#i would call her success here mixed but thoughts are finally being thunked so she deserves some credit for that

[immobiliter]

@avaere sent a meme: [ jacket ] and since i can't make up my mind you get another for furina from itto >:) → [ jacket ] sender takes their jacket off and hangs it on receiver’s shoulders

       Furina was growing ever more accustomed to the long walks that Itto would insist on taking her on ( though for all the complaining she would do whenever her feet began to tire, she suspected that she had seen more of Fontaine in recent months than she ever had in her centuries of deityhood ), and the light, airy clothing that was necessary to keep herself cool as they trailed the countryside for hours still looking for that ever elusive perfect beetle. Today's choice had been one of her favoured puffy, white blouses and a long pair of trousers, surprisingly accentuated with very little of her usual ornate and detailed flourishes.

       More simple than she would wear at the Palais Mermonia or the Opera Epiclese... but still lacking a vital component when pitted against her nation's open countryside and jagged cliffs.

       The likelihood of a sudden downpour.

       There was a reason umbrellas were something of a fashion statement here in Fontaine. In another life, Furina might have gotten angry at the thought of her hair losing its characteristic bounce, her clothes becoming heavy and sodden with water. But all she wanted to do today was laugh at the absurdity of getting caught in a shower all the way out here.

       It seemed Itto had maybe been anticipating the former reaction... or was simply defaulting to this gentlemanly disposition completely at odds with the loud, chaotic oni she knew. Mere moments had passed since it had started raining and Furina turned to find him taking off his jacket and holding it over her like a makeshift umbrella, keeping her dry at the expense of himself.

       “ — Itto, this is Fontaine, I'm used to it raining. ” Yet her admonition was tinged with laughter as she beckoned them both towards one of the tall structures that held up the Court's Aquabus line. Once they'd reached cover and any further danger of being drenched had passed, she fully expected him to put the jacket back on, but he did not. Instead, he carefully draped the jacket around her shoulders — against the chill that would result from her now wet blouse, perhaps. Neither of them wanted a repeat of the very first time she'd caught a cold, after all.

       Meeting his gaze with a small, warm smile, she pulled his jacket a little tighter around her. The inside lining was still warm from his body heat and, she thought, enveloped her with an earthy scent that smelled oddly familiar. Breathing it in, she recalled what it reminded her of: that night she had accidentally fallen asleep in his arms on her couch to the sound of him talking wistfully, sadly about the oni.

       She watched him now, standing a few paces away, hands on his hips, back to her as he surveyed the torrential rain they were now sheltered from, and recalled the way he'd offered her the same jacket while at the beach, this time to sit on as he'd scoured the sand around her for what he'd described as the perfect shell.

       The perfect shell that had then taken pride of place on her coffee table.

       Furina thought of the beach, the evening picnic he had taken great pains to arrange, the way his enthusiasm never seemed to dim no matter the mood he might have found her in... and idly wondered what she ought to make of it all. A day at the beach, a picnic... fiction would dictate to her what romantic notions they both were. Her time on the stage would dictate to her that they were places for lovers, whether tragic or in the fledging stages of curiosity and passion.

       As fraudulent as the rest of her long, lonely divine existence, she could not claim to have authentically experienced those feelings for herself — but she did know, through centuries of carefully constructing her own image, what it was to be looked at. With awe and astonishment, and with curiosity that sometimes spilled over into desire. That, despite all the attention Lady Furina had courted over the years, all of the drama and chaos she had willingly caused, she deliberately remained so inaccessible, unattainable had spurred many on in their bold, discomforting attempts to have her treat them as exceptions.

       Itto did not look at her like that, and she was immensely grateful to him for it. There was warmth, and friendship, and a deference that sometimes reminded her of her dear Iudex ( though this was, he was so, so different to that ), but that was all. Nothing overstepped, nothing uncomfortable... and nothing intended to stir those feelings she had feigned in front of a spotlight on countless occasions.

       She did not know what that meant. Not for him, or for them. Maybe she never would.

       Finally, she closed the space between them, jacket still pulled tight around her. She might have to take to stealing it from him next time. “ You know how to dispel the weather, don't you? ” Amusement lit up her mismatched gaze. “ You must stride out into the rain and declare to the sky: Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry. It's an old Fontainian nursery rhyme. They say that a dragon of Hydro once resided in Fontaine, and perhaps still does. Whenever they are moved to emotion, rain falls from the sky. ”

       She certainly hoped that this downpour had not resulted from the emotions of the dragon sovereign likely idling away in his office or at some trial at the Opera, but the story that had taken on a life of its own in the minds of her once-subjects had always been, to her, a source of both irony and curiosity.

[puffdragongirl]

Carnelian on Slate

“I’ll say it again, I’m just so glad the post finally made it!” a cheerful voice, buoyed by both joy and drink rises above the general din of the crowd. “I can’t stop looking at the prints – they just make such a lovely couple!”

“Don’t they ever!” another voice, as joyous and slurred as the last, chimes in, and his gaze is drawn towards two women huddled shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar. “Just look at her dress – I don’t think I’ve ever seen an outfit so fine!”

“Fit for a Princess!” the first woman crows, “And a fine match for our Prince Lady Seiran is, isn’t she?” She rises from her chair and thrusts both her tankard and the special wedding issue of “The Clarines Times” into the air, “To our Prince and Princess!”

Wedged in the corner of what was likely the seediest bar he has ever been in, Mitsuhide’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly around his tankard as cheers for the new royal couple ring throughout the bar once more. He thought that two days of hard riding from Wilant would have been far enough to outpace wedding gossip, but he supposes he should have known better than to think an inch of Clarines would not be focused on the marriage of the Prince to the veritable (and now literal) Princess of the North. Every post, every inn he had stopped in to change horses had copies of the commemorative wedding issue available in storefronts or posted in windows.

And who could blame them, he muses as the cheers fade and the women continue to chatter about the details of Kiki’s dress and Zen’s coordinating suit. Their story, for all it was a political move to join the most powerful lines of a still-distinct North and South, seemed a fairytale. A comforting tale of friends turned lovers after years spent together in the crucible of life. A secret courtship, fulfilling the fondest wishes of the bride’s long-departed mother and stirring the hopes of a thousand couples waiting for their own happy ending.

His mind drifts as he recalls the wedding. It had been a truly beautiful ceremony. Illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun, the bride, iced in ivory silk and draped in pearls, seemed to float down the aisle; a perfect match to the regal Prince who awaited her at the dais. Gleaming rings – one plain, the other set with a sparkling Wisteria blue sapphire – exchanged as a sign of devotion. Vows solemnly made, and sealed with a kiss at the very moment the sun slipped behind the clouds…

His stomach twists painfully at the thought, and he brings his drink to his lips to assuage the ache. I should probably eat something, he thinks, taking another drink from his cup. He wasn't exactly feeling hungry – he hadn't felt much of anything since leaving the castle – but he also couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

Blinking to clear his bleary eyes, Mitsuhide scans the room for the waitress who had last filled his cup. Although he can’t recall the details of her face, he has a vague recollection of blonde hair swept in a messy bun. His first scan is unsuccessful, so he straightens from his slouch with a wince, craning to get a better view of the crowded room.

Must have been a shift change… he acknowledges after a more diligent search fails to locate a single blonde waitress. He also notes the lanterns scattered through the in the room have been lit to offset the rapidly dwindling sunlight. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed – he had stumbled into this inn sometime before noon, and it couldn’t be more than a quarter hour or so to sunset now – but he can’t bring himself to feel more than momentary concern at the swift, yet crushingly slow passage of time.

He took some solace in knowing he was not the only person to drink the day away. A large party of travelling merchants had claimed several tables in the center of the dining room shortly after Mitsuhide had arrived. They had proudly announced to all and sundry that their firm supplied the wines served during the wedding reception, an honor that had led to a flood of orders from nobles all around Clarines. This blessing had apparently inspired quite a spirit of generosity within them, as they had purchased several rounds of drinks throughout the day, each one accompanied by enthusiastic toasts to the royal couple’s health.

Most of the waitstaff that Mitsuhide could see were flitting in and around the merchants’ table, topping off drinks and ferrying steaming platters of food. Considering the men were now as drunk on ale as they were their successes, it was no wonder the staff were being so attentive. The bolder of the waitresses were taking full advantage of the merchants ever-increasing “generosity”, tittering sweetly in their ears and pressing close as they refill glasses.

As he watches, one of the drunken men raises his mug, sloshing ale over his hand as he calls for yet another toast to the royal couple’s health. He grimaces, stomach twisting once more as the cheers echo through the room, but when another voice rises to call for blessings of fertility to find their way to the royals, he just can’t take it anymore. He lifts his drink, hoping to drown this feeling, to wash away the image of mouths on necks, but nothing remains in his tankard. He stares into the vessel – empty again, like everything else in his life – and tries with some desperation to recall how many times today this exact view had greeted him.

Disgusted by his inaction, Mistuhide sets his tankard down with more force than is strictly necessary. Planting his elbows on the table, he rubs his hands harshly over his face in an attempt to gather himself. If only he could scrub his mind of these useless thoughts as easily as he had cleansed his body of the accumulated dust of his flight away from the capital…

“Needing a refill there, sir?”

Lowering his hands from his face, Mitsuhide looks up to see a tawny-haired waitress approaching with a mug of freshly drawn ale. He feels a bit of heat creep up his neck as he realizes the petulant thunk of his empty tankard striking the table must have attracted her attention.

“Please,” he requests, ducking his head to obscure the blush he hopes is not visible in the mostly lantern-lit room.

She bends close to set his new drink on the table, and catches a glimpse of his face, “You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” Mitsuhide feels the heat creep up his cheeks as her eyes sweep the length of his body. “Tall too,” she hums appreciatively, shifting her weight to lean across the table.

“Say, are you free tonight?” she purrs, a hand rising to press against his chest, “After all, it’s not every day we get a man like you in these parts…”

He shrinks backwards against the back of his chair, hands raising in supplication as he stutters excuses; but she follows him back, her gaze returning to get a better look at his face. Once she does, she blinks and straightens.

“Hey wait,” her tone shifts, halting the words spilling from his lips, “aren’t you that handsome man that was traveling with Obi?”

“Traveling with Obi…?” he parrots back, arms lowering as he stares at the waitress. He fails to place her at first – clad in the same black dress as the rest of the staff, she looks like every other waitress he had seen today. Memories begin to stir as she preens under his gaze, however, and a sensual smile curves her lips. She flutters her lashes, and he recalls the same brown eyes sparkling with mischief, framed by the long chestnut hair that is now swept in a high tail. She tilts her head, and her earrings jangle, drawing his attention. The heavy gold discs, each set with a sparkling red stone, are unmistakable, and he recalls the press of her body warm against his on that long-ago night, the surprise of finding her with Obi in that abandoned manor, and the press of her lips against his cheek the next morning.

“I thought so,” she laughs, delighted by her unexpected discovery, and he realizes she must have read the recognition in his eyes, or perhaps from the blush that burned once more across his cheeks. “I could never forget a blush like that.” She leans closer once more, resting her cheek against her shoulder, “So what brings you all the way out here, good sir?”

Her question reminds him of the realities of his life, or more accurately the aching uncertainty of what his life would become moving forward. The blush fades from his cheeks as he considers how he wound up drinking away the day in the seediest inn middle-of-nowhere Clarines could offer.

After stumbling out of the antechamber outside of Zen and Kiki’s chambers, Mitsuhide had attempted to return to his own rooms, but was waylaid by Izana along the way. The King had taken one look at him with those all-seeing eyes and beckoned him to come to his office for a chat.

“You won’t be needed for the next three weeks,” the King informed him, his words blunt but not unkind, “The honor guard for the wedding tour will be made up of local soldiers selected by the council at each of the stops.” He steepled his fingers, gauging Mitsuhide before deciding to deliver the blow cleanly, “When you return from your break, we will discuss your…new duties.”

He couldn’t recall how he had responded to Izana after that, only that the King had stared at him for a few minutes once more before waving him away. Mitsuhide had followed Zen for years, had made protecting him and the interests of the Wisteria family his top priority – his only priority – for so long he couldn’t imagine what a life without that would mean. He had made his way to his room, thrown together a basic pack of supplies and coin, and ridden until he couldn’t stand riding any more.

“You alright?” a voice breaks into his thoughts, and he realizes the waitress – he can’t recall if he knows her name – is still waiting for an answer. She looks at him with a mix of concern and amusement, one brow quirked up in question.

“I’ve been…given leave from my duties for a while,” he settles for a version of the truth, “I- I couldn’t stay, so I picked a direction and rode away.” He reaches out for the tankard of ale, and just resists the urge to drown the entire draught, “This place just happens to be where I stopped.”

“I see,” she hums thoughtfully, not missing the way his hand tightens around his drink, “That explains the clothes.” Mitsuhide glances down at his shirt, a slightly ill-fitting, homespun replacement purchased on his last change of horses since his usual clothes had not survived the days of hard riding unscathed. The material wasn’t dissimilar to what he had worn while in-training at Sereg, but after years of wearing fine linens and silks the slight irregularities of the simple weave felt harsh against his skin.

“But it doesn’t necessarily explain the lack of companions,” she continues, hands flattening on the table in front of him as she leans close once more, “Tell me, where is your lady, good sir?”

“Gone,” he says shortly, remembering the sparkle of Zen’s sapphire against Kiki’s skin a scant few mornings ago. Those dark feelings rise within him again, and although he tries to drown them with another gulp of ale, words twisted with bitterness slip out, “She was never my lady to begin with.”

“Ahh…” she breathes, her smile taking on a sympathetic tint, “Not with Obi, then, right?” He shakes his head, and must pull a face, since she leans back to laugh. “I didn’t think so – as much as she would be his type, she was way out of his league. Plus he seemed to have a thing for that red-headed healer.”

“You could say that,” he admits, thinking of Obi and Shirayuki. He hadn’t seen them in months – since the rumor mill had yet to die down, they had not been able to return for the wedding – but they had sent their well-wishes along with a package overflowing with teas and spices from whatever exotic country Izana had sent them to “negotiate” with. They seemed well, but he still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he thought of his role in the mess that had sent them out of the country to begin with.

“So, with that that elegant man, then?” she asks, breaking his train of thought.

He doesn’t say anything in response, just stiffens and takes another deep draught of his ale, but his silence is apparently answer enough for her. She slides from the table and approaches his chair from behind.

“You never answered my question, you know,” she comments, sliding her arms around his neck, “Are you free tonight, Mister?”

He intends to say no. He’s already said too much, and the last thing he wants to do is to drag someone down with him. But as she presses close, he feels her warmth seeping through his rough cloth of his shirt. He feels the soft puff of her breath against his ear. He feels the press of her chest against his back, sparking a curl of desire, even as color stains his cheeks once more. He feels something with her, after days of feeling nothing but emptiness and pain.

“And if I am?” he rasps, mouth gone dry as he realizes what he’s agreeing to, “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, Sir,” she purrs, somehow pressing even closer, “That would be telling.”

--

Man this story. It would not have been possible without moral support, editorial assistance, and a LOT OF COMPLICATED PLOT DISCUSSIONS with my good friend Muselover1901. Many helpful Discord folks also helped me come up with words for Torou’s hair color, because words are hard. Thank you all <3

[not-so-lonely-star]

(B)romance in the NHL

Summary: A viral article about Kent and Tater’s bromance sparks some confessions. Word Count: 3,700 Rating: G

  The music skips with an incoming text that Alexei ignores as he mixes his smoothie and hums along. Once he adds the last chunk of banana he slips the lid on the blender and turns it on. A few moments later he turns it off and the silence is jarring. Alexei walks over towards where his phone is laying on the counter, hoping his battery hasn't died yet again. His phone has been on the last leg of life for a couple weeks now, but he's too attached to it to change it in for a new one, no matter how much the rookies tease him. 

Alexei picks up the phone. It isn't dead. It buzzes incessantly in his hand as 20 messages turned to thirty with three missed calls and several voicemails. Alexei swipes in his password and scrolls down the list of names until he reaches the first message. It's from Kent. The first is a link with three messages in quick succession after.  

Kent (8:57 am): I didn't even notice them take this   Kent (8:57 am): It makes us look kind of gay... don't you think? Kent (8:58 am): Okay yeah other ppl think it's hella gay too wtf 

Alexei clicks on the link from the first text and his heart feels like it's beating out an erratic rhythm in his chest as he waits for it to load. Once it loads he breathes a sigh of relief, it's just the article about bromance in the NHL. A couple months ago he'd been contacted by Cosmo to participate alongside Kent in a best bros piece about cross team friendships in the NHL in an attempt to broaden the hockey audience. The concept was simple enough, they'd contacted a bunch of different hockey players with friendships well documented via social media and called them in to take pictures and give a short interview. 

Two weeks ago, once they were both free with plenty of time in the off season, he and Kent had flown out to LA and posed for a bunch of pictures together. Each pair of friends was photographed playing some sport other than hockey. 

Alexei knew Snowy and his buddy Kicker from the Schooners were doing water polo, because Snowy had complained to Alexei for a solid three days afterwards that it was 'the lamest of all polos'. Alexei and Kent had been given wrestling. The singlet they gave him was so small Alexei had popped into Kent's dressing room, certain that it was his - it wasn't. Kent's was tight and in aces black unlike the one Alexei was holding in falconer's blue.

Once they'd gotten dressed, after a lot of wiggling on Alexei's part, they'd been brought out to the set where a wrestling mat was set up and they were told how to pose. Most of it was fairly benign, Alexei pretending to have Kent in a headlock, Kent crouching to knock Alexei over, them standing together with arms slung around one another's shoulders, that sort of thing. After a couple hours of taking photos the woman in charge of the shoot, Shelly, stopped them.  

"Alright boys," she'd said, walking over towards them and shaking both their hands. "I think we've got a bunch of great shots here. So you can feel free to go ahead and get changed. We've got a few more photoshoots and interviews scheduled, but the article should be posted in a couple weeks so keep your eye out." She smiled at them before walking back to the photographer. "Thanks again for coming," she said over her shoulder at them, "It's been a pleasure." 

"Thank you," Kent had said, smiling, "it gives me an excuse to drag this lug out to LA finally." 

Alexei had rolled his eyes good naturedly, "I am telling Kent I been to LA many times before -" 

"Playing hockey and never leaving your hotel doesn't count." Kent smirked at him and before Alexei could even think about what he was doing he'd lifted Kent up and they'd both gone crashing down onto the mat. After grappling for a minute Alexei had ended up on his back staring up dazedly at Kent standing above him with his hand outstretched to help him up. 

Alexei puts his head in his hands as he stares down at the photo. He hadn't even realized that the cameras were still rolling while he and Kent were messing around. The picture was taken a moment after Alexei knocked them both to the mat. In it he's pinning Kent's arms above his head and his legs are straddling Kent's waist. Kent has a grin on his face, that's more smirk than smile, which at the time had Alexei's heart skipping a beat before returning in double time. Kent's left brow is raised in challenge, but it's Alexei's face coupled with their position that's incriminating. His eyes are soft, his smile joyous and it's obvious to anyone looking that he's in love. 

Alexei groans, and lets his head thunk down onto the cool counter. He hadn't realized he's been so transparent with his affection for Kent, if he had he never would've agreed to do the photoshoot together in the first place. Maybe no one else really noticed though, he thinks hopefully as he runs to get his laptop because his phone really is a piece of shit. 

His laptop boots up quickly and Alexei holds his breath as he googles his own name. Before he even finishes typing it autofills with Alexei Mashkov Kent Parson gay? He curses softly before clicking on the first article that comes up and it has more than just the picture from the Cosmo site. There's paparazzi photos all the way going back to their rookie year, to when Alexei played for the Aces. None of the pictures would be all that incriminating on their own, but together... 

Alexei groans and takes a deep breath before scrolling down through no less than twenty pictures of the two of them sitting just a little too close at sporting events, smiling at each other over dinner, sitting together in pubs, and most notably a picture of them slow dancing at Chaser's wedding last year. Chaser was the only other rookie on the Aces in their first year and had invited them both to his wedding even though none of them were still on the same team anymore. 

"Why you are not dancing?" Alexei'd asked, having just come back from the dance floor where he'd had six kids hanging off of him like a jungle gym. 

Kent had rolled his eyes and held up his glass, "This is more my style." 

Alexei had plopped down into the chair beside Kent and smiled at him. "I know you like dancing. I see pictures all the time of Ace's Captain dance at club." 

"This isn't really my type of dancing." Kent's nose had crinkled at the thought. Alexei's heart was still a little erratic from his time on the dance floor. 

"You are not knowing how," Alexei'd teased in a singsong voice. 

Kent had scoffed. "I know how to fucking dance." 

Alexei stood up and stretched out his hand to Kent in invitation. "Prove it." 

They'd twirled around the dance floor together, laughing with fingers entwined. At one point Kent had buried his head into Alexei's shoulder and it'd made Alexei's heart race and his palms sweat. The other hockey players at the wedding had teased them afterwards, but the smile Kent couldn't seem to completely wipe from his face the rest of the night had been worth any chirping they'd received.

Alexei knew their picture had been taken, but they'd been goofing off, he hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but now it was showing up on a gossip site less than twenty minutes after Cosmo posted incriminating photos. He isn't sure he wants to read whatever this site has to say about him and Kent, but it's like a car wreck he can't look away from as he scrolls down. 

The article following the photos is short and mostly excerpts from the Cosmo interview.  

Cosmo: So you two have been friends since your rookie year. Can you tell us about how you guys went from being teammates to friends? KP: Well my rookie year was pretty rough, it was a big change from the Q [Parson was in Juniors prior to the 2009 draft] and Tater didn't know anyone - AM: Or any English KP: [smiling at Mashkov] We bonded over a mutual inability to cook and be actual adults. 

Alexei knows there was a follow up question to that about what sort adult things they didn't know how to do, it somehow devolved into Kent ranting about Kit. Alexei's not exactly shocked the site he's on chose not to include that conversation - if it even ended up in the final interview of Cosmo's website. Alexei had gotten so distracted by the picture he forgot to even look. 

Cosmo: I'm sure our readers would be interested to know what the two of you do when you hang out together. AM: We like going [to] movies, I can cook now and Parsnip like[s] to [Mashkov looks to Parson and gestures at him] KP: [laughs] Mooch AM: Yes, yes he mooch[es] off of me. Cosmo: Is he a good cook Kent? KP: Oh yeah, definitely. I love when he cooks for me. 

Cosmo: Do you two have anything planned together during the offseason? AM: Kent is come [sic] to Russia with me. KP: Since when? AM: I [told] you my mama want[s] to meet you. KP: Yeah I thought you meant in the US man. AM: No, no. I mean in Russia. KP: [Laughing] Apparently we're going to Russia together. 

Cosmo: Kent you always seem to have a new beautiful woman on your arm. Any chance of you settling down soon? KP: [laughs] Is this your polite way of telling me to stop being a player? Cosmo: No, no of course not. I just want to let our female readers to know if they've got a chance. KP: Oh alright then, [laughs] as long as you're not trying to ruin my image.     Alexei knows, he knows he shouldn't be reading the comments but he can't stop himself from scrolling. 

There's already over 800 comments when he starts to read them, and the number keeps scrolling up. There's argumentative comments defending Alexei from what they think are false accusations tinged with disgust at the implications, debates continue in threads below that, a surprising number are supportive and there's a single comment, fifteen responses deep from a gay teen who says he's decided not to quit hockey now from just the idea that there might be professional hockey players like him. Alexei stops reading after that one.  

When he attempts to go back to the original article to see what else had been included from their interview he can't because the site has crashed. Alexei pushes his laptop aside and walks back to his kitchen, ignoring the incessant buzzing and dialing Kent's number without even glancing at his missed calls and texts. It doesn't even finish the first ring before Kent's picking up.  

"Dude, where the fuck were you? I've been trying to call you for twenty minutes." His voice sounds tinny and far away like he's using the speakerphone. 

"Sorry," Alexei says, running a hand through his hair and feeling his heart rate slow from the panicked seizing it was doing moments before. He'd rather not think too deeply about that. "I - are you alone?" 

"Yeah," Kent sighs through the line and Alexei can picture him fingering the brim of his snapback. "I'm in the car on my way to your place now."

"What?" Alexei asks. 

"I was in New York visiting my mom," he says, "I'll be there in like two hours." 

Alexei feels selfish, but the fact that he'll get to see Kent today nearly outweighs everything else. "Okay," he says, taking a deep breath, "I am sorry, котенок.  Is my fault they are saying these things. I should not have -" 

"Shut up Aloysha," Kent says. Alexei sucks in a quick breath at the rare use of his nickname. "This isn't on you. I'll explain when I get there - just don't promise PR or your GM anything before I do alright?" 

Alexei nods, "Yes okay. I tell them we wait to talk to Aces before say anything." "Sounds good man," Kent says before hanging up. 

Instead of sitting in his apartment letting his anxiety brew while he waits for Kent, Alexei calls Georgia and PR who are both surprisingly not upset with him. PR is pissed at Cosmo for using that shot, but the conversation actually goes far better than he thought it would. They even tell him that they were coming up with a plan for one of their other players who's planning on coming out and Alexei has absolutely no idea what to say to that. Georgia tells him that how they proceed is completely up to him; whether or not it's true he can deny it, or if he wants to come out the organization is behind him 100%. Alexei doesn't really know what to say to that because the number of people who know he's gay are exactly 2  - including himself, and the boy he kissed behind the bleachers in Russia nearly a decade ago who he's fairly sure doesn't even remember his name. He tells them he has to think about everything and hangs up before they can say anything else.

His phone won't stop buzzing and Alexei considers turning it off before deciding that it might not be a good idea. He checks the clock every five minutes trying to figure out when Kent'll get here, and when he's got about twenty more minutes to wait if Kent doesn't hit traffic when his phone buzzes with a name he'll actually bother picking up for. 

"Alexei are you alright?" His given name sounds foreign on Jack's lips and he furrows his brow in distaste. 

"Zimmboni," Tater exclaims, attempting to maintain some sense of normalcy. "How are you? When am I getting more pie from your baker?" 

"Tater. You have - you've seen the article, haven't you?"  

Tater sighs and his facade falls. "Yes, I'm seeing." 

"I'm bi," Jack blurts, "well either that or pan. I'm not entirely sure yet, but I just - I thought it was something I should tell you. I mean, no that's not right," Jack says, words tumbling out so fast Alexei thinks Jack may have surprised himself a little with the confession. "It's something I wanted to tell you." 

"Thank you," Alexei whispers, unsure of what else to say. 

"I'm planning on coming out soon," Jack says, "while it's still off season, eh?" Alexei nods. "Is good time I think." 

"I can -" Alexei can hear Jacks gulp clear through the line, "I can do it now. If it'll help - if it'll take the pressure off of you." 

"NO," Alexei near shouts, "no, no. You do not come out for me. You come out for you when you are ready. Yes Zimmboni?" 

The line is silent for a moment and when he speaks, Alexei can hear the undertone of relief in Jack's voice. "Yeah, yeah okay, you're right. I just - I know it can't be easy for you to have these rumors about you." 

"They are not being rumors," Alexei says before he can stop himself. 

"What?" 

"Rumors means not true, yes? " Alexei's never said the words out loud before, and even though his heart feels like it's about to pound out from his chest he continues, "Well they are not rumors because I am gay."  The words fall off his tongue as easy as any other and it seems anticlimactic that his roof doesn't cave in and the world around him doesn't come crashing down. Everything is the same as it was moments before, but it's different too. 

"Thank you for trusting me with this," Jack says, as though it's a phrase he's memorized. "So you and Kenny are..."  Jack's voice has a lilt to it now Alexei can't identify and he feels his heart cracking and splintering around the seams. 

"No, no is not what seems." Alexei corrects him, walking over to the window with his phone held up to his ear before peeking through to see the swarm of reporters camped out at the end of his mercifully long driveway. 

"Then I think you should talk to Kent," Jack says, as though it's that easy. Before Alexei can respond Jack is ending the call and there's a commotion at the end of his property.

A dark blue four door sports car barely even slows for the reporters blocking the end of his driveway. Alexei stumbles towards the switch by his door leading to the garage and presses it, opening the garage door just as the sports car reaches the house. An impossibly quick moment later his door is opening and he's got an armful of Kent Parson. 

Alexei wraps his arms around Kent's shoulders and Kent buries his face deeper into Alexei's chest. After a long moment Alexei moves to pull back out of the hug, but Kent's arms remain firm around his shoulders and Alexei relaxes back into the embrace. When they finally pull apart several long moments later Kent's eyes are rimmed with red.   

"I'm so sorry,"  Alexei says. 

"What?" Kent asks, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Dude why're you sorry? It's my dumb ass that got us into this mess." 

Alexei looks at Kent with confusion twisting his brow and Kent huffs a sigh, flopping down onto his couch and throwing an arm over his face dramatically. Alexei follows him and lifts Kent's feet so he can sit at the end of the couch. Kent doesn't put his feet in Alexei's lap - which is weird, because they sit like that all the time. He's got his legs squished up in a way that absolutely cannot be comfortable instead. Alexei picks Kent's feet up gingerly and places them in his lap. 

Kent peaks out from under his arm and groans. "Why do you have to be such a perfect asshole, man?" Before Alexei can even come up with a response for that Kent plows on. "I'm gay." 

Blood rushes through Alexei's ears and he drops his head down as his vision swims. Kent is gay, Alexei's best friend who he's in love with is not straight. He isn't sure how to process this information. 

"And I'm sorry that you've gotten roped into this - I didn't think some little fluff piece for Cosmo would -" Kent pinches the bridge of his nose and looks anywhere other than at Alexei, "The interview, along with how I'm looking at you in that fucking picture. I - " Kent pulls his feet from Alexei's lap and sits up straight. "I can fix this, I was planning on coming out soon anyway. I can tell everyone to fuck off that just cause I -" 

"What do you mean?" Alexei says slowly, Kent's words on repeat in his head. "What do you mean how you look at me?" 

Kent rolls his eyes and huffs, but Alexei knows him well enough to see the nerves beneath his frosty exterior. "Are you really going to make me say it man?" 

Alexei shrugs because the only way Kent's sentence would make sense is if he liked him, and that - he knows that isn't what Kent means. 

Kent sighs and his gaze flicks away from Alexei's before meeting it defiantly. "I'm into you, okay? Not in a way that means we can't still be friends or anything because you don't love me back and you're also straight so - "

"I'm not straight," Alexei says, mind stuck on an endless loop of the words love me back. His heart is going to pump right out of his chest. "I am very much not straight," he repeats because it seems like Kent didn't hear him. 

"What?" Kent asks after a long moment, eyes wide and brimming with something Alexei desperately wants to be hope. 

"And I do," he says, and Ken'ts looking at him like he isn't quite sure what Alexei means, so he clears his throat and says, "love you back, I'm meaning." He ducks his head because that is most definitely not when he intended to say but he's not going to take it back because it's true and Kent deserves to hear it.

Kent launches himself at Alexei and suddenly they're kissing and it's - it's everything. It's years of memories seen in a completely different light. It's two rookies who hold hands just a hair too long when they shake for the first time. It's finding Kent crying in the locker room after a reporter interrogates him about Zimmermann the night of their first game and not knowing the words in either language but scooping him up into his arms anyway and leaving that night with a newly minted best friend. It's smiling just a little too long and laughing just a little too hard at jokes that no one else in the room finds funny. It's the bright red flush that creeps up Kent's neck and settles on his cheeks when Alexei catches his eye in locker room. It's playing on opposing teams and going to the fanciest restaurant in town to make the loser pay. It's every touch and look that sends off a flickering trail of sparks deep in his chest that he always tried desperately to smother. 

It's Kent climbing into his lap and kissing him within an inch of his life. It's Alexei's hands dropping down low on Kent's waist as he pulls him closer. It's Kent breaking the kiss to catch his breath, forehead resting against Alexei's.

 It's Kent mumbling, "We're so fucking stupid. We could've been doing this for years," into Alexei's mouth before kissing him again.