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Luca is over the fucking moon right now. After training on Friday, his best friend had turned up outside the rink, telling him she’d gotten the week off to come and visit him. He’d been especially homesick lately, and he knew she’d noticed when they called, but he hadn’t expected her to do this.
The team had of course seen their joyous reunion in the carpark, so they invited her to Bood’s barbeque the next day.
(He’d ignored the obvious implication that they thought Maria was actually his girlfriend, but…)
Of course, he’d been super nervous in the days leading up to the barbeque, afraid that they wouldn’t mix well, that it would be awkward, that…. Hundreds of false scenarios, most wildly unrealistic.
All was well, though. For some reason, the team and Maria had really hit it off, so now here they were, Luca and Maria in his hotel room while she fixed his eyeliner, getting ready to go out clubbing with some of the Centaurs.
‘You’ve lost your touch,’ Maria murmured, the pencil steady in her hand, the other hand steadying his chin.
‘I don’t really do makeup around the team. I just… I don’t know. But I miss it.’
Maria nodded. ‘Surely they won’t say anything, though. I mean… if they can handle the hockey husbands, a little bit of eyeliner won’t kill them.’
Luca nodded. Then was immediately reprimanded for moving, Luca, seriously, sit still!
‘Perfect. Rozanov isn’t going to be able to keep his eyes off you,’ she murmured. Luca reared back to look at her in shock.
‘What?’
‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’
‘He’s married. To Shane Hollander. I wouldn’t look at anyone ever again if I was married to Shane Hollander.’’
‘Hollander’s been looking at you too.’
‘No he hasn’t,’ Luca scoffed.
‘Girl.’
‘No- I’m for real. Roz is way too insane about Hollzy for that. Like- a guy came up to Shane to flirt with him when we went out after a game once, and Ilya nearly bit his fucking head off. And Shane is- he doesn’t even see anyone except for Ilya .’
‘That’s not what I saw.’
‘You’re actually insane.’
‘Then explain why Ilya hated me until he found out that I was gay!’ Maria said, triumphantly.
‘He didn’t- what?’
‘He kept giving me death glares every time I talked to you and he pretty much refused to talk to me- then I was on the phone with Leah, and he came in and he heard me and he obviously knew that you weren’t on the phone.’
‘So he asked, “Are you cheating on him?” And I was obviously so fucking confused, because what? And he was like “Luca. Haasy. Are you cheating on him. Who are you calling Babe?” So then, I had to explain to him that we weren’t actually together and he looked kinda embarrassed but also relieved and then he just apologised and rushed out and then he’s treated me fine ever since.’
She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘So.’
Luca’s mind was fucking reeling. What the fuck?
‘Huh,’ he said, chewing on his lip. ‘I still think you're insane.’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘But when it’s three months later, and you’re getting dicked down by the hockey husbands themselves, I’m gonna say “I told you so.”’
‘Why does it have to take three months?’
‘For the tension, darling. Here, take this.’ She reached over, handing him a shirt to wear.
He held it up, to see an old band shirt, the sleeves cut off and the armpits cut low to expose his sides. He pulled it on over his head and glanced in the mirror, then shook his head, turning back around. ‘You can see my scars in this.’
Maria frowned. ‘Have they not already…?’
Luca shook his head, that familiar pit of anxiety bubbling a little in his gut as he spoke. ‘I don’t shower with them, I just wait until I get home.’
‘Have they asked you why, ever? I thought all the hockey guys loved to shower together.’
Luca huffed quietly. ‘I just said something about how we never really did in Switzerland, and how my shower at home is nicer and they all accepted it.’
‘Huh. I guess they’re a good team, then. Not… pushing.’
‘Yeah.’
They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating that. ‘So… no to that top?’
Luca shrugged, biting his lip. ‘I don’t know… I don’t want to answer questions, but. I hate… hiding.’
Maria winced. Nodded. ‘I can distract people, if you want. If they ask questions. It’ll be obvious, still, what I’m doing, but easier, maybe?’
‘Would you?’ Luca asked, a lump heavy in his throat.
‘Of course.’
‘I love you, Maria,’ Luca said softly, looking down at her.
‘Love you too, Luca. Now c’mon. Get dressed.’
***
Ilya was the first person to spot them.
They’re easily hidden for most of the night- most of them are faded silvery white, although some of the more recent ones are still red and purple. But his arms were by his sides for most of the journey to the club, blocking the view of his ribs.
Luca accompanied Ilya to grab drinks for the table, and while they waited at the bar, Luca reached up to fix his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Ilya’s gaze flicked downward and Luca’s stomach dropped as he realised.
He knew he should probably say something, but his mind was blank, his words gone, in all his languages. Instead, he just watched Ilya’s face. Braced himself for anger, for disgust. For confusion, maybe. Ilya might be a really nice guy, but... he was pretty sure Russians weren't that big on 'mental health' as a concept.
His mother killed herself, you idiot. He knows about mental health.
He knew about Ilya’s mother, of course, they all do, after his speech about the charity (which left Luca sobbing, by the way).
But this is different. He’s not going to kill himself, he just…
Ilyas eyes flickered, but then he was looking back at Luca with a neutral expression. ‘I like this shirt. Where did you get it?’
Luca was a little taken aback- he’d expected a question, a comment, something. ‘Uh… I made it.’
Ilya looked surprised. ‘So talented, rookie. First the drawing, now you are designer.’
‘I don't think-’
But he was cut off by a wink from Ilya as he picked up a jug of beer, leaving Luca to handle the tray of shots.
So.
Luca didn’t know what to think.
But Ilya didn't start to treat him any differently, and he didn't think any of the other guys had noticed anything, seeing how dark it is in here. Hockey players were not the most observant bunch.
Except goalies. Fucking goalies spot everything. He knew they did, and that’s why he noticed the second that Wyatt’s clever eyes caught on his ribs, his face creasing with concern. Luca felt a kick to his leg, gentle, just enough to get him to meet Wyatt's eyes across the table.
Wyatt’s eyebrows pinched together slightly. As if he wanted to ask him about them. Luca shook his head just slightly, his eyes darting around.
Not right now, he thought, hoping Wyatt would catch the message.
Maria, bless her soul, could’ve been a goalie in another life, because she noticed immediately and jumped in to interrogate Wyatt about something. Luca didn't take in at all, his ears still ringing.
‘Gonna go for a smoke,’ he muttered to no one in particular, standing up to leave. He got a questioning look from Shane, so he rattled his cigarette box as he went. Shane’s expression turned disapproving, but he didn’t stop him, so.
And then Luca was outside, in the smoking area at the back of the club, the cool night air on his face, settling him, calming him.
His hands were shaking a little as he flicked the lighter, one cigarette between his teeth, the flame flickering in the dim light. A little bit further away, a couple were making out against the wall, but otherwise, there’s no one here.
He got the cigarette to light and tucked the lighter back in his pocket, leaning against the wall. He just needed a minute, to relax, to-
‘Haas.’
‘Scheiße-’ he swears, dropping his cigarette and wincing as it burns his arm on the way down. ‘What the fuck?’
You are. Ah. Jumping?’
Luca shook his head. Roz's English always got worse when he was drunk. So did Luca's, though, so he couldn't really say much.
‘Jumpy. And no, I’m not.’
‘Sure.’
He rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over the burn mark. ‘So, what's up?’
‘Wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t… ah. This is maybe a better conversation for Shane. He is better at these things, but I didn’t want to… you have privacy, is important, to have that.’
Oh. Well. That's what’s happening then.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Haas.’
‘What?’ He asked, lighting another cigarette, annoyed. As if he didn’t want someone to ask, just so he wouldn’t have to explain on his own. But still.
‘You and me, we are not so different, you know.’
Luca froze, his cigarette still between his teeth, lighter halfway to his mouth. He looked at Ilya, but the Russian’s gaze was trained on the street in front of him, his face strangely blank.
‘Well. I am much better at hockey, obviously, and much better-looking, too, but still. What I mean is, you are not alone, in this.’
‘You…?’
‘Not… recently. Before. When my father was still alive, when Russia was… things have gotten better. But before, it was… you know.’
He lit his own cigarette, as he spoke, and Luca noted the shake in his hands. As calm as he was trying to be about this, he was scared. That broke something in Luca, that fear. Took down the last wall he'd built.
‘It… I’m gay. My parents weren’t… big fans of that. My old team didn’t know, but… things were bad, for a while.’
‘Is why you don’t shower with us?’ Ilya asked. Then he frowned, rethinking his question. ‘The scars, not the gay thing.’
Despite himself, Luca huffed a laugh. The gay thing. ‘Yeah. I guess I didn’t want… questions.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Do they- I mean… do you have scars, from…?’
Ilya shook his head slowly. ‘Not… not ones that anyone would... ask about. They don’t look… you know. But I would… get into fights, on purpose. On the ice. And off it, in Russia. Broke my… I don't know name. A bone in my hand, once. Played three matches with it. Was bad. But… hockey is dangerous game, you know. No questions about injuries.’
Luca blew out a lungful of smoke, tipping his head back to look at the stars. For some reason, this was much easier to talk about when he didn't have to make eye contact. He could just pretend there was no one next to him.
The vodka he'd been drinking probably helped, too.
‘I guess the Swiss league was less… violent. Still physical, but… less fights. It wasn't enough, so I had to… find another way, I guess.’
Ilya took a moment to think about it, bringing his cigarette up to his lips, then turning his head away to blow the smoke out.
‘Do you… since you’ve been here?’
Luca chewed on his lip, wondering how to answer. He didn't want Ilya to-
‘I am not angry at you. Just wondering.’
‘Not this season. But since I’ve been with the Centaurs, yeah. Less, though.’
Ilya nodded again.
'Does anyone know?' he asks.
'Maria knows,' he murmurs. 'And I think Wyatt knows too. I think he saw them, tonight.'
Ilya hums. 'Goalies are like that, no? They... I don't know the word. They see things.'
'Observant. Yeah.'
'Did he... say anything?'
Luca shakes his head. 'No, but... I think he might, later. He looked worried.'
Ilya didn't reply, for a few minutes. The couple next to them stumbled into a taxi, barely detaching from each other's lips as they did. When the car pulled away, he spoke again.
'If you... if you need anything, Haas, you can come to me, okay? Text me, if you feel... just text me.'
Luca nodded. Blinked past the sudden tears in his eyes. Swallowed the lump in his throat.
'You can text Shane, too. If you do not want to text me. We are both here for you.'
Luca frowned, unable to help the spike of anxiety in his gut. 'Did you tell him?' he asked, fighting to keep the betrayal from showing in his voice.
You've been walking around with your scars out all night, idiot. Did you want them to see them or not?
Shut up.
'No. I didn't tell him. And I will not. But he is good at helping. He has, for me. He will understand.'
Luca nodded, relief washing over him. 'I- thank you.'
'I mean it, Haas. If you need anything, you text me or Shane, okay? Don't-' his voice caught, a little, and Luca looked at him in concern. Ilya's eyes were shining a little. 'Don't let yourself be alone, when you need help. It is nothing to me or him, to help.'
Luca took a long drag of his cigarette, overwhelmed by the flood of emotion. 'Yeah, ok. I'll text.' He was silent for a moment. 'If you... I know you have Shane, but if you ever need someone else to talk to, it goes both ways, right?'
The air was still and silent around them, then Ilya bumped Luca's shoulder gently. 'Thank you, Luca,' he said quietly.
***
Before they went back inside, Ilya stopped Luca under the street lamp. 'Your... what is word. Stuff on your... eyeliner! It is, ah, smudged. You might want to...'
Luca groaned, realising that he definitely had black tear tracks on his face. 'Shit.' He scrubbed awkwardly at his face, but without a mirror it was pretty much impossible to figure out if he'd fixed the issue or not.
'Did I get it?'
Ilya surveyed his face carefully, and Luca felt himself flush under the scrutiny. 'You have a little...' he stopped, licked his thumb, and used it to rub his cheek, his other hand carefully steadying his jaw.
Luca immediately went bright red. He's married, he's married, he's married... his spit is on your face, he's holding your face, he's married.
Ilya's hand was still holding his jaw, burning into the skin underneath it. Luca was rooted to his spot on the wet, grimy pavement, unable to break eye contact.
'Perfect,' Ilya said, winking, and then he was gone.
Luca stood outside for another ten minutes. For no reason. The cold air was just nice on his over heated face. That's all.