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Geno is pulled out of sleep slowly, the creeping discomfort of grogginess and heavy-lidded eyes that come with waking up too early taking him over. He blinks blearily at the clock, and groans loudly into his pillow when he realizes he hasn’t even been asleep for one sleep cycle.
“Shit, sorry,” comes a soft voice, and Geno pauses, and turns his head to the right side of the bed, “Go back to sleep, I’m sorry.”
“Sid,” Geno croaks, voice rough from sleep. Or rather, he thinks, lack of it, “What you doing?”
Sidney doesn’t answer him, and Geno groans again, and forces his eyes open to strain through the dark. There are no lights on, not in the ensuite, or in the hallway, not even the bed-side lamp. Geno swears he didn’t hear any lights come on or off. He can see the silhouette of Sidney’s back, t-shirt pulling across his broad shoulders, on the edge of the bed.
“You sit in dark?” Geno asks, “By self?”
He wiggles his hand across the sheets, brushing his fingers across the small of Sidney’s back, where the skin is bare between his shirt and pants. His skin is cold to touch, and Geno can see Sid lean back ever-so-slightly into Geno’s hand. It’s quiet, Sidney’s quiet breathing the only thing Geno can hear.
“What you doing here, Sid?” Geno asks, still feeling groggy.
It was an unspoken rule that Sidney didn’t visit when either of them was injured. It probably stemmed back from when Sid had a brain-splitting concussion and Geno couldn’t walk for his knee. Too much risk, too much possibility of further injury. Then, Sidney’s broken jaw, where Geno couldn’t even kiss him for fear of hurting him further.
He’d thought- hoped- that Sidney would let up on the rule; there was nothing worse to Geno then by being himself when he was sick or hurt, but the mumps outbreak had probably destroyed all of Geno’s hope in the matter. He’s barely seen Sidney outside of his visits to practice and the games through this injury. He doesn't want to buy into Flower’s chirps of them being co-dependent, but he misses Sid.
And now Sidney is here. It's a blatant breaking of the No “Visiting”, Connotations Included, During Injuries rule.
“Sid?” presses Geno, moving onto his elbow to get a better look at Sid’s back.
Sid sighs, long and drawn-out, “Sorry. I know, I shouldn’t, but--”
Geno reaches out, curling his fingers around Sidney’s arm and tugging slightly. Sid shrugs him off for a beat, then makes a small noise and pulls his leg up onto the bed. He looks at Geno through his lashes, arms wrapped around his knees. His face looks withdrawn, pinched.
“What’s wrong, Sid?” Geno asks, wrapping his hand around Sidney’s bare foot, pressing his thumb into the knob of his ankle, “Why you here?”
Sid makes the same noise again, small, wounded, and Geno lets go of him as he curls down and onto his side. His arms fold across his stomach, and he’s almost face to face with Geno know, so close that Geno can feel his breaths across his own lips, intermingling oxygen.
“Nothing,” Sid says, finally, “I just needed to be here.”
Bullshit, nothing. Geno’s been watching him for this past week, watching as his face became more drawn, his eyes more tired, his shoulders drooping like the metaphorical weight of the entire franchise is forcing him down; the gravity of everything resting on his bones.
It hurts him almost as much as his injury, watching Sid struggle against the non-stop pressure and being unable to do nothing, unable to alleviate it as an alternate captain, as another player on the ice. Each loss is another loss Sid takes personally.
Geno moves to grasp Sid’s hands, clenched into fists along his stomach, and holds them until they unstiffen and flex between his palms.
“Five to one,” Sid says, so quietly that Geno almost misses it, “We can’t… I can’t--”
Geno shushes him, keeping hold of him in one hand and moving up to palm the side of his face, “Not just you, Sid.”
“No, but I’m the Captain--”
“You Captain of a team, Sid. Can’t be Captain when team not working.”
Sid closes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Geno runs his thumb underneath the hollows of Sid’s eyes, bruised purple with exhaustion, and then moves his hand up to comb his fingers through Sid’s hair, against the grain.
“You the leader in points,” Geno says quietly, “Sid, you play less games then the rest but you still on top.”
“I know--”
“Even if you think not a good season, still better than the rest of the players,”
“Geno, I--”
“What?”
Sid snaps his eyes open, something desperate in them, “It’s not about me! It’s not about my season! It’s about the team!”
Geno stays silent, continues stroking Sid’s hair, and waits for Sid to get it. The realization sweeps across Sid’s face, and he sighs in frustration and presses his face into Geno’s hand.
“Sid,” Geno whispers, “You see? It’s not just up to you. Okay? Too much pressure for you.”
Sid doesn’t respond, just tips his face forward until the top of his head is resting under Geno’s chin. Geno wraps his arm around his shoulders, pressing his nose into Sid’s hair, breathing in the smell of him. He smells like he always does; like lemon smelling soap and frozen ice. He can feel a slight tremor through Sid’s muscles, a fine trembling. It makes his heart constrict painfully, and he tightens his grip on Sid.
Sidney is warm, pressed against him, and soon sleep is dragging him back under as quickly as it pulled him up.
“How’s your knee?” Sid asks, jolting Geno out of his dozing.
“Hm?” Geno murmurs into Sid’s hair, “Oh. Talk to coach, might be back for Arizona.”
“What?” Sid says sharply, pulling back to look into his eyes, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Stop hurting much now. Practice has been good, so, I’m think I will be fine for the game.”
Sid’s brow furrows slightly, “Are you sure, G? Because you don’t want to--”
“Shh,” Geno hushes him, “I’m fine. I’m know, Sid.”
Sid doesn’t look entirely placated, so Geno just smiles goofily at him, until the edges of Sid’s lips pull up and he butts Geno’s shoulder with his head, “Stop, I’m just worried- we’re so close to the playoffs-”
Geno puts his hand over Sid’s eyes, “No talking about hockey. Sleep, Sid. Sleep, not be worried.”
“But I--”
Geno groans, and wraps both arms around Sid, muffling his words in the joint between his shoulder and neck. Sid’s words trail away. It’s blissful silence for a moment, and Geno feels his eyes drooping again.
“Maybe,” Sid whispers, and Geno sighs, “Maybe, I could come over. Sometimes. When you’re injured. Like, sometimes.”
Geno doesn’t breathe for a second. He didn’t-
“I just missed you,” Sid admits, “A lot.”
Geno grins into the top of Sid’s hair, “Miss you, too.”
There’s a rustling, and then Sid pulls back slightly to kiss Geno softly. Moments pass and Sid re-adjusts himself in typical fashion, pulling a pillow down to rest his head on, his nose pressed against Geno’s neck. It becomes quiet again, Sidney’s breathing evening out between the first and the next, breaths brushing against Geno’s skin.
Geno can feel one of Sid’s hands curl delicately on his ribs, the other pressed against his chest, above his heart.
He falls back asleep, and doesn’t stir for the rest of the night.
.