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Scott wasn’t expecting to see anyone when he finally headed for his hotel room. It was late enough that most of the hotel’s guests would have already retired to their rooms, but also not late – or early, depending on your perspective – enough for the celebrating hockey players to be returning to the hotel yet. He’d left the afterparty early to some good-natured ribbing from the others, but this was something he always did. It was normal, almost expected, of him to do so.
(Honestly though, Scott wasn’t feeling in the mood for any amount of partying and he’d stuck it out for as long as he could tolerate tonight. He had never been a big partier, but lately, it had been… not great.
He tried not to think about why that was so.)
Therefore, when the elevator he was waiting for finally arrived at the lobby, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be inside it. He definitely wasn’t expecting it to be Shane Hollander. Shane Hollander who looked, frankly, like a wreck.
Hollander was leaning against the wall of the elevator as if that was all that was supporting him, clutching his suit jacket so tightly that Scott was concerned his fingers would tear holes into the fabric. But it was the expression on his face that made Scott genuinely worried. His eyes were too-wide, too-glassy, and were definitely not taking in his surroundings. There was something to the clench of his jaw that made Scott think Hollander was desperately trying to hold some emotion in. It wasn’t very successful, because Scott thought Hollander looked like he needed a hug.
What the hell had happened to make Hollander look like this?
He had definitely been staring too long in his shock because the elevator door started to close. Without giving it much thought, he swiftly pressed the button to make it open again and then stepped in. Hollander didn’t even blink and still gave no sign of having noticed Scott’s presence. Yup, this was indeed worrying.
Scott hit the number for his floor and once the door was fully closed, he turned to the younger man.
“Hey, you doing okay, rook?”
Not that Hollander was a rookie now, not like he had been three years ago. But Hollander looked so young and vulnerable, it had just slipped out.
His voice finally startled Hollander out of his daze. Hollander blinked rapidly and lifted his head to meet Scott’s eyes.
“Oh, hey, Hunter… sorry, I… uh…”
It seemed like Hollander wasn’t quite all there yet, and his voice wobbled. Something definitely wasn’t right here. Maybe his teammates were onto something when they teased him about being like Captain America, but Scott was feeling really protective now and kind of wanted to do something to try to fix this.
“I’m uh… fine, yeah,” Hollander finally managed to get out and seriously, Scott thought he wasn’t a great liar at the best of times, but Hollander was way worse.
“You’re definitely not fine. Did something happen? Did someone do something?”
He wasn’t expecting that to cause Hollander to suddenly look terrified on top of looking heartbreakingly sad. He most certainly wasn’t expecting Hollander to start trembling.
Fuck, did someone really do something to Hollander? Scott couldn’t think of anyone who would be nasty to him off the ice. Not to Shane Hollander who was the Golden Boy of Canada, and an all-round nice, polite guy. Even when he chirped, he didn’t quite manage to sound insulting about it. Scott should know, and no matter what he’d implied about Hollander starting to sound like Rozanov—
Rozanov.
If there was anyone likely to start anything untoward with Hollander outside of the rink, Ilya Rozanov would probably be the top contender. Scott was aware that a chunk of the intensity of the rivalry between Hollander and Rozanov was intentionally fabricated and stoked by the MLH and the media, but he had also seen the way those two played against each other and it also wasn’t entirely an act. There was no hiding that they were competitive in the rink when pitted against each other, but compared to Hollander, Rozanov was definitely a bit of a jerk on and off ice too. Well, more than a bit. He didn’t like to think that Rozanov would get that nasty and cross a line with Hollander because while Rozanov could be an absolute pain to deal with, he didn’t seem like he was an irredeemable asshole otherwise. Scott was aware of players who truly were assholes with zero redeemable qualities. Rozanov was just too cocky and mouthy most of the time.
But Rozanov had also won MVP at the awards tonight, and Hollander had been a contender for the same award. It wouldn’t be unlike Rozanov to rub his win into Hollander’s face, and maybe he had gone a little too far this time, struck on some nerve too accurately.
Then, suddenly, Hollander began to sway in a way that set Scott’s internal alarms ringing. Moments later, it was only his quick, hockey-honed reflexes that had him managing to catch Hollander before he unceremoniously met the floor.
“Okay, you are definitely not fine,” Scott declared. He might have been willing to let it go earlier despite Hollander’s terrible attempt at lying, but after this? No, he needed to make sure the younger man was okay.
He expected Hollander to protest, but instead Hollander slumped heavily into him, pressing his face into Scott’s shoulder like he wanted to somehow get closer. He was still shaking but it seemed like the proximity to another human body was helping some.
“Hol—” Well, the man was practically nuzzled into him right now, Scott supposed he could call him by his first name. It would sound friendlier too, and he really seemed like he needed a friendly face at the moment. “Shane, hey, look at me for a sec?”
When Shane lifted his chin enough so that their eyes could meet, Scott saw that Shane’s eyes looked watery, as if tears could brim over at any time. It solidified the thought that he didn’t think Shane should be alone right now.
“You don’t look so good, and I don’t think you should be alone. You okay to come to my room for a bit? Just until you’re better?”
He could see the internal struggle playing out on Shane’s face. It wasn’t anything too obvious, but they were really close to each other and Shane was also clearly too exhausted to maintain any sort of effective mask. Eventually, Shane’s eyes dropped from his but he also nodded, so Scott counted it as a win.
Thankfully, the elevator did not stop at any other floor on the way up. Shane might be kind of out of it now, but Scott didn’t think he would want to be seen by anyone else in the current state he was in. Scott knew about the pressures of being a high-profile athlete and knew the pains he’d taken to keep his image as clean as possible, the sacrifices he’d made to stay in this sport that he loved. Shane seemed to be the same way, and Scott knew if he was in Shane’s position right now, he would not want any of this to be witnessed by anyone else.
Possibly, they were more similar than he would have first thought if his suspicions about Shane were right.
It wasn’t something that Scott had actively or constantly thought about, not since he first got a hint that something could be up with the two star rookies back at the 2011 All-Stars.
He remembered that back then he hadn’t initially been paying full attention to the conversation Rozanov and Shane had been having right after the shooting skills competition. Sue him, but he had been quietly licking his wounds over having not one, but two rookies break his record back to back, even if it wasn’t a record of significant importance. Scott was a professional athlete and he still had an ego, no matter how much he tried not to let it get in the way of things. So, it had taken a while for him to tune back into his surroundings after that. What he did recall was that he’d caught Rozanov saying that he would be turning in early that night, and had thought that that might be good for himself, seeing as he was in the room next to Rozanov’s. Rozanov hadn’t been a terrible neighbor – Scott had encountered worse behavior from some of his own teammates – but the next day was the All-Stars game, and he had wanted to be well rested to play a good game. It seemed like Rozanov was thinking the same way, until Scott heard him skate past Shane muttering a string of numbers that sounded like it was his hotel room number. Scott would know.
Nevertheless, he had still given them the benefit of the doubt. But he also hadn’t been able to stop himself from trying to probe Shane subtly about it. The way Shane’s expression had frozen up when he mentioned he was right next door to Rozanov? Well, it could still be for other reasons, and Scott probably had pretty shit gaydar considering the years he’d spent hiding and distancing himself from anything that could be remotely considered queer, but there was no logical reason for Shane to look this close to terrified if Rozanov was just inviting him to his room for like a friendly round of board games or something. It would maybe have been surprising for anyone to find out that they were friends, but that shouldn’t have given Shane a look on his face that read to Scott like he was trying not to spiral. For his own sanity, Scott had put in earplugs that night before he went to bed, so thankfully, he never did find out if Shane had showed up outside Rozanov’s door.
Then came the MLH Awards later that very same year. Seeing Rozanov and Shane being both nominated for Rookie of the Year had what he’d seen during the All-Stars come back to the forefront of his mind. So once again, Scott couldn’t help but try to pry. Rozanov had been obviously missing from the after party (and frankly, he wouldn’t approach Rozanov to ask about this anyway), so that had left Shane. There was probably a part of Scott that had been hoping that he’d completely misinterpreted whatever that had happened during the All-Stars, because if what he suspected was true, then it would be a terrible journey that these two would face. He’d been self-aware enough to acknowledge that he was definitely more concerned about Shane than Rozanov, but he really wouldn’t wish having to spend an entire hockey career firmly in the closet with the constant fear of being outed on anyone. Rozanov included. It would also be worse if that same closet was also crammed full with the secret of maybe fucking your most well-documented rival. Scott could not imagine living a life like that at all. The stress of it would take a huge toll eventually.
So, his heart had definitely dropped a bit at Shane’s reaction to him saying “your boy Rozanov”. Because Scott was ninety-nine percent sure that that meant that he hadn’t misinterpreted anything… and that it didn’t seem to be a once-off.
The next time something happened that made Scott add a mental tally to the “Rozanov and Hollander are probably having sex” column was earlier this season, an incident that Scott wasn’t at all proud of and wished he could undo. Unfortunately, back-to-back losses to Boston and then Montreal had him in an extremely bad mood, plus he had been missing…
Well. In any case, that had led to his and Shane’s infamous fight on the ice. He had later gotten Shane’s number from a teammate who knew someone on the Metros and apologized, because he hadn’t wanted to give Shane the impression that he was yet another homophobic jerk of a hockey player even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to drop even the smallest hint that he was gay and closeted and therefore understood Shane’s position more than he realized.
Shane had seemed to accept the apology then, and Scott really hoped that that was truly the case as he flipped on enough of the lights in his room so that they could see and then guided Shane further in. If it wasn’t, then tonight would get even more awkward.
He left Shane seated on one of the armchairs, trying not to notice the way Shane’s body unconsciously seemed to try to follow him as he pulled away for a moment before catching himself and jerking back into the chair. At the very least, Shane seemed less out of it than he’d been in the elevator, even if he still looked small and vulnerable where he was curling into himself in his seat.
Scott busied himself by getting out a glass so that he could offer some water to Shane. But his mind was still whirring away, thinking of the last time he saw Shane interacting with Rozanov before their stage appearance tonight to present, somewhat ironically, the Most Sportsmanlike Award. It had been at the Olympics, during the short-form men’s figure skating competition. He’d gotten a glimpse of Rozanov standing high up in the spectator stands of the arena, far away from the crowds, looking a far cry from his usual self.
Scott would be the first to admit he didn’t know Rozanov well, but the man who had been standing all alone up there did not at all resemble the wise-cracking, brash, cocky hockey player that seemed to be gunning for the award for knowing how best to get under an opponent’s skin by chirping if it actually existed. Even from this distance, Rozanov had seemed completely closed off, appearing colder than the bitter Russian winter. Yet something about the tension in his frame had also screamed vulnerability that was being protected by a veneer of ice, ice that looked like it wouldn’t even take a particularly hard hit for it to begin to show cracks. He had been reminded of what Carter had said earlier about Russia and how it wasn’t safe, and he’d felt sick to realize that he hadn’t once thought of what that meant for Rozanov.
He hadn’t been at all surprised when Shane made an excuse to go to the bathroom only for Scott to see him appear up where Rozanov was soon afterwards. Scott wouldn’t have been able to warn Shane to be careful anyway – it would’ve been a strange thing to say out of the blue – so he’d been glad that Shane had kept a careful distance while he spoke to Rozanov. It hadn’t been a long conversation. Even though he couldn’t hear a word, nor could he lip read, he had been able to tell that Rozanov was keeping his answers short and the way he kept his face resolutely facing the ice meant he was trying to send some pretty big signals to Shane to just go away.
It was probably reasonable for Rozanov to not appear too chummy with Shane in Sochi, but it was also possible that he could’ve gone a bit too far with his words just to get Shane to leave him alone. Which led Scott back to the present where he had no concrete evidence and yet he just could not shake the gut feeling that was telling him that Shane’s current condition had something to do with Rozanov. Instincts mattered in sports too, and Scott had learned to trust his when needed. This was one of those times.
But how was he going to confirm his suspicions without sending Shane into a panic attack when he already looked so emotionally fragile?
For the time being, he handed Shane the glass, filled generously with cool water. Shane took it from him without really looking at him, and Scott took a step back to give him some space. He was happy to see that Shane’s hand wasn’t shaking now. For a few moments, he just watched Shane take slow sips of water while Shane stared off into the middle distance because this was just a standard hotel room and there was nothing remotely interesting about it beyond, perhaps, the Vegas strip that was visible from the window.
“Are you feeling better?” he eventually asked, keeping his voice quiet and tone as gentle as he could while trying not to look like he was hovering too closely. Hopefully, Shane wouldn’t feel like he was being cornered.
He could see the way Shane opened his mouth to most likely reply with the affirmative on auto-pilot. But then, he paused, took another sip of water like maybe that would give him an answer that wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction and wasn’t also an outright lie. Then, those dark eyes flicked up to his, and even in the dim light of the room, Scott could tell that no, Shane didn’t look like he felt much better at all.
“…not really. I’m sorry.”
It was nonsensical to Scott that Shane felt the need to apologize about this. He really was living up to the polite Canadian stereotype.
“No need to apologize. Would it help if you… talked about it?”
It was a long shot, but Scott had to try. Still, he wasn’t surprised when Shane immediately shook his head, his eyes widening in fear.
“Okay, sure, no problem,” he hastened to reassure. “Can I do anything to help?”
The fear in Shane’s eyes was replaced by uncertainty and conflict, as if Shane knew something that might help him feel less devastated about whatever it was that had or had not happened, but wasn’t sure if he could ask it of Scott. Considering the way Shane had all but clung to him in the elevator after Scott had caught him before he could fall, he had an inkling of what Shane thought he needed but was also hesitant to ask.
Scott wasn’t the most touchy-feely of people, although he couldn’t be sure if it was because he was naturally that way, or because he had done his best to pretend he didn’t like men that way when he was in an environment where he was exposed to many gorgeous, athletic men on a near-daily basis and that meant knowing what was an acceptable kind of touch. Most of the time that meant limiting physical contact to manly one-armed bro hugs, slapping each other on the backs, and other fleeting touches that had been demarcated by the masses as “platonic” and “not gay”. Even amongst his best friends, they’d only ever hugged when one of them had clearly needed it because of one reason or another. But he’d never shied away from giving someone a hug if they really needed it.
He was getting the feeling that Shane needed a hug, but was struggling with how to vocalize it, how to make it not sound like it was a “not straight” request.
“C-can I… um… would it be okay if…”
Scott did his best to stay silent, keeping his expression and body language open. He hoped he was adequately projecting patience and acceptance at a clearly struggling Shane so that he could make his request.
Then, Shane ducked his head, speaking into his lap so softly that it was a bit of a challenge to hear him clearly despite their quiet surroundings. “…I’d like a h-hug… if that’s… okay? Please?”
There was something about Shane’s entire demeanor that reminded him of a kicked puppy. Scott was already moving closer and holding his arms open before Shane had finished speaking.
“Of course.”
Shane looked up at him then, disbelief written all over his face before he seemed to realize that Scott was being serious and non-judgmental and offering the hug that he had asked for. Then Scott was taking a step back to counterbalance the impact of Shane Hollander practically barreling into him. He let out a low whoosh of breath at the force of the near-collision because Shane wasn’t that much shorter than him and as an athlete himself, was also a solid wall of muscle. Still, the surprise of Shane’s sudden movement didn’t stop him from closing his arms around Shane’s back to give him the hug he needed.
Then Scott stood there, holding Shane as the younger man stifled a sob into his shoulder and clung to him like a lifeline, almost burrowing his head into his chest. In another context, this could be a prelude to something else, and yes, Scott was definitely a hundred percent gay and Shane was very easy on the eyes to say the least, but there was nothing sexy about this. In fact, he felt like his heart was breaking at the amount of hurt and vulnerability he was being privy to, feeling like maybe this wasn’t meant for him to see. Nonetheless, if this was what Shane needed, he was glad to be able to provide.
So, Scott let Shane cling to him tightly, politely not bringing to notice the wet sniffles he could hear from the other man even if there was no outright sobbing. He wasn’t sure how Shane would take it if he tried to pat his back or something, so Scott just held him and hoped his presence would be soothing enough.
(He tried not to think that it had been too long since he’d had such close human contact for a sustained period of time as well. This was about comforting Shane. It was irrelevant that Scott maybe absolutely needed it too.)
“I’m getting your tux dirty,” Shane mumbled into his shoulder after however long it had been, and just…
God, the circumstances were completely different, he knew that. He knew that. But Scott couldn’t help but think about the last time a tuxedo he’d been wearing had gotten dirty unexpectedly and the sharp pang in his gut blindsided him.
“…it’s alright,” he said after a long, fraught moment, sounding distant to his own ears. “It’s not my only tux.”
“M’sorry…”
Shane still didn’t sound quite back to normal, and Scott needed to get a grip too. Tonight did not need the both of them spiraling out of their minds. He took a breath and let it out.
“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it, rook.”
“…not a rookie. Not anymore,” Shane said and he actually sounded petulant about it. It was kind of cute.
That was a good sign, Scott thought. It was starting to sound like Shane was coming back to more of his usual self. Nevertheless, he left it up to Shane to decide when he wanted to pull away.
“Yeah, yeah. You just seemed younger than your actual age.” A beat. “Rook.”
Shane huffed, but didn’t protest further. It was maybe a minute or two longer before he finally started to shuffle backwards and so Scott let his arms drop so that Shane could take a step away.
“Better?” he asked when it seemed like Shane was feeling too awkward to say anything.
“Yes, thank you, Scott.”
This time, Shane sounded like he truly meant it and relief swept through Scott.
“And uh,” he continued with a wince on his face, “Please let me pay for the cleaning of your tux? Since I kind of… cried all over it.”
Scott finally glanced down and sure enough, he could make out a wet spot even against the black of his jacket. But honestly, it really was nothing to worry about.
“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t sweat it, okay?”
“But—”
“It really is okay, Shane. I’m just glad that I could help you.”
“You did! I’d really feel better if I could just—”
“If you really want to repay me,” Scott said, making sure to keep his tone light enough that Shane would be able to tell he was joking, “You could play badly enough that Montreal loses some games.”
“No way, man! That’s too far!” But Shane was smiling now, a rather watery smile still, but good enough.
Scott shrugged exaggeratedly. “Well, at least I tried.”
“Um… can you… not tell…?”
“No, no, I won’t tell anyone,” Scott hurried to reassure, feeling sad that Shane felt that he had to ask this. “This just stays between us. I promise.”
Shane flinched a little before his expression smoothed out and Scott wondered if what he said sounded too much like a post-secret hook up conversation. Nothing to be done for it now, though.
“I uh… I should go now,” Shane said after a beat, fidgeting a little on his feet. “It’s late and I’ve disturbed you long enough.”
“It wasn’t any trouble.”
Scott walked Shane the short distance to the door of his room. Shane was definitely steadier now, which truly was a relief. Maybe he would never know what happened to Shane tonight, but he supposed he could just check in on one more thing.
“Hey, Shane… you’re not obligated to tell me what happened to cause, you know, that. But just for my peace of mind, you’re not… physically hurt, are you?”
Of course this didn’t cover any emotional hurt that had happened, but considering he sincerely doubted Shane would tell him the truth of what had caused him to be in such a terrible state, this was the best that he could do.
It did assuage his niggling worries when Shane looked genuinely surprised by his question even before he replied that no, he was physically fine and that Scott didn’t have to worry. Scott wasn’t sure if he could really stop worrying right away, but Shane did look better than before.
“Alright, rook, just making sure. I know we aren't very close, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m willing to be a listening ear. You have my number.”
That did bring a small smile to Shane’s face. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a last nod, Shane finally left, closing the door quietly behind him. Scott let out a breath before he went to lock the door and start on his nightly absolutions.
He sincerely hoped that whatever it was that caused Shane’s near-breakdown tonight was well and truly over and that it wouldn’t happen again. If it really had something to do with Rozanov, well, he could only hope that Shane was smart enough to navigate his way out of whatever it was before he got burnt. Or stick with it, if that was what he wanted, but protect himself better.
Shane was a good person. Scott only wished the best for him, whatever form it took.