Chapter Text
October 2011
Noah Wright liked hockey. It was practically a requirement, living in Canada and all, and living in Montreal specifically. He could probably name a couple of the players on the Metros, and he’d felt all the Canadian pride in his heart when Canada won the hockey gold at home during his senior year, watching the gold medal game while hemmed in on every side by the entire theatre programme in Winters, but that was it.
His roommate, however, was very into hockey.
“Shit, man, is watching these two gonna feel like this the whole time?”
“What? Who?” Noah didn’t look up fro his laptop, but he could feel his roommates agitation as he moved around on the couch next to him in the single shared room of their box-like apartment.
“Rozanov and Hollander. Their rookie season was pretty explosive but this shit does not let up. Push it, PUSH IT!” Adam’s voice raised as he yelled at their TV. Noah wasn’t even sure which team Adam was actually supporting in this game. He could see the Metros were playing — go team — but he was pretty sure even if he was actually watching he’d not understand the plays well enough to understand who precisely Adam was yelling at.
“Wait, Hollander is a Metros guy, right?” Noah asked, closing his laptop and the many tabs of job applications in favour of actually talking to his roommate. Settling down in Toronto once he’d finished school seemed like a good idea at graduation, but it was a town with a lot of talent floating around, and getting work in an actual theatre seemed increasingly unlikely.
“Yeah. That’s your hometown, right? Hey, you think you know anyone that could get tickets to a Boston game next season? I’d fucking kill to see these two go at it live.”
“Which two?” Noah leaned in, determined to actually pay attention this time.
“Hollander and Rozanov!” The ‘you idiot’ floated in the air between them, but Adam has known about his hockey apathy when they moved in together. “Look!” Adam gestured to the screen, where a player in white and another in blue lined up in the centre of the rink, their faces close enough that from the camera angle they almost seemed to be touching foreheads, and then the puck dropped and they both exploded with movement.
Noah didn’t know a lot about hockey. He didn’t really want to know a lot about hockey. But he could skate, and he’d watched a couple of his brother’s games when he’d played as a baby (okay, the under 13s league) so he had some appreciation of the skill involved in the sport and…
Holy shit these guys were fast. And insane. All the players bounced off each other and the edge of the rink like they were human bumper cars, but every eye was focused on the puck.
The whistle blew for an incomprehensible reason, and the camera focused in on Hollander - the familiar Metros Blue kit across his shoulders, as he exchanged rapid-fire words with the Boston guy he was stood across from.
“I’d fucking kill to hear what these two chirp about on the ice. Rozy seems to work his ass off trying to get a rise out of Hollander.” Adam gestured on the screen as the two players skated off the ice the camera following
“Chirp?” Noah asked.
“Yeah, you know. Trash Talk.”
“Oh, right. Not like… making bird noises.”
“You’re so weird Noah.” Adam said, and settled back to watch the game.
Noah thought he was pretty normal about hockey, actually.
December 2013
“Adam, please, move your shit!” Noah shouted up the stairs once he was done cursing. He stared accusingly at the box that he’d just kicked, and listened to the thumping sounds of his roommate and presumably his boyfriend crash down the stairs together. Noah looked up and saw them hastily putting on shirts, and he grimaced.
“Really? I left you here to unpack could you not keep your hands off each other for like two hours to actually get shit done?”
“Hey! We moved like five hundred miles to hang out in your hometown, you can be nice to us.” Adam said, clattering to the bottom of the stairs and picking up the offending box. Noah pushed his own bag behind him so that he could pick up another alongside Daniel — Adam’s shiny new boyfriend — and they all three carried them through to the kitchen.
“Yeah yeah, like you didn’t bend my ear about this being some kind of Canadian Gay Mecca where you’d find your soulmate, only for me to discover you’re bringing your preexisting boyfriend with you.”
“He can’t help it, I’m delightful,” said Daniel, and the three started the work of unpacking the boxes into the various cupboards. “Anyway, how did the interview go?”
“Good, I think. There’s not a lot of permanent jobs at the moment — arts funding always the first to go and all. But someone said they’re looking for camera operators at Centre Bell so I might go for that if this doesn’t pan out.”
“Dude! Yes! You gotta get a job there and then sneak us into the Montreal games. Please please please pleeeeeease.” Adam made show of getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together in supplication.
“Oh shove off. I thought you supported the Raiders anyway. Traitor.”
“Dude, the Bell is legendary. Every game sells out in like twenty minutes, and there’s rumours they’re gunning to host the All-Star game again in 2020.”
“Oh. Neat.” Noah had no clue what that meant. “Well, given that at the moment it’s that or my meteoric progression from Assistant Manager to Manager at Tim Hortons, I’ll definitely look into it. Would be nice to actually work in the industry of my qualification. Wild, I know.”
“Hey, you’re doing great,” Adam patted his knee consolingly from where he was on the floor. “But also if you were in position to get me hockey tickets I would actually marry you. Daniel would understand.”
“Does it count as a hockey widow if we’re not married and you’re not even a player?” Daniel asked, shoving Adam’s head sideways playfully before helping him up off the floor.
“If it does, I’ve been hockey widow our entire friendship. He made me watch the whole of some press conference of these two guys—”
“—Hollander and Rozanov, Noah, come on you actually know these ones you’re just being a dick—” Adam interjected.
“—and he spent the whole time they were up there telling me how much he wanted to suck the Russian guy’s dick.”
“Rozanov is, unfortunately, our agreed upon hall pass. Have you seen his ass?” Daniel said, and he and Adam shared a leering look. Noah just sighed.
“Whatever, they’re super weird about each other and I think you’re too busy thinking with your dick to see it.”
“Alright,” said Adam, “We’re watching tonight’s game together, and we’re gonna see what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You’ll see. They’re weird, alright? Half the job of a stage manager is picking up vibes between performers to head off any issues in the dressing room and they had a vibe.” Noah fought off two pairs of grabby hands as Adam and Daniel both started saying ‘Viiiiibes’ like they were zombies coming for his brains, and they laughed the whole way to the front room, where they picked up more boxes and continued unpacking.
Watching the game that night was electric. At least for Adam, who was over the moon at the victory for his own team. He was wearing his Raiders shirt, number 18 displayed proudly. He’d laughed that he clearly had a type, that his favourite player growing up had been Feller, and now Rozanov wore number 81. It was fate, he decided. Noah wondered how much it would cost to get Adam a Rozanov shirt for Christmas. He still had a week before shipping would be impossible, probably.
Noah made a note in his phone to get a Rozanov shirt for Adam, and then settled in on the couch to watch the game. He was between Adam and Daniel — apparently Daniel had feared for his life last time he’d watched a game with him, and now stayed well to of arm’s reach. Noah realised that he should have taken this as a warning before the game started, as both of Rozanov’s goals resulted in him leaping to his feet, going absolutely nuts while the players celebrated on the ice. Noah couldn’t help but watch the camera angles, the thought of being in the rink while the massive wall of victory shouts rattled the stands becoming more and more appealing, even if he was only vaguely following the actual hockey.
Adam was trying to point out what was going on — detailing the Metro’s power play formation when Price got sent off for being an ass, and then trying to explain what the fuck offside was when there was an offside whistle at the end of the third period — but it was all just so insanely fast that Noah had no idea how anyone was supposed to keep up. And the players kept swapping out as well, which just confused him further. The supposedly star duo of Hollander and Rozanov were on the ice together for barely half the game, meanwhile the commentary couldn’t shut up about Boston’s new trade Price, their chatter overlaying the bloodthirsty chanting of the Raiders’ fans.
The stars had a handful of face-offs — he already knew that particular one thank you, he wasn’t a completely lost-cause — and each time they quipped (sorry, chirped) to each other Noah strained to see what they were saying. It was hard to see exactly what was going on, and while he could vaguely see their mouths moving for the couple of face-offs at centre-ice, it was impossible to know exactly what they said. What Noah did see, however, was the smirk on Rozanov’s face when Hollander answered back after Rozanov’s second goal. A few minutes later, there was a penalty whistle thanks to that confrontation from Price, and Noah pointed at them nodding to each other just before the camera cut away.
Adam shushed him down, and they watched the final period of the game together, the Metros not quite making an equaliser despite their numbers advantage, and the away fans absolutely exploding into celebrations. A close-up on Hollander’s face and the stormy expression he had at the loss cut to Rozanov leaping over the boards to join the whole team in their excitement. One of the players caught the camera trained on them and blew a kiss into it, while the commentary started to replay Rozanov’s goals, going over the stats for each player — goals, assists, points, power play percentages and takeaways — all of it rolling over his head, but Noah was still watching the footage carefully, staring at Hollander and Rozanov. The cameras loved to watch them, and the pair seemed to keep catching each others’ eyes. It wasn’t long before the two teams left the arena and the coverage returned to the pundits discussing the play-by-play, and Noah’s interest waned.
“I dunno man, I think your vibes are just them being really competitive.” It was about a half hour later that Adam revived the topic that had convinced Noah to watch the game in the first place while the three of them sat around the greasiest pizza that Noah had ever seen.
“Look, the vibes are always right,” Noah said around his slice of pizza.
“Hey, I’m not saying your vibes aren’t there. Just that I think they have a simple explanation.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Noah focused on chewing. Maybe it was all in his head.
June 2014
“I thought the season was over?” Noah said, tying his new shoes tight in preparation to head out.
“It’s the MLH Awards. Took ages to find a stream of it — fuck paying for cable.” Adam said with feeling.
“Oh. Right. Fuck, am I gonna have to actually start paying attention to these events now that I work for Big Hockey?” Noah was delighted to have a position as a tech at the Bell Centre, and while there were a lot of events that weren’t hockey that he was working on, he couldn’t deny that there was a big emphasis on hockey.
“Maybe. What time does your thing tonight finish?"
“I’m in for the get-out as well, so like… five?”
“In the morning? Shit, better you than me.”
“Yeah. You’re gonna be in tomorrow? My parents want to drop by with some of my stuff because they’re clearing out my room, but I’m probably gonna be asleep.”
“It’s a Sunday, I have absolutely no plans.”
“Sweet.” Noah finished tying his second shoe, and looked up just in time to watch Rozanov and Hollander walk onto the stage over Adam’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but snort at how stilted and wooden they sounded, and how totally fake both of their smiles seemed when they took the selfie. ‘Don’t give up the hockey, guys,’ he thought to himself, but his gaze was caught by the movement of Rozanov’s shoulder. He recognised that move. Hell, he’d used that move before. It looked like he’d grabbed Hollander’s ass right there on stage, after taking a stupid selfie.
Nope, he was gonna be late for work. If he started obsessing over this right now it was gonna affect his work and he needed to make sure he stayed on the ball and got asked back. Fuck these casual crew jobs and their uncertainty.
But the vibes.
“Alright, catch ya later. Tell me if they do something weird.”
“Sure, see ya.” Adam was glued to the screen as the winner of whatever award it was got announced, and Noah lingered just long enough to see Hollander and Rozanov walk off the stage together, Hollander walking several steps ahead of Rozanov and stiff.
Fuck. No. Work.
Noah grabbed his keys and shouted another farewell, heading out the door.