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Oliver Holmberg wants it known that he's not a bad guy. He's not! He tries his hardest to be kind, respectful, and understanding, even when he has no fucking clue what's going on. And for the most part, he's—not to toot his own horn—pretty fucking good at it. He's their go-to vent guy, in the rookies, and he's been told by Selena that he has such an eager, helpful look about him, which he thinks it a compliment.
Really, when he gets into the weeds, he likes being a good friend and a (relatively) smart cookie. He totally gets why people wanted to do well in school now. Every time he gets told he's done something well he wants to fucking party. (And when Cap says it? Oh man, it makes him feel like he could do anything.)
It just—well. He just has one major fucking problem (one that's followed him his whole life). At this point, it's belovedly been christened, by all his friends, as the Dumbass Gene.
And, he doesn't tell anyone, but he doesn't think any of his four concussions have helped his abilities to process things, even when he's trying his hardest to be good.
Things like, maybe, Cap said do not go over to his house for the next sixteenish hours before brunch. And, like, normally he's aces at using his listening ears. Bood regularly says that he's second best out of the rookies, which could hurt his feelings, except for how it's Luca in first, and everyone knows—he's getting off topic. That's not the important thing.
So. The important thing is that normally he's good at listening, but, well, his choices over the course of the day have sort of turned into something that feels like an emergency. It definitely feels like he needs a trusted adult.
He's almost positive he'd accidentally taken one of Luca's suspicious pills at lunch—the newest one, the giant one—which Luca had said was magnesium for his migraines (but Oliver wasn't so sure; all his vitamins are either teeny-tiny or chewable gummies). He couldn't be totally positive, because really, he'd just held out a hand for his usual dosage of vitamin D from Luca, and then he'd been swallowing them down, and distantly, the giant fucking horse pill in his throat had registered, but he hadn't realized until it was later—
And it's not like he thinks it's an actual hard drug, but he feels a little weird for the rest of the day, like his fingertips are buzzing, and sort of like he can taste colors. But that might also be because LP and Young had dumped seven packets of Kool-Aid mix into his Gatorade and double dog dared him to drink it all—and like he's a dawg for his dogs, he's not going to fuck it up for them. If they want him to drink so much red dye 40 he could explode, who is he to stop them? So, by the time he'd finished choking down the sludge, his mouth had felt like pins and needles in the parts that weren't just totally numb and all he could taste was red.
He hadn't even known that red had a taste, but here he is, four hours after the fact, still tasting that damned sour-sweet-sharp-warm-zing of flavor.
"I think you should call Dr. Lisa," Young had before he'd left for Cap's. But, and no offense to Young, that was so fucking dumb. Dr. Lisa's like a real doctor. She's probably holding organs at this very minute, and as if that wasn't enough, he didn't even have her number, and everyone knows that if you text Hazy after seven pm, he's hit his nighttime stride of info-dumping, which means he'd probably have to answer some riddle about the X-Squad movies—or, god forbid, the comics—and who knows; maybe by then Oliver will have died from the sheer oppressive force of red lingering in his mouth.
"It'll be fine," Oliver had shot back. They'd dapped each other up, and he'd been so confident that he'd made the right choice, even as Young blasted New Person, Same Old Mistakes, their standard send off for when one of them was being a dumbass. Oliver's pretty lucky—he's only gotten it nine times. Young's gotten it sixteen—the man won't quit fucking around with his goddamn broken skateboard—and LP has a stunning tally of thirty-seven, because he won't stop eating cherries even when he's allergic to them. Luca, the bastard, has only gotten it thrice, because he "listens" and "learns from his mistakes" and "grows as a person."
Oliver can grow, if he wanted! He just chooses not to. Maybe that's growth, too, in its own way. Maybe he's even a hero, for not letting dumbassery change him. Who knows? Certainly not him, but that's never stopped him before anyways.
But all of that, bring him to here, standing on Cap's doorstep, staring at a wildly mussed and beautifully pink-cheeked Shane motherfucking Hollander.
"Holy shit," Oliver says, his jaw dropping. "You're Shane motherfucking Hollander." He reaches a hand up to ruffle his hair nervously, and promptly stabs himself in the eye. Oh sick, this is going just as he expects; he's always daydreamed about blinding himself in front of Shane Hollander. He just sort of thought that like a puck or a hockey stick would be involved; not just his own ineptitude. "Fuck."
Shane Hollander (!!!!!!) frowns. "You're Oliver Holmberg," he says, and politely doesn't glare at him like he's scum on the bottom of his shoe when Oliver gasps at the sound of his full name (which, his full name (!!!), has never sounded so fucking good, holy shit, Young's gonna shit himself when he tells him about this later) coming out of his mouth. "Are you looking for Ilya?"
"Ilya?" Oliver repeats, dazed beyond belief. He sort of wants to ask if the world's swimming for everyone, or just him. "Who?"
Shane Hollander looks abruptly, immensely pleased. Oliver has no idea what he's said to make him look like that, but he'll do anything for it to happen again.
"I'll do anything for you," he confesses, as Shane Hollander drags a hand down his face, a faint smirk hidden behind his palm. Or that's what it looks like at least—Oliver's eyes are watering, but he doesn't know if it's because he's overcome with emotion, or if it's because his eye is really starting to sting. Fuck, he guesses he does have pointy fingers, just like LP always says. He should really be more careful with them. "Say the word and my sword is yours."
"You have a sword?"
"Moy lyubimyj?" Cap's voice echoes down the hall, the clack of Anya's nails following along underneath his voice. "You are still at the—"
Shane Hollander swings the door open wider, and Cap stills at the sight of him, Anya wiggling excitedly besides him.
"Bergie," he says, blinking at him, before his brows draw together. God, Oliver forgets how good he looks in jeans. He sort of wants to die; he can't handle both of them looking like that. How the hell is anyone actually straight on this fucking team, with Cap looking like that? The sight of the two of them is making his fucking head spin. "I thought I told the team no visiting today."
"Emergency," Oliver manages to get out, rubbing at his throbbing eye. "I can taste the color red. And, I think I took an illegal vitamin. The eye thing is new, from like when I got here." Cap blinks at him again, and Oliver glances at Shane Hollander before he cups a hand over the edge of his mouth, widening his watering eyes. "Cap, Shane Hollander is in your home."
"I know this," Cap says, sounding baffled. Anya yips in agreement, but Oliver can't tell what she's agreeing to. Probably not him, but still, her support feels good. He needs to remember to bring her the treats he bought for her ages ago the next time he comes over. She extra deserves them after this. "It is my home, no?"
"Cap," Oliver says, even more frantic than before. He sort of feels like all his atoms are exploding. "He knows my name."
Shane Hollander muffles a snort into his palm, and Oliver can feel the wet pump of his heart, the dazed shock of making Hockey Jesus almost-laugh infuse his veins.
"Cap," he hisses, widening his eyes. This cannot be real. He thinks he's going to pass out. Who knew that he was going to achieve two items on his bucket list (number three: meet Shane Hollander and number eleven: make Shane Hollander laugh) today? Not him, that's for sure. If he had, he sure as shit wouldn't be wearing the ratty everypony saddle up shirt that LP made and has their quad of rookie faces poorly photoshopped over four running horses. He would've tried to at least class up the joint, like maybe a bow tie or something. "He's laughing."
Cap sighs and glances at Shane Hollander, before they have some silent, freaky, hockey superstar exchange. Holy shit, is he gonna get better at hockey just because he's around them? He kinda thinks that how it goes, right? It's like osmosis, sort of like how Oprah made everyone else in the audience richer with her cars.
And you get better at hockey, and you get better at hockey, and you, Oliver Thomas Holmberg, you're getting better at hockey!
Holy shit, it totally is. He glances down at his feet. Is it just him, or could he totally be skating circles around the whole team now? He thinks he could 1v1 God, right now. Is this how Shane Hollander feels every single day?
Damn. Maybe he should start making little sacrifices to Young's creepy little hockey altar. He can spare a grape or two, or whatever it is that Young's putting on it.
"Why don't you come in," Shane Hollander says, interrupting his thoughts. He looks more amused than anything. "You want some ice for your eye?"
"Uh," Oliver manages, stumbling up the step and into Cap's foyer. "Can I have the purple dino one?"
Cap sighs, raising a brow until he carefully kicks off his shoes, knocking them aside as neatly as he can, before he realizes that Shane Hollander is watching him. He flushes, bending down to fix his sneakers as quickly as he can, going so far as to tuck the ends of his laces into the shoe's collar, before straightening back up.
"Yes, Bergie," Cap says, when the silence has stretched out into an aura of incredulousness. "You can have the purple dinosaur."
Oliver fist pumps, and drops to his knees, throwing open his arms. "Anya," he says excitedly as she barrels into him, wriggling and panting, her nose cold and wet. "It's purple dino time!"
Someone says something, but he's too focused on making sure that Anya knows how fucking adored she is, before Cap's hand settles on his shoulder.
"Bergie," he says, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't look half as mad as Oliver feared he would be, but honestly this whole night feels like a fever dream, so he's not sure he can trust his take on things. "You are having an emergency?"
Oliver startles, Anya taking advantage of his brief distraction to body him to the ground; though, really, it's instinct at this point to slump under her loving rampage—he's been well trained by both her and Chiron's heat-seeking missile tendencies.
"Yeah," he manages, spitting out a clump of loose fur and dodging the way she's trying to lick his eyeballs. He doesn't think she's the best thing to stop the throbbing, despite how cute she is. "Uh. I can taste the color red?"
"And this is an emergency?" Cap asks, arching a brow. He looks too fond, in between the flashes of Anya's face and paws, for Oliver to take his annoyance all that seriously. If someone had told him two years ago that Ilya Rozanov was a huge softie, he'd have laughed in their face, but after a whole year on the Cens, Oliver is well aware of just how much of a giant teddy bear he is. "So important you must arrive at my doorstep after I have said I am busy, do not come to my house."
Oliver blinks at him. "Cap," he says, letting himself flop across the cool tile, Anya giving him one last lick across his cheek before she trots off toward Shane Hollander. "You didn't add on the pain of death or if you come I'm sentencing you to a gazillion bag skates tomorrow. I'm tasting colors. Do you know how fucked up my mouth has to be to be tasting the sweet tang of red four hours after I had the red flavor? And Young told me to call Dr. Lisa, but she's probably untying someone's intestines from a knot right now, and she already thinks I'm dumb—"
"She only thinks you should not drink a cup of pickle juice every day, which you have ignored," Cap says, sounding bewildered, but Oliver ignores him to continue.
"—and I'm really sorry, okay, to have interrupted whatever—hang on. What is going on? Are you guys having an important business meeting? I didn't know those happened in houses; I sort of always pictured those happened in like skyscrapers or like at some fancy dinner over lobsters and filet mignon." He blinks, glancing up at Shane Hollander who's leaning against the doorway, an arched brow raised high, his hand patting Anya's head. "Sorry, Mr. Hollander. I know you probably wouldn't eat either of those. We did a read through of your interview with Men's Health last year. Uh, if you're at the fancy meeting, the best my mind can do is imagine a bunch of grilled veggies? Wait, do you like salmon? I can imagine that, too."
Cap snorts. "Do not call him Mr. Hollander, Bergie" he orders, his mouth twitching. "His ego will explode."
"That's rich, coming from you," Shane Hollander mutters, narrowing his eyes, before he glances back down at Oliver and jerks his head. "Why don't you come in, actually, and we can explain—"
"Shane—"
"It's fine, Ilya," Shane Hollander says, a heavy look passing between the two of them that Oliver can't read. He sort of feels like he shouldn't even be here, in the room for it, and scrambles up, awkwardly hovering. "I wouldn't offer unless I was sure." He offers a faint smile, even as the rest of his face stays relatively neutral. "It'll be moot soon anyways."
Cap stares at him for another long, swollen beat of tension, before he nods.
Oliver looks between the two of them, shifting on his socked feet. "Uh," he says, flushing and fumbling for his words. "Should I—uh, living room?"
"Yes," Cap says firmly. "First, you will explain your emergency to us, and then, we will, maybe, answer your questions."
"Dude," Oliver murmurs, pressing a hand flat against his sternum. "Oh my god." He shakes his head, dropping his voice to a useless stage whisper, even as heat prickles at his cheeks. "I have to explain my emergency to Shane Hollander, too?"
Cap arches a brow. "You have not called Shane anything but his full name and Mr. Hollander, Bergie." He pouts. "And yet, I am only dude or Cap? You are not scared of me anymore?"
"Oh, I'm so scared of you," Oliver confesses, unashamed of it; everyone should fear the sheer diabolical brilliance that Ilya Rozanov is capable of on a good day. "I think you somehow have all the WAGs on your side, and like binders of blackmail on me, and could absolutely clonk me on the head, if you wanted to, I guess—"
"Why would I want this?" Cap mutters, looking vaguely endeared. "You have already had too many concussions; it is why you are like this."
"Aw, thanks Cap," Oliver murmurs, genuinely touched. "But, I mean, so yes, you're intimidating, for sure. But dude, this is Shane Hollander." He glances at him, waving awkwardly as Shane Hollander lounges in the doorway, looking like he should be on the cover of every major magazine. Oliver's eyes drop lower, to the flex of his thighs underneath his shorts as he shifts, and he squeaks, tearing his eyes away. "I mean," he finishes weakly, gesturing at all of him, before he turns his face up towards the ceiling in shame. Anya trots back to nose at his hand, and he buries it into her soft fur, the warm touch of her floppy ears grounding. "Look at him."
Cap hums. "Okay, yes," he says, a clear smirk in his voice. "I am looking—"
"Rozanov," Shane Hollander says flatly, and Oliver lowers his eyes to find Cap smirking, his hands held up, the worst faux expression of who me? Oliver's ever seen on someone's face. He dares to glance over at Shane Hollander, to find him looking back, a more relaxed smile on his face. "You're fine—Bergie, is it?" Oliver nods, shellshocked. "You can just call me Shane or Hollander, or Hollzy, if that's easier," he says. "You don't need to full name me, or put a mister before it."
Oliver nods again, his mouth dry. Young is going to shit himself, when he hears this. Five minutes of knowing Shane Hollander—Hollzy—personally and they're already close enough for nicknames, never mind the fact that almost everyone calls him that. He'd bet that most of them don't get personally invited to. He almost wishes he had a secret semi-famous blog like Luca. More people need to know this.
"Alright," Hollzy says, jerking his head towards the living room, before he turns and heads towards the kitchen. "Come on in, Bergie, and tell us about your emergency."
"Can this be my new emergency?" Oliver says as he stumbles past Cap. "I can't believe this is happening. Like I knew you guys were friends, but this is crazy, like, you're friends enough to hang out? Dude, I do that shit with Luca and Young and LP."
"Who could have guessed?" Cap says dryly from behind as Oliver throws himself down onto the couch. Anya follows him up, settling into her corner, the Centaurs-branded fuzzy blanket worn in, a clear circle of where she likes to curl up evident. "We are just like you."
"Dude," Oliver says reproachfully, pouting over at him as he settles into the love seat, Hollzy reappearing with his purple dino ice pack in hand. Oliver accepts it with a grin, and stares as Hollzy sits down next to Cap, their thighs pressed in tight together. Holy shit, they're like really good friends. "Don't make fun. If anyone on the team is like you the most, it's probably Luca or Troy—like, at least they can keep up."
Cap smirks. "I think they might be like Shane for more than just—"
"Ilya."
Cap's smirk softens as Oliver's eyes bounce between the two of them. "Lyubimyj, yes, you are right." He turns back to meet Oliver's gaze. "You are having an emergency?" He wrinkles his nose, half the room disappearing at Oliver sets the ice pack over his eye with a hiss. The cold does feel good, though it feels nice enough that Oliver thinks he might've actually fucking given himself a black eye. "Though, clearly it is not too emergent."
"Urgent," Hollzy mutters, and Cap rolls his eyes.
"Yes, sweetheart, I know. It is—hm, I know this is difficult for you to comprehend—a joke."
Hollzy shoves him, rolling his eyes, his nose wrinkling, but Oliver's stuck on the sweetheart part of things.
"Hang on," he says, blinking at them. He yanks the ice pack off his eye to make sure that he's got the full room in view as his eyes narrow. He's sort of picking up flirty vibes between them—which… hang on— "Cap—aren't you engaged?"
"Yes," Cap says, as both of them still, turning back to look at him. "Bergie." He gestures to Hollzy. "This is my fiancé, Shane Hollander."
"Shut the fuck up," Oliver says, a grin growing on his face. He shoves himself upright, shock and awe spilling through his body as he throws his hands up. The dinosaur slips through his fingers and lands on his thigh with a wet plop that he ignores, even as the cold burns. Anya picks her head up, eyeing the ice pack with interest, but Oliver can't care about that right now. "You're—you're engaged to Shane motherfucking Hollander?"
Everything in his mind screeches to a full stop, before kicking back up into double time. Cap has not been quiet about how much he loves his partner, and holy shit, all of that was about Shane Hollander? Holy fuck, Shane Hollander is like the most romantic man in the world, if literally any of Cap's stories are true.
"I, as the kids say, locked him down," Cap says proudly, crossing his arms and flexing, as if Oliver needs a reminder of just how fucking jacked he is. He tears his eyes away from the muscle of his biceps, only to flush at the knowing look that Hollzy is nailing him with. Who cares if he gets a little fast and loose with it—he regularly has cuddle sessions with all his boys; he's just trying to keep them all emotionally regulated and, like, not touch starved. And if, sometimes, in the aftermath, if he likes to kiss LP with a little tongue, like who is going to care. Clearly not Cap, and he knew that before this. And like, Troy. Or Luca, which, oh—he gets it.
"Holy shit," Oliver says. He can feel his heartbeat in his fucking throat, all of him dissolving into delight and fear and holy shit, why did Cap tell him this? He regularly loses track of everything; he cannot be conscripted into the secret Hollanov war. Holy fuck, Luca is going to die when he finds out. Oliver blinks at both of them, buzzing in his ears. "Wait, why the fuck are you telling me this? Wait—Cap, I can't keep a secret."
"By the time you go to bed tomorrow, the whole world will know," Hollzy says casually, as if Oliver hasn't just been let into a mind-breaking, clearly years long, secret. Holy fuck, he's just been upgraded to an accomplice. He pinches the soft skin of his wrist and winces as it throbs. Fuck yes, this isn't a dream. "You just get to know a little sooner."
"I'm going to pass out," Oliver announces. He's grinning so wide his cheeks hurt, and he's going to chase down barrels of red dye 40 if this is the results he gets. Can red dye 40 cause hallucinations? This better not be one—he'll scream in rage if he wakes up and this has all been imagined. "I'm going to pass out and when I wake up, I'll be dead, right, because like this is so fucking cool, and somehow I get to know? This can't be real," He gestures around the room, trying to encompass everything he means. "Before, like anyone else—wait, who else knows? Does anyone? Wait, how—wait—holy shit—"
"Troy," Cap answers, easily speaking over his stuttering nonsense. "And Harris, and Coach, and the media team, but that is only recent, from this past week. Troy and Harris have known for three weeks."
"Wait," Oliver says slowly. "Is this why we're doing brunch here tomorrow?" He points at Hollzy, before he glances back at Cap; he's sure there's a wild-eyed expression on his face. "Was he just going to be here?"
Cap grins. "Upstairs, until I ask for him to come down, yes," he says easily, like he's not going to kill Luca, LP, and Young dead. Troy's probably the same—or, wait, no, Troy knows. So, maybe he'll be cool?
Oliver pauses, thinking it over.
Who is he kidding? That's Shane motherfucking Hollander. No one is going to be cool about this.
"How?" Oliver manages after a beat of quiet. "Like, whoa, what the fuck? But also like, for—how? What? Like, when and where, too, I guess. Not the who, though. Or the why."
"Or the why?" Hollzy repeats, his nose wrinkling. "You know the why?"
"I mean," Oliver says, gesturing at both of them. "I've thought about this for like thirty seconds and it makes perfect fucking sense. Rivalries are homoerotic, my guy—or, sorry, uh, mister—Hollzy, I mean. And, like, Cap's been talking about how happy his partner makes him, for ages, and so, it's sort of like, yeah, no, of course Cap's obsession with both Hollander and his partner makes sense; they're one and the same."
"You're obsessed with me," Hollzy says, a corner of his mouth kicking up into the edges of a satisfied smirk. He knocks his elbow into Cap's side, peering up at him.
"I do not know this boy," Cap says, his mouth twitching, even as he sticks his nose up, trying his best to adopt a haughty air; though. Oliver doesn't know who he thinks he's fooling. He's seen kids with better poker faces. "He could be lying."
"Could be," Hollzy echoes, still smiling. He looks happier than Oliver has ever seen. In fact, he looks happier than just about anyone Oliver's seen. "But, is it a lie?"
Cap tips his head down, meeting Hollzy's eyes with ease. For a beat, the world stops, as Cap reaches out and tucks a loose lock of hair behind Hollzy's ear. The moment stretches into something hazy and indistinct, the whole of the reality softening as Cap drags his finger down Hollzy's jaw, smiling softly at him as his hand settles under his chin, guiding his head up.
"No," he murmurs, his eyes crinkling up, his thumb ghosting across Hollzy's chin, just barely touching the skin under his lips. "Of course I am obsessed with you, lyubimyj. Who could not be?"
Oliver can hardly breathe, watching as Hollzy flushes a dusky pink, his freckles almost disappearing under the rosy hue that sweeps down his cheekbones. Fuck, he might've just fallen in love with Cap for that one; it nearly feels obscene to watch the way they soften into each other.
"You're such a fucking asshole," Hollzy mutters, and Oliver's only known about the two of them for like fifteen minutes, but he knows an I love you when he hears one.
Cap's whole face softens even somehow. "Part of my charm, solnyshko, no?"
Hollzy rolls his eyes but doesn't argue as Cap drops his hand away from his face and sits back. "So, Bergie," Cap says, smugness in every line of him as Hollzy sighs deeply. "You are having an emergency?"
"Man, fuck my emergency," Oliver says immediately, scooping the ice pack back up and slapping it back over his eye. Droplets of ice cold water spill down his wrist, rolling down to drip off his elbow. "Are you—should I—can you tell me anything, or am I going to just have to suck it up and wait for the big reveal tomorrow? Bigger reveal? I don't know how to even think about quantifying this. And, it probably doesn't matter, cause like, duh, this is your fucking life, but I'm genuinely good with whatever you want. I can be patient. I promise." He wiggles on the couch, grinning. "I'm still in shock, tbh. I'll probably dream up a bunch of questions, and have even more tomorrow."
Cap snorts, looking vaguely amused. "You are so bad at patience, Bergie," he murmurs. "Remember the slot machine issue in Vegas—"
"We do not have to get into all that," Oliver says immediately, flushing bright pink. "Dude, some things are not supposed to be shared with Shane Hollander while I'm sober." He narrows his gaze at Cap's grin. "Or at all, you jerk."
"Mm, we will wait, I think, if that is okay," Cap says, dragging them back to his actual questions, after a quick look exchanged with Hollzy. Oliver still doesn't trust the expression on his face, but it's his fault, actually, for bringing up patience. Nothing reminds the team of his dumbass mistakes faster than that. "You will have plenty of questions, and so will the other babies—"
Oliver groans, glaring at him as best he can. "We're not babies, Cap—"
"—and so will the rest of the team," Cap continues, ignoring him with ease. "It will be, hm, a lot to be asked, and we are sure there will be a lot of repeat questions. But, we will answer it all tomorrow."
He nods, eager beyond belief. "Can I—or, no, wait. Never mind. You probably don't—" He cuts himself off, flushing.
"What?"
"Uh," Oliver mutters, his eye darting between the two of them. "It's stupid. I was gonna ask if I could text a picture of, uh, Hollzy to the rookie group chat." He grins, just thinking about how insane it'd make them all. "I think Luca would freak, and Young would pass out. LP would probably send eighteen paragraphs of nonsense." He glances at Hollzy, flushing, his mouth moving faster than his brain. "Young's gonna kill me but he has a massive crush on you. I mean—like, everyone on the team is obsessed with you."
Cap groans, as if he's not the worst perpetuator of the obsession. "Yes, yes, everyone and their mother is in love with Hollander," he mutters as Hollzy blushes again. "I do not know why you are so obsessed with the second-best hockey player, but we all have our faults."
"Shut up," Hollzy says, thumping him again with his elbow. "And I mean—sure," he says. "Why not?"
For a moment, Oliver doesn't understand—does Hollzy mean, sure, why not, everyone is obsessed with me, which, is true, but he'd never thought that he'd ever be so cocky, and damn, that's like both ice-cold and fucking sick as hell—but then it clicks, and he yanks his ice pack off his face again.
"Wait, I can?"
"He can?"
Hollzy shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip. "I mean, it's all going to come out tomorrow, and unless you want to not share until everyone is here—" His mouth kicks up as he meets Cap's eyes. "It also just seemed like something you'd like, given how much I hear about you teasing the rooks for their hockey crushes."
"It is not just hockey crushes," Cap murmurs, but his eyes are bright and soft, a giant grin overtaking his face. Oliver's warm just looking at them; Jesus Christ, he's never felt like such a goddamn third wheel, and he's hung out with Hazy and Dr. Lisa before. Cap leans in closer, their noses almost touching. "Yes, okay."
"I'm freaking out," Oliver announces to the room at large; as much as he thinks watching the two of them make out crazy-style would make his head spin—and is lowkey something he really wants to see because he is nothing but a simple pervert as LP says—he doesn't know if that's the picture they want to send. Not yet, at least. He has a feeling they're both freaks for each other, just given their general aura. So, maybe, there is hope for a make out later. If they need a cameraman, he'll do his duty and volunteer. "This is the best day of my life. Tomorrow is probably going to be even better." He blinks at the two of them. "And, wow, you just get to live like this, you know? For the rest of your lives, everyone's going to know how fucking in love you are."
"That's the plan," Hollzy says, still looking at Cap, their faces close enough to touch. His mouth is curving into something deeply satisfied, and Oliver's never seen his face so bright, not even on the ice. "Everyone's going to know just how fucking in love we are."
Oliver shivers under the weight of devotion inked into Hollzy's tone. He feels—he doesn't think that there are enough words to describe how utterly bewildering and totally enchanting it is, to see them like this, open and connected and so clearly infatuated.
"I'm gonna cry," he croaks out, bringing his ice pack back up and covering his other eye with his hand. "What the hell."
"Ah," Cap says sagely, nodding, even as he doesn't look away for Hollzy. "You are a homophobe."
Oliver splutters, straightening up and dropping his empty hand. "That's not—Hollzy," he says, turning to stare at him as best he can with only one good eye. "I don't know this man, okay? Never seen him a day in my life—"
Laughter rings through the room, bright and echoing, and Oliver cuts his words off as he watches Hollzy toss his head back and laugh.
"I should've known your rooks would pick up your tricks," he says, shaking his head, batting Cap's hand away when he tries to cover his mouth up. "You're fine, Bergie. I, unfortunately, do know this man—"
"There is nothing unfortunate about knowing me," Cap mutters, pouting. The effect is ruined by his own expression; he looks lovestruck, bowled over with delight as he glances between the two of them.
It hits Oliver that this is one of the first times they've probably actually interacted with a teammate after telling them, and he doesn't flinch when his eyes well up. He just loves love, and he doesn't care if Cap and Hollzy know. Cap especially; god knows that he's walked in on the four of them crying over the mere concept of soulmates before.
"—oh my god, you baby, fine, yes, obviously, there is nothing unfortunate about knowing you." Cap beams, leaning in to smack a kiss against Hollzy's cheeks. He flushes, even as his whole face crinkles up with joy, before he turns his attention back to Oliver. "And whenever you're ready we can take a pic."
Cap groans, rolling his eyes as Oliver blinks at the two of them. "We will pose," Cap says, glancing at Oliver imperiously. "Ready, Bergie?"
He fumbles for his phone, tugging the ice pack away again as Hollzy lightly scolds Cap, before they smush into each other as he raises his camera with a shaking hand.
The room is quiet for a beat, before he lets his arm drop, blinking down at the array of pictures he has.
"What are you going to say?" Cap asks, his mouth twitching. "They will probably show up outside and whine until we let them in."
Hollzy smirks, a smug little curve of his mouth. "I can answer the door again," he says, laughing. "Or I can hide."
Cap grins at him, bright and open. "Maybe we should just invite the whole team over tonight?"
Bergie shrugs, even as he pulls up the rookie chat. "I mean, I'll probably say that I made a new friend, and I'll send it later," he mutters, flushing a little at the childishness of his words. "I still want to see their faces when the reveal comes."
He types out a sentence, staring at it for a beat, before attaching the picture, scheduling the text, and setting his phone to do not disturb.
"It's kinda crazy that I came over cause I thought I'd taken a drug that helped me taste red," he says, laughing to himself. "Man, life is so wild."
There's a beat before he lifts his head up, taking in the unimpressed look on both of their faces.
"Explain," Cap says, tossing an arm around Hollzy's shoulders. "I am thinking you are maybe a constant emergency."
"Hey," Oliver says weakly, before he sighs. He did want to ask a trust adult, and Cap's high on that list. "Okay, well, you know how Luca…"
SHANE HOLLANDER (😍😍) APPRECIATION CLUB
3:34 AM
making new friends at caps, everyone get jealous
8:13 AM
Luca 🥵
.
?????
??!?!??!?!!??!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?
Ry 🍆
IS FHAT SHANE MF HOLLANDER???
Young, Hawt, & Free 😏
askkdidjskakwksjdjd
and i played you out like you were making a MISTAKE???
Luca 🥵
bergie get back here
Ry 🍆
??????
Young, Hawt, & Free 😏
OLIVER THOMAS HOLMBERG FRONT AND CENTER 📢📢
RIGHT NEOWWWWW
Luca 🥵
is this allowed????
can he drop this and go???
did he schedule this for maximum insanity???
Ry 🍆
who did you pay to photoshop this
there's no way, right?
bergie
bergie pls
Luca 🥵
we are not supposed to go to cap's right now. it is 8 am.
i am not dressed.
someone tell me we are not going to caps now.
Young, Hawt, & Free 😏
yes, but also
Shane Hollander.
Luca 🥵
no, that is an excellent point
i think the rules change when Shane Hollander is involved
Ry 🍆
yeah, they change into a NEED to go to caps
ASAP
Young, Hawt, & Free 😏
someone pick me up in five
who cares that brunch is at 11??
no like, really, like, point me to someone who cares??
Shane Hollander perfect, Shane Hollander here, Shane Hollander Ottawa
Ry 🍆
dude, is bergie even HOME????
DID HE GET A CAP SND SHANE HOLLANDER SLEEPOVER????
Luca 🥵
are we seriously storming cap's house rn?? i can't tell if we're serious??
guys pls, it's like 8 am
Ry 🍆
TRAITOR TO THE SHANE HOLLANDER APPRECIATION CLUB, EVERYONE BOO HIM
Young, Hawt, & Free 😏
BERGIE I ASKED HOW CAP'S WAS AND YOU SAID FINE???????????????
FINE?!?!?!?!?!!
THIS IS FINE TO YOH!?!?
hollzy said to be chill, so im being chill
Luca 🥵
will he be there today?
idk
Ry 🍆
…..you're such a bastard
😇😇😇😇
Young, Hawt, & Free 😏
everyone in favor of dragging bergie's body to cap so he knows we've successfully hunted down the asshole.
Ry 🍆
agreed
Luca 🥵
you have left me no choice but to say yes
ughhhhhhh
at least i'll die having met shane hollander
Ry 🍆
oh, dude, you're so fucking dead to us
❤️❤️❤️❤️