Chapter Text
Kirill and Quinn were fighting. They had to be. Some domestic squabble was fucking up Brock’s entire vibe. A glorious, late-season, 4-day break was getting rained on by the antics of two meatheads who apparently couldn’t communicate.
It was the second day of the break, and the team had decided to go out to eat. Just hang out. No hockey talk, no ice talk, and absolutely nothing, not even a whisper, about the upcoming playoffs. It was a chance to just decompress a little, remind everyone that they were real people and not just million-dollar assets, brushing up on the most stressful month imaginable. It was supposed to be fun, relaxed, just a chance to shoot the shit with the guys more than anything.
So when Quinn had walked in with a distinct lack of loud Russian announcing his entrance, Brock didn’t think much of it. They didn’t always carpool, he reasoned casually to himself, and shot an easy grin at Quinn.
“No Kirill today?” Spurgeon called out as he approached the table. Brock chuckled at the light tease, and a few other guys waved in greeting. But Quinn had just rolled his eyes a little, shrugging as he slumped into the seat across from Brock.
“He’ll show up whenever he wants, I guess.” And that was all he had said before falling into his usual vacant silence. That was hard to ignore.
Spurgeon raised his eyebrows a little at the obvious bite in Quinn’s tone, but he let it die and turned back to his conversation with the goalies. Brock tried to make some small talk with Quinn, but it was pretty obvious, pretty quickly, that Quinn was not in a talkative mood today.
Which… ok, it really could mean anything. Quinn was kind of prone to silence, and sometimes he would get, like, intense about it. But usually that was during games. Now, his teammate, and fellow Olympian, was damn near sullen in his seat. And he was clearly pissed at Kirill for some reason.
Luckily, Boldy walked in pretty soon after, so Faber could distract himself for a little while. But his attention was drawn back to the door of the restaurant when Kirill walked through. He raised his arms up and shouted greetings to the group, and he found a place beside Zuccerello, casual as anything.
Quinn got up to use the bathroom the moment Kirill’s ass touched his seat.
The Russian didn’t seem to react, but Faber saw his eyes tracking Quinn as he disappeared down the hallway.
Ok. That was really weird. They weren’t like, super openly affectionate with each other. But they always seemed to gravitate towards one another, and it wasn’t weird to see Kirill hanging off Quinn like a leech. And it really wasn’t like Kirill to not try to get a seat closer to Quinn.
So naturally, Faber’s entire lunch vibe was thrown off. Kirill wasn’t nearly as loud as usual, keeping his presence to the far side of the table. And Quinn had spoken a total of maybe 4 times. One of those times was when he was ordering, so it barely counted. Oh yeah, and he seemed incapable of not shooting glares down the table every few minutes, in between staring contests with his food.
Glares that were clearly directed at a certain Russian blonde, who was pointedly looking away, although his jaw seemed clenched. A little stiffer than normal. He didn’t even turn to talk to Moose, and as far as Faber could tell, it was literally only because that would put Quinn in his eyeline.
It shouldn’t matter. Their relationship was none of his business, and besides, they could have just been busy earlier. That’s why they didn’t drive here together. And Quinn’s comment was strange, but nobody else seemed to be picking up on the weird tension between the two. So maybe Brock was imagining things. Because maybe he was a little obsessed with his Defense Partners relationship, he did the only rational thing. He texted Boldy underneath the table.
Brock
//Dude, they are fighting. I wonder who’s in the dog house//
Matt
//STFU, you don’t even know if their together dude.//
Brock
//LOOK AT THEM//
//THEY DIDNT DRIVE HERE TOGETHER//
Matt
//Ok, what does that prove???//
//I’ve told you a million times, you don’t even know if their actually dating.//
Brock
//First of all, irrelevant and stop being homophobic//
//You didn’t hear Quinn when he got here. Spurge asked about it and Quinn just said ‘why should I care when Kirill gets here’ or something like that//
Matt
//I’m not homophobic, I’m just not weird like you//
//And Quinn wouldn’t say something like that//
//I guess he does seem more quiet than normal tho//
Brock
//EXCACTLY//
Matt
//That doesn’t mean I’m agreeing with you dumbass//
//Or that I’m buying into your stupid theory.//
Brock
//do you hate love or something???? They obviously at the VERY least like eachother//
Matt
//I’ll block you//
Matt set his phone facedown on the table, and Brock knew that was the end of the conversation. To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. Faber was only like 80% sure that they had something going on. But it was only 80% because he hadn’t seen them actually kiss or anything yet.
As soon as Quinn got traded, it was like Kirill became his shadow. They lived in the same apartment building, and carpooled more often than not. Brock would go hang out with Quinn, and Kaprisov would just show up. Unannounced. With his own key to Quinn’s apartment. He knew that he had seen Kirill’s hoodie lying over the back of Quinn’s couch last time he visited. On the ice, they were insane together. They were always just… close. Like they were magnetized.
Which brings Faber back to the present, in which it seemed like something had flipped their poles. He was distracted from his thoughts by loud laughter across from him, and Faber tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Middleton say
“Yeah, but we all know Quinny could get the most action. He doesn’t even try, and girls are trailing after him.”
Quinn’s head shot up, losing the staring contest he was having with his chicken. His eyes flitted to Kirill, who had stiffened in his seat at Jake’s comment.
The guys were looking at Quinn, waiting for his response. Quinn’s eyes darted back to Jake, and he shrugged as he said, “I’m really not looking for anything right now. They just come up to me, and don’t take a hint.” His eyes narrowed a little after he said that, and his eyes went back down the table.
“Aahhh, but he admits it! Someday, you have to give the people what they want, Hughesy. You're leaving a string of broken hearts everywhere you go.” Middleton crowed as he shook Quinn’s shoulder. The guys laughed and started to move on to other things.
But Faber was still focused on his favorite (maybe)couple, and thank god. Because he got to witness Kirill’s frankly massive eye roll after Middleton’s last comment.
Quinn was staring down the table, ignoring whatever was being said around him. Brock’s mind raced. Ok, so maybe Boldy was right. He technically had no concrete proof that they were together. But something was obviously going on. But what? What the fuck happened in the 36 hours since Brock had last seen them? Unless… Brock almost facepalmed himself for being so stupid.
He had drunk way too much after their loss to the Bruins, out at some old bar in downtown Boston, and actually went back to the hotel kinda early. But something clicked into place, and a memory surfaced, hazy and drunken, but definitely real. A girl, practically hanging off of Quinn’s arm. Kirill had been sitting in the booth with Zuccy. Quinn was at the bar with Boldy and himself. And this girl had come up to them and started chatting. Stacey maybe? Brock left pretty soon after that, but Stacey (Sharon?) had already gotten a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.
Ok. So maybe that had something to do with it. And Jake’s comment earlier. Was Kirill… jealous? Did Quinn cheat?
Ok. Back up, some small, rational part of Faber's brain said. We don’t even know if she hung around that long after. We need more information. So Faber decided to sit it out and watch them like a hawk. He could definitely figure out what was happening between these two.
~
Unfortunately for Brock’s mission, the rest of lunch was uneventful. Quinn talked a little more, but nothing juicy, and Kirill kept his presence to his end of the table. Guys started to slowly trickle out of the restaurant, and it wasn’t long before Quinn stood up and said his goodbyes. Brock wanted to stop him, walk out, and ask him if he needed to talk to someone, but before he could, Kriill was standing up as well. Quinn was walking out of the doors as Kirill left the table, but his eyes stayed trained on the man’s back.
Faber looked over at Boldy, who was watching the pair with a furrowed eyebrow. He must have felt Brock’s gaze because he looked over and immediately rolled his eyes.
“Doesn’t mean anything, Fabes.” He shrugged and took another sip of his water.
“You are blind.” Brock fell back in his seat with a huff. Then sat up quickly. “I’m going outside for a sec.”
He wasn’t looking, but he could feel the disappointed stare that Matt was sending him. He didn’t care. Something was going on with Kirill and Quinn. And they only had two days left on the break. Maybe he could help them sort their shit out, or talk, and they would be fresh and ready to go for the next round of games. Yeah, Faber reasoned, I’m doing this to help out my teammates, make sure they're at the top of their game. Definitely not because he was way too curious about his older teammates' love lives.
He stepped out of the restaurant door to nothing but a cold, mostly empty, parking lot. The wind made his jacket flap around him, and Brock cursed quietly as he zipped it up, and glanced around for a sign of either one of his teammates. Quinn’s car was still there, but Kirill's was not. The parking lot wrapped around the building, so maybe he parked around the corner. But they were… not anywhere that Brock could see.
“Not now, Kaprisov, I don’t want to talk to you.”
Quinn’s voice, and it came from around the corner. Brock sucked in a breath and held it as he moved slowly toward the edge of the building. He didn’t dare peek around the corner, too scared that one of them would see him, but he could listen in for a moment, right?
“Very formal, don’t you think?” Kirill’s accent was different. A little smoother, his voice deeper. It made the words sound velvety. Was that how he talked to Quinn when they were one-on-one?
There was silence for a few long moments, and if he had to guess, Quinn was leveling his DEFCON 1 deadpan eyes at Kirill. They were truly a harrowing experience.
Well at least Kirill knew that Quinn wouldn’t break first, because he spoke again. “You did not wait for me to get to the restaurant?”
Another tense moment of silence. Long enough that Brock knew Quinn wasn’t going to respond. Kirill would have to deal with the silent treatment for the rest of the day, probably.
“I texted you. You didn’t respond.”
Oh. So maybe it was just everybody else who got the silent treatment.
“I was busy-”
There were heavy footsteps forward, and Brock was fairly certain he knew what, or who, Quinn had moved towards.
“No, you were playing video games, don’t even fucking lie to me.”
Kirill responded by groaning childishly, and Brock almost snorted at the mental picture. Luckily, he had fast reflexes, so he covered his mouth quickly. And kept it there just in case.
Somebody lets out a long sigh.
“What do you want Kaprisov? Because if you aren’t here to apologize, you can leave.”
Ok. So it was Kirill who was in trouble. For a moment, he considered whether he really should be listening in on what sounded like it could be a serious fight between a couple.
“Apologize? For what?”
Brock could stay for a little bit longer.
“You know what, Kirill, I-”
“Oh, it’s back to Kirill now?”
“God, your annoying sometimes. You know that, right?”
More shuffling sounds. A light smack, and Kirill groaned again. “Quinny, come here. I don’t want you to be mad anymore-“
Quinn scoffed, “Then apologize, you’ve been acting like a dick since we got back from Boston.”
Silence again, and a heavy sigh.
“I am sorry for being a dick.” The velvety effect in Kirill’s voice was almost gone, replaced with a tight, restrained growl. It sounded like Kirill was apologizing through clenched teeth. “But I’m not sorry for being angry.”
Quinn muttered something that Brock couldn’t make out, but then he said louder, “Why are you still mad about it?”
Kirill said something in Russian, spitting it out harshly, and laughed humourlessly. “Is this something else I am not allowed to be mad about?”
“I told you it was nothing, it literally was nothing? She didn’t even try to kiss me or anything.” Quinn sounded fed up, but Brock felt a surge of smugness. It was about the girl that night.
“You danced with her.”
Kirill’s voice was small. Smaller than Faber had ever heard it. Any trace of pride sank in his gut. Kirill sounded sad, and a little wistful. And the silence that followed felt so charged he could feel it around the corner. He heard Quinn take a deep, steadying breath.
“Kirill I-”
“And she was not nearly pretty enough for you.”
That was gross. Sickeningly sweet and flirtatious, this was not sounding like two people who were in a committed relationship dealing with a cheating scandal. Brock furrowed his brows. .
“Oh, and you know someone who is pretty enough to dance with me?” Quinn’s voice was a little breathless, a lot annoyed, and very unlike Quinn Hughes.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Will you stand him up on breakfast dates?”
Before Brock could hear Quinn’s response, the door to the restaurant flew open behind him. Brock whipped around, feeling like a kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and the two men who were apparently in a situationship from hell went silent around the corner.
“Hey Fabes, you still here?” Boldly’s eyes were bright, and he had a wide smile on his face that Brock wanted to punch. He glanced back at the corner of the building, cursing Boldy silently, and moved back towards the entrance.
“Nah, just leaving.” He made sure to give Boldy a quick smack on the arm as he fell into step beside him. That’s what he gets for interrupting the drama that Brock had been privy to. They started walking to the car, and Brock’s mind raced. So they weren’t dating. At least, probably not. But Kirill was jealous. Why weren’t they dating? They certainly acted like they could be in love with each other sometimes. Well, it’s not like they could just announce it if they were, Brock reasoned with himself. So they just were what, hooking up and pretending they weren’t falling in love with each other? That would be fuckign depressing.
Faber wasn’t saying anything, too focused on untangling what he just heard, which made Boldy’s eyes narrow at him.
“What were you doing?”
Brock swallowed, fighting the urge to glance behind him. They were far enough away that Quinn and Kaprisov wouldn’t hear, but he still didn’t want to take any chances. And he probably shouldn’t tell Boldy that he was secretly listening to their star forward and star defenseman argue. “Oh, you know, just hanging around, enjoying the fresh air.”
Matt bumped into his arm, and when Brock didn’t say anything else, Matt actually stopped him and grabbed his arm. They were next to Matt’s car now, and Brock was trying to do anything but look him in the eye. The clouds were really pretty today, actually.
“Brock, tell me you didn’t? Were you trying to listen in on Quinn and Kap?” He hissed, and disappointment leaked out of Matt. Brock shook off his hand, shrugging and failing to be nonchalant.
“No.”
Matt raised an eyebrow, and his disappointed sigh made Brock’s gut clench in guilt. “Ok, fine, yes. But to be fair, it really sounded like a couple's argument. Or at least close to it.”
“Fucking ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but if you come over later, I’ll give you all the details?” Brock tempted. Boldly may not be convinced that they were actually together, but if nothing else, he was a sucker for team gossip, and Faber knew it.
“You're a bad influence, Faber. What time can I come over?”