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Geno was late for a lot of things, but he wasn’t ever late for practice. He took it seriously: he was there to work. But he wasn’t in the lounge beforehand, and he wasn’t in the locker room, and Sid was pretty worried by the time Gonch poked his head in and beckoned Sid with a sharp jerk of his chin.
They went out into the hallway. “Where is Zhenya?” Gonch asked in an undertone.
“I don’t know,” Sid said tightly. “I saw him this morning. He went back to his place to change, and then he was gonna come right here. He seemed fine.”
“Okay,” Gonch said. “I’ll go to his house. Let me speak with Mike.” He squeezed Sid’s shoulder. “I’ll text you. Try not to worry.”
Of course Sid was incredibly fucking worried all through practice. He kept his phone on the bench and checked it at intervals, ignoring the looks he got from Sully. Finally there was a message from Gonch: I have him. He’s unhurt. Come here after practice.
That—wasn’t incredibly reassuring, but there was nothing Sid could do about it until practice was over. He did the bare minimum of press, took the world’s fastest shower, and broke the speed limit all the way to Geno’s house.
He let himself in through the front door. There were voices in the kitchen: Gonch, and a smaller, higher voice that sounded like a child.
Where had Gonch found a kid?
He went into the kitchen. Gonch was seated at the table with a familiar beleaguered expression on his face. Seated beside him was a little kid, maybe six or seven, with a sandwich on a plate in front of him. The kid wasn’t wearing a shirt, and two small, fuzzy, pale gray wings sprouted from between his shoulder blades.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sid said.
Gonch and the kid both looked over. Fuck, that was definitely Geno. Sid had seen enough pictures of him as a kid to recognize him, even if the wings weren’t a dead giveaway.
“Surprise,” Gonch said dryly.
Sid edged into the room. Geno watched him warily, holding half of the sandwich in one hand.
“Who’s that?” Geno said to Gonch in Russian.
“It’s your friend Sid,” Gonch said. “Remember? Like your mother said.”
“Okay,” Geno said. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly as Sid dragged out one of the chairs and took a seat at the table.
“How does he know who you are?” Sid asked Gonch.
“He doesn’t,” Gonch said. “I called his mother.”
“Is this, like—a thing?” Sid asked. “Is this a thing he does?” Life with Geno was always pretty weird, but this was an entirely new level of weird that Sid wasn’t really sure how to process.
Gonch shrugged. “She said it happened once before, when he was a teenager. He went back to normal after a few hours.”
“What are you saying?” Geno asked plaintively.
Gonch said something to him that was too fast for Sid to catch, and then added to Sid, “Obviously he speaks no English.”
“Obviously,” Sid said. Geno was staring at him openly, his fingers squishing down into the bread. Sid wondered what Natalia had told him. “Maybe he should, uh. Do you want to take him home with you?”
Gonch laughed. “Not a chance. He’s your problem now. You can text me if you have trouble. I told him to speak to you like you’re very stupid. You’ll do fine.”
“Thanks a lot,” Sid said.
Gonch laughed again and patted Sid on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. “Zhenya, I’m going home now.” He said some stuff Sid didn’t totally follow, about Geno’s mother and something about Sid’s house, and then in English he said, “He cried a lot before you got here. He was pretty scared. His mother calmed him down, but try to keep him distracted.”
Sid felt his chest squeeze tight. Well, of course Geno was scared, if he didn’t remember anything, and didn’t even know Gonch. “I’ll do my best,” Sid said, and then it was just the two of them, him and a small, tow-headed Geno.
Geno took another bite of his sandwich. He was still staring at Sid. He was cute, with his little round face and his fluffy, downy wings. Sid was pretty good with kids, but he was being thrown for a loop by this child-sized version of his boyfriend. What was he supposed to do with Geno? How long would it take before he changed back?
“Uh, do you like drink?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Geno said, very slowly and simply, clearly taking Gonch’s instructions to heart. “I would like milk.”
Milk. Okay. Sid got up and went to rummage around in the fridge. Geno was a little bit lactose intolerant and didn’t usually keep milk in the house. There was orange juice, though. “Juice is okay?” he asked Geno, and Geno shrugged and said, “Yeah, I’ll drink juice.”
Sid grabbed the baby carrots, too, on a whim, and brought them over to the table along with a glass of juice. He set the bag down beside Geno’s plate.
“Those are my favorite,” Geno said.
“I know,” Sid said.
Geno fished a carrot from the bag and bit it in half. He crunched away for a few moments, and then he said, “My mom said you live with me.”
“Live—together?” Sid wondered if he had misunderstood. His Russian wasn’t the greatest.
“Yeah,” Geno said. “She said you love me, and you’ll take care of me.”
Sid felt his face heating up. Of course Geno’s parents knew about them, but—knowing was one thing, and it was another thing to tell your frightened, inexplicably de-aged son that he would be cared for by his male teammate.
He cleared his throat. “I—yes. I take care.”
“Okay,” Geno said, apparently finding nothing weird about that. He ate the rest of the carrot.
When Geno was finished with his lunch, they went into the den and Sid turned on the TV. He recorded all of the team’s home games, and he pulled one up now and said, “Watch you play hockey, okay?”
“That’s me?” Geno said dubiously, when Sid pointed him out on the screen.
“Yes,” Sid said. He dug a blanket out of the storage ottoman and shook it out, and offered it to Geno. Grown-up Geno never wore a shirt at home, and instead spent most of his time with a blanket draped over him.
Geno accepted the blanket and snuggled underneath it, tucked into one corner of the couch. He watched the game in silence for a few minutes, staring intently at the screen. Then he said, “I’m tall.”
Sid laughed. “Yes, very tall.”
“Where are you?” Geno asked, leaning forward on the couch.
“Eighty-seven,” Sid said, “but. Not on ice now.”
“Oh,” Geno said. His wings unfolded. “Do I still have my wings?”
“Yes,” Sid said gently. “I think, maybe always.”
Geno scowled at the TV. “I don’t like them.”
Sid’s heart split open. Geno seemed to have made peace with his wings over the years, but Sid knew firsthand that it had been a long and painful process. “Well, I like. If you—” He sighed. This was too complicated to say in Russian. “No wings, then you’re not you.”
Geno scowled harder. “Maybe I’d be better.”
“No,” Sid said. “Good now. I like wings.”
“Well,” Geno said, and snuggled deeper beneath the blanket. His wings lifted and spread.
They finished watching that game and started another. A few minutes in, Geno sat up and said, “I feel funny,” and shoved the blanket away. He frowned, his eyebrows drawing together, and then he kind of—twisted, and stretched, his body distorting nauseatingly. Sid glanced away, wincing, and when he glanced back, his Geno was there: grown up, himself.
“Oh thank God,” Sid said, and lunged for him.
He bowled Geno over on the couch. Geno landed on his back, laughing, and wrapped his arms around Sid’s shoulders. “You miss me?”
“I can’t deal with this shit,” Sid said. He buried his face in Geno’s neck. “This had better be a one-time thing.”
“Only happen twice,” Geno said. “That’s not so much.”
“Fuck,” Sid said. He sat up and look down at Geno. “You remember what happened?”
“Yes, very strange,” Geno said. “Like I’m kid again. But you nice to me.”
“Your mom, uh,” Sid said.
Geno rolled his eyes. “Of course she know you take best care of me. She tells me long time ago, she doesn’t worry now because you here and you do best for me, always.”
“Oh,” Sid said.
“Stupid,” Geno said fondly. “Come here, keep me warm,” and Sid lay down on top of him, and they finished watching the game.