Chapter Text
She doesn’t remember most of it. She has herself and a purse, a large leather one she got in Milan, able to fit a laptop and some. The purse itself has nothing important: without even her laptop, a charger. Well, there is her passport, which is important.
Her phone dies halfway through her layover. When she touches down in Ottawa, mindless and tired, she will think that she is lucky she is good with geography, good with direction. She recites the address she’s remembered mentioned a couple times, hopes it’s correct. (It is. She’s good with memory, too, after all.)
The front door opens to a woman.
She blinks. Blinks again. “Um.”
The woman raises an eyebrow, her curly hair blonde at the ends, pretty little tips. She had her own hair pink, once, when she was a teenager. They had grown out until the end, before she’d chopped it off. Her step-father had called her galah for a while. The bird. When they found out it also meant fool in Australian slang, he had laughed, had ruffled her hair, saying, that too, kiddo.
“Is Luca here?”
The woman considers her for a moment. She shakes her head, her gaze heavy. “No. He will be back soon.”
Exhausted, and though knowing it might be impolite, she steps forward to let herself in. The woman, surprisingly, lets her. It is Luca’s apartment, after all.
She’s greeted by an array of people in the apartment. Their conversation ceases as their heads turn towards her. There’s another woman there that she recognizes. Rose Landry. Her jaw drops a little bit.
“Well,” she says, quietly, to herself.
She’s wearing navy sweatpants and a black tank top, both well worn, both traveled in. She’s pretty sure there’s a stain on her thigh from where she’d accidentally spilled some of the coffee the flight attendant had given her. She had cried three times on the flight, twice at the airport. She looks. She looks… not like she’d want to look when meeting Rose Landry, one of her favorite actresses.
There’s Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, there, too. The two men one of her closest friends is fucking. Or dating. Or loving. Or all of the above?
She opens her mouth. To say hi. To greet them properly, politely.
Her throat clogs up. She stares at them, then walks away, towards the hallway. Luca’s bedroom is right there at the end of the hall; she crawls into his bed, tucks his comforter up to her nose. She does not sleep, but she does close her eyes, the muffled echo of the company down the hall reverberating.
It might be a little bit or a long bit before the door opens. It is not Luca who’s there; Shane Hollander instead, his face neutral, eyes inquisitive. She appreciates the lack of blatant pity. He keeps his distance. “Hey,” he starts. “I’m Shane.”
“I know,” she says.
He smiles at that, though small. “Luca won’t be here for another couple hours. Are you hungry? You must have had a long flight.”
She considers it. The offer. Replies with, “No, it’s okay.” And then: “Thank you, though.”
“Of course.” There’s another pause. Shane doesn’t sound hesitant, but he is parsing his words, she thinks. “We were going to spend the evening here,” he says. “Sorry– we as in me and Ilya, and a couple of our friends— Rose and Svetlana— who are visiting. Luca wanted to host. If you want some quiet, let any of us know. You’re welcome to spend some time at my and Ilya’s place. One of us can drop you.”
Her throat tightens, eyes welling up. God. “Okay. Thank you.”
Shane hums. The footsteps recede. The door closes behind him.
The door opens again, after a while.
“Sorry,” she says, in greeting. “I know you hate outside clothes on your bed. I’ll wash your sheets.”
Luca replies, “Maria.”
And then she’s crying. Fully. It comes out in choked out noises, her chest caving in. Luca slips next to her and hugs her, his arms all encompassing.
He doesn’t ask why she’s here, why she took a half-day flight probably on a whim. He doesn’t even ask if she told anyone, which, if he were to, she’d say, I didn’t. He doesn’t say a word, really. No fake reassurances either. He’s good like that.
Her crying lets up after a while. When it does, she sighs deeply, scrubbing a hand over her face.
“Come on,” Luca says, in Swiss-German. “You’re lucky. I’m cooking dinner tonight, and I was going to make älplermagronen.”
The two of them tag-team dinner. She’s showered now, wearing a t-shirt of Luca’s and a pair of Rose Landry’s sleep shorts. Luca had gone and asked whether Svetlana or Rose had anything she could borrow, coming upstairs with a heapful of options. She’s a little floored by the blatant kindness.
The rest of them— Luca’s partners(?) and Luca’s partner(?)’s ex (who is dating) Luca’s other partner(?)’s best friend, are all around the kitchen, chattering away. Nobody seems phased about her being there, nobody has so much as sent her anything besides smiles.
She’s so fucking exhausted. Luca squeezes her shoulder at one point, his eyes sympathetic. Maria shrugs, biting her lip to keep from letting herself feel it too much.
Her hand shakes as she cuts the potatoes. She has to pause a couple times, fingers clenched around the handle, the other over the side of the potato.
“Rose Landry,” she says, finally, when she’s gathered her voice enough to speak. “I’m a big fan of your work.”
Rose smiles warmly. “I’m happy to hear that. You’re Maria, right? Luca’s friend from back home?”
Maria nods. “Yeah, uh. It’s, well, it’s amazing to meet you.” She winces. “Sorry if I crashed your dinner.”
“Don’t piss me off,” Luca says, sending her a glare. “You didn’t crash anything. You’re my friend, idiot.”
Maria’s chest loosens. She huffs a laugh as she turns back to Rose. “Okay, I guess I’m not sorry. Regardless. It’s an honor to meet you. I was, uh, convinced I’d become an actress when I was younger, I always looked up to you.” She nods towards Luca. “You know, when you and Shane announced you were dating, Luca and I freaked out. In a good way, of course. Our worlds collided.”
She falters a moment. Maybe mentioning the fact that Rose and Shane dated is a negative given that both are now dating someone else in the room, but, well.
But Ilya laughs. “Haasy, you never told us that.”
Luca sticks his tongue out at him. “It never came up.”
Conversation lingers, though Maria tunes out of it for the most part. She focuses on cooking with Luca, on the habit of it. It’s mindless, for the most part. Both of them know this recipe by heart,
Shane trickles into the kitchen from a barstool, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. He stops behind Luca, who is turned towards the sink, for a moment and presses a kiss to the side of his temple, nudging Luca’s hip with his own. Luca smiles lightly. His eyes are glittering.
It’s been a long time since she’s seen him smile so genuinely.
Luca glances at her, blushing when he realizes she’s been watching. Maria laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Luca Haas,” she says. “Lover boy.”
Luca groans, ducking his head. “Shut up.”
Maria eats a couple bites of dinner. It’s all she can stomach.
Luca’s eyebrows knit, increasingly. He doesn’t ask, still— it’s how she always prefers it, he knows this. But the concern grows.
Shane, after dinner, wordlessly passes her a protein shake. It’s chilled. When Maria blinks in surprise, he smiles, knowingly. “I keep these at Luca’s. Just in case you’re hungry but don’t feel up to eating.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
The five of them are sprawled across Luca’s couch, various other arm chairs. And— they’re like all knowing sages, because Luca sits next to Maria instead of Shane and Ilya, the latter of which sends him a wink as he settles down. Or maybe it’s just that she and Luca have known each other for half of their lives, and he’s a good friend.
Maria is humoring them with stories of Luca’s childhood, the little moments she was there for. “Ooh,” she’s saying. “Do you remember when Scott Hunter and his boyfriend kissed after winning the Stanley Cup?”
“Not this one,” Luca groans.
“I remember,” Ilya says in a way that reads, how could I forget?
“So the game was at like 2am Swiss time. We were at Luca’s place— I think it was me, Luca, Luna, and then Marci and Nico, his brother. Oh! This was the night we were trying to spy on Luna and Nico.” Luca nods in agreement. “Well, it was all of us piled in their living room, but Luca was falling asleep before the game even started—”
“—I was not—”
“You were literally asleep. So were Marci and Luna, it’s fine.”
“And you weren’t?”
“No.” Maria grins. “Anyways, Luca was sleeping—”
“—why are you being so detailed—”
“—because. Anyways, his dad had to go to bed, and we all really wanted to stay awake for the game, so we started taking shots. And it’s, like, what, 4am now.” She glances at Luca. “And they win. And then Hunter’s bringing the boyfriend out. And they kiss, right?”
“Oh my god,” Luca groans.
“And then Luca gets up and says, I’m going to play in the MHL. Also I’m gay.”
“I was sleep deprived,” Luca repeats, grumbling. “And drunk.”
Something in Shane’s face goes a little soft. “That’s…”
“Sweet,” Rose finishes, for him.
“Okay, whatever, maybe dinosaur is a little cool,” Ilya concedes. Luca laughs at that, genuinely and airy; Ilya’s lips twitch up, his eyes softening as he offers Luca a wink. “Is sweet moment.”
Shane elbows him. “Ilya.”
“Whaaat?”
Shane rolls his eyes. “You know, when I first invited Ilya to my cottage— which was my way of trying to allude to the fact that I really cared for him— he said maybe. And then right after they kissed, he called me and said he’d come.”
“So,” Svetlana grins. She eyes Ilya pointedly. “What I’m hearing is that so-called dinosaur was role model to young gay athletes.”
“Maybe,” Ilya says.
“It was a beautiful moment,” Luca offers.
“Yeah,” Maria agrees. “You fucking painted it, too.”
“Maria!”
“Sorry,” Maria says, not sounding very sorry. She grins at Shane and Ilya. “He painted you two, after you came out.” She winces. “Got outed.”
“Haasy,” Ilya says, delighted. “Do you paint everyone?”
“Pretty much,” Luca grumbles. “You know this.”
Ilya’s grin is sharp. “I know this.”
Maria turns to Luca, grins. “You should gift it to them. Ask Luna to send it.”
“Oh my god!” Luca reaches out to shove at Maria. “It was a sketch! You know what?” He turns to them. “Get this—”
“—Luca, I swear to fucking god—”
“When we were, like, 15, or something, Maria really liked this girl. It was fucking idiotic how much she liked her.”
“—it was not idiotic! You’re the one seeing two people, you greedy motherfucker—”
(That gets a barked laugh out of Ilya and a grin out of Shane. Rose and Svetlana both snort, too.)
“—the only thing she would talk about was that girl. Marci and I were fucking dying.”
“Luca, shut up.”
Luca grins at them. “Maria thought it’d be wise to fake-date someone to make her jealous. Marci and Andreas called her absolutely idiotic, but, like the good fucking friend I am, I did.”
Maria tries to put his palm on Luca’s mouth, tries to wring him in. Luca laughs, dodges, and then leans away and towards the edge of the couch, raising his voice.
“So. We stage the romance. Hold hands. And then we stage the breakup two fucking days later. Our fake relationship didn’t even last a week. And then— I think it was a couple days later, Maria asked her out. She said yes.”
“Oh,” Rose says, a little amused. “That’s good, right?”
“The plan worked?” Svetlana adds.
“Until,” Luca continues, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Get this.”
“Luca,” Maria groans.
“One day, when we all were hanging out, she pulled Andreas aside. And she asked, by the way, do you think Luca and Maria have a chance? I hope I’m helping. Andreas asked her to clarify. Basically, she thought that Maria was dating her to make me jealous.”
Rose blinks. “Wow. That’s…”
“Idiotic on Maria’ part, yes, I agree,” Luca finishes.
“I’ll throw you off a cliff,” Maria deadpans.
“Sure.”
“What happened?” Rose asks, curiously. “With her?”
“We dated for a little bit,” she replies. “But we broke up.”
Luca winces. Maria winces, too. It was a messy, messy thing. Oh well.
There’s a lull in conversation, then, though all of them seem at ease. Rose and Svetlana are sitting together, tucked into each other. Shane and Ilya, too. Her head has tilted onto Luca’s shoulder, too, Luca’s arms climbing across the back of the couch, over her shoulders.
Quietly, in Swiss-German, he asks, “You’re safe, Maria?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t mean to scare you.”
Luca shakes his head. “You haven’t.”
“So,” Maria says. She grins at Shane and Ilya, feeling better now that she’s in the vicinity of some warm company and with her friend. “I finally meet you two. Luca’s told me so much.”
Ilya laughs. “Good things, I hope.”
Maria snorts. “Yeah, don’t worry. He’s whipped.”
“Shut up.”
“Nooo,” Ilya replies. “Do tell.”
“Well, the amount of times he would call us, drunk off his ass, and say—” Luca reaches out and puts his palm over her mouth. Maria laughs, the remaining words muffled, shoving him away. They end up wrestling against each other, Maria’s hand flying blind against Luca’s body, their arms intertwining into a bundle of limbs. “Fuck— Hey!”
“Shh!”
“Luca said— umph!
“Maria!”
“Luca Haas!”
“I didn’t say anything,” Luca grumbles, to Ilya and Shane.
“Sure, baby,” Ilya concedes, wagging his eyebrows.
“Baby,” Maria echoes. “Oh my god!”
“Fuck off, Maria.”
Maria is giggling now, one hand over her mouth. “This is insane,” she says.
“It’s not insane.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“Anyways,” Maria says, choosing to ignore him. Luca makes an indignant sound. “Like I was saying. It’s very nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Shane replies, amused.
“I am sorry I came unannounced,” Maria whispers, at another warm lull in conversation.
Luca smiles. “Are you kidding? I’m happy you’re here.”
She bids them goodnight shortly after that. Rose and Svetlana are leaving for their hotel room soon; she gives them a farewell, nice to meet you.
Rose follows her on Instagram. Svetlana does too. Shane and Ilya follow suit. Maria thinks that, when she’s feeling a little less all over the place, she might freak out about it.
“I hope you feel better,” Svetlana says, her eyes piercing.
That garners a pause from Maria. “Thank you,” she replies, sincerely.
Luca’s guest room is homey, nothing like a typically blank guest room. He has some of his paintings sprawled over the walls, a couple plants in the corners.
There’s photos, a couple frames on the nightstand. One of them is their group back in Switzerland— it is at a bar, taken candidly by one of them. They look absolutely wasted; she’s giving Marci a piggy–back ride, Luca next to them smoking a cigarette. Vaguely, she remembers this night. Marci’s brother had taken the photo.
As per his instructions, she grabs a spare toothbrush off from one of the cabinets in the bathroom across the hall, borrows the toothpaste on the vanity. The clothes she was given earlier— holy shit, Rose Landry’s fucking shorts— are loungewear comfy enough that she can sleep in. She might have to go shopping tomorrow. Or catch a flight back home. That might be the more responsible thing to do.
She hasn’t checked her phone at all. She hasn’t even charged it yet, either, since it died at the airport. Whatever. It is a problem for tomorrow.
She is staring at the wall, curled on her side, when the door creaks open. “Good night,” Luca whispers.
“Good night,” she replies. “Thank you.”
“Whatever it is,” Luca says.
“Whatever it is,” Maria echoes.
It is what she told him, all those years ago, when his father had died. Whatever it is. I’m here. We’ve got you. Whatever it is.
She can’t sleep. Nothing new. She hasn’t slept in a while, honestly.
Quietly, Maria slides out of bed, grabbing her pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She makes her way outside the room and down the hall silently, nearly tiptoeing. She doesn’t want to disturb Luca. Disturb them.
Disturb them, as in Luca and his partners. Maria smiles to herself at the sheer absurdity of it.
The lamp in the corner of the living room is still on. Maria blinks at the sight of Ilya and Shane awake, on the couch, watching… hockey replays. Luca is sprawled across their laps, his head on Shane’s, calves on Ilya’s, his expression smoothed out under the flattened mop of curls, face slack. One of Shane’s hands is in Luca’s hair, one on the splay of his back. Ilya’s are on the back of his calf, a steady thing.
“Oh,” Shane says. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Maria answers, keeping her voice quiet. “He’s asleep?”
Ilya nods. It is so fond. So, so fond. “Yeah.” His eyes trickle to the unlit cigarette in her hand, and then back up to her face. “Can’t sleep?”
“No.”
He nods, sympathetic. “Do you want to join us? We’re watching—” he snorts, seemingly remembering what’s on the screen. “—hockey. Can change if it is boring.”
Maria considers it. “Sure,” she says. She plops down on the arm chair adjacent to them, her calves curving underneath her thighs. “You don’t have to change it.”
They’re silent for a while. In a nervous habit, Maria taps her thigh in a pattern: thumb, middle finger, pinky, middle finger, thumb. Again and again. She finds herself staring at Luca. She follows the movement of Shane’s hand running back and forth across his back, her gaze trailing back and forth too. It shifts to Ilya’s hand; though he’s not moving it, he’s making light shapes with his thumb. The shape, Maria realizes, is a heart.
“He was so sad,” she says, to them. “After his dad died.” Ilya’s eyes go dim. Shane looks down at Luca, his lips tightening, his eyebrows drawing. And— god. Their eyes, for him. “He wouldn’t be able to sleep, you know. He’d just busy himself as a distraction. He looked so tired, all the time. I haven’t seen him smile like he used to. Since that day.” The words lodge in her throat. “He’s one of my best friends. I’ve known him since we were kids. It was terrible, you know? Seeing your friend go through something like that.” She shakes her head, huffing a little. “I haven’t seen him look like that in a long time. The way he looked tonight, I mean. And…” she trails off for a moment, taking in how he hasn’t stirred, hasn’t moved. That certain looseness in his body— the one that they all have when they’re hopeful, happy, safe— has crawled its way back. God. “He doesn’t look so exhausted anymore. So— thank you. I’m not one for shovel talk, but just know that he’s happy, okay? I’m glad for that.”
“I’m glad for it too,” Shane says, earnest.
“What was he like?” Ilya asks, after a moment. “Before.”
Maria takes time to think about her answer. Puts care into it. What she settles on is: “Pretty much the same. The same Luca you know and love. Just a little more unfiltered with it, I guess. He had a lot of hope for the world.”
“Oh,” Shane whispers, very quietly.
“That’s not to say he doesn’t have hope for the world now.”
Ilya smiles ruefully. “No, it’s not.”
Shane glances down at Luca. His finger grazes Luca’s temple, the touch feathery. “What was his father like?”
“He was like Luca,” she says. “But he was a quiet man. What is the word? Stoic.” She blinks, finding that her eyes have wet. “We’d always be over— Marci and I, I mean. Luca would be bouncing off the walls, talking for god knows how long, about everything and anything under the sun, and he’d humor him, whether or not he was interested in the topic. And Luna was like him— quiet, too. She was shy. He was always encouraging them— us, really— to do the best we could.” She smiles wryly. “He was pretty strict, you know. Luca doesn’t really share a lot about it, and I don’t want to share on his behalf, but he had high expectations for his kids. And I think— I think it’s part of the reason it’s hard for Luc to rest, now. He wants to do the best by him.” Shane and Ilya are taking in the information, parsing the words. Maria huffs a laugh. “He would’ve given both of you some strong fucking words,” she says. “Though, I think he would have liked you, deep down. He certainly respected you as players.”
“How would he have felt? About—” Shane makes a vague gesture across the three of them, his eyes curious “—this? Us.”
Maria thinks about it. Says, as honest as she can, “I don’t know how he would’ve felt about your relationship. I mean— you know. But I do know he would’ve come around, if it made Luca happy.”
“Did he know?”
“About Luca?” Her lips quirk. “That’s for him to share.”
Maria lets her gaze linger on them for a moment. She soaks them in. She soaks this in, too. She’s watched her friend go through the worst of it. She’s watching her friend go through the best of it, too. Wordlessly, she gets up, off the arm chair.
“I’m gonna go smoke,” she says, in her bid of goodbye. “Good night.”
“Good night,” they echo, back.
The perk of having a rich friend, she thinks. Luca’s apartment has a balcony, a nice one. Maria takes a drag of her cigarette, holds it for a moment, exhales. The rough warmth of smoke trails down her chest, the expanse of Ottawa below her. Pretty, she thinks.
The next morning, she says, over breakfast, “I am having surgery on my ankle.”
“Okay,” Luca says, slowly, measured. “The injections aren’t working?”
“No.”
“Oh, Maria.”
Maria shakes her head. She wills herself not to tremble. Her throat clogs. “I am scared I will never be able to go on pointe again.”
“There is a chance?”
“Yes. 1 to 10, roughly.”
“Fuck,” Luca whispers, fiercely, sorrowfully.
“It’s okay,” Maria says, sounding very much not okay. She holds it together for a moment by sheer will. A moment later, it dissolves: the tears come spilling out again. Luca powers forward, hugging her tightly. She cries against him. She can barely breathe. She’s barely been able to breathe— she’s so fucking tired. “I’m so scared.”
“I know,” Luca murmurs.
It’s Ilya that comes out onto the balcony that afternoon. He takes the cigarette she offers, lighting it and holding it up to his lips. “You are brave, you know.”
Maria traces the city below, traces the view of Ottawa, one building to another. “Thank you.”
“I tell Luca this a lot. Shane, too. Sometimes even teammates.” He considers her, his eyes softening. “Is scary, yes. But you are brave.”
“Yeah,” Maria agrees.
If there’s anything she can be, it’s brave.
There’s this memory she has. They’re about six, backstage for their first performance. They’re doing a duet together, the two of them, furnished with hops and twirls.
They aren’t friends yet. Classmates, more like it.
They nail it as best as they can. In hindsight, an audience always loves little kids dancing around, regardless of whether they’re good or not. The audience goes awwww as they clap for them. When they are finally backstage, afterward, Luca is grinning. His sister has found him; she is a few years older than them, and is an excellent dancer; she had a solo tonight. She hugs him tight, and then she hugs Maria, too.
Maria stares at her, wide-eyed and her jaw dropped in awe. Luna Haas is so cool. She wants to be like her.
When their parents flood backstage, after the performance has ended, Luca’s father hefts Luca up onto his waist, ruffling his hair. He smiles down at Luna, kneeling down to wrap an arm around her. “Good job, both of you.”
Maria’s mom is next to her. She smiles at Luca’s father politely. “Your kids did wonderful.”
Luca’s father nods. “Maria danced wonderfully, too. You must be very proud.”
“Very,” Maria’s mom echoes.
When they’re seven, Maria asks Luca, “Where’s your mom?”
“My mom is dead,” Luca says. “Papa says she’s watching over me.”
“Oh,” Maria says. “My daddy’s gone too. My mommy says he isn’t a part of our lives anymore. My mommy says that sometimes families look different.”
“Yeah,” Luca agrees, bright-eyed.
They become friends that day. Or, at least, she likes to think so. They were probably friends already, by that point.
That evening, wine makes its way over to where they’re settled around the couch, living area. Well, Ilya brings it out. He pours them all glasses, and then Luca and Maria, seemingly always in this predicament when they’re together, pour themselves another glass after another.
She and Luca are squished on the couch now, loose-limbs and smiley. They’re giggling as they talk, catching up about god knows what. They FaceTime Marci, who, gawking at the fact that they’re together, contemplates catching a flight too. Maria shakes her head. I’m leaving tomorrow, I think. Luca eyes her. There’s a question in his face. She nods, to say, it’s okay. I promise.
Ilya brings them some of the Swiss snacks he had picked up a couple weeks ago from the international market for Luca, plopping them on the coffee table in front of the couch. As he does, he grins, reaching out to smack a kiss against Luca’s cheek.
“I love you,” Luca says.
“I love you too,” Ilya replies.
Maria makes fake gagging noises. Luca shoves her, a blush growing on his face. Shane, who is sitting on the arm chair adjacent to them, laughs quietly.
“We have boring Canadian snacks too,” Ilya offers her. “If you want to try.”
Shane, his voice flat, replies, “They’re not boring.”
They are, Ilya mouths to Maria.
So, she tries some boring Canadian snacks. They’re not so boring; pretty good, really. When she voices such, Ilya groans dramatically in betrayal while Shane sends her a gloating smile.
“Maria,” Luca says, gravely, once they are another glass of wine in. “Dance with me.”
Maria blinks at him. Her lips have slipped into a loose smile. “What?”
“Dance with me.”
And then both of them dissolve into a fit of laughter. She nearly slides off the couch at how fast she gets up; Luca catches her, pulling her up.
They dance. It’s clumsy, terribly executed, and Maria vaguely thinks that the teachers they grew up with would gawk in dismay. Some music filters out from a tinny phone speaker. Maria grins at Ilya, who winks at her.
She’s mostly favoring one foot. Her ankle doesn’t hurt too badly if it’s not on pointe, but she’s careful, regardless. Luca lifts her— she lifts one leg, the other straight. They do sloppy pirouettes. Both of them are still giggling as they do, taking turns twirling each other.
It’s still so fucking terrifying. She’s scared out of her ass. To lose this.
“Whatever it is,” Luca says. “Okay?”
Maria nods. “Yeah. Okay.” She plops back down on the couch; a lazy mess of limbs. “Okay.”
Luca leans over and grabs Ilya and Shane’s hands, one each, pulling him up. “Come,” he says. “Dance with me.”
They do. Luca twirls them, too, one by one, his arms outstretched. He shows them some simple lifts, mostly two hands on the waist and a hoist. Shane, after a while, loosens into the movements; he dips Ilya, leaning over and pressing him in for a kiss. They’re all smiley, all warm with delight. It’s tooth-rottingly cute; Maria may need a stronger toothpaste.
Luca plops down on the couch next to Maria again. His cheeks are flushed from movement, expression adoring as he watches them.
In Swiss-German, Maria says, “I am so happy for you, Luc.”
Luca nods. He glances back at the two of them. “Thank you. I’m– yeah. I’m very happy. With them.”
It’s still so fucking terrifying, but she did the right thing to come here.