Hetalia: Canada X Reader: Hockey Night

Another cold night in Vancouver, and the snow was falling thick - a rare occurrence this side of Canada, but a welcome one all the same. I tromped on along the road, breath coming out in big white puffs of steam, hands shoved deep into the velvet-lined pockets of my coat (great day to forget gloves, huh?), with only one thought in my mind: get to Boston Pizza!

Boston Pizza: the number one place for Canadians to unwind and warm themselves up at the end of the long, frozen, day. Cheap pizza, Canadian beer… what more could you ask for? At this moment in time, 8pm on Saturday at -10 degrees, nothing seemed more appealing. I sped up, passing from streetlight to streetlight, until I reached the next block, where the welcoming lights of a store glowed.

Pushing the door open, I was immediately met with a wave of caressing warmth. I removed the scarf from my face, walking further into the restaurant with one hand wringing out my wet hair.

“Cold night, huh?” The clerk greeted me with a smile to mirror my own as I sat down on the puffy seat of a two-person table.

“And wet, too,” I giggled, ordering a small pizza and one can of (fav. drink). The food arrived quickly and, sighing contentedly, I settled down and began to eat my food.

~~~~~~~~Time-skip brought to you by that pizza I wish I was eating right now ~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, I was in such a happy daze I didn’t even notice that the restaurant was growing increasingly crowded. Groups of men and women, young and old,  were buying their own pizzas, taking spots around the large flatscreens - which were hanging on nearly every wall - and becoming louder by the minute.

I came out of my stupor with someone tapping me on my shoulder. Looking up, I was met with the kind violet eyes of a guy. He was handsome, with a small, shy smile and wavy beige hair that framed his face like his rectangular glasses framed his soft purple eyes. One long strand of hair, separate from the rest, fell forward onto his face in a charming curl. But his eyes… they had my undivided attention.

“Um… Miss?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Blinking into the present, I replied hurriedly. “Oh, sorry! What is it?”

“Can… um… may I sit here?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and causing his curl to bounce adorably, “all the other tables are full.”

I smiled lopsidedly and gestured at the empty seat in front of me. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

“So…” I began, glad of someone to talk to, “why’re there so many people now, anyway? A little while ago Boston Pizza was practically empty.”

The man looked at me, his shy grin widening.
“There’s a hockey game tonight. Boston Bruins vs Vancouver Canucks,” he spoke excitedly, all shyness forgotten. “Old rivals, since the Bruins took out the Canucks and beat them to the Stanley Cup.”

I grinned back, marvelling at how quickly the guy went from quiet to outspoken. “I had no idea! Well, then,” I glanced around us, noticing that there was a TV on the wall right above the fireplace I was facing, “Looks like we got the best seats in the house.” I turned back, extending a hand over the table.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way,” I chirruped animatedly.

The man immediately reverted back to shyness as he grasped my hand and shook it.
“I-I’m Matthew,” he whispered.

Though his voice was soft, his grip was solid.

~~~~~~~~ Time-skip brought to you by my inability to narrate hockey games ^-^”~~~~~~~~

You never thought it was possible to enjoy hockey like this.

Every twist and turn of the match was exciting to Matthew, and brought him out of his comfort zone in the most spectacular way. His elation at the game was contagious, and I soon found yourself cheering alongside him; for both teams, because it seemed neither me nor him had chosen to pick sides. For Matthew and I, we lived solely for the thrill of seeing the players whiz from one side of the rink to the other, to hear the collective gasps and roars of the crowd, to cheer with them.

And even when the game ended, we lived solely to celebrate it. Not the winners, not the losers; we celebrated the joy of hockey, the sport that brought the country together.

Around midnight the game had ended and the throngs of people were emptying out into the street, talking animatedly - and in some cases, drunkenly - about the best moments of the match, and the star players that had ruled the ice.

Matthew and I had decided to split the bill, as he had ended up helping me finish the pizza, and paid the clerk together. Outside, standing in the pool of light emanating from the nearest streetlight, it was still snowing hard, and I felt my lack of gloves with bitter sharpness as the cold nibbled on my fingers with unrelenting perseverance. Matthew, standing shyly beside me, had buried his face and hair into a matching red-and-white scarf and woolen hat, so only his eyes and frosted-over glasses could be seen peeking out… as well as the curl, who once again refused to conform to the norm and stood, poised and quivering defiantly, outside of the tuke.

I stood there shivering, hands once again thrust into my pockets, bouncing up and down slightly to see if that would warm me up.

Suddenly, Matthew mumbled something hesitantly through the folds of his scarf, so quietly that you couldn’t hear him.
“C-c-come again?” I chattered through my own, thinner scarf.

The shy man looked down at his shoes and mumbled again, somehow even more unintelligibly.

Smiling even through your intense cold, I slowly reached a freezing hand up and pulled the scarf down from in front of his face. Behind the glasses, Matthew’s gorgeous violet eyes widened slightly, and it seemed his already red cheeks became slightly more flushed… but that may have been just the cold.

“Say it again,” I smiled softly at him, my jaw trembling as I tried to keep it from chattering.

“Y-you can have my gloves, if you want…” He whispered, avoiding my eyes.

“N-n-no, I can’t just t-t-take your g-gloves!” I chattered, eyes widening in embarrassment.

Now it was his turn to smile. Lifting his hands up, he took off his gloves and held them out to me. They were the big, woolen, Olympic ones; the ones with the big maple leaves on them.

Not being able to resist, I sheepishly took the gloves and drew one on with trembling fingers. It worked immediately, and my hand was soon warm and toasty. I glanced hungrily at the other glove, then up at Matthew, whose curl was now drooping over his eyes as it became weighed down by large flakes of snow.

Suddenly, I had an idea. Before I changed my mind, I grasped Matthew’s bare hand, which was already turning red from the cold, and drew the second glove over both our hands.

Yep, those gloves are that big.

Fingers intertwined and quickly becoming warmer, I let our clasped hands drop down by our sides again. This time, I was the one who buried her face into their scarf, flustered by what I’d done.

A few seconds passed, and then I felt something drape itself around my neck. Looking up, I saw Matthew was using his free hand to wrap his scarf around the both of us, tying us together. I met his gaze and he smiled softly at me. Inside the glove cocoon, his thumb began to draw soothing circles into the back of my hand, and I smiled through the blush that was growing on my face.

We watched the snow fall in a silent rain for a good half-hour, bathed in the glow of that same streetlight, just enjoying each other’s company.