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Scott Hunter has never felt better. He won the Stanley Cup, he won MLH Player of the Year, and most importantly, Kip was standing right there next to him the whole time. He wasn’t planing on coming out the way he did, or at all, but Kip has made everything worth it.
Now, after way too may congratulations and way too many interviewers and way too many photographers, Scott and Kip finally have a moment to themselves. They’re still socially required to be present, but at least this corner is quieter and far away from everyone.
“God, I love you so much, Kip. Thank you so much for being here with me. I’m so sorry I—“
“No, stop,” Kip interrupts, putting his hand on his arm. “This is your night, your award. Don’t think of the past, I am way too happy being in the present.”
Kip smiles up at him, and Scott is overwhelmed with love and gratitude for this man. But before he can make an excuse to finally leave, he makes eye contact with the very last person he wants to see.
Rozanov walks up to them, a perfectly blank expression on his face.
Kip follows his line of sight, frowning slightly. He doesn’t know much about Rozanov, but Scott has told him enough to be weary. A person can only start so many fights before a reputation is formed, a reputation, Kip assumes, Rozanov is very happy with.
“I’ll handle this,” Scott whispers before Rozanov can make it all the way to them.
“Hunter! Congratulations on Player of Year, lucky you got it before you retire next season.”
Scott settles him with a blank stare. “I’m not retiring.”
Rozanov feigns shock. “Really? Surprising.”
Scott sighs, completely done with this bullshit. “What do you want, Rozanov?”
“Just wanted to congratulate. Very brave thing you did, very good thing. Will be good for future players. Although, the most shocking thing is still that you won in first place.”
Scott is so taken aback by what he said, he doesn’t even register the insult. If someone were to say that Ilya Rozanov was going to congratulate him for what he did, instead of saying some sort of slur, he wouldn’t have believed you. Yeah, Rozanov has never been one of the players who would constantly throw the word around like it was nothing, but Scott still wouldn’t have been all that shocked if he heard it. He waits a second, fully expecting him to laugh in his face, and is almost more weary when he doesn’t.
He glances at Kip, who looks just as confused as he’s feeling about where this is going, before he answers, “you’re not going to make some stupid joke?”
Rozanov looks genuinely offended by the accusation. “What? Why would I do that? You being old and bad at hockey is enough. And besides, sexuality is no issue. I’m bisexual. Also, my jokes aren’t stupid. I am very funny.”
Scott widens his eyes, mouth hanging open, once again thrown off by this conversation. He barely even processes anything else Rozanov said, still stuck on how he announced his preferences, as if it’s obvious. As if it’s common knowledge. As if the entire hockey world doesn’t know him as a womanizer. Scott, once again, expects him to bust out laughing. Once again, he doesn’t.
“What? Really?”
Rozanov rolls his eyes. “Yes, Hunter, close your mouth, you look dumb. Is he always this dumb?” For the first time, Rozanov acknowledges Kip. Scott isn’t sure how to feel about it. If it was up to him, Kip would have never met Rozanov, but this entire conversation has taken him for way too much of a loop to say anything about it.
Clearly, Kip is as caught off guard as he is, stuttering his reply, “uh- uh, no, Scott’s not dumb.”
“He is dumb hockey player. You are not hockey player, so you don’t know, but Hunter never would have won if Hollander wasn’t out and I wasn’t playing with bad ribs.”
Kip doesn’t know how to reply to this. Scott is still stuck on Rozanov being bisexual.
“Are you planing on coming out?”
“No. Would not be good for me. I like women more, anyway. No need.”
For a second, Scott doesn’t understand. Coming out was the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
But then he recalls the Olympics. What his teammate said about folks like that in Russia. How the Russian hockey team lost way too soon.
More than that, he thinks about when Rozanov’s dad died. Of course, Rozanov would never let something like his personal life mess up his game, but it seemed he came back to the U.S. a bit too quickly and played a bit too well for someone who’s dad just died.
Was he upset at all?
He glances at Kip, and while he doesn’t know as much as Scott does, he has enough context to understand exactly what Rozanov is saying.
“Oh. I’m—“
Rozanov scoffs. “Relax, Hunter. Is not problem.” Scott would beg to differ. “I need a drink. Either of you want anything?” They both shake their heads.
They watch Rozanov walk away when they look at each other.
“I…kinda feel bad for him,” Kip says.
Scott sighs. “You have no idea how much it pains me to agree with you.”
Before either of them can say anything else, Rozanov is already making his way back over, with an annoyed look on his face and no drink.
“Whichever stupid American picked the vodka should be fired.”
Beside him, Kip snorts and immediately slaps his hand over his mouth. That is apparently the breaking point, because Scott starts laughing. Both Kip and Scott bend over, laughing their asses off, while Rozanov looks more and more offended by the second.
“What? This is not funny! Is tragedy. Stupid country, think they are the best. Shut up, Hunter, you can’t even play hockey.”
Scott straightens himself, still chuckling. “Is there anyone you think is actually good at hockey besides you, you egotistical asshole?”
Rozanov doesn’t even blink at the insult. “Of course. Hollander is very good. Second best in whole league.”
Scott raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “And who’s the best? You?”
“Naturally,” Rozanov says with a smirk.
“I forget, who has more Stanley Cups out of the two of you?”
Rozanov glares. “Is not the point. His team sometimes might be better than mine, but I am best player. Everyone knows this.”
Scott rolls his eyes. “Is anyone else good at hockey?”
Rozanov thinks for a minute. “No. No one else.”
Scott squints his eyes. There’s no way…
He remembers the All-Star game. Him and Hollander were a force to be reckoned with. Beyond just working well together, they seemed to act as if they were the only two players on the ice. You don’t act that way with someone you hated your entire professional career, no matter how good you are at the game.
“Are you two…”
“What? No, of course not. Hollander is boring.”
But even as he says it, Rozanov’s eyes seem to soften like Scott couldn’t believe. Never in a million years did he think he would see that look in Ilya Rozanov’s eyes.
Before Scott can comment any more, Rozanov’s phone rings. He picks it up, and Scott and Kip witness the most smitten, endearing, awe-filled expression they have ever seen. Scott almost has to take a step back from the sheer magnitude of it.
Rozanov is already turning around. “Must take this. You two have fun, I’m sure you’ll live a very long, happy, and boring life together. I look forward to beating your ass next season, Hunter!”
For a minute, Scott and Kip just stare at his retreating back.
“That was…I don’t really know what that was,” Kip finally says.
Scott nods along. “I…honestly don’t know what to say about anything that just happened,”
“Was he being nice? I genuinely couldn’t tell.”
Scott shakes his head. “Don’t ask me.”
They sit in silence for a little while longer, no doubt contemplating everything that just happened, when Kip speaks up again. “Have you ever seen him and Hollander interact?”
He was about to shake his head no, then remembered something.
“Holy shit they fucked in the hotel room right next to mine!”