Chapter Text
A couple things Luca realizes after being drafted to the Ottawa Centaurs is:
- Acting normal around two players, one being your captain, that you’ve admired (read: had a crush on) for your entire life is harder than it seems, and,
- He’s not doing a very good job at it
Someone’s bound to know. He’s sure of it. Based on the amused looks that Harris, and sometimes Bood, send him, he’s pretty certain someone does know.
For the most part, it’s all fun and games. Shits and giggles, as the North Americans like to say. The two of them are married, and, well. They’re probably the hottest couple Luca’s ever witnessed in his 21 years of being alive, and, that too, probably the healthiest couple he’s seen operate.
Save for the occasional stumble of words when talking to one, or both, of them, Luca stamps his teenage crush down, wills his focus towards the ice. He’s just glad to be there, whether ogling at them or not. His dreams have come true: he’s been drafted onto an MHL team, let alone as first pick of the season back when he was. To be playing alongside Rozanov, and now Hollander, is an honor, and Luca is determined to work as hard as he can to make his team proud.
“Nice shootin’, Rook!” It’s Troy, clasping a hand across his shoulder. The final buzzer had rung out a moment ago: he’d made the tie-breaker goal just a couple moments before it did, heart pounding, eyes methodical as he gained possession of the puck. In a last ditch attempt, he had deked. Miraculously, and with seconds on the clock, it had been successful.
The team swarms him. LaPointe and Young are smothering him with their hugs, pumping their sticks in the air. Bood laughs, squeezing his shoulder.
When they’re back in the locker room, morale high and cheerful, Ilya pulls Luca in for a bear hug, lifting him up off the ground momentarily. He squeezes as he releases Luca, grinning with his teeth.
Next to him, Shane watches them, something akin to a fond, satisfied smile spreading across his expression. “Good job, Luca,” he says, reserved in his Shane way. Despite the lack of cheer in his voice, coming from Shane Hollander, it’s high fucking praise.
At the sheer amount of attention on him, and the fact that the two of them are looking at him after Ilya had just lifted him up (what is his life?), Luca laughs, half-flustered, half-exhilarated. “Thanks, guys,” he replies.
Bood raises his hand in the air and yells, “We’re going to Cornerstone tonight!”
The bar is a happening place. The Centaurs have dispersed across the room, conversing in their smaller groups. For most of the time, the younger members of the team, Luca included, have gravitated towards Shane and Ilya, and in extension, Troy and Harris, and some of the others.
The night is young, but the exhaustion of game day has been creeping up on him. Luca, nursing his beer, lets his shoulders slump, blinking the tired out of his eyes. Most of the adrenaline has worn off, paving way for fatigue.
Still, he has a weird feeling that he’s missing something. It sits with him, wriggling under his thoughts, unable to let him fully relax.
Catching his eye, Bood clasps a hand over his shoulder. Pulling him in, he asks, a little quiet, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Luca replies.
Dykstra, who had overheard, smiles at that, ruffling his hair.
The group is talking about something related to loons– or, more like Ilya is animatedly explaining why the creatures should be abolished while Shane interjects with the occasional, seriously, Rozanov?– when his phone buzzes.
Marci: i know you just played a game but have u done the lab report
Marci: what did u get for 3
Luca blinks at his phone. So that was what was nagging him after the game, what was nagging him throughout the night. Between the adrenaline from the game and taking two shots of tequila earlier, he couldn’t put his finger to what was missing.
His assignment. Finishing his goddamn assignment, due 9am Swiss time and therefore 4am his time, was missing.
Luca: fuck i forgot about it
Luca: well i actually didn’t
Luca: i just put it off til after the game even tho i know i would rather die then do it after
Luca: i’ll text u when i get to 3
Marci: lmao okay
Marci: ask for an extension i feel like saying you were playing in an MHL game is valid
Luca: i asked last week [crying emoji]
Luca slips away from the group, saluting them as he does. Catching his eye, Shane smiles, saluting back. Ilya offers him a wiggle of the eyebrow, as if to say, bedtime already?
Hazy vocalizes the sentiment. “Heading back to the hotel?”
Luca shakes his head. “No, I’ll be right back.” He shrugs, gesturing towards LaPointe. “We’re all at the same hotel, right? I’d just catch an Uber back with you guys.”
Luca: also it’s like 5am for u why are u even awake rn
Marci: im not i just remembered i needed to text u about question 3 lol
Luca scrubs a hand over his eyes. There’s an open booth at the corner of the place, not entirely secluded, but enough that he can (hopefully) concentrate if he tries.
The thing is, he’s not sure if he’s ever mentioned the fact that he’s enrolled in a Swiss University alongside his MHL career to anyone on the team, and he’s not sure if he should. He’s a rookie– these are the years he has prove himself as capable and that his focus is hockey, wholeheartedly.
He wouldn’t let schoolwork get in the way of hockey, especially when the team is relying on him, but… it’s a hard thing to describe. They’re a supportive team, the Centaurs. He’s felt nothing but welcome. But it is hockey. He’s on this team because he’s meant to play. God forbid there’s an off chance he’d have to quit university.
He’s not… lying, right? It’s never come up, so he’s never said anything. He’d never deny anything, if he was asked.
It’s nice, having something besides hockey. It’s difficult, and he’s absolutely exhausted, and he asks for extensions a little more than he should, and he gets them granted sometimes, but he’s managing.
He has a good system going for the most part. His assignments are online, exams online. Anywhere he has free time, whether that be at the crackass of dawn before practice or the late nights afterwards, he does them. He studies whenever he can. He’s lucky he’s been granted a special agreement with his university: they have blessedly supported his endeavors in Ottawa, supported his endeavors towards a degree. At the rate he takes classes, part-time instead of full-time, it’ll be another few years until he graduates.
Marci: if u can pls call me when u get to question 3
Marci: i actually can’t figure it out for the life of me
Snorting at the text, Luca reaches into his jacket and draws out a pocket notebook, just large enough that half of it always sticks out from his pocket. He keeps it on him at all times for instances like these— small moments in the day where he can put some time into it. He pulls up the assignment PDF on his phone, propping it up against his beer glass.
The noise of the bar drones out into the background. Luca breathes and begins.
At some point in their conversation, Shane lets his eyes drift across the room. Though he’d never been the biggest fan of bars and clubs, he’s quickly realizing that bars and clubs with the Metros was entirely different than with the Centaurs.
The Centaurs are fun. They don’t goad him to drink— when they go to the bar to get drinks for the table, a can of ginger ale is always acquired for him. They’re a good group of people, and most of all, they look out for each other.
This is the first time his team has felt like family. The relief, when he’s playing, or practicing with them, is palpable.
Across the bar, in the corner, a familiar bout of blond hair sits, alone. Shane squints, nudges Ilya. He gestures towards the man. “Is that Luca?”
Ilya turns his head, and, at the sight of the rookie, his lips creeping up into an amused smile. Troy and Harris, following his line of sight towards the mop of blond hair, share an incredulous look.
Luca is jotting something down on a notebook. Though he’s away from them, they can make out the intense look on his face, the one that he gets when he’s at practice or playing games. Luca winces at his notebook, shakes his head, and then erases what he had written.
“Seems so,” Ilya replies, snorting.
“Is he drawing?” Troy raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Jeez. The kid is something.”
Harris snaps a picture of him, saving it away for later.
“Fuck my life,” Luca grumbles.
“But that would be no fun,” Ilya says as he slides into the seat across from him. Shane sits down next to him, lightly swatting the man’s shoulder. Even across the expansive booth seat, they’re pressed up into each other, sides tucked against each other. Ilya leans back, languidly, arms splayed around Shane’s back, while the latter’s leaning forwards onto the table, elbows crossed over it.
Luca startles. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Hi.” A blush creeps up his face. Under the dim lighting, he hopes it’s unnoticeable. Before either of them can say anything, a moment later, Luca startles, glaring down at his phone. “Halt den Mund! Ich werde nicht rot!” He looks back up at them, sheepish. “Sorry. My friend is being stupid— no, you cannot meet them. I’ll get you a signature, if you’re lucky— no, I am not going to tell them— ich bin nicht in ihn verknallt!”
Luca glares at his phone, pulling his earbuds off. He plants his phone facedown on the table, doing his best to smile normally, thank you very much.
“Sorry,” he says.
Shane’s eyeing his notebook. “What is that?” he asks, curious in his gentle Shane way. Ilya’s line of sight follows towards it too, and Luca makes out his eyebrows creasing in concentration.
“Just, uh, notes,” Luca says. “My friend needed help. My friend from home, I mean— I was helping him. Because he needed help.”
“Right,” Ilya draws out. “You are good friend. Because he needed help, da?”
Luca nods, vigorously. “Yes.”
Nodding back towards the group, Ilya leans forward. “We came to say that I think it is time to leave. Do you want to come? If you want to stay, I think that Hazy is still here.”
“Yeah, I’m ready to leave,” Luca confirms.
Except he isn’t, because as they’re heading out, a fan, excitedly, approaches them. “Hi,” she says. She holds out a post-it note stack and pen. “Could I, uh, get a signature? And maybe a photo, too?”
“Of course,” Troy says.
Luca catches a glimpse of the post-it note stack she hands him. At the top left, there’s an emblem of the University of Ottawa, and below that, neat script that says, Department of Neuroscience & Behavior.
His mouth moves before his brain does. Luca blurts out: “Are you studying Neuroscience?”
There are varying degrees of reaction amongst his teammates. Seeming to remember himself, Luca flusters, heat creeping up his face. The woman nods, a little surprised at the question. “Yeah! I’m a PhD candidate at the University of Ottawa. I did my undergraduate degree in Neuroscience.”
The normal thing to say is probably, oh, wow, that’s cool. But Luca is not cool when he cannot figure out a problem that is worth 25% of an assignment. Luca swallows back his pride and asks, “Did you take Organic Chemistry?”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” she replies. “Lots of it.”
“Can I— Well. I’m sorry if this is, like, really weird to ask. But— um.” And, fuck. He probably sounds like an idiot. Usually fans are the ones who get nervous around them, not the other way around. “Can you help me with one of my assignments? I’m kind of lost.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. Shane’s expression, his reaction a little more subdued, shifts into intrigue. Troy blinks. Harris, who is the only one who hasn’t visibly reacted, offers him an encouraging smile.
Luca hastens to add, “It’s just one question! Sorry— you can say no. Obviously.” A little unhelpfully, he tacks on: “It’s due in, like, two hours.”
Amused, the woman laughs. “Of course. I’d love to help you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She sends him a sympathetic look. “Trust me, I’ve been there. What’s it on?”
“Radical mechanisms.”
“Aw, shit. Yeah, I’ve been there.”
In one of the most bizarre moments in his life, Luca gets tutored in Organic Chemistry by a random PhD student who had originally asked for his signature at a bar. It is well worth it, though— she explains things clearly, slowly, and by the end of it, he kind of understands.
LaPointe and Young are drunk off their asses, so Troy and Harris haul them out of the club, saying they’d make sure the two of them get back to the hotel safely. Though he’d insisted he would get a ride back when he was done, Shane and Ilya have stayed behind with him. They’ve given him space, sitting at another table, chatting.
“Okay,” Luca mutters, mostly to himself. “Okay, I think I get it.”
“Do another problem,” the woman says, kindly. “I’ll lead you through it.”
“So you are a university student,” Ilya says. As it turns out, Shane had driven the two of them, which meant he found himself in the back of their car, getting a ride to he and LaPointe’s apartment.
“Yeah,” Luca confirms, because there’s no point in lying.
“What are you studying?” It’s Shane this time, tone light, curious.
Luca pauses. “Well. I’m an art major, but I need to fulfill a science requirement, and my friend and I thought it would be funny to challenge ourselves to Organic Chemistry. Which, by the way, is not fucking funny, because I am genuinely dying studying for it in between my hockey career.”
“That is cool,” Ilya replies.
Something in Luca’s chest loosens. They’re not demanding he drop out. They’re not even remotely thinking that, it seems.
“Why school?” Shane asks, genuinely curious.
“Is it okay if this is cheesy?”
Ilya turns his head so he can quirk an eyebrow at him. “Is okay.”
“When I was younger—”
“—younger like when you had a poster of me in your room—
“—Ilya, stop it. Haas, continue—”
Luca, despite himself, laughs. “I always knew I’d go to school for art if I never made it into the MHL. But when I did, I was so excited, and I thought, why not both? So, yeah, I guess. Why not both?”
“I like this thinking,” Ilya says. “Very admirable of you, Haasy.”
Something warm settles into his chest. Luca smiles and replies, “Thank you.”