Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Hayden," Jackie's voice crackled through the phone as Hayden paced his hotel room. "Hayden, dear. You need to calm down."

"I'm totally calm," Hayden told his wife, stopping in the middle of the room to shoot his phone a dirty look. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? I'm only going to Ilya fucking Rozanov's house because he's my best friend's fucking boyfriend."

"Language," Jackie scolded, and Hayden made a mental note to toss two dollars into the swear jar when he flew back home.

"Sorry, babe," Hayden said around a sigh, and continued his pacing, uncaring that he was probably wearing a hole in the carpet. "I guess I'm just a little nervous, you know? I mean, what am I supposed to say? 'Oh hey, Rozanov! I know I've hated your guts for the past, like, eight years and that you're a giant fucking asshole, but Shane loves you! And I love Shane so let's just put up with each other, yeah? Let's pretend I don't want to punch you and your stupid fucking face!'"

"Hayden," Jackie drawled, and Hayden didn't have to see her face to know she was rolling her eyes. "I think you are making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. You love Shane, and Rozanov loves him, too, yeah? I think you can both learn to tolerate each other, if that's what makes him happy."

"But Jackie!" Hayden groaned. "He's a dick!"

"And what are you? Prince charming?" Jackie snorted. "Honey, you know I love you. I really, really do. But I think you need to put the dramatics aside and use your brain." The noise that left Hayden's mouth made her laugh. "You know Rozanov's image, not him as a person. Not like Shane does. And if he loves him, then Rozanov can't be that bad, can he?"

"Maybe Shane's just biased. Like, dickmatised, you know?”

"Never say that again, babe. I'm serious."

"But what if it's the truth, Jackie! Like, I don't want to speculate on my friend's sex life, but come on. Maybe Rozanov's so good in bed that Shane can't think straight."

"Should I be concerned that you're thinking about how good someone else is in bed?" Jackie asked, sounding thoroughly amused.

Hayden grinned, his anxiety dissipating for a moment. "Yes. Very concerned. Maybe I'll be making a move on Rozanov tonight. After I punch him, of course." He laughed at the sound of Jackie groaning on the other end of the line, throwing himself atop the bed. He sighed into his pillow as he got comfortable. "I want Shane to be happy. Really, I do. I just, I don't know how to put years of hatred for Rozanov aside. And, like, I get that that's like stupid, or whatever."

Jackie was quiet for a moment as Hayden closed his eyes. "You need to try, Hayd," she said eventually. "Not for Rozanov, not for yourself. But for Shane."

"Okay," Hayden nodded. "Okay, yeah. You're right."

"Of course I am," Jackie replied, a smile in her voice. "Now, you need to get ready for the game, dear. I want you crushing Rozanov on the ice tonight."

Hayden barked out a laugh. "I thought I was supposed to be civil with him? For Shane, remember?"

"You can be nice to him after."

____________

Winning against the Raiders always left Hayden with a sick rush of satisfaction. He loved winning against any team, of course, but there was something so uniquely thrilling about winning against Boston. Probably because he'd been raised a Raiders' hater by generations of Raiders' haters, possibly because he always left a game against them covered in so many fucking bruises he looked like he'd been held down and beaten with a damn sledgehammer and it felt good knowing that it actually meant something, by the end of it.

So yeah, he'd been feeling pretty good about their win. But that feeling was almost entirely washed out by nerves as he stood outside of Ilya fucking Rozanov's goddamn mansion, trying to find the courage to knock on his front door.

The house was exactly the type of place he expected someone like Rozanov to live in; big, obnoxious, made for the sole purpose of letting you know the person inside was drowning in wealth. Hayden wanted to roll his eyes at the mere sight of it. He knew the inside would be just as fucking obnoxious, like Rozanov himself; the damn living room probably had a giant fucking mural of him on the wall, and he didn't even want to think about what self-obsessed bullshit he probably had in his bedroom.

Hayden sighed to himself, shaking his head; he really didn’t want to be here. He could've been at the bar celebrating with the rest of the team, downing beer and chatting shit with the guys, cursing Boston out like they always did. He could've been back in his hotel room on the phone to Jackie, ranting about the game and whispering I love you's between laughter.

But, alas. Hayden was here. Outside of Rozanov’s house, mentally preparing to spend his evening with a man he's spent nearly a decade loathing, a man who just so happened to be his best friend's secret boyfriend and the love of his life.

I’m here for Shane, Hayden reminded himself, repeating the words in his head like a mantra. Shane wanted him here, and Hayden was not about to disappoint his best friend just because he couldn’t be a fucking grown up and deal with someone he actively disliked. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Shook out his arms to try rid them of their tension. He honestly thought about calling Jackie, demanding she give him a quick pep talk. She would call him an idiot, a dramatic fucking bastard who needed to put on his big boy pants and just knock on the damn door, but. Hayden just wanted to hear her voice.

Jesus fuck, he was pathetic.

Cursing himself, Hayden lifted a hand and slammed his fist against the door a couple times, then shoved both hands in his pockets as he waited, tense and uncomfortable as he glared holes into the wood. He silently prayed that Shane would open the door, because he needed to see his awkward smile and hear his nervous stuttering to remind himself of why he was actually here. He needed to give himself more time to really process the fact that Shane and Rozanov were together, he would see them together, and that Rozanov was actually going to be part of his life for the foreseeable future.

But no. Apparently luck wasn’t on his side, because it was Rozanov’s smug fucking face that greeted him when the door eventually opened. Rozanov, smirk as sharp as glass and eyes glinting with amusement. Rozanov, who was fucking shirtless and wearing shorts that were far too indecent for anywhere outside the bedroom. Hayden almost wanted to cover his eyes.

"Pike," Rozanov drawled, eyeing him. "What are you doing here? Get lost?"

"Shane invited me here," Hayden replied, scowling, because Rozanov already knew that.

"Did he?" Rozanov asked, tilting his head. "Was mistake, maybe. I do not let shitty hockey players into my house. Ruins the vibe, yes? Do not want your terribleness rubbing off on me."

"My team literally beat yours less than two hours ago.”

"Your team, not you. You scored no goals, remember? Was like you were ghost on the ice. Made," Rozanov paused as he waved a hand through the air. "No impact, yes?"

"You're a fucking asshole."

Rozanov smiled, looking pleased with himself. "Ah, ah, Pike. You are a father, yes? No swearing. Bad influence on your twenty kids."

Before Hayden could give into his urge to strangle him, hurried footsteps sounded behind Rozanov and then Shane appeared over his shoulder. He looked happy as he met Hayden's gaze, his smile wide, the usual tension gone from his shoulders.

"Hey, I'm glad you could make it," Shane said, and Rozanov huffed as Shane pushed him out of the way. "Come on, come in. We just ordered food since Ilya's got, like, nothing in his fridge.”

"Is not true. There's ginger ale and vodka. Perfect for us."

"You need actual food, Ilya," Shane sighed, like it wasn't the first time he'd said it, but he was still smiling, eyes bright and fond as he watched Rozanov walk away, disappearing around the corner. He shook himself after a moment and turned to usher Hayden inside, gesturing for him to leave his shoes by the front door as he tugged off his jacket. "How are you, man? Your shoulder okay?"

"Nothing to complain about," Hayden told him. Marleau had slammed him into the boards so hard he lost his vision for a moment, but other than a nasty bruise that was already beginning to form and a dull ache, he was fine. Better than he could have expected, after a game against Boston. "And you? That hit you took in the second period looked rough, man. Surprised Coach didn't have you checked out."

"Wasn't so bad," Shane said as he led Hayden into the kitchen. Rozanov was already inside, paying them no mind as he leaned against the counter, scrolling on his phone. "Looked worse than it was." Shane glanced over at Rozanov, frowning a little as he took him in. "Ilya, go change, would you?"

Rozanov ignored him, instead slipping his phone into his pocket and looking at Hayden with raised brows. "Pike, you are boring Canadian, yes? Do all boring Canadians drink ginger ale or is Shane just extra boring?"

"Ilya."

"What? Is simple question." Ilya turned to grab a can of ginger ale from the fridge. He looked over his shoulder and said, "Pike, there is ginger ale or vodka. Take your pick."

"There's also water," Shane added, which made Ilya roll his eyes.

"Even more boring than ginger ale."

"I'll, uh, have some vodka." It wasn't exactly Hayden's preferred drink of choice, but he knew he was probably going to need something strong to get through the evening. He could already feel a headache beginning to form behind his eyelids.

"Russian vodka is strong, Pike. Please do not throw up in my toilet or die of alcohol poisoning on my floor. Will be very sad. Your ten kids will miss you very much."

"I'm not a lightweight," Hayden replied, a little defensively. "And I don't have ten kids, what the fuck?"

"Four, ten. Same thing," Ilya said dismissively. "And all Canadians are lightweights. Russians drink vodka like water. Have since we were old enough to walk. Your sad, Canadian body cannot handle it. All babies."

Shane spoke up before Hayden could say something he might regret. "Ilya," he said, a warning in his voice. "Go change. The food will be here soon."

"So what? I can't answer the door like this?" Ilya looked down at himself with a shrug. "It'll make the driver very happy, I think. Such beauty should not be hidden."

"Jesus Christ," Hayden muttered.

"What do you think, Pike? You were happy when I opened the door, yes?"

"Ilya, stop being an asshole and go change," Shane said, shooting Hayden an apologetic smile that Hayden waved off. He, unfortunately, knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to this dinner. Shane could claim all he wanted that Rozanov wasn't the biggest asshole to walk planet earth- he was just a lovesick idiot who stared at Rozanov like he hung the fucking moon.

Jesus fuck, it was going to be a long night.

Rozanov lingered for a moment, and then, he rolled his eyes. "Fine, moy lyubimyy." He rounded the island and set the ginger ale in front of Shane, pressing a quick kiss to his temple before he wandered off. Shane stared after him, a little wistfully, before clearing his throat and turning to Hayden.

"I'm sorry about him," Shane said. He picked at the tab on his can without actually opening it. "He's just trying to piss you off. I promise he's not usually this bad."

Hayden snorted. "I seriously doubt that, buddy. I'd say he's probably an asshole to everyone but you."

"He's not so bad with my parents. I think my mom scares him, a little."

Hayden's brows raised. "He's met your parents? Jesus, dude. I know you said you were serious, but."

"Honestly, he met them by accident. My, uh, dad walked in on us."

A loud laugh burst out of Hayden's mouth before he could even try to contain it. "Dear God, David saw you and Rozanov fucking?"

Shane groaned, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed. "Fucking hell- no. Jesus Christ, no. He just seen us together at my cottage and connected the dots. I kind of had to explain why my supposed mortal enemy was in my home during the off-season."

"Glad you didn't traumatise your old man," Hayden said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Also, how the hell has Rozanov been to your infamous cottage and I still haven't gotten an invite? I'm a little offended, buddy."

Shane actually looked a little guilty. "Sorry, Hayd. You can come around during the off-season. Bring Jackie and the kids too, if you want."

"You better be serious about that offer, man. Jackie's been wanting to see the place even more than I have. She worries about you, you know. You kind of fall off the grid sometimes in the off-season, man. And I know it's just you wanting a break, but Jackie seems to think it's you having a crisis and not wanting to reach out." Hayden laughed a little, adding, “I think she sees you as another kid, to be honest."

"Ah, we are discussing Pike's eleven children," Ilya said as he stepped back into the kitchen, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie Hayden was pretty sure belonged to Shane. He joined them at the island, casually draping an arm around Shane's shoulders. "Is there another on the way or did you get a vasectomy?"

Hayden rolled his eyes. "There's not another kid."

"Ah. Vasectomy, then. We should celebrate. Your wife is probably very happy. Eight kids is enough, I think."

"I didn't get a vasectomy, Jesus," Hayden snapped at him. "And even if I did, it's none of your damn business."

"You are very defensive, Pike. Very, very defensive."

"Ilya," Shane groaned, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face. "Can you go pour Hayden a drink? I didn't want to touch your precious vodka collection."

Rozanov pressed an exaggerated, sloppy kiss to Shane's cheek. "Good. People who cannot appreciate good vodka should not touch it." He straightened, raising his eyebrows at Hayden. "What would you like, Pike? There's many options. All good."

"I'll have whatever you're having."

"Is very strong, Pike. I do not drink watered down American shit. Is an embarrassment to actual vodka."

"Ilya, just get him the fucking drink," Shane said, and Rozanov quickly did as he was told. He poured a generous amount of vodka into two glasses then slid one across to Hayden, staring at him expectantly. "Stop watching him, oh my God," Shane complained, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're being creepy."

"Need to know if Pike is pathetic little Canadian or if he is more interesting than I thought." Rozanov leaned forward, nodding at the glass. "Come on. Drink up." Before Hayden could do much more than roll his eyes, there was a knock on the front door, and Rozanov pushed off the island with a loud sigh. "Food. Finally." He looked at Shane, raising both brows. "Make sure Pike does not throw up on my floor."

"Asshole," Hayden muttered, watching him disappear out of sight before he reached for the glass. He stared at the swirling liquid for a moment, before closing his eyes and downing half the glass in one go.

Instantly he broke out into a coughing fit, eyes squeezed shut as his throat burned. Hayden wasn't a casual vodka drinker by any means, but Jesus fuck he'd never handled it this badly before.

Shane started patting his back, snatching the glass out of his grip and setting it aside. "Jesus, Hayd. You good? Fuck, I should've warned you. Ilya probably gave you the strongest shit he's got."

"It's fine. Jesus- I'm fine," Hayden choked out, a rush of embarrassment washing over him, but it was half drowned out by the fucking assault on his senses.

"Need some water?"

Hayden waved him off, his coughs finally subsiding. "Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is in that? There's no way Rozanov’s drinking this shit for pleasure."

"He likes to say he burned his taste buds a long time ago," Shane said dryly. "A perk of being Russian."

"Buddy," Hayden said, squinting at him. "You are dating a psychopath. You know that, right?"

"Ah," a deeply amused Rozanov drawled, and Hayden's head shot up to glare at him as he slipped back into the room with three pizza boxes tucked under his arm. "You tried the vodka. You like?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Hayden blurted out. "Seriously, Rozanov. Why do you drink this?"

"Is nice."

"It tastes like a bottle of fucking bleach."

Rozanov sighed, shaking his head as he set the boxes down. "Knew you didn't have good taste. That you couldn't appreciate such, such delicacy. All you Canadians are so embarrassing." He grinned a little, nudging Shane. "Except David, of course."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You shouldn't be drinking this stuff, anyways. You have another game tomorrow."

"Is against Vegas. They are so bad I could go onto ice drunk and still win. Their goalie is terrible."

"The rest of the team isn't."

"Not terrible, yes. But not great. Not like me." Rozanov gave a dramatic sigh, leaning into Shane’s side. "No one is better than me on the ice."

"I am,” Shane replied, narrowing his eyes.

"No, no, no. Not true. You are second best. Weak backhand, slow skater..."

"Oh, fuck you. I'm faster than you and you know it.”

Rozanov raised his brows, smirking. "Ah, yes. Not on the ice, though. Off it is very different."

Hayden watched them argue in silence, unable to quiet the rush of jealousy that shot through him, because despite being best friends for years, he had never seen Shane so comfortable. Comfortable enough to argue, to say he was the best and sound like he meant it.

With the team, with Hayden himself, sometimes, Shane was so polite, so careful with his wording or his actions, and because of it there had always been some kind of distance between Shane and their teammates. It wasn’t intentional, Hayden was sure, but there was some level of disconnect that he’d always put down to Shane being a little awkward or shy. The other guys had noticed, of course. It was hard not to, when your captain stayed professional even after playing together for years, when he barely hung out with you outside the locker room, when he didn’t seem to make as much effort to know you outside of your abilities as a player.

Some of the guys thought it was because Shane believed he was better than them, even though Shane always looked so uncomfortable when the team called him the best or praised his skills. He would laugh and shrug, would roll his eyes and turn away, would get that horrible deer in a headlights look on his face that would only fade when Hayden nudged his shoulder, but he would never agree. Even when they all knew it was true, when it was obvious every damn time Shane's skates touched the ice that he was the best fucking thing that had happened to their team in decades.

But Shane had always been too hard on himself. He strived for perfection, pushed himself to and past his limits, controlled and managed every single aspect of his life with an intensity that had always worried Hayden, had made him pay just a little more attention to Shane when they lost a game or when he seemed so busy he could barely breathe.

But here, Shane was comfortable. He was relaxed. Enough so that he rolled his eyes and shoved at Rozanov's shoulder when he continued to claim he was the best, enough to toss jabs at Rozanov while laughing or biting back a smile. Enough so that he leaned into the brief brushes of Rozanov's hands on his waist, his shoulders, his face, to leave his own trail of caresses along Rozanov's back, to tug on some of the wild curls falling onto his forehead with an expression Hayden had never seen on his face before.

And Hayden couldn't help but stare, curious and surprised and wondering how the hell Rozanov, of all people, brought this side out of him.

Shane seemed to remember they weren't alone because he flushed, gaze swinging towards Hayden. His shoulders tensed a little, like he was embarrassed. "The game should be starting soon," he said, clearing his throat and pulling away from Rozanov, who pouted and tried chasing after him with greedy hands.

"Is an Admirals game. Will be so boring."

"You play them in four days," Shane pointed out. "You need to watch their game tonight, see how they're playing. Hunter's been on fire all season."

Rozanov groaned, head dropping to rest atop Shane's shoulder. "Do not compliment the old man. He's just trying to impress his boyfriend. Has to do it with hockey, because he is so old he can't get his dick hard."

"You're so crude," Shane sighed. "And you need to stop being an asshole to Hunter. He's a good guy. Good player."

"He's boring and old and should retire," Rozanov muttered, kissing Shane’s cheek as he straightened. "But, we will watch the game. Maybe Hunter will collapse on ice because his legs are so weak."

"Asshole," Shane said, but he didn’t sound like he meant it, looking thoughtful as he tapped his fingers along the island. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I need to use the bathroom,” he said hesitantly and glanced between them, seemingly nervous at the thought of leaving them alone. “Will you two be okay?"

"You think we need babysitter?"

"We'll be fine, Shane," Hayden spoke up, fighting the instictive urge to scowl when Rozanov sent a sharp grin his way. He bit the inside of his cheek, just to keep his expression in check.

"You heard Pike."

Shane didn't move, still looking between them as he chewed on his bottom lip. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, Hollander. If you do not go, you will piss on my floor. No one wants that, moy lyubimyy. And if you don’t go now you will be pouting the entire game.” Rozanov leaned in close, caressing Shane's cheek. "Is cute you worry, but not necessary. If I wanted to punch Pike, I would have done it on the ice."

"What the hell?"

"Sorry. You have very punchable face, Pike. No one ever tell you this before?"

"Guys," Shane muttered. "No fighting. Please?"

Rozanov rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. "Of course, Hollander. I will be perfectly civil and nice, yes? And Pike knows better than to try anything. He'd probably break his own hand 'cause he's so weak."

"We'll be fine, Shane," Hayden repeated, choosing to ignore Rozanov for the moment.

Shane nodded slowly, shooting Rozanov one last look. "Don't be an asshole."

The uncomfortable silence that settled as soon as Shane left the room was painfully obvious, and Hayden wasn't sure if attempting conversation would be any less torturous. He sucked in a deep breath, opened his mouth to say something about the season or Shane or the fucking weather, if nothing else came to mind, but he never got the chance.

"We should go to the living room," Rozanov said, barely glancing at him as he picked up the pizza boxes and started to walk away. Hayden gaped after him, then cursed and followed him into the living room, lingering awkwardly a couple feet from the couch as he watched Rozanov set the boxes down and grab the remote. He turned the TV on, flicked through the channels until he settled on ESPN, and then looked over at Hayden with raised brows.

"Sit," Rozanov gestured towards the couch. "Take a pizza. Want more vodka?"

"Fuck no."

"Of course. You are as boring as I thought you would be," Rozanov sighed, throwing himself onto the couch. "Makes sense you and Shane are best friends. Can be boring together.”

"Oh, fuck off," Hayden muttered, settling down on the couch as far from Rozanov as possible. "I'm not boring."

"Ah, but you haven't defended Shane's honour," Rozanov smirked at him. "You think he is boring, too, yes?"

"Oh, fuck you. Of course not," Hayden said. "And if you think that, then why the hell are you with him?"

"He has many other good traits. Pretty freckles, warm mouth, nice ass-"

"Jesus Christ, Rozanov." Hayden cringed as he looked away, knowing he was probably blushing, a furious red spreading across his neck and settling on his cheeks. "I don't need to hear that about my best friend, man."

"You asked," Rozanov shrugged dismissively.

"I thought you would've said something about his hockey skills or that he's nice, or, or funny or- I don't know, something. But I should've known better." Hayden's mouth twisted. "Is that all he is to you? Just a pretty face, huh?"

"The prettiest. Nicest Metro to look at. Unfortunately, you are at the bottom of the list, Pike. Nothing personal, I promise."

"You are such a fucking asshole," Hayden said, and though he knew Rozanov was just trying to piss him off, it was working. Because Shane was so deeply in love with this asshole, had talked about him like he was the one, and Hayden still didn't understand why. He knew it wasn't for him to understand- Jackie had told him so a thousand times over- but he wanted to. He wanted to know if Rozanov was going to be worth all the bullshit that would come if and when this got out. "I don't know what the hell Shane sees in you."

Rozanov smirked. "I'm very sexy, Pike. Sexy and funny and my dick is-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll punch you," Hayden cut him off. "Seriously, Rozanov. I'm trying to get to know you, so maybe quit being an asshole, yeah? Shane wants us to, like, get to know each other. But if you're not going to try, then I sure as fuck won't, either."

"You are so easy to make angry," Rozanov huffed after a moment, rolling his eyes as he reached for a pizza box and settled it in his lap. "But, fine. Ask me your questions, I am sure you have many. And I will take them seriously. Promise." He grinned at Hayden before shoving half a slice of pizza into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. "We will become friends by the time you leave my home. Best friends, maybe, because I am just so irresistible. You will love me."

"You're pushing it," Hayden muttered. He pulled his own pizza box closer and grabbed a slice, taking a bite as he tried to piece together his thoughts. "How long have you two been together? I mean, I know it's been a long time. Shane has you in his phone as, uh, Lily, and I know you've been texting for a couple seasons."

"Is a complicated question. There are a few answers. We were not..." Rozanov trailed off as he waved a hand in the air, trying to find the right word. "Exclusive, for a long time. Until summer."

"Last summer? That's only a couple months. I've seen Shane texting Lily for a good, like, five years."

"Yes, well." Rozanov shrugged. "Was hard to be together. Would not be as simple for us as you and your wife, Pike. And we didn't want that. Not at first. It was just...fun and not, easy, but also yes. Easy. Because we both had to keep it secret. Did not need to worry about it getting out and ruining our careers."

Hayden felt a wave of sadness settle over him at the reminder of how fucked up the league was, and he looked away in hopes that Rozanov wouldn't catch his expression. "When did it change?"

"I don't know. Maybe it never changed. Just became more obvious, harder to ignore." Rozanov smiled to himself. "Maybe is not the same for Shane, I don't know. But I have loved him for a long time, have wanted to be with him even longer, I think. I did not believe it was possible until recently."

Hayden stared. "You really love him?"

"More than anything,” Rozanov answered, and he looked like he meant it, his expression fond and loving in a way Hayden had never expected to see.

"More than hockey?" Hayden couldn't help but ask, and he knew Jackie would've smacked him if she were there, but it was an important question. Because hockey was their job, but it wasn't their entire world- at least, it wasn't for Hayden, who cared more for his wife and kids than he ever could for his job. But hockey had always seemed to be Shane's everything, was the thing that mattered most to him; Hayden wondered if that was just a Shane thing, or if it came with being one of the best in the league.

Rozanov nodded like the answer was obvious. "Hockey is hockey. I love it, but is not my life. I know I could be injured at any time and must retire, and I would be sad, yes, but it is...inevitable. Hockey doesn't last forever. But Shane, he will, I think. If I'm lucky."

Hayden almost wanted to ask if Shane felt the same way. Shane, who dedicated his life to hockey, who gave his blood, sweat and tears season after season, year after year, pouring everything into a sport that could never love him back. Hayden bit his tongue to keep the question from spilling out, but Rozanov looked at him like he knew what Hayden was thinking, anyways.

"Shane isn't like me. Like us. He would be lost without hockey, I think. It is his everything," Rozanov said quietly. "He has a lot to lose if this gets out, so we will keep it secret. That doesn't matter to me. I have Shane, and he has me. That is all that matters."

"How long are you going to keep this a secret?" Hayden asked, wincing a little at the look that crossed Rozanov's face. "Look, man. I'm not, like, pushing you guys to come out, and I'm definitely not suggesting that I'd ever force you guys to. Of course not. It’s not my secret to tell and I would never break Shane's trust like that. But is this a forever thing? Until retirement? I can't imagine that would be easy."

"Is not easy, but is what we must do. Hunter coming out has changed things, of course, but he is so old people feel bad and want to support him. Can't be mean to the elderly." Hayden snorted out a laugh, and Rozanov smirked at him, a little smug, before the expression faded. "Hunter coming out changed things, for me and Shane, but the league is still...not great. Players aren't, either. I do not know if that will ever change, and I think Shane is scared of that. Terrified, maybe."

Hayden hesitated for a moment. "And you? Are you terrified?"

"I was, before my father died. Is different now, I think. I am not as worried as I was." Rozanov paused, staring down at his hands. "Russia is...not great for people like me."

"I know. My, uh, brother's fiancé is half Russian, on his mom's side. Most of his family still live there, but they, uh, cut him off. Don't want anything to do with him now that he’s marrying a man.”

"Is not surprising," Rozanov said, his voice quiet. "I thought it was getting better, maybe. But not anymore. I have accepted that. Made peace with it, yes? Is one of the reasons I will never go back."

Hayden frowned, unable to imagine never being able to go home again. It was a reality he could never understand, and he was eternally grateful for that, for being able to live in his home country without any real worry for his safety. It made him feel guilty as he opened his mouth to ask, "How do you feel about that?"

"About Russia? There is nothing left for me there. Is not so bad." Rozanov gave a half-shrug, and then he smiled, all the tension draining from his body to make way for something softer, fonder. "Shane is here. Hockey is here. That is all I need."

For a moment, all Hayden could do was stare at him. Ilya Rozanov had been painted as an asshole in Hayden's head ever since he got picked in the draft and had called him a dozen or so insults in their first game against one another. And he undoubtedly was one- he was unnecessarily aggressive, even by hockey standards, was good at chirping and goading other players into nasty fights that Hayden would wince at whenever he caught sight of them. He was a total prick in interviews, all arrogant smirks and subtle winks, charming the reporters while stroking his own ego and shit talking other players.

But that wasn't the Rozanov sat across from him on this couch, staring hard at the TV with his shoulders hunched, like he was gearing up for more of Hayden’s questions or awaiting Hayden's judgement. He looked nervous, almost shy, and it was something Hayden never thought he'd see from Rozanov, who was so infamous for his overconfidence and cockiness.

It made Hayden soften, more than he'd like to admit. Reminded him of his call with Jackie earlier, where she'd told him that he didn't really know Rozanov, and of course he knew that, of course he understood that there was probably some sort of persona there that didn't fully encapsulate all that Rozanov was, but it was hard to seperate the image that he recognised with the real person he'd never cared enough to know. He'd been playing against Rozanov for eight seasons now, had become intimately familiar with him and all his violence on the ice, but off it?

"I still think you're an asshole," Hayden blurted out, then instantly closed his eyes, wanting to hit himself, until he heard Rozanov's huff of laughter. He glanced over at him, finding Rozanov looking back with an amused smile.

"I am an asshole."

"But you also love my best friend. And, I hate to say it, but I think you're good for him," Hayden added after a beat, and he felt his lips twitch at the surprise that flashed across Rozanov's face. "Shane's my best friend, but he's also family. I love him like a brother, you know? And I want him to be happy. He's always been quiet, always lost in his own head, and for our entire friendship I've just expected that from him. He doesn't really tell me how he feels, never has. Any time I asked something that was too personal, he'd just shut me down, until I kind of just...stopped asking."

Hayden cleared his throat, hating that he could hear his voice going tight. "I've, kind of, always worried about him, you know. As his friend. And then he's sitting me down on my couch, telling me he's gay and that he's in love with you." He chuckled, shaking his head. "It was a shock, man. Huge fucking shock. Not the fact that he's gay, I don't care about that. It doesn't change anything. But, the shock came when he admits to being in love with you, of all people." Hayden winced, and opened his mouth to apologise until Rozanov waved a dismissive hand.

"Is okay. I understand."

Hayden swallowed his guilt, running a hand through his hair. "Since he's told me, I've been trying to understand. Wrap my head around it, you know? And it sounds fucking ridiculous, I know that so don't even try to make fun of me for it."

"I wouldn't," Rozanov said slowly. "Is a lot to process, I know. Thinking we hate each other and then being told we're together. That we have been for a long time.”

"I didn't say this to him, but I thought he was out of his fucking mind," Hayden confessed, his voice quiet, shame heavy on his tongue. "I didn't get it. How he could be so, so infatuated with someone I've only ever seen as an asshole. Who has a reputation for fucking half the country and getting into random fights and being a dick to almost everyone he meets. Who is the complete opposite of Shane. I guess, maybe I thought you were messing with him? Or, like, he'd be head over heels for you and maybe you didn't feel the same?"

"That's not true-"

"I know it's not," Hayden said quickly. "I can see that. Shane is- he's comfortable with you, and as someone who has known him for eight years, I've never seen him like that. I'd like to think he is around me and Jackie, but it's different with you. He seems...lighter?" Hayden shrugged, feeling awkward and embarrassed at having to explain it, but Rozanov was grinning wide enough that he felt maybe it was important that he'd tried. "It's clear he's in love with you. And I know he's told me, but seeing it is different. And seeing you..."

"Seeing me?" Rozanov sounded confused.

"You're obsessed with him. Even when you're just talking about him, it's easy to pick up the fact you love him. I didn't expect that, and maybe that makes me an even bigger asshole than you, but." Hayden laughed a little. "I'm glad to be proven wrong. I want the best for Shane."

"Even if it's me?" Rozanov asked quietly, almost as if he was afraid of hearing Hayden’s answer.

"Well, I'm not going to say I'm thrilled it's you," Hayden said, his voice light, more teasing than not. "But if you care for him, which I know that you do, then that's all that matters to me."

Rozanov was staring at him, eyes a little wide as he blinked; he looked shocked, and Hayden was almost offended, wondering if Rozanov actually thought he was going to, what, not accept them? Hayden almost wanted to laugh.

He was always going to accept this, accept that Rozanov was part of Shane's life, even if he wasn't particularly happy with his taste in men. He would judge, would probably make a few snide comments because he knew himself well enough to know he probably wouldn't be able to stop them from spilling out, but he would never shun Shane, or pretend their relationship didn't exist, or anything equally as terrible. Hayden could be an asshole, but Jesus. He wasn't that fucking bad.

He tried to keep himself from scowling as he reached for a new slice of pizza, folding it in half and bringing it close to his mouth and-

"I'm leaving Boston for Shane."

Hayden choked on air, smacking a hand across his chest and dropping his pizza slice. He didn’t need a mirror to know that disbelief was plastered all across his fucking face because, Hayden couldn't have heard him right. He couldn't have. "You're what?"

"I'm leaving Boston," Rozanov repeated, a little quieter, and Hayden gaped at him. He probably looked fucking crazy, but he couldn't help it- Rozanov was casually telling him news that was going to break the fucking internet. Well, maybe not the internet, because hockey wasn't that popular, but those who even slightly kept up with the league were going to lose their fucking shit. Ilya Rozanov was leaving Boston.

The player in Hayden was overjoyed, fucking ecstatic with the knowledge that Boston was going to lose their star player. Boston wasn't a bad team- Hayden, for all his hatred, was man enough to admit that- but losing Rozanov was going to leave behind a wound that would be slow to recover. It would be the same as Shane leaving the fucking Metros.

The hockey fan in Hayden wondered if Rozanov had gotten too many pucks to the damn head, because leaving Boston was fucking idiotic. Especially if he was leaving for Shane. Rozanov hadn't even hit thirty, so Hayden was pretty fucking certain that he wasn't retiring, which meant that he was probably moving to a team in Canada. Not the Metros, Hayden knew that wasn't possible, which left six other teams, though they weren't...great options. Not for someone as talented as Ilya fucking Rozanov.

The move was going to be terrible. Hayden wouldn't say it would ruin Rozanov's career, he wasn't that dramatic and it wasn't like Rozanov wasn't already recognised as one of the best in the league, but it wasn't smart. It was actually so fucking stupid he was sure Rozanov's agent would probably spend the foreseeable future crying himself to sleep wondering what the fuck was wrong with his client.

"Where are you going?"

Rozanov hesitated for long enough that Hayden was half sure he wouldn't get an answer, would end up finding out with the rest of the league. But then, Rozanov said, "Ottawa."

"Jesus Christ," Hayden blurted out, looking at Rozanov like he'd lost his damn mind. "You're going to the Ottawa Centaurs? Notoriously the worst team in the league Ottawa Centaurs? The team that hasn't even seen the play-offs in decades?"

"Yes."

"You're an idiot," Hayden said, but he was laughing, unable to control himself. "Oh my God, you're whipped. You're going to the worst team in the league because of Shane."

Rozanov was frowning at him. "What is whipped?"

"It's what you are, man. You're so in love with Shane that you're going to fuck up your career to be with him." Hayden shook his head. "I can't believe this."

"Well, believe it. This is my last season with Boston, I'm free agent in summer." Rozanov shrugged a little. "It will make things easier, for me and Shane. We're also going to...change the narrative," he added, smiling. "Make a charity together. A hockey school for kids. Yuna is very excited about it."

"Wow." Hayden didn't know what else to say, his brain trying to catch up and process all this new information. "That's, that's good, man. Sounds like a good idea."

"Yes, it is. Shane came up with it. Woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me." Rozanov looked so proud, so fucking lovesick, that Hayden started laughing again. "Is not funny, Pike. This is very serious, very important. I will tell Shane not to ask you to be teacher at our hockey school if you do not stop."

"I have four kids to focus on, Rozanov. I don't think I'll be able to help out much."

Rozanov waved a hand. "Is okay, you wouldn't be useful, anyways. You are, what? Fifteenth best Metros player? We need better for these kids. Only the best of the best."

"You're an asshole, man," Hayden replied, but he was smiling, and Rozanov was grinning back at him, and Hayden was starting to think that maybe Rozanov wasn’t as bad as he had thought, after all.