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They’re playing Ottawa tonight and for the first time ever, Scott is a little nervous to face the Centaurs.
Don’t get him wrong, he has full faith in his Admirals to beat a team like Ottawa – they just won the cup, for fuck’s sake – but he isn’t looking forward to seeing how the Centaurs have changed under Rozanov’s captaincy. He’d gotten his ass handed to him by the Bears a few times too many to rest easy in the knowledge that Ottawa sucked bad enough that one player wouldn’t make a difference. And maybe one player really wouldn’t make a difference! Maybe, if it’d just been Wyatt Hayes traded to the Centaurs he’d be joking around with his team about their guaranteed victory, but they’d gotten Ilya Rozanov as well.
He doesn’t know what to make of Rozanov still. He’d appreciated him showing up at that bar in Vegas, had curiously watched him dance with men with all the air of someone who knew what he was doing, had shaken off the weirdness of watching Ilya Rozanov in a gay bar in Vegas pull another man in by the belt loops and ghost a breath over his ear. He thinks Rozanov went home alone that night. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know which answer would surprise him more.
Afterwards, he’d been too busy shoving Kip up against the wall of their hotel room to spend any time thinking about Ilya Rozanov.
There’s none of the usual ribbing around the locker room. No jokes about this being a warm up game. None of the usual confidence that precedes a game against a team like Ottawa. Instead, it’s uncertain. None of them know what’s waiting for them on the ice. Are the Centaurs still terrible? Has Rozanov somehow whipped them into shape during the pre-season? Are they terrible but with one good player now?
Will Ilya stay professional? Will Scott?
“Aw, did you cut your honeymoon short for me?” Rozanov chirps as they bend down for the faceoff.
“What, hoping I wouldn’t be here so you could actually win this one?” Scott shoots back.
“Ah, Hunter,” Ilya sighs wistfully, “you make me feel so young.”
The puck drops. Rozanov wins the faceoff.
The Admirals win, but the Centaurs make them work for it harder than ever before. It’s mostly Rozanov, of course. He’s still a demon on the ice, weaving through the team with enviable speed, doling out any hit he thinks he can get away with and then some. Hayes plays a good game, too, and they would’ve won by quite a bit more if not for his goalkeeping.
The locker room is exuberant, cracking every possible joke about the Centaurs that they’d kept to themselves before the game. There’s an undercurrent, too, one Scott doesn’t want to partake in in case it jinxes them: with Rozanov on a shit team, they might not have to worry about Boston either.
He’s the last out of the locker room, herding a few rookies out into the night to celebrate with the team. He won’t be joining them. Instead, he’s going to the Kingfisher to see Kip. And the others, of course, but mostly Kip.
When the rookies have charged off, Scott’s eyes fall on a lonely figure under a lamppost. There’s a cigarette dangling between two fingers, and he brings it up gently before his eyes flick to Scott.
Rozanov looks small, which isn’t something Scott’s thought before.
“Were you waiting for me? Because I’m flattered, but I’m kind of seeing someone,” Scott chirps. Rozanov laughs before crushing his cigarette against the wall and tossing it in the trash beside him.
“No,” Rozanov shakes his head, “Realized I never congratulated Kip on his championship ring. You are going to see him, yes?”
Scott lets it linger in the air for a moment, tilting his head at Rozanov curiously.
“I am, yeah,” he says slowly, “he’s at the Kingfisher, it’s a gay bar.”
He and Rozanov look at each other for a moment longer. He almost wants to make Ilya ask for it, but he sighs with the knowledge that he never will.
“Do you want to come with, Roz?” he finally asks.
“Sure,” Rozanov says with a shrug.
He watches Rozanov comfortably bound up to the bar, briefly talking to Kyle before shooting him a wink and tipping more than Scott thinks the beer he orders cost. Kyle levels a questioning gaze at Scott, who just shrugs and mouths I don’t know. Kip’s already in their booth with Elena, and Scott slips into the space next to him easily.
“Hey handsome,” Kip greets him with a kiss, “great game tonight.”
“It was fine,” Scott says, smiling into another kiss, “missed you the whole time, though.”
The moment is broken by Ilya Rozanov sliding into the booth next to Elana, who raises an eyebrow at him.
“Rozanov,” Kip says, startled, “you’re… here?”
“Yes, I never said congrats,” Ilya says before taking a sip of his beer.
“On the relationship?” Kip asks.
“No no no,” Rozanov waves him off, “championship ring.”
“Oh, right,” Kip frowns, shooting a confused look up at Scott, “thanks?”
“You’re welcome,” Ilya says with a grin. He turns to talk to Elana instead, and Scott shifts his focus back to Kip.
They spend a solid two hours there, talking about their days and their plans for the next few days, about every stolen hour they’ll get to spend together between work and practice.
His glances across the table tell him that Elana and Rozanov are also having a good time, somehow. The brief snippets of conversation Scott tunes in for are mostly about hockey and charity work. At one point, he catches Rozanov chirping him, but the glare he sends his way just makes Elana laugh harder.
By the time Rozanov gets up to leave, Elana seems genuinely sad to see him go.
“Please tell me you’ll be back, don’t leave me here with these two forever,” Elana jokes, grabbing onto Ilya’s sleeve. He laughs softly, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.
“Just tell them what I told you, hm?” he says with a wink, which makes her laugh again.
He waves goodbye to Scott and Kip before briefly stopping by the bar and then leaving.
“That was weird,” Kip breaks the silence. Elana just shrugs.
“He’s sweet,” she says, “I don’t get why everyone hates him.”
When Scott goes to pay off their tab at the end of the night, Kyle tells him Rozanov paid for it all. The grin on Kyle’s face suggests a hefty tip was involved.
* * *
It becomes a weird tradition. If the Centaurs are playing on Admiral ice, Rozanov comes to the Kingfisher with Scott. It happens througout the entire season, and he’s perfectly nice to the staff and patrons – while still chirping at Scott.
He tips well, he’s got established rapport with Kyle to the point where he pours generously, and Elana absolutely adores him. If Ottawa is playing in New York, Scott knows Elana will be watching the game at the Kingfisher. He’s heard from Kip that she’s started rooting for Rozanov.
It’s the night before a game against the Cens, and Scott’s only at the Kingfisher to pick up Kip after his shift. When he walks in, however, he freezes at the sight of Ilya Rozanov sat at the bar, comfortable as could be.
He’s deep in conversation with Kyle, whose laugh seems genuine as Ilya punctuates his words with a wink. Kyle spots Scott out the corner of his eye and waves, prompting Ilya to do the same.
“Wasn’t expecting you here, Rozanov,” Scott says by way of greeting.
Ilya shrugs at him, raising his drink.
“Only bar in New York with good vodka,” he explains, knocking back the last of it.
“Because I keep it stocked just for you,” Kyle says as he leans across the bar.
“Because you’re an angel, I know,” Ilya flirts back, and Scott doesn’t know what to do with himself for a second. He feels like he’s intruding, which is ridiculous.
“Not out with your team, then? Might be good for bonding. God knows you guys need it,” Scott chirps.
“No drinking the night before,” Ilya says with a wink, picking up the drink Kyle had just refilled for him, “captain’s orders.”
Scott’s about to say something about hypocrisy when Kip emerges from the back room.
It’s after a game, so Rozanov’s sat across from him in the booth. Kip and Elana are helping out at an event, so it’s just the two of them tonight. Ilya had seemed genuinely disappointed when he fund out Elana wasn’t at the Kingfisher.
“Sorry your date couldn’t make it,” Scott says, “but I’m sure there’s other women around for you to hit on.”
Ilya frowns at him over his beer.
“I do not flirt with Elana,” he says.
“You kissed her hand the first time you met,” Scott shoots back, “and she giggled at you a lot. Elana doesn’t giggle.”
“I did not flirt. I’m affectionate,” Ilya shrugs. Scott supposes that’s fair, he’s been witness to Ilya’s tradition of telling his players he loves them plenty of times – win or lose.
“And I would not flirt with women here,” Ilya says with a shrug, “disrespectful at a gay bar.”
Scott laughs a little.
“There’s plenty of straight women here, Rozanov.”
“But they did not come here to get flirted with, did they?”
He thinks maybe he needs to restructure a lot of how he thinks Ilya Rozanov treats women, if this is what he’s always like.
“Besides, I don’t do that anymore,” Ilya says. He sounds almost uncertain as he does, and Scott immediately snaps to attention.
“Did someone finally lock you down, Roz? Got some poor girl waiting for you at home?” he teases with a grin, “does she live under a rock? Is that why she’s agreed to date you?”
“Something like that,” Ilya says.
No matter how he prods, Scott can get no more details out of him.
He lays awake with it that night, arms securely around Kip, the thought of Ilya Rozanov as a taken man. He can’t possibly imagine what his girlfriend would even be like. Would he want someone completely opposite to himself? Someone he can push around? Or would he go for someone who shoves back just as hard?
* * *
He leaves last again, sending his team off while he waits for Rozanov to emerge. It’s a rare night where he isn’t already outside smoking, and Scott knows that Rozanov will spend the entire walk over to the Kingfisher politely downwind from him. It’s either that or deal with a jittery Rozanov, which nobody wants.
“You hear the rumours coming from the Voyageurs?” Scott asks when Ilya walks up to him. He lights a cigarette as predicted and shakes his head.
“No, what is it now?”
His move to Ottawa does not appear to have ended his hatred for Montreal.
“They’re saying Hollander came out,” Scott says, “apparently he told his team he’s gay.”
Rozanov hums in a way Scott isn’t sure how to interpret. He’s quiet for a moment, and Scott braces himself for this to be the point where Rozanov reveals his true colours. Instead, he shocks Scott badly enough that he trips.
“Did they seem angry?” he asks, “the rumours.”
“I- no, I don’t think so,” Scott says with a frown, “Kip heard it from one of the WAGs, they’ve got friends in the Montreal group.”
Ilya nods, “Good.”
It’s quiet for another moment, Ilya finishes his cigarette before speaking again.
“Do you think they will be good to him? Montreal?”
“I don’t know,” Scott says honestly, “it’s still hockey. I got lucky the Admirals like me so much. Shane is…”
Ilya hums again, like he knows exactly what Scott’s talking about. Not the most social, is what he’d meant, always a little bit of an outlier, the only Asian-Canadian in the league, the odd one out at every turn. Talented, sure, and an incredible captain, but not involved with his players the way Scott always has been.
“Have the Centaurs been good?” Scott asks instead, if just to watch the smile break out on Ilya’s face.
“Never heard a chirp I didn’t like,” Ilya says with a shrug, like that confirms anything. It does, Scott finds. It settles something in him.
“Nicest team in the league, huh?” Scott teases, bumping a shoulder into Ilya’s.
“Well, at least we win something.”
* * *
The next time, Rozanov is quieter – contemplative. He doesn’t say much during their walk, until he abruptly stops under a streetlight. Scott’s ribbing him about his girl again, and suddenly he wonders if he’s gone a step too far this time. He hadn’t known Ilya had a “too far”.
“Hunter,” Ilya says suddenly, sharp gaze meeting Scott’s eyes, “if I tell you a secret, you will keep it?”
“Might chirp you about it, but sure,” Scott shrugs. Nothing had ever been off limits before, and he’s a few months into Rozanov chirping him about Kip by now.
Rozanov nods to himself before reaching under his jacket for his necklace. Scott’s seen it plenty of times before, hidden during games but proudly displayed any time they’re off the ice. It’s a crucifix of some kind, he’s pretty sure Kip had told him it’s a Russian thing. Now there’s a ring on his chain, right next to the cross.
“I am engaged,” Ilya says dryly.
Scott’s only stunned for a moment, then he claps a hand on Ilya’s shoulder.
“Congrats man, can’t believe someone managed to make an honest man out of you yet!” he exclaims.
“Yes,” Ilya nods, “very honest.”
“So what’s her name? Does this mean I finally get to meet this mysterious girlfriend of yours?” Scott asks eagerly, “I guess she’s your fiancée now, huh.”
“Hunter,” Ilya says.
“Can’t believe I’m getting to see Ilya Rozanov getting married. I better get invited to the wedding, because I’m not sure you’re not joking right now.”
“Hunter,” Ilya cuts him off, grabbing both of Scott’s shoulders, “I am engaged to a man.”
Scott’s quiet for long enough that Ilya starts dragging him to the Kingfisher himself.
They don’t talk about it at the bar, because Scott had said he’ll keep this secret and Kip and Elana are right there and he hasn’t quite processed any of it. Ilya Rozanov getting married is such an outlandish idea, it overshadows the earthshattering confirmation that Ilya Rozanov likes men. Hundreds of moments flash through Scott’s mind at once, all of them of Rozanov being spotted with women out in whichever city he's playing.
He’s watched it himself plenty of times, the way Rozanov moves when he knows what he wants. It’s a little hot, he’ll admit, but it makes the thought of him committing to one person all the more outlandish.
When they leave, Scott grabs Ilya by the back of his shirt.
“Get in the car,” he says, “I’m dropping Kip at my place, then I’m taking you to your hotel.”
“It’s around the corner,” Ilya tries to protest.
“You know why, Rozanov. Car.”
“You talk to Kip like this?” Ilya chirps, “I see why he likes you.”
“You’re in the backseat.”
“So,” Scott starts when they’re stood outside his building again, “you’re engaged to a man.”
“Yes,” Ilya confirms again, he’s rubbing a thumb over his ring and there’s a sentimental smile on his face, “I’m very excited.”
“How long have you two been together?” Scott asks, softening a little. He’s never quite seen this look on Rozanov’s face before, he doesn’t want him to put his walls back up yet.
“Depends,” Ilya shrugs.
“When did you first sleep together, then?” Scott asks.
“Oh, summer before rookie season.”
Scott laughs, throwing his head back, “You’re measuring your relationship in hockey?”
“Well,” Ilya says with a grin on his face – Scott knows this grin, it usually precedes a really good chirp, “I am marrying a hockey player.”
“You’re what?” Scott asks incredulously. They’ve barely made it a hundred feet from his building and he’s already stopping them.
“My fiancé, he plays hockey,” Ilya shrugs.
“Like, with us? Is it another league player?” a few dozen names run though his head, but one of them stick out above them all. He doesn’t know if it would be better or worse for his intuition to be right.
“Yes, second best player in the league,” Ilya tells him with another grin, and Scott thinks he might need to sit down to process the fact that Ilya Rozanov is somehow marrying Shane Hollander. Something else hits him instead.
“Since before rookie season?!” he exclaims. Ilya throws his head back to laugh at him.
“Yes, but we were not,” Ilya pauses for a moment before seemingly giving up, “forgot the word, not exclusive.”
“Monogamous?” Scott asks.
“Yes! We were not monogamous for a very long time.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been fucking Hollander for your entire career, does anyone else know?”
“Nope,” Ilya says cheerily, like he knows perfectly well that this secret is going to eat Scott up inside, “so you can’t talk about it. To anyone.”
“Am I at least invited to the wedding?” Scott asks with a groan.
“Sure,” Ilya says with a shrug. Scott knows what it means. He’ll be there if it’s the last thing he does.
He gets permission to tell Kip, at least, and they spend the rest of the evening on the couch gossiping about it.