Rich Tea Biscuits

The energy in the locker room is infectious as soon as Crosby walks in, yelling and cheering and someone (Connor’s pretty sure it’s Jarvy) singing a horribly off-key version of O Canada. Crosby’s face breaks out in that too-big grin he’s famous for, the one that changes all the angles of his face from sharp corners to rounded edges, eyes crinkling so hard you almost can’t see them anymore. Connor smiles at the sight instinctively as the team celebrates their captain’s return from the media, even louder than they’d celebrated Mitch’s despite him having the actual game winner. Mitch doesn’t seem too bothered by it, yelling out Sid-neyyy Cuh-roz-beeeee as Sid makes his way through the room over to his stall next to Connor’s.

Connor’s not quite as excited as the rest of the guys. It’s only the first game, and he thinks — he should’ve played better, shot more. It was Sid’s crowd to lose out there, but Connor’s finally playing for his country in a way that feels like it might actually matter, and he wouldn’t have minded a Connnnnor Mc-Day-vid over the speakers at some point.

Next time, Connor thinks. Next game. “Nasty, 87,” he says as Sid takes a seat and starts peeling out of his gear. Sid gives him a smile and knocks his skate against Connor’s, a clack of plastic Connor feels ring through him.

The arena attendant sticks his head through the doors before Connor can say anything else. “Crosby,” he calls out, “you taking the winner’s room tonight?”

Connor’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t know why.

There’s a few cat-calls from the guys, but Sid just shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, “let Marns have it, he earned it.”

Someone whoops, and Mitch rises from the bench to Griddy his way over to the attendant while the rest of the team cheers. Mitch says a name, but Connor can’t quite make it out over the noise, the yelling and leering and ringing in his ears that he can’t place. It doesn’t matter anyway. “Thanks, Sid,” Mitch shouts out before he leaves, and Connor glances over to see Sid’s face, expression still and unreadable.

Connor wonders if Sid gives up the room a lot. He wonders if Sid would’ve given it up if it was Russia in the visitor’s room instead of Sweden, if instead of Karlsson teasing Sid across the face-off dot there’d been another teammate looming over him, eyes searching and mouth downturned. It makes his stomach roll to think about, which is stupid — this, whatever they’re not calling it when they’re not talking about it, this thing with Geno isn’t like that, like they have any claim staked out on each other, especially not when it comes to the room. But Connor’s been in the room with Geno, and he knows how easy it is to leave with him, like the walls bend for him with each lumbering step he takes. Sometimes Connor feels like there’s no walls around Geno at all, an open field you could get lost in, nothing to position yourself in relation to but him and the wind. When Connor thinks about Sid getting in the room with Geno suddenly the field becomes a dingy little basement with a shitty painting of grass and the sun on the walls, and there’s not enough room for three of them to stay. His chest gets a little tight at the thought of it, like the wall with the shitty nature mural on it is behind his rib cage, closing in.

Connor’s phone buzzes on the bench beside him, pulling him out of his head. It’s not Russia in the other room, and it probably won’t ever be, not soon enough for it to matter. Connor doesn’t need to make himself miserable over something he both doesn’t understand and couldn’t change, especially not when he glances at his phone to see it lighting up with texts.

Geno Malkin

Boooooo Canada 👎🏻

Geno Malkin

Booo 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻

Connor grins to himself, picking up the phone to reply, but more messages come in before he can even unlock the screen.

Geno Malkin

You score next time ok? Make game less boring

Geno Malkin

Mackinnon 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 Mcdavid 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻)))))

Connor’s chest does something complicated at the stupid eye-less smilies, a little twist and fold in on itself. He locks the screen instead of replying, feeling suddenly shy in a way that embarrasses him even though it only exists in his head.

Sid clears his throat, and Connor startles, a full-body flinch. He looks at Sid and sees Sid’s eyes flick up from the phone in Connor’s hand before they meet Connor’s gaze, but he doesn’t look like someone who’s worried about getting caught snooping. He looks — serious, maybe, concerned, a furrow forming between his brows. He stands up, having quick-changed into his regular clothes before Connor even managed to unlace his skates, and he towers over Connor now, face in shadow.

It’s weird, Connor thinks. He’s been in the room with Sid, too, more times than he’d bothered to keep track of. He’s had Sid’s dick in his mouth, his hand in his hair, the taste of him stuck behind his teeth the entire bus ride back to the hotel, but like this he feels like a stranger Connor’s looking at on a poster, like someone Connor’s never really known at all.

“Be careful,” Sid says, and Connor has no idea what he’s talking about until his phone buzzes again in his hands, another message coming in from Geno, although Connor glances down at the screen and then back up to Sid so fast he doesn’t manage to register any of the actual message itself. “It’s not like that forever,” Sid adds, and Connor frowns, teeth clenching tight enough that his temples hurt.

Sid doesn’t say anything else, and when Connor goes to ask what he means, he finds his lips are too dry, stuck together like they’d been glued. It takes too long to pry them apart, Sid already having turned on his heels and left by the time Connor manages it.

Connor licks his lips, feeling every crack, and then looks at his phone, where he can see Geno’s texted Call from hotel? with more eyeless smilies at the end.

Connor’s chest tightens again, thinking about wide, open fields. He’s only been in fields like that when he’s been hunting, looking through the scope of a rifle. Yes :) Connor sends back, and thinks about Sid’s warning. For Sid, Connor thinks, a wide open field is just somewhere deer go to die. Connor sets his phone down and starts properly changing, now that he’s got somewhere to be. He wonders who Sid thinks the deer is. Who Sid thinks is staring down the sights with their finger on the trigger.