Chapter Text
“Hey…,”
So far, Ilya had survived practice with the Metros. He’d had to get used to the different dimensions of Pike’s much smaller slower body, but once he figured it out, he was on fire. He and Shane were in sync, even in the drills. Even Theriault, stoneface man that he was, seemed both dumbfounded and in deep awe of the sudden change.
“Yes Hollander?” Ilya was trying not to stare. Hollander had just emerged out of the shared bathroom, soaking wet, with only a towel tied around his waist. Pike probably would not stare, yes? He would not blame Pike if he did.
Shane titled his head in that confused cat way of his. It took Ilya a moment to realize he had kept up calling him by his last name.
“I mean Shane,”
“Your sister and I quote says, ‘tell Hayden to answer his texts or I will drive up and strangle him with his…,” Shane had grown red beneath his freckles. Go on Ilya thought what had Pike’s sister threatened Hayden with, “jockstrap,”
Ilya could not contain his snort. That was a creative threat. One he did not expect out of someone blood-related to Pike. He might have to steal that one. He turned to his bag curious, needling him as to what also warranted such a response. He found the red case phone in the sidepocket, opening it with Pike’s thumb print. He found there were texts from someone named Lottie, who he assumed was the sister, and then some from Hayden. He’d saved himself in Hayden’s phone as God’s Gift to Hockey. Even now that idea made him laugh. He read those first.
God’s Gift to Hockey: do u have like obligations?
God’s Gift to Hockey: hello?
God’s Gift to Hockey: Do you just menace Boston now that the Raiders aren’t in playoffs?
God’s Gift to Hockey: I swear if u don’t respond I’ll text Jane.
That one was sent a few minutes ago. Ilya responded quickly, do not text Jane.
God’s Gift to Hockey: Fine. But tell me what the fuck i’m supposed to do.
Ilya ignored that for a moment as another message for Lottie popped up.
Lottie: Hayden.
Lottie: Can you call mom back? Ik u know it’s the 20th anniversary
Lottie: Don’t do this today. Please.
Lottie: We all know u just have practice today
Anniversary? What kind of anniversary could twenty-four-year-old Pike have from twenty years ago? What was he finally potty-trained today?He scrolled up. There were more messages. From earlier.
Lottie: Just a gentle reminder, tomorrow is 04/24.
Lottie: I know you hate this stuff but it’s not about that
Lottie: she’s been weird all morning
Lottie: like. worse than usual
Lottie: just call her okay?
Ilya frowned. He had a soft spot for moms, sue him. Maybe it had something to do with Mama Pike. He turned to Shane.
“Do you know what the twenty-fourth of April is?”
“A Monday?” Hollander replied unhelpfully. Ilya squinted at him. Hollander was not being dense, he decided. Pike had not told his bestest friend clearly. He sent a text to Hayden, what is the 24th.
God’s Gift to Hockey: Fuck. I forgot.
Hayden: No shit Pike. Ur sister is threatening u with athletic equipment.
Hayden: Also says your mom is crying.
Ilya’s fingers scrolled back to Lottie’s messages. He decided a more neutral approach.
Hayden: I did not forget.
Hayden: …..remind me again what I did not forget
Hayden had never been smart. Ilya had watched enough of his interviews to know this. Or maybe sister would think Hayden got hit in the head with a puck or something.
Lottie: The fuck Hayden.
That was entirely unhelpful.
“You okay Hayd?” Shane asked digging out his clothes from the bag.
It took Ilya a moment to remember he was supposed to be reflexively answering to Hayd, and he nodded.
“Also you reek,” Shane told him. Ilya had been quick in the showers with the Metros after practice. He was a bit afraid he’d be caught staring at Hollander which would make things extremely awkward “go shower,”
He also was not so excited to be showering in Pike’s body. It was weird. It
felt as though it was an invasion of privacy, but Hollander was right. He shuffled into the bathroom, peeling off the gross t-shirt and stared at Hayden Pike’s golden retriever-like reflection. Pike did not have his physical regime, that was true, but objectively he was fit. His gaze dropped.Caught.Just below the collarbone, faint, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it, a raised scar, pale against the skin around it.Ilya stepped closer without thinking.Lifted his hand.Ran his fingers over it.The texture was different. Slightly thicker. Old. Healed long ago, but not gone.
The shower and warm water felt divine. And he tried not to stare at Pike’s lower half, though curiosity did get to him.
Lottie: Your remission date.
Lottie: Btw I texted Shane. He told me you have not received a concussion, so what the fuck?
Remission date? Ilya stared at the words. There were not English words that were familiar to him. It appeared even though he’d switched bodies, English proficiency was not one of the perks. Unless of course, Pike was not proficient in English, which was also possible. He punched it into the search bar, Remission: a period during which signs and symptoms of cancer are reduced or disappear.Ilya went very still.
Holy fuck was Pike a cancer survivor? Or was his mother? He re-read Lottie’s
message. No, no it seemed like the person in question was Hayden fucking Pike.
***
Somehow his day, waking up in Ilya fucking Rozanov’s body had gone from horrendous to worse. It was a scale Hayden did not think possible as he sulked around Rozanov’s apartment, bored out of his skull. It was clear now, in the most cursed, universe-hates-him way possible, that Ilya Rozanov was going to be the first person from the MHL, to find out about his past as a sickly, cancer kid. It wasn’t technically ever supposed to be a secret. It was just something he never talked about. Or tried to think about it, even when he visited cancer wards with the Metros. He had no desire to relive it or think about what his parents saw.
Not that he remembered much of it. Thankfully. He’d been nearly five when he went into remission. There were flashes. That was it. Sometimes machinery. Sometimes needles. He’d recovered enough by that September to go to kindergarten like anyone else. Hayden dragged a hand through Rozanov’s hair, his hair, for now, and exhaled sharply. He pressed the call button.
“Rozanov,” he spat out trying to keep himself in check, “look I’m going to send you a text to-
“You survive cancer?”
Hayden wondered if he could try to deny it. His hand reached beneath Rozanov’s t-shirt for the familiar scar. But of course, it wouldn’t be there. He was not in his own body.
“Doesn’t matter,” he had never even told Shane about it, “I’ll send you what to send to my mom and then we drop this ok?”
“Okay,” Rozanov said.
Hayden typed out the message and hit send. He supposed now is the time to tell Rozanov that his brother kept texting him.
“Your brother is rude,” Hayden said, “he keeps texting you at weird times-
“Bylat….” The curse came out low and vicious, like it had teeth. “Have you spoken to him?”
“No,” Hayden said immediately. “I have been doing nothing, because I do not know your life, Rozanov.”
“…good,” Ilya said. Short. Controlled. Not pleased, but relieved enough that it showed in the edges of his voice.
Hayden dropped onto the arm of the couch, then slid off it a second later because sitting still in this body felt wrong, like there was too much energy coiled under the surface with nowhere to go.The phone buzzed again in his hand.Same name.He flipped it over so he didn’t have to look at it.
“I will send you what to say to him,” Ilya continued. “Do not deviate. Do not attempt to be clever. Do not—”
“Roz,” Hayden cut in, dry, “if I wanted to be clever I would not be asking you for help.”
His thumb tapped idly against the edge of the phone, gaze drifting around the apartment again. Still nothing. No evidence of a life beyond hockey and immaculate surfaces.
“You’re going to have to explain this one to me later, by the way,” Hayden added. “Because twenty thousand dollars feels like a story.”
“Will you tell me about your cancer story? Will we sit around a campfire tossing mores and braiding each other’s hair?”
Hayden wanted to punch him, “it’s toasting s’mores you communist,”
“That is offensive. Who knew you had insults?”
Hayden was not one of the people on ice to go for low blows. He chirped only out of necessity and this was that, surely. He could hear a knock on the door, on Rozanov’s side of the conversation.
“Who are you calling a communist Hayd?”
It was Shane. God Hayden missed Shane.
“Your mother,” Rozanov said, seemingly in reflex.
Hayden smacked his forehead. Rozanov was going to get them caught. They’d be dragged to hospitals to be experimented on. He did not want that ever again. He had enough of it growing up. Hayden Pike, the real Hayden Pike, would never say anything so juvenile. Suddenly the line dropped, leaving Hayden alone once again in Rozanov’s life.
He supposed he could deep dive into wikipedia then about the person whose body he was stuck in. Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov(Born 15 June 1991) is a Russian Professional….Hayden continued on eyes glazing past the more familiar stuff. Born in the USSR, ha Hayden thought. Like Rozanov wasn’t already dramatic enough without having a whole Cold War origin story.Father was police officer. Mother was dead. It did not mention how she died. Hmm. He scrolled back to the information box, Irina Rozanova and began to search that.
He found only an obituary. In Russian which he was too lazy to attempt to transcribe since it was a picture and not text. Her death date, and his heart sunk. Rozanov would have been barely twelve when she died. That was sad.
Hmm. Hayden pushed himself off the sofa. He had to do something. Wasn’t Boston supposed to be nice for running? It might be good for his headspace to get outside and get some air.
He was not expecting the fans.
***********************************************************
“Shane?”
The Metros had gone out to dinner. Ilya was trying his best not to chirp at the enemy team on instinct alone.Normally, he would have already started something. He kept trying to get Shane to talk to him, wanting to steal these moments even if he was in the decidedly wrong body.
“Do not bother Hayd,” this was from JJ, leaning over with his thick Quebec accent, “he is texting his girl,”
That got Ilya’s attention. Hollander had a girl? He never saw anything about Shane with any girl ever. No paparazzi shot or interview.Not even a convincing rumor thread on Reddit, and Ilya had gone deep into those.Hollander did not have a girl. Ilya was starting to be convinced that Hollander was possibly gay, and just solely gay.
“His girl?”
“Oui. His Boston Lis,” JJ said this with an exaggerated eye roll, “his Boston Lily. You were the one to point out how giddy he gets whenever he texts her,”
Giddy? Hollander is giddy when he texts his Boston Lily? Ilya was Boston Lily. That made Ilya feel all sorts of things. And damn Pike’s body, flushing. He could feel the heat claiming his cheeks. Russians do not blush but it appeared bloody Pikes did. To save himself from talking more to JJ, he began to down his cup of water.