#here's some pathetic tanger for you

[simmyfrobby]

im having A Day can u spare a sad little poem for a sad little guy

w.h. auden

[zhenyabest]

Advent Calendar Day 12

Santa’s lap

Zhenya agreed to play Santa for two reasons. The first was that Jake told him some of the call-ups were afraid of him, and he was trying to seem approachable and unintimidating in ways that didn’t require him to smile or make small talk with anyone. The second was that Sid told him he looked good in red.

“And I like the beard,” Sid said, the day they filmed the holiday video, tugging on Zhenya’s fake beard—gently, so as not to unstick the glue. “Dignified.”

“It’s sexy,” Zhenya said, too flustered by Sid’s attention and smile to come up with a more reasonable response. “It’s best look for me.”

“Hot Santa,” Sid said, which sealed the deal. When the locker room conversation a few days later turned to who would be Santa at Horny’s Christmas party, and Tanger said, “We should make Geno do it,” Zhenya shrugged and agreed.

He regretted it as he dressed in the costume in Horny’s guest bedroom. The pants were too short, the wig and beard were itchy, and the whole ensemble was made out of essentially saran wrap. No part of it breathed. Zhenya started sweating immediately.

Sid was inspecting the crudité platter in the kitchen by the time Zhenya emerged. His ugly Christmas sweater and socked feet were a direct attack on the part of Zhenya that had decided, in recent months, to develop an embarrassing and all-consuming crush. Sid popped a cauliflower floret in his mouth and grinned at Zhenya and said, “Looking good, G.”

“You early,” Zhenya said. He took Sid’s cup from his hand and sipped. Eggnog, heartily spiked. Sid would be pink and giggly in no time.

“Horny asked me to come over early and help set up,” Sid said. “Gotta pick out the party music.”

“Holly jolly Christmas,” Zhenya said, and started singing it even though he didn’t really know the lyrics. Something about the best time of the year.

“I’m evicting you,” Sid said, reclaiming his eggnog and kicking lightly at Zhenya’s legs until Zhenya decided discretion was the better part of valor and made his exit, still singing.

His duty as Santa was to let everyone’s small children pose for pictures with him and whisper to him what they wanted for Christmas. There weren’t so many kids these days, and they all either knew him or were too young to object, like Dumo’s new baby, so the whole operation was brief and painless. Nobody cried, and Zhenya had a nice conversation with Alex Letang about Legos. He was a great Santa.

With all of that done, Zhenya ate a lot of cheese, drank a healthy quantity of mulled wine, and tried to be discreet as he trailed Sid through the house. Sid loved team parties and wanted to talk to everyone, including all of the partners and children, and he could be hard to keep track of because he was always on the move. Zhenya gave up after a while. He was an old man and just wanted to eat crab puffs and maybe go home early.

He had performed his Santa duties in the sunroom at the back of the house, where the tree was set up. Nobody was in there now. Zhenya settled back into the overstuffed armchair with a sigh and took off his beard. Faint holiday music played through hidden speakers. This time of year always made him a little melancholy: the darkest days of winter, and reflecting on the year behind him and the new one up ahead.

“Hey.”

Zhenya looked up. Sid was standing in the doorway, still holding his same cup of eggnog, probably on its fifth or sixth refill by now. Zhenya couldn’t abide the stuff: horribly rich and sweet. But Sid loved it and always downed it at holiday parties like he thought it might not be on offer the next year.

“You hiding out in here?” Sid asked, drifting into the room. “Needed a break?” He touched the discarded beard Zhenya had set aside on an end table. “Not playing Santa anymore?”

Zhenya leaned back in the armchair and smirked, hoping he looked cocky instead of pathetically eager for Sid to climb into his lap. “You have wish? You be good this year?”

Sid shot him a sharp look that changed after a moment into something more speculative. “Think I’ve been more naughty than nice, to be honest with you.”

Just like that, the air between them was charged with a hot, crackling energy. Sid put his cup down beside Zhenya’s beard and held Zhenya’s gaze as he carefully lowered himself down to perch on Zhenya’s thigh.

He was a lot heavier than Dumo’s baby, but he kept both feet on the floor, taking some of his weight. His uncertain expression asked a question that Zhenya answered by curling his hand around Sid’s far hip and tugging gently.

“You not comfortable,” Zhenya said. His heart was beating so hard. “Come close.”

Sid shifted in until he was situated fully in Zhenya’s lap, close enough that Zhenya could smell the eggnog on his breath, rich with alcohol. Sid’s face was flushed pink. He slid his hand into Zhenya’s hair, knocking the Santa hat from his head.

“You drink so much,” Zhenya said, grasping for some excuse that would let them laugh this off in the morning. “Every year, Sid.”

“I think I drank just enough,” Sid said. His hand cupped the curve of Zhenya’s skull as he leaned in. His lips brushed Zhenya’s ear, making Zhenya shiver. “Can I make a Christmas wish?”

Zhenya swallowed. He hooked his fingertips in the waistband of Sid’s jeans. “Tell me.”

“Come home with me,” Sid said, quietly against Zhenya’s ear. “Spend the night. Let me make you breakfast in the morning.”

It was everything Zhenya wanted: his own private holiday miracle. “Okay,” he said.

Sid sat up. He was pink and beaming. “And bring the pants.” He reached inside Zhenya’s tunic to snap one of the suspenders. “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

[nomorelonelydays]

saving nickels, saving dimes, 6.4K

-

Sidney’s been waking up with the sun for the past few days now.

His phone, clutched in his hand, flashes two texts from Geno, and one from Thomas.

I had a great time yesterday, Thomas’ text says. I’d love to take you out again. There’s a burger place downtown and I think you’d love it.

Sidney doesn’t say he’s pretty much been to every restaurant Cole Harbour has to offer. It’s not the biggest town. And perhaps Sidney should feel a little wary about dating in his hometown, but no one’s spared him and Thomas a second look.

He doesn’t look at Geno’s texts. It’s probably another photo of him on the beach with that girl, and he doesn’t really want to know more than he has to.

Maybe he’s a little selfish. Maybe he’s being irrationally ridiculous. Geno just wants to share his happiness, and as a good friend, Sidney should respond.

It should be okay to be selfish for once. Flower’s always said he’s spent too long caring after his team and not enough after himself.

That sounds great, he sends back to Thomas instead. What time?

 -

 “Thomas?” Taylor says, her mouth full of corn flakes stolen from Sidney’s cabinets. “You’re dating a guy named Thomas? Like the train?”

“What? No. Like the person. It’s a normal name.”

Taylor leans in. “Is he Russian?” she says lowly, like they’re sharing a secret.

“No, Thomas isn’t a Russian name. Or. I don’t think so? What does that have to do with anything?

She sits back, puzzled. “What happened to the last guy?” she asks instead. “What was his name?”

“Richard. And we only went out for drinks once. Turns he was just into hockey and not. You know.”

“Into you,” Taylor clarifies.

“Sure,” Sidney says. “I wish you’d stop eating my cereal, you literally run through the whole box in two days.”

“Use your NHL money to buy more,” Taylor says. “But seriously? Richard? Maybe the next guy you’ll date will be named Harry, and then you’ll have dated every Tom, Dick, and Harry in this town.”

“You’re not funny.” Sidney sits down, snatching the box back.

“Okay, Heartbreaker,” Taylor says. “My roommate has a brother named Harry. Harry Portman. You want me to get his number?”

“Please don’t,” Sidney says. “I don’t want you to wingman me.”

“I just don’t want you to turn into a hermit.”

“I go outside,” Sidney argues. “I went fishing yesterday.”

“You fish every day,” Taylor throws back. “And I saw you. You were just sitting on the docks watching the sunset.”

“People do that!”

“Yeah, our great-aunt, maybe. But she’s like, 90,” Taylor pauses, turning her attention on Sidney’s flashing phone. “Who’s that?”

Sidney barely glances down. “Geno.”

“He’s been texting you a lot.”

“Yeah, every day,” Sidney replies absently.

She raises an eyebrow. “I think he misses you,” she says carefully.

“He doesn’t. They’re all just photos of him with some girl that he met a month ago. They went to Florida for vacation, and I think he said they’re going to go to Russia in the next couple of days.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sidney snaps. At Taylor’s stricken expression, he looks away. “Sorry. I just—I mean, it doesn’t really matter what he does. It doesn’t affect me.”

Taylor’s quiet for a while.

“Hey, Sid, I won’t eat your cereal anymore,” she says gently, like a peace offering.

“No, no, it’s okay, I can buy more, I was just messing with you,” Sidney says quickly. “I like it when you come over.”

She knows exactly how Sidney feels towards Geno, despite Sidney never saying it aloud. It’d sound dumb, anyways. ‘I love a man who can’t love me back, and every day I hope that a miracle will happen and I’ll finally be happy,’ sounds like the plot of those 21st century romantic dramas that keep coming out every summer. Taylor and Sidney both avoid them like the plague.

He doesn’t know whether to be annoyed at himself for being so transparent, irritated at Taylor for being observant, or thankful that there’s someone close to him who understands just how lonely he is without him having to admit it.  

“I know,” she says, and dumps the rest of the box into her bowl, corn flake dust and all. “I got you, Squid.”

It’s definitely the last one, Sidney decides.

“How’d you meet Thomas, anyways?”

“Well. It was at the grocery store. I was buying that cereal, actually,” Sidney starts, and Taylor chokes out a laugh.

-

“Where you go, Sid?” Geno asks, after barely pulling back from their hug.

They’re the last ones in the locker room, the rest of the team having already dispersed with their families after the loss. Sidney’s too exhausted to process the game, too numb for the reality of losing their grasp at the Cup yet again to beat himself up over it properly. Geno’s hand, big and reassuring, is still on his bicep, like he’s keeping him grounded.

“I’m going home,” Sidney says, confused.

“No, mean for summer.”

“Oh.” Sidney hasn’t thought about that yet. “I might go back to Cole Harbour.”

“Again?” Geno teases. “Home not vacation.”

“I think I need some time by myself. It’s been a rough year,” Sidney admits, but when he sees Geno’s gaze soften, turn sympathetic, he quickly changes the topic. He can’t deal with this, not right now. “You going back to Russia?”

“Maybe after,” Geno says. “Florida nice right now. Always nice.”

“You don’t change it up either,” Sidney huffs.

“You should join,” Geno says. “Go to beach, have fun, I’m take you out. Maybe you even meet special person, she spend summer together so you not stay in Cole Harbour alone again—”

Sidney pulls away abruptly. He doesn’t exactly avoid Geno’s eyes when he answers him, trying for a smile and praying Geno doesn’t notice.

“I’ll text you,” Sidney says, patting Geno’s arm. “Enjoy your summer, G.”

“Sid, wait—”

-

“You have the greatest laugh,” Thomas tells him one day, after Sidney had demolished his burger and is steadily working his way through the Oreo shake. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone laugh like that.”

“It’s because I have an ugly laugh,” Sidney says wryly. “I sound like a goose.”

“Geese are cute. From far away,” Thomas says. “It’s cute.”

He likes the way Thomas talks, measured and never too loud. Listening to him talk about his day at work at the university as a professor reminds Sidney a little of sitting on the docks and watching the sun set, slowly but surely. He likes the way he moves his hands when he talks, likes how tall he is so that Sidney has to look up to kiss him.

(Sometimes Geno speaks too quickly, when he wants to get a thought across, and he’s never afraid to shout across the table at their team outing in some bar to playfully heckle a rookie.)

Thomas’ voice, Sidney thinks, that he’d like to come home to. Anyone would like to come home to something like that.

But it doesn’t make his heart race, not the way Geno’s excited yelps of ‘Sid’ does when he scores a goal. Or the way he looks at Sidney during their last Cup party, years ago, bright and adoring like he almost can’t contain it as he drags Sidney down into the pool with him.

Sidney wonders if there’s maybe something the matter with himself.

 -

 Thomas kisses him goodnight at the door, a peck on the cheek that leaves Sidney’s skin burning.

“Wait,” Sidney says, pulling him back by his wrist. “Don’t you want to come in?”

“Do you want me to?”

Sidney doesn’t date—it’s not like that there’s lots of opportunities in Pittsburgh (or Nova Scotia, for that matter), where almost everyone knows his face, and he can barely remember the last time he’s really been kissed—a real, heart-fluttering, all-consuming kiss that makes Sidney’s knees weak.

He’d always assumed love would make him heartsick like it does with Geno, like when Geno sits just a little too close at breakfast time in the nook, or when he holds Sidney just a smidge tighter than he does with Tanger during their celly, and he slips into yet another daydream. Dreams about a Geno who could care for him just as deeply and desperately as Sidney does, who doesn’t mind sharing Sidney’s quiet and secluded corner of the world—the docks, the lake, the summer house in Cole Harbour—that’s basically as much a physical extension of Sidney’s heart as can be.

(He’s always come to the conclusion that Geno would hate it. It’s too quiet. Too dull. The waves on the lake are still and not like the waves Geno raves about in Miami. There’s nothing Sidney can give to Geno that he doesn’t already have except for himself, but Geno doesn’t want that. It breaks Sidney’s heart more than he had expected it to.)

“I don’t know,” Sidney says honestly. He feels awful.

Thomas cups Sidney’s cheek, smiling. “It’s okay,” he says. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

He feels pathetic. “I don’t want you to go.”

It’s the truth. He doesn’t want to be alone.

“Want to watch a movie?” Thomas suggests.

An hour later, when Thomas lays Sidney back on the couch, pulling off his own shirt, Sidney’s phone flashes bright with a notification where he left it on the counter.

It’s Geno, Sidney thinks. It’s always Geno.

“Have you done this before?” Thomas asks, trailing kisses down Sidney’s inner thigh.

“I—” He resists the urge to shut his legs, push himself back, and hide away. He’s only kissed a boy once, a drunken, two second peck in juniors that to this day, neither he nor the guy has brought the incident up again. And in a foolish, hopeful section of his heart, Sidney’s always imagined Geno to be the one between his legs, nibbling on his neck and belly and thighs all while murmuring sweet phrases to him languages Sidney can’t understand, loving him, right here in his Cole Harbour living room. “What does it matter?”

Thomas studies him, his expression unreadable.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally. “I just wanted to know what you liked.”

“I’d like it if you took your pants off,” Sidney says, feeling bold.

Thomas’ eyes turn dark, and Sidney know he must’ve said the right thing.  

It’s only when Thomas goes to the bathroom to grab a towel and Sidney laying there, boneless and wrung out, that he realizes that he’s missed a sunset for the first time since coming back from Pittsburgh.

 -

 Geno always wants to call.

Always wants to share about his time at the zoo petting the penguin chicks, or dancing the night away in a club in France, or brunch in Switzerland with the massive group of Russians who all seem to know each other on a nickname basis.

“What you do so far?” Geno asks, his voice through the phone sounding tinny and just as far away as he actually is. 

“Not much. Went fishing, trained, had dinner with Nate. Taylor’s coming over in a bit, and I’m prepping the beef stew our mom makes that she likes,” Sidney says, leaning the phone against his shoulder so he can fiddle with the tomato he’s trying to slice. “Tell me more about your trip. You went swimming with a shark?”

“Whale shark,” Geno says, then quickly changes the topic. “But want to hear about your day. You having fun at home?”

 “So much,” Sidney says dryly. “It’s not swimming with sharks fun, but…”

 Geno makes a noncommittal noise, like he’s brushing the matter off like it’s not as impressive as it sounds. “Maybe meet a nice Canadian girl finally?”

Geno’s tone is teasing, but it strikes something in Sidney that he can’t name. Something between bitter envy and disappointment in himself for crushing on someone who’d never love him and maybe even annoyance at Geno’s insistence to fix his loneliness by pushing onto him this faceless woman who is supposed to magically undo years of pining and heartache by her mere presence.

So he hears himself say, “No, no girls. I met a nice boy, though.”

Geno is quiet on the other end of the line, so Sidney pushes on, half-rambling. “We went to get burgers and a shake. It was really good, he was funny. Really sweet. He drove me back to my house and everything. He texted me if I wanted a third date and I think I might go.” 

For ten terrible seconds, Geno says nothing.

“Geno?” Sidney whispers. “Geno, are you still there?”

“Yes,” Geno says, like the air has been punched out of him, but recovers so quickly that Sidney thinks he might’ve hallucinated it. “So glad you happy, find someone nice so not spend summer alone again.”

“Yeah,” Sidney says. Geno’s nothing but supportive, but somehow, in some warped level of Sidney’s understanding, it’s still, quite simply, a reminder of how Geno can’t love him the way Sidney wants him to. Doesn’t think about waking up next to Sidney and placing kiss after kiss on sleep-softened cheeks to wake him up like Sidney had often dreamed himself. Can’t be happy with Sidney the same way Sidney is when he’s around Geno, and isn’t that such a shame? “I guess so.”  

“Tell me about him,” Geno demands suddenly. “What he look like? He play hockey? He nice to you?”

“Maybe next time,” Sidney lies, turning to his empty Le Creuset, sitting on the stove. “Look, I have to go, my stew’s going to boil over.”

There’ll never be a next time, not if he can help it.

-

Taylor’s lounging on the armchair, crunching on a bowl of chips, when she gestures at the TV, as Meg Ryan meets Tom Hanks for the first time on top of the Empire State Building.

“I think growing up with movies like this ruined me,” she says, as the instrumentals swell and Meg takes Tom’s hand. “You think when you’re an adult that falling in love with someone is going to be like this, but it’s just a bunch of people asking if you’ve hooked up with the guy and then telling you who they know who also hooked up with him, like it’s a competition. It’s kind of depressing.”

Sidney’s half-paying attention to the screen as he taps through his Snapchat feed. “Huh?”

“I’m just saying that sending someone a thirst DM is different from wooing them with roses and handwritten letters.”

Sidney frowns. “Who sent you a thirst DM?”

“No one,” Taylor says. “Hey, you know what it means? I’m impressed.”

“I’m 30, not dead.” He folds his arms, staring. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She waves her hand. “Does Thomas send you thirst DMs?”

“I’m not talking about that with you.”

“He does. See? Romance is dead. Also yeah, you’re right, I don’t want to know.” She stretches luxuriously in her seat, getting comfortable. “Geno texting you?”

“I have other friends, you know,” Sidney says.

“Yeah, me.”

“You’re not my friend,” he throws back.

“You’re right,” Taylor snickers. “You’re my mom.”

Sidney stops tapping as the screen switches to Geno’s story—the first one is of him standing next to a ridiculously long baguette, pointing at it for some reason. The next is him surrounded by roses at a flower shop, pink, red, and yellows blending into a sea of petals. Pretty! the captions says.

But Sidney’s already seen that one—Geno had sent that particular photo to him personally.

He wishes Geno would stop. He doesn’t know what else to say besides a thumbs up emoji or a ‘Nice! Looks like fun’ that sounds hollow even to himself.

So he just doesn’t respond at all anymore.

-

A package from France is waiting for him when Sidney gets back from his run.

Really good! Take you there next time, the scribbled note, sitting on top of the shreds of packaging and the wine, reads. Chocolates, too. Only milk chocolate, know you not like dark.

Sidney puts both in the back of his cabinet, still empty save for a couple of chicken noodle soup cans and extra, unopened cereal boxes.

If he collects more things, he wonders, will Cole Harbour feel more like a home?

-

Thomas is snoring next to him, one arm draped over Sidney’s stomach, when the phone buzzes next to Sidney’s cheek.

“‘ello?” he mutters.

“Hi, Sid,” Geno says. It sounds like there’s commotion wherever he is, a woman speaking and laughing floating in intermittently. “I wake you up?”

“Geno, it’s…” He stares blearily at the digital numbers glowing by the bed. “…2:14 in the morning.”

“Fuck, I get time wrong, I’m think it’s only 11—”

“What is it, G?” he cuts in, then rubs his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Is nothing, just want to hear your voice,” Geno says apologetically. “Is weird, not have to see you at 6 AM at rink every day.”

“What, you miss me or something?” Sidney says, laughing softly.

“Yes,” Geno says easily, taking Sidney’s breath away like he’s commenting on the weather. “Miss you. Every day.”  

That was one of the first things Sidney fell in love with, the uncomplicated way Geno dealt with the world. If Geno sees crème brulee on the menu, he orders it. If he sees a pretty girl he likes, he asks if she’d like to dance. If he knows Sidney is having a bad day, he drives over with donuts from Sidney’s favorite guilty pleasure bakery and talks about his family until Sidney forgets why he was frustrated in the first place. If he loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart that it’s almost palpable. It makes Sidney fantasize of such impossible things that he often tricks himself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he waits long enough, today will be different.

“You seem to be having a great time without me.”

“Yes, is fun,” he replies. “But think would be more fun with you. See cheesecake yesterday, think, Sidney would love, is his favorite, so I take picture. Is why I send photos, but you stop respond.”

He can’t tell Geno that he’d thought the photos were Geno’s way of chirping Sidney for being a summer shut-in. Can’t tell him that he knows those photos must be documenting Geno’s dates, and who’s on the other side of the camera, out of frame, and how dreadfully empty it makes him feel, without sounding like a jealous, self-centered creep.  

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“Is okay, just call to make sure you not die alone in little Canadian cabin,” he says, and Sidney could hear that crooked smile in that tone.

“It’s not a cabin, it’s a real house—”

“Sid?” Thomas murmurs, squinting awake. Sidney nearly jolts off the mattress. “Wha’s happening? Is morning?”

“No, it’s still early, I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand over the speaker. “I should’ve taken this outside—”

“Who’s that?” Geno asks. His voice sounds brittle, but it might just be the connection. “Is that—”

“Hey, listen, I’ll call you back,” Sidney say quickly, turning to his side. “And happy early birthday. It’s coming soon, isn’t it? A week? No, two.”

“Yeah, you remember,” Geno says faintly.

“Of course I remember, it’s important. Circled it on my calendar and everything,” Sidney says.

That gets Geno to laugh. “You not just save on phone? Like old man, Sid.”

“I like writing things down, helps me remember.” Sidney pulls the covers up, settling back down. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Geno says. “Good night, Sid.”

There’s a photo of a cheesecake in their chat the next day, dotted with chocolate chips and piped to perfection with vanilla bean crème.

Wish I was there, Sidney types back.

Bring some back for you, Geno writes immediately, even though it must be in the middle of the night for him.

-

Three days later, a non-descript box is sitting innocuously on his front step. An irrational side of him hopes it’s the cheesecake.

It’s not, though.

See store in Switzerland sell good luck stuff animal. Pens colors! the postcard reads, each letter rounded with Geno’s blocky handwriting. Magic bear win us every game next season.

The teddy bear’s eyes flash at Sidney, its fur clean and brushed with a gold and black bow tied handsomely around its neck. Sidney closes his eyes briefly and allows himself to pretend for a moment that it there might be something really magic about the bear, just like Geno had said.

He sends a photo of the bear, propped up against the window with the sunset and the lake as a backdrop.

He loves his new home, he writes. What should I name him?

Zhenya, Geno’s text says.

What does that mean?

)))) tell you when I see u

-

Thomas throws in the towel two days after Zhenya the bear arrives, so maybe it’s not such a magic bear after all.

“I’m sorry, Squid,” Taylor says, when Sidney breaks the news to her. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think Thomas was Prince Charming or anything. And I didn’t want to tell you this before, but Mom also didn’t think too much of him after he only ate like one slice of her peach cobbler.”

“It’s okay, I’m not mad,” Sidney says, then reconsiders. “I am a little pissed. He could’ve told me he was planning on moving to New York from the start.”

Cole Harbour had never been long-term for Thomas, career-wise, which made sense now that Sidney really sits down to think about it. And yeah, Sidney’s the same way—by the end of the summer, he has to go back to Pittsburgh, but maybe a small part of him was working up the courage to ask Thomas to move with him, because that was just what people he knew did. He’s heard of rookies, freshly drafted, having their girlfriends of three weeks moving in with them, and he’s always felt a kind of inadequacy about himself.

It’s passed his mind one too many times that he’s not worth loving. He’s too strange, too awkward, too one-track minded on a career that can’t last his whole life, not enough. Sometimes he loathes sitting at team dinners and listening to his teammates talk about their girlfriends or wives or wives-to-be and babies. What used to be ‘that’ll be me someday’ has long ago morphed into ‘it’s never going to happen, you have to learn how to be happy with yourself’ along with his excuses of early morning training to get out of meeting Geno’s new girl, or being dragged to a rookie outing with their girlfriends.

He had just gotten used to coming home and seeing Thomas’ coat draped on the couch, his books scattered on the kitchen counter. He’d entertained the thought of having someone to bring to family skate and of coming home into someone’s arms after a crushing loss, and of finally forgetting his stupid hope that Geno could see him the way he wanted to be seen, that he’d just gone ahead by himself and planned everything out with the assumption that he could learn to fall in love later.

Maybe after so many years, he only wanted someone—anyone, really—on his arm to show Geno so Geno can stop looking at him with barely-concealed sympathy.

(Poor Sidney, is what Geno must think. Poor, poor, lonely Sidney. Unloved, unwanted. What a shame it is, to be the best player in his generation but still be no one at the same time.

“I’m happy by myself,” he’d said once, and he’d been in a good mood then, and it’d almost felt true.

But when Geno had given him that expression, like he knows Sidney’s lying, it’d made him furious and devastated all at once. He’d been sick of pining silently and he’d though that was bad enough, but being pitied by that very same person is so, so much worse.

He can’t imagine what Geno would say to him if he knew how long and how much Sidney has loved him.)

So no matter how he cuts it, it’s his own fault through and through.

He didn’t cry when Thomas told him he was leaving. But everything about the living room looks like it’s missing half of someone, and the emptiness of his own house that he’d never noticed before seems more visceral than anything else at this very moment. And losing Thomas somehow makes it feel like he’s failed somehow. Failed to make another person happy. Failed to make himself happy.

“Whirlpool romance,” Taylor says. “No. It’s whirlwind. My bad.”

“More like a hot tub on low batteries romance,” Sidney says. “I don’t think it would’ve gone anywhere even if he stayed.”

“Do hot tubs run on batteries?” Taylor asks.

“Hot tubs for ants.” He sighs. “Hey, if I’m alone for the rest of my life, you’ll still visit, right?”

“Of course,” Taylor says. “You can live in my basement. I won’t even make you pay rent.” She hums as she sneaks a glance at Sidney, studying him. “You don’t have to tell me this, but. Did you love Thomas?”

“I don’t know,” Sidney says. He doesn’t know a lot of things lately.

When Geno calls him that night, Sidney doesn’t pick up.

He doesn’t pick up the next morning, the next night, or the night after that.

-

There’s about fifteen unread texts and five missed calls on his phone by the time Sidney falls asleep to Meg Ryan on TV sniffling, “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

-

Geno’s birthday comes and goes, but Sidney doesn’t realize it until the morning after, when he could barely drag himself out of bed for his run.

He misses the sunrise, and another sunset, for that matter.

-

“You usually go to Vail around this time, don’t you?” Flower say, his voice coming out that much louder and grainier on speaker. “Have you been in Cole Harbour the entire time?”

“I don’t need this from you,” Sidney groans. “You said this was an emergency call.”

“This is an emergency,” Flower says, his voice turning serious. “Sidney, I’m worried about you. Tanger’s worried. Phil texted me to check if you’ve died. The entire team says you’ve been living off the grid. You’re turning into Bear Grylls.”

“Off the—Flower, I’m just at home. I have a working stove and toilet and everything.”

“Is this about the Cup?”

“No, I—it’s not the Cup, no.”

“Sidney.”

“I’m serious!” There’s no other way to get Flower off his back. “I got dumped, okay? Well, I got dumped after I came home. But that’s not why I came here.”

“I’m sorry,” Flower says, not missing a beat, and he truly does sound sincere. “Do you want to talk about it? I didn’t even know you were dating anyone in Pittsburgh.”

“I wasn’t.” He gulps down the lump in his throat. “I met him when I was grocery shopping here. It’s not a big deal.”

Flower is silent, but Sidney can almost hear the gears in his head turning.

“Is he Russian?” is the first thing Flower says.

“Is he—what? No, why does everyone keep asking that?”

“Just wondering. Hey, does Geno know?”

“He knows.” Sidney starts to pick at a loose thread on his t-shirt. “I didn’t tell him the details though, but he tried to ask.”

“You can’t hide from Geno forever, you know.”

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” Sidney says defensively.

“Well, Geno’s texted me about a dozen times asking if I knew what you were up to. I keep telling him that I’m literally equally as far from you physically, but he’s not getting it.” Flower goes on before Sidney can cut in, “All I’m saying is, at least call him so he doesn’t worry himself into a heart attack in Russia.”

“I’ll call later,” Sidney says.

“I’ll find out if you didn’t,” Flower sing-songs, then sobers up. “I really will. I’m the next person in his panic-queue.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Oh, and Sid? One more thing. You know we all love you, right? I don’t care who you date. We’d all like to meet them whenever you’re ready.”

Sidney swallows thickly, biting this lip and willing himself not to break. “Love you too, Flower.”

“I just want you to be happy. Geno does, too.”

“We’re on the same page then,” Sidney laughs, a little throatily.

-

“Hi, G,” Sidney says, clutching his pillow to his chest. He’s a little too drunk on Geno’s bottle and his entire body feels like he’s fighting to swim against a current of goo when he crawled from the kitchen back into bed. “Happy belated birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t call—I—I should’ve called. I saw the penguins you had on your story. Really cute.”

“Birthday few days ago. Is almost your birthday now,” Geno murmurs warmly, sounding so familiar and wonderful that it churns painfully at Sidney’s insides. He sounds glad to hear Sidney, and if that doesn’t make the guilt bite harder. “Is so late there. You not sleep? Break routine, is end of world.”

“It’s not that late.”

“Should be 2 AM there.” Silence, then, “Everything okay?”

That was all it took, apparently.

“Not really,” Sidney croaks out, his throat catching, then loses it completely.

“Oh, Sid, Sid,” Geno is saying, as Sidney tries to steady his own breathing. “Slow down, I’m—I’m not understand—is okay, you’ll be okay. Shh, Sid, shh. Is okay.”

He can’t, as much as he wants to. He’s making a mess of his sleeve and he’s halfway baffled because he hadn’t cried when Thomas collected his things, hadn’t cried in what seems to be years. But now, he’s gasping like all the air’s been vacuumed out from the room, and bitter, pathetic, unrelenting tears are falling like there’s nothing that can possibly fix him. Like he’s eight again, still afraid of the parents during games shouting ugly, ugly words at him, afraid of the other players coming at him with the intent to shatter, afraid he’ll be fighting alone until he does break in two and can’t tape himself back together like usual.

“‘t’s just me again,” he blubbers out. He doesn’t think the noises he’s making sound human. “I thought I could love him but I was just being selfish. He didn’t want me and you don’t want me and I’m back in this house by myself and I miss you.”

Geno clucks his tongue, like someone had driven a spear through his chest. “Sidney—”

“I miss you so fucking bad, but I’m so stupid because I know you have a girlfriend, and that’s okay. That’s—that’s awesome for you, that’s—I’m glad you’re happy. I want you to be. But you keep sending me photos and saying you wished I were there, and I keep waking up pretending that maybe today, I can make you happy—”

“Sidney, no, is not stupid. You—you make me most happy, I do want you—”

(A part of Sidney wishes that if Geno says his name enough times, it’d be enough to sew his own heart back together, enough to make him whole and good enough for someone to want to stay.)

“No, you don’t. Not like that.” The tears are coming out slower now, the flood now being replaced with something sour and shameful. “That’s why I’ve been staying in Cole Harbour. I want to go home but I’m already home. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sid,” Geno says again, firmly. “You have bear?”

“Bear?” He blinks—the world is a fuzzy blur around him. “Wha?”

“Bear I give you,” Geno insists. “You have?”

“Zhenya?” Sidney looks at the windowsill. Zhenya the Bear had been keeping watch across the lake all this time, facing away from Sidney, like he’s gazing across it all to wherever Geno is. “I have him.”

Geno falters at the name. “Sid, before I not tell you what bear name mean. Want to make surprise, but can’t wait. Sid, you listen?”

He nods, forgetting Geno can’t see him. “Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out reedy.

“Zhenya is special name, save for most important people, people I love.” Geno continues softly, “Save for family, and now save for you. You understand? Is my nickname. I’m give you bear because can’t be there right now with you. Is silly, maybe is embarrassing thing for babies, but I see him in store, and I think is best way to show you. You have my name. You have Geno, you have Zhenya, you have me. Always have me.”

It’s too much. The alcohol and the declaration is blending together into confusion and exhaustion.

“Zhenya,” Sidney tells him, barely able to keep his eyes open any longer. “I’m so tired.”

“Go sleep, Sid,” Geno says. “Is very late. Need wake up at 5 AM and be best hockey player in world.”

“Don’t go,” he sniffs. He’s sure he’s nearly incoherent at this point. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not hang up,” Geno promises. “Sleep. I’m tell you my day with Mama. Go visit her yesterday, because she want to make this cookie, is like childhood dessert for me and Denis, very old recipe—”

Sidney doesn’t even make it past the second sentence before he’s out like a light.

-

“Where are you, man?” Nate’s voice crackles through on the receiver. “I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes. I think this old lady thinks I got stood up. Or I’m loitering. Maybe both.”

“Shit.” Sidney smacks a palm to his forehead. Everything hurts—his head, his eyes, his insides. “I’m so sorry, I overslept. Fuck, I’m getting up now.”

He sits up, and immediately doubles over. He has to take several seconds before the nausea subsides.

Nate makes a concerned noise. “You okay? We can reschedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, that might…” Deep breathes. “Might be the best.”

He fumbles for his phone, then notices the four hour call with Geno on his history, and everything comes back like a slap.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he starts dry heaving.

-

“Geno? Hi, I’m—I want to apologize for…for everything. It was unfair of me to put that on y—I should’ve never said anything. Please give me a call back. I’m sorry.”

-

Ten messages later, and Sidney’s notifications remain silent for the first time in months.

-

“I messed up, Flower,” Sidney garbles out. “I messed it up.”

Flower’s murmurs do little to soothe, but Sidney holds onto his voice like a lifeline.

-

The days come and go as usual, and Sidney still wakes up with the sun. Only now it seems that much quieter.

-

Sidney’s sitting on the docks, his legs dangling over the edge as the music and laughter from his backyard plays on like a half-forgotten soundtrack. Thirty-one and still the same as he was when he was eighteen, lonely and tired and feeling like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, only now he’s admitting that his knees are buckling.

“What did you wish for?” Taylor asks, when he’d blown out the candles a few moments ago.

A miracle, he thinks.

“A Cup, what else?” he fibs, and his friends laugh uproariously as they yell, ‘Don’t say it out loud, you’ll jinx it!’ His father pats him on the back, and Taylor looks so sad and lost for him that he has to turn away, excusing himself from the crowd.

He hears footsteps creaking up behind him, and he sighs. “Taylor, I’ll be back in a bit, I just wanted some air—”

“Sid, you miss own party?” the voice says softly.

Sidney whips around so quickly he nearly topples himself off the ledge. The same face, same eyes, same smile that Sidney has loved for years and years, standing on the docks holding a lopsided chocolate chip cheesecake that looks like it’s seen better days.

“Is that—” He points at Geno’s hands. He can’t breathe. “Did you—”

“Made it with Taylor, couldn’t bring back the one I see in Russia. Not the same but…hope is still taste good.” He sets the cake down, takes one hesitant step forward. “Happy birthday, Sid.”

Sidney scrambles to his feet and flies into Geno’s open arms. He almost trips at the last step on that one creaky floorboard that he keeps telling himself he should fix before he goes back to Pittsburgh, but Geno reaches out, catches him and holds him close like he can’t imagine ever letting Sidney go in the first place.

“Should have come sooner, sorry take so long,” Geno murmurs into Sidney’s curls. “Should have come with you to Cole Harbour from beginning. Want to tell you how I feel at end of season, but then you say you already date someone, and I’m get scared—at first, you know, think need to be happy for you, but maybe not so good at it because I’m send pictures and things anyways to try win you back and hope not too late—then you call, and—”

“But you’re the one dating someone else,” Sidney hiccups out.

Geno places his hand tenderly on Sidney’s cheek, like he’s cupping Sidney’s entire soul. “Always been you. I’m just waiting for you.”

“Geno,” Sidney says. His heart feels like it’s being pulled taut like piano strings, crying out everything he can’t articulate as he hopes that Geno understands. “Zhenya.”

Geno clasps his hand, the other one tipping up Sidney’s chin to place one, two kisses on Sidney’s reddened cheeks. “Don’t cry, Sid.”

He doesn’t care as he misses another sunset, not when Geno’s bending him back to kiss him right, tender and sweet.

“How long are you staying?” Sidney gasps out, because he has to know. “When’s your flight back?”

“Oh, Sid,” Geno laughs, bright and airy, and it’s really such a wonderful thing to hear. “I’m just come home, why I’m go again?”

He closes his eyes as Geno leans in for the third kiss, as his own once-still heart finally, finally lurches that blissful two beats forward that he’s been waiting for.

[visionshadows]

Mob!Au Part Two

Part One

Sid watches as Evgeni sleeps, his face slack in exhaustion. Dr. Vyas had given him a shot of Dilaudid after resetting his shoulder. Vyas’s portable x-ray showed that he had two cracked ribs as well so he was going to need some time to recover.

He’s got no idea what he’s going to do with him after that. He’s got Hags and Horny digging up any information he can on Evgeni Malkin to find out exactly why the Russians were so reluctant to outright kill him and instead hand him over to a rival. Until Evgeni wakes up and talks, he’s going to have to rely on his hackers.

Olli clears his throat behind him and Sid turns to him. “Yes?”

“Phone for you.” Olli holds out the phone with a blank expression which meant it could only be immediate family. “I’ll stand guard.”

“Get me if he wakes,” Sid says, taking the phone and heading towards his study. Only when he’s inside, safe where phone signals are scrambled and his conversations can’t be recorded, does he answer. “Hello.”

“Squid! I heard rumours the Russians gave you a wife.”

Sid groans and rubs at his forehead. “I swear to god, Taylor, you have better things to do then listen to gossip from Flower and Tanger.”

“No see, I hire good people and they know that I’ll kill them if they screw up,” Taylor says sweetly, but in utter sincerity. Sid’s seen her slit a man’s throat. “So I have time to listen to gossip about you.”

“I have no details about why they gave him to me other than he’s most likely gay and they found out,” Sid says with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know who he is in their organization or why they gave him away instead of just killing him.”

“Ask him.”

“Wow, I never would have thought of that. Thank god I have you to remind me how to do my job. He’s been beaten up pretty badly and Vyas had to reset his shoulder so he’s sleeping. I’ll ask him when he wakes up. I’ve got Hags and Horny on it.”

“Oh how are my pretty Swedes,” Taylor croons. “Tell them I miss them and they are always welcome back up in Nova Scotia if they get tired of working for the ugly Crosby.”

“I am so happy you are in another country. Have you heard from Mom and Dad recently?”

“I talked to them yesterday. Dad fell asleep on the beach and is burned to a crisp so he’s being a big whiny baby. Mom’s contemplating dumping his body in the ocean.”

“Well if anyone could kill him and leave no trace, it would be Mom,” Sid says idly. “Everything okay up there?”

“Everything is fine. We’re a well-oiled machine up here,” Taylor dismisses him easily. “Other than the wife, everything is handled with the Russians?”

“No surprises. The deal is signed and we can move forward without having to worry about them. We’re not going to remove Gally though. I don’t trust them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. We could reach out to him and find out more about your wife.”

“I really wish you would stop calling him that.”

“I know.”

Sid goes over to his bar and pours himself a glass of scotch, wishing not for the first time, that his sister was normal. He isn’t normal himself, but Taylor is another level. Sometimes Sid wonders if she is actually a sociopath.

“I’ll let you know more about him once I know more,” Sid promises. “Until then, how about we leave him out of the conversation?”

“Oh Sidney,” Taylor says delightedly. “Of course. I’ll just get my information the old fashioned way.”

Sid squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes I hate you.”

“Love you too, brother.”

The phone beeps in his hand as she hangs up and Sid lets out a heavy sigh. If Taylor knows, that means he’s going to have to get in contact with his parents before she tells them anything. His parents may have retired and left running everything to Taylor and himself, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to stay in the loop.

And his mom has been on him to get married for ages. If Taylor calls and starts talking about him having a Russian wife, Sid’s going to have them here in an instant no matter what warrants might be out for his dad’s arrest.

Olli is scrambling eggs when Sid gets up the next morning, a cup of coffee already prepared for him. Evgeni is sitting at the table, his arm held to his side with a sling that Olli must have helped him put on. He’s got a cup of coffee as well, sipping it slowly.

“Good morning,” Sid says, patting Olli on the side. “I want cheese in mine.”

“When don’t you want cheese.” Olli hip checks Sid lightly since his hands are busy. “Drink you coffee and stop bothering me.”

Sid sits down across from Evgeni. “Did you sleep well?”

“Drugged so feel bad this morning,” Evgeni says thickly, wrinkling his nose. “Not good sleep.”

“Well I see no reason for you to follow me around. I’ll leave someone here with you so feel free to sleep the day away. For now, just recover from your injuries.”

Evgeni eyes him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Why recover? Because I don’t get any pleasure from watching someone creep around in pain unless I intended it. Olli, who is available today?”

“Big Rig or Dumo would be best,” Olli says calmly, sliding a plate of food in front of Evgeni. “Eat.”

“I miss Pascal,” Sid sighs. “He always fed me first.”

Olli flicks the back of Sid’s head and goes back to the stove. “I could always let you go back to drinking protein shakes every morning.”

Sid looks over at Evgeni and lets out a theatrical sigh. “Never let your minions talk back because they never stop.”

Evgeni is looking at them warily, not answering Sid. He tips his head slightly in acknowledgement before he tries to eat, obviously struggling with his non-dominant hand. Sid watches him for a few moments before letting out an exasperated noise.

“This is pathetic.” He moves to the seat next to Evgeni and takes the fork, stabbing some of the eggs and holding them up. “Open your mouth.”

Evgeni’s eyes flick between Sid and the fork full of eggs. Sid can see him struggling with what to do, not wanting to admit to needing help, not wanting to take Sid’s help, and of course, the fact he’s hungry. Eventually he opens his mouth and Sid slides the fork in.

Olli moves Sid’s coffee to his new seat and puts a plate of eggs down for him there. Sid alternates between feeding himself and feeding Evgeni who eats everything. Sid finishes with Evgeni and settles in to eat the rest of his own food while Evgeni plows through five pieces of toast and another cup of coffee.

“Feel free to eat anything in the kitchen,” Sid says when he’s finished eating. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Big Rig can’t cook though so it’s either leftovers or peanut butter and jelly with him. I’ll cook when I get home or I’ll send someone over to get food ready for us.”

“Can cook,” Evgeni says after a moment. “If you want.”

“Up to you,” Sid gets up and pushes his chair in. He taps the table in front of Evgeni. “You get today. When I get home tonight, I want answers.”

Evgeni tilts his head up to look at Sid through his lashes. Sid feels his stomach swoop because fuck, he is a good looking guy and Sid’s been single for a long time now. Evgeni is exactly his type, but Sid’s not about to force him into anything.

“Got it,” Evgeni murmurs. He looks back down at the table, clutching his coffee mug. “Will talk. If am protected.”

Sid snorts. “What? You really think you’re here to be my wife?”

Evgeni looks at him again, pinning Sid with a sultry expression which okay, he does really well. “You don’t want wife? Someone to cook food, clean house, fuck when you want? Look pretty on your arm? I can be that for you. Easy for me. You a very pretty man, very powerful. Can keep me safe, give me pretty things.”

Sid laughs and grips Evgeni’s chin. “You are an interesting one. Enjoy your sleep today, Evgeni. I will see you this evening.”

[sevenfists]

Here’s a deleted scene from the story I’ve been working on (currently in beta... stay tuned). 

Sidney’s parents came out for the parents’ weekend. Zhenya wasn’t sure when they got into town, but they were at the arena the morning of the game against the Sabres, politely participating in the group locker room tour although they had been in the arena many times.  

Sidney came over to Zhenya’s stall, wearing all of his gear aside from his jersey and skates. “Did Jen text you?”

“No,” Zhenya said. Jen seemed to have largely given up on communicating with him and was relying on Sidney to convey her messages. He wasn’t sure Sidney realized he had been recruited as Jen’s errand boy.

“Okay,” Sidney said. “Well, you’re sitting with me and my parents at lunch later, so make sure you comb your hair after you shower.”

“Funny,” Zhenya said, and Sidney grinned at him, remorseless. He grabbed Sidney’s face and tilted it toward the light, squinting at his upper lip. “Where is mustache?”

“Jesus, get off me,” Sidney said, smacking at his hands until Zhenya released him. “It’s the first day, it hasn’t started growing yet.”

Across the room, the Pens TV cameraman was filming them. “Look better without,” Zhenya said.

“You’ll be kissing my ugly mustache all month,” Sidney said. “Get over it.”

“Have to kiss lots now to remember,” Zhenya said, and he reeled Sidney in by the waistband of his pants and leaned in to give him a firm, dry kiss.

“That’s a fine, Malkin,” Downie bellowed, because he was too dumb to realize that nobody fined Zhenya.

Some of the parents were laughing. Zhenya released Sidney and smirked at him, pleased with his work.

“Comb your fucking hair,” Sidney said, and went back to his own stall.

The lunch buffet took place in one of the big event rooms upstairs. Sidney, unsurprisingly, had gotten held up with the press after skate, and Zhenya, impatient and hungry, went upstairs on his own. He regretted that decision immediately: Sidney’s parents were already seated, and Zhenya had a cameraman on his heels, and couldn’t go back downstairs the way he wanted to and wait for Sidney.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sidney’s parents. They were, like Sidney, even-tempered, unexciting people, and Zhenya had always gotten along with them well. But now he was responsible for their son making a sex tape, and he wasn’t sure how they felt about that, or how they would react to him.

There was no helping it. He approached their table, and Trina saw him coming and smiled, and they both rose to their feet to greet him.

Troy was easy: Zhenya shook his hand. But he wasn’t sure what to do with Trina, and they considered each other for a few moments before she smiled again and held out her arms.

Zhenya embraced her carefully, and bent to kiss her cheek. “Sorry,” he whispered, for her ears only.

“Good to see you again, Geno,” Troy said, as they all sat.

“Hope you have, ah. Safe trip,” Zhenya said. Should he have seen them already by now? Maybe they had been in town for a couple of days, and he should have already heard about their flight. Well, it was too late now. The footage could always be edited.

“Our flights went very smoothly,” Trina said. She looked like she wanted to laugh, and when Zhenya glanced at Troy, he looked like he was laughing, only silently. Sidney had mentioned that his parents thought the situation was amusing, and Zhenya supposed from the outside it was pretty funny. But he didn’t see what was entertaining about his pitiful efforts to make small talk.

“Shame your parents can’t be here this weekend,” Troy said. “I hope they’re planning to come out for the playoffs again this year.”

“Yes, I think,” Zhenya said. His parents and the Crosbys got along well despite the lack of any common language. “Long trip just for weekend.”

“Oh, of course,” Trina said. “I don’t imagine anyone would expect them to.”

Zhenya tried to think of what to say next, and drew a blank. Should he comment on the weather? It wasn’t doing anything interesting. Talk about that night’s game? Certainly Sidney had already talked that subject to death.

“Oh, there’s Sidney now,” Trina said, sparing Zhenya whatever pathetic nonsense he was about to drool out.

Sidney came over, trailed by a second cameraman, because it was clearly essential to capture multiple angles on four people eating lunch. He smiled at his parents and took the seat beside Zhenya, and leaned in to give Zhenya a kiss, the quick familiar kiss of long-term lovers. Zhenya realized with a shock that they were: they’d been having sex on and off for almost two years.

Rattled, he lost track of the conversation for a minute, and when he tuned back in, Sidney and his mother were laughing about something.

“We’ll find out,” Sidney said. “Some of these guys—well, Geno’s twenty-eight and he still can’t cook.”

Zhenya straightened up from his slouch and tried to look calm and dignified. “Can cook. But lots of guys eat at rink. It’s not just me.”

“I see what you mean,” Trina said to Sidney.

Being teased by two generations of Crosbys was more than any man should have to tolerate. Zhenya kicked Sidney beneath the table, and Sidney grinned in response and put his arm around Zhenya’s waist, his hand resting casually on Zhenya’s hip.

“He’s a work in progress,” Sidney said.

Zhenya would have been a lot more irritated about all of this if it weren’t for the big smile on Sidney’s face when he looked at Zhenya, pleased with himself for successfully chirping, and the way his hand tightened on Zhenya’s hip.

The meal went well. Sidney’s parents didn’t seem to hold Zhenya accountable for what had happened, or at least they didn’t bring it up. Sidney ate with one hand and kept his other hand on Zhenya most of the time, his hip or his thigh or his shoulder, and Zhenya enjoyed it so much that he didn’t even mind the way Trina kept glancing at them and smiling.

Sidney got up for dessert, and Troy said, his voice mild, “Glad to see this dating thing is working out for the two of you.”

That was a deep river to wade into. “Yes, it’s okay,” Zhenya said cautiously.

“Sidney was worried that it would be hard for you,” Trina said, with a glance at Troy that Zhenya couldn’t read. “I hope it hasn’t been too bad.”

“No,” Zhenya said. ‘Bad’ wasn’t really the word he would use. “It’s okay. Already two months. Season will go fast.”

“Well, I’m glad Sidney has someone around to make sure he doesn’t eat too much sugar in one sitting,” Trina said, as Sidney came back to the table, carrying two plates piled high with an assortment of tiny desserts, little finger-food servings of cakes and pies and brownies.

“This is to share,” Sidney said, as if anyone at the table believed that.

That night, after he posed for pictures with Sidney and his parents, and went home to nap and then drove back to the rink, after they shut out the Sabres and posed for more pictures in the locker room, Zhenya opened his locker in the change room and found a small plate balanced precariously on top of his shoes, holding a single, paper napkin-wrapped brownie.

Sidney was still talking to the press. Zhenya ate the brownie right there, dropping crumbs on the floor and ignoring Tanger’s whining about how he wasn’t supposed to eat in the change room.

He left the empty plate and the crumpled-up napkin in Sidney’s locker, and when he checked his phone after he got home, Sidney had texted him a picture of the napkin and a few smiley faces.

[taylorj8771]

Oh gosh and then?!? My heart can't take it

All this love for this little drabble even left me clambering for more! Thank you anon and all of those who liked and reblogged. Have some more!

Continued from here

Sidney takes Geno’s advice, grabbing a beer once he’s home and heading into his den to watch some tv. He turns on coverage from their win, reveling in the broadcasters sheer enthusiasm of a team having a back-to-back cup win in nearly 20 years. Sidney’s proud of it.

It’s not long before he starts to feel bored with what he’s doing. He keeps glancing to his left and right, looking for teammates to smile and laugh with. He feels a little pathetic, suddenly, so he finishes off the beer and makes a few calls to find out where the cup is.

It’s at Mario’s and there’s a pool party already starting up. Sidney changes into his swim trunks and grabs two cases of beer from the basement before he heads over. He walks — the weather’s gorgeous and he can use a little fresh air — the couple of blocks.

The young guns are all there, as Sidney’s taken to calling them, Guentz and Shears are floating sleepily in the pool and Dumo’s running a card game off the pool deck, old cards getting shucked into the cup. Sidney stops into the house to give a quick kiss to Nathalie; she’s preparing platters upon platters of food, before he heads out. Mario’s already grilling one tray worth, the beer in his hand almost empty.

Sidney drops his cases by the card table and grabs Mario a fresh one before heading over to join him. “Does it ever get old?” Sidney asks with a knowing look.

Mario looks over at him and takes the beer. He clinks it with the one Sidney grabbed for himself. “Never.” He takes a swig and flips some of the meat.

There’s a commotion from inside the house that catches their attention before the backyard is suddenly filled with Sidney’s missing teammates. Tanger cannonballs into the water, quickly followed by Cully’s and Daley’s boys. They start an elaborate game of catch that knocks Guentz into the water, who comes up sputtering up for air. He chases after Joey, Cully’s youngest and always the culprit of mayhem.

Kuni’s oldest comes over to Sidney shortly thereafter and drags him into the pool to help with a game of chicken. Dumo abandons the card game to play, too, Sheary climbing on his shoulders. The kids are all game for it but it’s not long before they’re all hollering about the cheating going on and leave the pool, joining their moms where Nathalie’s been laying out the food Mario has cooked.

Sidney grabs a pool noodle and tucks it under his arms, kicking his legs up in the water. He lets himself float there, sunglasses blocking out the sun and teammates chattering all around.

Suddenly there’s two hands groping at Sidney’s face and he jolts, the pool noodle slipping and he falls under the water. He comes back up cursing, sunglasses crooked, and teammates laughing. “What the hell?” He asks, grabbing the noodle and securing himself above the waterline.

“What’s on your face?” Tanger asks in French, reaching back out and pulling at Sidney’s beard.

“For real?” Sidney deadpans back. “I didn’t feel like shaving.” He answers in English.

“No.” Tanger scuffs, pushing his facial hair this way and that. Kunitz leans over to get a closer look.

“Is that beard burn?” Kuni looks as if his eyes are about to burst out of his head.

Sidney jerks his face out of Tanger’s hands, running his fingers over the hair to cover the redness he still feels. “No.”

Flower swims up and grabs Sidney’s hair to tilt his face again. Sidney tries to jerk away again. “Yes, it is!” He practically shouts and the whole team clambers closer, backing Sidney into a corner of the pool.

"Who have you been making out with?” Horny asks, kneeling on the edge of the pool to get a good look at Sidney.

Sidney tries to divert them but he feels his shackles all raised; he’s ready and willing to run. He looks up over his team and he sees Geno strolling down from the main house, holding a plate of food in one hand and Estelle’s hand in the other. Vero is walking next to them but Sidney barely sees her. He feels his mouth go dry and to get away, he takes a deep breath of air and submerges himself under water. He makes a break for it through teammates legs, coming up for air on the other side of the pool.

Most of the team leaves it well enough at that. Dumo climbs back out of the water and tries to get a new card game going, Hags grabs Horny’s hand to pull him to the food table, and Rusty and the young-crew grab a volleyball to start tossing back and forth. Tanger and Flower are scowling at Sidney but only Kuni approaches him, swimming to his side of the pool to avoid getting hit by the volleyball.

"So you hooked up.” He says dryly, hooking his elbows over the pool edge to hold himself up.

Sidney just breaths, his eyes still tracking Geno from behind his sunglasses.

Kuni sighs, rubbing the water off of his face with one hand. “You know we don’t care about your sexuality.”

"I know.” Sidney says softly. The team has been amazing since he decided to tell them around the holidays. He’s never felt more comfortable with a group of guys — he attributes that to having won a cup with them and having pretty much the exact same team return — and they’ve all proved his trust in them tenfold.

"So what is it?”

Sidney sighs. “I just don’t really want to talk about it.”

"You sure?”

Sidney glances over at Chris, one of his best friends for so long. He smiles before turning away to look at Geno again. He’s sitting at one of the tables Mario had set up, a bunch of the wives around him, he’s laughing and has one of the biggest smiles on his face. Sidney stomach does something funny before he peels his eyes away. “I’m sure.”

"You know I’m here if you want to talk.”

Sidney pats Chris’s arm under the surface of the water and then grabs his wrist. He tilts his head towards the group in the center of the pool where they’re setting up a volleyball net. “Lets go kick some ass,” he teases, pulling Chris off the wall.

He plays great until Geno decides he’s done eating and needs to join in the game. They rotate, but somehow Geno keeps finding his way behind Sidney and suddenly Sidney can’t hit a volleyball to save his life. He feels like a disaster.