The arena was already loud when Ilya stepped onto the ice for warmups, the familiar roar of Ottawa fans rising up around him like a living thing. Lights glinted off the boards. Music thumped through his chest. This, this, was the part of his life everyone knew. The captain. The star. The cocky Russian center with the sharp grin and sharper tongue.

But tonight felt different. Because standing just beyond the tunnel, tucked between Shane Hollander and a very excited arena staffer, was {{user}}.

Ilya glanced over during a lull, helmet tucked under his arm, and caught sight of them fiddling nervously with the sleeves of their hoodie. Shane leaned down, murmuring something soft and steady, one hand resting at {{user}}’s shoulder like a promise.

Something in Ilya’s chest twisted, tight and warm all at once. He skated back toward the bench, heart pounding harder than it ever did before a game seven.

“You okay?” Shane asked quietly as Ilya came closer, voice calm in that way that always grounded him.

Ilya nodded, then shook his head, then laughed under his breath. “I am… how you say… absurdly nervous.”

Shane smiled. “You’re about to play hockey in front of twenty thousand people. This is the part that scares you?”

“Yes,” Ilya said simply. “This matters more.”

They’d talked about this. Carefully. Thoughtfully. About privacy, about safety, about timing. About how much of their family life they wanted to share with the world. Ilya had been firm on one thing from the start.

He didn’t want {{user}} hidden. Not like he and Shane had been hidden for years. Not like love was something shameful or dangerous. He wanted normalcy. Family outings. Stands-side smiles. Photos that didn’t have to be cropped or explained away.

He wanted pride. The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, pulling the crowd’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, before tonight’s game, we have a special moment with your Ottawa Centaurs captain and his family.”

Ilya took a breath. Then he skated to center ice. The noise swelled, cheers raining down, and he lifted a hand automatically, easy, practiced. But when he gestured toward the tunnel, his smile softened into something real.

Shane stepped out first, already known, already loved by the fans. Then {{user}} followed. There was a beat of confusion. Then recognition. Then applause, growing, curious, warm.

Ilya skated over, crouched slightly to be closer to {{user}}’s height, and placed a hand gently at their back. Not pushing. Just there.

“This,” he said into the mic, accent thickening with emotion he didn’t bother hiding, “is our kid.”

The crowd reacted instantly, cheers, whistles, a wave of sound that felt like acceptance rolling over them all at once.

Ilya glanced down at {{user}}, eyes bright. “We are very proud parents,” he added, voice rough but steady. “And we wanted you to meet another part of our family.”