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Off campus fanfiction

The Colors of Belonging

The air in the hockey house was thick with the scent of cheap beer, body heat, and the pounding bass of a song Garrett couldn't name but felt deep in his marrow. Usually, this was his natural habitat. He was the alpha, the captain, the guy who could work a room with a grin and a well-timed joke. But tonight, his focus wasn't on the crowd or the scouts or the beer pong tournament happening in the kitchen.

His focus was entirely on the girl sitting on the arm of the sofa, looking slightly overwhelmed but incredibly beautiful.

Y/N was wearing his away jersey. The heavy white and blue fabric swallowed her small frame, the hem reaching mid-thigh, and the sleeves bunched up at her elbows where she’d rolled them back. On anyone else, it was just a piece of sports equipment. On her, with "GRAHAM" emblazoned in bold letters across her back, it was a declaration of war against any guy in the room who thought they had a chance.

"You okay?" Garrett asked, leaning over her, effectively partitioning her off from the rest of the party with his body. He placed a hand on the sofa behind her head, his thumb absently stroking the nape of her neck.

She looked up, her eyes wide and soft. "It’s a lot louder than I remembered. Or maybe I’m just not used to being here as... this."

"As my girlfriend?" Garrett prompted, the word still feeling like a victory every time it crossed his lips.

She nodded shyly, a small blush staining her cheeks. "People are staring, Garrett. I think half the girls in here are trying to figure out if I stole this or if you’ve finally lost your mind."

Garrett let out a low, rumbling laugh and leaned in closer, his nose brushing against hers. "Let them wonder. I like them knowing. I like that every time you turn around, they see my name. It saves me from having to drop-glow anyone who looks at you for too long."

"You’re such a caveman," she whispered, though she leaned into his touch, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, right over his heart.

"Only for you, baby," he murmured.

The moment was interrupted by a loud, boisterous shout. Wellsy stumbled over, a red plastic cup in each hand and a lopsided grin on his face. He stopped dead when he saw them, his eyes traveling from Garrett’s smug face down to the jersey Y/N was wearing.

"Holy shit," Wellsy breathed, nearly spilling his drink. "It’s official. The king has fallen. G, you actually let someone wear the jersey? The game-worn away jersey?"

Garrett didn't look away from Y/N. "Get used to it, Wellsy. It looks better on her anyway."

"It really does," Logan added, appearing from the kitchen with a smirk. He gave Y/N a mock salute. "Welcome to the madness, Y/N. I’d say run while you still can, but I think Graham’s already got the handcuffs out."

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her submissive nature making her shrink slightly under the attention of Garrett’s teammates. "I think I'll stay for a bit."

Garrett felt a surge of pride. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her off the arm of the sofa, tucking her firmly against his side. "She’s staying forever. Now go find some girls to annoy and leave us alone."

As his friends drifted away, chuckling and throwing jabs at Garrett’s sudden domesticity, he felt Y/N relax against him. She was so small compared to him, a perfect fit under his arm. He loved the way she didn't try to compete with his energy; she just supplemented it, grounding him in a way he hadn't known he needed.

"Do you want a drink? Water? I can get you anything," he offered, his voice dropping into that protective, low register he only used with her.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice small. She looked around the room again. "Actually, can we go somewhere a little quieter? Just for a minute?"

Garrett didn't hesitate. "My room. Five minutes."

He led her through the throngs of dancing students, his hand never leaving the small of her back. He ignored the whispers and the surprised looks from the girls who had spent the last three years trying to get into this very position. When they reached the stairs, he saw the silver-sedan guy from the week before—the "date"—standing near the keg. The guy's eyes landed on Y/N, then shifted to the "GRAHAM" on her back, and finally met Garrett’s cold, territorial stare.

Garrett didn't say a word. He just pulled Y/N a little closer and kept walking. The message was sent and received.

Once they were inside his bedroom, the muffled thump of the music became a background hum rather than an assault. Garrett shut the door and leaned against it, watching as Y/N walked over to his window, looking out at the campus lights.

"You look so good in that jersey," he said, his voice thick with sudden emotion. "I mean it. I’ve seen a thousand girls wear Briar colors, but seeing you in mine... it does things to me."

Y/N turned around, the oversized sleeves hiding her hands. "It feels heavy. Like I'm carrying a piece of you."

"You are," Garrett said, stepping toward her. He reached out and took her hands, pulling her into the center of the room. "That jersey is more than just fabric. It’s what I worked for. It’s my identity. And having you in it means you’re part of that now. You’re the most important part."

She looked down, her lashes casting long shadows on her cheeks. "I was so scared to come tonight. I thought you’d regret it once people started talking. I thought you’d want your freedom back."

Garrett reached down, hooking a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at him. His expression was dead serious. "Listen to me. I spent a long time thinking freedom meant being alone. I thought if I didn't let anyone in, nobody could mess with my head the way my father does. But these last few weeks without you? That wasn't freedom. It was a prison."

He slid his hands down to the hem of the jersey, his knuckles brushing the bare skin of her thighs. "I don't want to be the guy who just has 'benefits.' I want to be the guy who earns the right to have you standing there in the stands. I want everyone to know you’re mine."

Y/N’s breath hitched. She was always so quiet, so willing to follow his lead, but he could see the fire in her eyes now—the quiet strength of a girl who had finally found where she belonged. "I'm yours, Garrett. I don't want to be anywhere else."

He groaned, the sound vibrating in his chest, and pulled her into a hard, desperate kiss. It wasn't like the gentle kisses downstairs. This was the raw, unbridled passion of a man who had almost lost the only thing that mattered. He backed her up until her calves hit the edge of his bed, and they tumbled down together, a tangle of limbs and oversized mesh fabric.

Garrett hovered over her, his elbows braced on either side of her head. He looked down at her, seeing the way the white jersey contrasted with her skin, the way her hair was spread out against his pillow.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, his voice cracking. "And you’re so quiet. Sometimes I worry I’m too loud for you. Too much."

"You’re exactly enough," she replied, her voice gaining a rare edge of confidence. She reached up, her small hands framing his jaw, her thumbs tracing the line of his mouth. "I like your noise, Garrett. It fills up all the empty spaces in my head. Just... don't ever stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I’m the only person in the room. Even when the room is full of scouts and fans."

Garrett leaned down, nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. "Baby, when you’re in the room, there isn't anyone else. I’m just playing for an audience of one."

They stayed there for a while, hidden away from the chaos of the party. Garrett held her, his chin resting on top of her head, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart against his ribs. For the first time in his life, the pressure of being Garrett Graham—the star, the son, the legend—felt manageable. Because he had a sanctuary now. He had a home that didn't have a scoreboard.

Eventually, a loud crash from downstairs followed by a chorus of "Oohs" signaled that someone had probably broken a table.

"We should probably go back down," Y/N said softly, though she made no move to get up. "Your team will wonder where their captain went."

Garrett squeezed her tighter. "Let them wonder. I’m busy conducting an important jersey inspection."

She giggled, a bright, musical sound that made his heart do a backflip. "And? How does it look?"

Garrett pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. He took in the sight of her—the girl who had seen through his bravado, who had challenged his fear of commitment, and who was currently wearing his name over her heart.

"It looks perfect," he said firmly. "But I think it needs one more thing."

"What’s that?"

Garrett reached onto his nightstand and picked up his heavy, gold Briar championship ring. He took her left hand and slid the oversized band onto her thumb, since it was far too large for any other finger.

"There," he said, admiring the way the gold caught the light against her skin. "Now you’re fully geared up. My jersey, my ring, and my heart. Good luck getting away now."

Y/N looked at the ring, then back at him, her eyes shimmering with tears she refused to let fall. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss that tasted like forever.

"I’m not going anywhere, Garrett Graham," she promised against his lips.

"Good," he muttered, rolling them over so she was lying on top of him, the jersey bunching up around her waist. "Because I’ve got a game on Tuesday, and I’m expecting to see that jersey in the front row. No more empty seats."

"I'll be there," she said, her voice steady and sure. "Every game. Every time."

Garrett smiled, feeling a sense of victory that no trophy could ever match. He had spent his whole life trying to win, trying to be the best, trying to outrun his father’s shadow. But as he lay there with Y/N, the "Graham" on her back felt less like a burden and more like a bridge. It was the name they shared now, in their own quiet way, and for the first time, Garrett was proud of it.

Downstairs, the party roared on, but up in the quiet of the bedroom, the king of Briar University was exactly where he wanted to be: off the ice, out of the spotlight, and completely, hopelessly in love.