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Luca’s had a long day. Long week. Long month, even. One thing on top of another and another just piling up around him. It’s late in the season and a lot of the team is nursing minor overuse injuries, himself included (his left knee is acting up again). His family back in Switzerland (he doesn’t really call it home anymore, for some reason) is concerned about him like always, but their phone calls and texts to check in are becoming less sweet and more annoying. The Ottawa winter is long and cold, with tastes of spring warmth teasing him before the sun hides and snow coats the ground again. He’s starting to get sponsors and he hates it, actually, because they shove him around and use him like some sort of prop. They’re a month out from the playoffs, which the Centaurs have a solid shot at for the third year in a row and will most likely go far in, and Luca kind of hopes they get eliminated in the first round just so he can have a break sooner.
There is one good thing to look forward to, though. The Raiders have a rare weekend off, and Cliff is spending it here, with him. He flew in after his morning practice today and is staying until as late Sunday as he can manage. So Luca showers and packs up after practice as fast as he can, rushing home (his apartment is home now, or maybe Cliff is, Luca’s not sure) to the comfort he knows is waiting there.
Luca barely registers the drive home. He barely registers stumbling up the stairs of his building, tripping over his feet in his haste. everything is a blur until the key turns in the lock and the door opens and—
“Hey pretty boy.” he doesn’t bother to take off his shoes or close the door behind him, opting instead to drop his bag and crash into Cliff at full force, burying his face in the crook of the taller mans neck and wrapping his arms around his torso.
“Hi.” Luca’s voice is softer than he’d like, and he’s melting into Cliff as soon as they make contact, held up by his own grip and his boyfriend’s arms around his waist. “Hi.” he repeats, just for good measure, just to say it again, because they’re both here and they have time and god knows that doesn’t happen often. Cliff steps back a little, just enough to create space for him to tilt Luca’s face up with a gentle hand on his chin. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
“Hi baby.” he presses a soft kiss to Luca’s lips and oh.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Cliff half leads, half carries Luca to the couch, sitting and pulling him into his lap. Luca toes off his sneakers and curls close, nuzzling into Cliff’s warmth. Strong arms hold him tight, and a gentle hand comes up to card through his hair. Luca could cry. He is crying, Luca realizes belatedly, tears falling down his face in gentle rivulets. He blinks rapidly, hoping Cliff doesn’t notice, but his idiot self tries to breathe and it comes out a sniffle and of course Cliff catches it immediately, he always does. Always attuned to him, on and off the ice. He stops playing with Luca’s hair to take his chin in his hand, tilts it up to meet his eyes, and Luca ducks away, hiding his face behind his knees. Cliff doesn’t need to see him like this.
“Hey, none of that. not with me, Luca. No hiding.” Cliff’s voice is soft, Luca wants to burrow into it, wants to make it his home and never leave, wants to settle in his chest where it rumbles warm against Luca’s back. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves, floats through his head, the lines of the familiar poem jumbled but there all the same. You do not have to be good.
He turns to face Cliff, kept steady by the arm around his waist still holding him close.
“There you are,” Luca can’t bring himself to look Cliff in the eye, even as his thumb swipes away his tears with a softness no one would believe he’s capable of, even as hands that have thrown punches on the ice and knocked grown men flat on their backs rub grounding circles into his hips, “I’m right here baby, I’ve got you.”
Somehow that simple assurance makes the tears come faster, and Luca hides his face in Cliff’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to fall apart right now, he wants so much but not this, never this. The world is crashing in and there is so much to do and there is no time for all of it. He has practices to go to and sponsorships to work out and family to take care of of and—
“Luca,” Cliff’s voice brings him out of his spiral, soft and firm all at once, “I can hear you thinking, baby.”
“Sorry.” Luca sniffles, resting his cheek on Cliff’s shoulder and looking at him with eyes he’s sure are red-rimmed.
“No apologies, you’re okay. What’s got you all upset?”
“A lot. Don’t really want to talk about it.”
“That’s okay.”
You do not have to be good.
Cliff goes back to carding his fingers through Luca’s hair, slow and gentle like its the easiest thing in the world. Luca feels himself start to calm, the tears on his cheeks start to dry. He’s only dimly aware of the world outside of him and Cliff, mixed-up lines of the same poem drifting through his head. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
“I missed you so much.” He mumbles.
“I know baby, I know. I’m right here.” Cliff’s voice rumbles pleasantly in his chest, sending a deep hum through Luca’s body.
Luca realizes that when he thinks of home, he thinks of Cliff. He has his family back in Switzerland and his apartment and the rink, but home is here, in these familiar arms, wrapped up in Cliff’s warmth and scent and the sound of his heartbeat alongside Luca’s own. He’s home now, even if it’s only for the next couple days.
“I know.”