Work Text:
Sidney gets his soulmate mark when he’s eight years old. He notices it after hockey practice one day, the dark beginnings of an S on his forearm. He remembers the pure elation, how grown up he felt. How people kept telling him that once the words were done he could meet his soulmate at any time.
The S eventually turns into Sh, a neat cursive print reaching down toward his wrist.
It’s when the third character shows up, an unmistakable lowercase w, that everyone gets nervous.
-
They take him to a specialist a few weeks later. After all the letters filled in and there appeared to be no forthcoming words, his mark seems to have stopped at Shwerthunk.
“What does it mean? That can’t be English.” Sidney’s mom had pleaded while doctors examined his mark from every angle.
There isn’t much they can do. Some doctors tell him they think maybe his letters got scrambled, or maybe he doesn’t have a soulmate and accidentally got a nonsensical mark. Most of them think it’s a sound effect.
“A sound effect? What should he be looking for?” He remembers his dad pacing back and forth. “How will he know?”
The doctors say there haven’t been many documented cases, and no one can confirm it’s even possible, but sound effect marks are said to have come from extremely loud and impressionable sounds.
He can tell that every single one of them thinks he’s a freak.
Sidney starts wearing a wrist guard the next day.
-
A few weeks later Sidney nails his first real slapshot, a hell of a whack that whistles just left of the goalie and hits the crossbar, deflecting down into the back of the net with a loud noise.
His teammates cheer, it’s a good goal that ties them up in the third period. The sound sticks with him, a satisfying clang reverberating around in his skull. It’s not till he’s circling around back to the bench he realizes that if he had to describe the sound, it’d be a Shwerthunk.
Sidney has heard horror stories about crazy people that were convinced inanimate objects were their soulmates. There was that lady who married the Eiffel Tower who swore her mark wasn’t a tattoo, but he didn’t think it was real. That it was a possibility your soulmate could be a what instead of a who. But he knows that sound he just heard is Shwerthunk. He knows it lights him up inside the way nothing ever has.
Which means that Sidney’s soulmate is hockey. Or maybe it’s goal-scoring, or pucks, or something equally ridiculous. The point is that he knows now it isn’t a person, and... well.
He panics about it for a few days. He doesn’t tell anyone what he already knows to be true.
Over the years he reads a hundred articles and internet forums about people claiming their soulmate is their band or their car or a tv show. He doesn’t think they’re all legitimate, but some of them seem likely. It’s good to know he’s not alone.
Sidney can only live in a state of shock for so long, so eventually he sort of accepts it. He gets used to it. Good players adjust.
There’s a weird sort of serenity to playing hockey now, knowing he’s meant to be on the ice. There’s nothing that makes his heart sing like hockey does and Sidney is damn good at it. Whenever he’s on the ice, hockey sings back. And once he realizes that soulmates are always a mutual thing, that the ice is meant for him the way he’s meant for the ice, it becomes effortless.
He gets drafted first overall.
-
Sidney’s first year on the team the guys drag him out to bars and sneak him drinks. He can’t legally drink here, but none of the local bars make a big deal out of it as long as they're discreet.
Sidney as a rule tries not to overindulge, he worked hard to get here and doesn’t want to be hungover for games.
Fleury is nice, he hangs out with Sidney a lot and seems genuinely friendly. Sid hasn’t had much luck with friends in general, he’s a little too obsessive and a little too weird, but he likes Flower. Sidney doesn’t feel like Flower is just entertaining him the way it feels with some of the other guys on the team.
They’re sitting at a high top on barstools. Most of the other guys have broken off or gone to the bar to try to pick up chicks. Fleury always hangs back. He’s already paired off, met his soulmate in high school like some sort of teen romance novel.
“So,” Flower starts, drawing out the vowel, “You think it’s a man or a woman?” He gestures towards Sidney’s wrist guard.
“Oh geez.” Sidney groans, cheeks hot. He looks down at his beer, “Not you too.”
“I’m just curious! I want to help!” Flower exclaims, laughing. He drops his voice and adds, more seriously, “You don’t try to pick up, some of the guys think you’ve got gay words and don’t want people to know.”
“Gay- There’s no such thing as gay words. What the hell?” Sidney says and this is ridiculous, ridiculous that people think that Sidney would be anything at all.
Sidney is- he doesn’t know what he is. He likes to look, appreciates women and men but he can’t imagine actually doing anything. He’s never really allowed himself to imagine, not when he knows there isn’t a point. Hockey is what's important and that’s where he should be putting his energy. Taking time away from that to devote to some casual fling for a couple hours doesn’t sit right. It kind of feels like he’s cheating on hockey.
And it’s not like there’s a huge void in his life he needs to fill. He gets emotional support from his family, he’s got the team, and if he sometimes looks at Flower and his girl and wants something like what they have it doesn’t mean anything. It just wasn’t meant to be.
Sidney might be drunk, it’s the only reason he can think of for opening up his mouth.
“It’s hockey.” He confesses into his beer and doesn’t look up.
“Come again?”
“It’s hockey.” And Sidney is shoving up his sleeve and opening his wrist guard and turning his bare forearm towards Flower in the middle of a Pittsburgh bar.
Flower reaches out and touches Sidney’s wrist gingerly, turns it slightly to read. Sid watches the way his brows knit together. “What is- Shwerthunk? What does that mean?”
“It’s a bar down.” He takes his wrist back and fastens up the guard.
“Jesus, Sid.” Flower exhales, and there’s quiet for a minute. He looks at Sidney with something between pity and understanding. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Sidney drains what’s left of his beer. ”I’m sure.”
“Shit. Maybe don’t tell the rest of the guys.”
“I haven’t told anyone.” Sidney shrugs, stares at the way the decal is chipping off his now empty pint glass. “Nobody but you has seen my wrist since I was ten.”
There’s a blur of movement and suddenly Flower is hugging him, an awkward sideways squeezing grip that has Sidney making a surprised noise.
“You don’t have to be ashamed. Might not want to wave it around or whatever but-“ Flower settles back in his seat, then grins and elbows Sid in the ribs. “Hey, at least hockey likes you too. She likes you a lot.”
And just like that, with one person knowing, the weight inside of his chest feels lighter. Sid can’t help but grin back.
-
He meets Evgeni Malkin on a Friday night. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and sort of swaying on his feet.
Mario makes the introductions, and someone that’s with Geno is translating rapid-fire in Russian back and forth, and Geno just looks kind of lost.
“This is Sidney Crosby.”
Sidney gives Malkin a polite nod and extends his hand. Malkin shakes it but doesn’t say anything. Sidney isn’t sure how much of this he actually understands.
It’s a whirlwind of a meeting, and they take Geno to get some rest and tell Sidney they’ll see him again soon.
-
A few days later is Malkin's first practice with the team. Sidney is weirdly nervous about it, excited to see Malkin on the ice and see what he can do. He’s seen some clips of Malkin’s play, but it’s different than sharing the ice with someone. He can’t get a feel for someone really until he’s playing with or against them.
Sidney arrives at the rink insanely early and tries to burn off some nervous energy. He does what he does best, skates circles and practices some high slot shots. He wants to make a good first impression.
He doesn’t know all that much about Malkin, but he knows what he’s given up to be here. He understands the risks he took to play for the Penguins. What Malkin did was objectively crazy, but Sidney gets it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for hockey either.
Sidney really puts his weight into his next shot, gets a clean hit on the top bar that deflects down into the goal. The sound echoes thru the empty arena.
Maybe it’s okay that it's just hockey. If other people, people like Malkin, are just as crazy about hockey as he is- If Sidney has this team- It’ll be enough.
He stands there contemplating, but then he hears someone clear their throat.
He turns around to find Malkin standing in the visitors bench area, leaning over the boards. He’s wearing an oversized yellow Penguins hoodie, like someone just gave him whatever merchandise was lying around, and dark sweatpants.
“Shwerthunk.” Malkin says, and points at the goal.
Sidney’s whole brain goes offline.
He feels like someone just took him to the boards. He feels concussed. He feels like he’s having a stroke.
It’s not a sound effect. It’s never been a sound effect. It’s fucking Malkin. Evegeni Malkin. Speaking the absolute nonsense that’s been on Sidney’s skin forever.
Sidney doesn’t know what to say. He’s not certain his voice would work if he tried. But he knows that whatever words he could possibly find are already on Malkin's arm. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life.
“Come to see Sidney Crosby practice,” Malkin continues, oblivious, “Seen tape. Best at hockey.”
And Sidney can’t keep the grin off his face as he glides over to Malkin. He feels like he’s floating as he bumps right up against the boards, stops inches from Evgeni.
Malkin looks a little startled at Sidney’s sudden proximity, eyes locked and all Sid can think to say is-
“That’s what you open with?”
Whatever English Malkin does or does not know, he clearly knows that. His head whips up, eyes bright and he says quietly, “Sidney?”
“Yes.” Sidney drops his gloves and stick on the ice, pulls off velcro layers with shaking fingers and reveals his mark. Malkin grabs his wrist gently, not moving just holding, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
Malkin lets go of him suddenly and shoves up his own sleeve, That’s what you open with? in a matching tight cursive print. Now it’s Sidney’s turn to touch, rub his thumb over the words on Malkin's skin.
Malkin- Evgeni looks back up and is clearly overwhelmed with emotion, and Sidney feels it too. He feels a little choked up, a little confused, but mostly happy.
Sid shoves at Evgeni’s shoulder playfully and then points down at his own wrist. “Shwerthunk? Stupid word.”
Evgeni squints at Sid’s mark and he looks a little guilty for a second but then he points at his own wrist and exclaims, “English! Very hard for baby Evegeni. No Russian.” But he doesn’t look upset at all.
Sid laughs, he feels delirious. Malkin grabs his wrist again to look at the mark, and when he looks up his eyes are dark and intent.
“Shwerthunk not stupid word. Our word.” He brings Sidney’s wrist up to his mouth and places a kiss over the black lines without breaking eye contact.
“Okay,” Sid says and can feel how flushed his cheeks are.
He wants to kiss Malkin, wants to find someone that speaks Russian and ask him a million questions. Sid just met him and already knows he wants to play hockey with him forever.
-
Sidney is waiting on the bench, tracking the puck as he waits for his line change. The Blues are playing well, but the game is tied. Sidney feels like they’ve got this one. Lately he's been somewhat of an optimist.
Geno comes back over the boards and settles down next to Sid. “Goalie bad on left.”
“Yeah,” Sid agrees, and hands Geno his water.
Sid rocks his feet impatiently, testing the blades of his skates against the rubber mat.
“Hey,” Geno says softly, and Sid means to glance at him for just a second, but his eyes get stuck because Geno is all sweaty, breathing hard and incredibly hot.
“Shwerthunk, babe.”
Sid laughs as he shakes himself out of it and swings one foot over the boards, can’t help but wonder who taught him babe.
He’s hardly ten seconds in when he gets a breakaway. He makes it all the way to the faceoff dots and doesn’t hesitate, shoots top left.
Geno was right. Sid knows it the second the puck leaves his stick that he’s got the goalie beat.
Shwerthunk.