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He was high strung and not only he, but everyone knew it. He has all the pressure of his nation and more stacked on his shoulders. He’s used to pressure, being the captain of a team that he’s earned three Stanley Cups with isn’t a walk in the park. But this is different, he’s representing Canada for the third time at the Olympics and this time Geno isn’t here to talk him down from the ledge when no one’s looking.
Back in North America part of his pregame routine involves him and his Russian taking their pregame nap together. Wrapped in each other's arms in the dark of either of their beds back home or some Hilton bed across the two nations they play professionally in. His routine in Milan is different though, and he doesn’t like it. It’s already bad enough that he had to ask McDavid to go out after him so that he could mentally pretend his husband was entering the ice after him, but Geno isn’t playing for Russia. No one is. Russia isn’t allowed to compete in these Olympics because of their horrible invasion of Ukraine, and that means Sidney can’t sneak off to get even just a little bit of comfort from his husband.
Sure, he is an adult and he doesn’t need to be so secretive about this kind of thing, being more public with their affection is part of how they have laid low for so long. But, he knows that he can’t possibly be the only hockey player who has someone back home that isn’t here for them now. To make matters worse Geno hasn't answered his texts yet and it's been thirty-six minutes and normally his A has said something by now. But, he hasn't and it's throwing him off and after they've been together for so long, since their first Stanley Cup, Geno should know by now how this would possibly affect him. He’s trying not to get too worked up about it all but that’s becoming more and more difficult as time passes.
People have called him superstitious forever and he knows some of his habits have rubbed off on his husband. Because of Geno’s contact with Russia, and also not wanting people to dig into their lives they had gotten married in his parents backyard up in Nova Scotia where marriage records aren’t public. Sid had checked. And then he double checked. And for good measure he checked a third time too. Not too many people had been invited to their wedding, just their closest friends and family. Geno’s parents and brother had come all the way from Russia to show their support. His mother had pulled him in, telling him to become Canadian as soon as possible. His parents and brother all moved over shortly after; the threat of what the Russian government would do was big and looming and not for nothing.
But after being married for almost nine years he would have thought that his husband would know how important their routine is for him. Sure he might not be able to fall asleep in Geno’s arms but he would have been able to fall asleep on the phone wearing the same sweatshirt he always does when Geno is injured. The one that smells just like his husband no matter how many times it gets thrown in the wash—not that that happens often, Sid likes the multitude of layers of sweat and pure Geno built up on it.
But no, it’s been forty-four minutes and he’s just been rolling around in his bed trying to get maybe an ounce of sleep that just won’t come and his routine is all fucked up and he wants to cry. He doesn’t know when’s the last time they were so far apart, so separated, and he hates it.
It’s now forty-eight minutes after he last sent Geno a text there’s a knock at his door. It’s probably Mack, who has been somewhat crashing out from his separation from his buddy Will back in San Jose. Sid learned very early on that the two of them are highly codependent—not that he can say much, just look at him right now. He groans and gets out of bed, walking over to the door. He opens it expecting to be faced with a young eye level Canadian hockey player from Vancouver, he’s completely wrong though. His eyes are level with a chest he knows by the back of his hand, his eyes naturally follow the chest up to the face attached and he thinks maybe he did manage to find his way to sleep after all.
Geno.
It’s Geno standing right in front of him, his husband, the love of his life, the man he wants to play hockey in Pittsburgh forever with. The man who should be in Pittsburgh himself instead of standing right outside of his hotel room in Milan. He’s in shock, only pulled out of it by his husband making a joke, “you not miss me or what?” A smile breaks out on his face and he wraps his arms around the man while simultaneously pulling him into the room.
“What are you doing here?” he asks breathlessly.
“I had to see Sid play.” He says it like it’s no big deal. But to him, it’s the biggest deal in the world. He pulls the man down into a kiss, there’s no heat in it, just pure love. He feels so much younger than he is at this moment, like he’s that small boy from Canada watching tapes of players from Russia and hoping to one day play hockey with the man he’s now married to. He doesn’t feel the overwhelming feeling of dread and despair that had only been growing the longer they’ve been apart, he feels whole again. Fuck he’s so whipped for this man.
It takes a few minutes for his excitement to wear off, and as soon as it does his need for routine quickly comes back, “can we take our nap now?”
Geno, without saying anything, pulls him down into the hotel bed and resumes the position they’ve been taking pregame naps in for over fifteen years together. Everything is slotting into place for him, and sleep finds him fast.