Chapter Text
Kip was standing by Scott’s hotel room door, pleasantly sore and very, very tired. This was an extremely rare occurrence, getting to be with Scott somewhere other than at home. And it had been Scott’s idea, no less.
Scott had, unsurprisingly, been invited to the All-Stars game again this year. Kip had silently preened over this, proud of his extremely successful boyfriend, even if it was still being kept quiet. What was surprising, however, was Scott offering to get Kip and Elena tickets to the All-Stars game.
“I want you to be there, even if I’m the only one who will know,” Scott had said, and Kip had seen in his eyes how much it was taking him, how scared he was. It was one of the sweetest things Scott could have said, so of course he agreed. And then Scott had surprised him further by saying that if things at the hotel looked good, Kip could come over that night after the game.
“Everyone will be busy partying, and you’ll be there late enough that no one will see you leave,” he had said, and Kip had a frankly inappropriate reaction to that particular statement.
And so, they had been extremely careful. Kip had made it to Scott’s room unseen, taking the stairs and making sure the hall was empty before going to Scott’s room. They had one hell of a night, and Scott was passed out in bed, chest moving up and down softly as Kip watched. Kip smiled and shook his head slightly, turning to the door and stepping out, looking at his phone to see 3:17 a.m. blinking back at him. He really, really needed to get back to his own hotel and sleep. They hadn’t stayed in the same one, too worried it would be too obvious. As smart as that was, Kip was not a fan of that choice right now.
And then, Kip heard a door open.
Now, Kip was hardly the most well versed in hockey, but he knew enough. Between his dad and Scott, he’d learned a lot about the game, and he’d certainly watched enough to recognize some of the more famous players. So when he looked across the hall at the offending door, he absolutely recognized Ilya fucking Rozanov standing in the hallway, looking at him.
The door clicked shut behind Rozanov, and neither of them moved.
Kip was panicking, he realized. It was three in the fucking morning, and he, a random man, just left a hotel room on the floor reserved for the All-Stars hockey players, freshly showered. This was exactly what Scott was afraid of. He had to repress a hysterical laugh. He knew exactly what this looked like, because it was exactly what it looked like. He just hooked up with Scott, and now he’s-
Wait.
Something clicked in Kip’s mind as he looked at Rozanov, and he stopped, taking him in. Rozanov’s hair was wet, and he was wearing sweats, a jacket that was half unzipped, and a tank top. His eyes were wide with what looked like barely restrained horror, and there was a very fresh hickey on his collarbone. He was also leaving a room on the floor reserved for players at three in the fucking morning, freshly showered. And the room he just came out of is not his. It is Shane Hollander’s.
How does Kip know this? Because in Scott’s careful planning, he had mentioned to Kip that his room was at the end of the hall by the stairs, across from Shane Hollander’s room.
“Shane’s a good guy, but hardly a party animal. He’ll be asleep early,” Scott had said. “There’s no way he’ll notice you.”
And, well, Scott had been right. Hollander certainly hadn’t noticed him. But it seemed that Scott had also been wrong about Hollander going to sleep early. Kip had to stifle another completely inappropriate nervous laugh at the thought.
It was then that Rozanov recovered from the shock of seeing Kip standing there, his face dropping into a harsh mask. With a quick step, he crossed the hall and grabbed Kip’s arm, yanking him into the stairwell. Kip was too shocked to say anything for a moment, which was probably good, because bringing more attention to them was the last thing either of them needed right now.
As soon as he’d eased the stairwell door shut, Rozanov was on him. He got up in Kip’s face, snarling.
“You do not tell anyone about this. Anyone. If you do this, you will regret it,” Ilya hissed, trying to stay quiet.
As terrifying as it was to have a six-foot-something Russian who was known for getting into fights on the ice threatening him, Kip felt a sharp stab of pity. Because Rozanov’s eyes weren’t angry, they were scared. It was the same fear Kip saw in Scott’s eyes when they talked about what would happen if people knew he was gay.
But for Rozanov, it was different. Because Rozanov wasn’t any random player, he was Russian. And the person he loved wasn’t just someone no one knew, it was Shane Hollander, the other side of the rivalry that the NHL had been pitching since they were teenagers. Kip knew it could be career ending, possibly life threatening for Rozanov, if this secret got out. And if it were Scott in this situation, Kip knew that nothing the person who had found him could say would ever really convince him that he was safe. He had to imagine that the same applied to Rozanov.
Actually, there was one thing he could say. And as pissed as Scott might be at him in the morning, he didn’t want to leave Rozanov terrified and looking over his shoulder any more than he already was. Taking a deep breath, he hoped Scott would understand when he told him later.
“Rozanov. Rozanov,” Kip said firmly, interrupting Rozanov’s continued threats. Rozanov stopped, looking at him warily. Kip pressed on. “Look, I am hardly in any position to be judging you, let alone telling people.”
Rozanov’s brows furrowed, and Kip could see him trying to figure out what he meant. He was patient, figuring that the stress probably wasn’t helping with Rozanov’s grip on the English language right now. After a few moments, Rozanov looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time since they’d locked eyes. Kip saw his glance darting over him, seeing all of the signs that Kip knew were there, and then his mouth dropped open slightly.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “You and-?”
“Yeah,” Kip answered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, and he’s going to fucking kill me for telling you that.”
The tension released from Rozanov’s body, and he looked… soft, in a way Kip had never seen before on the ice or in his interviews. He seemed like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Kip felt a pang of protectiveness for Rozanov, surprising himself. He was still so young, and he had such a huge secret weighing on him. Secrets, really, because at least Kip was openly gay. Rozanov couldn’t even have that yet.
“Listen. I promise, I will not tell anyone this happened. Not even Scott, if you don’t want me to.” Although that would be hard for him, it wasn’t his place. “You’re safe with me.”
Rozanov looked at Kip, then nodded and answered softly. “You are safe with me, too.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, Kip pulled the Russian into a hug. Rozanov stiffened, then relaxed into it, wrapping his arms lightly around Kip like he thought he’d break. Kip almost snorted. Fucking hockey players and their ridiculous muscles.
“Okay,” Kip said, pulling back. He kept his hands on Rozanov’s arms, and if Rozanov’s eyes were a little damp, Kip pretended not to see it. “What do you want to do now? Never talk about this again? Is it okay if I tell Scott?”
Rozanov seemed to think it over for a moment before answering. “Yes, you can tell Hunter. But tell him that I will check him through the boards if he ever mentions me to Hollander again.”
Okay, noted. Kip was going to have to ask Scott about that one. “I am not going to tell him that.”
Rozanov smirked slightly, and a little bit of the on-camera persona showed up. “Fine, fine. But you will tell him to leave Shane alone, yes?”
Double noted, the situation and the use of Hollander’s first name. So much was going on right now. “Yes, I’ll tell him.”
There was a beat of hesitation, and then, “I do not want to pretend this did not happen, I think. I do not have anyone to talk about…” he gestured towards the door, “this, with. It could be nice to have someone who knows. Someone who will not tell.”
Kip’s heart nearly broke for him. Of course he couldn’t tell anyone about it. Who did Ilya Rozanov have in his corner on this? Shane Hollander, apparently, and that seemed to be it. Kip would go insane without Elena to listen to him and ground him, and his situation was far less complicated than Rozanov’s. Ilya’s? Maybe he should be using his first name. It wasn’t like Kip was a hockey player, he could use first names like a normal person.
“I would like that,” Kip said, smiling. “Do you want my phone number?”
Ilya nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Kip. Kip typed his number in and sent a text to himself before handing the phone back.
“There. Now you can talk to me any time you want. If there’s anything you need to get off your chest about…” he gestured towards the door like Ilya had, “that, feel free. I’m never going to judge you. I promise.”
This time, Kip felt himself choke up a little bit when Ilya’s eyes watered, and Ilya nodded stiffly.
“Okay,” Ilya said, and then, softer, “thank you.”
He couldn’t hug him again. That would be weird. So he just nodded at him. “Of course. Get some rest, All-Star,” he teased, and Ilya grinned, face lighting up. Oh, boy.
“Ah, yes. Very tired after so much winning. Tell ancient Scott Hunter I can always help arrange Life Alert so he can keep playing safely,” Ilya said, and Kip rolled his eyes, fighting the smile that rose on his lips at the ridiculous chirping.
“Goodnight, Ilya,” Kip said, turning and walking down the stairs.
“What? Is very important to care about safety of senior citizens!” Ilya called down after him.
“Good night, Ilya!”
—
Later that day…
“You told fucking who?”