Chapter 2
There was once a time when Cole admired Vadim Krasnov.
Because, of course, there was a time before they met.
Vadim's high school hockey accolades spoke for themselves:
He came out of Ravonia's KHL leading his team in points and assists, wore an A at the junior level, and entered Harkness as a top-line forward.
Although no one would say it out loud, Cole knew he was being quietly fast-tracked for the C next season if he kept it up.
And so, when Cole arrived bright-eyed to Harkness to find that not only was Vadim Krasnov his teammate, but his first-ever college roommate, he nearly stormed the front door of their on-campus apartment out of excitement.
He found Vadim leaning against the dining room table, his golden curls peeking out from underneath a blue beanie with a cigarette poised between his lips.
Cole had stumbled into the doorway, knocking over a cardboard box.
Vadim hardly flinched.
"Vadim Krasnov?" Cole had asked, cringing at his own formality.
It felt odd to see Vadim in the flesh after hours and hours of highlight reels.
He looked too pixelated, almost: every detail of him screamed out to Cole, from the arch of his eyebrow to the subtle quirk of his lips.
"Cole Brennan.
I wanted to introduce myself."
Cole's eyes drifted back to the cigarette, which had just caught light.
Cole's nose twitched.
He hunched his shoulders.
I'm - I'm not sure you're supposed to smoke here." Cole gestured to the cigarette.
What he meant was,
I don't want you to smoke here.
Vadim pushed his bottom lip out just slightly, forging a path for the smoke to leave from.
"Okay." His deep voice stirred something in Cole.
The cigarette smell made him wince before he could pinpoint what it was.
"You're an awesome player to watch," Cole added.
Cole eyed the still-lit cigarette with mild irritation.
"So we're roommates," he said dumbly.
Vadim crushed the cigarette butt under his heel against the carpet.
Cole was sure that it broke at least five fire code violations.
The silence lasted a beat too long for Cole to withstand it.
"Anyways, I should go.
They're waiting for me.
My parents," Cole clarified.
"Helping me move in. They're out in the parking lot."
Vadim blew hot air from his mouth into his pale, veiny hands.
Cole registered that while he was wearing a beanie, he was otherwise scantily clad in a short sleeve t-shirt.
It was loose around his waist, but taut around his shoulders.
He must have cranked the window open behind him, letting waves of frigid air in. "Are your parents here too?" Cole continued.
Vadim scratched his nose.
Cole noticed there were goosebumps on his forearm.
"You will not be so nice when we beat you," Vadim murmured.
"We're on the same team now," Cole said, attempting a chuckle.
Tomorrow."
"Right." Cole nodded fervently.
"The scrimmage." He grinned wickedly, overcome with an odd sense of gratitude to have a proper competitor at his fingertips who can match his skill.
"That's not happening." He turned around so he faced their front door again.
"I'll be right back, okay?
Just gotta grab my - yeah."
By the time Cole returned, Mark and Sana flanking him on each side, Vadim was nowhere to be found.
Cole looked in the direction of the air he once stood, as if Vadim might suddenly materialize there.
The window was snugly shut.
Vadim, Cole learned, is mind-numbingly predictable.
Somehow, it doesn't make any of his antics any less infuriating.
The first time Cole entered their apartment to find Vadim passed out, his cheek pressed to the rough carpet, was a Friday night that Cole had spent hunkered in the library.
He dropped his backpack at the door.
He bent down and shook Vadim's shoulder lightly.
"Krasnov," Cole whispered.
"Krasnov." Vadim let out a deep sigh that reeked of alcohol.
Cole leaned instinctively away.
"Wake up," Cole tried again.
His hand moved from Vadim's shoulder to the base of his neck, where his dress shirt sagged to display exposed skin.
Cole knew his hands must have been cold, having come from a long walk across campus.
Still, he jumped when Vadim jolted awake.
Vadim opened and squeezed shut his eyes in turn, scrubbing at them.
Cole opened his mouth to ask if he'd like a cup of water, but Vadim had slumped over again until his shoulderblades hit the carpet and groaned:
"Fuck off."
Cole had scoffed, cheeks burning.
"I'm trying to help."
"And I said," Vadim had mumbled, nudging his pale nose into the ratty carpet, "fuck off."
That was the start of the end.
From then on, Cole would often find Vadim passed out on their couch, asleep, like a cat stretched for its afternoon nap.
It only took one quick sniff for Cole, like a studious drug dog, to detect whether Vadim was drunk out of his mind or simply sleeping the day away.
The next time Vadim passed out in the entranceway, Cole stepped over his limp body as if dodging gum before it could stick to his shoe.
The dishes piled up, the fawning fangirls continued to drop by without warning, and Cole dug his nails into his palms at each failed attempt at setting boundaries with his roommate.
One day, he went so far as to drop by a professor of Ravonian literature's office.
He had dutifully written down, phonetically, what he hoped to communicate to Vadim, what perhaps wasn't getting through to him in a non-native language.
When he came home, he found Vadim asleep on the couch in his gym shorts, an open box of takeout balanced precariously on his naked chest.
Cole shook him awake with little fanfare.
Vadim's skin felt smooth and warm under his hand.
He read from the piece of paper with trembling fingers.
He stumbled through half of the words.
"'Tebe nuzhno nachat' ubirat' za soboy.
Mne eto nadoyelo.
Yesli khochesh', mozhem pogovorit' po-russki, ya mogu poprobovat.'"
You need to start cleaning up after yourself.
I am tired of it.
If you prefer we talk in Ravonian, I can try.
Cole glanced down at Vadim's bare chest, counting his birthmarks, before his eyes drifted back up to his face.
The expression was one of pure, utter glee.
Vadim cackled, a mean and snide sound.
He shook his head, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
In English, he said, "Don't ever, ever do that again."
Cole, like the rest of the team, withstood Vadim for one reason and one reason alone:
He was fucking talented.
At their last away game, Vadim put up a hat trick and could've had two more if the goalie hadn't stood on his head.
So Cole should have known that when Vadim strolled into the locker room - arriving later than Cole, despite them leaving from the same apartment - he'd be wearing a self-satisfied smirk.
Cole is the only person on the team to see just how much Vadim sleeps the day away, yet he still yawns as he shrugs off his shirt.
Cole averts his gaze once Vadim's head of soft curls reveals itself from under the fabric.
He tosses it to the side, irritatingly close to Cole's area of the bench.
"Think this is yours." Cole slides the shirt back in Vadim's direction, forcing himself to suck in a deep breath.
"You won't fold for me?" Vadim asks, flashing him a cheeky grin.
"I'm not your maid," Cole hisses.
He rolls the shirt up in his hands and shoves it against Vadim's bare chest.
Vadim makes no move to grab it, so when Cole lets go it falls to the stained floor.
Vadim kicks it half-heartedly with his foot, dirtying it further.
Then, he locks up his locker and leaves it there.
"Krasnov, what the hell?
I was open!"
D.K.'s face is blotchy with anger.
Vadim skates over to him languidly, his permanently smug grin etched on his lips.
"Let me explain for you," Vadim enunciates.
"I pass to people I think can score."
D.K. crosses his arms, skating so close to Vadim that Vadim can smell his beef jerky breath.
"I call bullshit, because you won't even pass to Cole." Cole perks up unwillingly at the sound of his name.
"And you and I both know he can fucking wipe the floor with you."
D.K. leans further into Vadim's space until they're eye-to-eye.
Vadim licks his lips, a motion Cole follows with his eyes.
"Can he now?" Vadim asks, tilting his head.
"Yeah." D.K. leers at Vadim with more disdain than appropriate directed at a guy who wins them half their games.
"He can."
From across the ice, Cole calls out:
"I don't wanna get involved in this, man."
Their coach walks onto the ice, petting his beard.
He approaches the tangle that is D.K. and Vadim and pushes only Vadim back with a meaty hand to his chest.
"They're right.
Krasnov, you're hogging.
Ethan, you take his place for the drill.
Krasnov, you're on defense."
Vadim's eyes bulge.
"Defense?"
D.K. merely laughs, throwing his head back.