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Quinn eyed the car parked in the designated spot of his new apartment building with the wariness of someone who wasn't used to getting something for nothing. Which, to be fair, was the way things had operated for the last seven or so years.
It was a nice car as far as things went, not necessarily what he would have picked for himself, but given how quickly things had moved over the last few weeks, he was grateful nonetheless.
"It is nice car, yes?" Quinn jolted in place at the intrusion to the quiet of the underground parking garage. He turned his head, eyes flicking between his new teammate and the BMW.
"Yeah uhm..really nice," Kirill Kaprizov was staring at him like he could see every thought in his still sleep-addled brain.
"You look tired," Quinn had to stifle the snort that tried to escape, settled for a little laugh before turning away from the car all together.
"Thanks, I guess?" He knew he looked exhausted, he was exhausted. He'd barely had time to process everything that had happened, never mind the practicalities of getting to training in a new city. He'd driven himself mad last night trying to figure out the logistics of his new schedule.
"You come with me, to practice? I'll drive," Kaprizov's way of talking was disarmingly soothing. The way he missed out certain words wasn't a foreign concept to Quinn, he'd skated with enough people whose first language wasn't English, but he found the direct communication comforting to a brain that hadn't shut the fuck up since he stepped foot in his new apartment.
"Yeah..yes, thanks. Which one is…" But Kaprizov had already turned away, the headlights of a nondescript SUV blinking slowly.
Quinn followed, mirroring his team mate and chucking his bag in the back before settling into the passenger seat. The radio was quiet as they pulled out onto the street and Quinn felt the heavy silence acutely.
They barely knew each other really, nothing more than opposition and statistics, and yet here they were driving to practice together like—well, teammates.
"Team is excited to have you, want to take you out drinking," Kirill said into the quiet, Quinn was grateful for the opening, for the reprieve on the spiral he was beginning to take himself on at the thought of the unknown he was walking into.
"I'm excited to be here, to see what I can do for the team," Kirill slid him a glance, eyebrows a little pinched in the middle like he was picking through the statement.
"Yes, but we get to know you first, we look after you here," he'd heard that before of course, had heard the 'we're a family, we look after eachother' speech a hundred times, hell, he'd even given it a few times himself.
He'd heard it so many times at this point that he knew the speech for what it was, a thinly veiled comment on what would be a lifetime of pushed boundaries and unachievable expectations piled on the back of his neck like a jenga tower.
And yet, coming from the smiling Russian, with his cheery attitude and carefully selected words, it felt different. It felt like maybe the pressure in his skull was being given a valve through which to release.
They sat in comfortable silence after that, occasionally interspersed with little anecdotes from Kirill about where they liked to hang out, places that would deliver food to their apartment building late at night, and Quinn felt himself relax into his seat, content to listen to his teammate talk.
"Quinnesota! You're coming out with us right—" "Quinnesota? Really Fabes? You could at least try to be creative," Quinn smiled to himself as Faber and Boldy started bickering a few stalls down.
Practice had gone well, there was definitely going to be an adjustment, but he didn't think it would be as steep as he'd imagined. If he was being honest with himself, it was just nice to have the focus on him being the new kid, and not the saviour of an entire organisation stuck in a futile rebuilding phase.
"You do not have to, if you are tired, today was big day for you," Kaprizov murmured from beside him, sliding his feet into white trainers and shaking his head to displace an unruly curl.
"Where are we going?" Quinn said back, zipping up his hold all and making a mental note to remember to text the family group chat about how practice had gone.
Faber slapped a hand down on his shoulder, clamping his fingers into the slightly tight muscle of his neck, "we're going to some Italian restaurant Zuccy wants to try, isn't that right Zuc?" he yelled across the room.
Quinn thought about it for a second, he really just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep, but he wanted things to be different here, knew it was important to these guys that he went.
So he nodded with a small smile, following the stream of teammates out of the locker room, through the tunnel and into the waiting cold.
His eyes were starting to close by 9pm. He knew he wasn't being very good company, but it didn't seem like anybody minded. In fact, by all accounts they'd been happy to just let him be. He'd chimed in to a few different conversations going on, offered his own opinions on the upcoming games but mostly just sat back and soaked up the atmosphere of a team that seemed genuinely united in both comraderie and goals.
Kaprizov, who had driven them both here was engaged in a spirited debate about—pasta shapes?—but occasionally would glance at him for a moment, once even going as far as to tilt his head to the side like a cat.
Whatever it was he kept checking for, Quinn wasn't sure, and it went unnoticed the final time, he was too busy staring off into the middle distance.
"Quinny? We are leaving," he snapped back into reality at the weight of a hand on his shoulder, the hand attached to the arm that had been propped behind him all night. Looking around at the table to see people starting to gather up their things, he nodded his head in agreement.
"Kap's decided it's time to go, apparently he's tired," Zuc said with a wink. But Kaprizov didn't look tired to Quinn, in fact he looked as alert now as he did when he woke up from his power nap at lunch.
He wondered what Zuccy meant by that, weren't they all tired? But then, looking at the faces of his teammates, they all looked like they were ready to go partying, not go home and curl up into a blanket.
Still, Kaprizov was ushering him out of the restaurant, a warm firm hand at the base of his spine and that was—new?
It was all new of course, but no one had ever touched him like that if it wasn't to shove him out the way. It was sort of—nice.
"He's not going anywhere Kap," Fabes snickered from his left, holding the door open for the group. But it wasn't said with anything other than familiar affection, especially considering the way Boldy grabbed him by the hip on his way through the door.
So Quinn let himself be led to the car, turning before he got into the passenger side door and smiled at the men who'd welcomed him with open arms.
"Thanks for inviting me out tonight, it was really nice to hang out with you guys," He ducked his head as he said it, not expecting much more than a series of polite acknowledgements.
"Awhh Quinnesota stop it, you'll make me blush—" Fabes was cut off with a smack to his ribs from Boldy— "what he's trying to say is we enjoyed it too, we're really glad you're here," they wandered off down the street with Zucarello, arguing none too loudly about places to go for dessert.
Kaprizov was standing at the driver side door, arms resting loosely on the roof with an expectant look on his face when Quinn finally turned around, but he caught the nod to someone behind him before he felt a hand come down on his shoulder once again. Clearly he was going to have to get used to all this touching.
This time, it was Foligno towering over him, Hartman stood slightly to his left. Quinn went to repeat his earlier sentiment, but Hartman—who up until this point had observed him a lot but said very little—beat him to it.
"You'll do well here," the statement was said as just that, a solid statement of intent, void of expectations. It felt like a bolster to hear him say it, a supportive beam propped up against a brain that was geared up to take the weight of the world from a man who had been with this team as long as he'd been with his old one.
"Thanks…I hope so," He wasn't really sure what else to say, but was once again saved the trouble when Foligno glanced at Kaprizov behind him and then removed his hand with a smirk.
"It's good to have you here Hughes, Natascia wants you over for dinner soon!" Hartman was already dragging the other man away as Quinn felt the car beneath his hand purr to life and he took that as his cue to leave.
He was surprisingly awake by the time they made it back to their apartment building. He was beginning to find the quiet between him and Kaprizov was a source of comfort, rather than a source of anxiety he often felt with other people. He chose not to think too hard about that.
It was only as he was pressing the number for his floor that he did the first out of character thing he'd done in years.
"Do you want to watch a movie?"
Kaprizov stared at him again, assessing his stance against the back wall of the elevator. It was while he was looking at him that Quinn realized with no small amount of embarrassment that he might have over stepped the mark. They'd spent all day together, and they didn't even know each other that— "yes, we will watch at my place, is more…homey" the other man paused before the final word, grinning as it came to him.
Quinn let out the snort that time, and blushed a little as Kaprizov's face lit up with joy at the sound. He was right, of course, Quinn's apartment was still full of half unpacked boxes and the empty walls made it feel less like his home and more like a hotel room.
Kirill's place, did feel like a home. The couch they were sat on was like collapsing into a cloud, and he couldn't help but reach for the blanket thrown over the back of it as he was handed a beer.
Kaprizov tossed him the remote, looking at something on his phone. Despite the titles being in cyrillic he landed on the latest mission impossible movie with ease, surprised to see the subtitles and audio both in English.
"Is good way for me to learn English," the other man commented when Quinn looked at him. He'd noticed the way the other man did that, knew what he was thinking before he said it. He'd also noticed the way he'd done the same thing on the ice today, knowing what his next move would be before he voiced it.
As the movie started, they both settled. But before long he found himself getting restless. Leg ouncing slightly, fingers tapping against the cusuhio he had curled around, the calm atmosphere morphing into the kind of self loathing that often found him late at night. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread starting to creep in, the familiar burning of his stomach acid settling in deep. He'd had a good day, a great day. And yet he couldn't quiet that voice in his head that said he wasn't deserving of being here, of having all this.
At some point it must have started to bother his teammate, the other man looking over every so often. By the third look Quinn was thinking he might just need to go home and let the spiral burn itself out.
"What is wrong?"
Kaprizov had paused the movie at some point, now turned completely to face him with a careful look on his face.
Quinn didn't even know where to start. He opened his mouth to say something dismissive, to apologise for being weird and ruining the movie. But the only thing that came out was a spluttered breath. Kaprizov must think he was an idiot, inviting himself over to watch a film only to sit and freak out instead.
"Quinny? You're breathing is weird, I will get you water," he hopped over the back of the couch, and Quinn listened to the sound of the running tap as he tried to get his lungs to take in a full breath.
The body that sat down was much closer to him this time, knees pressed together as he was handed a glass of water. Their fingers brushed slightly when he took the glass, condensation cool against his sweating hands.
Kaprizov watched him as he took little sips, eyes flitting all over his face in concern. Quinn wanted to be sick, his teammate was going to think he was a crackpot. He wouldn't be far off the mark with that assessment either.
"I do not think you are…crackpot? What is this?" Oh good, he'd said that out loud.
The laugh that rumbled up his throat at the confused look on the other man's face was a welcome reprieve to the anxiety of a few seconds ago.
"It means like..crazy," he finished the water, placing the glass down on the coffee table.
Kaprizov smiled as he leaned back against the couch, arm outstretched in a mirror image of how he'd been at the restaurant.
"Ah, I do not think you are crazy. This is a lot for you, yes? New team, new city…I understand," Quinn nodded with a small smile. If anyone understood the way he was feeling it was the man who was pulling him backwards into the couch. He felt a pang of guilt for forgetting the fact that the other man had moved to a foreign country to play hockey. Moving teams was nothing.
"Is different, but still hard. You need to be nice to yourself. Give…grace?" The warmth of the arm resting across the back of his neck settled the lingering anxiety, and he couldn't help the way he relaxed a little further into the hold.
When the film started again Quinn felt more settled than he had all day. The death spiral he'd been headed down had been halted in it's tracks by the gentle words of a curly haired Russian and an ice cold glass of water.
The tiredness that had abated earlier came back full force now, settled deep into the marrow of his bones as that soft blanket was pulled tighter across his lap.
Eventually—without thinking about it too hard—he let his head drop, resting against a surprisingly soft shoulder. He closed his eyes, let the gentle fingers of the other man ghost through his curls and for the first time in a while, gave himself grace.