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It happens sort of by accident. One day, they’re just friends, drawn together by their shared language and their age and the shared experience of coming to a country they don’t know to play a game they love with a team they can be proud of. And then, one day, they’re just… Everything. There’s no defining moment where Christian can look back and say ‘oh, right there, that’s where he became mine’, but he can tell you exactly the moment he realized that he didn’t want it to end. He had just gotten out of the shower and Andre was kicking the soccer ball around in the house because he’s a giant ball of energy and he just never stops. He was halfway to his closet when he heard the crashing sound and the string of ‘oh shits’ that Andre let out as he ran to try and clean up whatever he broke.
He could have ignored it, could have pretended he didn’t hear anything, but he had to see whatever mess Andre had managed to make. And when he walked into the living room, the look on Andre’s face was all it took.
“I didn’t mean to, I was just—” Andre starts, looking up from where he’s crouched on the floor. Christian’s getting ready to offer to help or at least remind him that it’s his house and he doesn’t have to apologize, but he never gets the chance because Andre realizes he’s only wearing a towel and swallows—hard. The second he realizes he’s staring, he starts apologizing again.
“Hey, no,” Christian says, reverting back to Swedish and dropping down to still Andre’s shaking hands as he hurriedly tries to clean up the mess. Andre stops and looks at him again, a flush of red spreading down past the collar of his t-shirt and up to the tips of his ears. “You’re allowed to look. I don’t mind if it’s you.”
Christian thinks it’s funny that it takes so long for the others to notice, because really, Andre has never been discrete about anything in his life and the minute Christian gives him permission to stare is the minute it becomes his favourite thing.
Of course, Nicke notices it first, because Nicke notices everything and Alex—like Andre—had never been subtle a day in his life. Nicke doesn’t bring it up until they’re alone in a booth at lunch, as far away from the other diners as they can be without leaving the restaurant. Christian looks up and Nicke’s smiling, the same proud Papa smile he gets when someone does something good or makes a joke he’s particularly impressed with.
“What?” Christian says around his fork, suddenly very aware of himself. Nicke’s smile widens and he sits back, long legs stretching out under the table like Sasha’s normally do.
“You and Andre?” Nicke asks, his voice dropped slightly below its usual quiet. Christian feels his face burst into flames and knows that there’s no point in trying to lie. Papa is a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them and he’d see right through it. So instead, he meets Nicke’s eyes and smiles.
“It’s a good thing,” is all he says and Nicke huffs in amusement.
“This would be a very different conversation if I thought it wasn’t. I’m happy for you,” and then, like they never strayed at all, Nicke’s back to talking about how Sasha almost burned down their kitchen with the toaster and Christian’s head is spinning. When the story is over, Christian’s still not sure he’s processed the fact that Nicke knows and doesn’t seem to care—doesn’t seem surprised or concerned at all—and he knows he’s being too quiet.
“Thank you,” he forces himself to say after a minute of Nicke giving him the space to speak. Nicke shrugs with one shoulder and smiles with half his face. The words aren’t enough, too small and insignificant for what Christian is feeling, but Nicke knows that better than anyone.
“I’m not new to this. I know what it’s like to fall in love with someone that the world says you shouldn’t. If I was in the habit of letting it stop me, I’d be a very different person by now. Eat, we have to get back,” and when Papa tells you to eat, you eat. They don’t say another word.
Papa doesn’t tell Alex, which Christian only knows because he’s pretending to be asleep on their couch—with Andre using his whole person as a pillow—when Alex brings it up.
“So, they know they together or just think they really good friends?” Christian can imagine the way Alex’s nodding in their general direction, fingers carding slowly through Nicke’s curls the way they have been all night. He doesn’t hear Nicke move, so he’s probably still tucked safely under Alex’s arm.
“They know. They didn’t at first, according to Andre, but they do now,” Christian fights the urge to smile and holds his breath when Andre shifts, pressing closer with his whole body like he can remove every centimeter of the distance between them.
“So not too different from us then?” Alex asks, his voice fond and bordering on amused. Nicke laughs and Christian knows exactly what look would be on his face if he opened his eyes.
“Only because you were as dumb as they were,” and any thought Christian might have had about opening his eyes and letting them know he’s awake goes out the window when he hears Nicke shift and press a kiss into Alex’s mouth.
Somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s Eve Braden finds out, because goalies are weird and he’s too observant not to notice. Christian doesn’t expect him to be mad—because if there’s anything that he’s learned about Brandi and Braden Holtby it’s that they’re the coolest most accepting people on the planet—but he’s also not expecting the raise of the eyebrow and the smile. Braden doesn’t even miss a beat when Brandi comes back and drops into her seat at the table and Christian isn’t sure what to make of it.
The rest of the team finds out all at once, which okay, might be why it seemed so overwhelming. Christian should have seen it coming, because he’s a smart guy and Andre’s a very affectionate person. But he didn’t. He was too busy hugging Papa and listening to the sounds of his teammates celebrating to see Andre coming. The kiss is good and the way Andre’s fingers find his skin under his under armor is good and the looks on the faces of his teammates when Andre pulls back and hides against his neck, well, those are mostly good too.
He pretends he doesn’t see the money changing hands as the people who bet on it collect and intentionally ignores the only look in the room that might be negative, because this is what he wanted all along and even if he wasn’t planning on telling them now, he would have told them one day.
“Kiss him again, kid, wipe that sappy-ass look off of his face,” and the laughter makes a good soundtrack for what might be the best kiss he’s ever had.