Chapter Text
Kent knew he had to just keep going. This was his dream, wasn't it? This was what he'd been working towards his whole life.
The second his name got called, the applause a overwhelming background noise, he decided. Jack had. And now the only thing left was to keep moving. Up to the podium, a Pavlovian smile plastered to his face, tugging on a black jersey, shaking hands and letting the flashing lights burn his retinas.
He was ushered backstage, the first of many who would enter the room with their dream realized. The door closed behind him, and he sat heavily on the couch. He looked down at his hands, the jersey covering most of his palms. His hands were shaking, and he snapped out of his daze, letting reality crash down on him.
His lungs constricted and his breathing became erratic. He felt himself gasp for air, tears burning his eyes, before punching himself in the leg. He was not going to do this, he berated himself. Anger replaced the panic scratching at his throat, his fingers curling harder into fists, making him hiss at the nails digging in his skin. The TV broadcast from inside the arena, showing the boy who was going in his stead.
He breathed decisively, before standing up and entering the adjacent bathroom. The water cold on his face and the towel catching on the remaining stubble underneath his chin. He let himself stare back at the figure in the mirror before he heard the door to the room open, the sounds of the arena seeping in before being cut off.
Kent swore to never make himself disposable, and stepped out of the bathroom to greet the second overall pick.
Alexei Mashkov is starting his sophomore year in the NHL. The Vegas lights were blinding at first, but now he only sees the flies catching on the neon signs, zapping out of existence. He found himself an apartment, away from The Strip, but not far enough that the light pollution doesn't seep into the sky. It's empty, the already furnished expanse of the two-story studio apartment clean and austere. Maybe he'll have his mother send him a quilt, perhaps even one of his babushka's.
It has only been a week since he left home for the states, but he misses the feeling of home. He misses the smell, the laughter, the feeling of belonging. And, God, he misses the food. Vegas offers Russian cuisine, but it is not the same as his fathers borscht. Even in pastries the sugar is wrong.
Camp is starting tomorrow, the unexpected pick of Kent Parson makes everyone anxious of his arrival. He's heard what's happened, everyone has.
The dishwasher rumbles to life while Alexei settles on his couch, scrolling through the team's group chat. There were mostly excited exclamations regarding tomorrow, some friendly chirping, but also speculation around the prospects.
At the first day of camp he catches up with some of the guys and pushes his body until his muscles feel like jelly. He also realizes how lucky the Aces are to have a talent like Kent Parson. He was loose and relaxed around the guys before warm-ups, and during he was focused, determined and effective. He inhabited a sort of rare elegance and you could almost see every breath emanating through his body, moving steady and fast on his skates. If this was the kid they said was second to Bad Bob Zimmermann's kid, he probably isn't alone in wondering what talent Jack Zimmermann possesses. What he would have brought to the Aces organization.
Management calls him in with a couple of the other guys after they're done with media for the day. Parson, on the other hand, is still caught up with reporters.
"As you've probably understood, Parson is in a more fragile transition period than the other prospects." Lena, the Assistant GM says when they're all cramped inside her office. "Needless to say, Kent Parson is going to be playing with the Aces when the season starts, possibly the only of the younger prospects not to be sent down to our AHL-team." What she's telling them doesn't come as a surprise to any of them, the guys waiting for her to continue.
"We're going to need one of you to house him this season." Lena looks at each and every one of them, possible protests dying on the persons tongue. She then looks directly at him. "Mashkov, you're just getting settled in a new place, right?" He gives a wary, but affirmative nod. "Maxwell? Mueller? You guys still have a spare room, right?"
"Actually," Maxi pipes up. "I kind of agreed to move in with my girlfriend?"
Lena just arches her eyebrow chastising. "And you're telling me this now?"
"Sorry, I-" Lena just lifts her hand dismissively.
"Go sort this shit out with PR, Maxwell. And you've better have told your agent about this."
"Yes, ma'm. Of course, I'll do that right now." Maxi practically stumbles out of the room, making the guys chuckle. Alexei tries to trip him up more by stretching a long leg in front of him. The resigned look Lena gives them is enough to make them stand straight and clamp their mouths shut.
"Is there anything else I need to be aware of?" She looks around the room, settling her gaze on Mueller who is fidgeting with the thread of his sweatshirt. "Mueller?"
"Yeah, so I might have already moved in with some of the other guys already."
"Anyone who don't have the capacity to house Parson, please leave my office now." The guys seem eager to escape Lena's exasperated voice, leaving only Alexei behind. "Guess it's going to be you and Parson, huh?" Alexei swallows hard. "Just don't get my rookie killed, will you?"
"And here is your room." Alexei gestures, allowing Kent to inspect its interior.
"Cool, man. Thanks for doing this." Kent smiles politely at his new teammate and apparent roommate.
"Is no problem. I have space, you need place to stay, problem solved." Alexei looks genuine, if not a bit sheepish despite his lanky frame. They stand there awkwardly for a while before Alexei blurts out: "You want food? I go make food." Leaving Kent alone to unpack his bags.
By the time he's finished, his suits are hanging in the closet and his collection of snapbacks have gotten their own drawer. He lets the picture of him and Zimms stay at the bottom of his suitcase.
The smell of food being cooked wafts in through the door of his new room, making his stomach growl. Alexei blushes when Kent catches him singing to the radio, a Top 40 song playing through the kitchen, before asking for help cutting vegetables.
The dinner is nice, conversation manageably stilted, and he realizes he might actually be able to get along well with Alexei.
"Sorry, I just realized I don't know which position you play." Kent interrupts a story about Alexei's first game in the NHL.
"Is okay, draft is not always clear." Alexei placates, although they both knew that isn't true. Kent knew full well which team was going to draft him, before and after everything changed. Kent smiles at him either way, asking him to continue his story after learning that Alexei plays left wing.
He's used to sleeping away from home, but amongst other intruding thoughts, realizing that this is going to be his home for the foreseeable future keeps him restless and alert. Las Vegas nights, he finds out, aren't really dark when the lights are seeping through the blinds. He already misses home, where the seasons actually change and the weather isn't always stiflingly hot. When he wakes up he is surprised that he actually managed to get some sleep, although restlessness still stirs in his bones. He is also surprised to see a pyramid of pancakes being built up on the kitchen island.
"Blinis." Alexei corrects when Kent asks. "Is Russian. Better." Kent can't help but laugh, Alexei giving him a smile and a wink before returning back to the stovetop. "Sleep well?" he asks over his shoulder.
"Yeah, well enough. New place and everything." Kent knows that Alexei understands that the everything was what was really keeping him awake.
"First night in Vegas, I sleep maybe two hours," Alexei confesses. "Sister push me in pool to wake up."
Laughing, Kent accepts the plate handed to him. "That sounds like something my sister would try to do, if she wasn't like ten."
"She probably could. You tiny." Alexei chirps.
"Hey, I'm just not a giant like you." Kent smiles indignantly.
"Chara bigger. Scary." Alexei shudders.
Kent recognizes with wide eyes that the guy he's living with have played actual NHL games, and soon that's going to be him too. It's going to be great.
It's not great, it's decidedly not great at all. Alexei feels his lungs burn alongside his legs from cycling. He hates cycling on a machine. Warm-ups and lazy bike trips he can deal with, but this right here he didn't sign up for. Except the fact that he did actually sign up for this, along with most of the team. Right now he hates Kent Parson a bit. He's just sitting there like it's just a light exercise, while Alexei is sure he'll fall over when he finally gets off the bike. When that time times blessedly arrives, he leans most of his weight on Kent after getting off the wretched machine, citing the fact that Kent isn't even a bit wobbly on his feet. He also demands to go for ice cream.
"We can't go for ice cream, we just worked out." Kent says pointedly in answer to Alexei's only slightly whining voice.
"Fro-yo, is healthy no?" This ends with six Aces pressed together in a booth eating organic frozen yoghurt ice cream, Alexei pressed against Kent's side.
"The prospects are looking good this year." Larsson remarks while scraping the remainder of chocolate from his cup.
"I know." Kent says cheekily, earning a shove that causes his spoon to land ice cream on his nose.
Alexei licks it off. "Mm, strawberry."
"Ugh, that's gross" Kent giggles.
The rest of camp flies by, Alexei and Kent growing closer. They have established a routine, maneuvering around each other easily, dividing chores and cooking dinner together. It's easy, Alexei discovers, being around Kent. Everyone seems to gravitate around him. He's good at making people laugh and he's genuinely nice. He gushes about the type of cat he's going to adopt, shows pictures and uses cat-memes at every chance. The guys suggest he goes as a cat at Halloween.
"Of course I'm gonna be a cat," is how he responds. "I'll even paint whiskers on if we have a game."