#it's thursday

[foldbaron]

Tonight, we begin again.

[lightofraye]

It's Thursday!

[daisyapples]

I have a tooth infection. My face is swollen. I am in an incredible amount of pain. Please tell me if this fic is worth continuing. I need motivation.

***

Fall 2011

Ilya couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he strode back into the locker room after the end of the second period. They were up two against Toronto and he loved nothing more than wiping the smirk off Dallas Kent’s stupid face. Shucking off his gloves, he took a bottle of gatorade off one of the assistant coaches and grabbed his phone from the cubby above his locker. The rest of the team were still pouring into the room, chatting and chirping and cheering, acting like there wasn’t another period to play.

Their confidence made his grin grow.

It dropped off his face when he unlocked his phone and glanced down at the bright screen.

He had sixteen missed calls from his father.

The phone started ringing again even as he stared at it. He hit the button and answered.

“Father?” He asked in Russian. “What’s wrong?”

“Your brother is dead.”

The locker room noise faded away to nothing as he tried to understand the words. His father might as well have been speaking French for all they made sense. Coach was suddenly standing in front of him, eyebrows raised like he couldn’t believe Ilya had the gall to answer a phone mid-game.

Ilya shook his head. “Say that again.”

“Alexai is dead. So is his wife.”

“Anna? My niece? Is she dead too?”

“She was not in the car.”

Without thinking about it, he grabbed Coach LeClaire’s shoulder. “Alexai and Maria are dead?”

“I have already told you this. Will you listen? They are dead. You must come home.”

LeClaire’s hand was on his wrist — Ilya used that one point of contact to keep him present. He was shaking, suddenly unsteady on the skates that were usually as comfortable as walking barefoot. Hands on his waist and shoulders guided him to a bench where he was gently pressed down. LeClaire followed him, crouching in front of him, expression concerned.

“I’ll be on the next flight,” he said. “I will figure it out, father.”

“See that you do.”

There was something tight in Grigori Rozanov’s voice; something Ilya had never heard there, not even after his mama had died.

Tears.

His father was crying.

Ilya knew if it was him who had died in a car crash, Grigori would not have shed a single one. He had not even known his father could cry.

The only noise for a long moment was Grigori’s slightly ragged breathing. “And, Ilya?" He finally said. "You are listed as your niece’s guardian in Alexai’s will. She is your responsibility now.”

Grigori hung up before Ilya could even think of a reply.

[oliviasartmania]

💀💚

It's Thursday~

[baileydaily]

[allthesepurplelights]

[louezem]