Chapter Text
Luca Haas is having the time of his life. He’s been drafted into the NHL. He spent a season training at a development camp in Zurich before planting himself in a hotel for three weeks. He’s been rooming with LaPointe, which has helped tremendously in terms of homesickness. He’s getting to train with his childhood idol. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. This just doesn’t happen to people like him.
When the team stumbled into the locker room on the final day of training, the names of the guys who made the final cuts were up on the stalls. Luca thought he might shit himself when he saw Haas written on one of the stalls. LaPointe just about tackled him to the ground in excitement, his name two stalls down from Luca’s own.
Some of the seasoned players were clapping the camp guys on the back. Bood was ruffling LaPointe’s hair and congratulating him. Barrett was talking stiffly to one of the campers who hadn’t made the team. Luca couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted to Rozanov, who seemed to be taking everything in.
His eyes swept over Luca and paused briefly. He nodded, his lips tilted up just slightly. Luca nodded back, a giddy excitement settling over him.
This was real. He had made it. He was in the fucking NHL. He was playing with Ilya Rozanov. He was playing for the Ottawa Centaurs. He glanced at his stall one more time just to double check that his name was still there.
Chills scattered down his arms when he took in the bold letters again.
Wiebe clapped his hands and made an announcement that Luca completely missed, the ringing in his ears overpowering everyone else’s voices. He could see the guys cheering. Everyone was celebrating, even the guys who hadn’t made it were clapping, albeit with longer faces. They would be going to the AHL, so it wasn’t the worst break, but he knew that if he were in their places, he wouldn’t be able to fake a smile.
Before they left, Wiebe pulled him, LaPointe, and the only other rookie who made the final cut, Holmberg, aside to have them fill out a survey asking about preferred living situations. Luca felt like he was watching himself check the box indicating his preferred living situation with a vet.
Coach let them know someone would be in touch soon about their living situations for the season. Luca knew that should excite him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to focus on anything. His mind was running in about fifteen different directions.
Luca knew he was a good hockey player. He’d had to be. He wouldn’t have been drafted second overall otherwise. It came with a lot of pressure, though.
It had been a lot of pressure when his parents had signed him up for his first lessons when he was four. It had been a lot of pressure when winning became the only way to get his parents' attention. It had been a lot of pressure when people would show up to his games to watch him specifically. It was a lot of pressure when the scouts started to show up. It was a lot of pressure when he got drafted to the Centaurs. Hockey had always been a lot of pressure, but Luca dealt with it. He knew how to push past it and deal with it quietly by himself. A part of him refused to believe he’d actually made the final cut. A bigger part of him was already measuring all the ways he could let the team down.
Luca sat at his stall until most of the guys had filtered out. LaPointe was still showering, having spent too long talking to everyone.
He had been waiting for LaPointe for about five minutes when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Luca couldn’t help but flinch, his eyes snapping up. Rozanov stood above him, his hand now hovering above his shoulder awkwardly.
“Didn’t mean to scare you. The guys are all getting dinner, and we wanted to invite the new rookies.” Luca’s heart skipped a beat. What was his life?
“Yeah, we’d love to.” Luca’s voice was pitched too high.
Rozanov gave his shoulder another pat, this time much softer. “Alright. Do you need a ride?”
Luca’s head was shaking before Rozanov was done talking. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m waiting for LaPointe, and then he can drive us.” His voice was more even, and Luca mentally patted himself on the back.
Rozanov nodded and grabbed his bag from his stall. “Alright, we’ll see you in a bit.” He made it all the way to the door before he turned back to Luca. “Welcome to the team, Haas.”
Luca sat there until LaPointe came out, staring at the stall with his name on it before finally grabbing his bag and heading out to meet the team.
— — — — —
Dinner was nice, loud and chaotic in the way Luca imagined NHL team dinners always were. Boodram and Hayes (Bood and Hazy, as they had informed the rookies) were busy telling them all about the crazy hazing they endured when they made their first NHL team for their rookie season. Dykstra smacked them upside the head after a particularly crazy story that Luca was about 85% sure couldn’t have been real. Rozanov and Barrett had sat towards the end of the table and spent most of the dinner talking quietly amongst themselves.
The ride back to the hotel had been full of LaPointe’s rambles about his excitement for the upcoming season. Luca couldn’t quite find it in himself to do anything other than nod stupidly. He continued waiting for someone to call him and tell him it was a joke and that they were actually sending him back to Zurich. There was a reason he hadn’t fully unpacked his suitcase at the hotel yet, even though it had been three weeks.
LaPointe kept up his excitement until he crashed around one in the morning. The day's adrenaline mixed with the early mornings and long training days finally caught up to him. Luca wanted to go to sleep too, but he couldn’t quite get his mind to shut off. He had texted his parents about making the team, but it had been the middle of the night in Switzerland, so they hadn’t read it yet. He was sure they would respond when they woke up.
Luca had been tossing in his bed for a few hours when the text came through, followed shortly by another. He reached over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand and read the message quickly. His eyebrows furrowed.
Unknown Number: Saw the housing sheet.
Unknown Number: You can bring your stuff tomorrow.
Who is this?
Unknown Number: Rozanov.
Luca could feel his heart drop to his stomach before picking up speed in his chest. He quickly propped himself up on his elbow and reached for his glasses so he could process better. He had gotten his wish. He was living with a vet during his first season. Not just any vet, Ilya Rozanov. He could be cool and collected about this. It’s not like he had posters of the man in his room growing up. His fingers fumbled as he saved the number to his phone.
Oh my god.
Thank you so much I
Are you sure?
Oh god. What does he even say? He didn’t even know where to start. It would be an honor to live with Rozanov, but why would he choose him? Why would his captain volunteer for something like this? Unless he hadn’t. It would make more sense if it weren’t his choice. Luca’s chest felt tight as he typed the next words, hitting send before he could second guess it.
Thank you. What time should I come?
It was good. Professional. Luca tried to regulate his breathing as he ran through all the ways he could keep quiet and out of the way. He hoped Rozanov had a big house, somewhere he could easily make himself scarce. He had plenty of practice making himself small. He took in one more steadying breath as he read the newest message.
Rozanov: 9. Text when you’re on the way.
Luca briefly wondered if he should thumbs up the message, before quickly dismissing the idea. Rozanov would expect more than a reaction to his text.
Of course. See you tomorrow.
He stared at the message for another few seconds before finally locking his phone when no other messages came through. He put his phone back on the nightstand and plugged it in before folding his glasses and setting them on top of his phone.
He settled onto his back and let his hands rest on his stomach as his thoughts raced. Forcing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. He was about to start an entirely new chapter in his life.
Tomorrow, he’d walk into Rozanov’s house with his entire life in a suitcase.
— — — — —
LaPointe left the hotel around eight. Luca had given him smiles and encouragement as the nerves had settled into his new friend.
Bood had texted LaPointe that morning, letting him know he’d swing by to pick him up before they went and settled into Bood’s house. LaPointe had grabbed Luca’s hands and slung him around the room in his excitement, and Luca hadn’t been able to help the laughter that bubbled up.
Luca’s stomach twisted a little with jealousy that Bood had gone out of his way to pick LaPointe up. He tried to shake the feeling off quickly. Jealousy was a wasted emotion. Rozanov probably had a million and one things to do. The least Luca could do was find his own way to Rozanov’s.
It didn’t take long to pack up his bathroom stuff and grab his charger. He hadn’t really unpacked anything else. The team hotel was close to the training facility, which meant Rozanov’s house couldn’t be far. He figured that would make it easier to get to and from the facility. He tried not to think about how often he’d have to call an Uber.
The ride wasn’t long, and he found himself opening his phone and typing out what is Ilya Rozanov like as a teammate before hastily deleting it. That was embarrassing. He’d find out soon enough. He had really wanted to look up what Rozanov was like as a roommate, but who on earth would know that?
After a few minutes of riding in silence, the driver glanced to the backseat at Luca and asked what he did for work. It was a normal question, but it still made his heart speed up. Should he mention he plays hockey? That he’s in the NHL? That felt illegal somehow. It felt like a lie. He settled on saying he was a student and let the car fall back into silence.
Eventually, the car stopped in front of a large house. Luca sat there, staring up at it through the window before forcing himself to open the door. He flinches when his suitcase rumbles loudly as he walks up to the front door. Luca doesn’t think he’s ever been more nervous for anything in his life. The idea of moving in with Rozanov is somehow more daunting than the night he was drafted.
He knocked three times before stepping back and shifting on his feet. It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard the soft click of the door unlocking before it opened to reveal Rozanov standing there in a Centaurs t-shirt and joggers. Luca shifted uncomfortably in his jeans.
Rozanov looked at him for a moment before opening the door wider, stepping aside to give Luca enough room to go in. He glanced at Luca’s suitcase, his eyes darting behind him briefly. “Do you need help with other bags?” It was a kind offer, but Luca felt his cheeks heat uncomfortably.
“Um, no. This is all I have.” Rozanov nodded to himself.
“The rest is coming later?” It was technically a question, but Rozanov’s tone made it more of a statement.
Luca was quiet for a moment before Rozanov shrugged, “Travel light. Smart.” Luca didn’t say anything. If Rozanov wanted to believe that, he could.
As Luca stepped inside, he was hit with the smell of maple. It was a sharp contrast to the citrus scent of his own home in Zurich. There was a TV playing softly somewhere in the house and a few pieces of art on the walls, but there were no pictures hung up anywhere. It was somewhat colder than Luca had imagined.
“There’s nowhere that’s off limits, except my bedroom. If you need something, ask. If I’m in my room, knock.” Luca nodded along. That was easy enough. He knew he wouldn’t be bothering Rozanov with any questions, but it was nice to know that Rozanov was giving him free rein.
“Thank you.” Luca knew he was mumbling, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to break the silence. Rozanov nodded and led him through the house.
It was larger than it looked from the outside. There were two spare bedrooms, both upstairs, and the main bedroom downstairs. The living room was spacious with large windows that cast the room in a yellow glow. Rozanov stopped in the kitchen. There were mixing bowls and plates strewn about. A pile of pancakes sat on one of the plates in the middle of the island.
“You’re welcome to use anything you need in here. I cook occasionally, but I wouldn’t count on a lot of home-cooked meals,” Rozanov said with a straight face. Something in his voice had Luca’s shoulders losing their tension. “I was making pancakes. You can put your things in your room and then come eat.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.” He expected to be brushed off. He didn’t expect Rozanov to pause before shaking his head.
“There is no interruption, Luca. Put your bags down and come eat pancakes. I have made too many.” Luca wasn’t quite sure if Rozanov was being a good host or if he genuinely wanted to eat with him, but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. There were simply too many pancakes for Rozanov to eat alone.
He grabbed his suitcase and followed Rozanov up the stairs to one of the spare bedrooms. “It’s a little small, but I’ve made the bed, and there’s extra blankets in the closet.” The room wasn’t huge, but it was easily more than Luca needed.
“It’s perfect, thank you.” Rozanov tilted his head in acknowledgment and left him to put his stuff up, pulling the door closed gently behind him.
There was a bed tucked into the corner with a nightstand next to it. The window had blackout curtains, which Luca appreciated. It would make the game day naps easier. His closet was spacious, and he knew it would make his handful of shirts look even smaller. He tucked his suitcase into the corner of the closet and made a mental note to hang up his shirts after breakfast.
He took his wallet out of his pocket and placed it on the nightstand before heading back downstairs.
Growing up, he had imagined what it would be like to meet his idol. Would they be friends? Was Ilya Rozanov actually the asshole that the media made him out to be? Would he see Luca and think he was good at hockey? He knew the last one was a silly thought, but even as an adult, there was nothing he wanted more than the approval of Ilya Rozanov.
Rozanov was sitting at the kitchen island when he got back downstairs. The island was bigger than the entire dining room table in Luca’s house back home. He couldn’t help but wonder how many hockey players had eaten breakfast here.
Luca hovered for a moment, wringing his hands together before Rozanov saw him and gestured to a stool. Luca sat carefully and grabbed a pancake from the top of the pile. He didn’t realize until it was on his plate that it was the biggest one in the pile. He glared at the pancake, his cheeks heating up. Great. First day of living here, and he was stealing Rozanov’s best pancakes. He glanced up and gave Rozanov a tight smile. “Thank you for the food. For all of this, really.”
Rozanov didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up, grabbed a cup of coffee by the machine, and reached around him to set the mug down in front of Luca’s plate. “Coffee,” he said casually, “Rookies look worse without it.” Rozanov sat back down and poured syrup over his pancakes.
Luca stared at the coffee in front of him, the mug still steaming.
He was beyond grateful for a place to live, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was intruding. Everything about the kitchen felt like it belonged to someone else. The counters, the coffee machine, the easy way Rozanov moved around the space. Luca kept his movements careful and quiet, scared of disturbing anything.
“Syrup?”
Luca blinked at him and then shifted on the stool. “Um, sure.”
Rozanov’s eyebrows furrowed. “It is syrup, not oxygen. You want? Yes or no?” Luca felt familiar heat crawling up his face and hoped that wouldn’t be a permanent thing.
“No, thank you.” Rozanov nodded and set it back down before stabbing a piece of pancake and shoving it in his mouth. Luca looked down at his own plate.
They ate their pancakes in silence for a moment, and Rozanov didn’t say anything when he hesitantly went for a second pancake. It felt like a win.
“I found the spare key for you. You lose it, you pay to replace the locks.” Luca nodded and grabbed the keys from Rozanov’s outstretched hand. There was an oddly shaped key sitting on the ring next to the house key. “What is this one for?”
Rozanov glanced up before looking back at his food as he answered casually, “That’s the key to the Audi. I’ll give you a ride to the stadium, but if you ever need to go anywhere else, you will take the Audi.” Luca stared at the keys.
There was no way Rozanov was just casually letting him drive his stupid expensive car. He was also offering to drive him to and from the stadium. It made sense logistically, but Rozanov couldn’t possibly want to spend that much time around him. He was already losing pretty much all of his alone time. Car rides were sacred.
“I couldn’t accept that. I was planning on getting an Uber. There’s really no need. I wouldn’t want to put you out.” The look that Rozanov sent him was carefully blank, but the lifted eyebrow was telling.
“Haas, we live together now. Why would we drive separately?” Luca was about to start sputtering excuses, but Rozanov continued talking before he could. “The Audi isn’t driven much, and with what money are you calling Ubers? You are a rookie. You are broke. This is the point of living together, no? Money and getting used to the NHL. You are overthinking.”
Rozanov glanced at him for a beat before looking back at his plate. “It’s not a big deal, Haas.” Luca stared at the keys in his palm. They felt heavier than they should have. It felt like a big deal.
He knew Rozanov wasn’t being cruel. He was probably trying to be helpful, but it just made Luca painfully aware of how new he was here.
His stomach dropped unpleasantly, and he was embarrassed by the sudden heat behind his eyes.
He knew he was thinking too hard about everything, but it was hard not to. Everything was unfamiliar. His brain was working at 110% every moment he was awake.
Living with his idol was both amazing and terrifying. He wanted the comfort of his own house, his own room. He wanted not to have to overthink every saying or translation or joke. He wanted to immediately be comfortable in this new place. He wanted his parents to respond to the text he sent last night. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
Clearing his throat roughly and praying to god that Rozanov couldn’t see the tears in his eyes, he pushed the stool away from the island. “Thank you for breakfast and everything else. I think I’m going to go unpack and maybe take a nap.” His voice broke on the last word, but he ignored it and gathered his plate and fork.
“Haas,” Rozanov said it gently, softer than he’d spoken so far, but Luca found himself tensing anyway.
“Thank you, again.” Luca interrupted. Rozanov looked like he wanted to say something, but he closed his mouth and nodded.
“Alright, get some rest.”
Luca nodded and made his way over to the stairs. “Luca,” Rozanov called from his seat at the island. He was twisting his hands together, and Luca was hit by the idea that Rozanov was uncomfortable in his own house again. “Welcome home.”
Home.
Luca didn’t know what to do with that. He slipped upstairs before Rozanov could see how much that one word affected him.