Hug now, escape later

This snippet has been months in the making. I had to hash out Concepts both earlier and later before the right POV and a sense of "what the payoff and/or seeds for later" ought to be clicked into place.

Behold, Troy Barrett wrangling a call-up/rookie from Utah, while Ilya is being gayer than Troy is entirely comfortable with about, of all things, ginger-ale based non-alcoholic drinks.

"So, Kimball," Ilya said, taking up position in his own kitchen. "First question." The kid was probably Mormon, and didn't they have prohibitions on more than just alcohol and homosexuality? Still, Ilya's first question wasn't what Troy expected. "Fizz preference?" Kimball looked as perplexed as Troy felt. Ilya frowned. "Bubbles. Like regular soda: good? Bad?" "Fine," Kimball said. "I just, um. I found Cokes in the cooler out there." He gestured toward the patio. "But I don't like Coke. Or Fanta. Or anything orange really." "Cool," Ilya said. "I played with a guy in Boston who hated anything with fizz. Didn't matter if it was soda or champagne, he said it made his nose itch." Kimball clearly didn't know what to say to that. Troy hoped it was making him feel comfortable, because Troy didn't know what he could say that would help. This was the kind of guy Ilya was, this was why he'd been made Captain so young, this was why he was the first person Troy had actually come out to. He paid attention to people. He remembered things about people, and he cared about making people comfortable. He cared about some guy in Boston who hated bubbly drinks, and he remembered that Kimball didn't drink, and he wanted to make the kid comfortable. Which, if Kimball was Mormon, he probably couldn't, and Troy saying anything would make it worse. "We've got ginger ale, we've got Sprite, we've got Cassie's favourite cloudy apple juice - don't tell Harris. Or," Ilya went on, the thought clearly striking him out of the blue, "maybe do tell Harris. Hey, Troy: why does Harris have unlimited hard cider but not even the soft kind?" "Probably because he works for a hockey team," Troy said. "I never asked." "Remind me to have a word with his sisters," Ilya said, and then his focus snapped back to Kimball. "Ginger… ginger ale's fine," Kimball said, and Ilya nodded like this was the correct answer. He turned toward what was obviously the backup cooler, and then paused. "Wait, you'll love this." Ilya's face lit up. "Unless you're allergic to mango? Are you allergic to mango?" "No?" Kimball said. It came out like a question. "Troy, if you were allergic to anything I'd know by now," Ilya said, grabbing four cups and adding ice to each of them in turn. Kimball snuck a look in Troy's direction. Troy gave him what he hoped was a "he's always like this" shrug, but the kid dropped his gaze to stare at the kitchen countertop. Meanwhile, Ilya rummaged in the fridge - he pulled out an actual litre bottle of ginger ale, and a carton of something. Something mango, apparently. "Mango and ginger ale," Ilya said, swiping a lime slice from the cocktail station. "Try it!" Kimball stared at the cup like it might bite him. Troy couldn't even conclude that Kimball was being homophobic because Ilya repeated what seemed to be a half-half formula and handed the next one to Troy and Troy probably had the same expression on his face. "It's great, you gotta try it," Ilya was saying, now pouring mango juice into the remaining cups. He moved to follow that up with ginger ale. Kimball took a sip first. "Huh," he said. "That is… huh." "I know, right?" Ilya dropped lime into the two cups he had. "Shane does not drink in hockey season, and apparently the standard mocktails are kind of terrible. But this? This is great." Kimball's face clearly shut down. Troy wondered if Ilya had been drinking before this: Ilya was perceptive, but only Troy seemed to be picking up on Kimball's anxiety. Troy drank some of his mango-ginger-ale mixed whatever. It was good; better than straight ginger ale, that's for sure. "This is Shane's thing, then?" he asked. If the kid from Utah was going to freak out about playing with Rozanov and Hollander, better that he freak out early. "No," Ilya said, beaming. Troy noted, out of the corner of his eye, that Kimball was taking another sip. "This is a gift from the flight attendant on our honeymoon!"