Chapter Text
He heard somebody shout “Barrett!”
Ilya? Troy thought, and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. It was Ilya, he knew that obviously because of the familiar, heavily accented voice. What he didn’t understand why the voice sounded so urgent, and slightly rough - almost like he was trying to hold back tears.
It was Ilya after all, cocky fucker extraordinaire, who never openly showed his care (except for his borderline obsession with Hollander, of course).
Troy tried to sit up to see what was wrong, but ended up uselessly flopping as the pain flared up in his side. He grimaced. That wasn’t a good sign. That meant bruised, possibly cracked ribs.
Not the best, because it did put him out for possibly the next few weeks. Those were a few weeks he couldn’t get back to show Coach Weibe he deserved to be on the top line. It was one of his first games with Shane and Ilya’s line and he couldn’t mess this up for himself. Distantly, he thought that the voice in his head sounded a bit familiar. Like his dad, when he’d been younger.
He realized his eyes had drifted closed and opened them again. He squinted as the lights became way too bright way too quickly. Seriously, why were the lights at the rink so fucking bright? He’d never noticed it before, but it was like they were stabbing his eyeballs with needles. He sighed in relief as a shadow covered him. Shane.
“Hey, man,” Shane said in an even tone, with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“‘M okay,” Troy tries to say, but ends up aborting halfway through the sentence with a sharp inhale and a groan of pain. His ribs fucking hurt is the only real thought swimming through his mind right now.
“Stay still,” Shane said, and Troy was confused. He could get up, hopefully, prove to himself that it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. And where was Ilya?
Suddenly, two of the trainers came and started examining him. He tried to smile at one of the guys, one of the people who worked on his training routine, but his smile turned into a grimace as they tested for mobility. He closed his eyes as the motion of multiple people became too much for his eyes to track all at once. He opened his eyes and hissed in pain as a bright light shone in his eyes.
“Sorry, Troy,” the medic above him said hurriedly, and then something was being clasped around his neck. He blinked and he was loaded onto a stretcher and carried out of the arena. Time felt like it was moving faster and slower all at once.
Huh, his jumbled brain managed. Stretchers never mean good things.
Amidst the fog, a name flashed in Troy’s mind. “Harris,” he gasped out. He’d be worried, and maybe a bit pissed (at the other team, especially because it was Montreal), and fuss like a mother hen, which Troy would probably tease him about after. Troy almost smiled at the thought. “Where’s Harris?” It came out a bit slurred, like there was cotton in his mouth.
Come on, brain, cooperate, he thought.
He heard a noise when they reached the dressing room. No, not a noise. A voice. An unmistakable voice.
“Harris?” he groaned out, and the paramedic he could see right above his head widened his eyes in realization.
“That him?” he asked, but Harris just about answered that for him.
“Troy?!” his voice yelled, then, suddenly, he was right next to him, keeping pace with the stretcher. “Oh, Troy.”
Troy knew he probably looked horrible right now, but gave Harris what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but what probably came out as more of a pained grimace.
“We’ll let you ride in the ambulance,” a paramedic said, and Harris mumbled out a ‘thanks.’ His eyes were still focused onto Troy’s, though, green boring into sapphire. Troy thought Harris had never looked as pretty as he did right now. He closed his eyes, though, against the bright lights. The stretcher he was on was pushed into the ambulance and Troy squeezes his eyes shut against the bright lights.
He felt familiar fingers brush against his own and held them tightly. He got a squeeze back in response. Now felt like a great time to sleep, actually…
He was so tired. But the relentless insistence of the trainers - and there were two more people in uniforms now, too. Medics? - made his eyes flutter open again.
“Can you tell us what hurts most?”
“Uh. Ribs, left side, I think, and my head.” He gave it short and sweet, just like he’d been trained many a time by his dad. No crying, no worrying, just fucking say it and steel yourself. Like a real man.
He blinked up at Harris, watched as his eyes got a little glossed over. Troy had always been told that a “real man,” whatever that was, didn’t cry, but now, looking at Harris so bravely riding with him and crying for him. Well… he knew he respected Harris more than he’d ever respect his father.
“Does it hurt anywhere, hon?” Harris asked quietly, almost a whisper, and Troy almost went to shake his head - why worry about it as long as you’re back on the ice soon? He heard his dad say in his mind - then remembered the thing around his neck.
“No, I-“ he started, then took in a pained breath as his ribs gave a sharp stab of pain. No, definitely broken, he thought. It’s bad, it’s bad, I can’t be on the ice soon with this one.
But then he thought about Harris, now running his fingers through Troy’s hair so gently, about Shane who stayed by his side the entire time, about Ilya and his team - his boys - who probably fought for him on the ice. He blinked, and tears pricked at his eyes. Because he- he had people around him. People who cared, really cared, not just about his hockey.
“Oh, baby,” Harris gently pushed his hair back. “It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.”
For once, he could believe it.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” a familiar voice greeted him as his eyes fluttered open. The first thing Troy registered was the scratchy hospital gown and sheets. Then, the rhythmic beeping, the thankfully dim lights, the hospital smell of antiseptic and… apples?
Troy looked at the person who had spoken next to him. “Harris?”
“In the flesh,” his boyfriend said, though his smile dimmed a bit after he’d said it. He took Troy’s hand in his own and brushed his thumb over his knuckles in repetitive motions. “You, uh… you scared me.”
Troy tightened his hand around Harris’, as if reassuring him that he was still there.
“I’m okay.” Troy grinned, and he really was feeling good, they must have him on some good shit right now. “Gonna take a bit more than one of Montreal’s d-men to take me out.”
Harris’ expression lightened a bit, but it was still a far cry to him on a usual day. Troy missed that bright smile, the contagious, loud, booming laugh. He loved everything about this man and he wouldn’t sit here and do nothing while it was all dimmed. Because of him, no less.
“Hey,” Troy said softly. “you can’t get rid of me that easy. ‘m gonna be with you forever.”
“Forever, huh?” Harris said, and Troy was appalled to find that it was tearful. Harris’ eyes, when he finally looked up at Troy, were glazed over. Troy’s face drew into a pout as he reached out for Harris’ hand.
Harris saw him trying to reach for him and met him halfway. Troy felt safer with their fingers intertwined.
He looked up at Harris again, who now had a smile on his face. Good, he thought, you should always be smiling, and then as he gazed into Harris’ eyes, he got lost in them. He felt undeserving of the beauty in front of him, the kindness and warmth radiating from Harris. “I wanna keep you forever,” Troy said, in awe. The drugs must’ve been messing with his mind, though, because that was absolutely not how he wanted that to come out. “Can I? Keep you forever?”
Harris, who had looked mildly amused at Troy’s words, now burst out laughing. It was a loud laugh, one that filled the hospital room and stayed in Troy’s ears long after. He wanted to bottle it up and drink it like fine wine. Or like, well, apple cider. “Well, bud, if you want me, I’m here to stay.”
Troy gripped Harris’ hand tighter, afraid to let all his desires come tumbling out. “I want you so bad,” Troy promised. He needed Harris to hear this, needed him to stay. “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”
Troy thought about his dad, leaving him in the stark white and cold hospital room. He thought of Aiden, who’d never even come to visit him in the first place. He had people now, though, he had Harris, who’d never left him and who never would. Harris’s eyes softened in understanding.
“Oh, hon,” he said, his voice oozing with such comfort and love that Troy wanted to cry. “I’m not leaving.”
Troy nestled back heavier into his hospital bed, his eyelids drooping against his will. He nodded to Harris to acknowledge his words, but it was heavy and lethargic.
“Go to sleep, love,” Harris said, firm but fond. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Troy believed Harris with all his heart. He wanted to believe him, but he also trusted him, trusted that Harris would never lie to him and would never leave him.
“Okay,” Troy said, and closed his eyes. “G’night, sweetheart.”
He knew that, in the morning, he’d be chirped so hard for how soppy he’d been. He also knew that he’d meant every single word he’d said. Including that part about keeping Harris by his side forever. After all, that’s what the small velvet box tucked away in his hockey bag was for.
That is, if Harris said yes.
But, for now, Troy drifted off to sleep with the calming pressure of the man he loved next to him.
“Night, hon,” Harris whispered, and Troy fell asleep like clockwork.