Chapter Text
Troy insists on grabbing the cider out of the truck bed when they arrive to the cottage for the playoffs watch party. They're one of the last groups to arrive, the cottage's private driveway filled with expensive cars of varying taste levels. Harris opens the cab door and hops out, followed quickly by Chiron, who doesn't so much exit the vehicle as he does fall. Unfazed by his lack of grace, their silly dog immediately runs towards the front door, eager to be the center of attention.
"Go ahead in," Troy calls, rounding the truck. "I'm right behind you." He sounds casual about it, but Harris knows that he's trying to avoid the worst of the fanfare when Harris makes their big reveal. He's so cute Harris could just die. His fiancé's ears have been red for the past thirty minutes and they're only getting redder. Harris pretends that he can't see Troy wiping sweaty palms on his jeans, as if anyone is going to react badly to the news. He hates that Troy is anxious about being rejected by his closest loved ones at any moment, but he also knows that all he can do is support Troy as best as possible. If Troy doesn't want to be the immediate center of attention, that's fine; Harris is more than happy to play the role of emotional support extrovert for the man he's going to marry.
The search for a therapist has begun in earnest, but that kind of thing takes time. Harris knows that Troy's been talking to Ilya about his experience with therapy since Harris first brought it up to him. Troy hasn't offered much in the way of details, but Harris doesn't need to know everything. It's probably going to take some time to find a balance between ignorance and overcorrection, but Harris is confident that they'll be fine. Chiron nudges him as soon as he reaches the front door, as if waiting another second will kill him. He sits when Harris clicks his tongue, though his's dog's patience with him is thin as the door opens.
"Hello!" he calls, adding his shoes to the small mountain by the front door. Anya comes to greet them first, her little body full of wiggling energy that only gets worse when Chiron goes to join her. Over the small tornado of fur's chaos, Harris can hear what sounds like the pre-game commentary and overlapping conversations. No one is yelling about stats yet, at least, though it's still too early to count out at least one argument that escalates into a wrestling match.
Harris follows the sound of people and finds himself in the cottage's open concept kitchen-slash-dining area.
Not everyone on the team is there, but it's still a good showing. Bood and Shane are in the kitchen proper nursing a couple of beers, no doubt discussing their favorite ways to grill. Wyatt and Luca are at the table, deep in a discussion about something that sounds comic book related while Evan watches with a bemused amount of confusion. Harris can hear the shrieking laughter of someone's children in the backyard and the answering calls of mothers recommending caution.
He does a quick round, saying hi without lingering long enough to intrude on any conversations. He slowly makes his way to the living room, sharing cheerful hellos with Selena and Lisa. He's listening to Selena describe a truly heinous social interaction she witnessed between a woman with "the worst boob job known to man" and a store clerk when Ilya shows himself, entering the kitchen from the back patio.
"Harris!" Ilya shouts happily, pulling everyone'a attention to where Harris is standing next to Lisa and Selena. Ilya slaps his huge hands down on Harris's shoulders and gives him a friendly shake. "Finally, where is your boyfriend, huh? Since he skipped horrible jello dinner, I made something special." Harris wants to cackle; leave it to Ilya to unknowingly give him the perfect opening. He makes a show of casually shrugging before he's pulled into a big hug.
"I dunno about a boyfriend," Harris starts, pitching his voice over the noise for dramatic affect. As expected, the other conversations quickly fade as a half-dozen hockey players and their wives turn to listen in. Perfect. He waits until Ilya steps back warily to lift up his hand and flash his new bling. "But my fiancé is grabbing the cider we brought with us."
The reaction is immediate—Harris is scooped up into another crushing hug by Ilya and they're soon joined by the other guys piling on like Harris has just scored a game-winning goal in overtime. Harris quickly loses track of himself in the mass of bodies, overwhelmed for a moment. He can hear Ilya saying something in Russian. Anya and Chiron quickly come to investigate, barking and tails whipping against legs as they try to join the fun.
"That bastard finally did it!"
"Yes, finally!"
"Fuck yeah! Congrats, man!"
"Let's see that ring!"
"Wait, who won the pool?"
"Oh, fuck, you're right! Who won?" Harris has no way of keeping track of who is saying what, too full of joy and love. It's chaos as the guys start to disperse a bit, checking their phones to see who was keeping track of the betting pool. Honestly, Harris should have expected them to pull that type of shenanigan. No one notices that the door has opened until the dogs take off again. Then, as if they choreographed it, the guys turn to look at Troy as he enters the open concept kitchen-slash-dining area like a pack of wolves catching the scent of fresh prey.
"Oh, shit," Troy says, quickly putting the crates of cider on the floor before spinning on his heel and booking it back outside. Ilya follows with some colorful threats, leading a charge of the team as they chase Troy down to smother him with congratulations.
"Congratulations, Harris," Lisa says, now that the wall of excitable hockey players has disbanded. She's quickly joined by Selena, who holds out a conveniently timed glass of wine to Harris.
"Thank you! I feel like I've been walking on clouds ever since he asked," Harris says. It's not technically even a lie; Troy had asked Harris again, properly, after Harris had finished ravishing him. It couldn't have been better: Troy, flushed and beautiful, shyly asking, "So, will you? Marry me? I know you said—I just want to remember asking, y'know?" Harris might as well have died and gone to heaven except heaven was here all along.
"Okay, tell us everything, all the details," Selena demands, reaching for Harris to show off the ring. She's inspecting the inlay when Cassie opens the back door, Milo on her hip.
"Hey, Harris! It's so good to see—what the fuck is that?!"
"Swea' ja'!" Milo shrieks, clapping his adorable chubby little hands. Cassie pays him no kind as she joins them, taking Harris's hand when Selena offers it to her.
"What the fu—reaking heck, Harris! Did Troy propose?!"
"He was just about to tell us the story when you interrupted," Lisa points out, taking a sip of her wine. "Actually, hold on, let me grab Nicole so you don't have to repeat it fifty times." She marches outside and waves Nicole Boyle in with the rest of the kids.
By the time the guys have returned, Troy slung over Bood's shoulder, laughing and yelling to be put down, Harris has to start the story from the beginning anyway.
Troy is deposited in front of Harris, looking a little scuffed but overall fine. His face is flushed red and his hair is a mess. Harris doesn't know if it's possible to feel happier than he does in that moment.
"Hi," Harris says, beaming at his fiancé.
"Hi," Troy says back automatically, Harris's favorite smile making his face light up. "Having a good time?"
Harris kisses him once, twice, and a third time just because. "The best."
"Alright, alright! We are all very excited for Troy and Harris, yes. But I have score to settle. Barrett!" Ilya barks, making sure to clap his hands as loudly as possible. Troy stands at attention, a little bit of the color draining out of his face.
"Yeah, Rozy?"
"You stood me up for awful North American jello dinner. So I have made you something extra special." The look on Ilya's face is positively devious. Oh dear.
After the first few tumultuous days, they had decided to postpone dinner at the cottage. Well, Harris had insisted that Troy wasn't up for the drive and refused to leave him home alone, but that's basically the same. Ilya had made sure to whine in such a ridiculous fashion that they couldn't help but laugh at his antics.
Troy looks like he's staring down the barrel of a gun, poor baby. He looks at their teammates for some kind of life line, but none of them seem to know what Ilya's talking about. Except for—
"For the record, I was against the idea," Shane says mildly. Ilya squawks in protest, but Shane continues, nonplussed, "And it's not because I'm boring, Ilya, it's because I don't think that food should be added to jello moulds."
Oh, lordy, that sounds vile. Troy quickly shakes his head. "Nah, nope, I'm not eating whatever weird shit you put together, Rozy. Not a chance. I'd rather do an hour of bag skates."
As Troy and Ilya bicker about doing bag skates in the cottage's half-rink, Harris can't help but smile. It really is the perfect, albeit delayed, start to their summer.