Chapter Text
It’s been exactly one week since Luca last regressed, and subsequently latched to Ilya in sleepy desperation while searching for his soska. The mortification is next level. It took a bit for it to come back when he first came up, memories from being little usually do. It’s like they’re there, but hidden and distant so he has to sort of fish them out. He wishes he HAD NOT fished that one out.
He’s been doing his best to avoid Shane and Ilya because of it, even if he won’t admit that’s what he’s doing. It’s not TOO hard to do, mostly he’s just hanging out with the other rookies, and who are Shane and Ilya to stop him from seeing his friends and teammates?
But his head is kind of hurting a little now, and he’s sort of wishing he could be cuddling in the big bed instead of sitting in a sticky corner booth at some bar with Holmberg, Young, and LaPointe.
He’s already on his third drink, which is a lot considering he doesn’t really hold his alcohol all that well. And Daddy and Papa would be MAD if they knew he was drinking at all because he’s not even twenty one yet. They’d be furious if they knew about his fake ID. Luca doesn’t want to even think about THAT punishment.
He swirls his straw through the drink, ice cubes sloshing against the plastic sides of his cup while the others laugh and joke.
“Hey Haasy you okay?” Holmberg asks, nudging at him.
Luca blinks up at him, nodding sluggishly. “Yeah, just kinda tired after practice ‘s all..”
“Okay,” he says, giving Luca a strange look. “You’d tell me if you were regressing or something, right? I don’t particularly want Ilya to murder me for having his baby at a bar.”
Luca’s cheeks flame and he stutters briefly before recovering. “That’s not it,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “And I’m not a baby.”
Bergy just grins, wide and toothy before tossing his own drink back.
Luca finishes off his as well, using it to avoid speaking but his head only pounds harder and now his tummy feels a little sick too.
“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” he announces, sliding out of the booth.
He doesn’t wait for a response. He rubs at his temples on the way there, attempting to ease the splitting pain. The overhead lights are dimmed, but the neon flashing ones are bright as ever. The smell of alcohol mixed with cigarette smoke attacks his senses as he stumbles through the crowds before finally locking himself into the bathroom.
He takes a few shallow breaths in through his nose, back pressed against the sink. His stomach swirls, a funny feeling building in his throat like he’s going to be sick. It doesn’t seem like much time has passed but then someone is pounding at the door and he can distantly register Bergy’s voice.
Stumbling a bit, he twists the lock to open it, coming face to face with a concerned Holmberg.
“I don’t feel good,” Luca informs him, sniffling a bit.
Bergy exhales hard through his nose before forcing a smile. “I figured that buddy. Okay, let’s get you home.”
Luca holds it together only until they step outside where Young and LaPointe are waiting. Then, he bursts into tears, hands coming up to hide his eyes.
“Woah, what’s wrong?” Bergy grabs his shoulders and turns him as Luca whines.
“Daddy ‘nd Papa are gonna be MAD,” Luca wails, throat tight. He sniffs hard, scrubbing a hand at his runny nose.
“It’s okay, why would they be mad? I’m taking you home, you did such a good job telling me you didn’t feel well,” Bergy comforts him as he ushers everyone into his car.
Luca keeps crying, barely intelligible as he sobs and babbles at them. The drive to Shane and Ilya’s is tense and the car is silent, save for Luca’s hysterics. Thankfully it’s not too late when they pull up, lights clearly still on inside. Holmberg steps out, rounding the car to retrieve Luca who hasn’t slowed his tears. He lifts the baby to his hip and carries him up to the front porch, rapping softly at the door.
Footsteps pad closer and muffled voices float through the wood before it swings open, revealing a shirtless Ilya and Shane.
“What happened? Is he hurt?” Ilya demands, reaching forward to yank his baby into his arms.
Luca folds into him easily, crying even harder as he clings to Ilya’s neck and scrubs his face at his shoulder.
“Papaaaaa,” he wails, stretching the word.
Ilya bounces him, cooing. “Shh malysh, is okay.”
“We were just having drinks at the bar, and he started acting kinda funny,” Holmberg says haltingly, looking uncomfortable and nervous. “Did we do something wrong?”
“Luca was drinking too?” Shane asks as Ilya exhales slow and deep.
Holmberg gives a hesitant nod, “Um, yes?”
Ilya tuts, sounding disappointed as he presses a kiss to the baby’s hairline. “Not good choice malysh.”
“It’s okay Bergy,” Shane soothes despite his own frustration. “You guys didn’t know. It’s a new rule we’ve given Luca, he’s not even twenty one so he definitely shouldn’t be drinking, little biology aside. That part just adds an extra layer.”
He bids him goodnight, easing the front door shut with a quiet snick before following the sound of Luca’s crying to the bathroom. The shower is running, and Ilya is standing beneath the spray with an unhappy Luca on his hip.
“No papa,” he cries, twisting away from the washcloth Ilya is attempting to clean him with.
“Luca, let papa wash you. It’s late,” Shane scolds.
That starts up another round of crying but thankfully he stops fighting. Ilya is quick, passing the clean baby to Shane who’s waiting with a towel after only a few more minutes. He bundles him easily, kissing his damp hair.
“Sweet baby,” he hums, carrying him to the bedroom.
Luca hiccups, whimpering as he’s dried and dressed in a pull-up and baggy t-shirt of Ilya’s.
“Sleep in big bed,” he says a bit demandingly, voice watery.
“Oh don’t worry, you aren’t going far from daddy or papa for a while babe,” Shane murmurs as he tucks him into the middle of the bed.
Ilya steps into the room, then, with a towel slung low on his hips. Luca whines loudly when he sees him, fingers lodged in his mouth. “Papa!”
“Hold on malysh, let papa get dressed.”
He tugs on a pair of sweats, forgoing a shirt when Luca starts crying in earnest for him. He slides into bed, tucking the baby close to his chest and rocking him lightly.
“Is okay, no more tears Haasy,” he croons.
Luca sniffles wetly, blinking. His eyes are half-lidded, exhaustion weighing him down as he sags boneless against Ilya. Shane flicks the lamp off, climbing in on the other side to wedge their baby between them. The quiet stretches peacefully, broken only by the occasional sounds of Luca snuffling and whimpering.
Ilya sighs softly after several minutes, shifting before speaking, “What is-.” His voice cuts off, a startled gasp puffing past his lips.
“What?” Shane asks, propping up on his elbows in mild alarm. He switches the lamp on, eyes widening. Luca is asleep, latched firmly to Ilya’s nipple and sucking at it softly. His little lips work rapidly before slowing and then picking up again every few seconds. Ilya is staring at him, still. He glances up at Shane, and he catches the watering of Ilya’s eyes.
“Are you okay? Let me grab a soska,” Shane starts, moving. He stills when Ilya shakes his head, lip trembling ever so slightly.
“Is okay,” he murmurs, quietly. “Babies do this, yes? For comfort? I can comfort him.”
Shane settles back again, watching in awe.
“Turn lights off,” Ilya directs, voice still watery with emotion. “Do not wake my baby.”
Shane clicks them off, smiling into the darkness.