Chapter Text
Shane is glad he never brought it up again. He likes Hunter; he always has, and as scary as the fight had been to Shane, it feels silly now, especially after Scotts coming out and everything.
So when he sees him at the bar, he makes the split-second decision to reach out again.
As for Scott, well, he's mostly embarrassed about that fight. Really, there had been no reason for him to go there - even if he's still not sure where there is, exactly, or why it had evoked such a strong reaction.
But he was an ass about a genuinely tame chirp, and he felt bad about it for long enough.
He was glad when Shane reached out after his cup win and coming out, pleased that he hadn't misjudged Shane's character, and now he's happy he feels comfortable enough to invite him into his hotel room for a drink.
He wondered, very shortly, if Shane was coming onto him when he asked, which was obviously ridiculous, since a) Scott came out publicly by kissing his boyfriend, and b) well, Shane would never.
Scott looks around the apartment-sized hotel suite, and admittedly, it feels a little out of character for Shane to take the biggest room, but he is the most valuable player in the league right now, so, whatever.
It's a nice room. Next to a small kitchenette there are two plush dark blue couches forming a triangle with a ceiling-to-floor window wall, no TV in sight. The entire room is lit up with the soft orange glow of cleverly hidden LEDs and the city's shimmering and blinking skyline. There's a humming minibar, and soft music starts playing. Scott understands why Hollander prefers this over the crowded, stuffy hotel bar.
“What can I get you?” Shane asks.
“Whatever you're having”, Scott replies. Creative, he knows.
But it's nice to have a friend. Scott is well aware that they both don't have a reputation for being the most sociable, but there's an easy atmosphere between them now. Hollander seems relatively relaxed, pouring them two vodka lime drinks. He thinks the last time they had a drink together might have been at the awards, back in Hollanders rookie season. He chuckles and sits down, accepting the drink.
He turns towards Shane, and behind him is a door that leads to an equally luxurious bedroom, standing slightly ajar. The king-sized bed seems unmade. On both sides. Huh.
“What a shitshow from San Francisco, eh?” Shane starts, settling down on the other couch.
Time flies. It's genuinely fun to talk to Scott. Shane thinks that they've both been a little stupid, that it took them this long to just like, hang out. They're having fun. It's nice.
And he is still glad that the entire thing didn't come up again, but there's a prickle of nerves that the other thing, the whole being gay part of things, didn't come up again. At all.
So he's almost relieved when Scott starts chirping Ilya, even in his absence. He immediately feels silly for assuming he would treat them any differently now. He's known for such a long time; it's not breaking news by any means. But Scott obviously knows he's a safe person to talk to and feels comfortable. It means a lot to Shane.
“Fucking Ottawa, man,” Scott laughs. “I love the fucker. What a crazy stunt.”
Shane smiles. “He likes to make a headline,” he agrees. “But he's settling in really well.”
Scott, for his part, is majorly confused. Maybe the drinks are starting to get to him. Because, well, Shane is joining his chirps, but he's also keeps smiling at them. Sweetly. And laughing at them. Also sweetly. Like the entire thing is one big inside joke.
And he keeps making these comments. Oh yeah, the rookies are ruthless; saw right through him- but he loves them. And, you know how he is- all talk and no bite. And he thinks one of them alluded to Rozanov getting along with Shanes mother? But it must be the alcohol, at this point. Maybe they both had a little too much. He should probably get going.
Before he can start to wrap it up, there's the sound of a keycard, and then the lock at the door springs open.
“Oh,” Shane says. “Hi.”
He shoots Scott a nervous glance, but seems determined, and then-
Rozanov walks in.
Scott coughs.
“We were just talking about you,” Shane continues.
Rozanov shoots him a sharp grin. “Only bad things, I hope.”
Shane rolls his eyes.
Then- Rozanov puts down his keys.
Rozanov takes off his shoes.
Rozanov takes off his coat.
Rozanov walks further into the room.
Rozanov stops in front of the couch.
“Hunter,” Rozanov greets him.
He turns, hesitates, exchanges a glance with Shane, shoots him a nervous smile, and then-
Scott thinks his brain might be broken.
Rozanov leans down and kisses Shane.
"Shane."
Ilya Rozanov kisses Shane Hollander. On the mouth. In a hotel suite. In front of Scott.
What the fuck?