broken heart had really grasped from that sentence was that we can still see each other this way. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that would be fine.”

Scott nods back. “Okay. Yeah. Good.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “I should probably go, practice.”

“Okay,” Kip agrees, still a little dazed as he watches Scott exit the shop.

“Extra banana?” Maria asks, sidling back up to Kip the second the door closes. 

Kip flops to the counter, groaning dramatically as what he’d actually agreed to sets in. He might be about to be trapped between a heaven and a hell of his own making, Scott Hunter, hockey player, and blueberry banana smoothie connoisseur, the one thing he can’t kick. 

It’s game day. Round two. His second chance to make the perfect smoothie and act completely normal around his ex. His redemption arc! He’s shooting for less eventful than whatever the first time had been. Fewer spilt smoothies, fewer tips, fewer black hole feelings in his chest. He wasn’t striving for much. 

When they’d been together, Scott’s game day visits had been something he looked forward to to break up his mundane weeks. It was like a little burst of excitement sitting between the morning and afternoon rush. It was an honor to be a small part of what Scott deemed worthy of his pregame rituals. And Kip couldn’t help but feel proud, like somewhere in some cosmic way, maybe his stupid blueberry smoothie contributed to a win. It was dumb, he was aware. 

But Kip didn’t mind all that much when Scott came home and thanked him in creative ways for helping him win.

“That’s weird,” Maria says, pulling him from his thoughts as she gestures toward the already filled blender, the pile of blueberries and banana slices staring back at them. 

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t faring much better than last time, his heart still a fragile mess in his chest. He just needed to make this experience as stress-free as possible for both of their sakes. Enter pre-filled blender, he just had to flick a button, and he was halfway there. 

“It’s not weird,” Kip counters weakly, already knowing she’s right. 

“Have you got him on a tracker?”

“Ha,” Kip drones. “That’s funny, Maria.”

Maria’s lips tug into a smile, sidestepping the already full blender to use the faulty one instead. 

And then, as if on cue, the door pushes open, and they both turn in unison to watch Scott walk through the empty shop, a running thermal plastered on. And Kip does mean plastered on, which feels unfair, all things considered. Kip is trying to keep it together here. He looks away just as Scott reaches the counter, resting his hands on it awkwardly, clearing his throat like he’s announcing himself. Pfft. As if he hasn’t got a rapt audience of two already. 

Maria jams her elbow into his arm, tilting her head toward where Scott is standing, waiting to order. Oh, so now he was on his own. What happened to blender duty in the name of friendship?

Kip shuffles forward, already sliding the card machine out of its stand. He shoots for self-deprecating to try to set the tone. It was neutral and friendly. It was not all the messy feelings that actually lived in his chest. “I have no idea why you keep coming back here.”

“No other smoothie places pre-load their blenders,” Scott says, tapping his card. Kip catches his gaze, and there’s a teasing glint there. “It’s good service.”

“Anything for our gold star tipper,” Maria calls from where she’s very clearly still watching them from the blenders. That fifty-dollar tip had been the talk of the Kingfisher for a whole hour. It had been a slow day. 

Scott huffs a laugh, and Kip kind of wants to sink to the floor and pray it swallows him whole. Scott’s eyes flick over his shoulder, probably wondering if Maria is about to whisk him away to blender duty. Kip doesn’t know or particularly care what silent conversation they’re having behind him, not when this heady mix of embarrassment and endearment is prickling over his skin. He feels the sudden need to explain himself. “It was quiet.”

“Okay,” Scott says easily, his lip twitching as if he kind of finds the whole thing a little endearing, too. 

“I thought it would be easier, you know—” Kip pushes the card machine back into place just for something to do with his hands. “To have it ready for you. In case it was busy.” Kip hadn’t ever really thought of himself as an awkward person, let alone a person who gets flustered this quickly, but this here, Scott Hunter still coming in for a smoothie after they’d broken up, if you could even call it that, might be his undoing. He clears his throat, looking at Scott properly for the first time. 

Scott is looking right back at him, a small smile still on his face. “It’s okay. I know this is kind of weird.” It’s his turn to look a little caught off guard then. “Probably for both of us.”

“Yeah,” Kip agrees, biting back the words understatement of the century. He turns from the counter, looking back longingly at the blenders like they’re just the safe haven he needs. “I’ll go and make your smoothie.” 

Scott nods, steps back from the counter, and pulls his phone out, tapping away. 

Kip blows out a tortured breath when he gets to the blenders, his fingers tightening around the counter to keep himself steady. After a few seconds of reprieve, he looks back up at Maria. “That was bad, right?”

Maria pauses thoughtfully before deciding on, “I’ve seen worse.”

Kip scoffs. “No. I think that was up there. Top three worst social interactions for sure.”

“Hey, what about that time in the Kingfisher—”

“Nope,” Kip interrupts, flicking the blender on, the loud whirring drowning anything Maria was about to say out. Kip takes the time, focusing on how the fruit turns a frankly unappetising shade of purple as it mixes. He pours the smoothie into the cup, secures the lid, and turns back to Scott. “Congratulations, by the way,” he manages, sliding the Blue Moon over Brooklyn onto the counter. It was a good place to start. The perfect thing to say to a hockey player. A hockey player that he was pretty sure had ruined him for anyone else, that is.

Scott nods, picking up the smoothie, and then, in a voice that under different circumstances Kip might say sounds hopeful, says, “Did you watch the game?”

“Of course,” Kip says without a second thought on whether that’s something he should admit now. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He gestures to the smoothie in Scott’s hand. “Have to make sure it works.”

“Never steers me wrong,” Scott says, punctuating it with a sip. He swallows, then looks at Kip seriously. “We’ll have to see if this one works as well as the one Maria made.”

“Actually,” Kip starts, leaning forward a little, his body moving on instinct, every pep talk he’d given himself flying out of the window. “I put the banana in last time, so.” He shrugs.

“Ahh, so it was still the Kip Grady effect?”

Kip swallows around the feeling in his chest, nodding. “Yup.”

Scott’s mouth splits into a smile that feels stage-five catastrophic to Kip’s plan to keep it together. “Good to know.”

“How long now?” Maria asks with just the right amount of enthusiasm for a smoothie worker excited to watch Kip fumble his way through another conversation with his ex-boyfriend. 

“I don’t know,” Kip says, eyes flicking to the door for the fourth time that morning. “Maybe he kicked the ritual.”

“I know you don’t think that’s true. You forget I know you, Christopher. I can see the sparkle in your eye.” She leans closer, getting into his space. “So cute. So full of love.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kip huffs, taking the cloth from her hands to rewipe the counter, also not for the first time that morning. He’d only been on shift for twenty minutes, and they’d made approximately two smoothies and a water between them. It wasn’t exactly bustling.

“So, soon?” Maria presses.

“Maybe.” A pause, and then Kip succumbs to peer pressure via his friend's incessant staring, “Probably.”

“Exciting. Shall we get the banana ready?”

“You’re not funny.” Kip throws the still clean cloth into the sink. “I’d probably even call you unfunny.”

Maria nods, her mouth pulling into a smile. “You’re right. Not funny, hilarious.”

Kip huffs a laugh, joining her at the fruit cutting station to prepare for the day. 

After what feels like an hour of fruit cutting, while Maria is taking a break in the backroom, finally, the bell above the door sounds out. Kip looks up to Scott, looking around the shop as he walks to the counter. “Why am I always the only one in here lately?”

“I promise we do get customers—” Kip looks over his shoulder, discreetly pointing to the lone table in the corner, an older man enjoying a mango pineapple smoothie he’d just made. 

Scott smiles. “He a regular?”

Kip nods. “Yup. You and him, my top customers.” 

“I’ve got competition?” Scott says, and it’s flirty. Flirty in a way that it probably shouldn’t be with someone you’ve hit pause with. 

“No one else gets the Blue Moon over Brooklyn,” Kip tells him honestly, backing up toward the blenders. The shop is empty apart from the man in the corner, so they can continue their conversation as Kip gets his smoothie ready. 

Scott blinks at him. “Really?”

“Really,” Kip confirms, tipping the blueberries into the blender. He looks up again once the bananas are in. “Because it’s bad.”

That gets a laugh out of Scott, which turns into some sort of grimace as his smoothie starts blending. “I wouldn’t say it’s bad.”

“Would you say it’s good?” Kip asks, turning the blender up and leaning against the counter, something light dancing in his chest at the easy back-and-forth. It’s the kind of thing that makes it too easy to forget that things between them feel hard on a good day and impossible on a bad one. 

And a bigger factor, they were broken up. Finished. Paused. This was transactional. A smoothie for a win. That’s it. 

Scott scrunches his nose, shaking his head. “The banana helps.”

Kip swears he can see a faint red rise to Scott’s cheeks, and he kind of wants to kiss him about it. He huffs a laugh, turning back to finish the smoothie, trying to rid himself of thoughts of blushing hockey players. If he had to guess, he might say his own cheeks were flushing, all because of a conversation about a fucking disgusting smoothie. Ridiculous. 

He pours the disgusting smoothie into a cup and slides it onto the counter. “One Blue Moon over Brooklyn. Extra banana.”

Once Scott has paid, and Kip has given him his fiftieth lecture about excessive tipping, Scott picks up his smoothie, smiling. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck.”

“This is all the luck I need.”

Kip hums noncommittally, not one to kick a man's hockey ritual, picking up a poster Kyle had given him about discount cocktails that he promised to pin up in the front window. He rounds the counter, watching Scott stand in place, eyes flicking around the shop as he sips his straw like he’s got all the time in the world. The usual routine was him hightailing it out of there after he’d snuck an ungodly tip in the jar. Even when they’d been together, more often than not, Scott would head over before practice, not a whole lot of time to stand around and talk. 

“What’s that?” Scott asks, gesturing to the poster with his straw as Kip walks past him.

Kip turns in place, holding the paper out.

Scott’s eyes skim it, then catch Kip’s gaze. “Pretty good deal.”

“Yeah, it is.” Kip holds back the eyeroll. “That’s why your fifty-dollar tips are such a hit in the Kingfisher. The whole table can get wasted.”

Scott huffs a laugh. “I do what I can.”

Kip shakes his head, taping the poster in the window before turning back. Scott is sitting on one of the stools now. Kip leans over the counter, grabbing the cloth again just to look busy. “Do you not have practice?” He asks, trying to keep his voice neutral as he heads to the table closest to where Scott has set up camp, his smoothie still glued to his mouth. He can’t say he hates that Scott is here, but it’s still a lot.

Scott hums around his straw. “Yeah. I do.”

Kip pauses, the question probably written all over his face. “So, you’re here?”

Scott bites back a smirk, and it’s full of amusement. He tips his head to the back of the shop. “Do you give that guy over there the same attitude?”

Kip glances over his shoulder. The guy is still enjoying his smoothie, quietly reading a book open on the table in front of him. He looks back at Scott, the man not quietly doing anything. “He’s not bothering me.”

“Oh, I’m bothering you now?”

Kip does make a valiant attempt not to laugh, but it tumbles out anyway. And then Scott huffs a laugh in return, and it fills Kip’s chest with that warmth he lost that night in Scott’s kitchen. He grips the cloth again, swiping it over the table while he tries to get himself together. “Yeah,” he manages, “Kinda.”

Scott’s lips pull into a firm line, and Kip can tell he’s taking this whole conversation the opposite of seriously. “Sorry.”

“Do we need a flirting in the shop rule?” Maria suddenly asks, looking at them from behind the counter. 

“Uh,” Scott says, looking down, blended blueberries and bananas suddenly the most interesting thing in this shop. 

“We’re not—” Kip tries, shaking his head.

“You can go on break, Kip,” Maria offers, rounding the counter to take the cloth from his hand. He can’t blame her; he’s cleaning an already spotless table. 

Kip tries to grab it back, turning from Scott to shoot her wide eyes. He’s trying to convey that what she’s doing isn’t good friendship, it’s sabotage. It’s— It’s crazy. “I already went on break—”

“No, you didn’t,” Maria says, snatching the cloth out of reach. “You’ve been here two hours. Go feel the sunshine on your face, get an overpriced matcha that tastes like sh–” She glances over to the man in the corner, but he’s still engrossed in his book. She turns back with a polite smile, pushing Kip toward where Scott is now standing like a deer in headlights, his eyes wide. Before Kip can argue anymore, Maria has disappeared to the other side of the shop, the stolen cloth still in hand. 

“Uh, I guess I’m on break,” Kip announces for some reason as if Scott isn’t right there and hadn’t heard the entire conversation. Well, conversation was generous. It was more like an ambush. 

“I—” Scott pauses, his eyes flicking out the window briefly, then back to Kip, a little more sure this time. “Do you want to take a walk?”

Kip’s heart does a flip in his chest. And for some reason beyond his understanding, he doesn’t second-guess it, doesn’t try to talk himself out of it, he just nods. “Yeah, I really would.”

***

“Do you like matcha?” Scott asks after a minute of silence. 

Kip tilts his head to look at him, catching on the way he’s still working his way through that smoothie. He briefly imagines him on the way to a practice, slurping this stupid smoothie that he doesn’t even really like, and it only makes that warmth from earlier burn brighter, settling in his chest pleasantly.

“I don’t,” Kip tells him, falling into step as they walk down to one of the coffee shops he frequents on his breaks, usually on days when his shifts feel impossible to get through. There’s nothing an overpriced coffee can’t fix. And today definitely feels like an overpriced coffee day. Partly because of the man walking next to him, quizzing him about matcha. “I got it once, on a recommendation from Maria, and I’m pretty sure it made my bad day worse.”

“Makes sense.”

“Do you have to drink it all for it to work?” Kip asks, gesturing to the cup.  

Scott shakes it, the liquid sloshing up the sides. “Don’t really know the rules.” He catches Kip’s gaze, his eyebrow quirking a little. “Guess it’s magic.”

“Magic apart from the times you do in fact lose,” Kip points out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They seem to be working pretty well lately,” Kip says then, because Scott is on fire lately, and if he can feel a small part of that, he’s going to jump at the opportunity. Who wouldn’t? 

Scott hums in agreement. “Yeah, well.” His shoulders come up in a lazy shrug, his gaze catching Kips. “The smoothie boy is pretty magic.”

Kip’s heart does more than a somersault in his chest. He’s pretty sure it’s in there doing some kind of fucking gymnastics routine. Maybe he’ll be at the Olympics next. Move over, Scott fucking Hunter. He wills it to calm down, but before he can say anything to that, Scott speaks again, his voice lower this time.

“I am sorry, Kip. For—” He hesitates, as if he’s wondering how honest to be. Kip wants to say as honest as you can. I can handle it. All of it. But instead, he stays quiet, waiting him out because he’s not sure he can handle all of it. That night in the kitchen had knocked him off his feet already. “Everything, I guess,” Scott quietly decides on, and it feels pretty damn honest. 

Kip slowly nods. “I know that.” And he does, knows it probably too well. It’s not as easy as drifting apart or falling out of love. He’d thought they were tragic endings to relationships. But he hadn’t expected this one. They loved each other so much that they couldn’t be together. Not right now. They loved each other so fiercely that it had circled back around to not making sense.

He knows so much. Too much, maybe.

It tears him up inside when he’s lying in bed, tossing and turning. But more than any of that, more than any thought about how he’s struggling, he knows what he feels so deeply is doubled, tripled for Scott in ways he can’t even comprehend. He feels everything Kip does, but with the added pressure of being a hockey superstar. It’s not a competition, it can’t be a competition because they’re both in pretty shitty boats on the same tragic river. No one wins. 

“I still want—” Scott tries, and it’s so earnest that Kip doesn’t know what to do with it aside from trampling out the spark like you would an out-of-control candle.

“Scott,” he says, cutting him off because he can’t hear this, not slap bang in the middle of a sidewalk surrounded by people for one, but for two, he can’t have this conversation again. He can’t go over what they both already know. It’s pointless, and it’s breaking his fucking heart. “I just…” He sighs, catching Scott’s pained expression. “I  know, okay. I know.”

“But—”

Kip shakes his head, pushing the coffee shop door open.

After one slow-moving line, a handful of minutes spent watching Scott tap on his phone from the corner of his eye, and a coffee successfully retrieved, Kip is feeling a little better. Or at least a little less like he’s going to fall apart on the sidewalk and a little more ready to tackle a conversation head-on.

“Ready?” Kip asks, walking back over to Scott. He’d been shocked when Scott had followed him into the busy shop, standing in the corner to wait for him. He’d assumed he’d wait outside.

Scott nods, leading them back out. Kip notices on the way out that Scott doesn’t look around them once. On the handful of times they’d gone out together, Scott had been on high alert, his head on a swivel in case anyone had noticed him, or them. Now, he seems like a different person, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes focused on Kip. “This place do good coffee?” He asks, letting the door fall closed behind them.

Kip hums, falling into step with him again. “Yeah. Pretty good.”

Scott nods, throwing his now-empty smoothie cup into a trash can. “Probably not as good as that smoothie.”

A laugh rumbles up Kip’s chest. “Yeah. Nothing will beat that sour taste.”

“Hey, it’s not sour. It’s a little…” Scott’s nose scrunches. “Bitter?”

“Delicious.” Kip smiles, then takes a sip of his coffee. His coffee that is probably infinitely better than that smoothie he’d made. On one hand, he’s glad that the earlier mood they’d wandered into has dissipated. On the other hand, he feels a sudden need to apologise too. “Don’t you need to get to practice?” he starts, easing himself in. 

Scott pulls up his wrist, checking his watch. “Yeah, probably.” 

But, still, he makes no move to leave, just watching Kip sip his coffee on a sidewalk like it’s more exciting than laps on the ice.

“I’m sorry, too,” Kip blurts, the words leaving in a whoosh under Scott’s careful gaze.

Scott’s brow furrows. “You have nothing to apologise for, Kip.”

Kip’s hand moves on instinct, gently tugging Scott’s arm to move them to the side, in front of a different coffee shop. Scott looks down at Kip’s fingers, the way they loosely clasp around his wrist, and then back up to Kip, and Kip can see the fear swimming in his eyes. He drops his hand as quickly as he’d lifted it, shuffling backwards to leave a generous gap between them. 

Scott’s face softens. “You didn’t have to—”

 Kip clears his throat, glancing around them. No one seems to be taking any notice, at least for now. “I did. And I do have to apologise. I guess I’m just sorry that we couldn’t make it work. I, uh.” His fingers tighten around his takeout cup, trying to steady himself. “I really wanted to make it work.”

The words taste bitter in his mouth, and he doesn’t know why he’s saying them, especially when he can see Scott forcefully swallow, emotion pricking at his eyes as he looks at him. He looks wounded. Like Kip had delivered a straight blow to the chest. Scott nods, swallowing again as he looks back at his watch.

“Look, you should go. I’m sure being late won’t help anything.” Kip can hear the strain in his own voice, the way he’s trying to stop the words from shaking. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Scott agrees, and Kip can see all the things he wants to say swimming in his eyes.

What the hell were they doing?

“We’re not doing that again,” Kip warns Maria the morning of Scott’s next game. “No forced breaks.” He turns to her, shooting her a look. “No pushing me into him.”

“I don’t think you can consider that a push.” She pauses her banana cutting, looking at Kip seriously. “It was a gentle shove. A shove in your best interest.”

“Oh, okay, gentle shoves are absolutely on the list. Better yet, no shoving in general.”

Maria nods, miming writing a contract in the air. “No shoves.”

“I’m serious, Maria,” Kip says, picking up a cloth and then immediately throwing it back in the sink. He’s a mess, every nerve ending in his body on high alert. Last time had been a disaster. He’d turned over the conversation they’d had on the way to the coffee shop for weeks. The way he’d cut Scott off before he could say what he wanted to was haunting him. They didn’t need a rerun. 

“Have you talked to him?” Maria asks carefully when Kip picks the cloth back up.

“When?” Kip asks, spinning in place.

“At all. These clandestine smoothie meet-ups can’t be the only communication you’re having.” Her eyes widen when Kip doesn’t reply. “Tell me they’re not, Kip.”

Kip leans forward to fiddle with the blender, locking it back into place. He refuses to look Maria in the eye when he says, “They are.”

Maria blows out a breath, turning back to the fruit she’s chopping, her voice a murmur when she says, “No wonder the sexual tension is off the charts.”

That gets Kip looking up. “Whatever that is, that’s going straight on the contract.”

Maria snorts. “Okay. I promise, no shoving, no jokes, no fun.” She points at him. “But a big yes to extra banana.” She raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Extra, extra banana.”

Kip groans, walking past her and into the backroom. 

Things descend into chaos not long after that chat, the shop filling with the morning rush. All Kip’s worries get whisked away into chopping, blending, and pouring as the tables fill up around him. That is, until he looks up from the blenders, what feels like four hours into the seemingly never-ending rush, his heart stuttering when his eyes land on Scott. He’s wearing his usual running gear, his hand running through his messy hair as he peers around the full shop. Kip looks away, focusing on the mango smoothie he’s currently making for the nice lady from the flower shop down the block. He unlocks the blender, pouring it into the cup slowly, his eyes flicking to where Maria is standing at the register, holding the card machine out. His eyes travel down the line on autopilot, from person to person, as if he needs to know Scott hadn’t thought better of it and hightailed it out of here. 

Thankfully, he hadn’t, and Kip almost breathes an overdramatic sigh of relief when he sees him. He’s joined the back of the line, his eyes bouncing from side to side a little more cautiously now. It makes Kip’s chest ache.

“Kip, can you get more strawberries from the back?” Maria asks suddenly, breaking him out of his stupor. 

Kip nods jerkily, calling the lady’s name to collect her smoothie, before he heads into the back. He takes a couple of blissful seconds to breathe, then retrieves the strawberries and gets back out there. No matter how he feels, he’s not about to let Maria handle an entire rush by herself. Even though she probably could, and she’d do it well. 

As he rounds the corner, he freezes, his eyes landing on a crowd gathered at the back of the line. Scott is in the middle of it, smiling as a man holds his arm out for a selfie. The second the picture is taken, the man moves out of the way, and someone else steps up. Irrationally, Kip kind of wants to march out there and shoo everyone away to make this easier for Scott. But he also knows that Scott is used to this. He can handle himself. Maria looks back over her shoulder, pulling a face that screams she’s also not happy about it.

Kip slides the container of strawberries into the mountain of fruit and gets back into the swing of things, but this time, every time he hears the buzz of the card machine or Maria telling someone their order will be with them soon, he looks up, assessing how close Scott is to the front and whether he’s being hounded. It’s ridiculous, and he knows that. He’s aware that everything about this entire situation is stupid, but he can’t stop. He hates that every time he hears a faint voice saying is that Scott Hunter, it’s a physical reminder of why they can’t be together. 

He’s securing the lid on a strawberry and banana smoothie when he looks up again, but this time, Scott is already looking at him. The crowd of people wanting selfies seems to have gotten what they came for, and now Scott is just watching him in that way that makes Kip feel hot all over. He averts his eyes, trading the finished smoothie with Maria for another order. 

He gets back to work, tipping fruit into the blender, trying his best to stay focused. Which turns out to be a very hard task when you can feel your ex-boyfriend staring you down from a couple of steps away. He can physically feel the weight of his gaze burning into his neck as he clumsily presses the blender button, the loud whirring distracting him for half a second before his gaze flicks back up. Scott has made it to the front of the line, listening intently to whatever Maria is saying to him. Probably some joke that Kip wouldn’t approve of. 

Would it be crazy to— No. It would not only be crazy to rush over and switch places with Maria. It would also be wildly unprofessional. And probably suspicious. He keeps himself rooted in place, but he does watch as Scott taps his card, smiling at Maria. 

“Blue Moon over Brooklyn,” Maria says over her shoulder with a slight smirk as Scott shuffles to the side. Once he’s situated in the back corner of the shop, he looks up, catching Kip’s gaze yet again. This time, he tips his chin in acknowledgment, and Kip doesn’t even want to unpack how it makes him feel. What he does know, and it’s a completely unrelated thought, is that people should not get giddy over a nod. Not even a nod from Scott Hunter.  

He shakes it off and gets back to work on the famous Blue Moon over Brooklyn. He takes a little more time with it, chopping an extra half of a banana because, well, he doesn’t really know. What he does know is that it’s a sour, magic smoothie that helps Scott Hunter win games; it deserves his best efforts at the very least. 

Once he’s finished, he secures the lid and takes the chance presented to him, rounding the counter to walk over to Scott. He’s just a smoothie boy delivering a smoothie to Scott Hunter. Maybe he’s just wishing him luck on behalf of Straw + Berry. 

Scott looks up, and his mouth tips into a smile that makes Kip forget the horrors of the morning rush just like that. He hands the smoothie over, keeping his voice neutral when he says, “Good luck tonight.”

“Thank you,” Scott replies, taking a quick sip. He hums appreciatively, and Kip doesn’t believe him for a second, not even with the extra extra banana he’d put in. 

Kip looks over to the last of the rush still dotted around the counter, waiting for their smoothies, then back to Scott, second-guessing what he’s about to ask. He decides to just go for it. “Can you, uh, wait—” His hand comes up to scratch at his neck awkwardly, trying to get his words together. “Can we talk?”

He hates that his words sound the opposite of steady. He hates that such a simple request feels so hard. He hates that it feels like there’s so much distance between them, distance he doesn’t even know how to begin to chip away at. He doesn’t really know what he wants to say; he just knows they can’t leave it on that shaky note from the last smoothie exchange. 

Scott looks over his shoulder as if he’s checking they’re still alone, then back at Kip. “I guess, yeah.” He looks confused, his brows pinching as his eyes trace Kip’s face, but Kip guesses that’s okay, because he feels a little confused too. Scott opens his mouth to speak again. 

“Hey, are you Scott Hunter?” A voice interrupts from behind them, and Scott’s mouth slams shut, whatever he was about to say fluttering to the floor between them.

Kip watches the way Scott braces himself, inhaling for a beat before he pastes a smile on his face and turns toward the voice. “Hey, yeah. Did you want a picture?”

“Yeah, man. Wow.” The guy nods, scrambling in his pocket for his phone. “That would be great. I’m excited about tonight. I’ve had tickets for months.”

Scott’s smile widens, and he falls into conversation with the fan about tonight's game. Kip stifles a sigh, walking back behind the counter to help Maria. He guesses that when Scott’s finished with the picture, he’ll come and find him, and they can finally have that talk. He distracts himself by cleaning the blenders, trying to plan what he wants to say. 

He dunks the blender into the water. I’m so miserable. Are you as miserable as I am?

He drags the rag over the glass, his mind spinning. Is there a way we can make this work? Maybe waiting wouldn’t be so bad.

He locks the now spotless, triple-washed blender back into place. I can wait. For you, I can wait. 

“What are you taking out on those blenders?” Maria asks softly, sidling up to him. There’s no teasing in her tone, and for some reason, it sets off alarm bells in Kip’s head. 

He looks up for the first time in the last ten minutes, and it feels like he’s rejoining the real world, his brain turning back on. He spins in place, his eyes flicking around the shop. It’s empty; the rush finally cleared out. No one is waiting for a smoothie. No fan. No Scott. 

He looks to Maria in question, and her brows are pulled together, worry etching her features. She places a gentle hand on his arm. “He told me to tell you that he was sorry, that he’d try to catch you next time. I don’t know what it was about, but it didn’t sound good.”

Kip’s heart drops, and any of the hopes he’d had evaporate as if they’d never existed. The truth was, he didn’t know what he was expecting when he’d asked to talk, but it wasn’t that Scott would hightail it out of there. He’d thought he’d be able to rid himself of at least some of the feelings that were eating him up from the inside out. But, no. They were back to square one. Back to smoothies. He must look like the rugs just been tugged from under him because Maria tugs him closer, wrapping him in a hug right there by the blenders.

He pulls back after a few seconds, looking at her. “He said he’d try to catch me next time?”

Maria hums, nibbling her lip. 

“What?” Kip asks.

“He just looked freaked out after that fan left.” 

Everything falls into place, and it feels like a suckerpunch. It was a reminder of what Kip already knew, and in that case, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. But, still, it did, everything pressing in on his chest like a heavy weight he can’t shift.  

“You could get on the apps,” Maria suggests the morning of Scott’s next game as she stands in the doorway watching Kip struggle.

“Okay, so, no,” Kip calls from where he’s rummaging through the stock in the backroom, trying to find straws. 

“But you’re sad,” Maria points out helpfully. It was like telling him water was wet. He knew he was sad. He was even aware it was getting pathetic, but still, here he was. A sad smoothie boy failing to find straws. 

“Thank you, Sherlock Holmes,” Kip replies flatly. He moves aside a box, dragging the bag of straws toward him. “Ahh!” He stumbles back, steadying himself on the shelf. “And anyway, I’m not sad.”

It wasn’t his first lie of the day. He’d told Maria he hadn’t swapped shifts with someone to be here this morning. 

“Okay,” Maria says, entirely unconvinced as Kip hands the straws to her. She rips the bag open and places them in the tray. 

Kip gets to work chopping fruit, avoiding the bananas for now. He’d spent the last few weeks doing what could probably be considered moping. 

“You could get on the apps, though,” Maria says again, resting her hip against the counter. “Or you could just figure it out with—” She glances over her shoulder cautiously, then turns back and lowers her voice. “Scott.”

Kip slides a strawberry forward, raising an eyebrow at her. “He’s not the only Scott in the world, you know.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Okay. You could figure it out with Scott.”

“There’s nothing to figure out.”

“There clearly is. You’re head over heels with him. Your heart beats for Scott. Blah blah blah.”

“Blah. Blah. Blah?” Kip repeats. 

“Does your heart beat for Scott?”

Kip doesn’t hesitate. He’s on fire today. Number one Blue Moon over Brooklyn maker and number one liar. “No.”

There’s a pause where Kip thinks he might have gotten away relatively scot-free, no pun intended, but then, Maria gets closer, narrowing her eyes at him in interrogation. “Are you sure?”

“I feel like you’re five minutes out from counting my pulse.”

Something sparkles in her eyes, and it makes Kip laugh for the first time all day. “That’s not a bad idea. How much does your heart rate increase when Scott walks in?” She places a hand over her own chest, making her hand thump. “Boom, boom, boom.” Her voice drops to a flat tone. “Oh no, he broke the scale.”

Kip slides another strawberry over. “Not funny, Maria.”

“Do you want me to take over today?” She asks, any of her earlier teasing replaced by sincerity. 

It kind of makes Kip want to wrap her in another hug and thank her for being such a good friend. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but you know where I am if you’re not.”

Kip smiles. “Probably right next to me.”

She nods. “Damn right.”

***

Kip shifts on the stool behind the counter, rereading the last text Scott had sent him months ago. 

Did you get home okay? 

Maria would probably snatch his phone away if she knew what he was doing, but he’d made up some lie about looking up new smoothies they could add to the menu. He didn’t think she believed him, but she hadn’t pressed, so he got to work. Reading, rereading, and then reading once more, a heady mix of annoyance and sadness swirling in his stomach like the world's worst hangover. 

Just as he’s scrolling up for another text to agonize over, the bell above the door rings out. He jumps, almost sliding off the stool as his phone drops out of his hand, clattering to the floor. He immediately disappears behind the counter, hand darting out to cover the text messages from prying eyes. Well, the prying eyes of one man. And maybe Maria, too. 

“Uh, Kip, are you okay?” A familiar voice asks from the other side.

Kip scrunches his eyes closed, taking a deep breath as his fingers tighten around his miraculously unscathed phone. He gets to his feet, his breath hitching when his eyes land on Scott. 

Scott, who looks so familiar and perfect that Kip doesn’t know what to do with him. 

Scott, who he misses every second of every day.

Scott, whose texts he’d just been rereading like a character in the third act of a romance movie. He’d just needed a box of tissues and a pint of ice cream, and he’d have nailed every breakup stereotype ever. 

Scott, who hightailed it out of the shop when Kip was prepared to… what? He didn’t even know. Try to fix things? Apologize? Irrational irritation skirts over his skin at the injustice of it all. They couldn’t fix things. Too many things stood in their way.

“I’m fine. Did you want the usual?” Kip asks, and it comes out clipped. 

Scott’s brow furrows, and he looks disappointed. “Don’t be like that.”

Kip’s irritation kicks up a notch. But still, he glances over his shoulder, scanning the shop before he turns back and says, “Me don’t be like that? You left Scott. And you haven’t texted me or tried to talk to me since. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Irritation pinches Scott’s features now. Well, at least they’re on the same page finally. “You left too,” he says in a low voice, a glimmer of hurt flashing in his eyes.

Kip scoffs, but lowers his voice further, too. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” Scott asks, his lips pulling into a firm line. He’s looking at Kip like he doesn’t recognize him, and it just breaks Kip’s heart a little more for good measure.

“What am I supposed to do?” Kip asks, finally at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to make any of this better. They’d just been dealt a shitty hand of cards and had to find a way to move past it. “I can’t wait years for you to—” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. This isn’t a conversation they can have here. It’s reckless. “You know. And I’m not saying do that for me, but you can’t do this—” Kip gestures between them. “This either. It’s fucking hard, Scott.”

Scott’s face softens then, and some of the anger drains out of Kip’s body, making way for that sadness he’s becoming accustomed to. It sits in his stomach like a rock, making him a little nauseous. 

Scott leans forward, his hand resting on the counter, and Kip would do anything to grab it, to wrap their fingers together for a semblance of comfort while they have this conversation. “Kip, I’m sorry. It was just—”

Kip drags his eyes away from Scott’s hand to his face instead. That’s not much better, and it feels like his heart cracks in his chest at the look in Scott’s eyes. “I know,” Kip tells him honestly. He does know. He knows everything about this situation all too well. He wished he didn’t, wished he was unaware of the intricacies of being a closeted hockey player, or the partner of one. 

“Is it too hard for you? I thought maybe…” Scott trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking much.” Another pause and then, “I just wanted to see you.”

It feels like a weighted confession, especially in a hushed tone over a smoothie counter. Kip pushes it down; otherwise, he’ll never get back up, swallows the emotion burning the back of his throat, and slides the card machine across the counter. “Did you want the usual?”

Scott looks a little surprised at the brush off, but he nods, digging his card out to tap against the machine. “Yeah. That would be great.”

Kip turns around the second the payment goes through, walking to start the smoothie. The quicker he gets this over with, the better. He’d even take a mid-afternoon rush to distract him from his spinning thoughts. He picks the freshly washed container of blueberries up and tips it into the blender, watching them tumble in. He throws the other stuff in, picking up the container of sliced bananas. He pauses, thinking it through. His eyes flick to the blender, then back to the counter. Scott’s looking down at his phone like usual, tapping away in his own little world, probably to one of his teammates. Kip swallows thickly, then slowly puts the bananas back down. He continues through the motions, securing the blender lid and flicking the button, watching the fruit, no banana, mix together into a familiar purple color. 

He tries to put it out of his mind as he pours the slightly thinner-than-usual smoothie into the cup. 

And, he wasn’t a maniac. He wasn’t trying to throw the game in some superstitious banana evasion tactic. It’s just that the smoothie tasted really bad without the banana. Undrinkable bad. And Kip didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this back-and-forth. Surely Scott wouldn’t keep coming back for a smoothie that tasted that bad. 

He picks up the smoothie and walks back to the counter. Scott looks up as he approaches, sliding his phone back into his pocket a little awkwardly. Kip slides the smoothie across the counter wordlessly. 

“Thank you,” Scott says, picking it up. Kip swears he stops breathing as Scott takes a sip right there in front of him. His face scrunches up even more than usual as he swallows. He hums, his mouth tipping into a smile that makes Kip regret everything. “Just as delicious as usual.”

“Uh, yeah. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Kip.”

And then, just like every other time, Scott smiles, a little more dejected than usual, before he turns and heads out, lucky smoothie in hand. 

Kip freezes, dread dripping down his spine.

Oh god. He was evil. 

The second the door closes, Kip borderline sprints to the backroom, his heart hammering in his chest. He rounds the corner, almost tripping over his own feet as he meets with Maria sitting in the chair they have back here for designated breaks, biting into an apple without a care in the world.

Which needs to change right now because her coworker is a monster.  

“Maria,” he breathes, his heart rate picking up almost painfully. 

Maria’s eyes flick from his face to where he’s wringing his hands together. She sits up a little straighter, swallowing. “What did you do?”

He steps into the room, slumping against the wall, the nausea growing. He might need to find a puke bucket. He takes a breath, looking her in the eye. “I’m evil.”

Maria’s eyes widen. “You’re evil?”

“He’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Scott.”

“Okay, that’s crazy. He loves—”

“I didn’t put the banana in the smoothie.”

Maria’s mouth drops open, her eyebrows flying up to her hairline. Under any other circumstances, Kip would find the whole scene comical. But in these circumstances, where he’s a smoothie ruiner and about to throw an entire hockey game, nothing about it is funny. It’s the opposite. Maria’s face finally relaxes, and she takes another bite of her apple, speaking around the fruit, “Like accidentally right?”

Kip shakes his head. “No.”

Maria makes a surprised sound, nodding once. “I’m kind of impressed.”

“He’s going to lose—”

Maria stands up, then walks over to join Kip against the wall of shame. “No. The thing about hockey players is that they’re very hot. Stupidly hot. But sometimes that makes them stupidly stupid.” She looks at him. “You know?”

“I’m not following,” Kip croaks out, letting his head thump against the wall. 

“Scott Hunter not eating a banana exactly five hours and forty-seven minutes before his game starts means absolutely nothing.”

“I know that, but—”

“But—” Maria starts, pressing the apple into his hand. “Eat that, I’m concerned you’re going into shock.”

Kip takes a miserable bite of the apple, his heart rate slowing down as he narrows his eyes at her. “But,” he presses impatiently.

“But,” Maria repeats. “He’s probably going to wonder why his smoothie tastes awful. Which maybe he deserves.” Her shoulders come up in a lazy shrug. “Maybe he doesn’t. But the deed is done now. Nothing you can do about it—”

An idea hits Kip. “I could take a new smoothie—”

“You’re not doing that,” Maria says. “How do you explain that?” She lowers her voice in a terrible imitation of him. “Hello Scott Hunter and all his teammates, I’m the smoothie boy who's brought Scott Hunter worldwide hockey star a smoothie like I’m Uber Eats?”

“That could work—”

Maria snorts. “No. But we will be watching the game together tonight.” She grabs onto Kip’s hand. “I can even hold your hand if you need me to.”

+1

Kip wouldn’t say things have improved much in his life since that dreaded day, but he was trying, and it had to count for something. Maria had kept her promise, and they’d watched the game together, Kip observing most of it through the hands he’d had clasped over his eyes. It had taken everything in his power not to crumble into a pool of guilt right there on Maria’s couch. It was a close one, but in the end, the New York Admirals had been victorious, and Kip had taken the world's biggest sigh of relief. Maria had then handed him a banana the next morning as she’d walked into the shop, a shit-eating grin plastered to her face.

He had spent the last couple of weeks throwing himself into work and his friends, working on stopping the dread of game days. It evidently hadn’t worked, though, because here he is, eyes zeroed in on the door three minutes after opening. 

“So, he is coming?” Maria asks, hooking her chin over his shoulder to join door watch. She’d found out about their whisper-shouting match last time when Kip had been guilt rambling while they’d waited for the game to start. She told him she wasn’t taking sides until he got back on the apps. Then she was firmly team Kip. But until then, she was team Skip. Whatever that meant.

Kip rests his head against hers, sighing. “I probably scared him away.” He shoots her a look. “I’m evil.”

He feels rather than sees her head shake. “Impossible. Even if you are the evil banana stealer.”

Kip huffs a humorless laugh, that guilt prickling his stomach again. For as long as he lived, he wouldn’t forget how sick to his stomach he’d felt watching the game that night. He’s dubbed it the post-no-banana-smoothie game. Maria can’t even bring it up without his face flushing in shame. 

Maria straightens back up, leading Kip away from the counter and toward the chopping board. “Start chopping.”

Kip spends the next hour chopping fruit, trying not to think about Scott. He knows he’d wanted this, which is how he even got himself into the banana predicament in the first place. But now, with the need to check the clock every five minutes prickling over his skin, he kind of hates everything about it. He’d take whisper-shouting over the counter in a heartbeat if it meant Scott was here. “Is it definitely game day?” He asks over his shoulder for the third time. He knows it is. Maria knows it is. He’s just trying to waste some time.

“Yeah,” Maria calls back from where she’s searching in the backroom for something. 

Kip sighs, returning to chopping fruit. 

After another hour has passed, an hour in which Kip spent double cleaning the blenders, organizing fruit into designated color piles, and straightening the posters in the window, he collapses onto the stool with a tired sigh. 

“You’re going to work yourself to exhaustion before he even gets here,” Maria says, scooting past him to slide the card machine back in its stand. 

“If he comes,” Kip says flatly, eyes flicking back to the door as if he can will Scott Hunter into existence. 

He spends the next hour actually looking up new smoothies to add to the menu. 

And then he spends the next hour following recipes and having Maria taste them. They’d agreed on a new mixed-berry combination and vetoed a banana-and-peanut-butter concoction that tasted god-awful. 

“You could go there,” Maria says an hour later, standing in front of him, her hands on her hips as she looks at him seriously. He feels like he’s being scolded. 

“You literally said I shouldn’t do that,” Kip points out, stopping to wave to the flower lady from down the block as she leaves with her mango smoothie.

“Okay, so I changed my mind,” she says simply as if it’s that easy. As if Kip can just head down to the rink, and what? Confess his love?

“Why?” Kip asks, not really following along.

“Kip,” she says, her voice serious. “Do you want to be with him?”

Kip doesn’t think there’s any point in evading the truth. He doesn’t even think he could. Maria had had a front-row seat to his breakdown over a blueberry-banana smoothie. Well, a blueberry smoothie, no banana. “Obviously.”

Maria nods. “Can you be with him?” When Kip doesn’t answer right away, she changes tactics. “Is what you have right now enough?”

Kip shakes his head. This, he knows. Meeting for a couple of minutes every couple of weeks solely to make a smoothie was destroying him. “I can’t keep doing the smoothie thing.”

“Okay,” Maria says, “can you keep doing what you were doing before?”

“I don’t know,” Kip says honestly. And then he adds, “but I do know I’m miserable.”

She nods again, leaning across the counter to retrieve an empty cup. She straightens back up and pushes it into his hands. “Go and take the man a damn smoothie.”

***

“This is crazy,” Kip says, handing Maria his apron. He looks quickly around the shop, his eyes bouncing between the empty tables, and then turns to the counter, staring down at the perfect smoothie he’d just made. Is he really about to do this? He looks back up to Maria, stalling. “Can you handle the place on your own?”

She rolls her eyes, gesturing toward the precisely zero customers. “Kip, we have had ten customers today total. We haven’t even had to clean the blenders. I can handle the shop. Go. Take your man his smoothie.”

Kip’s pretty sure he flushes at your man, but he powers through, picking up the smoothie and rounding the counter, Maria following behind him for moral support. 

“There’s definitely banana in there, right?” She asks when he freezes in the open doorway. 

“Yes,” he confirms with a jerky nod. “Extra banana. Double checked.”

Maria smiles. “Perfect. Go get him.” She pushes him the rest of the way through the door, adding, “And then text me when you do. All the details, Kip.”

***

Kip stares up at the arena blankly, a little lost. He looks back down at the smoothie in his hand. What the hell next? He’d Ubered to the arena, the smoothie in hand, his knee bobbing as they’d made the short drive from the shop. And now he was here. He guesses he should… call Scott. That’s really the only option; he can’t exactly barge in there demanding to see Scott Hunter. How did he let Maria talk him into this? He scrambles in his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone. He scrolls his contacts, pulling up the one he hasn’t called in months, his finger hovering over the name. 

Taking a breath, he clicks it, holding the phone to his ear. The dial tone rings once, twice, three times, and Kip holds his breath. He kinda hopes he doesn’t pick up, so he has an excuse to backtrack on this stupid idea. He can throw the smoothie in the trash and pretend this never happened. They can go back to square one. Maybe it would be better for both of them. Kip curses as the familiar voicemail starts playing, looking back down at the stupid smoothie he’d spent far too long perfecting. It looks a little pathetic now. Especially when he remembered he’d even counted out the blueberries. 

“Hi, this is Scott Hunter. Leave a message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you. Or I won’t.”

Kip should hang up. He should hang up and forget about this entire thing. But he stays rooted in place instead, staring up at the arena. The voicemail tone clicks, and he starts speaking, a dam inside of him breaking, everything tumbling out messily. 

“Uh, hi. It’s me. Kip.” He cringes at himself. “Uh, I’m outside the arena. That probably sounds crazy— or maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know what you’re thinking. I really never know what you’re thinking.” He blows a breath, and it sounds tortured, like everything that’s weighing on him is evident in that single sigh. “I don’t know what you’re going to think about this, especially. I hope you don’t, uh, hate it. Maria said you wouldn’t— I guess that’s not important. I don’t know why you didn’t come in for your smoothie today. Maybe the last one was uh, gross, or you wanted to give me space or whatever. I know the last time we talked was a little…” He trails off, thinking back to how miserable that conversation had been. “I don’t know. But I don’t want space. I just…. I love you, Scott, and I know it’s a mess, and neither of us has any idea how to navigate this. I don’t know who would. It’s awful.”

He huffs a humorless laugh, lowering himself to sit on the stairs that lead up to the arena. He places the smoothie down next to his feet, continuing his impromptu speech. “Side note, it’s a lot quieter than I thought it would be. So you don’t need to worry about anyone overhearing anything, I’m pretty much alone out here.” Probably because the game isn’t anywhere close to starting. And he’s sitting on the steps. 

“Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, it’s awful. But I guess that is what I wanted to say: I love you, and I don’t know what to do, but I do know I want you. I don’t want you to be in this awful situation alone. I’d rather be in an awful situation together— hey, that sounds pretty romantic, right?” Kip pauses again, looking down at his shoes. “Honestly, Scott, I don’t see a world in which we don’t figure it out together. Even if it takes years. Wait— let me back track. I would hate it if it took years. Having to hide you for years sounds like hell, but I would do it if that’s what you needed.”

Kip looks back at the smoothie, at least some of that weight he’s been carrying lifted from his shoulders. “Oh, one last thing. Probably the most important bit, honestly. I, uh, didn’t put any banana in your last—”

“Kip?” A familiar voice from behind calls out uncertainly. 

Kip’s head whips around, his fingers tightening on the phone so it doesn’t slip out of his grip. “Scott?”

Scott blinks at him. “What are you doing here?”

Kip pulls the phone from his ear, cutting the call. Oh boy. That would be a fun listen, depending on how the next thirty seconds of his life went. He stands, turning toward where Scott is still standing, blinking at him like he can’t quite decide if he’s real. 

“Who were you talking to?” He asks, gesturing toward the phone in Kip’s hand.

“You didn’t hear any of that?” Kip breathes, sitting somewhere between relieved and horrified. 

“I heard…” Scott pauses. “I don’t know what I heard. I heard some… stuff.”

“Stuff?” Kip repeats.

“Is that a smoothie?” Scott asks then, pointing to where the cup is still sitting at Kip’s feet. 

Kip’s sure his entire face flushes, but here goes nothing. This is what he came for. He leans down, picking up the cup. Then, he walks up the steps, standing in front of Scott, holding the smoothie out toward him. “It’s for you. Uh, for the game.”

Scott glances between the now kind of sad-looking smoothie and Kip, and for a few seconds, Kip considers turning around and sprinting away from whatever this is, but then, Scott smiles, amusement taking over his features. He steps forward, closing the gap to take the smoothie, taking a quick sip. His face scrunches in disgust, but not as much as it had with no banana. He hums, shooting Kip a look. “Better with the banana.”

Kip shifts on his feet uncomfortably now that his crimes are out in the open. “So, you heard that?”

Scott hums again. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you didn’t come back?” Kip asks because he needs to know.

Scott looks confused then. “What? No.” He shakes his head as if the suggestion is ridiculous. “I got caught up with Eric.” He waves it off. “It doesn’t matter, but I was coming. And then, here you were.”

Kip looks down a little awkwardly, then back up, simply because he can’t not look at Scott if he’s right there. “Okay.”

“Who were you on the phone with?” Scott asks, which is funny because Kip is ninety percent certain that he knows exactly who he was on the phone with, especially if his smug smile is anything to go by.

“You,” Kip admits. 

Scott’s features smooth out, his expression getting serious again. “You’d do that for me? Wait years?”

“I, uh, yeah. I would,” Kip confirms, and he’s never been so sure about anything.

“How about seconds?”

“Huh?” Kip manages, a little dazed. He’s lost the thread of the conversation somewhere, and he’s desperately trying to get it back. 

But he doesn’t have time to because Scott steps forward, closing the gap, his hands gently running down Kip’s arms. He doesn’t wait a beat, doesn’t second-guess it, he leans down, pressing his lips to Kip’s right there outside the arena with the assurance of a man who’s been thinking about it for months. Kip’s pretty sure he makes a little noise of surprise, but then, he’s kissing him back, his hand coming up to rest in his hair. A million thoughts hit Kip at once, making his head spin. He pulls back, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder, the cursed smoothie still between them. 

“What the fuck?” Kip breathes, looking up at Scott disbelievingly.

Scott huffs a little laugh, his cheeks flushed from whatever the hell that had been. “I told you, the smoothie boy's magic.”

Kip blinks up at him, a level of joy he didn’t know possible zipping through his body. “Scott—”

Scott smiles sadly. “I don’t want you to have to wait years. It’s not fair to you, but it’s not fair to me, either. I would rather be in an awful situation with you than without you, of course,” Scott says, tipping his chin bashfully as he repeats the words from Kip’s voicemail. “But I don’t want to be in an awful situation with you, Kip. Not when we don’t have to. It feels like it would taint this beautiful thing we have. I don’t want that.”

Kip nods, the words settling over his skin, a level of peace he couldn’t imagine settling between them. It was a beautiful thing to know that they could sit in that discomfort together and they’d be okay. But they also didn’t have to, not if Scott was ready to do this. 

Kip pops the bubble, looking around them first, expecting a phone in their face, but it’s still pretty deserted. “There’s no one here,” he breathes out, a laugh rumbling up his chest.

Scott laughs then, too, looking around himself. “Okay, but it was the principle. We’ll work on the execution.”

Kip nods, tipping his chin up, and Scott meets him halfway, kissing him again. Kip wouldn’t mind working on that execution every day for the rest of their lives.

Scott pulls back, looking down at Kip seriously again. “I have tickets for the game tonight. I already put your name down. Bring Maria, or Elena, or your dad. Whatever. I just want you there. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Kip feels giddy. It’d been too long since he’d been to a game. A game where he could root for his boyfriend. “Yeah, okay.”

“Wait, look,” Scott says suddenly, unhanding himself from Kip’s hold, gripping onto the railing very indelicately, the smoothie still in his grasp. One wrong move and he’s going to topple headfirst down the stairs, and that is more detrimental than any blueberry, no banana smoothies. 

Kip’s hand darts out to steady him, clasping onto his free hand. “What are you doing?”

Scott pulls his sock down, revealing a familiar blueberry banana sock underneath. 

And that’s the breaking point of this conversation. Kip’s heart pretty much gives out on him. It’s just a puddle in his chest now. “You wear them every game?”

“Yup. Without fail, sweetheart. The smoothie wasn’t the magic.” Scott’s shoulders come up in a lazy shrug. “That was just an excuse to see you.”

A burst of relief hits Kip, the banana still weighing heavily on his conscience. “So you don’t think I’m evil for the blueberry smoothie, no banana?”

Scott laughs, shaking his head. “No, I think you’re very evil for the blueberry smoothie, no banana.”

Kip groans. “Really?”

“Really. But it kind of just makes me love you more.” 

And then, with an audience of zero, Scott pulls Kip back toward him, kissing him again, the taste of gross blueberry and extra banana smoothie still on his lips.