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The first time Sid gets a picture of a cake from an unfamiliar number, he assumes it's a mistake. It does inspire him to run down to the local bakery though. The picture was some kind of Danish, he thinks, and it looks fucking delicious.
The second time a picture comes he thinks he should probably correct the mistake, because the slice of moist, rich chocolate cake in the picture looks just as appetising, and it'd be a shame if the intended recipient was missing out.
It's the cheesecake that finally does it. Sid is a sucker for cheesecakes, and the thought of someone missing out on a picture of something so delicious physically pains him. The cake looks light and creamy, perfect, and the berries on top look fresh and tangy, not like any of the over-sweet, mass produced crap Sid has tried and despaired over. His mouth practically waters. He texts back, The cake looks amazing, but I think you have the wrong number.
This Sidney Crosby no#? the person replies, and Sid frowns hard, because that's-- how the hell did some stranger get his number? He's pretty careful about giving it out, and he's sure none of the people who do have it would do that, but-- he can't think of another explanation. He should just tell the person no, but he wants to know how it happened, in case he needs to change his number. That would be a pain, but necessary. He doesn't want to do it without good reason though. Yes, he texts instead. How did you get my number?
Friend with Eric staal, comes the prompt reply. He date my friend from bakery.
Sid stares at his phone. That's-- that's good, he thinks. Eric wouldn't give his number to a creepy fan or anything. He's pretty sure, anyway. Jordy definitely wouldn't, and it's likely he knows about this. The question, then, is why at all.
He sends, Why? and waits, curious.
Like hockey, comes the reply. You best at hockey, I make best cakes, think good idea. I stop?
Sid thinks about it for a minute. He should probably check before he tells a stranger it's okay to keep texting him, so he calls Jordy, lip between his teeth.
"Sid?" says Jordy when he picks up.
"Um, hey," says Sid. "Is your brother-- Eric, I mean, is he dating someone who works in a bakery?"
"Yeah," says Jordy slowly. Sid breathes out, relieved. "Why?"
"Someone who says they work with Eric's-- "
"Boyfriend," supplies Jordy.
"Boyfriend," echoes Sid. "Um, they've been messaging me?"
"Messaging you what?" says Jordy cautiously.
"Nothing weird!" says Sid. "Well, not really. Just pictures of cakes? He said he knew Eric, but I thought I should probably check, so."
"That fucker," says Jordy.
"Huh?" says Sid.
"Eric got your number off me, wouldn't tell me why. I guess that explains it."
"Right," says Sid. "So, um, you think it's okay?"
"Probably," says Jordy. "Eric wouldn't give your number to a freak, man. I'm sure it's legit, and Alex loves his job, so I guess they're good people."
"Cool," says Sid. "Okay, thanks."
"No problem," says Jordy.
After they hang up, Sid hesitates another moment, then decides fuck it and sends, No, you don't have to stop. I like cakes. Maybe if you tell me your name it would be less weird?
Evgeni, comes the reply. Geno for English. It's followed by a picture, and Sid opens it to see a guy smiling at the camera. He's young, maybe around Sid's age, and he's got a nice, soft-looking face, dark hair and wide mouth. Sid isn't sure why, but he feels better about the whole thing. At least he'll have a face to put to a name. Or pictures of delicious cakes, anyway.
I guess you already know my name and what I look like, he sends back, but hi, I'm sid. Nice to meet you.
Nice to meet, sid))))))) is Geno's reply. Sid smiles at his phone.
The next message Sid gets is several days later, and it just says, Which favourite cake?
Well, that one's easy. Definitely cheesecake, sends Sid.
All he gets in reply is )))))), which seems to be some kind of smiley-face equivalent, and for the next week he gets nothing but increasingly delicious-looking snaps of cheesecakes.
It's pretty great.
The day the Pens beat the Leafs, Sid comes off the ice with a game-winning goal, first star, and a picture of what Geno tells him is a carrot cake cheesecake waiting on his phone.
It looks intriguingly tasty. Sid appreciates the creativity.
He can't reply until after he's dealt with the reporters, but once he's headed for his car he sends, wow looks good! I've never had one of those before.
Geno says, Yes carrot work good with cheese. Should try sometime.
I will, replies Sid once he's home. And then, because he kind of wants to know more about this guy who's been sending pictures of cheesecakes for a week because Sid said they were his favourite, Hey, evgeni is Russian, right? Are you from Russia or just Russian family?
From Russia, says Geno. Come to America year ago to work with friend.
Do you like it? says Sid.
Like lots, says Geno. Good friends, nice place to live, work. Nice weather. Not used to so much warm in Russia. Like Canada maybe, yes?
Pittsburgh's not so different to Canada, but both definitely cold. Raleigh must be nice.
Is nice, yes. You play here sometimes? says Geno.
Once or twice a season, usually, says Sid.
Sad not more, says Geno. Sid isn't sure whether he means sad for him or for Sid.
Maybe both.
The next message he gets from Geno says, Run out cheesecakes soon((( you like other cake?
Sid sends, Of course I eat other cakes.
Think maybe you lie, says Geno, and Sid snorts at his phone, because fine, okay, if there's cheesecake on offer usually he won't get anything else, but that's not to say he isn't more than game for anything sweet. If he can steal samples, he will.
He sends back, okay fine if I'm out usually I get cheesecake but I definitely like most desserts.
Good to know, says Geno. Maybe help sid find second favourite thing.
Sid laughs, feeling kind of warm. It's a small, stupid thing, but he likes that Geno isn't trying to change his mind about his favourite, just find him something he likes almost as much.
The next time Geno texts anything other than a photo of some kind of dessert is after the Pens' home game against the Wild. They win 5-2, Sid with two assists, and Geno sends a photo of himself on a couch with a giant dog sprawled over him, giving the camera a thumbs up.
I watch! he's added. Very good game)))))
Sid smiles at his phone and looks at the picture more closely. He can see more of Geno than just his face this time, and Geno looks tall, kind of lanky but well built. His shoulders are really broad, and his arms look strong, like he works out a lot. Sid thinks about Geno kneading dough at the bakery, forearms working, and swallows, cheeks faintly warm.
Thanks, says Sid after a moment. He's so huge! Or she? What kind of dog is it? It's probably best to keep his thoughts about Geno to himself. He's kind of punch-drunk right now anyway.
Jeffrey definitely boy, sends Geno. Dogue de Bordeaux.
He looks really nice. You prefer big dogs?
Biggest, sends Geno, which makes Sid laugh. You have dog? he adds.
Not here in Pittsburgh, says Sid. We have a dog at home, Sam.
(((( says Geno. I miss Jeffrey when first come to America. Take long time for him to come.
Yeah, says Sid. I'd love a dog, but I travel too much. Not fair for the dog, you know?
Yes, sends Geno. Dog need lots of walk. Jeffrey twice a day. Maybe one day you get.
I'd like that, says Sid. You sound like a great owner.
Best, says Geno.
Sid laughs. I'm sure, he says. I'm going to crash now. Night, geno.
Good night, sid, says Geno.
After an interlude of one ridiculously fancy-looking tart, which Geno informs him is chai pear and chocolate pudding, he messages not long after the team touches down in Ottawa.
You go home for Christmas? he asks.
No, not this year, says Sid. My family is coming to Pittsburgh.
Sound nice)))) says Geno.
What about you? says Sid.
Geno says, No, stay here for Christmas. New Year more big in Russia anyway.
What about your family? asks Sid.
Stay in Russia, sends Geno.
Oh, says Sid. That sucks, I'm sorry.
Is okay, says Geno. We talk, think maybe they visit in summer.
Well, that's good, says Sid. Something to look forward to.
Yes! sends Geno.
Sid smiles.
He doesn't hear from Geno again until a couple weeks into the new year, apart from one picture of this chocolate thing that is apparently a Yule Log. Sid asks him what it's for and Geno just sends, ????? not know, get order for bakery, have to read lots, very confuse English.
Sid's a day into a three-day break following a three-game road-trip when Geno sends, What kind of cheesecake you like best?
Sid thinks about it for a minute, chewing on his lip, then says, Something with lemon or berries. Not too sweet, so it goes with the cake, you know?
Geno says, Yes, and, Sid has good taste, and a while later a photo of a cheesecake.
This one has berries again, and Geno says, Has little bit lemon too, most blueberries and just little bit raspberry, so sweet and sour perfect. Make new recipe for you))))
Sid stares at it for a long time, oddly warm all over.
After they lose a shootout to the Rangers, the last game before the Olympic break, Sid feels kind of weird, half disappointed to go into the break with a loss, with a sub-par game kicking him off, and half excited for the new tournament ahead. Half anxious and half hopeful.
He can't decide which he should be more of, whether the last game or the fresh start is more significant in terms of momentum, which will cling to him tighter, impact his play more, and it makes him a little bit restless, a little bit unfocused.
He texts Geno, You said you like hockey right?
Geno says, Like very much. Play lots when in Russia.
That's cool, replies Sid. I played tonight. Wasn't so good.
Geno says, Sid best. Maybe take stupid penalty in third period.
You watched? says Sid.
Always watch when can, says Geno. Hockey best, sid best.
Sid flushes a little and says, Not tonight, sorry.
Score Olympic goal for me, now you know I watch, says Geno.
Sid laughs and says, I'll try my best.
Geno says, You score, I send cake in mail.
Good motivation, says Sid.
))))))) sends Geno, and, You alone now?
Yeah, says Sid. Some of the guys went out drinking.
You not like drink? says Geno.
No, I do, says Sid. Sometimes. A little. Not tonight.
Cake and bed? says Geno.
I don't have cake, says Sid. But definitely bed.
Dream about cake for goal, says Geno.
Sid laughs again and says, Probably.
Good night, sid)))) sends Geno.
Night, geno, sends Sid. And, because he means it, because suddenly it's easier to realise he was just thrown off by a relatively rare loss, to decide that a new tournament with a new team in a new country definitely has more weight than a league he's leaving behind for now, Thanks.
They still text back and forth during the Olympics. Sid sends a lot of pictures from around Sochi and the village, the arenas, because it seems like a fair trade for the amazing pictures of cakes Geno keeps sending him. Geno replies mostly with exclamations and congratulations and good lucks, which is awesome, since it means Canada keeps winning, keeps having games to win.
There's one memorable interlude where Geno sends Sid a picture of a cake in the shape of a maple leaf, iced in vivid red. It comes during the middle of dinner, and Sid chokes on his mouthful of food when he opens the message. Canada cake! Geno has added.
Sid cracks up and sends back, Really?
Geno sends, Get order at bakery for America cake. Alex tell Eric, Eric tell brother, then everyone think have to make Canada cake for fair.
Well obviously, sends Sid, biting his lip to stop his smile looking too dumb.
He's not entirely sure it works; Jonny is definitely giving him an odd look across the table. Sid coughs and pockets his phone, and remembers with satisfaction that he's pretty sure he caught Jonny sneaking over to the Team USA area yesterday. He totally has blackmail fodder.
The night before the gold medal game Sid stares at his phone for a long time, then sends, Can I call you? to Geno, feeling tight and anxious and hopeful, because it feels like Geno has been good so far, for him and for his luck, and if he ever needed some extra luck, some extra feeling of ease and rightness and just-- just good washing over him, it's now.
Yes, is all Geno sends, and Sid balances his phone in one suddenly damp palm before he hits call.
It only rings once before Geno answers and says, "Sid," low and warm.
"Hi," says Sid, biting his lip. Geno is-- he has a really nice voice.
"You okay?" says Geno.
"What?" says Sid stupidly. "Oh, no, I'm fine, I just-- gold medal game tomorrow."
"I'm know," says Geno, sounding amused now. "Big game, we hear about little bit."
"Right," says Sid, smiling a little. He feels the tension in his shoulders loosen, because this is just-- this is just Geno. He sounds almost familiar, in a weird way, like the words and pictures on Sid's phone line up perfectly with the voice in his ear now, and it's still impossibly easy to talk to him. "I just-- I guess I wanted to talk to you. Properly, I mean."
"Yes, good to talk," says Geno. "Sometimes I'm think so crazy, maybe I make up."
"Yeah," says Sid, because he gets that feeling. "So, um. How-- how are you?"
"Very good," says Geno. "Lots of work at bakery, Alex run away with Eric for Olympic break."
Sid laughs. "Really?" he says. "That's not very nice."
"Nice for him," says Geno. "I'm remind him we friends first, but not listen."
"Well, I guess Eric doesn't get a lot of free time during the season," says Sid.
"Like you, da?" says Geno.
"Pretty much," agrees Sid. "You should take a break when Alex comes back."
"Maybe," says Geno, chuckling. "Maybe not fair. No break for Sid."
"Well, if I have a medal, I don't think I'll mind," says Sid.
"Will have medal for sure," says Geno. "Only don't mind if gold, no?"
"Well," says Sid carefully, "I don't want to jinx it."
"No, bad for luck," says Geno seriously.
"Yeah," says Sid.
"Feel good for game?" asks Geno.
"I think so," says Sid. "I mean, I haven't scored yet, but that doesn't-- I've got some points, and the team's been great."
"Sid's team," says Geno. "Sid best."
Sid bites his lip. He's wondered for a while what that would sound like in Geno's voice, and it's-- he's not disappointed. "I guess," he says. "I mean, yeah, of course. We're a great team. The guys have been amazing."
Geno laughs. "I watch. Good team, best captain."
"I think you're kind of biased," says Sid, laughing too. "But thanks."
"Maybe save goal for most important game, no?" says Geno. "Smart captain. Make sense."
Sid giggles some more, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Maybe," he says. "I'll try, for sure."
"For serious," says Geno. "Play best Olympics so far. I'm watch, I'm know. Whole team and you too. No good team if no good captain. Best luck for tomorrow, da?"
"Yeah," says Sid, lying back across his bed and smiling at the ceiling. He's definitely got his extra luck, he thinks. Definitely feels good. Geno's right, it's been the best. "Thanks, Geno."
"Welcome," says Geno. "Glad you call, Sid."
"Me too," says Sid quietly. "I'm really glad you got my number off Eric."
"Me too," echoes Geno. "First I'm think maybe too weird."
"I like weird," says Sid. "I mean, I'm kind of weird, so."
"Good weird," says Geno firmly.
"Yeah," says Sid, and thinks, like he doesn't as often as he probably should, that it really is.
If Geno thinks so, then he really is.
The first selfie Sid ever sends another person is to Geno after Canada wins gold.
He's drunk on the victory and actual alcohol, and Geno has already sent a message that just says, Sid congratulations!!!!!!!!!)))))))))))). Sid snaps an awkward picture of himself, smiling like a moron, hair everywhere and cheeks flushed hot. He has to tilt the camera to get his jersey and the medal in frame, so he winds up stretched diagonally across the screen, and it comes out just a little blurry, but you can still see the medal, you can still see how happy he is.
He just-- he's really happy. Everything is so great. His team is so great. Geno is so great.
He sends the picture and sort of forgets he owns a phone after that point, but when he checks it again hours later, a little more sober but still deliriously happy, Geno has just sent, Beautiful.
Going back to the NHL is like this slow, happy slide into routine again. It's exactly like a month ago but better, in an intangible sort of way, because nothing has changed in the league itself, in his day-to-day life and participation, but he keeps remembering at odd moments that he's got another Olympic gold now, and it doesn't really affect the Pens but it's-- it's still awesome.
He still finds himself smiling hard during otherwise innocuous moments.
Geno texts him again almost a week in, after the Pens beat the Preds in Nashville.
Sid sees two pictures, when he opens his inbox: one of Geno holding up a shot glass, and one of Eric and another guy pressed close together on the other side of the table, empty glasses scattered in front of them. It's followed by, Maybe if you drink with me, like drinking better.
Maybe, sends Sid, smiling.
Geno looks flushed and happy, eyes bright, lips shiny. It's-- it's a good photo.
Where are you? adds Sid.
At bar with bakery friends and hockey friends, says Geno. Jordy say hi.
Tell him hi, says Sid. And Eric too, I guess.
)))) sends Geno. Jordy say Pittsburgh suck without him, but is okay, I know he lie. Eric too drunk, not listening. Russian vodka too much for him.
Sid laughs and says, Probably would be too much for me too.
Good to find out, says Geno. He sends another picture of himself, smirking at the camera, tongue between his teeth. Sid's face heats up. That's a really good look on Geno.
I'd like that, he sends, pulse speeding up a little. It feels-- it suddenly feels a lot like flirting.
Only when I'm around, can be dangerous, sends Geno.
Of course, says Sid.
When he goes to bed not long after, he jerks off thinking about Geno looming over him, wide shoulders and smirk in place, looking at Sid with bright eyes as he works him with his fingers, murmuring encouragement in a voice Sid has actually heard now, teasing him, driving him slowly crazy. He comes hard, and thinks that crazy isn't such a bad analogy.
March is kind of hectic, just like April will be, with a game every day or other day apart from one three-day break. Sid isn't really used to it, at this point in the season, nevermind following an Olympic campaign. He feels kind of stir-crazy by the third day, and pumped full of adrenaline for the run of games ahead.
He winds up sending Geno a sort of dumb photo of his dinner.
Just for one? Geno sends back. Look lonely.
Yeah, I live by myself, Sid replies. He's not sure whether he's just confirming the for-one part, or the lonely part as well. Maybe both, again. He probably shouldn't have sent the picture.
Geno sends, No girlfriend? Boyfriend?
No, no one, Sid says. What about you?
No boyfriend, says Geno. Sid bites his lip at that.
That's a shame, he says. Someone would be lucky to have you and your cakes.
Geno says, )))))only make cake for special person.
Sid remembers when Geno made that cheesecake for him, asking the flavours he likes best, and wonders if Geno is trying to say something.
He finds himself hoping that he is.
A couple weeks later, Geno sends a picture of his own dinner, with the message, Maybe not look so nice, but taste very good))))
I believe you, says Sid. What is it?
Mama borscht, says Geno.
Do you miss your family? asks Sid, curious.
Very much, says Geno.
Why did you decide to leave Russia? sends Sid.
Geno takes a little longer to answer, but eventually sends, Can work bakery in Russia, but want more for life.
Like what? says Sid after a moment, biting his lip. He doesn't want to pry, to make Geno uncomfortable, but at the same time, he wants to know.
Want to make own family one day, replies Geno after another minute or so. Hard for me, in Russia. Maybe not possible.
Oh, says Sid, feeling kind of useless, because his chest suddenly feels so tight, his hands oddly weightless. That makes sense. I'm sorry you couldn't at home.
America home now too, says Geno.
That's really good, Geno, says Sid. I'm really glad. You'll have the best family, I'm sure.
I'm hope, says Geno.
Sid kind of wants to-- to touch him then, or something, wants to put a hand on his shoulder or hug him, more than he ever does for people he's actually met in person.
Usually Sid messages Geno when he's by himself, because he doesn't feel like explaining their-- whatever it is to prying teammates, and also he feels like it's just for them, him and Geno. Still, when they're waiting to get on a plane in Minnesota, he's bored enough and the game was shitty enough that he gives in, sends, Game sucked tonight. One more on the road then home.
Geno says, Yes, not take chances when happen. Not many in game like this.
I know, says Sid. Third period was a mess.
Yes, says Geno. Both team maybe half in bed.
Sid laughs quietly, then looks around surreptitiously to make sure no one's watching. They're not, thank God, mostly either trying to nap or trying to stay awake. Ugh, he sends. Well, we'll get some wins before playoffs. At least we already know we'll be there.
Good to think forward now, sends Geno.
Sid nods to himself, because at this point, it is.
By the time playoffs start, texting Geno is utterly part of Sid's routine, as necessary as his 5pm sandwich and going out last onto the ice. Geno makes him smile, is so easy to talk to. He knows a lot about hockey and gets the things Sid says, doesn't reply with meaningless crap if Sid texts him about things that went wrong, or a goal he missed, or his frustrations about lines and plays not working. It's the same with stuff that isn't about hockey. He doesn't make Sid feel weird, he just-- he understands, or if he doesn't, seems to appreciate it anyway, seems to like Sid for all of it. He tells Sid things, real things, and Sid finds it easy, for once, to say things too.
Their playoff routine is similar to the Olympics, lots of fast-paced encouragements and congratulations from Geno, a few helpful observations, and quick updates from Sid.
Halfway through the first series Sid gets Geno's promised Olympic-goal cake in the mail. Geno never asked for his address, but Sid guesses it was Eric or Jordy again, and doesn't mind at all.
He smiles at it like an idiot for a long time, drinking in the bright colour of the berries and the sweet smell of the cake, before snapping a picture as proof of arrival for Geno and then cutting himself a generous slice.
It's fucking delicious, but he didn't expect anything less.
They're knocked out of the playoffs in a gut-punching seventh game against the Rangers. It's the kind of thing no one can quite believe, even after it's happened, and the atmosphere in the locker room is weird because of it, an added shot of awful, clawing disappointment.
Sid can't remember anything he said to the reporters five seconds after he's finished. He either apologised too much or not enough; he'll have to look at the footage later, when he can face it, to formulate appropriate follow-up comments. The thought of having to give them at all is-- well, he doesn't have to think about it right this minute, anyway. Right now he has to be with his team as long as they need him, even though all he wants to do is crawl into his bed in his dark bedroom and maybe text Geno, because Geno won't expect anything of him at all.
Thankfully, no one needs him to say much. He meets their eyes and knows they know, sees the same thing in their faces he can feel on his own. Flower hugs him and says, "Merci, Sid," which makes Sid's throat ache. It seems to be enough that he's there with all of them, that they're all there with each other until they can finally slip out and try for unconsciousness.
When he's finally in his car he sits for a long minute, hands clenched around the steering wheel, then fumbles out his phone and texts Geno, Just finished with the reporters. I think I was terrible.
Was fine, Geno replies. Nobody expect happy. Sometimes be captain hardest thing.
Yeah, says Sid. But I have to do the hard stuff well, or I don't deserve the good stuff.
Is why sid best captain, says Geno. Best hockey, best captain. Good heart.
Sid's heart turns over. He suddenly just-- he just wants. It's not so crazy, he thinks. He knows Geno. He knows what he looks like, what he sounds like. He knows that he used to play hockey, and he's a great baker, and he personally prefers chocolate desserts. He knows he has a dog called Jeffrey that he adores. He knows he likes to tease, but he's also so incredibly sweet. He knows he loves his family in Russia very much, but he came to America because he wanted more for his life than just work. Sid gets that, he thinks.
His whole life is hockey, always has been, but his dearest wish is that someday he'll meet someone and he won't love hockey any less, but he'll have more, someone to come home to, someone who gets it, gets him. Someone who can share his life and he can share theirs, and maybe everything, including hockey, will be better for it. Will mean more. It's always seemed kind of distant, like a dream that might always go unfulfilled, like something just a little too hopeful, a little too impossible, but it doesn't feel like that right now, not anymore. He just wishes that Geno was here, was waiting for Sid at home, was already curled up in bed, keeping the sheets warm, and Sid could crawl in next to him and just-- just be with him.
He sends, Can I call you when I get home?
Always, says Geno. Sid clutches his phone tight.
He makes himself wait until he's under the covers before he calls, lights off and phone pressed tight to his ear. "Hey," he says, hoarse, when Geno answers.
"Sid," says Geno quietly.
Sid breathes out, shaky.
"Sid?" says Geno again. "Okay?"
"I don't-- " Sid sighs. "I just-- I was pretty terrible in the playoffs, you know? I mean, I know I can't always be perfect, it doesn't always happen and I'm not trying to say we're, you know, we're only good if I'm good, because that's rubbish, but I just-- " He stops, and remembers he doesn't have to put anything on, for Geno, doesn't have to give him the soundbites. "It just sucks," he says. "For everyone, not just me. We had a better season than this. They deserve more."
Geno sighs into the phone. "Yes," he says. "Not selfish. Sucks."
Sid nods at no one. "I just wish I could've been better for the team, you know?"
"Yes," says Geno. "Of course. You captain, is what you want. Sorry, Sid. Wish I could help."
"You are," says Sid softly. "I just-- I just wanted to talk to you."
"Can always talk," says Geno.
"Thanks," says Sid. "Can you-- tell me about the bakery, or something?"
"Da," says Geno. "Try new cupcakes today, with drink. Little alcohol cupcake."
"Yeah?" says Sid, feeling his shoulders loosen just a little. "Were they good?"
"Some good, some bad," says Geno, chuckling. "You like lemon, yes?"
"Yeah," says Sid.
"Limoncello cupcake turn out very nice," says Geno. "Maybe try baby limoncello cheesecake, next. Like little cupcake. You like better, maybe."
"I'd probably like both," admits Sid, smiling despite everything.
"Maybe I send some," says Geno. "Alcohol cake, alcohol for drink, good for sad."
"You don't have to," says Sid, "But I'd really like that."
"Then have to," says Geno firmly.
Sid's chest pulls tight again, and when they hang up he actually manages to fall asleep.
He books a flight to Raleigh as soon as he's awake the next morning. It's probably stupid, and possibly he's still riding some kind of post-loss crazy, but he also still wants so badly. He thinks it’s time he took, for once. He couldn’t take the Cup, this year, but maybe he can take this.
There are things he has to stick around for before he can leave, clean-out day and press and promotions stuff; he double-checks his schedule to make sure, but after that there's just the long stretch of summer, and it feels like maybe everything this year has been leading up to something like this. At least everything since Geno started messaging him. He doesn't like to ignore these things. It's like the niggling anxiety that prods him into his routines, or his superstitions, or whatever you want to call them. The feeling that if he doesn't do this, it'll throw him off, and then nothing will go right. It doesn't even feel like-- like he's setting out to make some kind of huge change, which is generally something he avoids at all costs. It's just-- Geno is part of his routine now, part of his life, and it was an accident at first but then not so much, and then it didn't matter because he just was. Now Sid feels like he can't do without it, doesn't want to do without it, and for a while now he's been picturing it as more than just Geno's texts on a screen. He wants to be able to touch it, to feel it, and-- and know that it's real instead of just thinking or hoping it is.
The thing is, he's already jumped to that place in his head, mostly without realising it, and so going to see him in person isn't so much a change as it is just catching up. Making things right, making everything fit together, like there's one last piece in the evolution of his thing with Geno.
When he finally gets on the plane, it's at a truly ungodly hour of the morning. In a way Sid is grateful for it, because even if someone were inclined to recognise him past the sunglasses and hat pulled low over his eyes, at this time of day everyone seems to be working on autopilot. It's mostly a small hoard of half-slitted eyes and faces buried in oversized coffee cups.
It's still crazy early when he gets into Raleigh, and only just past six when he knocks on Jordy's door. Sid waits anxiously, hoping it's Jordy who answers and not his wife.
It is, and he looks mostly still asleep, hair everywhere and eyes shuttered.
He squints at Sid. "Sid?" he slurs. "What the fuck."
"Hey," says Sid, resettling his bag on his shoulder and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Sorry I woke you. I was just-- can you give me Geno's address, then I'll let you get back to sleep."
Jordy frowns. "Who the fuck is Geno?" he says.
"Oh," says Sid. "Um, the bakery guy?"
There's a long pause, and then, "Oh my God," says Jordy.
"Shut up," says Sid reflexively. "I just-- I don't know the address, it wasn't on the cake he sent me and I forgot to ask what the bakery was called, so I couldn't-- "
"Why couldn't you ask?" says Jordy.
"Um," says Sid. "I-- well, I didn't want him to say no. And I guess I wanted it to be a surprise?"
"Oh my God," says Jordy again.
Sid flushes. "If you could just give me the address-- "
"I don't know it," says Jordy. "I mean, I've been there once or twice, but I can't remember-- I think it's on-- hang on." He shakes his head. "Come in for a minute."
Sid follows him inside, and Jordy heads for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" says Sid.
"Getting dressed," says Jordy. "Eric lives next door, he knows the address."
"You can't just call him?" says Sid.
"Can't you?" says Jordy, raising his eyebrows.
Sid ducks his head. "Well, I was here anyway, and I-- we miss you."
"Aw," says Jordy, grinning. "Anyway, no, this is way too good to miss his face when we show up."
"Asshole," says Sid, sighing. "I take it back, no one misses you at all."
"Liar," says Jordy easily. "Be right back, okay?"
"Yeah," says Sid with another sigh, resigned to his fate.
Eric is similarly sleep-fresh when he answers his door, his obnoxiously blonde Staal hair sticking up everywhere and a pillow crease cutting across one cheek. He blinks at Jordy, frowning, then appears to notice Sid, who may or may not be hovering mostly behind Jordy, anxious and embarrassed. He can feel his cheeks heating up with it.
"Fix him," says Jordy, shoving Sid forward.
Eric frowns some more, shuffling back a little to let Sid and Jordy pass. "What?" he says, voice thick. "What's going on? Why can't you fix him? You know him better."
Sid makes a face. "Uh," he says. "Sorry, I know this is-- this is really weird-- " He scrubs a hand through his hair, "But Jordy says you know where Geno works?"
Eric stares for a moment. "Oh my God," he says, "Seriously?"
Sid feels himself go even redder, and he mumbles, "He's really nice, okay. And his-- the cakes-- whatever. Can you just give me an address or something? Jordy doesn't know, so."
He shoves his hands back into his pockets and looks at his feet.
"Um, sure, yeah," says Eric. He finally shuts the front door and adds, "Of course. I can definitely-- you-- you couldn't just ask Geno, though?"
"He didn't want Geno to say no," says Jordy, rolling his eyes. "Like he would. He's been stalking Sid with cakes for like, six months."
Sid frowns. "He's not stalking me. I said it was okay."
"He's having feelings," Jordy tells Eric wisely.
"Fuck you," says Sid, even though it's true.
God, he's probably going to be really bad at this whole thing. Fuck. He bites his lip.
Eric's face goes kind of soft, and he glares at Jordy. "Don't worry," he says to Sid, "I was totally weird about Alex too. And you can shut up, Jordan Staal, you've been weird about every girl you've ever dated, including your wife." Jordy snorts, but doesn't say anything. Eric adds, "Okay, well, Alex is already at the bakery, so we could go now? I don't know if Geno's working but you'll know where to go, and Alex will definitely know when he's gonna be around."
Sid nods thankfully. He wants this. He can do it. It's going to be fine. "Yeah," he says. "Yes. Okay, thanks."
"Cool," says Eric. "I just gotta get dressed." He looks at Jordy, and adds, "If you stop being a dick you can have one of the cookies Alex made."
"I'm not a dick, dickface," says Jordy. "Go get dressed."
Eric goes. "You can have a cookie too, obviously," he calls to Sid over his shoulder.
Sid shakes his head. "This is so weird," he mutters.
There are at least four cookies missing when Eric comes in to grab one for the road, though.
There's only one person behind the counter when Eric leads them into the bakery, and it's definitely not Geno. Sid recognises him from that one picture of Eric that Geno sent.
Even if he didn't, though, it would be pretty obvious from the way his whole face lights up when he sees Eric. "Why out of bed?" he says, grinning at Eric. "Miss me too much?"
"No," says Eric, rolling his eyes. "Well, yes, okay, you know I-- but that's not-- "
"Christ," says Jordy.
"Shut the fuck up," says Eric. "We were wondering if Geno's around?"
"Geno?" says Alex, brow wrinkling. "Da, in kitchen."
Sid honestly thinks he might have forgotten how to breathe, for a second.
Eric turns his beam onto Sid. "There you go, man!" he says.
"Uh," says Sid stupidly. "Yeah, I-- "
"Can Sid go see him?" says Eric to Alex.
"Sid?" says Alex, blinking at Sid. Then his eyes go wide. "Oh." He bites down on his lip, looking like he's trying hard not to laugh. "Geno bully you into come see?"
"What?" says Sid. "I-- no, of course not, I-- I wanted to."
"You come?" says Alex. "He not ask?"
"No," says Sid. "He-- he wouldn't. I mean, not like-- he doesn't bully."
"He's big bully," says Alex, rolling his eyes, but he looks incredibly fond. "Good friend," he adds more seriously, looking at Sid hard. Sid squares his shoulders.
"I know," he says. "That's why I came."
Alex looks at him for another moment, then nods. "Da," he says. "Okay, you go see."
He gestures to the door behind him, and Sid steps towards it without making eye contact.
"Good luck, man," says Jordy, sounding amused.
Sid ignores him and pushes through into the kitchen.
He spots Geno immediately at the long steel table, kneading a huge pile of dough. Geno glances up at the sound of the door and then freezes, eyes going wide.
Sid pulls in a shuddering breath. Geno looks so good, just-- even better in real life. He's wearing a hairnet, but he pulls it off as he steps away from the table, and underneath his hair is kind of messy, but it's a really nice look on him. The sleeves of his grey henley are pushed up over his elbows, and his bare forearms look strong and solid. His cheeks are slightly flushed. He's so tall.
"Sid?" he says, tugging off his apron as well.
"Hi," says Sid a little breathlessly, staring.
"You here," says Geno wonderingly. He steps around the table, closer to Sid.
"Yeah," says Sid. "I, um. Is that okay?"
"Yes," says Geno firmly. He keeps moving until he's about a foot away from Sid, and then stops, searching Sid's face. Sid feels the unfamiliar urge to just-- just step into him until there's no more space between them. "Of course okay," adds Geno softly. "I can-- " He lifts a hand uncertainly.
"Yes," says Sid, wondering if his face looks as desperate and hopeful as he feels.
Geno smiles, and it's kind of breathtaking, and then he wraps his long arms around Sid's shoulders and pulls him in. Sid presses his face to the base of Geno's throat and just-- just holds on, palms pressed tight to his back. Geno is warm and solid, and he smells like sweet things and spices, a softer hum of cologne under that, the tiniest tang of sweat.
It feels like-- like home. Like another place Sid belongs, like Pittsburgh or Cole Harbour, and maybe finally like someone he belongs with. It's terrifying, and crazy, and amazing.
"Sid," whispers Geno, pressing a hesitant hand to Sid's curls. When Sid just sighs and tightens his arms, Geno cards more firmly through his hair, stroking the skin under Sid's ear.
Sid shivers a little, helplessly.
"Sid," says Geno again. "I'm not think you ever come here."
"Of course I came," says Sid. "I-- you're important, Geno."
Geno pulls back just enough to look at him. "Important how?" he says.
"I don't-- what?" says Sid, confused.
"Because I'm want this," says Geno, tipping Sid's chin up and swiping a thumb over his bottom lip. Sid feels his pulse speed up. "But not want scare, or ruin friends."
"No," says Sid, and Geno's face falls a little. Sid scrambles to add, "No, I mean, you're not, I want-- I-- please." Geno's hand is still under his chin, and Sid tilts his face up further, asking.
"Sid," breathes Geno, and Sid thinks he might not ever get tired of hearing Geno say his name, but then Geno is leaning in, pressing their lips together, and Sid blanks out entirely.
Geno's mouth is warm and lush, and he's so, so gentle, big hands cradling Sid's face, the tips of his fingers pushed into Sid's hair, thumbs grazing his cheeks.
Sid clenches his hands over Geno's shoulder blades, arching into him, and when Geno's teeth graze his bottom lip, still so careful, he makes a high, wanting noise, almost a whine, and opens his mouth. Geno groans low in his throat and licks slowly inside, hands tightening just a little.
"Oh," gasps Sid when Geno finally pulls back. His lips feel used, buzzing, and Geno's are kiss-slick and pink. Sid leans up, trying to chase his mouth. "Don't-- come back."
Geno laughs quietly, pushing a thumb against the corner of Sid's mouth.
"I'm kiss you again, won't stop," says Geno.
Sid pouts, because that sounds like incentive, not a deterrent.
Geno smiles, poking his tongue between his teeth, like he knows what Sid's thinking. "Want very much," he says quietly. "But then Alex come in, get angry for bad health."
"I bet he's done stuff in here with Eric," says Sid, sighing.
"Yes, I'm think so too," says Geno. He smirks. "But then can't say I'm better."
"Well," says Sid, torn, "That makes sense."
Geno chuckles, pushing a curl off Sid's forehead. "Nearly finish," he says, nodding at the table.
"I can wait?" says Sid, biting his lip.
Geno makes a low noise, drawing Sid closer. "Yes," he says. "Wait. Try not distract."
Sid laughs and lets himself breathe in against Geno's neck. "I'll try," he says.