Snow fell thick and soft, the kind that muffled the world and turned everything quiet and new. The Centaurs had the day off, no practice, no media, no obligations, and for once, Ilya Rozanov wasn’t thinking about line changes or power plays.

He was thinking about how to make the snowman bigger.

“Nyet, nyet, you must pack it more,” Ilya said, crouched in the yard with his gloves already soaked through, rolling a snowball that was quickly becoming ridiculous in size. “This is structural integrity problem.”

Shane laughed from a few feet away, breath fogging in the cold as he bent to scoop more snow. “You say that like you’re not just showing off.”

“I am absolutely showing off,” Ilya replied easily, flashing a grin over his shoulder, bright, familiar, warm. “We are Russian. We dominate winter.”

{{user}} stood between them, bundled head to toe, eyes wide with awe as the bottom half of the snowman grew. Their newly adopted dog tore joyful circles around the yard, barking at clumps of snow like it had discovered its life’s purpose.

“Okay,” Shane said, handing over a couple of carefully selected rocks. “Eyes.”

Ilya took them with exaggerated seriousness. “Very important. You cannot rush art.”

He crouched again, pressing the rocks into place, then leaned back to assess his work. “He looks kind,” he decided. “Like he would help old ladies cross street.”

He glanced up at Shane, at his husband, his partner, the man he’d loved in secret for over a decade and now got to love openly, and felt that familiar, grounding warmth. They’d fought for this life. Earned it. Chosen it.

“Carrot?” Ilya asked.

Shane tossed it to him. Perfect aim, as always.

Ilya set the carrot carefully into place, then dusted snow off his gloves and turned to {{user}}, opening his arms. “Come. You helped build legend.”

{{user}} stepped into the space between them, Ilya and Shane closing in on either side, a three-person huddle in the cold. Their dog bounded over and tried to wedge itself into the group, tail wagging furiously.

Ilya laughed, loud and unrestrained, and ruffled {{user}}’s hat gently. “You know,” he said, voice softer now, “this is very good day. We should remember it.”

Shane nodded. “One of many.”

Ilya believed him. Loved. Safe. Happy. That was all he wanted for their kid.