Chapter Text
Ilya didn't knew who he expected to see when he heard his doorbell ring in the middle of a snowstorm. Maybe one of his team mates forgot something, maybe Cliff decided to go party despite the weather, maybe his brother decided to come extort him in person, maybe Stevlana decided to surprise him or maybe, just maybe Hollander…. To sum it up, Ilya could imagine a lot of plausible possibilities for who was at the door. He definitely didn't predict a fucking baby.
Okay to be fair the kid wasn’t exactly a baby but he was young, Ilya would guess 10 but he may as well be 8 by how small he was. The kid was facing down, glasses almost falling off his nose, his blonde hair, much lighter than Ilya’s has ever been, was acting like a pinecone and gathering snow while covering most of the kid's face. The kid looked miserable. And so very small.
Ilya was sure the kid was mumbling something and he 100% would love to hear what the kid was talking about but the only thing he could pay attention to was the kid's trembling frame. Damn! The kid was as white as paper, except for his flushed cheeks, and Ilya could see the tips of his fingers and ears turning bluish. He didn't get to think much past that before grabbing the kid's hand and pulling him inside.
Looking back Ilya may realize that basically kidnapping a kid as an immigrant, public persona and underage guy may not be the smartest choice but he wasn't prone to smart decisions even when thinking calmly, he definitely wouldn't take good ones while panicking and looking for a hoodie. He found one halfway through dragging the kid towards the coach, wasting no time in wrapping the kid in it. He was ready to continue his walk towards the coach and the blanket he was glad he left there when he realized the kid had completely froze, his face was finally visible, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish. Ilya stared back, worry rising with each second the kid spent mute. Fuck! Maybe the kid had freezed to death. Ilya rushed to his knees, leveling his face with the kid's, before giving the kid what he could only hope was a reassuring smile.
“ Hey kid, can you tell me how you're feeling?”
The kid's eyes filled with unshed tears, in a way that definitely didn't remind him of Hollander at all, before opening his mouth and, what later Ilya would find out was a habit of the kid, giving him a heart attack.
“I think I'm dying…”
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Luca was having an absolutely awful day this far. He got up late, which left him without breakfast. His parents gave him a lift to school before casually announcing they were taking a trip Luca wasn't invited to, again. Then he realized he forgot to do his homework, and the lunch had mustard in it, which meant that unless he wanted to add an anaphylactic reaction to his day he had to buy a sandwich in the cafeteria machine.
He was hoping his afternoon would be less awful but no, his life had absolutely no mercy seeing as he managed to make a fool of himself losing a blade mid training and proceeding to fall like bambi. And to put a cherry on top his bus was late due to a snow storm what left him freezing for about an hour.
Luca was already having the worst time ever when he got home just to realize he didn't have his keys. What led him to walking 20 minutes, under Boston's winter, to embarrass himself asking for help from a, hopefully at home, neighbor he never even saw.
In his defence he was kinda new to the neighborhood ( if you could call a handful of houses miles apart a neighborhood). His parents had decided to move from Sweden after his grandmother passed, Luca was sure it didn't make much difference for them seeing as they were never home anyways but god did Luca miss home. He missed his grandma's food, and her house, and the hugs she used to give, he misses the way she would put him to bed and nag at him when he showed up bruised after practice. He misses the quiet afternoons listening to her recounting stories and exploring photo books, he misses the late nights they would spend awake watching hockey, something his grandma never really understood but would still listen to him talk about for hours. He misses her as a whole, he misses home .
And now he was standing stupidly in front of the largest front door he ever saw, eyes filled with tears, face red with embarrassment, body cold from the snow, eyes fixed on his shoes as he heard the door opening.
Luca really hoped he didn't look pathetic enough for his neighbor to just shut the door in his face, he had no idea what he would do if he was turned down. He decided his best chance was to rush on explaining the situation.
“ Hey Sir, I'm so sorry for bothering you but I… I ummmm, I live next door and I forgot my keys, what's stupid, and reckless , and I'm so sorry for bothering you, but I… I really need help cause it’s snowing and I don't know what to do, and my parents won't be home for at least two weeks and I really don't want to be like the little match girl, and I know I'm rambling and I'm so sorry for bothering you sir but can you…”
He never got to finish that phrase as he was suddenly being rushed inside, the sudden movement left him tripping over his own words, a string of “sorry” and “ I can solve it myself” pouring out of his mouth with out a second though as his neighbor was suddenly manhandling him into a fluffy sweater forcing his face up and making Luca whole body freeze.
Luca was pretty sure he had read somewhere that hypothermia caused hallucination cause what other justification there could be for Ilya Rozanov, his favorite player of all times, the guy he had a giant poster of over his bed, to be crouching right next to him, giving him the same smile he watched thousands of times on interviews. His mouth worked faster than his brain as he mumbled.
“I think I'm dying…”