Chapter Text
Sam Dickinson didn’t consider himself to be a jealous person.
Whenever he got healthy scratched by Warsovsky on a random afternoon, he bit back the bitter taste in his mouth, replacing it with a smile, and got ready to show up and support his team. When he was snubbed week after week for a spot on their powerplay lines, he didn’t dare complain. Instead, Sam channeled his energy into proving he could be a better player, so the next time Klingberg was out, he could maybe weasel his way in.
Even when the younger Sharks could get themselves out to the bar, usually after a particularly gratifying win, Sam couldn’t even pretend to be jealous at the girls Celebrini picked up, or the way people seemed to gravitate towards Smith on the dancefloor. Hell, he didn’t even mind when Misa would disappear with a pretty brunette tucked under his arm, even though he had promised Sam back in the locker room that they’d go back to Toff’s and order an extra large celebratory pizza.
So yeah, Sam would consider himself to be an unbothered person. He refused to let anything settle too deep in his bones. It was something he learned when he was younger, way before he even stepped foot on the ice for the London Knights, way before he was considered an NHL prospect. Sam preferred to let everything roll over him like a wave, never lingering for too long. Even an aggressive tide would simmer in minutes.
Yet, as of late, something had been plaguing him. This sinking emotion that felt both too still and like a massive tsunami tearing apart his perfect shoreline. He first felt the feeling fester back in Montreal, or maybe a day before, when the Sharks had announced they’d be rapidly flying in some players from the Barracuda to replace some injured players. While nothing about this was new to Sam, he was still struck the wrong way, as if someone had hit him awkwardly into the boards.
Sam must have been brooding over his plate of non-meal plan regulated hotel eggs and bacon, as when Toff sat down across from him at breakfast, he wasted no time asking “So what crawled up your ass and died last night?”
Looking up from his sad plate, Sam offered a shrug before blindly returning to pushing around the contents of his plate with a fork. “Nothing Dad” he offered in response, putting extra emphasis on the parental nickname. He knew Toff felt indifferent about it, claiming he was still a little youthful. His wife, Cat, on the other hand, took on the role of being the team mom like a champ, practically looking after all the young guys, Sam included.
Quite honestly, Sam spent more time at the Toffoli’s place than at his own sad apartment. Sure part of that, well actually most of that, was due to Misa staying with them, but Sam saw the Toffoli’s as the closest thing he had to family out in San Jose. They were also more than welcome to have him around the house, even clearing out a little drawer in Misa’s guest room so he could store a few belongings for the days he didn’t want to go back home.
Sam could tell Toff was fighting the urge to roll his eyes, offering a long blink instead. “Sam, you’re sitting at a hotel breakfast, at eight thirty in the morning, staring into your eggs like they’ve personally wronged you.” Sam knew he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t want to admit it. “This isn’t your routine at all Mr. 'I sleep until at least nine thirty unless we have mandatory practice.’” he said, making quotation marks with his fingers.
Sam opened his mouth, trying to get a word in, but Toff just kept talking. “Plus if you’re ever awake this early, you at least wake Misa up to drag him around with you, just so you don’t need to spend the mornings alone-” Toff paused, looking at the empty seat next to Sam, noticing a significant lack of another plate and cup. “Where is Misa anyways?”
And there it was. The dreadful question that Sam was hoping to avoid.
His jaw tensed, teeth grinding together and bringing pressure throughout this entire head. Sam swallowed thickly though the grit, throat feeling tight. He knew that Toff was slowly starting to piece things together. It wasn’t that Misa was off grabbing his own food or that he had texted Sam that he’d be downstairs in a minute. If that was the case, there would be a small pile of pineapple from the fruit bowls forming on a side plate or a second cup lingering too close to Sam’s head.
It became jarringly clear that Misa wasn’t at breakfast at all, and what was worse, was the lingering notion that Sam hadn’t even talked to his friend this morning. Looking at Sam, Misa’s absence was written all over his face. Anyone who knew Sam could have put two and two together.
What people didn’t know however is Misa hadn’t been absent for only this morning, but had been practically MIA for the last twelve hours. It was strange behaviour for two boys who were close friends, teammates, and roommates for roadies. Their lives were basically in tandem nowadays, their routines syncing sometime as early as training camp. Now they were simply too linked to break the bond- or at least Sam had thought they were, until last night.
Picking up a forkful of watery egg, Sam forced himself to take a bite, barely chewing and swallowing hard. “Misa was a little occupied, so I didn’t even bother,” he admitted, looking down at his plate to avoid Toff’s confused and questioning gaze. Admitting that aloud made something churn in Sam’s stomach, nausea hitting like a tank. “He, uh” Sam coughed, trying to delay the inevitable, “Waited up to make sure Cherny got in alright, even asked Warso if they could room together for tonight, just so Cherny wouldn’t disturb anyone coming in.”
Sam thought that answer would suffice, but Toff didn’t even acknowledge his reply, simply staying quiet, as if he was silently pushing Sam to say more. He knew this was an intrinsic Toffoli trait, one Cat used on him time and time again, but he didn’t realize Toff knew how to play the same cards. “I just didn’t want to disturb either of them okay? Especially since today's game against Montreal is so damn important” Sam sputtered out, his face heating in an embarrassed flush as he stabbed his plate hard, the prongs of his fork making an aggressive screech.
His eyes flashed up to look at Toff, noticing the surprised expression that played across the man's face. It didn’t hold, with Toff’s features settling back into their natural calm state. Sam watched as Toff picked up his coffee mug, nodding once before taking a long, drawn out sip, like he was building anticipation. Just when Sam’s heart started to race, his mind beginning to spiral, Toff set the ceramic back on the table, still cradling the mug in his hands.
“I see” Toff said simply, his gaze now burning a hole between Sam’s eyebrows. Sam wondered if Toff could see into his brain right now, if he was peeling away the layers of his skin to see right into his thoughts, observing each neuron that Sam had reserved for his thoughts about Michael Misa.
A beat passed before Toff spoke again. “That’s very considerate of you Sam, I’m sure Misa will appreciate the extra rest… Chernyshov as well”, The last part was dangerously tacked on, as if Toff knew he was playing with a pack of matches in a room that was coated in gasoline.
Sam felt as if Toff was trying to goad him into reaction, into causing a huge scene in the middle of this janky hotel. While London Knights Sam would have had no issue playing into this, seeing as most of his friends were these loveable dickheads who didn’t know any better, he knew Toff wasn’t like that. If anything, Sam knew that Toff was just trying to gauge his emotions on the situation, trying to understand Sam without actually forcing the boy to share his emotions outright.
So, Sam, who was in no mood to talk about Misa or Chernyshov any longer, reached for his phone. He tapped on the screen once, watching the device light up. He could feel Toff's eyes following the movement, only looking away once he caught a glimpse at the lack of notifications coating Sam’s inbox. All that sat on the screen were some big green numbers showing off the time, and Sam’s lockscreen, a candid photo of the London Knights winning the memorial cup.
Clearing his throat, Sam looked back up towards Toff who’s eyes now seemed glued to the entrance of the breakfast space. “I just checked the time, almost nine, I’m sure everyone will start getting up soon… You know Mack gets restless after he finishes his weird morning stretches, Wenny and Eky love to have their morning chats all secretive in Swedish- oh! And ever since Mukh had his kid, his wife has been calling him early in the mornings this roadie, you know, whenever she’s kept up by the baby-”
“Alright Kid, I get it” Toff interrupts, raising his hand before Sam could go on to word vomit out anymore of their teammates morning routines. “Just if anything is bothering you, come talk to me okay? I know I'm not Cat, but I can give better advice than a plate of hotel breakfast” Toff said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood and push past this weird pit of energy.
Sam could only offer a small smile back, one that lacked his usual authenticity. Truthfully, he appreciates Toff trying, extending that olive branch, but Sam knows he needs to stay unbothered, he is unbothered, that’s how he’s always been. He will admit that yes, maybe his nearly followed breakfast routine has been skewed by a lack of Michael Misa, but Sam needs to learn to be okay with that. Yes, he can miss their quiet conversations about the mediocre hotel breakfast, how excited they are to be back at the Bell Centre, and all the underlying stirring emotions about being so close, yet so far from home on this roadtrip, but Sam can’t expect Misa to be around for him all the time.
He has his own life, one that Sam doesn’t always fit into.
Sometimes Sam just needs to face the mornings by himself, just like he does back in San Jose.
Reaching across the table, Toff grabbed a piece of overcooked bacon off the edge of Sam's place. The piece was sticky in syrup from Sam’s poor attempt at making it taste better, and it ran onto the nice white table cloth in sticky globs. “Hey!” Sam shouted, voice full of faux annoyance, he wasn’t going to eat the bacon anyways.
Toff shrugged as he bit a bit off the end. “Mentor tax, Sorry Dickie!” he said, popping the rest of the strand into his mouth. Sam just rolled his eyes in response, biting back a snarky reply. Instead, he turned his attention towards his now cold plate of hotel breakfast. He pushed around the eggs once more, scooping up a forkfull, praying to someone above that he could stomach these.
Halfway through his bite, a disgruntled Sam was jostled by someone tugging out the chair next to him and plopping down with reckless abandon. For a moment, Sam suspected it was Reavo, who always carried himself with way too much confidence, his energy always being the biggest thing in the room, like a character in an old Greek Myth.
“Jesus Sammy, you look like you’re regretting that bite before you’re even done chewing” the person said, a little gravely from sleep. Sam recognized who it was instantly, nearly dropping his fork out of surprise. To avoid looking like an idiot, Sam tried to carefully set his fork down on the edge of his plate, hearing the metal clatter softly on the ceramic.
Taking a deep breath in, Sam turned his attention towards Misa. His eyes lingered over the boy for a moment, noticing the way his hair was still rumpled from sleep and eyes hung heavy, as if someone had dragged him down to breakfast; As if Sam dragged him down for breakfast.
Sam wanted to be upset at Misa, he really did. His entire body was practically screaming, begging for Sam to say something. His brain told him to make a rude comment, something to set the tone, his blood was boiling, each muscle repeatedly asking to move just enough to grab Misa by his hoodie strings, an action that would close the distance, allowing Sam to smack some sense into him.
Yet, Sam couldn’t move, couldn’t even raise his voice. Instead he felt bile creeping up his throat, the acids burning the words that threatened to spill off his tongue. Sam was frozen, scared to open his mouth, but too weak willed to get up and walk away. He was practically just staring at Misa like an idiot, caught in an emotional daze.
“Sam? Bud? You alright there?” Misa asked, genuine confusion laced in his tone. It was abnormal for Sam to have nothing to say, he could talk for hours without even needing to get him going. On a regular day, it was a miracle if you could get him to be quiet, but now, the silence only reignited this awkward tension, drawing attention to everything left unsaid.
Forcing himself to snap back into it, Sam nodded quickly, maybe even a bit too violently. He could see the way Misa’s eyes flickered towards Toff, asking a silent question. “I’m good Mikes, just uh… bad bite of eggs you know?” Sam said loudly, losing complete control of his voice.
The sudden loudness snapped Misa’s eyes back to Sam, the two getting caught in a staring contest for a moment, neither of them daring to utter a word. Sam could tell that Misa was trying to figure him out, trying to find a reason why this half finished brick wall was built between them. Sam felt himself begin to flush under the pressure, beads of sweat pricking at the back of his neck, anxiety settling deep into his bones.
As if a sudden clarity washed over the room, Misa broke Sam’s gaze, looking down at Sam’s half empty plate and shaking his head with a smile. “You dumbass, you never like hotel eggs, always say there’s something wrong with them” Misa said, running a hand through his hair.
Forcing himself to replicate some semblance of normal, Sam offered a chuckle of his own, one that came out more strained and awkward than anything else. “Well I didn’t have much of an option you know, way too early to try to find external breakfast plans, and I was fucking starving man” Sam stuttered out, his voice shaking a little, but not enough for anyone to notice… at least Sam hoped it wasn’t noticeable.
Sam tried to reach for his fork again, determined to make a point, showing he was committed to finishing this shitty breakfast, but was stopped midway. Misa had sharply grabbed his wrist, using his free hand to grab the fork right out from under Sam’s fingertips, clicking his tongue as he did so.
“Nope, I’m not letting you subject yourself to this” Misa tutted, setting the fork far out of Sam's reach, ignoring the boy's grumble of protest. “I know from experience a bad breakfast can ruin your entire day, and we need our best defenseman on his A game, right?”
Sam took in a shallow breath, the bile in his throat swiftly being replaced by the thumping of his heartbeat. His entire body seemed to calm at the fondness and care in Misa’s voice, his bones melting down into this mush.
It was a little pathetic how easily Sam crumbled under the attention of Misa. It was like the forward was the only person who could shift Sam from whatever uptight, tense, and anxious mindset he was in, bringing him back to the tranquil and unbothered state that he usually flaunted. Hell, every fiber in Sam’s body could be telling him to ignore Misa, to leave him, to do anything but stay put and listen, but nothing could stop Sam from caving, it happened every time.
“I don’t think im the best” Sam mumbled sheepishly, tips of his ears flushing a light pink. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, especially not in front of Toff, or most of his team that was now filling the breakfast hall, but Sam loved the praise. Sure Sam always played up his confidence within the media, always ensuring he was articulate and thoughtful about his play. But when the cameras were off, Sam sometimes let himself slip away from that, hyperaware of every mistake, of his place on the team, what the media said about him, and how he compared to everyone else in the league.
Misa seemed to always stand in his corner though, regardless of if Sam felt on top of the world, or if everything was crumbling down right in front of their eyes. He always ensured he congratulated Sam on each one of his successes, acknowledging all the little things that would go unnoticed. With bad games, ones where Sam was in shambles, Misa would slowly pick up the pieces in a dark hotel room, or in the comfort of the Toffoli’s guest room, until Sam could see some positives in his play. Sam could never tell if Misa was doing this intentionally, or if this observance and patience was his natural. Either way, these moments gave Sam these little boosts of confidence, ones he clung onto and relied on especially on the hard days.
“Oh don’t be shy now Dickie, you usually light up when you get some praise, like a glowstick” Misa said casually. Maybe it was almost too casual considering the way Toff began to choke and cough on his own coffee, as if he had just heard something he wasn’t meant to hear. All of this only made Sam flush a darker shade of pink.
Moving on, Misa withdrew his phone from his hoodie pocket. He stared for a moment before frantically typing away. “Cherny just messaged” Misa said plainly, taking a long pause before continuing. “He’s suggesting that we go to Tim Hortons for breakfast because Mack messaged and told him he heard the breakfast was shit- Did you tell Mack that?”
At the mention of Chernyshov’s name, the warm comforting feeling that was flooding Sam’s body came to a resounding stop, leaving an icy cold feeling in its wake. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Misa coming down for breakfast alone meant he was finally off of Cherny duty.
Sam just couldn’t understand what Misa’s obsession with the Russian was. Of course everyone on the team loved to be welcoming and accommodating, wanting to ensure everyone could find their place on the team, but usually that was done in small pockets with mutual overlap. Sam knew the two played together on the Spirit, he knew the two had some dangerous on ice chemistry, but he didn’t think that it transcended beyond that. Hell, the two don’t even play on the same line now! Warsovsky had Chernyshov set up with Celebrini and Smith, so why weren’t they the ones fussing over him?
Everyone knew the answer to that, even though nobody would say it to their faces, but right now Sam didn’t care. He was being petty and he wanted someone else to babysit the Barracuda so he could go back to having Misa as his partner, as his dynamic duo. He didn’t care that it’s only been about fourteen hours since he last had Misa to himself, that was simply too long. Misa was his best friend, not Chernyshov’s, and he desperately needed a way to make that known.
Completely oblivious of Sam’s mental anguish, Misa just kept talking, “He says he’s going to be down at five, which is a crazy turnaround time considering he was still sleeping when I woke up…” Misa suddenly looked up, eyes filled with this weirdly hopeful look. “You’re coming with us right? I mean, you said it yourself, this breakfast is shit. Fuck it, I’ll even pay for you this time around, just please come”
Sam’s stomach twisted. He had Misa sitting here, pleading with puppy dog eyes, but yet, his stupid brain couldn’t get over the idea of Chernyshov being there. In all honesty, this would be a great opportunity to get to know the guy better, especially outside of the locker room, but something about the situation just felt plain wrong.
If it was just Misa asking to go out, Sam would have said yes in a heartbeat. He’s a bit like a puppy in a way, allowing himself to be pulled around by Misa, even if most of the time the roles were reversed. But with Chernyshov being there, changing the dynamic, pulling Misa’s attention with ease, Sam didn’t know if he could bear it.
“Nah Mis, I promised Desharnais that I’d stick around to talk defensive plays this morning” Sam said, clearly lying right through his teeth.
Misa frowned at this, face filled with complete confusion. Across the table, Toff queried his own brow at this, picking up on the fact that Sam definitely did not have a conversation with Mario planned. Still, he didn’t say anything to rat the boy out, instead offering only a shrug when Misa shot a helpless look Toff’s way, as if his veteran status could override Sam’s personal decision. When he realized Toff wouldn’t budge, Misa turned his attention back towards Sam.
“Are you sure Dickie? It’s really not that far, I’ve seen you walk further for-”
Sam shook his head, cutting Misa off, "Tonight's game is important, I want to make sure I’m playing on my A game. I’m not going to be the player that costs us the playoffs.” Though he was still in fact lying, Sam knew that this extension carried weight. He and Misa have had countless conversations of the pressure and scrutiny they faced as rookies, so Sam knew there would be no further questions asked.
Misa only nodded, looking a little solemn. “Okay yeah, I understand,” he said, voice softer now. “Will you text me if you want something? I could bring you back one of their loaded wraps? Maybe a box of timbits?” His tone leaned a little unsure, as if he was trying to see if his offerings would bridge whatever weird gap Sam was building between them this morning. Hell, if Misa looked around the breakfast room, he could see that Desharnais wasn’t even awake yet. Sam would have more than enough time for a quick Tims run.
Still he didn’t push at all, just decided to let it go.
What Misa didn’t know was that Sam was just two seconds away from caving in. He found Misa’s persistence to be admiral, cute even. It made Sam feel a little bit special, as he knew Misa wouldn’t be putting this much effort in for anyone else.
Still, he couldn’t shake the thought of Cherny being there, the way he would linger, all stoic without trying. As much as Cherny was a friendly guy, he would stick towards Misa, his old teammate, his friend, leaving Sam with nothing but the hollow feeling in his chest.
Sure, Sam was catastrophizing a bit, but he had seen a similar scene play out just a few months ago. With Smitty injured, Chernyshov was pulled up out of the barracuda earlier this year. Even though he and Misa hadn’t had much overlap, with Misa injured, then in the Juniors, once the two finally reunited for a brief few weeks, it was like Sam never saw him anymore unless it was round the rink. Low and behold, when Chernyshov was finally sent back to the Cuda, Misa came crawling back to Sam, and without hesitation, Sam took him back with open arms.
Regardless of all this. Even though Sam knew that Misa valued him as a friend, and in reality, this whole thing with Chernyshov was probably just Misa trying to soak up some time with an old teammate- like how Sam gets with Easton or Beckett- Sam felt the need to double down. He knew a morning spent alone was better than a morning third wheeling.
“I’ll shoot you a text if I think of anything,” Sam said, almost dismissively.
Before Misa got a chance to reply, Chernyshov rounded the corner into the breakfast room. He had on a pair of loose sweats and a pullover, a cap slicking his hair back, a better choice than the beanie he’d taken a habit to wearing. He scanned over the crowd, seemingly having a difficult time despite the lack of people within the room. It didn’t take long for him to find the correct table though, his eyes locking with Sam’s first, offering a polite smile as he began sauntering over.
Chernyshov stopped right behind Misa, resting two hands on the back of his chair like it was the easiest thing in the world. Sam wanted to punch him.
“Morning Team” Chernyshov greeted, voice still gruff from sleep, as if these were the first words he had spoken today. It earned a quiet murmur of ‘Good Morning’s” from the rest of the players there, all of them either too sleepy or too preoccupied to bother striking up any further conversation.
Misa titled his head back all the way to look up at Chernyshov, colliding with his stomach. “Did you sleep well Cherny?” he asked softly, blinking up at the taller man. Sam wanted to scoff, roll his eyes, do literally anything, but yet he just sat there, unmoving like a statue.
Cherny jostled his head slightly side to side before looking down at Misa, “Meh” he replied, with a shrug. “Good as I could with time and neighbours” , the last comment earning a confused look from everyone who was still paying attention to the conversation. “Mack and Will, they have… interesting morning routine. More than just stretching” he continued, a playful smirk on his lips.
Toff put his hand up, taking a long hard blink. “Cherny, you're great, bud, really, but we don’t need any more details. At least I don’t.” he said plainly, clearly trying to avoid any conversation about his two ‘former’ rookies possibly hooking up in the early hours of the morning.
Cherny nodded once at this, a strong display of understanding. “Ah yes, Papa Shark would not want to hear that about his sharklings.” Toff waved his hand at his comment, returning back to whatever was so interesting on his phone… and with that, Chernyshov returned to Misa.
“Dude you’re a sharkling as well, you’re like… just slightly younger that Smitt” Misa chimed, saying exactly what Sam had been thinking when he heard the phrase leave Chernyshov’s mouth.
“In age, maybe, but in Cuda, we don’t have off-ice family dynamic, that is Toffoli special” Chernyshov hits back, flicking Misa square on the forehead to emphasize his point. Sam was two seconds away from being sick.
Misa rolled his eyes, grabbing Chernyshov’s wrist before he could pull his hand fully away, “I’m going to stop inviting you to Toffoli household dinners. Your invitation has been revoked! Have fun cooking at your apartment every night"
Chernyshov laughed loudly at this, almost a little too loud for the quiet morning breakfast. He drew a few stares from the rest of the room, but he definitely didn’t mind, especially considering most of breakfast was filled with Sharks affiliates anyways. “You joke but Cags is very good cook, why I keep him as roommate.”
“Speaking of food” Chernyshov continued, “Tim Hortons?” he asked simply, a light gleam in his voice, like a child who was promised ice cream earlier in the day and was finally cashing in on their reward.
Misa nodded, “Yup absolutely” immediately springing into motion. He pushed his chair back a little bit, which only bonked Chernyshov in the knees, before doing his mental runthrough of making sure he wasn’t going to leave anything behind. He reached for his phone on the table, stashing away back in his hoodie pocket, before patting down his other pockets to check for his wallet and room key.
Chernyshov rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, watching Misa for a moment before turning his attention back towards Sam, eyebrows furrowing. “You are not coming?” he questioned, his eyes somewhat piercing right into Sam’s skull. “Misa said you had like… bad breakfast. We will take you for redo, yes?”
Chernyshov was so insistent that it almost reminded Sam of Misa himself. Still, despite the extra peer pressure, Sam had already begun to weave himself into a lie, one that was too far to back out from now. “Nah Cherny, I gotta talk defence with Desharnais, it’s an important game tonight, with the wildcard spot and everything- but I told Mis I’d text him if I wanted something” Sam said, hoping that it would be enough to appease Chernyshov.
He watched as Chernyshov’s eyes lingered towards where Desharnais had just walked into the breakfast room, roped tightly into a conversation with Orlov, feeding into the idea that there was something to be discussed. Once Chernyshov’s eyes settled back on Sam’s, he gave a half hearted shrug. “Okay Sam” he said simply, but something in his eyes read almost upset, as if he was genuinely disappointed that Sam wouldn’t be joining them.
And for a brief moment. Sam felt guilty.
Misa tugged on Chernyshov’s sweater sleeve, itching to get a move on. “Yes Misa, we are moving” Chernyshov said, shooting Sam a look that said ‘could you believe this guy’, and yes, Sam absolutely could. “We will see you later Sam Dickinson, I hear you and Misa have pre-game ritual to complete… hopefully it is not a noisy as Will and Mack”
And with that, Sam felt his cheeks go hot, the blush spreading like wildfire up his ears and down his neck, dipping below the collar of his t-shirt. When he looked at Misa, he couldn’t help but notice he was sporting the same vibrant red.
For a second, Sam thought that Misa was sickened by the idea, even outraged for Chernyshov suggesting such a thing about him and his best friend. Yet, his body language read shy, maybe even nervous, as if Chernyshov had just alluded to, or completely exposed something he wasn’t meant to. Something he was told in confidence.
Misa caught Sam’s gaze, holding it for just a beat too long. The two looked like they had just been caught in the act, only for Sam and Misa, there was no act going on between them at all.
Maybe that was the problem.
Chernyshov looked between the two of them with confusion dancing on his face. Carefully, as if not to startle, he clapped Misa lightly on the back breaking the staredown. “Was kidding… did not know you and Sam did not have a sense of humour” Cherny said with a little whistle.
Misa looked down at his shoes. “Yeah kidding… But uh… Trust, not like the terrible two, trust me. A lot…” he pulled his eyes up to look at Sam, for just a brief moment, “Calmer… I like it to reset.” As the last word slipped from Misa’s lips, his shoes suddenly seemed very enticing again.
Sam was left breathless by the comment, managing to squeak out a “Reset, yeah”, even though he just sounded like a fucking idiot. Anxiously, he ran a hand through his hair to ground himself, trying to fake some sense of normalcy in this conversation.
Cheryshov didn’t seem to notice any of this, and if he did, he decided to stay awfully quiet about it. “Okay, I will bring Misa back for reset ritual. Goodbye now”
With that, Chernyshov turned on his heel, grabbing Misa loosely by his wrist and dragging him towards the exit of the dining hall, narrowly dodging Graf and Eklund who seemed way too engrossed in conversation for this time in the morning. Sam watched the pair leave until he physically couldn’t anymore, not missing the way Chernyshov immediately started rambling to Misa as soon as they were out of earshot- for a brief second Sam wondered if he was speaking Russian.
As if everything finally came crashing down on him, Sam slammed his forehead into the table, shaking the cutlery with a clatter. He was going to die. That was the only option. He was going to die and it would be all Michael Misa’s fault.
Worse, he was going to die and it was going to be Igor Chernyshov’s fault. Yeah… he was the one to blame. He just had to be a stand-out player amongst the Cuda so that he would be the one to get recalled to the Sharks. He just had to have history with Misa, enough history that made Chernyshov cling to him. There was no way Chernyshov didn’t understand that he was playing with a careful balance, one that Sam and Misa had spent way too much time perfecting. A balance that towed the line of everything they could possibly be, while somehow still covering up everything left unsaid.
Toff, who had been a quiet observer of the entire conversation, suddenly couldn’t help himself, piping up, “Oh Dickie you’re royally fucked, I suspected maybe something was going on.. But this? This is bad-”
Sam lifted his head, staring daggers at Toff. “Do you think I don’t know that Toff?” he snapped, all venomous and bitter.
God. Toff was right.
Sam is royally fucked.