Chapter Text
September 2018
Ilya is no stranger to the wide-eyed, awestruck looks that rookies tend to throw in his direction. Hell, even some veteran players have been known to regard Ilya with barely disguised wonder and admiration. Those looks had started early on in his career- not long after his own rookie season, to be honest. As captain of the Raiders, he had welcomed countless new players onto the team; had shaken their nervous, clammy hands, had watched them fidget under his attention, had listened to them stammer their way through every conversation with him. It was flattering, if not the smallest bit annoying after a while, and he was used to it.
When Zane Boodram, Ilya’s new alternate captain and the senior-most member of the Ottawa Centaurs, claps him on the shoulder the second Ilya arrives for his “Welcome to the Centaurs” party and drags him over to introduce Ilya to the team’s freshest faces, he’s prepared for more of the same.
“Rozanov, meet Holmberg, LaPointe, and Young,” Boodram gestures a beer clasped hand to three young men gathered together. “They finished out their rookie season last spring.” Ilya nods at them in turn, fighting back a grimace at the way their eyes glaze over as they stare at him. One of them, Ilya thinks it’s the man Boodram introduced as LaPointe, even watches Ilya with his mouth hanging open.
“Nice to meet you,” Ilya says with a politely neutral expression plastered on his face.
“And this is Haasy,” Boodram’s arm snaps to the side, grabbing another younger player by the shirt and dragging him into a headlock. “We snatched him up in the first-round last draft.”
The blond fights against Bood’s hold, muttering and grunting as he struggles to get away. The alternate captain laughs heartily before finally releasing him. He shakes his head, mop of golden waves rustling at the movement, before meeting Ilya’s eyes.
The rookie’s eyes widen- Ilya can’t tell if it’s in surprise or panic- and Ilya watches as his cheeks turn a startling shade of pink. He clears his throat and thrusts out a hand in Ilya’s direction.
“Luca,” the boy chokes out. “Luca, uh, Haas.”
Ilya can’t stop the amused curl of his lip as he shakes Luca’s hand.
Luca’s palm is cold, strangely soft, but Ilya can still feel the clamminess when he squeezes the rookie’s hand once before letting go.
“You, um.” Luca’s eyes dart nervously from side to side. After a steadying breath, he meets Ilya’s stare again. “You used to be my favorite player growing up.”
Ilya smirks, asks, “Used to?”
Bood and the gaggle of younger players laugh. Bood nudges his shoulder into Luca’s and teases, “Aww, little Luca, did you have ‘Rozanov’ themed birthday parties?”
“Bet you still have his poster all over your walls, rookie,” Young chuckles.
“I don’t still have them,” Luca snaps, eyes narrowing in on the other men. He realizes his slip up immediately, the pretty pink in his cheeks darkening to a mortified red. Luca hangs his head, flinching as his teammates clap him on the back before they double over in laughter.
Ilya is surprised to discover that he’s chuckling as well, maybe for the first time since Shane left Ilya’s new house after helping him move to Ottawa.
“No need to be embarrassed, kid,” he says to Luca, knocking his shoulder against the younger man. “I have very nice face, they put it on many, many posters.”
Luca glances up at him, face pinching in an embarrassed wince.
“Maybe I will sign one for you later.” Ilya tilts his head back and forth like he’s contemplating it. He grins and leans into Luca’s space, teases, “If you win Rookie of the Year.”
Luca groans and throws his head back, but Ilya spots the reluctant smile that crosses the boy’s face as he’s jostled about good naturedly by his teammates.
Ilya takes a sip of his beer as he watches their antics, smiles to himself. The Centaurs don’t seem so bad, he thinks. Sure, he used to win cups. Used to captain one of the most respected teams in the league. But it’s something, at least.
The welcome party dies down as the moon climbs higher into the sky. Player after player tap out, throwing around various excuses as to why they’re leaving early, all of which are met with enthusiastic booing from Bood. Ilya is exhausted; he’d almost left hours ago but an encouraging text from Shane to stick it out, get to know everyone a bit more had compelled him to stay.
Ilya’s leaning against Bood’s kitchen counter, floating along the fringes of a conversation between his alternate captain and goalie, Wyatt Hayes, when Luca approaches him.
The rookie looks jumpy and somehow already flustered as he meets Ilya’s eyes and says, “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Rozanov.” He extends a hand towards Ilya. “I, uh, I’m really grateful for the opportunity to play with you this season.”
Something warm and familiar tugs at Ilya’s chest as he grasps Luca’s hand, shaking it for the second time this evening. He hopes the kid hasn’t noticed the way Bood and Hayes have grown quiet next to them, their eyes dancing with amusement. Ilya smirks around the lip of his beer bottle, takes a quick sip before squeezing Luca’s hand and dropping it.
“Call me Ilya, rookie. Was nice to meet you too.”
Luca gives Ilya another one of those pinched, grimacing smiles before nodding to his teammates and hurrying away, cheeks still painted a pretty pink.
Bood and Hayes burst out laughing as the front door closes behind Luca. Wyatt claps Ilya on the back, chuckles as he says, “Damn, Rozanov. How’s it feel to already have a little fan club here in Ottawa?”
Ilya shrugs nonchalantly, a cocky grin across his face. “Is normal, Hayes. I have fan club everywhere I go.”
The two men continue to joke around, making sure to drag Ilya into the conversation when he’s been silent for too long. Ilya participates, puts in the effort to laugh when appropriate, keeps a jovial expression tacked to his face as best he can. He glances once more towards the door Luca had disappeared through, and can’t shake the familiar feeling thrumming across his skin.
Interesting.
“Was fine,” Ilya grumbles, phone balanced between his ear and shoulder as he unlocks his front door. “Would have been better if you were there.”
Shane chuckles from the other end. “Yeah, right,” he scoffs. “Can you imagine?”
Ilya purses his lips, thinks to himself yes, I fucking can, and wishes he felt brave enough to say that. Instead, he says, “Is nice group of guys, though. Bad at hockey, yes, but will be good challenge for me.” He grins, his voice turns sharp and teasing. “Has been so long since I have had a challenge.”
“Oh, fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane snaps, but Ilya can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll show you a challenge.”
“Promises, promises, Hollander.” Ilya groans as he flops down onto his couch. “Oh,” he perks up. “I almost forgot to tell you. You remember blond kid from last draft? Ottawa’s first round pick?”
“Luca Haas, twenty-one, right-wing, second overall?”
Ilya bites his lip against the laugh that bubbles up in his chest. “Wow, Hollander, do you have his trading card or something?”
“Fuck off, Rozanov.”
Ilya sighs theatrically. “Yes, yes- anyway, Ottawa’s cute little rookie has big fat gay crush on me.”
“Uh-huh,” Shane drawls. Ilya can almost hear his eyes rolling. “I’m sure he do- wait, did you say cute?”
Ilya cackles, falls backwards onto the couch and hugs a pillow across his chest. “Is true, moya lyubov! Trust me; I am expert on this. Is second time pretty boy shakes my hand two times and tells me I am his favorite hockey player.”
“I never told you that you were my favorite ho-”
“Do not interrupt, Shanya, I am telling story.” Shane sighs as Ilya continues. “There is more- the rookie says he has poster of me all over his room.”
“He did not say that.” Shane insists, voice flat but fringed with just a touch of annoyance- one of Ilya’s favorite sounds, if he’s being honest.
“How do you know, Hollander? You were not even there.”
Shane grows quiet. Ilya begins to worry if too much honesty had unintentionally bled into his words, but then Shane exhales and grumbles, “So, he’s cute?”
Ilya doesn’t detect any genuine jealousy in Shane’s tone, but he teases anyway. “You seem to know more about him than I do, kotenok, you tell me.”
“I know his stats, Ilya, I don’t remember what the kid looks like,” Shane explains, exasperated. “Faces don’t matter on the ice so I don’t really bother to learn them.”
“Mmm,” Ilya hums, smiling. “My face must be exception, da?”
“Obviously,” Shane mutters, fondness creeping in.
Ilya sighs, shrugs even though Shane can’t see him. “He is cute, is true. Young and jumpy, but they tell me he will be great player. With him, with strong goalie, with me here- I don’t know. Maybe could save the team.”
Shane scoffs, and the sound- soaked in disbelief- burrows beneath Ilya’s skin. He tries very hard not to feel hurt.
“Do not worry, Hollander,” Ilya masks his mildly wounded pride with more teasing. “You will always be cutest second overall draft pick to me.”
“Asshole.” Shane chuckles, before saying softly, “I miss you.”
Ilya’s throat grows tight as his eyes begin to sting. “I miss you more, solynshko. Ya tebya lyublyu.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu, Ilyusha.”
Training camp begins and Ilya is delighted to discover that the Centaurs have several genuinely skilled individual players. It’s when he observes them attempt to operate as a team that he realizes why they can’t seem to win a single game. Hayes is, realistically, the only reason why not every game ends in an embarrassingly pathetic blowout.
Ilya is pleasantly surprised by Luca, who is hesitant and uncertain on the ice but seems to have strong natural instincts. The rookie takes instruction well, makes adjustments to his technique and listens attentively when Ilya speaks. Ilya tries not to abuse it too much when he realizes that the smallest bit of praise he sends Luca’s way results in a beautiful flush across the boy’s cheeks.
The rest of the team notices, because of course they do. It comes to a head in the locker room after practice one day; when Ilya sidles up to his new locker, coincidentally next to the rookie’s, and playfully ruffles his hair.
“Good job today, rook.” He flashes the boy a grin before tugging off his practice jersey. Jeers and laughter start up while Ilya is momentarily blind to the rest of the room, and he looks around in confusion as soon as his head is free of the sweater.
A handful of players are laughing, attention focused on Luca whose face has turned scarlet. A few of them pass by to shove at the rookie’s shoulder or knock into him playfully.
“Aww, little Luca!” Young coos from across the room.
“Is he blushing? Oh my god, rookie, compose yourself,” teases Dillon, a right-winger on the first line who Ilya doesn’t think he’s spoken to directly yet.
“Hey, Luca! Cap sign your poster yet?” Ilya doesn’t catch who says it before the entire locker room dissolves into laughter.
“Leave him be,” Boodram calls out from his locker, nestled in the corner of the room. He turns a playful eye to Luca and adds, “Luca’s our new captain’s number one fan; he can’t help it, can ya rook?”
Ilya tries to hold back his amusement as the team chirps Luca good-naturedly, but the boy’s pink cheeks and wide, mortified eyes are too pitifully adorable to resist.
Ilya is still shaking with the aftershocks of laughter when he decides to take pity on Luca.
“Hey,” Ilya says softly, leaning into Luca’s space as the kid pathetically tries to bury his head in his locker. “Do not listen to them, they are being assholes.” Ilya glances around the room, narrows his eyes at the few players still chuckling and throwing amused glances Luca’s way. He turns back to the rookie. “I can tell them to knock it off, if it is what you want.”
Luca shakes his head, doesn’t meet Ilya’s eyes as he mumbles, “It’s fine. I know they’re just-” he shrugs, gestures flippantly with one hand. “- teasing.” Luca finally glances up at Ilya and winces. The rookie’s cheeks are still adorably flushed, even though the color is fading slowly, and Ilya has a fleeting desire to pinch them. He does not. “It’s just embarrassing, is all.”
Ilya grins, grasping Luca’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “Is not embarrassing to be fan of best player in league, rookie.”
Luca huffs and shrugs off Ilya’s hand but shoots him a small, grateful smile.
Ilya allows a few moments of silence to pass between them as they shed their gear before he asks, “So, I am just curious… which poster was it?”
Ilya’s smile grows more wicked as Luca groans, head falling to his chest as he takes a deep breath. The rookie raises his head, glances around nervously before leaning in to whisper, “It was, um, it was one of the first ones, I think. From the CCM photoshoot with Shane Hollander.”
Ilya blinks at him, brow furrowed. “From- wait, was Hollander on poster too?”
Luca sighs, cheeks transitioning back from pink to red. “Yeah, uh… it’s the one with the two of you facing off. Hollander was my other favorite player growing up.”
“Moya lyubov, you will not believe,” Ilya says breathlessly later that night while on the phone with Shane, face nearly overtaken by his grin. “Cute little rookie has big fat gay crush on you also!”