❖ a little delirious ❖

“you look like your dad.” he coos.

this earns him a slight head turn and a scathing look, a hollander glare without a doubt, “because i’m stressed the fuck out?”

“Да, probably.”

she looks back down at the floor and shakes her head. she lets out a heavy sigh, unfurling herself until her neck rests on her papa’s arm. and sue him, ilya smiles.

“i am the worst papa, i know.”

“you are.” she agrees but she doesn’t let that stop her from working her way over into his personal space. ilya closes her into a hug and squeezes her tight, this time when she sighs he can tell its out of relief.

there’s quiet for a few moments. and ilya lets it be. he’s content to let the quiet last long after shane comes back from some boring meeting, long after lunch and dinner time pass, long after the sun goes down. maybe its selfish. but he wants to keep his little- not so little, almost 18 year old- girl curled up here forever. but the quiet doesn’t last much longer before sofiya breaks it.

“do you think i’m lazy?”

“who called you lazy?” the words come out quicker and sharper than he intends and he regrets it when sofiya stiffens in response, “извини, sorry,” he rubs a hand up and down her forearm to brush away the tension, “i don’t like that word.”

“i know.” sofiya shakes her head against his shoulder, “and i know i’m not. i just.. i feel like i am, sometimes.”

ilya hums. he wants to say something. he wants to say everything. he wants to tell her every brilliant, beautiful thing she is because she is made of the best parts of him and none of the rest. but that’s too much. so he just hums.

“like, i look at photos of you and dad, and you were so young, and i realize i’m already older than you were when your career started and i’m good with data but i could be working harder-” her words are short and fast and ilya thinks absently about all the times he’s been socked in the face and how each punch hurt less than this “i don’t want to be left behind.”

i don’t want to be left behind, sounds too much like i don’t want to disappoint you for ilya’s heart to be able to handle. fuck. he and shane have always tried to encourage sofiya to explore new things, never pushed her too far towards athletics, wanting her to make her own choices. but it seemed by simple virtue of their joint careers they’ve imposed upon her an impossible standard. how is he going to fix this? how can he explain that being the best or being nothing aren’t the only two options when he himself has touted the phrase ‘second place is first loser’ more often than he should?

“you know i went to olympics-“

“oh my god! seriously papa?” sofiya shoves away from him but ilya doesn’t let her get far. “you’re bragging right now?”

“no, no listen.” he insists and she rolls her eyes, “i went to olympics, was great honor to be captain, represent my country but i hated it. i hated every minute in sochi because i was sad.”

“you were.. sad?” she says it slow and stilted. her brow scrunches like its impossible. because kids only see the version of their parents that they want them to see. and she’s never seen an ilya rozanov who could play hockey and be sad about it.

“sad yes, miserable,” he shrugs, “terrible to be around probably.”

her frown deepens, “because you lost?”

at another time and in another life it probably would have stung to be reminded of losing, but now its just a fact. ilya shakes his head, “i was sad before i lost and i was sad after. losing made no difference.”

she settles back down next to him, legs up on the couch and knees angled towards him, “why?”

“i didn’t have your dad,” he begins because that’s the kindest way to say he shoved shane aside and told him to fuck off, “i went to fancy parties, full of people who hated me, said i didn’t work hard, was too lazy to deserve good things and i believed them.” he pauses and when sofiya doesn’t say anything he continues, “you can do anything you want sonya, but if you aren’t happy it won’t matter.”

sofiya lets the words sink in. ilya can see the scale in her head weighing what she wants to say.

she settles on “stats make me happy.”

and ilya has to try very hard not to laugh because yeah, he knows, he’s called her Маленький бомбардир* since she was four and started memorizing the MHL Official Guide & Record Book 2017 for fun.

“but what if” ah, what if, the death of all happiness, “what if people don’t take me seriously?”

“then find better people.” ilya taps her temple twice, “because this is serious.”

a small upturn tugs at the corners of sofiya’s lips “thanks papa.”

“anytime, sonyushka.”

—

*little scorer