Archive of Our Own ^beta

"The limits of my language mean the limits of my world."

               ‒Ludwig Wittgenstein

**

“Have idea,” Geno says, leaning forward on the couch and cracking his knuckles.

Sid looks at Geno’s hands and back to his face, but doesn’t say anything. 

Geno called a few minutes before. Again. He’s been calling daily for a week, and Sid only answered this time because he’s pretty sure Geno is about to leave for Russia, and he wanted to say goodbye.

Sid’s dodged calls and texts from almost everyone for days. After he made his captain-rounds to thank and apologize and attempt to encourage, he’d kept to himself. His parents left for Nova Scotia the day after the playoffs ended for the Penguins. Sid’s house in Pittsburgh has been quiet ever since. 

Not really a good quiet. It’s a heavy sort of quiet. But at least he doesn’t have to deal with the whispers and knowing glances and head tilts of support. Sometimes it’s worse when people are nice. 

“Sid,” Geno says again, expression clouded.

“Oh,” Sid says, re-focusing on Geno. “Yeah?” 

“Have idea,” Geno repeats. “For summer.”

Sid swallows. “What’s that?” 

“We train together,” Geno says with a hopeful sort of smile.

Sid raises his eyebrows. “You’re staying in Pittsburgh this summer? I thought--”

“No,” Geno says shaking his head. “In Russia.”

“You want me to go to Russia,” Sid says in a flat tone.

Geno nods once. “Kadar coming. Good to have partner though. And Russia best. You see.” He gives his big teasing grin.

Sid laughs. This is not what he thought Geno was going to say. He has no idea how to respond. “Yeah, okay Geno,” Sid says with the smile he uses when Geno is teasing him. 

Geno bites his lip. “No. Serious. You come to Russia. We train. Get ready for next year. Need to get away from Pittsburgh, Sid.”

“I’m not going to Russia,” Sid says immediately. Because seriously? Sid and Geno get along very well. He’s always felt lucky to have ended up with a player of Geno’s caliber who isn’t driven by ego or greed. He’s competitive and has a temper, but he’s hard on himself, not really the people around him. His focus is on winning for the group, not himself. 

But they aren’t the kind of friends that spend extended periods of time together alone in foreign countries. They’re the kind of friends who eat dinner with teammates on the road, who have a few good inside jokes, who maybe play cards in someone’s hotel room before a game, who talk a lot at work, and text a bit here and there, but... that’s it.

So Sid isn’t sure how to take this offer. Geno’s face falls a little at Sid’s response, but he adopts a resigned expression, like he knew his idea would meet with resistance. 

“Should think about it,” Geno says. “Sometimes change good. You do same thing, get same results.”

Sid narrows his eyes. He likes routine. And just because he appreciates consistency doesn’t mean he’s stuck.

“I watch you,” Geno continues, ignoring Sid’s face full of objections. “This year is different. You are tired. Need break from this place. People expect much. Always. This year is hard for you.”

Sid swallows and looks away. It has been harder. He has no idea why or how to explain it. Having reporters ask him over and over if he’s secretly hurt made him wish he had something like that he could point to. Because all it feels like is that it’s never going to be enough. He played his first full season in years. He won the scoring race. He’s up for league MVP. 

And it’s still not enough. It makes it harder to rally after the loss this year. Because he has no one to blame, nothing to claim as an excuse. He’s as healthy as the average end-of-season hockey player. Things are bruised, things are battered, but he’s not broken. Not physically.

“Take too much of burden,” Geno says. He’s still talking, Sid realizes. “And I let you. My fault too. All team’s fault. Not just you.”

Sid nods and smiles. He doesn’t want Geno to feel like his mercy mission has failed. But Sid’s not going to Russia. That’s... extreme.

“I know,” Sid says reassuringly. “Happens every year. Twenty-nine teams lose. It’s always hard.”

Geno makes a noise of disapproval. “Not a reporter, Sid,” he tisks. “Know you long time. Is different this year.”

Sid bites his lip. “I’m not-- yeah. I mean, it’s hard this year,” he allows. “But I-- I’ve got a plan for the summer. And I need-- I need to stick to it.”

Geno smiles his hound dog disappointed, brave-face smile, but doesn’t argue. “Well, you change mind, call me. Offer always there.” He stands up stiffly. “We be better next year. I’m better next year.”

Sid stands up and follows Geno to the front door. Instead of a handshake or a shoulder punch, however, Geno pulls him into a tight hug. Sid makes a surprised sound. People rarely touch him anymore. He’s made his personal space issues pretty clear.

Geno is big and tall, and his arms are freakishly long. The hug startles Sid at first, almost makes him panicky. But Geno holds on stubbornly. And Sid finally just relaxes into it, even hugs him back. He can’t give Geno Russia, but he can give him a meaningful hug. 

“Don’t read internet,” Geno instructs into Sid’s hair as he continues to crush close.

“Never do,” Sid promises.

“Don’t only work,” Geno says in a bossy tone. “Do fun things. Get dog.”

Sid laughs and finally pulls away. “Probably not going to get a dog. But I’ll try to have fun.”

“I check,” Geno says. “I call Mario and spy.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Make Pascal come chirp,” Geno says, gaining enthusiasm. 

Sid shoves Geno’s shoulder. “Who’s going to make sure you stay humble this summer then?”

Geno grins. “Not need. I’m best. Kadar tell me always. Come to Moscow and chirp if you worry.” 

Sid pushes him out the door. “I’ll chirp by text.”

“Your chirps worst,” Geno says as he walks backward toward his car. 

Sid grins and flips him off.

“See! Bad chirp. Lazy. Do better, Sidney Crosby. Best in world at hockey. Worst in world at chirps.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Bye Geno,” he says as Geno climbs into his car. 

Geno smiles and waves as he pulls out of Sid’s driveway. Sidney watches him until the gate closes behind him. He’s still smiling as he heads back inside. 

**

Sid goes back to Nova Scotia, but it doesn’t get easier. Canada isn’t exactly the place to go to escape hockey. Especially since the Stanley Cup Final is about to start. And everyone he bumps into (friends and strangers alike) wants him to know how much they wish it were him playing for the Cup. There’s only so many times he can smile and nod and say “next year” and keep up his polite facade. 

He takes on a couple of projects around his house on the lake near his hometown. He builds a shed with his dad that results in a very tense afternoon of pointed comments and subtle digs that Sid pretends not to understand so as not to engage with his dad again about all the things he did wrong in game seven. Sidney likes hockey talk, even critical talk of his own play, better than most people. But he doesn’t have the patience for it this year. 

Sid retreats a little after that. He spends more time alone at his house. He works out, runs, takes his boat out onto the lake, skates a bit, but mostly he reads books from the stack he accumulated throughout the season, he makes himself dinner and lets himself put cheese on things, he tries to get excited about a couple of the TV shows everyone was talking about during the season, and he dodges phone calls from his family and most of his friends. 

After her high school graduation, his sister Taylor left for a hockey camp thing. She’s excited, and it’s a big honor to be included. But it means that Sid’s primary reason for being home during the summer is moot. She was around the first couple of days he was home, and now she’s gone. 

His dad is already driving him crazy. It’s started earlier than it usually does. And his mom gets more tense as she tries desperately to smooth over the stuff his dad says that rubs Sid the wrong way.

Usually he can just deep-breathe through his dad’s criticism. Mostly because he knows his dad means well. He understands the game better than most coaches, and usually Sid appreciates the little things his dad notices about his game. Troy Crosby can find the one flaw in a play that everyone else told Sid was flawless. Or he can make a suggestion that ends up improving a certain move the next time he tries it. 

So while it sucks sometimes to hear the critique, Sid knows it comes from his dad wanting him to be as good as he can be, to never settle for good when greatness is actually possible. Sidney is the hockey player he is largely because his dad didn’t coddle him. He pushed him because he saw something in Sid that he knew could be special. 

But sometimes... sometimes Sid just wants to hear his dad say “I get it. It’s hard. Sometimes things happen. You’ll do it next year.” Instead of a period-by-period, bullet-pointed list of everything he did to contribute to the loss and all the missed chances he didn’t take. Sometimes even though his rational side knows how valuable that sort of analysis should be, Sid just wants to forget all the shitty parts of the series and start over. Sometimes he wishes his dad were more like Geno’s, thrilled and overjoyed by everything Geno does to contribute and supportive and affectionate when Geno doesn’t play his best game. 

Or that’s how the Malkins appear from the outside anyway.

Sid imagines that’s because the they only get to see Geno play a few times a year. Whereas Sid’s dad makes a point of coming down for a few days every month during the season. Of course it’s possible Geno’s dad is saying critical things in Russian while clinging to Geno with fiercely proud hugs. He and Geno don’t really talk about their families. So Sid has no idea. He shouldn’t assume...

But for whatever reason, Nova Scotia isn’t the relaxing reprieve it sometimes is. The familiarity of his hometown, eating in the restaurants he’s frequented since he was a kid, working out at the rink he learned to skate at when he was young, soaking up the chance to be in Canada. He usually finds it easier to work out harder, get more sleep, push himself when he needs to, in the context of a place he feels safe. But not this year.

**

Geno starts texting Sid more frequently. In past summers, they communicated a few times per summer, but mostly Geno included him in the big group texts he sent the entire team, like a picture of him with a baby goat and a mixture of English and Russian followed by a string of eye-less smiley faces. 

Sid’s been trying not to watch the Stanley Cup Final, but Geno texts him about the games enough that Sid starts paying attention just so he knows what Geno is talking about. His texts usually coincide with a ridiculous call or a spectacular goalie save. Sometimes they are humorous threats of fights he’s going to start the following year or something he heard about a couple of hockey players on one of the teams. 

It makes watching more tolerable. And when they get to the intermission, Geno calls.

“Mute TV,” Geno instructs the first game he realizes Sid is actually watching along with him.

“Why?” Sid asks laughing into the phone.

“Because Milbury idiot, and he say stupid things about us sometimes,” he explains. And Sid knows that means he says things about Sid, not Geno. But he appreciates the solidarity. 

“So what, we watch them talk?” Sid asks, staring at the muted TV and wondering if someday he’ll be a guy who used to be good at hockey sitting behind a desk talking about people who are currently good at hockey. (And being a giant asshole about it.)

“I tell you what they say,” Geno says and adopts a ridiculous voice and tells Sid stories as Mike Milbury shares his thoughts on Henrik Lundqvist. It’s goofy and ridiculous, especially since (according to Geno) Milbury likes to stare at Lundqvist’s ass during press conferences and dreams of running his fingers through Lundqvist’s luxurious hair. 

Sid interjects questions when the reasonable non-hockey player host guy seems to be trying to keep Milbury and Keith Jones from killing each other, and Geno answers them in his creatively broken English. Sid’s almost sorry when the intermission is over because it means Geno is going to hang up, and they’ll go back to texting their way through the game. 

Except he doesn’t hang up. They watch the rest of the game together. They seem to want neither team to win, which is a funny way to endure a hockey game. But it feels better because he knows Geno gets it. He’s really the only other person Sid knows who understands the disappointment Sid is feeling right now. 

It becomes a thing after that. They watch the remaining games together, and Sid finds himself texting Geno random pictures of his house and the stupid stuff he does as he putters around, scenic shots from his boat when he’s out on the lake. Geno sends back super up-close selfies with Sergei Gonchar’s daughters, he links Sid to Russian pop music he likes, sends pictures of the meals he eats out and the ones he makes for himself at home. 

It’s easily Sid’s favorite thing about his day. And there are so few favorite things lately, Sid just lets it be a highlight and doesn’t examine that too closely. 

He has to go to the NHL Awards in Las Vegas at the end of June. He was supposed to bring someone, and at one point he’d considered taking his sister or his mom. But now Taylor is busy at hockey camp, and he’s afraid if he invites his mom his dad will tag along. And he’s still mostly avoiding his dad. 

So he goes alone. Which is pretty fucking depressing. He knows a few of the guys nominated for things relatively well. Toews is there, but he’s brought someone with him. Everyone brought someone with them. 

“Why aren’t you in Las Vegas?” Sid asks Geno when he calls him after the first stupid party he forces himself through alone. 

“Because Russia best,” Geno says predictably. 

“That’s not helpful to me right now, G,” Sid whines and flops down on his bed. “I hate these things.”

“Is over tomorrow, yes?” Geno sounds like he’s somewhere with a lot of traffic.

“You aren’t driving are you?” Sid asks sitting up. He’s driven with Geno and knows he’s a frightening driver without adding a cell phone to the mix. 

Geno laughs. “Standing on street. Meeting friends for lunch.”

“Oh,” Sid says and then feels embarrassed. “Okay then.”

“You be fine,” Geno reassures him. “Just remember to thank me in speech.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “You never thank me in yours.”

“English very hard, Sid,” Geno jokes, voice light. “Okay, friends here. Good luck. You win.”

“Bye Geno,” Sid says and flops back onto the bed.

“Bye Sid.”

**

The NHL Awards’ red carpet is Sid’s idea of a personal hell. He really should’ve brought someone. He should’ve asked Geno if he’d come. Or maybe Duper. Someone. Because as it is he has to answer all the questions about the season, about Shero, about Dan’s future, all by himself. And the worst part about it is that everyone wants the questions to seem light-hearted and fun, so there’s a jokey element to the serious questions. So not only does Sid have to navigate the potential minefields and remember his various sets of talking points on sensitive topics, he has to seem like he can take a joke and has a sense of humor.

He doesn’t feel cut out for this part of being famous. He learned how to talk to the media because it was a necessary part of playing in the NHL, but he still wishes sometimes he could just play, without having to stay “on message” or worry about appearances. He begrudgingly has accepted his role as “the face of hockey.” But it’s his least favorite part of being captain of the Penguins.

He gets a text from Geno as he hits the end of the red carpet. Look good Sid )))))))

Sid smiles and feels a pang, wishing Geno were here too. Not that Geno would save him from the interview portion of the experience, he happily defers to Sid with the media every chance he gets. But at least he’d have a friendly face to look at when a question was particularly irritating or intended to rattle him. 

Geno has always been protective of Sid. He looks out for him on the ice, but he’s also incredibly loyal off of it. He’s effusive in his praise and supportive in the few interviews he actually does, quick to defer to Sid as the leader. When Sid was out with his concussion, Geno helped quiet the critics. When the media, and even those within the organization, tried to credit Geno with the team’s success during that season, Geno always answered that the Pens were “Sid’s team.” 

Not that Sid cares about that, really. But he understands why it was important to Geno that people understand he wasn’t staging some sort of concussion-facilitated coup. There were a lot of things Sid hated about being injured and unable to play for such a long period of time, but he never had to worry about his place on the team. 

Geno’s been so steady for so long, it’s possible Sid has taken him for granted. He’s thought of that more than once during the past couple of weeks. He has no idea how to go about making sure he’s the same type of friend to Geno that Geno’s apparently been for him.

you suck for not being here, Sid texts back. He’ll work on validating Geno later. 

He gets back almost an immediate response of )))))))))))))))))))))). So Geno can probably read through the lines. 

**

When he’s back in Canada, Sid’s dad picks him up from the airport. His mom had said she was going to do it, or Sid would’ve hired a car. But now he’s stuck in a car with his father for 45 minutes.

“I want to get on the ice with you tomorrow,” Troy says as they head back toward Cole Harbour.

Sidney looks out the window and doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to. His dad will keep talking and assuming Sid’s listening. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and checks it. There’s a picture of Geno holding a puppy. He smiles to himself and slips his phone back into his pocket. 

He clues back into what Troy is saying. Something about a new drill to improve face off response time. Sidney tunes him back out and tries to imagine an entire summer of only ever talking to his dad about hockey. And only worrying about his mom worrying about how much it sucks that all his dad wants to talk about is hockey. 

And wondering if maybe his plan to more or less put his life on hold to only think and talk about hockey was the wrong plan. 

But this is how the summer always goes. He’s not sure why this year it feels so much harder. 

**

His dad seems to sense that Sidney’s not in the mood for the hockey conversation. And that in and of itself is a sign that everything is different. He stops without checking first to see if Sid has somewhere he needs to be, and they get a drink. 

Troy manages a conversation about how Taylor is doing at hockey camp (still about hockey, but not about Sid and hockey, so it’s worth noting), and then starts in on an incredibly awkward story that seems to be heading toward Troy having a friend who has a daughter and she’s single-- 

Sid stops paying attention again. He has no idea what it means if his dad is starting to notice that maybe Sid’s unhappy and perhaps some sort of non-hockey-based relationship will be the answer to that problem. It feels like a sign of the apocalypse. 

He starts to feel like if he doesn’t get home soon, he’s going to burst out of his skin. He waits through one drink and a bowl of pretzels and then says he has a headache and should probably get home and take a nap. 

Sid appreciates the effort, weird as it might be, but with his dad it feels like it’s too late for them to learn how to talk about other parts of Sid’s life. As much as he wishes they had a different vocabulary, a different language other than hockey, they don’t. So it ends up feeling jarring to try to abruptly switch to Sid’s love life, a thing he’s pretty sure his dad had hoped didn’t even exist. 

Relationships can be a distraction, his dad had said so many times when Sid was younger that he felt guilty any time he was attracted to someone, even in the privacy of his own room. Thinking about sex, about dating, whatever, was wasting time he could be spending on hockey. Not that his dad ever got into specifics, but Sid understood what he meant. So that was an aspect of his life he stuffed down and hid, for a lot of reasons. 

Sidney wonders if someday, when hockey is over and he’s trying to figure out what it’s like to have a normal life, if he and his dad will be able to go golfing or fishing or bowling. If they’ll sit around and drink beers and tell jokes and talk sports other than hockey. 

He’s always imagined that maybe that was part of the life he’d figure out when hockey was over. That his dad would finally be just his dad and no longer his coach, his agent, his biggest critic. He told himself that someday he’d finally understand the bond some sons have with their fathers. 

And someday maybe that will be true. But this summer it feels especially impossible.

**

Later, lying in his bed he wishes he could text Geno. But it’s very early in the morning in Moscow, and Geno is anything but a morning person. He flips through the last few texts Geno sent before he went to bed. More pictures of his friend’s new puppy, a picture of his dinner, a sign in Russian that Sid can’t read. He assumes it’s a joke of some sort, but the only word he recognizes is the Russian word for Canada, Канада. He smiles even though he doesn’t understand the joke. 

In a rush he suddenly wishes he were in Moscow. Geno is one of the only people Sidney consistently enjoys talking to in his current frame of mind. He misses him this year, or notices missing him this year, anyway. They’ve talked and texted a lot more than they usually do, and Sidney finds that he spends a good deal of the day wondering what Geno would think about something or seeking out his opinion about whatever he’s currently doing. 

He takes a deep breath and stares out the window that looks out over the water. His house on the lake outside of town has always felt like a refuge. He likes the quiet, the remoteness. He’s close enough to his family if he wants company, but far enough away that he can spend several days alone, fishing, swimming, taking the boat out. 

But this year he’s restless. And the idea of the summer stretched out before him, with only fishing in solitude as a reward, doesn’t sound appealing. Too much time alone sounds like it will include lots of time thinking about the disastrous way the year ended, all the questions he has no answers for, the ways he let his team down, his concerns about always falling short when it counts most. 

Maybe it’s time to do something different.

*

“So, umm,” Sid says into his phone, suddenly nervous.

“Sid?” Geno’s voice registers surprise.

“Yeah, umm.” Why is this difficult? “I’m here?”

Geno laughs. “Back in Pittsburgh?”

“No.” Sid clears his throat. “I’m-- I’m in the Moscow airport.”

He hears something clatter around and then a muffled set of sounds. “Sorry. Dropped phone. Driving home from gym.”

Sid smiles and looks around at all of the signs in an unfamiliar language and feels very tired. “So-- I mean, I can get a hotel or whatever, but, could you come get me?”

“Not joke?” Geno asks, voice rising and cracking a little. “Really here?”

Sid huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Here waiting for my bag.” It was probably unwise not to call first. But he’s pretty sure if he had called he would’ve lost his nerve. It had been easier to just throw stuff in a suitcase and get himself to the airport without second guessing his choice. 

“Be there in a little bit,” Geno says, voice surprised. “Cannot believe.” 

“I’m hanging up so you can concentrate,” Sid says, concerned that Geno had already dropped his phone and risked his safety to pick it back up. He hears Geno protest as he ends the call. 

After waiting for his suitcase and hockey bag, Sid goes outside to look for Geno. He realizes he doesn’t know what car Geno drives in Russia. He’s used to looking for the Porsche in Pittsburgh. He tries to remember if he’s seen a picture. There was probably a text at some point, but Sid can’t recall. He again feels bad he hasn’t paid closer attention when Geno has talked about his life in Russia. Sid tries not to ask too many questions when Geno first gets back to Pittsburgh for training camp at the beginning of the season. He usually seems a little distant, a little sad. And Sid’s always thought it would make it worse to make him talk about it. 

As the season progresses, Sid is focused on hockey, on the team, on his own stuff, and he loses track of Geno’s state of Russian homesickness. In the past they haven’t spent much time alone, and it isn’t exactly Sid’s style to ask people to talk about potentially painful things at team dinners or when everyone’s gathered at Geno’s for a football game when they have a Sunday off. 

And this year... well, Sid’s let a lot of things slide that he might normally notice. 

Geno is generally amiable and easy off the ice. He’s funny and warm and keeps his personal issues out of the locker room, if he has any. But this year, after the Olympics, Geno had been in enough of a malaise that Sid had noticed. He wasn’t scoring, seemed scared to shoot the puck, passing at the last second even when he had an open shot. He didn’t joke in the locker room, didn’t go out with the team after games. Dan finally said something to Sid during one of their meetings. And so Sid bought a six pack of the beer he knows Geno likes and dropped by, unannounced (chafing his Canadian sensibilities) so Geno wouldn’t have time to think of an excuse, and they had a talk. 

It reminded Sid of the first year they played together (well except for the part where Sid could understand everything Geno was saying and hand gestures and miming had become a much less necessary part of the conversation). Geno would get down on himself when he’d get in a slump, and he would start to feel like maybe leaving his home and his KHL team in such a dramatic fashion wasn’t worth it. He’d say things about letting Mario down, letting Sid down, letting his country down. 

But what Sid learned, was that Geno needed to be reminded it wasn’t all on him. That every player has ebbs and flows in their ability to score and produce. The expectations were high, yes. But no one was going to send Geno back to Russia for a couple of scoreless games or frustration-instigated penalties. 

Sid never really did much. Just listened, hung out, tried to distract. At a certain point he assumed Geno had other people in his life who did that for him, and he stopped seeking him out when he seemed discouraged or like something might be wrong. 

But after the Olympics, enough time had passed and Geno didn’t seem to be rallying, so Sid decided maybe it was time to have another chat. And after a bit of prodding, and a couple of beers, all the frustration and disappointment that went along with an early flameout in Sochi came out in a mix of English and Russian that Sid somehow understood. 

Geno mentioned the conversation later in a post-game interview, and then it became kind of a thing. But PR packaged presentation of a real conversation aside, Sid felt like he understood Geno again. Not that things had been bad between them prior to that conversation, but they hadn’t spent much time together in the last couple of seasons. 

A black BMW pulls up to the curb and Geno hops out, huge grin on his face. “Sid!” He lunges forward in a few purposeful strides and wraps Sid up into a tight hug. 

Sid lets out a sort of “punched in the stomach” sound and stands stiffly, awkward as always in the face of sudden and unexpected physical contact. “Hey,” he says when he finally recovers from the force of Geno’s hug. 

“You’re here!” Geno says excitedly in his ear. “You say you not come. Have plan. Why here now?”

Sid takes a step backward and gives a nervous smile. “Yeah, I should’ve-- called. I just-- needed to not be, umm, there. Anymore.”

Geno grabs Sid’s bags and muscles them into the trunk. “Good. Yes.” The huge smile hasn’t left his face but his eyes are searching Sid’s. He’s confused and worried and happy, and his eyes flash between all of those emotions. 

They stare at each other for a few beats too many and then Geno starts pushing Sid toward his car. “Hungry? Is long flight.”

Sid nods. “Especially since I had to start in Nova Scotia. I don’t even know what day it is.” He sinks down into the leather of Geno’s front seat and the exhaustion hits him. 

“We eat,” Geno says decisively as he merges into traffic. “Favorite place near my house. You like.”

Sid has no idea if that’s true. His experience with Russian food thus far has been that it’s very heavy. Lots of sour cream, lots of potatoes. Beets seem to be especially prevalent. But Sid is famished and would eat just about anything. 

Geno babbles about a bunch of stuff as they drive toward the city center. Sid clues in a few times and hears news about Sergei Gonchar’s family, about Geno’s parents, about Ovi (who had hurt his knee during Worlds earlier this summer). But Sid has a hard time keeping his attention on Geno’s thickly-accented English. He’s starting to see how completely bizarre it is that he just showed up in Moscow. Russia. Thousands of miles away. Without calling. Geno is his teammate, and Sid has realized, his friend. But it’s not like spending the summer with him is a thing he would normally do. This is definitely unprecedented. 

Geno knows that, which is probably why he’s keeping up a steady stream of nervous chatter and cutting worried glances toward Sid as he drives. 

Sid stares out the window and tries to take in his surroundings. Geno’s main description of his homeland is always just “Russia best” but that doesn’t actually provide clues as to the geography and what Moscow looks like. Sochi felt like an isolated bubble by a body of water, a surreal location for the winter Olympics since it was always at least 10 degrees (or 50, if he’s trying to have a conversation with an American). 

As they get closer to the city center, traffic increases dramatically. He’s surprised by how many parks they pass. Sid’s image of Russia was formed by movies about the Cold War era, and he pictured big gray buildings with stoic Russian music and marching soldiers. So yeah. You know. Stereotypes. 

Geno points things out as they pass. Sid drifts in and out of the explanation, but it’s clear how enthusiastic Geno is as they get closer to their destination. It’s also overwhelming. Sid has no idea what any of the signs say. He can’t tell if certain shops are clothing stores or clubs or restaurants. 

This must be how Geno felt when he first arrived in Pittsburgh. 

“We put your things in my house and then go get food, okay?” Geno asks as he pulls into a parking place in the garage under his building.

Sid nods and follows Geno into the elevator. His apartment isn’t huge. It doesn’t really need to be given how little of the year Geno spends in Moscow. But it’s bright and modern and there’s a guest bedroom. 

The apartment reminds Sid of Geno’s house in Pittsburgh. It’s an interesting hodge podge of expensive electronics and big comfortable furniture with knick knacks that look like his mom or his grandma purchased them, somehow just a little out of place with the minimalist table or the sleek leather chair. But it just makes it seem more like Geno. Sid feels less like he’s in a foreign country where he doesn’t speak the language and more like he’s in Geno’s country. He speaks Geno at least. Mostly. 

“You want a shower?” Geno asks as Sid looks around the guest room at the framed family photos and hockey paraphernalia. 

Sid smiles. “Do I need to?”

Geno laughs. “No, but don’t want to rush if you need time.”

“Nah,” Sid says. “Just let me--” he motions to the connected bathroom “--and then we can go eat?”

Geno nods and backs out of the room.

**

“We go see Gonch later,” Geno says as they walk down the street toward the restaurant. “He be surprised and happy to see you.” He gives Sid a small smile.

“Oh right,” Sid says, remembering that Gonch lives in the same building as Geno. “That would be great.”

“He work out with me,” Geno explains as he points to the right as they turn onto another street. “With us,” he corrects. “If you want to come.”

Sid nods. “Yeah, I mean--” he exhales and feels embarrassed for some reason. “You said, before-- but it’s okay if you have other stuff going on.”

Geno shakes his head. “No. I invite. Just surprise you show up,” he says, smile spreading wider on his face. “Happy.”

Sid swallows. “I just-- seemed good to get away.”

Geno nods and opens the door to a restaurant and waves Sid inside. “I understand. We have fun.” 

“You’ll show me stuff?” Sid asks as they’re seated. “I want to see that one big church thing that looks kind of like a colorful sand castle.”

Geno furrows his brow. “Собор Василия Блаженного?”

Sid laughs. “Umm.”

“Basil’s. St. Basil’s, I think,” Geno says. “Yes. We go. Very famous.”

Sid smiles. “Cool. I bought a new camera earlier this summer. Thought I’d try to get better about taking pictures.”

“Phone has camera, no?” Geno pokes his tongue out between his teeth. One of his favorite things to chirp Sid about for years was Sid’s antiquated cell phone. He’s since purchased an iPhone, mostly because his sister got mad he couldn’t get pictures by text or see “emojis” whatever that means. 

Sid rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but that’s not exactly photography.”

Geno orders for both of them in rapid Russian. He gestures several times toward Sid and the grin on his face clues Sid into the fact that he’s teasing him somehow.

“What,” Sid asks with narrowed eyes. “Did you order me something you know I’ll hate?”

Geno scoffs. “No. I tell that you need salad or will feel bad eating pelmeni. So they make special salad.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “I eat stuff.”

Geno laughs. “Yes. But you complain if too much makes you feel guilty. So I’m careful and solve problem before you have.”

But the food is good. The salad is... salad. And it is hard to screw up a vinaigrette. 

Geno’s phone buzzes incessantly during their meal. He mostly ignores it, but does answer a few. 

“If you have plans tonight, it’s totally okay,” Sid says as he’s finishing his dinner. “I’ll probably just crash anyway.”

Geno shakes his head decisively. “Nothing important. Always same friends want to do same things. We go sometime, but tonight we rest.” He smiles reassuringly and signals to the waiter for the check.

“Hey let me--” Sid reaches for his wallet.

“You have rubles?” Geno asks, amused.

“No,” he says, realizing his wallet is currently an interesting hodge podge of American and Canadian money, but he hadn’t stopped to change anything over to rubles. “But I have credit cards.” 

Geno waves him away. “Is fine. My treat. You are guest.”

Sid bites his lip. He has no idea how long Geno thinks he’s staying. And Sid has no idea how long he even wants to stay. But it seems important he get some money so he can buy their dinner so Geno doesn’t start noticing how annoying Sid can be about things and kick him out or something. 

“Well, thank you,” Sid says finally. 

Geno smiles. “I’m glad you here. Always want to show you things here. Never think you come.” He looks almost shy, and Sid feels a pang he can’t place. 

Sid nods and looks down at the table. He realizes he’s going to have to call his mom and tell her where he is. He’ll have to return Taylor’s texts that have grown increasingly distressed as the day progressed. He’ll have to endure his dad’s voicemails about “ending up in fucking Russia” and “if this sets you back, Sidney, you have only yourself to blame.” 

But maybe here he won’t accidentally see the sports section of the newspaper where columnists are debating when, exactly, he stopped being the number one hockey player. And whether or not Toews is better. He won’t have to deal with all of the questions about Shero and Dan and what happens next with Pittsburgh’s front office and does he feel like it’s his fault that a bunch of people might lose their jobs? And worst of all, there won’t be kids coming up to him for pictures and telling him how much they wanted him to win, how hard they cheered. Their little faces as they thrust things at him to autograph that register confusion that he may not actually be a supernatural hockey deity. 

He ran to Canada to get out of Pittsburgh. And when Canada wasn’t far enough, he ran to Russia. And he has no idea where he’ll go if it turns out Russia is still too close.

**

Sid wakes up the next morning to a quiet apartment. He pokes around and finds Geno is decidedly gone. In the kitchen there’s a post-it note on the coffee pot telling him to “push this for coffee Sid” and then another on the counter that says “food in fridge.” 

Sid opens the refrigerator to find a plate of sliced fruit and another post-it that tells him “roll in bag on counter.” Sure enough, there’s a pastry bag with a fresh roll and another post it on the bag that sends him back to the fridge for jam. Sid laughs at Geno setting up what amounts to a breakfast scavenger hunt. 

He sits down in front of the TV after he has all the pieces of his breakfast compiled, and flips around on the TV until he finds that Geno gets some English language channels on his satellite. There’s a Friends rerun on (because isn’t there always a Friends rerun on somewhere?), and Sid watches while he eats.

When he’s done with his breakfast, he calls his mom. He begs off talking to his dad, but endures his mother’s concerned tuts about taking such a big trip without telling anyone where he was going. He can hear his dad’s voice rising on the other end of the phone as he starts to get the picture of what they’re talking about. 

“I need to go, Mom,” Sid says after a few minutes of concerned prodding and confused questions. “I just wanted you to know that I’m okay, and I’ll be back before I have to leave for training camp.”

“Sidney! That’s two months away! Are you really going to spend all that time--”

“--I don’t know,” Sid says, cutting her off before she can get going again. “But maybe. It’s fine. I can train with Geno. You can tell Dad that Mike Kadar will be here soon to train with Geno. And he knows all of my routines and stuff.” He swallows and rubs at his temples to discourage the headache that is starting to form. “I just needed to do something different, Mom. It’ll be fine.”

“I know, sweetie,” she says. Sidney hears his dad’s angry voice muffled through the line, and his mom’s soothing tones turned in Troy Crosby’s direction. “Well, keep in touch. Did you tell Taylor? She was worried you hadn’t been answering her texts.”

“Yes,” Sid reassures. “I texted her this morning.”

“Take lots of pictures!” She says as they end their call, clearly trying to keep things positive even as he can hear his father rapidly losing his shit half way around the world. 

“I will,” Sid says with a smile. His mom tries to bridge the gap, and he supposes it isn’t fair of him to make her deliver the message to his dad. But Sid just can’t right now. “Love you.”

“Oh Sidney,” she says, voice cracking. “I love you too. Tell Geno hello.”

“Will do,” Sid says and then hangs up before he ends up on the phone with his dad.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Sid texts his trainer in Cole Harbour and apologizes. Sid isn’t his only client. He runs a hockey program over the summer, so Sid doesn’t feel too guilty bailing on him. He has a lot going on this time of year. 

Geno’s still not back when he’s done, so Sid takes a shower and gets dressed. He has no idea what they’re going to do and feels guilty as he realizes that Geno is now saddled with entertaining him for the foreseeable future. Unless Sid just stays a few days and then goes back to North America. Which... might be the best idea. 

Geno comes back to find Sid sitting on the couch reading one of the books he’s been trying to get through all year. 

“Sid!” Geno says, face breaking into a huge grin. “Finally awake.”

Sid smiles automatically. “Yeah. Thanks for leaving me breakfast.” 

Geno laughs. “You find all the pieces? I’m keep remember things to add.”

“Yeah,” Sid says and marks his spot in his book. 

Geno is red-faced and sweaty, still breathing a little hard. 

“Did you-- were you running?”

Geno nods. “I lift with Gonch and then run home. He drive because he old man with bad knees.” He grabs a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and smirks at Sid as he drinks it.

Sid laughs. “You have bad knees. Or at least one bad knee. So...”

Geno makes a face. “No sticking up for Gonch. He is old, and you feel this way too.”

Sid rolls his eyes.

“And you tell him when we eat dinner with them tonight,” he gestures menacingly at Sid with his water bottle. 

“Oh yeah?” Sid sits up a little bit.

“Yes. I tell him you come visit. He think is joke at first. But then invite us to dinner.”

Sid nods. “Yeah, okay. It will be nice to see them.”

Sid always liked Sergei. And while he doesn’t know the rest of the Gonchars that well, he remembers fondly several of the meals he ate with them when Geno was first in Pittsburgh, back before he could speak English well enough for them to carry on a conversation easily without Gonch. 

Geno tosses the bottle. “Okay. Good. I tell them yes.” He texts someone quickly and then tosses his phone onto the table. “Will take shower and then we go and see why Moscow best, yes?”

Sid smiles. “Okay.” He bites his lip. “I mean, if you have stuff to do, I can just... I mean I can find stuff to do. I have this book to read and stuff.”

Geno shakes his head and gives Sid a disapproving look. “Why you come here if you want to read book alone? No. We go together. I show all the best things.”

“Okay,” Sid agrees. “Yeah that will be... good.”

“Not good,” Geno says over his shoulder as he heads to his room. “Best. You learn. You see.” He laughs his big, bright laugh and shuts the door behind him.

**

They stop by a bank at Sid’s insistence. It makes him feel helpless not to have money. Geno won’t be around him every second, and what if he wants to buy a bottle of water at the little store next to Geno’s building? This is the argument he uses with Geno, which earns him an eye roll, but Geno obliges and they change some money. Apparently some stores take dollars, but that means Sid has to constantly convert the amount in his head. And math isn’t something he wants to do in his spare time.

They stop for a quick lunch afterward. Sid didn’t eat that long before, but Geno has had a full workout and needs food. 

Geno eats some sort of very sour soup that he makes Sid try. Sid smiles and tries not to be rude, but that’s certainly not going to become a favorite. Geno laughs at him and shakes his head in amusement. 

“You knew I wouldn’t like that,” Sid says after a few beats. 

Geno grins. “Yes. Is a little weird. But we eat always and I like. Is okay you don’t.” 

There’s plenty of other stuff Sid doesn’t mind. It’s all very filling. Clearly Russia is not a country where Sid could imagine trying to do a low-carb diet. But there’s grilled fish and Sid gets another salad, much to Geno’s amusement.

“What Russians don’t eat salads?”

“We eat. But in Russia real salad more like-- potato salad? Things with... майонез... mayonez--”

“Oh,” Sid says and makes a face. “Mayonnaise?” 

Geno laughs again. “Yes. Is good. But Russian food has less green salad. Is here because people come from everywhere.”

“Potato salad isn’t salad,” Sid says argumentatively. “It’s... it’s not good for you.”

Geno shrugs. “Is different here. Best.”

Sid shakes his head and starts to say that not everything can always be “best” but decides it’s probably not super polite to argue with the guy who has agreed to show him around town. 

Geno raises his eyebrow and finishes his lunch. 

**

They visit St. Basil’s Cathedral. Sid brings his new camera and endures Geno’s chirps about his lack of technological savvy. 

“You should get Twitter,” Geno says as he snaps a picture of something and immediately puts it up on Instagram and then tweets it. 

Sid makes a face. “Yeah, no...”

Geno rolls his eyes. “You might like. Taylor has.”

Sid cringes thinking about the few times he’s followed a Google news alert into Twitter and gotten sucked into the debates of a bunch of strangers about whether or not Sidney Crosby is overrated. “I don’t like giving people an avenue to get closer.”

Geno nods and watches a family walk by with a smile on his face. “Yes, but if you have Twitter people see Sid everyone who knows sees. Funny and silly and strange.” He makes a face that Sid can’t help but respond to with a laugh.

“Maybe I don’t want them to know that about me though, you know?” Sid swallows and turns toward the exit of the small room they’d entered briefly.

It’s darker and smaller inside the cathedral than Sid would’ve expected. But there’s something appealing about its more humble beauty. The outside with its bright colors and unique design evokes images of something equally ornate or bizarre inside. But Sid sort of likes the contrast. 

“People always say dumb things,” Geno says leading Sid down another corridor. “You know this.”

“Yeah, I do.” Sid gestures for Geno to stand next to a frescoed archway and takes his picture. “But if I can avoid reading it, I try to.”

Geno nods and doesn’t say anything else about it. He takes over Sid’s camera, however, and makes Sid stand next to things so he can document Sid’s experience. 

“Look happy,” Geno directs, voice echoing through the room. He laughs at the smile Sid offers in response. “Not like smile at funeral. Smile like happy.” He looks through the viewfinder again. “And take hands out of pockets. No one trying to touch you! You’re alone in picture.” He laughs loudly and shakes his head. 

“You’re the worst,” Sid mumbles but takes his hands out of his pockets. He stands awkwardly because he’s not used to having his picture taken alone unless it’s a photo shoot for a magazine or a commercial and then someone usually tells him how to stand or what to do. 

Geno keeps laughing at him as he snaps pictures, clearly now prolonging the moment just to be a dick. Someone taps Geno on the shoulder and says something in Russian and gestures toward Sid. Geno answers and then hands the guy the camera and comes to stand next to Sid. 

“He take picture,” Geno explains and throws his arm around Sid’s shoulder, pulling him into his side. 

The guy checks the shot on the display screen and says something to Geno.

Geno laughs. “He say you look scared. I tell him I kidnap you.”

“Har har,” Sid snits and elbows Geno in the side. “Russians are hilarious, apparently.”

“He say you should be honored to stand next to great Evgeni Malkin,” Geno says as the guy snaps a couple of shots.

“He did not,” Sidney says, but laughs and that’s the picture that ends up being his favorite of the day. Geno looking down at him amused, Sidney throwing his head back with a big laugh. 

**

The next day is much the same, but Sid goes with Geno to work out. In the afternoon Geno takes Sid to a couple of his favorite places. Neither were on the “top things everyone should do in Moscow” lists he’d found on the internet. When Sid announced he wanted to go to the Pushkin museum Geno suggested they go to a smaller gallery less crowded with tourists. It’s housed in a beautiful building, and Sid continues his quest to photograph Geno in front of all sorts of important Russian things. 

There’s also an old library Geno says he likes to go to when he wants to get away from people. It’s within walking distance of his apartment and it has the feel of something everyone else has forgotten about. Sid instantly loves it. 

Over the next few days, Sid learns Geno’s tour of Moscow is a mix between things he knows Sid wants pictures of and the random parts of the city Geno loves. Restaurants he likes, bars and clubs he enjoys, parks he relaxes in on a nice day. It’s the perfect way to see a city. 

Sometimes before bed, Sid will read through guides and find something he wants to see, and the next day, once Geno has passed the grumpy part of his morning, Sid will tell him what he’s found. Sometimes Geno will suggest an alternative or propose a different day for visiting if he knows it will be crowded, but they always find something to do in the afternoon.

Before Sid knows it, he’s been in Moscow a week. They’ve settled into a routine, and Sid has stopped thinking about when he should go back to Canada. The first couple of days he watched for signs that Geno was irritated with him, or that he was missing out on things he would otherwise be doing if Sid wasn’t there. But he couldn’t seem to find evidence that Geno was anything but pleased to share his space and his city with Sid. 

Geno invites a group of friends to go out with them to a club when Sid’s been in town for a week. He coaxes Sid into nicer clothes (“is not bar in Pittsburgh. In Moscow people wear nice clothes to clubs”) and when Sid chickens out at the last minute and tries to come up with a headache as an excuse to stay back at the apartment, Geno just laughs and rolls his eyes and muscles Sid out the door. 

“You have fun,” Geno promises. “You like my friends.”

And Sid... well, it’s overwhelming to be around a large group of loud people who all know each other and speak rapidly in another language. Geno does a good job of translating for him early in the evening, but as the night progresses and the drinks flow more freely, he loses his English.

Sid smiles and nods along to conversations had in his general direction. And Geno sticks close, so it’s not like Sid’s left to flounder on his own. But Geno sticking close means Sid gets pulled onto the dance floor at one point. And Sid makes it a point to never dance if he can help it. 

But the evening answers a couple of questions for Sid. 

One is, what is Geno like with his Russian friends? The answer is, mostly the same as he is with English-speaking friends. Just louder and somehow he seems to take up even more space. He’s got an arm draped around Sid nearly constantly, and he seems taller. Which... isn’t possible. But Geno crowds everyone else out, physically and metaphorically, in Russia. 

Two relates to Geno and his ongoing situation with a long time girlfriend. Sid stopped trying to keep track a long time ago. They broke up and got back together a couple of times every year. Sid would stop by Geno’s house to drop something off and she’d suddenly be in Pittsburgh and look very much at home. And then the next thing Sid knew, she was gone, Geno was moody for a few days and no one said a word about it. But it seemed like even though they’d been “off” more than “on” lately, that maybe being back in Russia would mean they were back together. 

And Sid... well, she isn’t his favorite. Admittedly he doesn’t know her, not really. He’s pretty sure she speaks English, but she never seemed that interested in participating in the conversations Geno’s friends and teammates tried to engage her in. She glared (he’s not imaging that) at Sid most of the time she was around him. And Geno never seemed as happy around her as it seemed like he should, given the whole “love of my life” role he seemed determined to prove she filled. 

But if Geno is back together with her, Sid doesn’t want him to feel like she can’t come over while he’s in town, or that Geno has to entertain Sid constantly instead of spending time with her. 

But she isn’t out with them. Sid thinks he hears someone reference her at one point, but no one acts like she would be there but for some prior commitment. And Geno seems mad her name came up at all. 

They take a taxi home. Sid is drunk enough that he loses track of how exactly everyone parted ways. But he and Geno are in a taxi, and Sid’s head feels heavy.

“My head weighs a lot,” Sid lets Geno know. 

Geno laughs. “Still weigh same as before.”

“Drinks made it heavy, I think,” Sid reasons, “the liquid weighs it down, maybe.”

Geno shakes his head. “No. Lean head back,” he instructs and pulls Sid’s head back against the seat. Sid lets it slide to the side until it’s resting against Geno’s shoulder. Geno is solid and never seems to sway. “Not vomit, Sid.”

Sid scoffs. “Won’t.” He shakes his head against Geno’s shoulder. “Russian makes less sense when I drink,” he offers after a few minutes of silence.

“You speak Russian when sober?” 

Sid looks up at Geno and finds him smiling down at him. “No. You speak less Russian without drinks.”

“Is true. Brain is Russian.”

Sid nods. It makes sense. Sid’s brain works only in English. But he wishes he could understand Geno in Russian. He wonders how many things he misses because Geno has to find the right English word to match his thought or mood. He doesn’t like to miss things Geno thinks. Geno is smart and funny. Imagine how much funnier he’d be if Sid spoke the language his sense of humor is rooted in. 

He looks up again to find Geno looking at him curiously. “I said that out loud?” Sid asks, trying to remember when words started coming out of his mouth instead of just bumping around in his head. 

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Yes. I’m funny in all language. I teach you Russian. You learn this summer.” 

Sid makes a defeated noise. “I tried to learn, and it was hard.”

Geno pats Sid’s leg. “You try?”

“Yeah,” Sid says and gets lost in the motion of his nod against Geno’s soft shirt. 

“When?”

“When you first came to Pittsburgh,” Sid says and realizes he’s still rubbing his cheek against Geno’s shirt. He should probably stop that. “I wanted to know what you were thinking. So I got some CDs. Played ‘em in my car.”

Geno swallows and wraps his hand around Sid’s knee and squeezes. “Didn’t know.”

“Thought I told you,” Sid murmurs against Geno. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. His eyes now feel as heavy as his head. 

“Think you joke,” Geno says quietly. “What you learn?”

Sid shrugs and lets his eyes fall shut. “Don’t remember anything.”

“I teach,” Geno says as Sid lets the movement of the car and the warmth of the alcohol lull him to sleep.

**

Two weeks after Sid arrives in Moscow, Geno finally asks him why. He’s let Sid get away with the “just needed to get away” answer the couple of times the topic has come up after he first called Geno from the airport. 

Geno hasn’t pressed him about it. 

But now they’ve just finished swimming laps (something Geno is far better at than Sid) and are hanging from the edge of the pool, breathing heavily. 

“How long you stay here?” Geno asks when he catches his breath. 

“Oh,” Sid says, surprised. “Well I mean--”

“No,” Geno clarifies. “You just don’t say. You can stay for whole summer.”

Sid’s face feels warm, and he looks off toward the locker room. “I hadn’t-- I mean, I didn’t really think it through.”

“Why you change your mind?” Geno asks and reaches for his water bottle. 

Sid bites his lip. “I don’t know.”

Geno smiles. “Glad you do. But I’m wonder if something happen.”

Sid rests his chin on his arms draped on the edge of the pool. “Canada felt small.”

Geno laughs. “Canada big.”

“Right,” Sid agrees. “So you see the problem.”

Geno furrows his brow. “Something happen? Family okay?”

Sid swallows. “Yeah, but I mean, my dad--” he stops because it always feels like such a betrayal to say anything negative about his dad, especially to someone not in his family.  But this is Geno. He’s on Sid’s team, both literally and figuratively, Sid supposes. He sighs. “It was a rough playoffs, you know? I just-- I can’t even explain it. But it fell apart and my dad just wants to talk about it constantly. Telling me everything I did wrong. Everything I need to do better next year. Who Pittsburgh should fire. Who the Pens shouldn’t re-sign. Who should be traded. I just--” he glances over at Geno to try and read his face, but Geno is just listening with a neutral expression. “I needed to not think about that shit for awhile.”

“So come to hockey teammate’s house?” Geno teases and sticks his tongue between his teeth.

Sid smiles. He hadn’t thought of it like that. There is some irony in trying to escape the pressure of his hockey career by visiting the co-star of his hockey team. “It’s different with you,” Sid says finally. “You get it. You know I didn’t play well. But you aren’t shoving it in my face constantly.”

Geno makes a small noise that sounds like disapproval. “Is long year. Big year. You win Art Ross.”

Sid nods. It’s true. It was his first full season in awhile. He keeps trying to tell himself that, but it doesn’t seem to matter to anyone. And maybe it shouldn’t. What’s the point of a leading point scoring season if he only scores one goal during the playoffs? If he can’t get to his game the way he’s supposed to?

“Mario understand,” Geno says after a few beats of silence. It’s always Geno’s last ditch reassurance effort. 

Sid huffs out a laugh. “Well, in the sense that Mario knows I’m not purposefully sabotaging the team or something, sure. But he still expects me to play up to my potential. They don’t pay us all this money for us to continue to lose. I’m supposed to be better. They pay me to be better.”

“He say that?” Geno asks quietly.

“He doesn’t have to say that,” Sid says. “Mario isn’t reactionary, so it’s not like I worried he was going to trade me or something. But firing Ray is about as big of a signal he’s pretty unhappy as Mario is likely to give. That’s on me, you know? Ray’s gone and that’s my fault.”

Geno gives Sid a look. “All bad things your fault. True. Global warm, war, orphans. All Sidney Crosby problems.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Well I mean--”

“Shero make some big mistakes. We discuss before. Things we wish change. Maybe they change now? Maybe some good things come of this.”

Sid pulls himself out of the pool and grabs his towel off a bench. He buries his face in it and collects his thoughts. “We need to make some changes,” Sid agrees. “But what if--” he swallows and stops.

“What if what?” Geno prompts after Sid doesn’t continue. 

Sid sits down on the bench. “What if this is it?”

Geno gives him a blank look.

“I mean, what if I can’t ever do better than this?”

Geno sits down next to him. “You best, Sid.”

Sid starts to protest. 

“No,” Geno says firmly. “Best. I tell you how I watch you play while still in KHL. I tell you how you make me want to come to Pittsburgh. To play with you. Leave my team and my  family to come play with you.”

Sid takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“And I know you best because I’m next best,” he grins. “I know this. Pittsburgh has both best. We make team best again soon. I promise.” He looks so earnest Sid can only nod and smile.

“Yeah,” Sid says. “Okay.”

Geno nudges him with his shoulder. “But is okay not to talk about playoffs with people. And is okay to come to Russia to not talk about playoffs.” He smiles. 

Sid laughs. “So far no one in Russia has asked me why I didn’t play better in the playoffs. Or, if they did, I didn’t understand what they were saying.”

Geno grins. “No one in Russia care about Sidney Crosby.”

That’s not true, no matter how much Sid would love it if it were. There are too many hockey fans in Russia, and Sid does notice people doing double takes when they see him walking around Moscow, especially when he and Geno are together. But the language barrier means very few approach them. They’ve taken pictures with kids at the rink they have skated at a couple of times. But none of them tried to break down Sid’s playoff run and give him their analysis of his five-on-five play. 

It’s been nice.

“So,” Geno says as they gather their stuff up in the locker room later. “You stay for awhile?”

“Oh right,” Sid says, stuffing his wet suit into a plastic bag. “Will you be around? Or... was there somewhere else you were going?”

Geno shakes his head. “Will be here. Will go to Magnitogorsk at end of month for couple of days. But Mama love if you come.”

“Kadar comes tomorrow?”

Geno nods. “Kadarov come tomorrow and stay until Magnitogorsk.” 

They climb in the car. Sid has never had a plan for how long he’d be in Russia. It’s actually very unlike him. Usually he has his summer months planned out carefully, and there’s something scary, but also freeing, about just giving that up. He’s still working out, maybe harder than the past couple of summers. And he’s having fun, which he definitely wasn’t back home.

Sid glances over at Geno as he pulls into the garage under his building and smiles. “I have a commercial to shoot in New York at the end of August and then the normal Pens media stuff. But you have that too, right?”

“Yes,” Geno says. “Good. You stay then.” He nods his head decisively and parks the car.

**

Geno told Kadar that Sid would be part of their training, so he doesn’t seem surprised to see him. The intensity of their workouts increases with Kadar, and they start incorporating more ice time. 

It means they have less time for sightseeing, but Geno still finds things to show Sid when they have breaks. 

Sid’s favorite part of their tour around Moscow is the stories Geno tells about friends and past off-seasons. Certain foods evoke childhood memories, and he shares little snippets of his family life. 

Sid thought he understood Geno well enough before, but seeing him in his element rounds out the picture, makes everything make a little more sense. Seeing him with his friends, how his eyes light up around Gonch’s family, how he can crawl around on the floor playing legos and Barbies for hours, making up voices for the various dolls and eliciting squeals of delight from Gonch’s daughters when one of his stories is particularly silly. 

It occurs to Sid one night when they’re at the Gonchar’s for dinner that maybe he kind of likes Geno. Like likes him. Not teammate likes. Or friend likes. Like likes. And strangely enough, it feels familiar, as if it’s been sitting under the surface for a long time. As if it’s something he’s always known but hasn’t let himself see. 

But he’s suddenly aware of it as he’s watching Geno read a story to the youngest Gonchar daughter. He’s always thought Geno was attractive, but Sid’s used to keeping things like attraction out of friendships and away from his teammates. It’s a conditioned response after years and years of having to keep his sexual preference under wraps. He was teased and bullied so much when he was young, that even when he realized why he was maybe different than most of his friends, he still felt like he couldn’t say anything. 

There’s plenty of time to find love after hockey. And there’s no time for worrying about relationships or messy breakups or whatever it is that comes along with dating while he’s playing in the NHL. 

So other than a few summertime hookups with discreet people, Sid hasn’t really let sex or relationships have any sort of foothold in his life. They don’t fit in with the Troy Crosby “Dedication and Discipline” life plan. 

And really, it’s just easier. He doesn’t have to worry about people talking or taking pictures of him while he sleeps or selling their story to a gossip blog. And he doesn’t have to monitor someone else’s moods or needs or wants. He’s just responsible for himself. For keeping himself fit and capable for hockey and leading the Penguins into battle.

But everything feels different this summer. It started after the Olympics and carried into the playoffs and now everything Sid’s worked hard to control feels like it’s spiraling. Nothing that worked before feels like it’s working now.

Geno looks up at Sid from where he’s reading and smiles, big and easy, and just like that things click into place. 

Strangely enough it feels like enough to acknowledge the feeling, one he’s apparently had for awhile. It’s not anything he’ll probably do anything about, but giving a little metaphorical head nod to his Geno-related emotions and processing them for what they are feels like an important step on whatever strange Russian journey he’s on this summer. 

And he’s chicken. So there’s that. 

But really, the only thing it changes is the fact that he can admit to himself why he gave in and came to Russia. Why he feels comfortable and safe in this foreign country full of nothing he understands except Geno. Why he’s happy for the first time in a long time.

And for now, that’s enough.

**

Geno has Sid watching a Russian kids show. He found old episodes of something like Russian Sesame Street online. Sid felt stupid at first, but it is easier to follow than anything else Geno watches on TV. He’s actually picked up a few vocabulary words and the little songs and cartoons help him with trickier aspects of the language too. 

He also brought home a stack of picture books the last time they were at Gonchar’s. It made him feel ridiculous when he started, but Sid pours over the books and translates them painstakingly and then Geno looks them over and with an annoying amount of glee, grades Sid’s progress. 

One evening he comes back from dropping something off for Sergei with a sheet of stickers from Natalie. And the next time Sid hands Geno a translation he gets it back from Geno with a big sticker on it. He looks up at Geno and finds him grinning at him, tongue poked out between his teeth. 

“Oh you’re soooo funny,” Sid says and rolls his eyes. “You’re loving this.”

Geno laughs. “Not use to be bad at things,” he says and shakes his head. “Good for you get bad grade sometimes.”

“Hey, that one was pretty good,” Sid protests. “You only marked three things.” He looks back down at the sheet and reads through Geno’s corrections.

“Yes,” Geno says with an amused tone. “You best at kids books.”

But it does help, actually. And Sid finds that he can pick words out of menus, follow very simple street signs. He feels a little less lost. There’s no way he could converse or would even feel comfortable trying to. But he feels like there are touch-points now, little things he can grab onto that make Russia make sense independent of Geno. 

And Geno seems pleased every time Sid is successful at using his fledgling skill to pick the right door or choose the right drink. So essentially, Sid is a five year old and is getting the encouragement a kid would get when they learn to read. 

But that validation comes with a huge Geno smile every time, so it’s worth it. 

He’ll take it.

**

They continue to hang out with Geno’s friends. Going to clubs is never high on Sid’s list of favorite activities, and if it were up to him that’s not how they’d spend their evenings. But Geno likes to go out. And the couple of times Sid tried to beg off and stay home, Geno told his friends he couldn’t go that night. Sid protested and said he was fully capable of staying home on his own, but Geno just threw Sid an Xbox controller and challenged him to a game. 

Geno must want to pick up girls and hang out with his friends without Sid, but he resists Sid’s attempts to make that easy for him. Sid’s not sure what else to do so Geno can get some time on his own.

“Not feel good?” Geno asks one night when Sid says he thinks he’ll stay home instead of going out.

Sid shrugs. “Just tired. But you should go.” He smiles encouragingly.

“No, I stay,” Geno says and pulls out his phone to text his friends. 

“Geno,” Sid says, voice tight. “You want to go, you should go. Plus--” he stops because he doesn’t want to offend Geno.

“Plus?”

“You should get to go out without having to worry about translating for me,” Sid says. “And you can pick up or whatever if I’m not there. I didn’t mean to come here and make it so you couldn’t do what you would normally do.” His stomach twists, and he busies himself flipping through his phone so he doesn’t have to look at Geno.

“You want I go?” Geno asks with skepticism. 

Sid bites his lip. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t go, G,” he says quietly. “So you should go.”

Geno nods stiffly and disappears into his room. When he returns he’s dressed in dark pants cut in a way that shows off his long legs and a slim fitting dark dress shirt. He looks good, and Sid has to look away.

“Okay,” Geno says as he slips his phone and wallet into his pocket. “Can text if you want to come. Everyone like when you there.”

Sid can’t imagine they care one way or the other, but it’s nice of Geno to say anyway. He smiles and nods. “I think I’ll just go to bed in a little bit. Kind of tired.” Kadar had pushed them extra hard since he’s leaving in a couple of days.

“Yes,” Geno says and looks around for his keys. “But if you need you text. And Sergei will help also, you know.”

Sid laughs. “I can’t imagine what sort of trouble I can get into in one evening. I’ll be fine.”

Geno smiles, but it looks more complicated than his normal open grin. “Always fine, Sid. Good night,” he says and leaves.

**

Sid falls asleep on the couch. He finds a movie with English subtitles, but can’t seem to keep his eyes open long enough to get into it. He wakes up sometime later to Geno bent over him.

“You’re back,” Sid mumbles blinking up at Geno. It seems like he just left. 

Geno smiles and sits down on the edge of the couch.

“Time ‘sit?” Sid asks, trying to sit up.

“Is midnight,” Geno says and puts his hand on Sid’s shoulder to keep him from sitting up.

“Early,” Sid says sleepily. 

Geno shrugs. “Was tired.”

Sid smiles. “You’re never too tired to go out.”

“Too easy when not translate for you,” Geno smirks. “Less fun.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Riiiight.”

“You have good night?” Geno asks, looking around.

“Oh sure, you know,” Sid tries to go for a lighthearted tone since Geno seems a little moody. “Put a post up on Craig’s List looking for an orgy. In Russian. I figured you’d be proud.” And even though he’s joking he blushes since he’s never been able to land a sex joke or chirp without feeling completely awkward.

Geno laughs brightly, surprised. “Russian orgy best.”

“Yeah totally,” Sid agrees and clears his throat. “So you know, eventful night. Good thing you went out.”

Geno smiles. “Kadarov leave in two days. We have dinner for him tomorrow. Yes?”

Sid nods. “Sure,” he says. He can’t believe it’s been that long already. “Then to Magnitogorsk?”

Geno smiles. “You still want?”

Sid swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, if it’s still okay with your family.”

“Mama be mad at me if you stay here,” Geno says and squeezes Sid’s shoulder. 

Sid smiles at Geno. He looks good in his dark shirt. Somehow he’s managed to get tan, even though they’ve both spent the same amount of time outside. Maybe it’s just the lighting. But he looks good. The worried lines that were on his face when he got home have smoothed, and he looks relaxed and happy and... hopeful.

“It’s almost your birthday,” Sid says when he can’t think of what else to say. “Will we have a party?”

Geno grins. “You should plan.”

Sid huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know how to plan a party in Russia.”

“But can plan orgy?” Geno teases. 

“Well sure,” Sid says, face turning red and smile spreading. “But birthday parties should have cake. I don’t know how to bake.”

Geno’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Next assignment will be cookbook.”

“Oh good,” Sid jokes. “More people will come to my orgies if I provide cake.”

“So strange,” Geno says fondly. “More people should know how strange Sidney Crosby is.” And heads to the kitchen, ducking the pillow Sid hurls at him from the couch.

**

They have a big dinner at the Gonchar’s the next night to thank Kadar for his help. Sid and Geno are responsible for dessert, and Geno insists they also stop and get wine. 

Since neither of them can bake, they make a trip to a bakery down the street and spend awhile arguing between a cake-like creation (Geno’s choice) and a variety of pastries and buns filled with things (Sid’s choice). Sid wins, mostly because he successfully asks the baker a question in Russian, and Geno is momentarily stunned. Of course, Sid only understands half of the response, and Geno has to translate for him, but it wins him the pastry variety platter. So. Success.

Geno picks the wine, and they stop and buy Ksenia flowers. 

“Should we get Kadar something?” Sid asks. “It’s his party.”

“Kadarov work with two best hockey player. That is gift,” Geno says distractedly as he watches the florist wrap up the bouquet they picked out. 

Sid rolls his eyes. “I’m sure that’s how he thinks of it,” he says. “I heard him tell Gonch he bought a little cabin on a lake, and he’s going to spend the last part of the summer there before we all report to Pittsburgh.”

Geno pays for the flowers and then turns to Sid. “Yes, he mention.”

“We could... maybe get him a gift card to Dicks or something? He could buy a fishing pole or... supplies?” Sid has never been a good gift giver. He tried to give his sister a thousand dollars for her last birthday. Cash. And his mom had scoffed and insisted he actually pick something out for her. He just wants people to get what they want. And he feels like he never pays enough attention to buy the perfect thing. 

Geno smiles. “You fish, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“We buy him nice rod then. We order and have deliver to Kadar in Pittsburgh so is there when he gets back. Mean more than gift card.” He gives Sid a look of amusement.

“Gift cards are useful!” Sid insists.

Geno laughs and shakes his head. 

Sid realizes his plan of getting Geno a Best Buy gift card for his birthday isn’t going to cut it. Shit.

“We pick out and then print picture and give to him tonight,” Geno decides, still laughing at Sid for some reason. 

**

“Sidney and Zhenya brought dessert,” Ksenia announces when dinner is winding down.

“Did you make it?” Natalie asks with wide eyes.

Sid laughs. “No. We bought it.”

“Good,” she says decisively and everyone laughs. 

“We could’ve made it!” Sid insists.

“Sid say he learn to bake so he can have many people over for Russian... party,” Geno says with an evil smirk.

Sid shoots him a dirty look. “I could learn to bake,” he mumbles. 

“You’re good at lots of things, Sidney,” Victoria says reassuringly. 

Everyone laughs again, and Geno pats his arm like she just said he’s dying. 

“Thank you, Victoria,” Sid says with a big smile and then glares at Geno. Everyone laughs again.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you two to seem more married,” Kadar says taking a bite of one of the pastries. “But apparently in Russia...”

“You’re married?” Natalia says tilting her head.

Sid feels his face flush for no reason. “No,” Sid says. “Uncle Kadar thinks he’s funny.”

“Kadarov wear out welcome,” Geno explains sweetly. “So we send him back to America.”

“Without his present,” Sid adds.

“Present?” Kadar says between bites. “I take it all back.”

Geno laughs and pushes the card across the table. “Was Sid’s idea.”

Kadar likes the fishing gear and seems surprised by the gesture. And for some reason Ksenia and Sergei are now looking at Sid and Geno like they’ve just announced they’re adopting a puppy or something.

“Very thoughtful of you, Sidney,” Ksenia says with a big smile.

Geno says something in Russian which makes Sergei and Ksenia share a knowing look and then smile at Sid indulgently. A rapid fire discussion ensues in Russian that Sid has no chance of following. 

“What,” Sid says. He hates not knowing what people are saying about him. 

“They think they are funny,” Geno explains. 

Kadar and Sid exchange a look and shrug. 

**

There are only a couple of days left before they leave for Geno’s hometown. Sid assumed they would drive, but he also hadn’t really paid attention to how far away Magnitogorsk was. 

“Drive?” Geno laughs. “No. Is very long drive. We fly. I already buy plane tickets.”

“Oh,” Sid says feeling embarrassed. “Well you didn’t have to buy mine.”

“If I don’t you be driving across Russia on worst road trip.”

“I thought everything in Russia was ‘best,’” Sid challenges with a smile.

“Ah yes,” Geno says and opens the refrigerator and starts pulling out ingredients to make dinner. “Want Russia to stay best, so we not take horrible road trip.”

They’re going to Magnitogorsk for the few days before and after Geno’s birthday. Sidney still hasn’t figured out what to give him. He makes an excuse and then slips across the hall to talk to Ksenia.

“I need to get Geno a birthday present,” he says when she opens the door, surprise on her face. 

She smiles and steps aside to let Sid in. “What have you thought of?”

“I don’t know! I thought maybe I’d get him a gift card or something,” Sid says and chews his lip. “But then he wouldn’t let me get Kadar a gift card, so it seems like maybe he wouldn’t think that was special.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You want to get him something special?”

Sid blushes. “Well, you know... it’s his birthday. And he’s been-- just-- he’s been good to me this summer. But he already has everything. So... I’m kind of stumped.”

She smiles. “I think whatever you get him he’ll like it, Sidney,” she reassures.

That’s probably true. But it doesn’t feel good enough. Geno is a thoughtful person. He pays attention in a way Sid doesn’t. 

“Yeah but--” Sid sighs. 

Ksenia hands him a glass of water. “What matters to him?”

Sid swallows. “People. Family. Friends.”

She nods and wipes her hands on a towel. “Yes. Good.”

“But that doesn’t-- I’m not going to give him a person,” Sid protests.

She laughs merrily. “Oh Sidney,” she says and pats his shoulder before sitting down again. “You are a person, yes?”

Sid narrows his eyes and tries to understand what she’s getting at.

“I just mean, you are important to him. You came to Russia, which I think meant a great deal to Zhenya. You are learning Russian and trying his favorite foods and meeting his friends.” She gives Sid a look like he’s supposed to understand what she means.

“Ohhhkay?”

Ksenia huffs out a short laugh. “Oh Sidney.” She squeezes his hand. 

“So me in Russia is the gift?” Sid makes a face. “That seems like a bad gift...”

She smiles bright and warm. “Okay. Well maybe think this way. Zhenya shared a big part of his life with you this summer. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Maybe you could share something with him?”

Sid swallows. “So like-- take him to Canada?”

She laughs. “Well,” she pauses and she seems to regard Sid with amusement. “Sure. Something like that. Yes.”

Why would Geno want to go to Canada? But Sid supposes he knows what she means. Geno has never been to Cole Harbour or seen Sid’s house in Nova Scotia. And Sid did promise his parents he’d stop by before going back to Pittsburgh. Maybe Geno would want to come. It still seems like a lame gift.

“But--” Sid sighs. “I can’t wrap that.”

She laughs again. “Not all gifts must be wrapped.”

“Right, but everyone else will give him something,” Sid protests. “I don’t want them to think I don’t care.”

She smiles. “No one thinks that, Sidney. I promise you.”

**

When Sidney gets back to Geno’s apartment, he’s almost done making dinner. 

“I think you kidnap by Gonchars,” Geno says without turning around from the stove. 

Sid laughs. “Nah,” he says. “I just wanted to get out of helping.”

“I know this,” Geno says and gestures toward the cupboard with the plates. “We eat soon.”

They watch TV while they eat. Geno has yet to get Sid into any of the Russian television shows (other than the kids’ show) but he keeps trying out different programs in hopes Sid will latch onto one. It’s too hard for Sid to keep track of the Russian, so he turns the English closed captioning on. 

But their workout that day takes its toll and Sid ends up falling asleep after awhile.

He wakes up tangled with Geno on the couch. The movie is over and has been replaced by some sort of talk show. Sid’s head is resting against Geno’s ribs and Geno’s slumped over toward the arm of the couch. 

The sound of rapidly spoken Russian, some sort of band and a laughing audience makes it harder for Sid to get his bearings. 

“Should sleep,” Geno murmurs as he shifts underneath Sid. 

Sid nods against him. Geno is warm and solid, and Sid doesn’t want to move. 

He really should move.

But Geno doesn’t move either, so Sid stays where he is. He maneuvers slightly so his position is less of a strain on his back, and he curls his legs up on the couch next to him. It’s basically the complete opposite of moving.

Geno reaches his hand down and rests it on Sid’s shoulder. And that feels, if not like encouragement, at least acknowledgement. It’s nice. 

Geno smells good. He uses different laundry detergent in Russia, but his cologne is the same. Sid can’t place it. Not that he really knows all that much about cologne. He spilled a bottle of Old Spice over his dad’s suitcase when he was younger. It hadn’t been well-received, and ever since Sid hasn’t bothered with wearing cologne or aftershave. 

But Geno always smells good. 

They stay like that, sleepily watching Russian Letterman. Geno laughs softly periodically, and it makes Sid smile to hear it rattling deep in Geno’s ribcage. Sid still has very little idea what anyone is saying, but he’s grown to like the sound of Russian spoken around him. He feels like he understands even when he doesn’t.

Sid laughs once when Geno’s laugh is especially deep. Geno’s hand moves from Sid’s shoulder and he runs his fingers through Sid’s hair. He closes his eyes and tries really hard not to move. 

“Will you show me where you lived growing up?” Sid asks, mouth muffled against Geno’s shirt.

“In Magnitogorsk?” Geno asks, hand stilling in Sid’s hair.

Sid nods. “Yeah. And where you went to school?”

“Of course,” Geno says, and Sid can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I like it here,” Sid says after a few beats of silence. 

Geno’s hand stops moving again. “Yes?”

Sid nods. He likes Moscow, likes the life Geno lives here. But what he really likes is Geno, spending so much time with him, developing a routine together, learning what Geno enjoys and wants, how to surprise him and make him happy. 

Geno’s hand starts moving again, and he swallows. “Like you here,” he says carefully. “Best.”

Sid smiles against him and tries to picture how this summer would’ve been different if he hadn’t come to Russia. 

“I don’t know what to give you for your birthday,” Sid admits after another commercial break starts a few minutes later. 

Geno makes a small noise and squeezes his fingers into Sid’s scalp. “Is okay,” he says in his deep, reassuring voice. “Not need.”

“I know,” Sid says in a whinier tone than he intended. “But I want to.”

“You come to Magnitogorsk, to party with family. Is enough.”

Sid sighs. “Yeah, but-- you’ve done all this nice stuff for me.”

Geno laughs. “What stuff?”

Sid tries to lift his head, but Geno keeps his hand threaded through Sid’s hair, making it too difficult to bother. “You let me stay here and train with you and you made me food and took me places. That’s-- that’s a lot.”

Geno’s hand moves down and wraps around the back of Sid’s neck. It’s warm and strong, and Sid lets himself pretend for a moment that maybe it means what he wants it to mean. 

“Is not to thank,” Geno protests. “Invite you here. Want you here, Sid.”

Sid swallows, and his face heats. “Well, still. I know I’m-- I’m not always easy to be around.”

“Why you say this?” Geno says disapprovingly and tightens his grip around the back of Sid’s neck. 

“People always say that,” Sid says defensively. 

Geno huffs out a laugh. “People stupid. You know this.”

Sid doesn’t say anything. He knows he’s a lot. Geno’s just more laid back than most people. 

“You come here, try new food, go places I want, meet friends, dance,” he drags his fingers up Sid’s neck and tugs on his ear. “These not things for difficult people.”

Sid flicks Geno’s hand when he tugs on Sid’s ear again. “Well. Still...” He’s not willing to concede the point.

“Yes,” Geno says and brings his other arm up and rests it on Sid’s back. “I’m, of course, have horrible summer. Go home, Sid.”

Sid smiles and melts a little further into Geno. “You want to come to Canada?” He murmurs against him after a few minutes of silence. 

“Now?” Geno asks, surprise in his tone.

“No,” Sid says and wishes he hadn’t brought it up. “Just. It’s not big and exciting like Moscow-- but maybe-- uhhhh-- I thought you could come to Canada if you want. Like, that could be your birthday gift?” His face flashes hot, and he wishes he could grab the words back because it’s such a stupid idea. That’s not a gift. It’s Nova Scotia. It’s... where Sidney didn’t want to be this summer. 

“You give me Canada for birthday?” Geno asks, voice clearly meant to tease, but tight with something else. 

“It’s dumb,” Sid says dismissively and tries to sit up again. But Geno resists the movement and keeps him where he is. “You just-- you already have everything. So, you know... I thought we could take a trip or something. At the end of the summer. And then--” he swallows, “since you showed me Russia, or whatever, I thought I could show you Canada. I mean, you’ve been to Canada. But Nova Scotia,” he babbles. He swallows to stop the word vomit. “It’s dumb. I’ll think of something else.”

Geno pulls Sid’s hair gently to encourage Sid to look up at him. There’s a soft, sweet smile on Geno’s face. “Of course I come to Canada. Is good gift.”

“It’s hard to wrap,” Sid complains and lays his head back down, filled with relief.

Geno laughs and tightens his grip around Sid. 

**

So things are... a little different now. Sid’s not sure if that’s in his head or not. But Geno’s touching him more than usual. Sitting closer, throwing an arm around him on the couch. 

Not that he minds, it’s just... Sid can’t figure out if something changed or if it’s always been this way and he’s just noticing it. Surely it can’t be Geno’s excitement about going to Canada. Sid loves Canada, but Nova Scotia isn’t exactly where the rest of the world goes for a good time. 

Regardless, Sid looks for flights from Moscow to Halifax, leaving a couple weeks after they’re back from Magnitogorsk. He doesn’t want to be there for very long, but he thinks if they’re in Cole Harbour for a week before they do the New York press stuff that should be enough. 

Geno agrees, and Sid buys his ticket. That is followed by the most ridiculous fight about Sid not needing to pay for Geno’s flight. Which... okay. But isn’t a trip to Canada supposed to be the gift?

He says this, and Geno gives him a look that seems both incredulous and also sort of fond. So Sid’s confused if he’s done something wrong.

“I’m fly to Pittsburgh even if you not give Canada as present,” Geno reminds him. 

“Had you already bought your ticket?” Sid asks, because that’s something legitimate. Sid hates to be wasteful. 

“No,” Geno allows. “Not the point.”

Sid doesn’t understand why Geno’s bent out of shape. But he doesn’t want him to be mad. “Well, I mean--” Sid looks back at the computer screen, “I can try to return your ticket.”

Geno makes a frustrated noise. “No, Sid. Is fine.”

“I mean, that’s the gift, right?” Sid repeats because he still feels confused. 

Geno steps over to where Sid’s leaning against the counter and grips his shoulders hard. “Gift is Canada with you. Gift not Canada plane ticket. Gift Canada with Sidney Crosby.” He gives Sid’s shoulder’s a hard squeeze and then laughs. “I think sometimes maybe you make more sense in Russian.” He says something very rapidly in Russian, much too quickly for Sid to follow. “I keep teach, and we see.” He smiles at Sid. 

Sid bites his lip. “So... we’re cool about the ticket?”

Geno laughs and leans forward until his head is resting on Sid’s shoulder. He makes the motion like he’s banging his head against Sid’s shoulder. “Yes. Is very nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sid says and feels relief. He pats Geno’s back because he still hasn’t moved, and Sid isn’t sure what to do with his hands.

**

Magnitogorsk feels much more like the Russia Sid pictured when he was a kid. It’s not a bad place, really, there are some pretty parts of the city, but it’s much more industrial, much less picturesque than the part of Moscow he and Geno have spent the most time. 

There’s no St. Basil’s in Magnitogorsk, in other words.

Geno’s parents live in a big house Geno bought for them. They refer to it as “Zhenya’s House” as if they are just the caretakers of it. But it’s clearly full of their things. Geno’s is the smallest bedroom, which when he’s gone, seems to be where the infamous Jeffrey (the largest and maybe ugliest dog Sid has ever seen) sleeps. 

Sid paid off his parents’ mortgage and bought them each a car, but even then, they always seem embarrassed by Sid’s money. 

Geno’s parents are just... so proud. Not of having nice things. But of the success that brought the nice things to them. The house vibrates with an almost smothering affection for Geno. For what he’s accomplished. For the things he’s done for his family. 

Far from being uncomfortable, it just makes Sid like them more. They (of course) understand all of the things that make Geno so great, and they celebrate those things until Geno is red-faced. They love him, and it makes Sid love them. 

It’s clear from the first moment they arrive that it is a Big Deal that Sid is there. Natalia Malkin squishes his cheeks and kisses him more than he’s been kissed in years. She says things to Geno, too quickly for Sid to follow, but she seems pleased with the answers Geno provides. 

Sid says the few phrases, slowly and carefully, that Geno taught him. 

“Спасибо, что пригласили меня в свой дом,” Sid says in his ridiculous Russian, and is pretty sure he’s thanking her for letting him stay with them. He hands Natalia the flowers they stopped for at Sid’s insistence. 

Her eyes widen at the Russian, and she looks between Sid and Geno. She says something back, and Sid looks at Geno for the translation. But instead of translating, Geno tells his mom to say it again, but slower. Sid recognizes that phrase. Geno taught him to say it to waiters and shop clerks. 

She smiles and very deliberately repeats, in Russian, “Всегда рады видеть вас у себя дома, Сидней.” He’s pretty sure that means he’s welcome in their home any time. 

Or that’s what it sounds like anyway. He smiles broadly at her and blushes and she hugs him again. She switches back to rapid-fire Russian but points to the room where Sid will sleep and then he thinks she says something about the kitchen.

**

After realizing he’s trying to learn, Natalia asks Sid easy questions in Russian (“what do you like best about Moscow?”) and offers him food, carefully enunciating the new vocabulary words and waiting for Sid to repeat them. 

Sid should maybe feel like an idiot for the pace and tone they all speak to him in. But mostly he just feels proud he’s catching about 20 percent of what they’re saying and grateful they’re being so patient.

After supper they sit outside and talk for awhile. Geno translates more complicated topics for Sid, and provides help answering when Sid is too tired to make his brain sift through his limited Russian.

When Natalia and Vladimir go to bed, they both kiss Sid’s cheeks and tell him how glad they are he’s there. Sid thanks them and smiles shyly. 

He looks at Geno after they’re gone and finds him smiling a weird sort of smile at Sid. 

“I like them,” Sid says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He says it in Russian because he actually knows the words.

Geno swallows. “They like you. Always like,” he answers in English. 

“They’re so--” Sid searches for the right way to say it. “Proud of you. Or--” because that doesn’t seem like enough, “happy you exist.”

Geno laughs. “Is weird way to say, yes?”

Sid smiles. “Maybe. But--” he swallows and thinks of his own dad. Sidney never feels like his dad is just glad he’s breathing air and taking up space in the world. “It’s really nice. That they support you like that.”

Geno gets up and sits down by Sid on the cushioned outdoor sofa he’d been sharing with Natalia. “I have good family.” He repeats the sentiment in Russian. 

Sid nods. “You do. You should.” He wants Geno to have all nice things always. He doesn’t know how else to say that.

And Geno doesn’t seem to need for him to try.

**

Geno takes Sid around his hometown the next day. He shows him where he went to school when he was young, the apartment building his family lived in before Geno made money as a hockey player. They go by the rink where Metallurg plays. Geno points out bars and restaurants he likes and tells Sid stories about trouble he and his friends used to get into almost everywhere they go.

Sid is fascinated. There are a few interesting churches and buildings and the city sits on a river. But for the most part, it’s a depressing city. Moscow is huge and cultured and has many beautiful parts. This is... not that.

Sid wonders what Geno would’ve been if he hadn’t been a hockey player. He asks him, and Geno just shrugs. 

“My father work in factory,” Geno says squinting out at the river. “Would probably work in factory or, I don’t know. Is why I play hockey.” He grins, and Sid feels a surge of affection.

Sid smiles. “I’m glad you play hockey,” he says and then turns back toward the car so Geno won’t see him blush. 

They spend most of their time hanging out with Geno’s family and friends. There seems to be an endless parade of distant relatives and random friends who descend upon the house. Natalia cooks constantly, and when Sid gets overwhelmed by the many new faces and rapid conversation, he escapes to the kitchen, and she shows him how to help her. 

She resisted at first, but seems to have caught on that Sid’s a bit out of his element and that he’d rather be somewhere a little quieter. She’s the most patient with him (even more than Geno) when he tries to come up with the Russian he needs to communicate with her. She smiles and waits for him, supplying words when he flounders. Sid is overwhelmed by a near constant desire to hug her. And for Sid, that’s... big.

Sid read on the internet that Russians don’t exchange birthday gifts before the actual birthday, as it is considered bad luck. He already broke that by giving Geno the whole “Sidney Crosby Tour of Canada” a few days before his actual birthday, so he doesn’t want to mess up again. 

The morning of Geno’s birthday he wakes up earlier than normal and finds the pastries he saw Geno’s mom make the day before. He makes a pot of tea (because the coffee maker in Moscow, Sidney came to learn, isn’t for Geno. It’s for guests) and knocks on Geno’s door, entering before he hears a response. 

Geno is dead to the world. Because of course he is. Sid feels almost bad, but he wants to wish Geno a happy birthday before everyone else wakes up. And he doesn’t want to give Geno his birthday card in front of other people. It took him forever to translate what he wanted to say into Russian, and he went across the hall a couple of times to ask Ksenia for help. She said “Oh, Sidney” about five times in the course of doing that. He’s beginning to think that’s her nickname for him.

He sets the tea on the table by Geno’s bed and perches on the edge of it. He pokes Geno’s shoulder. He stirs slightly but keeps sleeping. 

“Geno,” Sid says and pokes a little harder. 

Geno mumbles something in Russian and turns over onto his side away from Sid. 

“Geno,” Sid says again, feeling bad but he’s committed to this now, so he stands (or sits) his ground. Geno stirs and finally turns toward Sid.

“Sid?” He says sleepily, eyes barely open. “Something wrong?”

Sid smiles and has to sit on his hand so he doesn’t reach out and touch Geno. “No,” he says. “ С днём рождения!”

Geno smiles and opens his eyes a little wider. “Birthday would be happier if not woken up so early,” he grumps.

Sid rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It’s not that early.” He bites his lip. “I brought you stuff.” He gestures over to the table where the tea and pastry are waiting.

Geno glances at the table and then at Sid, and his smile does a thing that makes Sid’s stomach twist. “Thank you,” he says and reaches out to squeeze Sid’s arm. 

“I read that I wasn’t supposed to give you a gift before your birthday,” Sid says, unable to stop himself from sharing. “So hopefully it’s not horrible luck that I already gave you Canada.”

Geno smiles. “Is okay.” He sits up a little and takes a sip of the tea Sid brought him. 

Sid hands Geno the card then. It’s a Russian card he purchased at a shop down the street from Geno’s apartment. Ksenia assured him it was appropriate and not some sort of embarrassing message or something. 

Geno opens the card and smiles as he reads the message. “You write in Russian?” Geno says when he sees Sid’s childish cyrillic. 

Sid bites his lip. “Yeah. So it’s probably wrong. Hopefully I didn’t accidentally curse you or something.”

Geno’s face sets in an amused smile as he reads the card. It’s not like it’s anything profound. Sid’s not capable of profound words even in English. But he’d thought about it more than he normally would, and translating it meant he thought about it even more. 

It seems to take Geno forever to read it. And Sid knows it isn’t that long. Geno knows Russian... so maybe Sid just got too many of the words wrong. But Geno finally looks up at him and smiles. He nods once and grabs onto Sid’s knee. 

“Is good,” Geno says and smiles. “Best.”

Sid huffs out a laugh. “Everything’s always best.”

Geno swallows. “You are best,” he says with a kind of gravity Sid doesn’t usually hear in Geno’s voice. 

“Best like Russia’s best?” Sid teases, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Geno smiles and grabs Sid’s forearm, running his thumb up and down gently. “Best like best. Always.”

Sid feels his face heat, and he looks down at Geno’s hand. “Geno,” he says softly because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Geno squeezes his arm and scoots over a little so Sid can sit propped up next to him on the bed while he drinks his tea. He splits the pastry in half, and they eat and talk about random stuff until the room feels a little less intense. 

**

Natalia makes a huge feast of all of Geno’s favorite foods. It seems like half of Magnitogorsk is invited to dinner, and the house is loud and festive. Geno seems so happy. 

Sid keeps escaping off to the kitchen to help Natalia, and Geno keeps finding him and dragging him back out and introducing him to a new friend or family member he hasn’t already met. And then Sid slips away again, and Geno comes to find him after awhile and the cycle continues. 

When people realize he’s trying to learn Russian, they’re good about speaking slowly at first, but everyone forgets and slips into their normal conversational patterns. The only person who consistently remembers is Natalia. 

Toward the end of the night, Sid has a headache and as everyone drinks more, their words start to slur, which makes understanding them impossible. So he gives up and dries pots and pans as Natalia pulls them out of the sink. 

“I hear you using your Russian,” she says slowly in Russian. “You are doing well.”

Sid smiles, brain already so tired. But he thinks through his response. “Not great, but try.”

She nods. “Trying means a lot to Zhenya. It pleases him you want to learn his language.”

Sid blushes and busies himself putting the pot away in the cupboard Natalia indicates. “Know how G-- Zhenya--” it feels weird to call him Geno when he’s speaking Russian, Sid realizes, “feels now when first in Pittsburgh.”

She takes the towel from him and steadies a look at him. She looks like she’s about to say something else when Geno walks into the room. 

“You hide again,” Geno says in English. He grins at Sid. 

Sid grimaces. “Sorry.”

Natalia says something to Geno that Sid doesn’t catch. She shakes her head and points a spoon at Geno, and he seems chastened. 

“What,” Sid asks, because she sounds mad.

“Nothing,” Geno says and smiles. “Friends leave. You come say goodbye?”

Sid follows Geno to the entry hall and shakes hands with all of his friends and cousins. They say a bunch of stuff in Russian, and Sid just smiles and nods, his brain has reached the end of its ability to translate anything. 

When Geno closes the front door on the last guest, he smiles at Sid. “Okay, come.”

Sid follows him upstairs dutifully. “I should say goodnight to your mom,” he says, remembering he’d just kind of left the room without thanking her for dinner or for letting him hang out with her for a lot of the evening. 

“She go to bed. Is okay,” Geno says and gestures toward his own room. “Come. We watch English TV.”

Sid laughs. “It’s okay,” he says. “Tonight was fun.”

Geno shakes his head. “No, is lot of people saying many things. You, of course, get tired. Hard to hear words when people speak fast. I’m remember.”

Sid exhales. “Yeah okay,” he admits. “I’ve got kind of a headache.”

Geno smiles. “Change clothes,” he says and gestures toward Sid’s room. “Then come back.”

So Sid does. He puts on a pair of Penguins sweats and an ancient Shattuck shirt and goes back into Geno’s room.

“Okay,” Geno says and pats the bed. Sid props himself up against the headboard next to him. “You choose. He holds up a box set of Friends DVDs or some sort of European history documentary, apparently in English. 

“Friends,” Sid says immediately. He takes some aspirin and settles down against the pillows. It’s cooler in Magnitogorsk than in Moscow, even at the end of July, so Sid crawls under the blankets.

It’s so nice to watch TV without having to do complicated mental gymnastics to make sense of it, or to have to pay close enough attention to read subtitles. It helps him relax which in turn makes him very tired. 

“Happy birthday,” Sid mumbles in English as the episode they’re watching ends. He moves to get out of the bed and stumble back to his own room, but Geno reaches out and stops him.

“Stay,” he says simply. 

Sid doesn’t stop and think that through, just nods and lies back down, this time curled toward Geno. 

Geno turns off the TV and then the light and scoots down in the bed close to Sid. He puts his warm hand on Sid’s side. “Today good day,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

Sid makes a disapproving noise. “Your mom did everything. Nothing to thank me for.”

“You are here,” Geno says and rubs his fingers back and forth against Sid. “Meet friends. Speak Russian.”

Sid smiles. “I had no idea speaking Russian like a three year old would be such an impressive thing. Your mom was pretty into it too.”

Geno laughs. “Mama big Sid fan.”

Sid’s stomach twists. “Your mom is awesome,” he says meaningfully. 

Geno makes a small noise and pulls Sid against him. It’s totally not a buddies move. And yet it’s kind of how things have been going lately. The dam broke on the non-buddies touching that night they fell asleep on the couch and now it somehow doesn’t feel out of bounds to lie in bed in the dark with Geno. He presses his nose into Geno’s neck and just lets himself be close. 

Geno rubs big circles into Sid’s back. 

“My family’s not like that,” Sid says finally, small voice muffled by Geno’s neck. 

“How you mean?” Geno asks, fingers stilling. 

Sid swallows. “Just... I don’t know. It just won’t be like that.”

“Mama not help with English?” Geno teases.

Sid laughs and pulls back just enough to see Geno’s face. “You know how my dad is,” he says finally. Because everyone on the team has seen Sid’s dad when he’s mad or disappointed. 

“Mama too?” 

Sid sighs. “No,” he allows. “But she tries to keep the peace. And it’s just... tense a lot. It’s not a place I really want to be unless Taylor’s there. And even then... I’d rather she come to my house.”

Geno doesn’t say anything, but his hold on Sid stays tight. It’s kind of overwhelming, actually. Geno is so big and present in a way Sid isn’t used to. He’s safe and warm and so, so careful with Sid. 

“So you know,” Sid continues because he feels exposed now. “We won’t spend a lot of time there.”

“Of course is fine,” Geno says and smiles. “Go to Canada for you, not parents.”

Sid nods and feels inexplicably like he’s going to cry. Which, contrary to what some Flyers fans and the entirety of the internet would lead one to believe, is not something Sid does. He realizes that even with his foreign language headache and the exhaustion that comes from a huge group of people Sid doesn’t know well, he felt more comfortable today with Geno’s mom in the kitchen or Geno’s cousins in the backyard or Geno’s grandma in the dining room, than he ever feels at any point when he’s with his own father. 

But he doesn’t know how to say that, barely wants to acknowledge it’s a thought he’s had. 

He pushes his nose back into the crook of Geno’s neck and wills himself not to cry. 

Geno moves one of his hands to cup the back of Sid’s head. Sid exhales and tries to get his shit together. It’s still Geno’s birthday. It can’t be good luck to have to comfort a Canadian on your birthday.

“What will we do tomorrow?” Sid asks, hoping to take some of the intensity out of the room.

“Skate?”

Sid smiles and pulls back again so he can see Geno’s face. “Yeah okay,” he agrees. “It won’t be your birthday anymore, so I’m not going easy on you.”

Geno snorts. “Is big Russian ice,” he says. “You get tired and maybe get lost on way to net.”

Sid laughs. “We’ll see about that.”

“We make bet.”

Sid smiles and sinks back into the pillow, forehead pressed against Geno’s shoulder. “You never want to pay up when you lose.”

Geno scoffs. “Is not true.”

“Is totally true,” Sid retorts. “I think that TV show this year even caught you refusing to honor your end of the deal.” He laughs thinking of the episode where Geno won’t do the pushups he made everyone else promise they’d do if they lost.

“I do though!” 

“Yeah because it was on camera. And they stood over you until you did it,” Sid says and can’t help the giggle that escapes. “And you complained the whole time.”

Geno grunts. “Was stupid bet,” he grouses. 

Sid shakes his head. “Exactly. So this is why we aren’t betting. I’ll just beat you and that will be good enough.”

“Will leave you in Magnitogorsk when I go to Moscow,” Geno grumbles.

Sid pats Geno’s arm. “That’s okay. Your mom likes me best anyway.”

Geno mumbles something in Russian that Sid actually recognizes, and he answers the string of curses with a Russian response.

“I like better when you speak only English,” Geno says with a smirk.

“Lies.”

Geno sighs and rests his hand on Sid’s waist. “Sleep, Sid.”

Sid laughs softly, and eventually he does.

**

Natalia says lots of pointed things to Geno as his friends stop by during the remainder of their visit. Sid isn’t completely sure what she’s upset about, but it seems to be concern over Sid and his continual escape to the kitchen when Geno’s friends come over. 

“Am I driving your mom crazy?” Sid asks after dinner the day after Geno’s birthday. He and Geno are playing ping pong with Geno’s brother and Denis just made them wait so he could take a phone call.

Geno laughs. “No,” he says and gives Sid a look.

“She got mad before supper because I kept coming into the kitchen,” Sid says grimacing. 

Geno smiles. “Yell at me. Not you.”

“Why?”

“She worry you not have fun,” Geno says and glances over his shoulder to where his mom is finishing up the cleaning. She’d shooed Sid out of the kitchen earlier when he tried to help her. 

“I’m having fun,” Sid protests. 

“Hide in kitchen,” Geno says. “She think you not comfortable.”

Sid swallows. “No,” he bites his lip. “It’s just a little overwhelming sometimes.”

“I tell her this,” Geno says. 

Sid smiles. “Sorry,” he says, because he’s not sure if Geno is mad about it. 

Geno runs his hand down Sid’s arm quickly. “Not sorry. Of course should tell me if not have fun. Okay?”

Sid nods. “Okay,” he agrees. “But I like it here. I’m okay. I don’t want to annoy your mom though.”

Geno shakes his head. “She like. Just worry about you little bit.” He pulls Sid closer with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, which is a thing they do even more now. No one in Geno’s family seems to be surprised, or even bats an eye. Geno is a pretty hands-on friend. So that’s probably why.

Denis comes back into the room. He rolls his eyes at them and then says (Sid’s pretty sure anyway) something about “beating Zhenya while his boyfriend distracts him.” Geno disentangles himself from Sid and knocks Denis on the back of the head. And then beats him the next three games straight. 

**

They go back to Moscow the next day. They slacked off a little on their workouts while they were in Magnitogorsk, so they concentrate on getting back on track the first couple of days. 

By the time they’re done each day, they’re so worn out, they don’t do much else. Geno mostly cooks for them at home, and they watch movies in the evening. They sit close, and sometimes forgo the couch altogether and just watch downloaded movies on Geno’s laptop while reclined on his bed. 

Sid enjoyed all of the exploring they did in Moscow, but he likes the quiet nights too. Where it’s just them, hanging out in companionable silence, Geno’s warm leg pressed against Sid’s. He’s dreading going back to Pittsburgh, where they both have separate lives and different friends.

“Is one more thing should do in Moscow this summer,” Geno announces one afternoon a few days before Sid’s birthday.

Sid looks up from reading email on his phone. “What’s that?”

“I make plan for birthday,” Geno says and smiles. “We do Russian thing.”

Sid laughs. “Unlike the other Russian things we’ve done for weeks?”

Geno grins and ignores Sid. “But need nice suit. You bring?”

Sid sits up straighter. “We’re going somewhere fancy?”

“Need to wear nice clothes,” Geno says cryptically. 

“I didn’t bring a suit. And your pants--” he looks at Geno and swallows, “won’t fit.”

Geno laughs. “Okay. We go then. Have tailor.”

“There’s not enough time to get a suit made!” Sid protests.

“Tailor is friend. He rush little bit.” Geno grins.

“It doesn’t have to be purple, right?” Sid asks with concern. Geno always looks nice, but he comes up with some less traditional fashion choices than Sid is interested in making. 

Geno laughs. “No. Purple only for stylish. Like me and Tanger.” He pokes his tongue between his teeth.

Sid rolls his eyes, mostly to cover the pink in his cheeks as he pictures Geno in that suit. He did look good, purple and all. 

“I warn him about--” he points to Sid’s ass with a smirk.

Sid scoffs. “Oh whatever. Like yours is smaller.” But his face continues to heat, so he busies himself answering a text that arrives at just the right moment. 

“Ready?” Geno asks, waiting patiently for Sid to finish. 

“What? Now?”

“Is friend, but still need at least three days he say. Big rush. Only cause I tell him you best.”

Sid gives Geno a look. “Do I need to take anything?” 

“Like what?” Geno asks with a curious smile. He seems amused by how flustered Sid is. 

Sid shrugs and gathers his things and valiantly ignores Geno’s obvious delight in Sid’s discomfort. 

**

Sid has had his pants tailored since he was a teenager. So he’s used to waiting patiently while he’s measured and stared at. Except this time Geno is staring too. His gaze is so appraising, so appreciative, Sid has to look away when they make eye contact. 

It becomes clear very early into the process that Sid will have very little to say about what he ends up with. His fabric choices are limited to what Geno’s friend has on hand. So a dark navy blue and a deep charcoal are held up to his skin while Geno and the tailor stare at him and say critical-sounding things in Russian. 

Geno chooses the navy. And only after he decides does he look at Sid for approval. 

“This one look best. You like?” Geno asks, interested, but intent on pressing on. 

Sid nods. 

The thing is, Sid is almost always in charge. The proverbial buck always stops with Sid. People wait for him to approve things, sign off on ideas, weigh in on changes. When things go wrong, people wait for him to fix them. And sometimes-- sometimes he likes for things to be someone else’s problem.

People laugh at all of his rituals. Eating the same peanut butter and jelly sandwich every game day at the exact same time apparently makes him a control freak. 

But really, the way Sid sees it, if he does everything the same way, he can relax and worry less about maintaining control. It’s supposed to ensure an equal playing field, creating circumstances that take last minute decisions and guesswork out of the equation. No one’s looking at him expectantly, needing answers about an omelet or a PB&J if he always has the PB&J.

Sid trusts Geno. He always has, but after this summer he cedes control to him much more readily. He likes that Geno’s confident enough to know what will look good on Sid. And he has faith Geno cares about him enough to make a choice that proves he knows who Sid is and what he wants. 

It’s just a suit, Sid realizes. But he trusts Geno with it the way he trusts him to go out on the ice last, to have his back, to receive the puck on his tape, exactly where Sid knows he’ll be without having to look. 

He’s realized this summer something he’s known intangibly for a long time. That Geno is safe. That he regards Sid’s happiness the way he regards his own. He protects it, guards it, makes choices that make it grow. 

Sid came to Russia because he knew that Geno would understand what he needed, even when he was having trouble figuring it out himself. 

**

Later, they watch things Geno downloaded. Sid’s not particularly a fan of True Blood, but Geno likes it, and it’s in English, so Sid finds it relaxing. The shows are on Geno’s laptop, so they watch propped up in Geno’s bed. 

And, as has happened the last several nights they’ve done this, Sid falls asleep within the first few minutes of the show. 

“Can watch something else, Sid,” Geno says softly when the episode ends. 

“Hmm?” Sid says, still not opening his eyes. 

“We sleep,” Geno says decisively.

“I’m paying attention,” Sid protests and blinks his eyes open to find Geno smiling at him. 

“What happen? On show.”

Sid smiles blearily. “Umm. Someone was topless. And someone bit that one guy. And someone else was evil?”

Geno laughs. “Good guess.”

“Sorry,” Sid says. “Tired.”

Geno sets the laptop on the floor by the bed. “Is okay. Me too.” He flips the light off and turns on his side toward Sid.

“We don’t have to do something fancy on my birthday,” Sid says because he’s been thinking about that all day. And he didn’t get Geno a present, not a real one anyway. 

“Not want?” Geno asks carefully.

“No, I mean, if there’s something you want me to see or whatever, that’s cool. But I don’t want you to think I expect anything on my birthday.” Sid turns on his side and mirrors Geno’s position. He still has no idea what’s going on. But he likes sleeping in the same room as Geno. And Geno hasn’t kicked him out yet. 

Geno smiles. “I tell you what it is? That make you feel better?”

It would actually. “Well, I mean, if you want.”

“We go to Bolshoi,” Geno says. “See Swan Lake.”

“The ballet?” Sid asks, surprised. Because that isn’t what he thought Geno would say. He has no idea what he assumed, but it wasn’t that.

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Is very famous. And I like.”

“Really?”

Geno pokes him in the stomach. “Yes. Is pretty.” He curls his hand around Sid’s waist. “I first go when I sign Superleague contract. Mama and I come to Moscow. She want to go Bolshoi. I roll eyes and complain little bit. Seems like I’m might be bored.” He runs his hand up from Sid’s waist to his ribs and his fingers skate along his lats. “But Mama want to go. She want to go since little girl. Get dressed up, go to ballet, nice dinner. So we go.” He swallows.

“Did you like it?” Sid asks quietly when Geno doesn’t say anything for a few beats. 

Geno nods slightly. “Is so different than Magnitogorsk. Is what rich people do. Mama, Papa, family not rich. We live in apartment with one bedroom. But, you know, Mama and I see ballet. Is--” he bites his lip and searches Sid’s face. “Is how I know maybe things different for me.”

Sid can’t stop himself from reaching out and putting his hand on Geno’s chest. He rubs his thumb back and forth and smiles. He has no idea what to say. 

“So I go when here. Take Natalie and Victoria last year. Mama come sometimes. This year, you.” Geno smiles. “Is okay?”

Sid nods. “Yeah, of course.” He swallows. “It wasn’t what I thought you were going to say. But-- that’s-- yeah. I’d like to do that with you.”

Geno’s smile is warm and easy. “In new suit.”

Sid laughs. “Would probably be embarrassing to show up in shorts or something.”

“People think you American,” Geno teases. “Wear shorts everywhere.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know to bring a suit!”

“You not tell you come. Just show up. Call from airport,” Geno says and moves so his knee is slotted in between Sid’s legs. “Why you do that?”

Sid shrugs. “Not sure,” he admits. “I didn’t feel like I could be there anymore. And--” he swallows. “And I tried to think about what I’d rather be doing. Where I’d rather be.” Sid’s face starts to heat up, but he keeps talking. “And all I could think of is that I wanted to be here.”

Geno makes a small noise and tightens his grip around Sid’s back. 

“And I thought--” Sid closes his eyes briefly. “I thought if I called I’d lose my nerve. I’d feel dumb or something.”

“Sid--” Geno says and his voice sounds choked. “Glad you come.”

“Me too,” Sid says. His throat feels thick, and he’s once again unable to think of how to explain what he’s feeling. 

“Любимый.” Geno moves his hand up to Sid’s jaw. “ Ты нужен мне всё больше и больше,” he says and rubs his thumb across Sid’s cheek. “Я хочу тебя поцеловать.” He doesn’t say any of it very fast, but he also doesn’t enunciate super well, so Sid isn’t sure if he understood him correctly.

“I don’t--” Sid starts to say, and Geno leans closer and brushes his lips against Sid’s, so gently it almost seems like it hasn’t happened. 

Geno pulls back a little, like he’s giving Sid a chance to move away. But Sid is so relieved he hadn’t read it wrong, and so pleased he recognized the word “kiss” amongst the other unknown words that he lunges forward and kind of crashes his lips into Geno’s. 

Geno makes a surprised sound and then kisses back, matching intensity at first, like he’s doing battle with his mouth, and then gentling it, easing the pace until his tongue is moving against Sid’s in a languid roll. A slow smile spreads on his face, and he moves back just enough to say,

“You want?” His tone awed and incredulous.

Sid nods and smiles back. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is weird and gravelly. 

“Always want?” Geno asks moving back a little farther. 

Sid can’t stop staring at his mouth. His lips look even bigger than normal. And he looks so, so happy. Sid always wants to make him look like that. 

“Yeah,” Sid admits. Because under everything else, it’s true. Even if it wasn’t something he let himself think about.

Geno’s smile gets even bigger. He runs his thumb along Sid’s bottom lip. “Красавчик.”

“What does that mean?” Sid asks, because he doesn’t recognize the word.

Geno closes the gap between them and kisses him again. “Handsome,” he says as he pulls away. 

Sid licks his lips and feels a blush creep up his neck. 

“Sound better in Russian,” Geno says and pulls Sid closer, so their bodies are flush. 

Geno is taller, even if Sid is broader, and being that close to him makes Sid feel enveloped. He can feel hard muscle, warm skin, and also Geno’s dick through his shorts. 

“Everything better in Russian,” Geno says again with a smirk. 

“Best,” Sid teases.

Geno pushes his fingers up inside Sid’s shirt. “Долгожданный ."  His face his serious, but the word sounds fond.

Sid sighs and kisses Geno. “What’d you say?”

Geno licks his lips. “Not sure how to say. Why I say in Russian.”

“It’s good though?”

Geno smiles. “Yes. Means wait for you, want you for long time.”

Sid swallows. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Geno says, voice amused. “I figure I wait forever if I don’t get you to Russia.” 

“You have more game in Russia?” Sid asks laughing softly.

Geno rolls them over until he’s on top, looking down at Sid. “It work, yes?”

Sid grins and nods slowly. He can’t imagine not being here with Geno. Can’t imagine wanting to ever be anywhere else. Can’t picture going back to Pittsburgh without him. 

“I do really like it here,” Sid says, because it’s easier than saying all of the rest of that. “Not just cause of this,” he clarifies. Because it seems polite. 

Geno laughs. “I can tell,” he says and waggles his eyebrows and rolls his hips.

“Not just this!” Sid protests but bucks his hips up against Geno’s involuntarily. 

Geno nods and leans over and kisses Sid, pushing his tongue in immediately. Kissing Geno is easy. Like they’ve been doing it forever, like he knows what Geno is going to do next.

“You come back then?” Geno says, a little out of breath when he pulls away.

“Here?”

“Yes,” Geno says and bends back down and kisses Sid’s jaw and drags his tongue down Sid’s neck. 

“With you?”

Geno laughs and pulls back to give him a look. “No, with Sasha.” 

Sid grins and guides Geno’s head back to his neck because, yeah, that needs to keep happening. “Yeah, G. I’d come back here with you.” 

And the thing is, he would. It’s been a good summer. And learning a little bit of Russian helped make things less confusing. Sid figures he could convince Geno to keep teaching him Russian. They could probably add some dedicated Russian practice time to their day back in Pittsburgh. And--

“Think too much,” Geno admonishes. “Not plan next trip now.”

“That’s not--” Sid protests and then feels his cheeks flush. 

“This is angry cat face,” Geno says and drags finger down Sid’s cheek. 

Sid makes a face. Geno laughs. 

“Любимый,” Geno says and resumes kissing Sid’s neck.

“You said that word before. What does it mean?” Sid asks and then moans softly as Geno sucks his neck right below his ear. 

Geno smiles against him. “Favorite,” he says and resumes his work.

Sid’s stomach twists. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Geno wants him like he wants Geno. And then to think of him feeling that way for awhile, to think of the way Geno’s looked at him for years. Sid didn’t realize. He didn’t even know to hope for that. 

“Like best?” Sid jokes.

Geno laughs and pulls back until he’s hovering over Sid. “Yes. Always best. Always first. Always want.” 

Sid swallows and looks up at his big dark eyes. Geno’s been telling him how he feels for years. And it makes Sid want. “I always thought you just meant hockey,” Sid says softly. Because hockey and love and meeting expectations and engendering loyalty and goodwill have always been intertwined for Sid. So he’d missed what Geno was saying. 

But that’s not how Geno loves. And watching him with his family and with the Gonchars helped Sidney understand that. 

“Hockey is best,” Geno says and his thumb swipes up Sid’s cheekbone. “Watch you play, want to know you. But--”

“Yeah,” Sid says. “Me too. But, about you.”

Geno grins. “Я хочу тебя.”

“You... something me,” Sid says with a smile. 

Geno laughs. “I want you.”

Sid’s eyes flutter shut and his stomach warms. “Yeah.” He tries to say it back and must butcher the pronunciation because Geno pokes his tongue between his teeth, eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“Ты делаешь меня очень счастливым,” Geno says and then leans closer and kisses Sid softly. 

“Something about being happy,” Sid says against Geno’s lips.

Geno laughs softly, like a little puff of air Sid captures. “Yes.”

They kiss for awhile, until Sid’s face feels raw, and his lips are swollen, and he feels almost painfully hard. He pushes his hands up inside Geno’s shirt and drags his fingers up and down his smooth back.

“Take this off,” Sid says finally since Geno isn’t taking the hint. 

Geno pulls back and looks at Sid, amused. “Pushy.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Just... c’mon.”

“You too,” Geno says as he sits back and pulls his t-shirt over his head. 

Sid does. Geno covers him again, stretching out and it’s skin on skin, and Sid lets his hands wander as Geno kisses and licks down Sid’s neck and onto his collar bone. 

“I watch,” Geno breathes out against him. “Want to touch, taste. Always with no shirt in locker room. So pretty.”

Sid huffs out a laugh. “Geno,” he protests. “Not pretty.”

“Yes,” Geno says and drags his teeth across Sid’s chest. “Ты такой красивый.”

Sid decides not to fight him on it. If he keeps doing that with his mouth, Geno can call him pretty whenever he wants. When he gets down to his stomach he looks up at Sid and smiles, somehow sweet and dirty at the same time. Sid cups Geno’s chin with his hand and smiles back. 

“Is okay?” Geno asks as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Sid’s PJ pants. 

Sid almost laughs. Because it’s so, so okay. It’s beyond okay. But since he’s bad at being cool about stuff, he just nods and smiles, probably goofily. 

Geno grins at him and bites at his hip bone as he pulls down his pajamas. 

Sid runs his fingers through Geno’s hair as he follows the contour of Sid’s v-cut down inside his underwear with his tongue. Sid sighs. He feels like he’s been hard for hours, and he knows he probably has a really stupid look on his face but he doesn’t care. And Geno seems kind of into it when Sid’s into it, so whatever. He’s not going to worry about his face. 

Sid’s head flops back as Geno licks a long line up his dick. “Fuuuuuck,” he breathes out and tightens his grip in Geno’s hair. 

Geno’s mouth looks almost obscene stretched around Sid’s dick as he takes him all the way in. Sid tries to pay attention but he’s feeling kind of overwhelmed. There’s the fact that it’s been awhile since anyone has done this to him, coupled with the fact that it’s Geno doing it, and Sid’s having trouble staying in the moment. He’s also not going to last long. Which should probably be embarrassing. He sort of wishes he had another language he could moan things in so he wouldn’t accidentally say something ridiculous. He’s pretty sure he’s already done that in English. And the tiny bit of French he knows has completely escaped him in that moment. 

“Geno,” Sid gasps out when he’s close. 

But he just smiles at Sid and takes him in deep one more time and Sid comes. And comes. And comes. Geno swallows like a champ, just a little spilling over onto his lips. Which he then licks with a long drag of his tongue. Sid groans.

Geno crawls up and kisses him deeply. 

“Fuck, Geno,” Sid says against his lips. “You’re really good at that.” 

Geno smiles and starts to say something.

“Don’t say best,” Sid says with a groan.

Geno scoffs. “But true!”

“Yeah,” Sid says with a sigh. He feels Geno’s dick pressed hard against his hip and it feels more important than making sure Geno doesn’t feel too smug. 

Sid pushes his fingers into the back of Geno’s shorts. He’s not wearing underwear. Because of course he isn’t. Sid moans. 

Geno nods his head and kisses Sid insistently. 

Sid smiles and licks Geno’s bottom lip, still puffy from all their kissing and sucking Sid’s dick (that’s an image Sid’s filing away for later). “Take your shorts off.”

Geno grins. “Bossy.” But he does it.

Sid can look now. He’s tried not to before, but now he can. He knows Geno isn’t cut, and he’s... big. But now, unlike the glimpses he’s caught in the showers, he’s hard and his dick is flushed, and Sid is desperate to touch him. It must show on his face because when he looks back up at Geno he’s doing this sort of fond smirk thing he seems to have perfected. 

Geno kisses him again and doesn’t seem to want to stop, so Sid wraps his fingers around Geno’s dick while they kiss. Geno moans into Sid’s mouth, which is, on balance, one of the hottest things that’s happened to Sid in awhile. He’s also mumbling a bunch of stuff in rapid Russian, words Sid doesn’t recognize, which means they aren’t words from children's books or kids’ programing.

When he comes he moans Sid’s name in the most porny sort of way possible, and Sid is pretty sure he could get hard again without a lot of convincing just from the sound of Geno saying his name like that. 

Geno groans and rests his head against Sid’s chest and they both breathe heavily and don’t say anything for a few minutes. 

Geno laughs and then turns his head into Sid’s neck. “Любимый."

Sid smiles and strokes his fingers along Geno’s back. “So this--” he swallows. “This is a thing we do now?”

Geno licks his neck and then bites down on his collar bone. “You want?”

Sid nods and feels his face heat. 

Geno laughs again and kisses Sid’s jaw. “Good. Yes.”

“My hand’s sticky,” Sid says nonsensically when he can’t think of what else to say.

Geno huffs out a laugh against Sid’s neck. “Любимый.”

“It is!”

“Я так счастлив с тобой,” Geno says and then hands Sid a shirt. 

Sid wipes his hand on it. “Hey, this is mine,” he complains when he notices the Shattuck crest on the front.

Geno smirks. “You make mess.”

Sid narrows his eyes because that hardly seems correct. But it’s difficult to be irritated when Geno’s smiling like that at him, and they’re naked, and he’s kissing Sid’s neck in just the right place. He tries to repeat the phrase Geno keeps saying to him, and it must come out wrong because Geno laughs at him. 

“You make me happy,” Sid clarifies. “Even when you mess up my shirt.”

Geno says it again in Russian, punctuating each word with a kiss upwards toward Sid’s mouth.

Sid sighs contented and pulls him closer.

**

So now that this is something that they do, it’s all they do for the next couple of days. Well, they work out, and they eat. But otherwise they don’t leave the apartment. They ignore their phones. They forget they told Gonchars they’d go to dinner one night and Victoria comes and bangs on their door until Geno stumbles out in sweatpants he found... somewhere.

He sheepishly tells her he was sleeping, and that they’ll be there soon. And then they spend an embarrassing evening getting knowing looks from Gonch and Ksenia and pretending they have no idea what the looks are about. Geno seems way less embarrassed than Sid. But then that’s true most of the time and in most circumstances.

“Would you like to come over for Sidney’s birthday?” Ksenia asks as she’s hugging them goodbye. 

“Oh,” Sid says, because that’s so nice. The Gonchars feel sort of like family now, and Sid will miss them when the summer is over. Even if they are both way too amused by how mortified Sidney is and they seem to be enjoying his current discomfort. 

“We go to Bolshoi,” Geno explains when Sid can’t find the words.

Ksenia’s eyebrows go up. “Oh?” She looks at Sid and back at Geno.

Sid nods and smiles. “But thank you,” he says. He doesn’t always notice all the ways people are good to him, and he doesn’t want Ksenia or Gonch to think he doesn’t appreciate how great they’ve been.

“Why’d Ksenia seem surprised when you told her we were going to the ballet,” Sidney asks as he’s unbuttoning his shirt later when they’re back at Geno’s apartment.

Geno’s already undressed down to his boxer briefs with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He makes eye contact with Sid in the mirror above the sink and grins, toothpaste at the corners of his mouth. He spits and then rinses before he answers. 

“She know is important to me,” Geno says. 

“The ballet?” Sid asks as he steps out of his pants. 

Geno nods and leaves his watch on the dresser. “Only take important people.”

Sid smiles shyly and goes to brush his teeth and wash his face. When he steps back into the bedroom, Geno’s lying on top of the covers in his underwear, texting someone, tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration. 

Geno is always confident about telling Sid exactly what he’s going to do to him, undressing him, going after what he wants. Sid is still getting used to the fact that when he sees Geno likes he is now he’s allowed to keep looking, that all of that smooth skin is his to touch. He swallows and stands at the edge of the bed until Geno looks up at him and smiles. 

Sid smiles back and climbs onto the bed and on top of Geno before he loses his nerve to just go for it. Geno laughs, surprised. It’s not that Sid hasn’t been an eager participant thus far. It’s just been something he’s let Geno initiate and direct. 

Sid straddles Geno’s lap and rubs his hands up his chest. “Hi,” he says and then feels like a dork.

Geno grins. “Hi.” He rests his hands on Sid’s thighs. “Legs so big,” Geno says appreciatively, dragging his fingers higher toward Sid’s crotch. “Strong.”

Sid blushes. He’s never sure what to say when Geno says stuff like that. But he likes to hear it. He works hard on his body, and he knows it’s well-suited to hockey, but he’s not used to thinking of it in terms of anything other than a useful tool. 

Sid fingers the medallion on Geno’s necklace and then rubs his fingers along Geno’s shoulders. He tries to think of a not-completely-awkward way to say how much he likes everything about Geno’s body. How he’s long and lean and strong in a completely different way than Sid. He likes how Geno’s skin looks when he’s exerted himself. Before he only knew what that looked like during a game or after a workout. The way it made his cheeks flush and his eyes bright. And now he knows he can make Geno look like that with sex, too. And he doesn’t have to score a goal to get Geno to touch him when his face looks like that. 

“So hopefully next season I’ll still score goals,” Sid says, continuing the thought out loud.

Geno’s brow furrows and waits for Sid to continue. 

Sid smiles and then feels his cheeks flush. “You know,” he says, unable to keep looking Geno in the eye. “I like when I score and you, you know-- get that look on your face, like you’re really happy-- and then you hug me.” He bites his lip. “I like that. But now, you uh, do that in here too-- so you know. Goal scoring incentive goes down a little.” 

Geno laughs his big, deep laugh and pushes his fingers up into the legs of Sid’s boxer briefs. Sid’s dick jumps in response, something not lost on Geno. “You still score,” he says confidently. “Maybe I stop this--” he waggles his eyebrows, “unless you score goals.”

Sid narrows his eyes. “I don’t like that idea.”

Geno’s fingers push up farther into Sid’s shorts until his fingertips are brushing up against Sid’s balls. Sid’s eyes flutter shut, and he inhales quickly. He swallows and then opens his eyes again and watches Geno’s fingers moving almost maddeningly slowly against him. Geno’s hard inside his underwear and his dick is straining against the fabric. Sid drags his hand across Geno’s dick. There are like 20 things he can think of wanting to do at this moment, and the freedom of choice is sort of paralyzing. 

Geno’s fingers grip onto Sid’s hips, and he pulls Sid down until he’s lying on top of him, still straddling his waist. And oh, yeah, that’s good too. Geno’s fingers shift inside his underwear until they’re cupping his ass and lining their dicks up to rub against each other as they kiss. 

“Fuck, G,” Sid says because it feels good, and he’s not great at explaining exactly why. Other than maybe “I like it when my dick touches your dick. Let’s do that a lot more.” But... that has yet to be a sentence he utters. 

“Я хочу тебя,” Geno says, voice choked. 

“I want you too,” Sid says.

Geno groans and thrusts up against him. He squeezes Sid’s ass, fingertips sliding into his crack. 

“Fuck,” Sid breathes out and kisses Geno hard. 

They rub off on each other like teenagers for awhile. It’s so good in that way that’s not quite enough but distracts them from breaking their kiss and getting all the way undressed. 

But Geno finally pushes their underwear down and away and manages to get both of their dicks wrapped in his hand. He murmurs all sorts of vaguely dirty things and Sid only recognizes a word here or there. They clearly need to have a different sort of Russian lesson sometime soon. 

They both come all over Geno’s stomach. Sid watches, mesmerized and then drags a finger through it. He leans closer and kisses Geno again and then gets up to get something to help clean up. Geno makes a noise of protest, but dried come is the worst.  

Afterward, he turns off the light and pulls the blanket over both of them. He rests his head on Geno’s chest and times his breathing to his heartbeat. Geno rubs his fingers up and down Sid’s arm. “I wish we do all summer,” Geno murmurs and kisses the top of Sid’s head. 

Sid nods. It’s still hard for him to believe they could’ve been doing this all summer, maybe even before that. “But it’s good now,” Sid says softly and kisses Geno’s chest. 

Geno murmurs agreement and they slip off into sleep.

**

“Look good,” Geno says and steps closer, smoothing his hands down the front of Sid’s new suit. “ Красавчик.”

Sid smiles and feels his face heat. “You do too.” Geno always looks great. But the last few days, he’s smiling so much, and his face is so lit up. And then he puts on a well-tailored suit and Sid feels a little light-headed looking at him. He’s overwhelmed by the idea that the smile on Geno’s face is for him.

He leans over and kisses Sid gently. “Suit fit nice,” he says and slides his hands down Sid’s back to his ass. 

Sid swallows and looks down. But he does feel good in the suit. It’s a slimmer cut than he’s used to, but the fabric is so nice and it seems to fit well. He’s not really sure how to judge such things, really. But Geno had grinned at him when they were at the final fitting, kept his eyes trained on Sid while the tailor made last minute adjustments. So it seemed like maybe it was working for him.

The theater is beautiful. Sid’s not sure he can follow an actual story by way of the leaps and hops of a ballet. But according to Geno’s translation of the program it’s about a princess who gets turned into a swan by some evil guy. And then a prince falls in love with her. She seems to be able to switch back and forth between the bird and the girl version of the princess (which causes Sid some confusion when keeping track of the action). 

Sid hopes there’s not a quiz later about the storyline, but setting that aside, the music and the costumes and the dancers are mesmerizing. 

Sid keeps sneaking looks at Geno. He is transfixed the whole time. Sid can picture him as a reluctant teenager accompanying his mom while they’re in Moscow, and then looking around and realizing how far they’d come, literally and figuratively, from Magnitogorsk.

They’re sitting in a box, so Sid reaches over and grabs Geno’s hand. Geno smiles and squeezes it and then holds it tightly in his lap. 

“You like?” He asks with the most hopeful look on his face when they reach intermission.

Sid smiles and nods. “It’s really pretty,” he says, because it is. “I bet Natalie and Victoria love coming with you.”

Geno grins. “Yes. They make Gonch promise to take them this year.”

They get drinks at intermission, and Geno takes a picture with a couple of young hockey fans who have clearly been dragged to the ballet by their parents. The presence of Evgeni Malkin, star of something they actually care about, seems to have helped their mood. Geno says something to them in rapid Russian and they look over at Sid with surprise on their faces. 

“They want picture with Sidney Crosby,” Geno says with a smirk. 

Sid rolls his eyes. “Because you told them they did.”

“Didn’t want them to miss,” Geno says with big innocent eyes. 

Sid stands awkwardly between the boys and waits for Geno to snap the picture. 

“Hands out of pockets, Sid,” Geno says with authority. 

Sid obliges but vows to give Geno the “it’s my birthday, and I’ll put my hands in my damn pockets if I feel like it” speech later. 

It is pretty rewarding to give the kids a mood lift. They talk excitedly among themselves, looking at the pictures on their phones and the autographs they scored on the back of their otherwise unnecessary Swan Lake programs. Luckily it’s then time to head back to their seats so the crowd that has started to realize who Geno is and are working up the courage to approach is forced to disperse. 

Geno grabs Sid’s hand once they’re back in their seats. Sid’s pretty sure it’s not a happy ending for the swan. He’s a little unclear on the girl and the black swan and the prince. But it’s all very well done, and he’s a lot more into it than he thought he would be. 

When it’s over, they go for a late dinner. 

“Well,” Sid says near the end of the meal, “there’s nothing like that in Nova Scotia.”

Geno smiles. “Is okay. Everywhere can’t be Russia.”

Sid rolls his eyes.

“What you show me on Sidney Crosby Canada Tour?” Geno asks, tongue poking out between his teeth.

“I mean, there’s not tons to do,” he admits. “But Halifax has some interesting stuff.” He tries to think of what they used to do on field trips in school. “There’s the Maritime Museum... and umm... I like the harbour area. There’s a farmer’s market down there that’s good for people-watching and stuff.”

“Farmer’s market?”

“They do that in Pittsburgh too. Farmers bring in their vegetables and people sell jam and jewelry and other shit no one cares about until it’s sitting at a farmer’s market.”

Geno raises his eyebrows. “Okay?”

Sid shrugs. “It’s interesting. There’s a lady that sells these awesome cinnamon rolls. My mom used to take me down there sometimes as a treat if I’d been good all week.” He smiles remembering how she’d pick him up from hockey practice on Saturday and they’d sneak down to Halifax. At the time it seemed like a little adventure they took together. He’s still not sure why they kept it from his dad. 

“What else,” Geno asks, smile fond. 

“Umm,” Sid says flipping through the very little down time he’s had in the course of his life. “Oh, I know. I used to like to go up Citadel Hill. You can look down over the city and the water. Fort George is there.”

“We do?”

“Sure,” Sid says. “It’s been awhile since I’ve gone up there.”

Geno smiles. “And you show me rink where Sidney Crosby learn to skate?”

Sid laughs. “Yeah sure. And my house is on a lake... and I have a boat. So we could fish.”

Geno nods. “Like to fish.”

Sid hasn’t been looking forward to leaving Russia, but he’s hit by a wave of longing to be in his house, on his lake, with Geno. To show him the same sorts of things Geno’s been showing him all summer. 

He bought his house after his first NHL season. It was his escape from the pressure of being the “face of the NHL” and the expectations that went into being tasked with saving a fledgling franchise. He wanted to stay in Nova Scotia because he wanted to be near Taylor. And in spite of the irregular nature of his crazy busy childhood, he had good memories of growing up in Halifax. He figured maybe if he had his own place he could separate the good memories from the more complicated. 

And in a way it did help to save his relationship with his parents. It was easier to take his dad’s criticism when he had somewhere to escape to for a couple of days. When he got frustrated he would go sit on his dock and stare at the water and remember all of the things his dad had sacrificed so Sidney could play hockey, all of the ways his dad pushing him had made him a better player. 

This summer it hadn’t felt far enough. And not just because of his dad. Sidney’s still not sure why this summer had been different. But he thinks instead of Canada being the wrong place it was because Russia was the right one. He understands that a little better now. 

“It’ll be good,” Sid says decisively, and then smiles a little goofily at Geno.

“Let’s go home,” Geno says as he waves the waiter over to pay their check. “One more gift.”

Sid raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t have to get me anything else. This has been-- I’ve had a nice evening. It was a good birthday.” 

Geno grins. “This gift for me too,” he says in a low voice. “Я хочу сосать твой член.”

Sid blushes and then swallows. He recognizes enough words in that phrase to know that’s something he wants to happen. A lot. He looks around the room and then back to where Geno is still staring at him. “Yeah, okay.” He says and bites his lip. “Let’s go.”

Geno leans back in his chair. “Wait for change,” he says smugly. Like now that he’s gotten Sidney excited he’s going to take his time. 

“You’re a tease,” Sidney hisses as the waiter comes back. 

Geno smirks as he puts his wallet back in his pocket. “You like.”

Sid sighs. “Yeah.”

**

Sid starts to get nervous about Geno being in Canada with him on the flight. He hasn’t told his parents about Geno. Or even exactly when he’s coming home. 

“You think loud,” Geno says, leaning closer to Sid and wrapping his fingers around Sid’s on the armrest. 

Sid smiles. “Sorry.”

“You grip so hard fingers will bleed,” Geno warns and carefully unhooks Sid’s fingers from where he had been holding onto the armrest, tighter than he’d realized. 

Sid swallows. “Sorry.”

“Okay?” Geno asks and pulls Sid in, seemingly disregarding the fact that both of them have been photographed sleeping and eating and listening to music on planes in the past. 

But Sid closes his eyes and leans against Geno. “I’m okay. Just--” it seems dumb to lie about it, “Just nervous, I guess.”

Geno doesn’t ask him to elaborate. Just sits and waits to see if Sid wants to say anything else about it. 

“I didn’t tell them when I was coming,” Sid admits after awhile. “Or that you were coming with me.”

Geno makes a surprised sound. “No?”

Sid shakes his head. “No.”

“I want you to see my house and for us to be alone there first,” he says swallowing. “I’ll tell them. Just... I wanted a day or two.”

Geno huffs out a laugh and squeezes Sid’s hand. “Taylor around?”

Sid smiles automatically. “She’ll be home by the weekend. She might want to come stay with us. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Is good.”

Sid swallows and tries to relax. Even if his dad is mad about the summer or about Geno or about Sid being gay or about-- whatever else his dad might be mad about, Sid’s had a good summer. Geno is still coming to Canada with him, and he’s pretty sure whatever it is they’re doing will withstand an awkward week in Nova Scotia. 

But knowing all of that and feeling it are two different things. And his stomach refuses to cooperate with his head. He feels unsettled and uncertain the rest of the flight.

**

A car picks them up in Halifax and takes them out to Sid’s house in Enfield. Traveling half way around the world is so jarring. They left Moscow at 10:30 a.m. and they arrive in Halifax at 5:30 p.m., and while that doesn’t sound that bad, there’s the seven hour time different in between. Sid’s exhausted. 

But as the car winds around the lake and turns into the gate leading to Sid’s driveway, he perks up. 

“Is very nice,” Geno says, looking out over the lake once he and Sid are inside. 

Sid could afford something bigger and fancier now. But he loves the location, and he doesn’t need a bigger house. It’s symbolic to him of his first big hockey success, and of a certain amount of liberation from his parents, and he’s nostalgic enough that he doesn’t really want something different. 

Sid smiles. He looks around the house and sees it the way Geno must. The view is the best part. Big windows and french doors open up onto a large deck that overlooks an expansive yard that leads down to the lake. There’s a dock and a boat house and a gazebo with a hot tub. Sid even has a separate outbuilding with gym equipment. And thanks to his project earlier that summer, a small shed to store all the deck furniture during the winter. 

He sighs happily and steps closer to Geno, still too awkward to just throw his arms around him like he’d like to. Geno chuckles and grabs him and pulls him in. He kisses the side of Sid’s head. 

“Is a good house,” Geno murmurs against him. 

Sid smiles. “Yeah.”

“Feels like you,” Geno says and slips his arm around Sid’s waist. 

“How do you mean?” Sid asks looking around again.

Geno shrugs. “House in Pittsburgh feels like magazine. This feels like Sid.”

Sid smiles. A decorator did his house in Pittsburgh, with his input, but it’s much more polished and put together than anything he could come up with alone. The lake house has been decorated slowly over many off seasons. The furniture was all selected based on comfort---big couches and chairs he can sink into. The dining table is large enough that if he or Taylor have friends over they can fit everyone around it. There are pictures all over of his various hockey teams, memorabilia from tournaments and awards he received. There are pictures of fish he’s caught in the lake, funny shots of him teaching Taylor to water ski, the few vacations he’s squeezed in over the years are represented with knick knacks and photos and artwork. 

It feels like home. 

He nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ve had it for awhile.”

Geno steps outside onto the deck and looks out toward the water. “We can take boat out?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says and smiles thinking about spending the day fishing on the lake with Geno. He’d left it in the water so his dad could fish while he was in Russia. A small gesture he’d hoped would take away the sting of Sid abruptly deciding to be elsewhere.

Geno bites his lip and pushes his hand up inside Sid’s shirt, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the skin right above Sid’s waistband. “I blow you on boat.”

Sid chokes out a laugh. “Umm,” he says, face heating. “Yeah-- I mean, maybe-- or we could fish.”

Geno laughs and pulls their hips together. “Любимый.” He drags his fingers along Sid’s jaw. He leans over and kisses him gently. Just a simple press of lips, tender and sweet and a clear indication of how tired Geno is. 

“You hungry?” Sid asks, licking his lips as he pulls away.

Geno nods and smiles down at him, still sort of looming over him in a way Sid loves. “You have food?”

“Probably not,” Sid admits. “We could go somewhere... or order pizza, but we’ll have to go get it. No one delivers out here. Or... go to the grocery story and get stuff to grill.”

“Grill,” Geno says.

They make journey into town to stock up on supplies. Sid wears a hat and tries not to seem like Sidney Crosby, whatever that means, but he still gets double take looks from people as they pass them in the store. As they’re walking out a few minutes later, armed with things to grill and other essentials for the week, Sid’s mom calls. 

“Are you back?” She asks, voice rising a little. 

Sid winces. He’d picked up automatically, distracted by something Geno was saying. It’s not that he’s avoiding her, not really. He just hasn’t figured out how to tell her he’s back. 

“Hi mom,” he says quietly. “Yes. Just got in a couple of hours ago.”

“And Geno is with you?” 

Sid opens the back of his SUV and they transfer the bags from the cart to his car. “Yeah. How do you know that?” He laughs a little and looks around the parking lot to see if his mom is lurking somewhere nearby.

“Mary Kay from my aerobics class just called and said she thought she saw you in the grocery store.”

“Jesus,” Sid whispers and rolls his eyes at Geno. “We were in there for like 20 minutes.”

“That isn’t the point, Sidney,” she says, and Sid would like to do whatever he can to never make his mom sound like that. She’s clearly hurt.

“I know mom,” Sid says and winces. “We just got back. I was going to call you tomorrow once we’d had a chance to rest.”

She’s quiet for a few beats. “I’d really like to see you, Sidney.”

“I know, mom,” he says. And he wants to see her too. He missed the time they usually spent together during the summer. He always found time to take her to lunch a few times, to movies she wanted to see that she couldn’t convince his dad to taker her to. Sometimes she’d come out to Sid’s house and spend the day with him, helping him plant flowers and keep the yard looking nice. Sidney realizes with a pang that in his attempt to escape his playoffs-related disappointment and his frustration with his father he bailed on his mom too. 

“Will you and Geno come to dinner tomorrow night?” She asks carefully.

“I think we can do that,” Sid answers. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I was worried, sweetheart,” she says, voice tight. “All summer. We barely heard from you. Your dad--” she takes a deep breath. “We just didn’t hear from you much.”

Sid swallows and gets into the driver’s seat. “I know, Mom. But I’m here now. And Taylor will be home this weekend, right?”

“Are you here for long?”

“We’ll be here until the press stuff we have to do in New York next week.”

Neither of them say anything for a few moments. 

“Well, we’ll see you at dinner tomorrow then?” She asks hopefully. 

“For sure,” Sid says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says and then they end the call. 

Sid closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. He feels Geno’s hand close around his knee. 

“One of my mom’s friends saw us,” Sid explains. “So... she’s hurt, I think, because I didn’t tell her we were coming back today.” He bites his lip and looks over at Geno. He feels like an asshole. 

Geno squeezes his knee. “We see her tomorrow?”

Sid nods. “Yeah, for dinner. You up for it?” He’ll go even if Geno doesn’t want to. He owes it to his mom, but he really hopes Geno will come too.

“Of course,” Geno says and brushes his knuckles against Sid’s jaw. “Want to.”

“Why?” Sid asks and laughs bitterly.

Geno furrows his brow. “Is where you need to be,” he says like it’s obvious. “So I go too.”

Sid’s stomach twists and he leans over before he can stop himself and kisses Geno quickly. “Okay,” he says and feels overwhelmed. 

They go back home and grill chicken and vegetables and sit outside on the deck. Sid even drinks a beer, something he doesn’t normally allow himself this close to the season. But it’s been a long, tiring day. 

When they’re done eating, they sit and watch the water as the sky glows with the sunset. And then they’re both so exhausted they go to bed right afterward. 

It’s weird to have someone else in his bed with him, sad as that may sound. He got used to sleeping with Geno over the last couple of weeks, but that was in Russia. This is his house, his bed, his hometown. And part of Sid’s past has been a solitary commitment to his sport and his career. He hasn’t ever had someone he could crawl into bed with night after night, talking about the mundane parts of the day, someone he knows how to anticipate. 

The times Sid has hooked up in Halifax, he’s always gone to the other guy’s place. He’s never brought someone like that back to his home. That feels too personal, too intimate. But he likes Geno in his space. He likes how he looks climbing into his big bed, smiling sleepily at Sid as he sets his phone on the bedside table. 

Sid flips off the light and then curls in close. “I’ve never slept here with anyone else,” he admits before he can run the thought through his appropriateness filter. 

Geno smiles. “No?”

Sid shakes his head. 

“You never sleep with anyone? All summer long?” Geno asks, incredulous. 

Sid tucks himself under Geno’s arm and rests his head on his chest. “Not here,” he says finally. “I haven’t, uh, you know-- There haven’t been that many people, anyway.”

“Girls? Boys?”

“I slept with one girl in high school,” Sid says, glad he can’t see Geno’s face. “At Shattuck. She was a senior, and everyone liked her, and for some reason she liked me.”

“Older woman,” Geno teases. “Baby Sid has game.”

Sid scoffs. “Adult Sid has game.”

Geno laughs. 

“Anyway,” Sid says, choosing to ignore that. “I got teased a lot when I was younger... so I wasn’t used to having someone like her pay attention to me. And I wanted her to keep wanting to be my friend, so when she wanted to hold hands and kiss and stuff, we did. And I liked that okay. I mean, I liked boys, but I still thought she was pretty. So right before she graduated, and I had to go back to play for Rimourski, ummm, we, you know--”

Geno laughs softly and kisses the top of Sid’s head. “I know.”

Sid smiles against him. “Yeah. And it was... okay?”

Geno laughs again. “Only okay?”

“Well,” Sid says, trying to remember that moment. “It was awkward. I had no idea what I was doing. And I sort of knew I’d rather be doing it with a guy. And then I felt kind of bad about that. And I didn’t want her to feel like I didn’t like her, because she’d been so nice to me. Plus, it was over kind of fast.” He grimaces remembering. 

Geno huffs out a laugh into his hair. “First time always bad. Mine too.”

“Yeah?” Sid has trouble imagining Geno being bad at anything. He’s always so confident and easy with people. 

“Of course,” Geno says, smile in his voice. “But I do more than once.”

Sid nods. He figured. Plus, he’s seen Geno’s ex. He’s pretty sure they weren’t just holding hands. 

“No other girls?” Geno asks, turning the subject back on Sid.

“Well, yeah. I mean, dates and like I kissed a couple girls. But otherwise, no. No sex. And plus, I was focused on hockey.”

“Can do both,” Geno says gently.

Sid swallows. “Yeah, well-- that’s not-- I mean, it just made sense to not get distracted by having a girlfriend or whatever. And plus, I kind of knew I’d never be into girls the way my friends were.”

“So, when first boy?” Geno asks, fingers trailing down his arm. 

Sid blushes remembering. “After I graduated, before the draft, this guy I used to play hockey with. We were playing video games in his basement. And he was being an asshole about something, so we ended up kind of wrestling on the floor. And he just kissed me. Unexpected.”

Geno squeezes Sid’s elbow to encourage him to continue. 

“That’s it,” Sid insists. “No big story. Just a really big kiss that sort of solidified my gayness for me.”

Sid skates his fingers along Geno’s side and across his stomach. “And my first, uh,  time with a guy... was right before I left for Pittsburgh. That summer.” 

“But no boyfriends?” Geno asks in a low voice. The room is so quiet. There was so much traffic noise and distant music and the sounds of a large, thriving city at all hours when they were in Moscow that Sid had forgotten how quiet it is out on the lake. 

“Not really,” Sid says and feels the weight of how odd that probably is. “A couple guys I saw more than once. But it’s-- it’s not easy.”

Geno makes a small sympathetic noise. 

“But now there’s you?” Sid asks after a few awkward beats of silence. 

Geno huffs out a laugh and squeezes Sid close. “Yes. Now there’s me.”

Sid smiles against him. That somehow makes all of the lonely nights and failed attempts feel worth it somehow.

**

They spend the next day napping, eating, fishing, and messing around. It’s a lazy, easy day. And it’s the sort of day Sid always wanted to be able to share with someone on the lake. 

Sid takes Geno out on the boat and shows him his favorite spots on the lake. They drop anchor and lay around in the sun and jump in the water when they get too hot. They both get a little pink, but Sid likes the way the color looks in Geno’s cheeks. 

When they get back to the house, Geno makes them a snack and they eat outside on the deck. Sid reads a little, and Geno sends texts and emails to friends. 

Sid’s stretched out on a lounge chair with his book, and he must fall asleep, because he opens his eyes and finds Geno taking a picture of him with his phone. 

“Don’t text that to someone,” Sid protests. 

Geno grins. 

“Geno--”

“Okay, okay,” Geno says and comes over to the chair and sits down on the end of it. “You look good in the sun.”

Sid smiles, embarrassed. “Who were you going to send it to?”

Geno shakes his head. “No one,” he says emphatically. “Want for me.” He wraps his hand around Sid’s ankle. 

Sid blushes and looks out toward the water to avoid Geno’s intense gaze. “Well that’s okay then,” he says quietly. 

Geno moves from the end of the chair and settles himself straddling Sid’s lap and leans over and kisses him, hands threading through Sid’s hair. 

“Tonight might suck,” Sid says when he finally pulls away to breathe. 

Geno smiles and kisses along Sid’s jaw. “They know about this?” He asks as he gets closer to Sid’s ear. 

“About... us?” Sid asks, still not totally sure what to call them. 

Geno nods. 

“Umm,” Sid stalls and his eyes flutter shut as Geno sucks on a sensitive spot on his neck. “No. They-- No.”

Geno pulls back and looks at Sid searchingly. 

“I mean, I didn’t even tell them I was coming back into town,” Sid says. “I’m not in the habit of like sharing personal stuff with them.” 

Geno nods and kisses Sid gently. “You do what’s right.”

“I will,” Sid says. “Tell them, I mean. I just-- I need to figure out how.”

Geno squeezes the back of Sid’s neck reassuringly. 

“Do your parents know?” Sid asks, because it sort of seemed like they knew before Sid was even sure what was going on. But he hasn’t really asked. 

Geno smiles. “Mama know how I feel since rookie year. Tease me about big crush. Big Sidney Crosby crush.” He blushes, which is totally charming, in Sid’s opinion. “She read interviews I do and say ‘everyone know you love Sidney Crosby if keep saying he best all the times.’”

Sid laughs. “Everyone but Sidney Crosby.”

“Of course,” Geno says, tongue poking out between his teeth. “Because you never see things, even obvious things.”

Sid ignores that. “And your parents are okay with it?”

Geno shrugs. “They worry. Russia not easy place for being gay.” He swallows and rubs his thumbs along Sid’s jaw. “But they think you sweet to me. Like you. Like how I’m liking you.” 

Sid smiles. “And because I speak really awesome Russian,” he boasts. 

Geno rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mama very impressed by sad, slow Russian.”

Sid gives him a smug look. “All part of the plan,” he says. 

“You have no plan,” Geno says with a laugh. “I’m plan.”

“Whatever, G,” Sid says and presses up off the chair to capture Geno’s lips in a kiss. 

**

Sid can tell how nervous his mom is from the moment they get to his parents’ house for dinner. She’s all smiles, but there’s tension reverberating around her. She hugs him tightly though, kissing his cheek as she pulls away.

“Missed you,” she says, attempting a light tone, but Sid hears the sadness in it. 

He swallows. “I missed you too.”

“Hi Geno,” she says turning and plastering on a bright smile. 

Geno smiles back, warm and easy. “Hello. Thank you for invite.”

She nods and squeezes his arm. “Have you been to Nova Scotia before?”

Geno shakes his head, and they follow her into the living room. “No. Is very pretty.”

She smiles and gestures toward the couch. “We’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“You need help, Mom?” Sid asks, but she waves him away.

“Just need to pull a couple of things out of the oven. We’re ready otherwise.” She starts into the kitchen. “Your dad is downstairs on the phone. He’ll be up soon.”

Sid nods and then leans into Geno on the couch. 

Geno wraps his hand around the back of Sid’s neck and rubs soothingly. “Is okay,” he reminds him.

Sid takes a deep breath. “I know.” 

The house smells good, like his mom made Sid’s favorite meat loaf and mashed potatoes, the meal she always made when he needed something comforting. It makes something twinge in his chest.

“Sidney,” his dad’s voice cuts through the room.

“Hi Dad,” Sid says as his father sits down in the chair across from him. 

Geno lets his hand slip from Sid’s neck, but he keeps it draped along the couch behind his head. 

His dad doesn’t miss anything, and Sid watches his eyes track the movement. No one says anything for an uncomfortable few seconds. 

“So how was Russia?” His dad finally says tightly.

“Really good,” Sid says honestly. “Geno took me all over Moscow and showed me the sights.” He smiles at Geno and then looks back at his dad. 

“Did you train?” He asks without acknowledging the sightseeing comment. 

Sid stuffs down the urge to be snippy. “Yeah. Kadar was there for three weeks, but we worked out the whole time.”

Sid’s dad nods stiffly and then asks Sid about the exercises they did, the weights he lifted, his times on sprints and distance running. He asks about on-ice drills. It takes on the air of a job interview, like Sid is applying for the role of his own trainer. Which is ridiculous, given that Sid’s been keeping track of his own fitness for years now. 

But he answers all of his dad’s questions as patiently as he can. He can feel Geno tensing up next to him the longer the line of questioning goes on though. Sid’s not sure if that’s because his dad is speaking pretty rapidly and maybe it’s hard for Geno to follow the conversation. That doesn’t happen to him very often anymore, but after a summer spent not being able to follow most conversations, Sid is more sensitive to that concern. 

He turns to Geno for confirmation on describing a couple of the drills Kadar had them do, and attempts a couple of jokes on how competitive they were with each other while they trained. Geno jokes and smiles when Sid prompts it, but otherwise he stays quiet beside him.

When his mom announces supper is ready, they move to the dining room. Troy’s questions don’t really let up until Trina finally gives him a look and then asks Sid what sorts of things he saw in Moscow.

Sid lists some of his favorite sights, and he feels Geno relax next to him. “Oh, and we went to the Bolshoi and saw Swan Lake,” Sid says, knowing that will interest his mom.

“Oh!” She says with obvious envy. “I bet that was lovely.”

“It was really cool,” Sid says easily. “It was Geno’s idea. We went on my birthday.” He smiles at Geno and shares a look with him. He catches his dad watching them carefully. 

“Did you take pictures?” Trina asks as she passes Sid another helping of mashed potatoes.

“Yeah,” Sid says and focuses on his mom and tries to ignore the scrutiny he feels from his dad. 

“Can I see?”

“They’re on my phone,” Sid says uncertainly. His mom has a pretty strict “no cell phones at the table” rule. 

She smiles. “I think we can make an exception.”

So Sid pulls out his phone, and his mom crowds closer. Sid flips through pictures around Moscow, at Geno’s apartment, silly shots of them while they worked out, shots of Geno with the Gonchars and Sid reading books to Natalie and Victoria. There are pictures of Geno’s birthday party in Magnitogorsk, and at the “Evgeni Malkin historical sites” (as Sid took to calling them), there are a few pictures of them sitting close on the couch, pictures Sid snapped when they were snuggled up together. There is nothing particularly damning about them other than how happy and relaxed Sid looks. 

It takes longer than he thought it would to get through the photos. There are so many more than he remembers taking, and this is just the number on his phone. He has a many more on his actual camera.

They finally get to the ballet, to Sid in his new suit in Geno’s living room, to a picture of Geno standing outside the Bolshoi with his arms raised goofily, to a selfie of the two of them squished close inside their box. 

Sid feels overwhelmed looking at their summer like that. The progression of Sid’s comfort level, the way his face relaxed picture to picture. The obvious affection he has for Geno coming through in selfies and stupid tourist shots in front of statues and signs and plates of food. 

His mom asks a few questions and offers little comments as he slides through the pictures, but for the most part she just lets Sid explain what things are. They’ve abandoned their dinner. Sid, Geno and Trina are pressed close and completely absorbed in Sid’s phone. 

Trina looks up at Troy and beckons him closer. “Come see these pictures, sweetheart,” she says with something in her voice Sid doesn’t recognize. 

“I’ll wait,” Troy says. Not unkindly, but his mood is completely different from the one currently shared on the other side of the table. 

Sid glances at his mom and sees the meaningful look on her face, like she’s attempting to have a conversation with her husband without having to open her mouth. Sid would laugh if it felt at all appropriate. 

She sighs and then looks back down at the phone and asks another question about a picture Sid took of the entrance to the Bolshoi. 

“Is that a new suit?” She asks in another picture Geno snapped of Sid when Sid wasn’t paying attention. 

Sid nods. “Yeah. Geno’s friend is a tailor. And I hadn’t taken anything appropriate for the Bolshoi with me to Russia.”

“So he bought you a suit?” Troy asks from across the table.

Sid looks up and tries to read his dad’s tone. His face is blank. “Yeah,” he says carefully. Sid hadn’t wanted Geno to pay. It was an expensive suit, even given whatever discount his friend probably gave him. But Geno had insisted. And he seemed so happy about it, Sid didn’t want to make a big thing out of it. “For my birthday,” he says unnecessarily. Because Sid’s not sure if his manners are in question here. Or if Geno’s are. Or if suits made in Russia are on trial. But it brings the conversation on the other side of the table to a halt. 

Troy doesn’t say anything. Just nods and goes back to eating his dinner and drinking his wine. But Sid can feel his disapproval. He hates that he doesn’t understand where that disapproval is directed, no matter how little that actually matters. 

“It looks great on you, Sidney,” Trina says and squeezes his shoulder. “You needed some new suits this summer. Good job, Geno.” 

Geno gives her a big, genuine smile. “He still need more.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know. But it’s hard to get him to go. He hates to shop.”

Geno nods. “Yes. He complain whole time at tailor.”

“I did not!” Sid protests, because he didn’t feel like he had. 

Geno gives him his teasing smile, tongue poking out between his teeth. “We take him to shop here, yes?”

Trina swallows and smiles. “I think we should.” 

Troy makes a noise across the table and all three of them look up at him. He doesn’t offer anything further and continues to pay attention to his food. 

“You can come too, dad,” Sid offers, knowing that’s not why his dad scoffed. 

Troy snorts. “I’m good.”

“We’re going to skate tomorrow if you’d rather do that,” Sid offers. Having his mom and Geno pressed close on the other side of the table is giving him courage. 

“Maybe I’ll stop by,” he says not looking up. “We’ll see.”

Sid nods and goes back to his phone. When he hits the last picture, of Geno standing on his deck in Nova Scotia, looking out over the water, his mom squeezes his shoulder and kisses his cheek. 

“Looks like you had a lovely summer, Sidney,” she says softly. “I’m happy for you.” He knows she doesn’t just mean the sights he saw and the places he went. He nods and smiles. 

She goes back to her end of the table, and they finish up their supper in relative silence. Trina shares news she’s heard from Taylor (she comes home on Friday) and a few of Sid’s relatives. She asks Geno a few questions about his family in Russia and seems genuinely interested in his responses. 

Both Sid and his mom attempt to drag Troy into the conversation a few times, but he resists. He’s not unkind. He doesn’t say anything rude. But he’s quiet. And Sid knows that means he’s unhappy about something. 

“Food is good,” Geno says when he’s just about finished. 

Trina smiles and thanks him. “Would you mind helping me get dessert together, Geno?”

Geno nods and follows her to the kitchen. Sid stands up to go with them but Trina shakes her head. 

“I think your father wants to show you something in the basement, Sidney,” she says and then gives Troy a look. 

Troy gets up without even looking at Sidney and heads for the stairs. For some reason Sidney feels like he did when he knew he was about to get yelled at. Like his dad’s silence during dinner was the calm before the storm. 

He steels himself and heads down the stairs after him. Better to get it over with. 

Troy’s standing next to his workbench, running a hand along the top of a bookshelf he’s making. His dad’s hobby (other than hockey) is woodworking. He’s actually really good at it. Their house is full of tables and chairs and other pieces of furniture he’s created. He made Sid his first trophy case. Sid basically designed an entire room around it in his new house. 

“Looks good,” Sid offers when Troy doesn’t say anything. 

Troy nods. “Almost done,” he says and pulls out a couple of stools that look nearly finished. “Made these for your birthday,” he grunts. “For that bar downstairs in your new house.”

“Thanks,” Sid says, surprised. Not that his dad made him stools. But that he still wants to give them to Sid even after he essentially ran away this summer.

Troy grabs a beer out of the mini fridge at the end of the work bench. “You want one?” He asks.

“Sure,” Sid says, wondering if this is what they came down here to see and if he should go back up and make sure Geno and his mom are okay. 

“You aren’t going as hard to the net these days,” Troy says after awhile. Sid feels his stomach sink. “I had a drill I wanted to do with you this summer--”

“Dad--” Sid says, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. 

“And on the power play, you’re passing too much,” Troy continues as if Sid hadn’t said anything. “And I’ve been reading up on some sports psychology mumbo jumbo and maybe--”

“Dad!” Sid says with more authority. “Just. Don’t.”

Troy looks up from where his eyes were trained on the top of the bookshelf. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t-- you know,” Sid says and sighs. He takes a long pull from his bottle. “I know I blew it. Let’s just-- it is what it is, you know? I don’t want to beat it to death.”

Troy’s eyes narrow. “This is how we get better, Sidney,” he says quietly. “How will you get better if you don’t learn from your mistakes?”

Sid takes a deep breath and tries to let it out evenly. “Yeah, well... we worked on some of that in Russia. And I’m sure the power play stuff will get addressed during the season.”

Troy nods once and smooths his hand across the top of the shelf. 

Sid feels his anger threatening to bubble out, the months of waiting for this exact conversation, for his dad to dismantle his game piece by piece, to detail how he’d let his team down. And somehow the fact that his dad couldn’t even let it go after an entire summer just feels like the last straw. 

“Is it so important to make sure I know how much I suck? Like, why can’t you ever just let this stuff go?” Sid says before he can stop himself. “I don’t know why I fell apart. I tried to score more than one goal, it just didn’t happen. I wanted to win. Sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes no matter how many drills you do and practices you go to and summers you spend doing nothing but thinking about hockey, sometimes you still lose.”

Troy blinks. 

But Sid’s on a roll now. “So while you’re already pissed at me, I’ll just let you know that Geno and I are together. So you know, I’m also gay. Which I’m sure will be a crushing blow on top of all the other ways I’m currently not living up to who you’d like for me to be.” He feels his hands shaking and steadies them on the top of the work bench. His dad has never really hit him, but for some reason, Sid feels like he’s waiting for a slap or a punch. He’s never talked back quite like that. He has no idea how his dad will respond. 

Troy’s face does a bunch of different things. But it seems to settle on confused. “Oh,” he says finally. 

“Yeah. So,” Sid says and once the dam broke on his back-talk he apparently can’t get the pissy tone out of his voice. Years of swallowing down what he wanted to say, years of trying to be who his dad wanted him to be, years of trying to measure up are infused in Sid’s tone. 

Troy swallows and looks around the shop like he’s trying to find something else, anything else to focus on. 

“So anyway,” Sid says after several minutes of silence. “I should go see if Geno and Mom need help.” He’s actually waiting for his dad to kick him out, or for that slap that doesn’t seem to be coming. 

“Wait a second,” Troy says as Sid steps toward the stairs. 

“I don’t want to fight, Dad,” Sid says, suddenly so tired.

Troy shakes his head. “Just--” he points to the big leather recliners he has set up by the large flat screen mounted on the far wall. 

Sid takes a deep breath and obliges. 

“So,” Troy says when they’re seated. He’s not looking at Sid. He’s just rolling his beer bottle back and forth between his hands. “Are you happy?” He asks finally.

Sid blinks. “Am I... happy?” 

Troy nods. “Yeah. Things are-- things are good then?”

Sid feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Umm. Yeah?” Because he is. He’s happy in a way he didn’t even realize he could be. In a way that he didn’t know was possible for him. 

Troy swallows. “Well, that’s-- That’s good.”

“It is?” Sid asks, incredulous.

Troy huffs out a nervous laugh. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“Well, yeah,” Sid agrees. “I just... that’s not what I thought you were going to say.”

Troy swallows and finally looks at Sid. “I don’t care that you’re gay, Sidney. I-- I kind of wondered I guess.”

“You did?” Sid feels like a cartoon character whose mind has just been literally blown.

“I knew-- I knew you were different,” Troy says and then seems to think better of the word. “Special.” And then cringes again. “Different than me,” he ends up with. “But I didn’t-- all I know about is hockey,” he says finally.

Sid’s mouth falls open, but he is unable to make himself say anything. 

“I didn’t know how to help you figure anything out. I didn’t do your homework with you. I didn’t know how to tell you how to get kids to stop picking on you. I just knew how to make you better at hockey.” He bites his lip and looks at Sid with a broken expression. “You were-- you are-- better than anyone I’ve ever seen. And I knew you could be great.”

Sid nods. He’s always known his dad thought he had potential. He knew the pushing came from a place of respect for Sid’s abilities. But somewhere along the way it got twisted until Sid felt like it was all he was to his dad. 

“I handled it badly,” Troy admits. “I pushed too hard. I know it.”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, because he did. That’s not something he’s willing to just get over immediately. But there’s a whole new layer to what his dad is saying that is hard for Sid to wrap his mind around. 

“But it was what I knew I could be part of,” Troy says quietly. “It was what I understood. I thought if you got the confidence from hockey maybe it would help you figure everything else out.”

“But you also basically told me to never do anything else but hockey. So I mean, how am I supposed to believe that?”

Troy nods. “I made some mistakes, Sidney. Once I saw how good you were going to be, I didn’t want you to get distracted. I did push a lot harder than I probably should’ve.”

Sid barks out a laugh. 

Troy puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not saying it was right,” he says quietly. “I see how it wasn’t fair to you a lot of the time. I’m not-- I’m not asking for forgiveness or trying to say you have to dismiss all that.” He levels Sid with a look. “I have a hard time being sorry about something that’s gotten you to where you are. I see the mistakes. I know I could’ve been a better dad to you. But--” He closes his eyes briefly. “But, I do want you to be happy, Sidney. And I know this is going to shock you,” he says attempting a smile. “But there is more to life than hockey.”

Sid’s eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“And Geno--” Troy swallows again. “If he makes you happy, then, I’m-- I’m glad.”

Sid’s heart is beating so rapidly it feels like it’s going to bust out of his chest. It doesn’t fix everything. But it’s still a pretty amazing thing to hear coming from his dad. 

“I’m happy,” Sid says, voice rougher than he thought it would be. “And it means a lot to know you’re supportive. Or whatever.”

Troy nods. “I still care about hockey.”

Sid laughs in a sudden burst of sound. “Yeah, I caught that. But. Thanks.”

“So I’ll come to the rink if that’s okay. Tomorrow.” He stands up from the recliner and tosses his beer bottle into the recycling.

Sid nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

“I still want to talk about you getting to the front of the net,” he says as they walk up the stairs. 

Sid groans. 

“We’ll see what Geno thinks,” Troy says, clearly trying a new harassment tactic. 

Geno and Trina are sitting at the dining room table, eating their apple crisp and talking quietly. Geno’s eyebrows lift at the mention of his name. 

“Net front presence,” Sid says to Geno, probably nonsensically.

“Yes, I tell him this,” Geno says because he’s a traitor.

Troy’s smile broadens, and he cuts a glance at Sid. “I have a drill--”

Sid groans loudly and gets up to serve himself some apple crisp. 

**

Sid feels wrung out by the time they get home. He was quiet during the drive, and Geno didn’t press him. And since then they’ve moved around the house more or less wordlessly, turning off lights, getting ready for bed. 

Sid knows Geno’s wondering what he and Troy talked about in the basement, and Sid wants to tell him, but he’s still trying to process it himself. 

They watch TV in bed. Even in Russia their bed time TV watching was usually in English. Sid wonders if Geno would want to watch Russian Letterman (Sid never did figure out the name of the show) now that they’re back in North America.

“We can watch Russian stuff too, if you want,” Sid says, face smooshed into Geno’s chest. 

Geno rubs his fingers through Sid’s hair. “Yes. Sometimes,” Geno says smile in his voice. “Like this too.”

Sid nods against him. “I feel like I was starting to understand more stuff.”

Geno squeezes Sid’s neck. “You do very good. We speak sometimes. Yes?”

“Да,” Sid says and kisses Geno’s chest. 

“Ты очень умный.” Geno says. 

Sid thinks about it. “I’m-- something.”

Geno laughs. “Smart.”

Sid smiles. “I told my dad,” he says after a few beats of silence. 

Geno makes a noise to show he’s listening but doesn’t say anything else. 

“I told him I’m gay. And that I’m with you.” Sid hopes that’s what Geno thinks is happening, or he’s going to feel stupid.

Geno wraps his arms around Sid’s back. “You say in basement?”

Sid nods. “He told me he sort of knew.”

“Was okay?”

“I mean--” Sid sighs. “It was weird maybe. We don’t talk like that. And I got mad at him for picking apart my hockey. That’s how it came up. I was trying to piss him off I guess.”

Geno kisses the top of his head. 

“He told me he wants me to be happy,” Sid says, still incredulous.

“You are happy?” Geno asks, fingers stilling momentarily. 

Sid nods and turns his face into Geno’s chest and kisses him. 

“Я тебя обожаю,” Geno says, voice thick. 

Sid doesn’t know what all of the words means, but the voice Geno uses to say them is fond. Sid raises his head and moves closer. He presses his lips to Geno’s. He tries to repeat what Geno just said back to him, mostly because he knows he’ll get it wrong and it will make Geno laugh. 

Geno smiles against him and shakes his head. He says it again slowly. And then adds, “Я тебя люблю.”

Sid recognizes that one. He heard Gonch say it to Ksenia and Vladimir say it to Natalia. And there was an entire episode of the Russian Sesame Street about it. 

“You do?” Sid asks pulling back just a little bit.

Geno nods. “Да.”

“Я тебя люблю, umm, too?” Sid says. He rubs his thumb across Geno’s chin and leans in again and kisses him. 

“Best,” Geno says against his lips. 

Sid huffs out a laugh and lays his head back down on Geno’s chest. It’s been a long day otherwise Sid would probably feel more inclined toward some sort of celebratory “I love you” dick touching. He likes that part, obviously. But really, what he likes most is being close. And he kind of thinks that maybe that’s how he’s so sure he loves Geno. He can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere Geno isn’t.

**

“I can shop for myself,” Sid says imperiously a couple of days later. 

Taylor laughs and shakes her head. “You can,” she says merrily. “But you shouldn’t.”

Geno rests his hand on Sid’s hip which takes some of the sting out of his mom, sister and boyfriend making fun of him while standing in the middle of the seaport farmer’s market. 

They ate lunch there. Taylor and Sidney couldn’t agree on a restaurant and so Trina suggested the farmer’s market, where they could each get whatever they wanted and Geno could get a cinnamon roll. 

And now they’re arguing about where to go to get Sid new clothes. 

“This isn’t New York,” Sid says testily. “We have the Gap and, like, Canadian Tire.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “That’s no excuse for most of what you have going on.” She waves her hand around in front of his jeans and polo shirt combination. 

“What’s wrong with this?” He asks looking down at his outfit. 

“Boring,” she says like it’s obvious. She gives Geno a look like she’s trying to enlist help. And Sid has to say so far his least favorite part of his family know about Geno is that they’re always trying to get him to agree with them and gang up on Sid. 

To Geno’s credit he mostly stays out of it, but he likes teasing Sid too much not to agree with them sometimes just to piss him off. 

“Why is what he’s wearing so much better than what I’m wearing?” Sid asks. Geno’s wearing jeans and some sort of t-shirt. 

Taylor sighs. “His shirt fits him better,” she says giving Geno a critical eye. “I like his jeans better.”

“I have to get my jeans made for me. You know that!” She knows that and she never tires of making fun of him for it. 

“Right, but they’re not, like, using a ‘mom jeans’ pattern are they? Let’s take Geno into the tailor and show him G’s jeans. You should have jeans like that,” Taylor says appraisingly.

“Stop staring at his jeans,” Sid says narrowing his eyes and pulling Geno closer to him. “And stop noticing how his jeans fit him.”

Taylor laughs happily. “You’re such a freak,” she says, but her voice is fond. 

Geno wraps his arm around Sid tighter. “We buy new shirts and ties?” He asks neutrally. “We look in New York next week too,” he reminds them. 

“Oh that’s good,” Taylor says. “You’ll go with him?”

Sid scoffs. “I have done just fine picking out my own clothes without Geno.”

Trina pats his arm and starts shooing them all to the car. “Know when to accept help from people who love you, sweetheart,” she says kindly. 

Sid sighs long sufferingly. 

Taylor laughs and skips ahead toward the car. 

“You’re pretty perky for a girl who isn’t getting her brother to buy her anything today,” Sid says testily. 

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You will.”

She’s right, he will. But it’s good for her to worry about it a little. 

Things have been pretty good with Sid’s family. Troy came to watch Sid and Geno skate both days they’ve gone and went out on the boat with them once to fish. But otherwise Sid and Geno have been on their own. Taylor informed them earlier that she wants to spend a couple of nights at Sid’s house before they leave, but she’s busy catching up with her friends in the meantime. 

Sid lets his sister and his mom (with input from Geno) pick out shirts and ties and t-shirts and shoes. He’s momentarily grateful he has to get his pants made for him so he doesn’t have to endure the same search for pants that’s been applied to everything he wears on his top half. 

Taylor also picks several things out for herself. She leaves for college in Boston in a couple of weeks, and Sid wants her to have whatever she wants. He doesn’t say it quite like that, but he knows she’s a little nervous about starting at a new school and if new clothes somehow help make her feel better, Sid’s happy to pay. But he grumbles and acts a little skeptical so she doesn’t know quite how easily Sid’s swayed by her. 

At one point Geno and Taylor end up wanting to go to a store across the mall and Trina wants Sid’s help picking out a birthday present for his cousin, a 15 year old boy very into hockey. So they split up. It feels vaguely dangerous somehow, but Sid’s mostly pleased that Taylor and Geno seem to be getting along well enough to want to go off on their own. 

Sid helps his mom pick out the gift, balking when she buys a Malkin Pens jersey instead of a Crosby. “You’re his cousin,” Trina reminds him. “He doesn’t want a jersey with your autograph.”

That’s probably true, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

“I’m sure Geno will sign this for him,” she says as they’re checking out.

Sid smiles. “I’m sure he will. And then he’ll never let it go. So thanks for that.”

She laughs and then pats his back soothingly. “I like him, Sidney.”

“Me too,” he says automatically.

“No, I mean, for you,” she says meaningfully. “He’s good to you, careful and thoughtful.”

Sid bites his lip and feels his cheeks warm. “Yeah,” he says, voice a little rough. “He’s... he’s great.”

She smiles and pulls him into another store to look at candles of all things. How can an entire store exist to sell candles? Who cares this much about candles? His mother apparently. Because they spend the next ten minutes sniffing very smelly (“fragrant, Sidney”) candles. 

“Jake isn’t going to want a candle called ‘Summer’s Breeze’, Mom,” Sid says after watching her waffle back and forth between two blue-toned candles. 

She gives him a look. “This isn’t for Jake. I’m buying this for the house.”

“I thought I was helping you pick out stuff for Jake,” Sid says watching as she moves on to Midnight Orchard (do apples smell differently at night?) and Cinnamon Serendipity.

She breathes in the Cinnamon Serendipity and nods to herself like she’s figured out the great mystery of candles. “And maybe I just like having you to myself for a couple of minutes, eh?” 

Sid holds Cinnamon Serendipity while she continues on to the green-toned candle section. He leans over and sniffs Calming Cucumber. “Ugh,” he says, pulling back. “That one smells like sweat.”

Trina laughs. “I highly doubt that,” she says but smells it anyway. She makes an almost imperceptible face. “Oh. Well, it isn’t my favorite.”

“Sweaty.”

“Not sweaty,” she says stubbornly. “Just not-- not a candle we’ll be purchasing.” 

He follows her around the store. And by the time they’re done he’s juggling four large candles, and he’s pretty sure he’s completely lost his sense of smell. As they exit the store to the main area of the mall, Sid sniffs the air. “Does it smell like vanilla out here? Or is that stuck in my nose now?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” she admits. They both breathe in deeply.

“Why are you guys smelling the air like wolves trying to pick up a scent,” Taylor asks coming up behind them. 

Sid jumps as Geno presses close behind him. 

“Smell like--” Geno sniffs him. “Many things.”

Sid laughs. “Sweaty cucumbers? Orchards at night? Summer breezes?”

“No,” Geno says eyes narrowing like he’s still trying to place the exact scent. 

“What’d you get?” Sid asks, eyeing the bags Geno is carrying. 

“Shirts,” he says with a shrug. “Help Taylor pick stuff.”

Taylor kisses Sid’s cheek. “Thanks,” she says. “Geno told me you gave him money so I could get stuff. You’re the best.” She grins at him and then drags Trina off toward the smoothie place. 

“I gave you money, huh?” Sid says and smiles. 

Geno shrugs. “Know you want.”

Sid feels something deep twist in his stomach. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Thanks.”

“Is easy,” Geno says. “I like your family.”

Sid smiles at him and feels sort of helpless to not let it go all squishy around the edges. 

“Hey, G,” Taylor says coming back with a smoothie. “Has he taken you to see the Sidney Shrine yet?”

Sid groans, and Geno perks up. “Shrine? The dryer?”

Taylor nods gleefully. “Yes. The dryer’s there. Lots of super embarrassing pictures of Sid when he was a dork.” She pats his arm mournfully. “Jerseys. Probably, like, gum he’s chewed and bits of his hair and stuff.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Not the gum or the hair.”

Geno laughs. “We go?”

“Oh, we’re totally going,” Taylor says decisively. 

“We are not doing that,” Sid says, cringing at the thought of walking through the Nova Scotia Sports Hall of Fame and being recognized checking out his own exhibit. 

“Want to see, Sid,” Geno says. “Take my picture by famous dryer. Talbo sees but not me?”

Sid sighs. “Ugh you suck.” But he does feel guilty Max Talbot got to see Sid’s hometown before Geno. 

Taylor grabs onto their arms and pulls them out toward the parking lot. “Just submit to it, Squid.”

“I don’t know why I miss you when you aren’t around,” Sid grumbles. 

Geno shoots him a sympathetic look, but it’s clear this is happening regardless of what Sid has to say about it. They’re even driving Sid’s car, so he could just drive them somewhere else. But the three people most capable of wrapping Sid around their finger are currently in the car with him, so he doesn’t really stand a chance. 

And Sid quickly learns that Geno and Taylor feed off each other in their delight of making Sid squirm. So once they’re at the Nova Scotia Sports Hall of Fame, Geno and Taylor are reverent to the point of ridiculousness, taking solemn and respectful pictures next to Sid’s first hockey jersey and the picture of him with his bottle in one hand and hockey stick in the other. 

They take turns standing in front of the dryer, and then force Sid to stand next to the dryer. Sid spends the entire time mortified by the prospect of people seeing him checking himself out. Luckily there isn’t usually a huge crowd gathered at the Nova Scotia Sports Hall of Fame, so they manage to dodge the throngs until the very last moments of their visit. 

And then it’s a family with three little boys ranging in age from probably 3 to 8. They’re ooo-ing and ahh-ing over pictures of Sid and his various hockey jerseys and helmets. They haven’t noticed Sid yet, and it would be easy to slip out, but Taylor shoots him a look. 

Sid sighs and waits until they move to the next part of the exhibit. The oldest boy sees Sid out of the corner of his eye and then does a double take. His mouth falls open and he comes a little closer. 

“Are you real?” He asks quietly. 

Sid laughs. “Yeah.”

“Do you live here?” The younger brother asks, incredulous. 

“You mean in the museum?” Sid asks and squats down next to them. “No. But I live in Halifax for some of the year.”

“Yeah, my dad said,” the oldest boy says with authority, gesturing to the man standing behind them.

“What’s your name?” Sid asks.

“Donny,” the oldest boy says. “This is Patrick and Robby,” he says with big brother pride pointing to his brothers. 

“I’m Sidney.”

“Yeah,” Robby says. “We watch you.”

Sid smiles. “You guys play hockey?”

“I do,” Donny says and looks up at his dad. “And I’m helpin’ Dad teach Patty.”

“I’m too small,” Robby mourns. 

Sid realizes he was probably Robby’s age when he first started playing. It’s hard to believe. He seems like a baby. 

Sid makes eye contact with the dad and smiles. “Well, your dad will know when it’s the right time for you to play.”

Robby nods. 

“You guys want a picture?” Sid asks after a couple beats of the kids just staring at him like they’re waiting for him to do a trick. 

“That would be really great,” the dad says as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. The boys gather around Sid, and they take several pictures together. 

“Are you guys Pens fans?” Sid asks, because it isn’t a sure thing. Canada claims Sid even if they don’t claim the Penguins. 

Robby nods. “I am!”

“Do you know who that is?” Sid asks pointing over to where Geno is standing, watching with a big smile on his face. 

“GENO!” 

Sid laughs. “Yep. I bet we could get him to take a picture too.”

So Geno comes over, and they take more pictures with Geno. And then with Sid and Geno together. They sign t-shirts and scraps of paper and answer questions for awhile.

“This is the best day,” Patrick says with a sigh and leans against his dad. 

“Thanks guys,” the dad says and shakes their hands. “Really nice of you.” 

“Is not problem,” Geno says and ruffles Robby’s hair. “Nice to meet you.”

They leave after that. More people are beginning to trickle into the museum and so they make their exit before anyone else can figure out who they are. 

“So that’s the shrine,” Taylor says with gravity. “The shrine and some worshippers to the shrine.”

Geno grins. “Dryer like alter.”

“Exactly,” Taylor says. 

“I’m going to dump you both in the lake,” Sid warns as he starts the car. 

Geno and Taylor laugh loudly.

**

They eat supper at the Crosby house, Taylor highlighting more embarrassing “Sidney Crosby as an awkward youth” photos for Geno. She pulls out old yearbooks and pictures from the one high school dance he went to. Sid has no idea how she even knows where this stuff is in his room since she was still pretty little when all of it was happening. 

But his room has stayed the way he left it when he moved out. And she’s had a lot of time alone in the house to explore it without him. That thought makes Sid nervous as he tries to think through the potentially mortifying things Taylor might’ve found over the years. 

It’s mildly irritating, but mostly Sid likes how much Geno and Taylor seem to like each other. He should’ve known how well they’d get along. They have a similar sense of humor, and they both love to talk about hockey. And, prodding Sid out of his seriousness is one of their favorite pastimes. So it makes sense. 

After dinner Taylor leaves for a movie with her friends, and Sid and Geno head back to the lake. 

“If my Russian was better, I could’ve made your family tell me a bunch of embarrassing stuff about you,” Sid says on the way home.

Geno laughs and reaches over to squeeze Sid’s leg. “Not pout,” he says and touches Sid’s bottom lip.

“I’m not pouting,” Sid insists. 

Geno smiles and leaves his hand resting on Sid’s knee. “Like to hear stories, see pictures of little Sid.”

“Why?” Sid says and it comes out whinier than he intended.

Geno pokes his tongue into the corner of his broad smile. “I like you, little bit,” he says with so much warmth and affection in his voice it makes Sid’s head feel light. “Like to know all the things about you. Like to see how kid Sid turn into this,” he says and squeezes Sid’s leg. 

Sid rests his hand on top of Geno’s. He doesn’t know what to say about that. “Thanks for caring about me enough to want to see me as a dork” seems like a weird sentiment. And “I like that you like my family” or “you being excited to eat the cinnamon rolls I like at the farmer’s market got me a little hot” both seem weird too. So he doesn’t say anything, just laces his fingers with Geno’s and hopes maybe he gets his point across. 

Sid started downloading the Russian sitcom Geno likes, and so when they get back they watch a couple episodes of that. Sid understands every third word or so, but he likes to watch Geno watch it. And during the second episode he gives up on trying to pay attention to the show at all and lays his head in Geno’s lap and relaxes into the feeling of Geno running his fingers slowly through Sid’s hair.

When the show is over Geno flips off the TV and pushes his fingers down the neck of Sid’s shirt. Sid turns onto his back so he can see Geno’s face. Geno drags his finger tips along Sid’s cheekbone. 

“Is good here,” Geno says, eyes crinkled at the corners. 

Sid smiles up at him. It has been good. Sid’s surprised how good. Not that he thought Geno would hate Nova Scotia or Sid’s life there. But because Sid was so desperate to not be there earlier in the summer, had felt so restless and unsettled. He felt like he was running from his home and his family and he assumed that when he came back that feeling would overtake him again somehow. 

It hasn’t. 

Seeing everything through Geno’s eyes has helped. Seeing the way his parents try to relate to him, even his dad in his awkward, stilted way, to see his mom try to find common ground with him, to watch Taylor welcome him so easily, reminds Sid that his imperfect family does love him, even if it hasn’t always been communicated in a way that easiest to receive. 

“I like you being here,” Sid finally answers and then turns his face toward Geno’s crotch and nudges it with his nose. 

Geno laughs. “Like puppy.”

Sid makes a face but Geno slides his hand along Sid’s jaw and then swipes his thumb across Sid’s bottom lip, pulling it down just a little. 

“У тебя такое красивое лицо,” Geno says, keeping his finger on Sid’s lip. 

“My face?” Sid asks, trying to pick out words he knows. 

Geno grins. “I like.”

“That’s not what you said,” Sid protests. 

“Something like that,” he says. “Come.” He nudges Sid upright. “Upstairs.”

Sid nods and follows Geno up to the bedroom. Sid brushes his teeth and washes his face and when he comes out of the bathroom Geno is emerging from the closet in a Penguins t-shirt. 

“New shirt,” he says with a smirk. He seems quite pleased with himself. He turns around to reveal a big 87 and “Crosby” across the back. “Taylor buy for me.”

Sid laughs. It’s meant to be a joke, and Sid knows he’ll never wear it around town or anything, but it makes something uncurl in his belly to see Geno wearing his number. 

“I guess this makes up for my mom buying my cousin your jersey,” Sid laments. 

Geno grins. “Family know who best.”

Sid rolls his eyes but steps toward Geno. As with all of Geno’s t-shirts it seems a little too small, but Sid likes the way it hugs his shoulders and calls attention to his waist. “Looks good,” he says, voice thick. 

Geno nods and looms over Sid, pulling him in by his hips. “Taylor say boyfriend should have,” he murmurs and kisses Sid gently. 

Sid smiles. “Let’s stop talking about my sister.”

Geno laughs and shakes his head, but leans down again and this time the kiss is hot and a little dirty. He uses his grip on Sid’s hips to move him backwards toward the bed. 

Geno lays him out and then crawls up the length of Sid to kiss him again. “All things about you hot,” Geno mumbles as he trails kisses down Sid’s jaw. “Think always about this.”

Sid swallows and skates his fingertips up and down Geno’s sides under his shirt. “Yeah?”

Geno nods. “Before too,” he says and sucks gently on the skin above Sid’s pulse point. “But now think always about it.”

Sid smiles and runs his fingers through Geno’s hair. His hair is so soft. They don’t talk about that enough. “Me too,” he says. “I never knew how soft your hair is.” Because it feels important Geno know all of his good qualities. 

Geno laughs and pulls away so he can stare down at Sid. “You say weird things.”

“Your hair is soft! That’s not weird,” Sid insists defiantly.

“I say I think sexy thoughts always. You say my hair is soft.”

“Soft hair is sexy,” Sid says. “Your soft hair is sexy.” Sid blushes. “I like all your parts.”

Geno’s smile gets bigger and softer, somehow simultaneously. “Still weird.”

Sid swallows and laces his fingers around the back of Geno’s head and pulls him closer.   “Я тебя люблю,” he says, probably mangling the pronunciation. 

But Geno makes a small noise and smiles down at Sid. “Me too,” he says and kisses him. “Я так хочу тебя.”

“What’s that mean?” Sid says a little breathlessly. 

“Want you,” Geno says and licks into his mouth. 

Sid melts into the kiss and nods against him. “Yeah.”

“Want to fuck you,” Geno says carefully and in English. 

Sid’s stomach flip flops. Geno’s eyes are dark and his lips are puffy and red and shiny. He’s the best thing Sid’s ever seen. “Yeah.”

“Yes?” Geno asks sitting back on Sid’s hips and looking down. 

“Yeah, I want you to.” And he does. They haven’t so far. Not because either of them has said they didn’t want to. But it hadn’t come up, and Sid wasn’t sure if Geno was into that. And the mouth/hand stuff has been pretty fantastic. 

Geno moans and runs his fingers up under Sid’s t-shirt. “Off,” he says firmly.

Sid complies, and Geno watches him closely as he pulls it off. He likes how Geno looks at him. It gives him confidence. 

Geno bites his lip and bends down slowly, dropping a kiss on Sid’s sternum, dragging his lips down to his stomach. He bites at Sid playfully and looks up at him. 

Geno mumbles something in Russian. 

“What?” Sid asks breathing heavily. 

Geno rubs his fingers together. “Lube?”

“Oh,” Sid says and blushes. “Umm.” He fumbles through the drawer next to the bed and finds a bottle along with a condom, which frankly is surprising given the lack of action the bedroom has seen. 

Geno grins and goes back to kissing and licking Sid’s stomach. He pulls Sid’s underwear down slowly, licking at the newly exposed skin until Sid feels like he’s going a little crazy. 

“Fuck, G,” Sid breathes out, hands finding Geno’s hair. 

“Yes,” Geno smirks and then finally pulls Sid’s underwear all the way off. He wraps his fingers around Sid’s dick and licks it contemplatively. 

“G,” Sid whines, because it’s too much and not enough. 

Geno laughs and then takes him in slowly, swallowing around him. Sid closes his eyes and loses himself in the warmth of Geno’s mouth and is surprised when one of Geno’s fingers slips behind his balls and circles around his entrance. 

Sid groans and nods. He can’t open his eyes like he wants to, like trying to process that many senses at once won’t work right now. So he focuses on the feeling of Geno pressing in slowly as he keeps up his work on Sid’s dick. It feels like some sort of magic, and it’s been long enough since the last time this happened that Sid’s just inclined to attribute it to Geno’s supernatural Russian power or something. And then Geno quirks his finger, and Sid nearly passes out. He moans, probably embarrassingly. But he doesn’t care. 

He loses a little bit of time, but Geno seems to be really enjoying his work, because Sid is close to coming, and Geno is still just fingering him, and that seems like sort of a tragedy. It feels good, but he wants to feel Geno inside him.

“G,” Sid says desperately. He opens his eyes and tries to get them to focus on Geno and remember how to put words together into sentences so he can tell him to quit doing the thing that feels so good with his fingers and do it with his dick instead. 

Geno, because he is wonderful, seems to get all of that just from Sid’s tone because he undresses quickly, with surprisingly shaky hands and rolls on a condom in a less-than-smooth motion, fumbling a bit and swearing in Russian. 

But then, finally, he’s pushing in. Sid’s eyes fly shut again, and he arches his back against it. Geno groans Sid’s name and then says a bunch of stuff in Russian that Sid doesn’t want to take the brain power to figure out at the moment. 

“Sid,” Geno says shakily when it feels like he’s bottomed out. “Yes?”

Sid opens his eyes and looks at Geno. The look on his face, eyes a little crazy, face a little sweaty, mouth turned in a satisfied smile, makes Sid reach out for him. “Yeah yeah,” he says, “c’mon.” He runs his fingers up and down Geno’s arms, flexed tight to brace himself, bracketing Sid in.

Geno bends closer and kisses Sid messily. It changes the angle enough that Sid moans loudly against Geno’s mouth. 

“Ты прекрасно выглядишь,” Geno murmurs. “Я тебя люблю.”

Sid nods. “Yeah,” he says, because some of that was that Geno loves him and holy fuck Sid loves Geno. So much, so much. He just doesn’t really have it in him to articulate it, much less attempt that in another language. So he just groans again instead. Which seems to have about the same effect on Geno that a declaration of love would have anyway. 

Geno wraps his fingers around Sid’s dick and strokes him in time with his thrusts. Sid starts trying to think of things he can buy Geno, like possibly a new car or a small country. Because just getting him an “I love you” bouquet of flowers seems inadequate at this point. 

Sid comes not long after, and the feel of it and the sound that Sid makes when it happens seems to motivate Geno all the more. His hips stutter and his breathing gets more erratic, and if Sid had to pick one way he wanted to see Geno’s face forever it might be how it looks right then. Flushed and a little sweaty, his eyes trained on Sid like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen or felt before. So completely into him in a way that is intense but reassuring. 

Later, they lie together, still catching their breath, and just being close. 

“That was--” Sid says with a sigh. “Really, umm, yeah. Super good.”

Geno smiles and looks over at him. “Yes,” he agrees and moves closer to kiss him sweetly. “Feel so good.”

“Yeah?” Sid asks, moving away so he can see Geno’s face. 

“Should not?” Geno asks with an amused smile. 

“No,” Sid says and feels his cheeks warm. “Just, you know, you do this more than me. So... you have more to compare it to.”

Geno laughs. “Oh Sidney,” he says and wraps his arms around him. “Love you so is best. Want you for so long so feels perfect. Want to do again and again all over house, in all countries, always.”

Sid smiles goofily. “Okay.”

“Why you not think?” Geno asks and rubs his thumb across Sid’s cheekbone. 

“It’s not that,” Sid says. “It’s just been a long time. And--” he swallows and then just decides to go for it. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Ever. So it feels kind of... new? But I didn’t know if that was just me.”

Geno shakes his head gently. “Not just you.”

Sid buries his face in Geno’s neck. “And we’ll keep doing this in Pittsburgh?”

Geno drags his fingers along Sid’s back. “You think we stop?”

“I don’t know,” Sid says quietly. “No? Maybe?”

“I say I love you,” Geno says softly but firmly. “Is not thing that goes away in Pittsburgh.”

Sid smiles. He knows how dumb it sounds. And all rational signs pointed to that being true. But this is uncharted territory for him. Everything about this summer has been different. Choosing something over hockey, over routine, over solitude. Trying new things, going new places, letting someone in, being vulnerable. Letting himself feel hope, think beyond the upcoming season to maybe what life will look like when everything that makes his life matter now goes away. That maybe there’s something new and better to give his life context and help him find meaning. 

But he just says, “Okay.” Because he’s said enough vulnerable things for one night. And because Geno is warm and solid and not going anywhere, not tonight or probably any night any time soon. 

**

“How do you not know how to water ski?” Taylor asks Sunday afternoon while they sit on the deck and drink lemonade. 

Geno shrugs. “When on lake in Russia we fish or drink,” he says with a smile. “You teach?”

“Totally,” Taylor says decisively. “It’s, like, important that you learn.” 

Sid rolls his eyes. “If he doesn’t want to water ski he doesn’t have to,” he says meaningfully. “You don’t,” he adds, looking directly at Geno.

“Not scared,” Geno says. “Want to learn. Look fun.”

Sid had taken Taylor around the lake before lunch so she could show him the new wake boarding skills she’d picked up over the summer. “We can start on two skis if you want,” Sid says reassuringly. 

Taylor scoffs. “G can slalom,” she says. “It’s so much more fun.”

“Slalom?” Geno asks as he stands up to take their glasses inside.

“One ski,” Taylor explains. She demonstrates the difference in stance and says a bunch of stuff way too fast about how to either stand up from one ski or drop a ski to go from two to one. 

“Yeah, we’ll start with two,” Sid says with a laugh. “You’ve been doing it forever Taylor,” he says. “You forget that it can be hard to learn.”

But Geno rises to meet a challenge, and they spend an often hilarious afternoon out on the lake with Taylor instructing Geno over the side of the boat while Sid drives. Geno falls and inhales so much water, over and over, Sid can’t believe he hasn’t called it quits. But he seems determined. 

When he finally gets up on both skis and manages to stay upright, Taylor claps and squeals and takes video to document the moment. She informs Sid she’s going to go over Geno’s technique with him later so he knows what he needs to improve. 

“You sound like dad,” Sid says with a smirk. 

Taylor grins. “How will he get better if he doesn’t practice, Sidney?” She asks with wide innocent eyes, quoting their father’s favorite phrase. 

“It’s super tiring, though, remember,” Sid says, wincing as Geno climbs into the boat on shaky legs. “He’s going to be tired.”

Geno collapses onto one of the benches, and Taylor places a towel around him and pats him sympathetically. “Real good, Malkin. Looked real good out there.”

Geno laughs. “Evil girl.”

She laughs delightedly. “No really, though,” she says. “It’s not easy. You did well.”

Geno groans. “Legs like jello.”

Sid feels warmth spread through his chest, and he gets up from his perch to give Geno a kiss.

Taylor scrambles to the driver’s seat. “Sweet. You make out,” she says with a hand wave. “I’ll drive.”

Sid gives her a look. “Slow, Tay.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not 12, dummy,” she says and then takes off so fast Sid smashes back into Geno. 

Geno laughs and wraps his arms around him and kisses his neck. “Need to sit in hot tub tonight,” Geno murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Sid agrees and nods. “Hopefully you didn’t hurt anything vital.”

Geno snorts.

“Not that,” Sid hisses. “I meant... pull a muscle or something.” But his face is already red, even though he knows Taylor can’t hear them over the roar of the boat’s engine. 

“Was fun,” Geno says tightening his grip around Sid. 

Sid smiles and leans back against him. “Thanks for letting her boss you around.”

“Good teacher,” Geno says. “She more patient than you.”

It’s probably true, but Sid makes a noise of disapproval anyway. “Well either way, hopefully it wasn’t miserable.”

“No,” Geno says as they near the boat dock. “Is good day.”

Sid hops out and helps tie the boat up and then offers his hand to Taylor and then to Geno, who rolls his eyes at Sid but takes it, still shaky from his many, many water skiing attempts. 

They grill hamburgers and eat outside and then sit around the fire and make s’mores. Later they get in the hot tub, and Taylor tells them stories about school and a few funny anecdotes she heard about Sidney over her time at Shattuck. 

They have to leave in a couple of days to fly to New York for press and commercial shoots. Sid didn’t think he’d be sad to leave Nova Scotia. He’d pictured a much different sort of trip. But now he’s sorry they don’t have more time to spend at the lake. 

When Taylor’s gone off to her room, and Sid and Geno are lying in bed, Sid turns to Geno and kisses him. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

“For what?” Geno asks and cups the back of Sid’s neck. 

“Just--” Sid doesn’t know how to say it. “For coming here with me.”

“Is my birthday present,” Geno says with a smirk. “No choice.”

Sid laughs. “It’s just-- it’s been good.” He swallows. “It’s been a good summer.”

Geno nods and presses their lips together again. He pulls away slightly, but stays close enough that Sid can feel Geno’s breath on his lips. “You come to Russia,” he says simply, like that explains everything. “Best.”

Sid huffs out a laugh. Words often feel like they’re not enough. No matter how many sound bites he learns or how easily he reads the point of a reporter’s question, Sid still finds communication difficult when it really matters. But Geno makes him want to try. 

“ Любимый,” Sid says tentatively. “Means ‘favorite?’” He asks, because that’s what Geno said the first time. But he wants to make sure. 

Geno smiles. “Hmm. Is not good English word. But in Russia is word to say to someone who is most important, who is best for you, who you care about most.” 

“Любимый,” Sid says again, but decisively this time. He smiles at the way Geno’s eyes crinkle up in the corners, probably at how horribly he’s mangling the word. 

“Ты делаешь меня очень счастливым,” Sidney says carefully. He concentrates on the pronunciation, tries to get it just right. “Я тебя люблю, Женя,” he adds.

Geno makes a pleased noise and kisses Sid again. “Yes,” he says and stays so close their lips touch while he talks. “Make me very happy, also. I love you, too.” He licks into Sid’s mouth gently. “Love when you say ‘Zhenya,” he admits.

Sid swallows as his face heats. “I never feel like I say it right.”

Geno gives an encouraging smile. “We keep practice in Pittsburgh. And next summer you know more Russian.”

Sid nods. Because it’s something he feels sure of, that there will be a next summer. He doesn’t know how the next season will go, if he’ll endure more of Twitter’s concern over his supposedly waning supremacy, if he’ll continue to disappoint Pittsburgh and provide sportscasters with something to talk about for the next nine months. 

But he knows about Geno. 

And for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough to be sure of that. It makes everything that has to happen between now and then feel less daunting. It makes him feel stronger, more capable. It gives him courage.

“Best,” Sid says and slots his leg in between Geno’s. 

Geno brings their foreheads together and smiles. 

**