Day One

It was a perfect storm. Hayden Pike had never really gotten that expression before, but being laid up with a busted ankle and being cursed with the world's worst babysitting gig wasn't fucking sunshine.

“Hayd, I know you don't like him, but I'm worried. You know I wouldn't ask you if I didn't-"

He'd cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah.” He ran a hand over his face, not trying to hide his sigh. "Fine, I'll do it.”

Shane Hollander had the world's biggest eyes, which was cosmically unfair. The guy could go from looking like a cardboard cut out to a puppy dog in about a minute flat and how the hell were you supposed to say no to that? It was, Hayden figured, pretty lucky that Shane didn't do it more often. It was definitely less lucky that there was a pretty specific reason why he would.

And the reason, because Hayden was just the luckiest damn man in the world, was laying in a pile of his own used tissues, with a puke bowl leaning on the couch.

The couch usually looked comfortable. Hayden has been kind of jealous of it when he first saw it- it was a classy couch, and really soft too. He could've kicked up his feet and fallen asleep to the game on it. He'd been trying to figure out if asking where Shane got it and buying his own was an okay move or not on and off for months.

Now he was never fucking touching that couch again.

Ilya Rozanov, the biggest asshole in hockey, a menace on the ice, and a constant pain in Hayden’s, specifically, ass, let out the world's largest sneeze and then groaned something in Russian. Hayden eyed him. Being totally honest here, he wasn't sure what he was meant to be doing. Shane had gone from giving him what felt like an entire doctor's report on this guy to “he'll be fine, he just needs someone to keep an eye on him and make sure he gets his medicine" before Hayden had had a chance to actually take in the information. So far, it was mostly just the sneezing and the muttering. And the constant threat of vomit, now that he knew the bowl was there.

But Rozanov was holding his head and was really going off about something now.

Hayden took a breath, cursed himself for being a good friend, and called out to him. "Do you need something?”

Rozanov jumped.

Then grabbed his head again and cursed. "What are you doing?”

He frowned. "I told Shane I would keep an eye on you. Remember? I literally already talked to you about this.”

Though, now that he was thinking about it, Rozanov might have been passed out when he came in. He just figured he'd been ignoring him.

Rozanov waved him off, looking annoyed. "No. What are you doing now? Watching me sleep on couch like pervert?”

"You're not even- I'm not- Fuck you, I'm only here because you can't handle a cold by yourself."

Ilya raised an eyebrow at him, like Hayden was the one being a difficult fucking asshole, and Hayden fought the urge to just leave him there and go the hell home. He didn’t have to be the guy’s sick nurse. According to Rozanov, he didn’t even need him there. Much less want him there.

He could go home and be in his own damn house.

Hayden swallowed a sigh, and hobbled his way into the kitchen instead of out the front door.

Yeah. he wasn’t going home.

Not only would that be breaking a promise to Shane- again, those gigantic eyes were not easy to say no to, and it would only get worse if he went back on it- but there was a reason Shane had asked him to spend the next few days at his house.

Hayden pulled out a chair (why did Shane Hollander have so many chairs in his kitchen? It was like a full set, no one needed that many chairs in their kitchen, especially not antisocial people like Shane.) and propped his foot up on another.

It wasn’t a break or anything that bad, but the ankle injury had him benched for the rest of the season. Apparently, the only option was “rest”, AKA stay off the ice for a few weeks. When Hayden’d heard the diagnosis, he’d imagined laying in bed, door closed so the kids couldn’t jump on him, eating and watching TV and pretending it was the summer but with the boon of there not being school.

He’d forgotten Jacki’s family trip. To be fair, it wasn’t supposed to matter, back when she’d talked to him about it- it was supposed to be while he was travelling. Being totally honest, he’d been happy that he had an excuse not to go. Jacki was awesome, and her parents were usually cool, but her brother in law. Ugh. Mike sucked, and Mike knew he sucked just enough to always try to one up him and start swinging his dick around. The last time the whole family got together had been... Well, not pretty. There may have been a small fire. And there may have been some words exchanged that cost Hayden fifty bucks in the jar and a nice dinner. Anyway, Georgia wasn’t his biggest fan anymore and Jacki didn’t exactly have a blast defending him to her (really, Hayden thought, Georgie should have been the one doing the defending, it was her prick of a husband who said he could light the grill ‘more efficiently’ and start the whole thing). By the time the injury happened, it would have been worse for him to suddenly join than it was for him to send his apologies and nope the hell out of the situation.

So, no, he wasn’t going home to his empty house an hour away. It was dumb, but just being in the house for a few hours after they left had felt weird. He’d deny it if anyone asked, but there might have been a couple of tears in his eyes when he tripped over Arthur’s toy in the hallway.

He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts off of his kids and his wife and the asshole in the next room. He wanted to turn his brain off- usually he was pretty good at that.

Candy Crush it was.

An hour or two later, he found himself back in the living room, TV on, volume higher than it probably needed to be. He’d brought in a glass of water for Rozanov, and the man had just blinked at him. They hadn’t interacted past that blink. Rozanov hadn’t even moved since. He was, Hayden figured, probably asleep.

Heavy sleeper, too. The volume had to have hit 60 notches by now.

He glanced over at the other man. His eyes were closed again, still unmoving, and he felt a little bad. It was petty, he could admit to himself, to try to get under a sick man’s skin like this.

He turned down the volume. By two. Glanced over again, and couldn’t quite bring himself to lower it more.

Finally, the stupid show his channel surfing had landed him on ended, and he turned the TV off.

“Feel better now?”

Hayden didn’t mean to flinch. He hated himself immediately for reacting at all.

The look on Rozanov’s face was unimpressed and knowing. Like he was giving a challenge. Hayden felt an irritating swallow of guilt burn through him. Fuck him.

“My ankle’s fine, thanks,” Hayden said.

“Not what I asked.”

Hayden opened his mouth, but couldn’t find anything to say. Or, he had plenty he could say, but it wasn’t going to help anything if he wasn’t also going to leave.

He shook his head and looked back at Rozanov reluctantly.

“Okay.” And he closed his eyes again.

“Do you... need anything?” Hayden asked. Because he figured he should, right?

He got no answer.

With a quick prayer to whoever was listening, he took a few steps closer.

“Hey. Rozanov. Do you need anything?”

Rozanov peeled one eye open, and stared at him. The silence was basically hostile. When he opened his mouth, Hayden preemptively flinched. (Fuck).

“No.”

And the asshole closed his eye again.

It continued like that. Hayden would try to keep up his promise and, y’know, take care of Rozanov, and Rozanov would be an utter dick and act like Hayden either wasn’t there at all or that he shouldn’t be. Once he did actually see Rozanov drink the water he brought for him, but he did it like he was trying to sneak a sip- which meant he seriously petty enough to act like he didn’t need water if Hayden was the one who brought it for him.

Part of him was questioning if Rozanov needed him there at all- I mean, he definitely didn't think he did. He'd gotten pretty close to convincing himself that Rozanov was fine, outside of everything that was normally wrong with him, when he heard him start puking.

Ugh.

He should probably tell Shane...

The whole reason he was here- why he'd been tapped in as a babysitter when it was obviously the worst choices- was because Rozanov had passed out in his damn locker room after a game, and apparently completely ruined the floors. When one of his teammates brought him to Urgent Care, Shane got the call, and a diagnosis that Hayden hadn't attempted to absorb, and Shane was pretty clearly terrified that his grown man of a boyfriend was going to suffocate on his own vomit.

More likely, Hayden was starting to think, was that Rozanov would just starve to death on the couch. He was just as unwilling to ask for help as he was unwilling to actually do anything for himself.

Obviously, this whole thing wasn’t going to work out. Rozanov would probably die before he let Hayden feel like he was welcome in this house.

Speaking of feeling welcome in this house... The fridge was a fucking war zone.

Shane could probably be arrested in several countries for what he did to his food. After several minutes of desperately fading hope, Hayden had to give up and admit that there was nothing worthy of dinner in this place.

Jacki would probably be able to make it into something edible. He’d had Shane’s food when he came over for meals and they were.... Okay, still not great. He ate like he hated himself. But Jacki was a genius in the kitchen. If Hayden tried to put these ingredient together, it would wind up looking like it deserved to be in Rozanov’s bucket.

Pizza it was.

When he got off the phone from ordering, Rozanov was watching him again. He was sitting up more now, apparently giving up on pretending to be asleep.

“Pizza in Hollander’s house? Pretty much illegal.”

Hayden almost smiled, before he remembered who was talking. Still. At least this was something they both got, right?

“Yeah, didn’t feel like I hated myself enough today to put myself through eating Shane’s food.”

Rozanov’s expression darkened. “You sound like bad cook.”

“I-” I am, Hayden was going to say. But why the hell should he give him anything else to be an ass about. “I just like real food.”

“Oh? Pizza is real food? You are so cool and exciting.”

“Fuck off.”

Rozanov grabbed the remote and ignored him until the doorbell rang.

Hayden brought the two hot boxes into the kitchen, feeling slightly bad for getting grease on the show room quality table. He’d wipe it later, if it showed. It wasn’t like grease was going to kill Shane.

Popping his head out of the kitchen, he locked eyes on Rozanov, who was still watching the game. He was either so focused he didn’t notice Hayden, or, more likely, he was pretending he wasn’t there again.

No pizza for him then. Whatever

“I got you cheese.”

Rozanov didn’t look away from the screen. “Exciting cheese.”

“You’re welcome, Hayden.” He turned to go back into the kitchen.

“What is other box?”

“Huh? That’s my pizza.”

Rozanov actually broke his death stare at the TV to raise and eyebrow at him. “You have secret pizza?”

“It’s not secret. It’s my regular pizza order.” After another eyebrow prompt, Hayden rolled his eyes and added, “A white pizza with grilled onions, sausage, chicken, and mushrooms with anchovies on the side.”

Rozanov held his gaze blankly for another second before sticking out his tongue in a pantomime of a gag and turning his expression back to the TV.

“Yeah, that’s why I got cheese, asshole,” Hayden muttered.

Coming back in the room, he put down the plate with the cheese slice on the table with enough force to slide it almost to the edge, and threw himself into his chair.

The game continued, then ended- they won, of course- and Rozanov continued not talking to him, then fell asleep. He’d barely touched the pizza, until he finally shoved the whole slice in his mouth at the last second, and clenched his eyes shut. Hayden was thinking, again, about how much he did not want to be here. And daydreaming, just a little, about going home and taking advantage of a big empty house and his own bed.

His phone vibrated.

Hayden did not drop it. (But it was a close thing).

“Shane!”

The video took a few seconds to clear up, and then there was Shane Hollander’s face. He looked like he was sitting in a stairwell, bright light washing him out. He also looked nervous.

“Hey, Hayd. How’s.... Everything going?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m at your house. Obviously. Eating pizza. Sorry about bringing-” He bit his tongue before real food came out of his mouth again. Fucking Rozanov was making him self conscious. Which sucked, because now, what? He couldn’t talk to his own best friend anymore? “Carbs into your house.”

Shane laughed. “It’s fine. I know how you eat. You and Ilya. I probably should have stocked up on cheese doodles or something.”

“I do like cheese doodles,” Hayden said. Shane was quiet for a second, and Hayden added, “Good game tonight.”

“Thanks. We missed you out there.”

“Yeah, obviously. You guys really looked like you were falling apart without me.”

Shane laughed. “Still.”

“Yeah, next season, I guess. I’m sure I’ll be dying to get back on the ice by the time practice starts up.”

“Yeah, probably.”

There was a beat of awkwardness that it took a second for him to read. Oh. Shane wasn’t calling to talk to him. Or, not entirely. Obviously.

He looked up at Rozanov, who still had his eyes closed. So, actually sleeping. Or he was faking it for Shane too, which would be a real asshole move. Which made it likely, Hayden thought.

“Did you want to....?” He turned the phone slightly, to show a glimpse of Rozanov.

Shane’s whole expression changed.

It shouldn’t have stung. (He was worried about his boyfriend, obviously. That was the whole reason Hayden was here. It was, like, a thing).

Still. Why not just call his phone then, if he just wanted to talk to Rozanov? Geez.

“Yeah. I mean. If it’s an okay time.”

Hayden almost said he’s sleeping, but shook off the impulse.

His hand reached out toward Rozanov’s shoulder before his brain caught up and made him hesitate. Okay, this was stupid. He was a Russian asshole, he wasn’t a fucking bear. Hayden shook him awake.

It took Rozanov a few seconds to react. (Actually asleep then, good to know), and when he did, he glared at Hayden like he was just as dangerous as the bear.

“It’s Shane.”

A bolt of pure panic swept over the other man’s face as he struggled to sit up, throwing the covers off of himself.

“On the phone. It’s Shane, on the phone.”

“Oh.” Rozanov took a noticeably deep breath before holding out his hand. “Give.”

“Please,” Hayden muttered, but handed the phone over.

If Shane’s expression changing had been obvious this was- this was like watching someone be replaced in real time.

All the hard edges of Rozanov’s face melted into something gentle and foreign. His eyes- the ones that had been threatening murder just moments ago- were big and soft, and he cradled the phone like it was something precious.

“Shane,” He breathed.

“Hi, Ilya.” He sounded softer too. It made Hayden feel.... weird. “How do you feel?”

“I am okay.”

“‘Okay’ like you feel good, or ‘okay’ like you’re not dying?”

“Okay like okay,” Ilya said with a roll of his eyes, softened by the way he was glowing.

“How much water have you drunk today?”

“Enough,” He lied, but then grabbed the cup Hayden had brought by hours ago and downed the whole thing.

“And your head-”

“Is okay. I am okay. You even made a fifth rank Hockey player retire to make sure I was okay, I am okay.”

“I didn’t retire,” Hayden said, before he could stop himself.

Rozanov looked up, old expression back on his face, all that softness wiped away. “There is still time.”

When he looked back at the phone, a smile playing on his face, Hayden realized how weird it was for him to just stand here and listen to them. He made his way back to the kitchen. Maybe leaning more on his bad ankle, to milk how big of a struggle he was putting himself through to not third wheel.

Still. He should probably have kept moving. He didn’t know what made him stop at the kitchen door, like the weirdo Rozanov kept acting like he was.

Rozanov was whispering something in Russian, voice low, and Hayden knew he should be praying his thanks for not knowing the language.

“I don’t think you’re well enough for that right now.”

“Could still try. A few times.”

“Did you watch the game tonight?”

“Yes, for Admirals.”

He could hear the smile in Shane’s voice. “And?”

“Was good, they almost won. Very embarrassing. Some slow Hockey player kept getting in their way. Must have thought he was lost, skating around like child.”

“Fuck you.”

“Did look very hot, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Made me wish I was was there.”

“Too bad you’re sick.”

“Oh wow, I am?”

“Shut up.”

It was quiet for a few seconds.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it.”

Rozanov groaned.

“But,” Shane pushed on. “have you taken your pills?”

Rozanov didn’t answer for a few seconds. When he did, it was with the weight of a confession. “Not today. Yet.”

“They’re important, Ilya.”

“Eh, doctors think everything they give important.”

“It’s one every 12 hours,” Shane said, like he had memorized the information, or was reading off of a list. “You can take a second if the pain is bad. Hayden will give them to you, one at a time. He’s got the bottle. And the possible side effects are worsened nausea, slurred speech, and trouble sleeping. The main thing that it’ll do it make you loopy. And make you feel better, obviously.”

“Loopy?”

“Out of it. Like you’re really tired and can’t think. Or like when you get a little drunk.”

“You give me pills to make me drunk?” Rozanov teased. “I could just get drunk, that sounds more fun.”

“Ilya.”

“More fun if you’re here, though.”

“Soon.”

“Mmm.”

“Sooner if you take your pills and get better. You’re not doing anything like drinking until you prove you’re not sick.”

Rozanov let out a dramatic groan again. “No one knows how mean you are, Shane Hollander.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Rozanov said something else in Russian, voice gooey and purring. It was not a tone Hayden could have ever imagined coming from him.

He was caught up on the idea of lady’s man, biggest asshole on the rink Rozanov basically cooing at someone to catch anything else they said.

“I miss you too, my... paperclip?”

“Ah, you are fluent now.”

“Sure,” Shane laughed. “I should... probably go.”

The reluctance in his voice was obvious, even several hours, a tinny phone speaker, and a room away.

“Or....”

“Not while you’ve got company, Ilya.”

“Company?”

“I don’t think Hayden would, uh, appreciate that.”

The sound of his own name startled him, and Hayden’s hand tightened on the doorway.

“Eh, I think he is gone. Might as well take opportunity.”

“I’m still here!” Hayden called out, immediately. Then let his eyes fall closed in defeat when he realized it was obvious he’d been eavesdropping.

“I see,” Rozanov’s voice was dry. “You are not like creepy pervert at all.” He could tell just from his voice that he was directing the next part back at Shane. “See, Hollander? He is fine with it. Everyone’s happy - he could listen, we could-”

“Ilya.”

“Bah. Fine. Be boring.”

“I love you.”

There was nothing left of the casual, playful (dick-ish) lilt in his voice when he said, “I love you too” back.

And this was stupid.

Obviously stupid. They’d been together for years already, it wasn’t like Hayden didn’t know that. He’d even had a disastrous double date with them last year. It wasn’t a shock anymore (a disappointment, yeah, but not a shock) that Ilya Rozanov was Shane’s boyfriend. But fuck.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Shane was Ilya Rozanov’s boyfriend.

Really, he thought, the uncomfortable weirdness that kept popping up now fighting against the numbness of surprise, he hadn’t ever really realized that they were in love.

He eyed Rozanov from the doorway, brain caught on those two words, and on the very un-Rozanov face he’d had on, just for Shane.

“If you’re going to keep watching me,” Rozanov said, not looking up. “Bring more pizza.”

“I do not need it.”

Hayden was trying very hard not to cross his arms like one of his children. He sucked in a long breath, which didn’t really help.

“You’re supposed to be taking your damn pills.”

Rozanov looked away, unimpressed and apparently pissed off. That made two of them.

“Shane said,” Hayden tried, deciding, fuck it, let’s bring in the wild card. “you have to take your pills.”

Rozanov didn’t move for a second, before finally looking back over at Hayden, eyes still narrowed. He was rubbing one hand over his ear, and he seemed to be thinking hard.

“One pill.”

“Yeah, man. That’s literally the prescription.” On the inside, he was thinking holy shit, that worked?

Rozanov stuck out his hand, frowning hard enough that Hayden was tempted to tell him his face was going to get stuck that way. (Might be an improvement). Shaking the bottle into his hand, 4 tiny ovals fell into his palm. Rozanov watched him like a hawk as his pinched exactly one between his fingers, and dropped it into Rozanov’s hand.

Rozanov looked like he was going to bust a vein. His hand closed over the pill in a fist, death gripping it.

Hayden didn’t quite resist the urge to roll his eyes.

So much fuss for something so small.

“Water?” Rozanov demanded.

“Please?”

“I need water,” He said instead.

Hayden fantasized briefly about making Rozanov get the water himself, before forcing himself to be a good person. He let himself think what an ass, and didn’t linger on the thought of how the man had stopped looking him in the eyes, or the way the bite in his voice sounded forced.

Whatever else Rozanov’s medication was supposed to be doing, it definitely knocked him out. Hayden lingered downstairs for a little while, taking advantage of the tv again and eating more pizza than was probably good for him, and hypothetically making sure his best friend’s boyfriend wasn’t about to choke on his own vomit. (It would be satisfying, but not worth it).

Eventually, he hobbled his way up the stairs instead, enjoying an entire floor that was asshole-free. He managed to avoid the living room for the amount of time it took to brush his teeth and put on his pajamas (and scroll on his phone, and come up with a new list of reasons he should be able to ditch Rozanov and not feel guilty about it) before something called him back.

Something being, very specifically, the very tipsy call of a Russian man.

He didn’t think what he was saying was in English, but it was hard to make out words at all. He sounded more like a sick cat. Ugh. He should probably check on him. After he watched this TikTok.

By the time Hayden got downstairs, probably about 20 minutes later, Rozanov should have been sitting up and demanding things again. Instead, he was totally cocooned in his blanket, looking like a sad toddler. Hayden faltered on the steps, before powering through and hitting the bottom stair.

Rozanov didn’t have some quip ready when he got there (weird), so Hayden had to open his own mouth and say, “Did you need something?”

And. Fuck. Oh God.

Rozanov was crying.

Not huge tears or anything, but, god, enough. He wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

Deep, deep in the back of Hayden’s mind he was thinking I should be doing something about this- dad reflexes were supposed to be a thing, he’d dealt with enough sad, sick kids to be able to defuse this in like a minute, right? But the impossibility of this whole fucking situation was enough to make him freeze.

“I need Shane.”

He was looking at Hayden with these huge, wet eyes, and what the hell was even happening here?

“Uh.”

There was an impulse to pat him on the... head? Maybe? But Hayden didn’t have a death wish or enough hand sanitizer, so he stayed where he was.

“Shane,” He said again, crying even more pathetically now (somehow).

“He’s- Uh, he’s in Minnesota right now. Remember?”

Hayden got no response (besides the crying. But that was already happening. So. Not really his fault).

“Did you need.... anything else?” Anything to stop this.

“Chicken pot pie soup,” was the immediate response.

Hayden blinked, looked towards the kitchen, then back at Rozanov. “Pretty sure Shane doesn’t keep anything like that here. Or anything in a can, like, ever.”

Rozanov was slurring his words, and kept slipping back into Russian, but said something like “Shane.... soup.... me!”

“Look, man. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I just want my soup,” He said, like every word was hard. “and my- Shane.”

Well you’re going to be disappointed, Hayden thought, then figured it would be an asshole move to actually say. He had to look away from Rozanov as it was. He almost seemed.... human.

And then, he was up. Rozanov pushed himself off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him, lurching towards the kitchen.

So much for staying off my ankle, Hayden thought, and followed him.

Rozanov didn’t head to the fridge, like Hayden had imagined, or even to the pantry. He leaned himself against the counter, and reached up to a cabinet that Hayden had thought was just there for, like, looks, and opened the door.

“Well fuck. Okay.”

It was full of cans. They resolved into actual more than just rectangles as Hayden got closer (though Rozanov’s hand in the way didn’t make it that easy to read them). Coke, canned tuna, something that looked like it might have been scrapple (but, come on, it had to be something else), and....

He expected to get a pointed look when Rozanov fished out his soup. Instead, he got the sight of a grown man trying to work a can opener as if he had no control of his hands.

“Alright, alright, give me that.”

Rozanov didn’t listen. Which was kind of a relief, honestly, he’d already been starting to doubt this was actually Ilya Rozanov.

After what felt like an eternity of watching him fail to get the can open, Rozanov finally threw the can opener down (if you can call something that week a throw), and Hayden scooped it up to put them all out of their misery.

He focused all his energy on pouring the soup into a bowl, and sticking the bowl into the microwave, and not paying any attention to the man behind him. It was silent, except of for the sound of the soup heating up, and, finally, his curiosity made him glance over at Rozanov.

He almost immediately looked away again. The expression on that man’s face could make someone file a police report. But he glanced over again anyway, because, seriously, what was this guy’s deal? Why the hell did he look like he was deciding whether or not to murder him when he was making the man some soup?

Slowly, the realization came, that Rozanov wasn’t actually looking at him. He was facing him, but his gaze was far away, like he was lost somewhere else completely. Hayden tried to picture what the look might be if you were someone who didn’t always look like a cocky prick or a streetfighter. Dazed, he guessed.

He watched Rozanov absentmindedly free a hand to run through his hair, pull on his ear, and fuck okay. He was watching a man who was clearly still upset but maybe had it together enough now to not know how to show it (the crying thing was obviously not his first choice. It wasn’t Hayden’s either, and he was glad it wasn’t still happening).

The microwave beeped, but Hayden kept his eyes on Rozanov, waiting. He was pretty good at this, honestly. It made him miss his kids. Damn.

“I lost phone.”

Hayden turned around to get the soup, and flirted with the idea of telling him to ask nicely. But whatever. He’d help him look for his phone even though he wasn’t going to appreciate it. Whatever.

Back in the living room, Rozanov stood over him as he reached into the creases on the couch, trying his best not to think about what he might be touching.

“I said I’d help,” Hayden muttered. Rozanov, apparently, didn’t hear him.

Finally, when he swiped underneath the couch, his hand found something phone shaped, and he pulled it out and into the air with, to be honest, a fair amount of satisfaction.

Rozanov took it from his hand and got back onto the couch without a word.

Hayden glowered, but what else was he expecting, right?

He’d gotten the guy off his back. He could leave him with his soup and not have to see him for the rest of the night. The fact that his face lit up when he unlocked his phone meant nothing to him, because the happy way he was texting Shane was not endearing at all. The guy was an asshole.

Day Two

“Rozanov, just take the fucking pills.”

For a brief, wonderful moment, Hayden Pike had thought things were going better. Rozanov had been asleep still when he came downstairs, so no annoying conversations or feeling watched, and there had been coffee in the kitchen and he already knew how to use Shane’s fancy french press that was totally a gift that had never been used. And they’d already done the whole loopy medication thing last night and gotten through it, so there was no problem.

Except, apparently, Hayden was an idiot to think Rozanov was going to let this be easy.

He’d seen toddlers accept pills with more grace than Ilya Rozanov.

“Do I need to call Shane and have him tell you?” It worked once, why not again?

Rozanov looked like he wasn’t sure how he felt about the threat. Probably, Hayden figured, just excited to talk to Shane at all. Ilya Rozanov, Hayden had realized to his mortification and, honestly, shock, was clingy.

“He’s going to be disappointed,” Hayden said, to try to balance the scales in his favor a bit. “if I have to call him.”

Rozanov grumbled and frowned, but, eventually, held out his hand for a pill, pointedly looking away from Hayden.

Shane’s shower was nice, and Hayden took his time in it. But eventually the water started losing heat, and the thoughts on his brain got harder to push away. Yeah, he needed to call Jacki.

Still, he didn't rush through getting dressed. It wasn't like he knew what he was going to say. What he wanted to say was how much he hated being here and how weird this whole damn thing was and also that he missed her way more than he thought he would and he wished she'd just come home (and preferably take him home too). He wound up just going with a heavily edited version of that last one.

It was nice talking to Jackie, and talking to the kids, and having a few moments where he felt like an actual human being that was a part of the world outside of Ilya Rozanov. But even then he wasn't totally free of him- eyes flicking towards the stairs, biting his tongue so he didn't spend the whole conversation complaining. And as he breathed out, feeling some of his tension sleeping away at the image of his wife, out there somewhere, that same smirk of a smile aimed at him that had hooked him the night they met, some small, barely alive part of him thought is this how it is for him too?

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and the lingering sadness creeping in from feeling so far away from his family, and took a deep breath. His ankle had been throbbing a little earlier, and he made lazy circles with it, using it as a distraction.

Then he closed his eyes, and geared himself up for dealing with another day with petulant, stubborn Ilya Rozanov.

The medication still worked- good news. Rozanov didn't seem to have fallen asleep this time, but he had the same dazed, unfocused look on his face that he's had the night before. (Side note- it was so weird seeing Rozanov unfocused. It had taken Hayden until now to really put his finger on what was unnerving him so much. Rozanov always looked not just cocky with confidence basically punching you in the face, but unstoppably locked in). He was staring at the black screen of the TV. When he started talking, it was after a span of about 20 minutes of total silence, and Hayden, slouched in the chair furthest from him, probably could have been anywhere else in the house and been just as much a part of the conversation.

“This is good sweater.”

Hayden eyed him, already wary. Rozanov was running his fingertips up and down the heather gray sweatshirt he was wearing. Honestly, Hayden hadn’t even noticed he’d changed until this moment.

“He buys such boring things, but nice.”

“Oh, that’s-” Hayden cut himself off. Partly because the answer was obvious, and partly because it could not be more obvious that Rozanov wasn’t listening to him anyway.

“He has stylist, you know. Big money. Goes to party dressed little better and is so ple- peh. Happy. So happy in his little jackets.”

That was true. Shane’d admitted the stylist thing to him just before he admitted who he was sneaking off with all the time, and it was mostly because of those stupidly expensive jackets and the way Shane was always straightening them like it was an obsession.

“But sweaters good too. Used to wear clothes to-” Rozanov made a motion, like he was curling a weight with one arm. His eyes were cast up to the ceiling, like he was talking to the sky. “Not good clothes. Never had good clothes. Not problem- came off easy. But he still has sweaters, home only. Gym, too. Practice. So many at home, though. Both homes.”

“Hates going to parties anyway. Not good at being celebrity. Good at hockey.” Rozanov's lips twisted into a smile. “So fucking good. Good friend, I think, to still go to parties he hates. And listen to everyone’s boring problems. Good boyfriend, to-”

He froze. Rozanov’s eyes traveled slowly- painfully slow- from the ceiling, over to Hayden. It was as if he’d just remembered he wasn’t alone, that the conversation wasn’t actually for his and the ceiling’s very tight-lipped ears only.

There was panic there, a raw shine to them that Hayden thought might not be as unfamiliar as he would have guessed, before a wave of some emotion passed over his face.

Then, he did something downright terrifying.

He beamed. Like fucking sunshine.

“Oh, but you know!”

It took Hayden a second to realize he was actually expected to answer. “Uh, yeah. I know that you’re...” He still didn’t love saying the word.

“Ah,” Rozanov’s head fell backwards onto the couch, smile still gigantic on his face. “You know about my boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Hayden said, slowly, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as he was.

“He is wonderful boyfriend.”

“Oh. Uh. That... makes sense?” Huh?

Rozanov didn’t linger on his weird answer.

“He folds his clothes second he takes them off. You know?”

He did not.

“Drinks the worst smoothies, then has to kiss until mouth doesn’t taste like old grass. Very funny. Kicks like dog in sleep, too, and does not believe me.”

“That’s....”

“Very funny, too. On purpose. Nobody knows this.”

“I know that,” Hayden pointed out, and was ignored.

“Very mean, in good way. Hot way.”

“Ew.”

“And hot, just always. Very hot. You know.”

Hayden was trying to ignore all of this, at this point.

“Is patient. And strong. And lets me sleep when wakes at stupid hours. And never gets bored of listening to uninteresting stories of the blah blah blah and family. Is nice to carry. Loves so much.”

He let out a long breath, eyes flickering closed.

And Hayden was still sitting there in shock, because he hadn’t heard the man say even half the amount of nice things about anyone in his entire career. He had a strong urge to make sure that he hadn’t accidentally mixed up his medication somehow.

Rozanov’s face shifted silently, pinching into something closer to the soup crying version of himself from the night before. Nope, nope, not doing that again.

“Do you want to, uh, call Shane?” Hayden offered.

“No. Will be at gym, training. Too many people.”

Hayden glanced at the time. He was definitely right.

Damn it was weird that he knew that. Except, okay, not actually.

And- he was fighting having the thought, but he must have been getting soft- it was really fucking sad, wasn’t it? Knowing you had to catch the person you loved (okay, no, that was still weird, not saying that one again) when they were totally alone or not get to see them at all?

“Later, I guess,” Hayden said instead of any of them.

Rozanov’s hum was the only sign that he’d even heard him, and he kept his eyes closed, head still leaning far back on the top of the couch.

Enough time had gone by that Hayden could have convinced himself the conversation hadn’t really happened, and had pretty much moved on to the very important topic of food, when Rozanov opened his eyes and his mouth again.

He looked more focused, was Hayden’s first thought. Still not the way he did on the ice (thank God, actually), but like he’d woken up some.

The second thought he had was oh, fuck you, because the words out of Rozanov’s mouth were “You wanted to fuck him, yes?”

“What?” He said instead.

“Shane. Hollander. You wanted to fuck him. When you met him, maybe? Or did it happen after?” When Hayden stayed frozen, he kept going. “Before your wife, I think, but could be wrong. I mean, you are married, and you still want to fuck him a little.”

“I- I’ve never-” Hayden took a breath, and was absolutely horrified that it sounded so shaky. “Fuck you, Rozanov. Fuck your cold, and fuck this house, and- Fuck!”

He was halfway to the backdoor before his brain started kicking back in enough to do anything more but keep cursing him out. Like wonder if it looked bad, to be that upset about it. To wonder, just a little bit, why he was so upset about it. But, as Rozanov’s groan came, warning him the man was hauling himself off the couch, those questions could honestly go fuck themselves too, because Hayden was not doing this.

The grass crunched under his feet. He hadn’t put on shoes- hasn’t even put on socks like normal, because Shane was keeping the house so goddamn hot. Now the February frost was cutting through the haze of panic (yes, okay, it was panic more than it was anger. It was anger too, though), and he was outside like an idiot, and Rozanov was- yup- still following him.

He could hear the man moving in the house, getting closer, then the noise stopped. Hayden stayed still, feeling like the stupid, sad meerkat in that nature show Jacki had basically tricked him into watching by lying about how much fucking death was in that thing.

The silence was suddenly worse than whatever Ilya fucking Rozanov was going to say to him, and Hayden turned, deciding, with a vicious sort of glee, that he was going to clock him.

Rozanov was leaning against the open door. He lifted one eyebrow, but didn’t look nearly as hostile or as cocky as Hayden had pictured him. Instead, he looked like he was waiting for something.

Hayden relaxed his hands without really deciding to.

“You can admit to wanting to fuck him,” Rozanov said, and Hayden was no, he was definitely sure this time, going to punch him directly in the face. “He is beautiful.” His expression hardened for a fraction of a second, and he held up a warning hand. “You cannot fuck him. Ever. But you can want to. Is normal.”

“That’s not normal,” Hayden argued.

“Being gay is not normal?” Rozanov’s eyebrow raised again. “Did you tell your good friend Shane Hollander that?”

“No, that’s- Fuck you, I’m not gay. And I wouldn’t have ever said- I’m a good friend. I’m here because I’m a good friend! I didn’t have to come here and-”

“Yes, yes,” Rozanov waved him off. “Very good friend, staying in this big, nice house. Not important. I just thought you might want to talk about it, instead of moping.”

“I-” Hayden ran a hand down his face. All of this was so wrong he didn’t even know where to start.

When he looked back at Rozanov, something about his expression was different. Softer, he realized, dimly. Not like he was with Shane- nowhere close- but something closer to that than the person he was used to.

“I know,” Rozanov gestured to himself, like he was the leading expert in all thing wanting-to-fuck-Shane-Hollander (wait- he kind of was). “Shane is very hot and very talented and impossible not to fall in love with, even when very bad idea. I don’t hate you because you know this. Why you hate me.”

Hayden’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He should’ve said it again- he wasn’t gay, he wasn’t interested even a little bit in his best friend, he’d never thought about any of that before this exact moment and he wasn’t going to think about it even once after this conversation ended.

But he didn’t.

Why didn’t he?

Hayden swallowed.

Without his permission, his mind focused in, replaying what he could remember of his first training session with Shane Hollander. How long is took to talk to him, how he’d thought, even then, that he’d never even been that nervous to talk to a girl. Trying to show off enough, those first few games, he’d nearly lost them for the whole team. How giddy he’d been, even years later, when Shane agreed to come to his house for dinner. How nuts he’d gone, the first time Shane had gotten in his car, the first time Shane had agreed to come to a club, the first time Shane had talked to him first.

That’s how it was, when you were a fan of someone. Obviously. Shane Hollander was a big deal, even when they’d first met.

It was normal. It had always been just. Normal.

He looked up at Rozanov, who looked unexpectedly patient, watching him spiral out like it was perfectly natural.

Could he really...?

“I do not hate you for wanting him once,” Rozanov said, again, shrugging. “I hate you because you are bad hockey player. And very nosey.”

Hayden blinked.

He almost laughed.

“Yeah, fuck you.”

They went back inside.

They didn’t talk about it again, once they were in the house. Hayden made eggs that didn’t totally suck, and Rozanov complained about them anyway and either promised to cook the next morning or bragged hard enough that Hayden was going to make him, Rozanov texted Shane while Hayden very purposefully did not, and they watched TV that neither of them were paying attention to.

But when he got in the shower, hot water soothing the swelling of his ankle and cutting through the numb feeling linger through him, his brain returned to the thing he’d been trying to forget he’d even let himself start thinking about.

Did he have a crush on Shane Hollander?

It was a ridiculous thought. Like, what? Someone tells you you want to... you know... with a guy, and suddenly you do? That doesn’t happen out of nowhere. He was letting Rozanov get in his head, and he hated himself for it.

Also- why wouldn’t Ilya Rozanov hate him, if he did have a crush? Was he not a threat or something? Or did he just not care enough about Shane to be jealous? As if someone couldn’t take Shane away from him just by being a decent person and hotter than Rozanov- imagine his face if he realized he was wrong and he lost Shane all because he was too overconfident to put a little effort in and take care of him instead of- okay, what the hell was going on and why was he so mad? The thought of Rozanov not being a- what? Attentive enough boyfriend?- and knowing how lucky he was was making Hayden so angry he was thinking about punching him again, when (hate it or not) he had all the evidence pointing in totally the opposite direction. That man was clingy as hell and obviously cared more about Shane than anybody else in his life. Maybe unhealthily, Hayden thought, nastily.

Which. Speaking of evidence.

Hayden closed his eyes with a low sigh.

Speaking of evidence. Maybe this was pointing to not.... totally friendly feelings.

The water was losing its heat, but he stayed there anyway, running through a list in his head, testing himself. It brought him to an answer that looked something like this:

He had a crush, when he met Shane. The same kind of crush you got on people you didn’t expect to meet, that didn’t really mean anything. But then they had met, and, yes, maybe it had been sort of like an actual crush after awhile. And maybe it had never totally gone away, because he didn’t want to know it was there at all.

But he loved his wife. He wasn’t jealous of Ilya Rozanov, he was happy his friend was in love- had been, when he didn’t know anything at all about who it was or what it meant, and would have been, he thought, no matter who it wound up being. He liked his life. But

There was, maybe, a little ‘what if’, and it did, maybe, chafe sometimes. Especially with Rozanov right there. Even when he was pretending he never thought about it, Hayden realized, he did wonder. Just sometimes.

But that didn’t actually mean he wanted anything to change. He wouldn’t ever want to leave Jacki, or his kids. He didn’t want run away with Shane or anything crazy like that. He loved his friendship with Shane just as it was (minus Rozanov).

Hayden stepped out of the shower, drying off and getting dressed mechanically.

He frowned.

Maybe Rozanov was right. He was the enemy on the ice, and he was a pain in the ass. But maybe he did have some, I don’t know, grudge against him too, personally. Maybe he wasn’t fair to him. Shane would be happy, he thought, if they could be friends.

“Finally done exercising in shower?” Ilya flexed his arm knowingly, looking Hayden up and down.

Nope. This was not Hayden’s fault, actually.

Day Three

Hayden had had an amazingly Rozanov free morning, which would have been great, if it had also been a Rozanov free night. Instead, he’d started vomiting again (he shouldn’t have given him the coke, but, come one, a grown man should know whether or not he can have soda), and started burning up randomly. Hayden’d had to sit with him and nearly fell asleep in the chair instead of dragging himself back up to his bed at 1am.

Then, he still hadn’t been able to sleep, because Rozanov must have called Shane the second Hayden left, and had apparently kept him on the phone the entire night. He’d heard them whispering the whole time he was trying to get to sleep, and it was stupidly distracting.

He couldn’t hear most of it, but a few words still came through. Mostly, Rozanov trying to convince Shane to have phone sex. He was not listening to that on purpose. His name came up, and it’s impossible not to listen in when someone says your name. Unfortunately, the next time his name came up it was Rozanov’s “you want to be loud enough that Pike hears you” and, uh. Shane’s response wasn’t what he was. Expecting.

Anyway.

They had been.... talking, for hours, and his tossing and turning was enough proof of that.

Not to mention, Rozanov was literally still holding his cell phone, cradled in his hand like he’d fallen asleep and just froze like that.

Shane better not be too tired to play today, was Hayden’s first thought. Then, ears hot, he put Shane out of his head altogether, until he could drink enough to forget everything he heard the night before.

Rozanov woke up eventually, and when he did, it was obvious there was a problem.

He barely complained about the eggs and toast Hayden put in front of him, even though they were cold from sitting and waiting for him to finally open his eyes, which would have been the first sign something was up anyway, but he also never ate them. Or, more accurately, he never managed to actually go through with eating them. He watched Rozanov bring the egg to hit lips, hesitate, and put the fork back down, then pick it up and start playing with his food again.

“Eggs not good enough for you?” Hayden asked.

“No, they are terrible.”

Hayden turned the TV on, partially for an excuse to stop watching Rozanov and accidentally seeing something that was going to be his problem. They’d been watching a shitty reality TV show (not on purpose or anything. It had come on, in Hayden’s button mashing, and they had just sort of sat there and let it keep being on. He didn’t even know who any of these people are, or why they were trying to date each other. Except those two actors from that film franchise and the teen action show. Also, that total bitch Estelle, who kept trying to get in the way of the other couples during the whole last episode), and the next episode was already queued up. When it started, Hayden saw Rozanov flinch. He held in a sigh.

Glancing over, he could tell the man’s face wasn’t giving anything away- or, was trying not to give anything away. He had his normal unimpressed, flat, kind of judgy expression, but there was something thin about it. God, was he someone who could kind of read Ilya Rozanov now? He had not signed up for that.

The show recapped a screaming match, and Rozanov flinched again, hand coming up to rub at his head. Hayden paused it.

“Okay, man. What’s wrong with you?’

“Been dying to ask me that question, haven’t you?”

Hayden rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a headache, is that all?”

Rozanov looked away from him. “I am fine.”

“Bullshit. Come on. Like you keep saying, I’m here to take care of you, however both of us wish I weren’t, and if you die on my watch everyone is going to be pissed.” Shane is going to be pissed was so obvious it didn’t even need to be said.

“I am not going to die, Pike.” He gave Hayden a look pantomiming apology. Hands up in a shrug, he added, “If I had headache, what? You bring me to doctor for something children get all the time? Do you run your children to urgent care for a cough? No big deal.”

“Yeah, I’d agree with you, but you’re already sick. Seems kind of dumb to pretend you’re not-”

Rozanov shook his head, then flinched again, reached up to hold it.

“See! There!” Hayden said, probably way louder than he needed to. We’ll say that wasn’t on purpose. “You’re also not eating. That’s a bad sign.”

“Not eating- fine. I will eat bad eggs if it makes you shut up.” Rozanov grabbed the fork, glowering, and kept eye contact with Hayden as he shoveled one of the eggs into his mouth.

“I told you,” Hayden said, minutes later, from outside the bathroom Rozanov was currently throwing up in. At least he’d managed to get to the toilet.

“Shut,” gagged again from inside the room. “up.”

Hayden hovered while Rozanov made his way back to the couch, feeling like he should probably be, I don’t know, supporting him in some way. In the light, Rozanov was paler than usual and the deep bags under his eyes made him look like a skull. He definitely didn’t look like a man who should be up walking around, which is what he was determined to be, since he walked right past the couch.

“Sit down,” Hayden called. He wasn’t even all that surprised that he got ignored. “You should go back to sleep. Oh- you should probably take another pill too, right?”

He picked up his phone, ready to scroll back to Shane’s (intensely detailed) instructions, but Rozanov’s “No!” broke his concentration.

“Are you really trying to pretend you don’t feel like shit?”

Rozanov wouldn’t look at him.

“Your bad cooking made me throw up. That seems like your fault. I don’t need pill.”

“My cooking was fine and you know it.” Hayden crossed his arms. “Just take the pill already and get some rest, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

Surprisingly, Rozanov didn’t move in the time it took Hayden to grab the little container of pills. He seemed to have frozen completely, still standing there, partway to the stairs, leaning against the wall in a way that might have looked casual if he didn’t also look like he was in pain.

Hayden took a few strides over to him, staying an arms length away just out of instinct. He reached out, pill in hand.

Rozanov looked away from him again, but his expression was already clear on his face before he could hide it. There was genuine fear in his eyes.

He knew he didn’t like the pills. That was obvious from the first time the whole medication thing had come up. But Hayden’d assumed it was more about being stubborn than anything else.

“I do not need them,” Rozanov said, voice sharp.

Fuck, he was becoming someone who could kind of read Rozanov, wasn’t he? Because this wasn’t regular asshole Ilya Rozanov, and he really wished it were so he didn’t have to feel bad about watching him try to pretend to be.

“Why won’t you just take it? It’s one pill. The other ones have been fine, right?” There were no obvious reasons why he’d be so against it, not from what Hayden had seen.

Rozanov didn’t answer immediately. Then, still not fully looking at Hayden, he said, “I do not like pills.”

Well, yeah. But something about his voice made it feel more like a confession than the statement of fact that it was.

“You’re not going to feel better unless you take it.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Maybe if you’d actually slept last night you could’ve avoided all this.”

Rozanov’s drawn expression changed, slowly, to a smirk. Damnit. Hayden knew it was a mistake right away, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Ah.”

“I’m just saying,” He started.

“Were you listening, then?” Both eyebrows raised, smirk fully there now. “You didn’t sleep much either, then. Did you have good dreams?”

Hayden was absolutely not blushing because that would be a stupid response and also he had done nothing wrong and also Ilya Rozanov would not let him live it down if he were, so he was not.

“Speaking of Shane,” He said, because it was the first thing he thought of (and he was not looking at Rozanov to see what his face was doing now that it was obvious Shane had been on his mind). “I get that you’re going to ignore anything I say, so maybe it’s time for a call.”

The change was immediate- Rozanov straightened, face serious.

“No.”

Hayden had enough time to think that’s not what I was expecting... before Rozanov said, “He has game in this afternoon. He needs to focus.”

“And to sleep,” Hayden muttered. He raised his voice again to say, “His game isn’t for hours, and I’m not going to keep arguing with you- it’s not fair when you’re not on your game, it’s like fighting with an angry toddler.”

If he didn’t know Ilya Rozanov, he might have said he was fighting a smile.

“If he needs to train, he’ll just say that. Shane takes that shit seriously, he’s not going to put a phone call over hockey.”

Except, Hayden was trying not to think, he might. If it’s Rozanov.

Rozanov was thinking the same thing, evidently, because he was shaking his head again.

“I will sleep, if that makes you be quiet.”

It wasn’t a good compromise, but it was better than trying to figure out how hard it would be to drag Rozanov back onto the couch if he passed out where he was, so Hayden took it. And then, because Rozanov didn’t tell him what to do, he stepped away, put a few rooms of distance between them, and called Shane.

“Hey, Hayd.” After a pause, “Uh, is something up?”

Hayden realized, with a still distant burn of embarrassment that was definitely going to be haunting him tonight, that he'd completely forgotten what he was doing when he heard Shane's voice. The question of do I have an incredibly gay crush on my best friend that I've been ignoring the hell out of for years and should probably handle like a grown- married- adult? was back in full swing, and it was even less helpful this time around, because he had shit to do (also, he would wrestle Rozanov on the ice before he'd have that particular soul searching session in front of Shane).

“Yeah, yeah, of course, man," Hayden managed, though he sounded fake even to himself. He cleared his throat and tried to reel it in. "Well, I mean, no, actually. It's not a huge deal or anything, but you wanted me here to watch Rozanov in case anything happened, so I thought I might as well-”

"Hayd,” Shane cut in. There was a thin edge of worry in his voice. "what's going on?”

Hayden let out a breath.

“Again,” He said, already wondering if this was a bad idea. “it’s not a big deal. He’s not dying or anything.”

“Hayden.”

Okay, not the most comforting thing to say, that was his bad.

“He probably told you he had a fever last night. He doesn’t have one anymore, so that’s good. But he woke up this morning with a headache that seems pretty bad, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

Shane was quiet for long enough that Hayden had just started to wonder if the call dropped.

“No, I didn’t know that. Wow.” Shane was a bad actor, and that had never been truer than right then. (Hayden would have said he was a bad liar in general. But apparently he’d been proven pretty wrong there, so). “Is that, uh, situation something I should be worried about? Is there anything I can do?”

He was in front of people, Hayden realized. Probably, Shane was at a gym, or got pressured into hanging out awkwardly with one of the guys, trying not to look at whoever he was with while he figured out how to have this conversation.

For not the first time, Hayden felt the sad unfairness of it.

“No, he’s resting and he’ll probably be fine with sleep as long as he actually stays on the couch. The problem is the pills.”

“Yeah, he,” He heard Shane let out a breath. “He doesn’t like them.”

“I got that,” Hayden said.

Shane didn’t seem like he was going to say any more about it. He had a feeling he wouldn't, even if weren’t trying to talk in code.

“Okay, but whether he likes the pills or not, you made me swear on my own grave that I’d make sure he took them when he needed to. Having worse symptoms and pain and stuff is the whole reason you’re supposed to take them. He should be taking an extra at this point, not acting like he’s Superman.”

“I didn’t make you swear on your own grave.”

“Eh, it was implied.”

“Thanks for calling me, Hayden.”

It wasn’t even a minute later that Rozanov’s annoying as hell ringtone started blaring from rooms away.

Hayden walked the distance back as slowly as he could. He lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes for no real reason until he realized he was acting like he was guilty which was so ridiculous he needed Rozanov to know that it wasn’t the case.

Rozanov was still laying on the couch, phone above his head, but he turned his face towards Hayden when he walked into the room.

He mouthed something that looked like “narc”.

“Who taught you that word?”

He shrugged. “I watch TV.”

He could hear Shane on the other end of the phone, loud enough that he had to have been alone now. “Hey.”

“What? Pike is interrupting. I am listening. I hear you freaking out for no reason, when I am-”

“Do not say you’re fine, Ilya. I know taking the pills suck, but what if you get worse? What if I get another call from you at the hospital because you’re being stubborn?”

New discovery of the day, Hayden noted- Shane had a stern boyfriend voice.

“I will not go to hospital,” Rozanov argued, but he was grumbling, already backing down. “I am fine.”

“And what about when you pass out again because your head hurts too much?”

Rozanov didn’t say anything.

Shane sighed. “Just let me take care of you.”

He watched Rozanov deflate, all the fight out of him. He ran a finger over the edge of the phone, featherlight, voice so quiet Hayden barely heard it.

“I wish you would.”

He took the pill. Both pills, because miracles did, it turned out, sometimes happen, they were just never the fun ones.

Rozanov passed out into a heavy sleep that seemed like it was going to keep him down for a few hours, and Hayden took the opportunity to leave the house. It felt like a little vacation- actually going out into the sun and shopping at a grocery store.

He tried to call Jacki on the drive over, but she didn’t pick up.

Halfway through his scrawled list, his ankle started burning in a way that meant he should probably get off it as soon as humanly possible, so he limped his way to the check out and then limped his way to the car too, wishing he’d parked closer.

He sat in front of Shane’s house, listening to the phone ring. Still busy, he guessed.

“Hey, Jacks,” He said to his wife’s voicemail. “I just wanted to check in since we didn’t talk yesterday. Is Mike still being a dick? Nevermind- not what I wanted to say. I just miss you. And the kids. Anyway. Call me when you get a chance, I want to hear about the trip. I love you.”

Rozanov was still asleep when he came in and haphazardly put away the groceries, but he could hear him talking to himself once he was standing still in the kitchen. He popped his head into the living room to see Rozanov start trying to get off the couch.

“Where are you going?’

Rozanov squinted at him. “Bed.”

“You’re already in bed, Rozanov.”

“No. On couch.”

“Yeah, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Rozanov shook his head, looking confused and annoyed. It was disturbingly close to a pout. “I don’t want couch. Alone on couch.”

“Uh. Well, I was going to eat a sandwich in there,” Hayden said, lamely.

Rozanov didn’t look exactly satisfied, but apparently mollified enough to let himself fall back into the couch.

He made the world’s fastest sandwich- which wasn’t fast enough for Rozanov, who was coming through the kitchen doorway by the time Hayden was stashing the meat and cheese in the fridge.

“What are you doing?”

Rozanov was still frowning. “I can be in kitchen.”

Hayden took a deep breath. “Fine, just sit down.”

Surprisingly, Rozanov did without any arguing. Hayden put his sandwich on the table and sat in the chair next to him.

In the course of that sandwich, Rozanov fell asleep four times. Of the four, three of those times were on Hayden’s arm or shoulder. How had that even happened?

“Should be in Shane’s bed,” He kept complaining, words slurred from barely moving his lips. “My bed too.”

“Shane said no stairs,” Hayden didn’t know why he insisted on answering every time.

Thankfully, he stayed down while Hayden washed his plate, and was awake enough to shuffle after him when he started towards the living room.

He watched Rozanov wrap the blanket around himself, depositing himself firmly on the couch, before putting the glass of water down in front of him and taking his place in the chair.

The reality show had always been watched in silence before, both of them with the weak pretense that they weren’t paying any attention. This time, though, Rozanov had plenty to say.

“He does not deserve her!” He kept telling the screen- the times he was actually awake, which worked out to be about half of every episode.

Hayden accidentally let a “come on!” slip out at some point (perfectly reasonable), and Rozanov honest to god smiled at him.

“Come on!” He repeated in agreement, and took a long sip of his water.

After the first episode, Hayden risked bringing in some crackers. They were good crackers, the kind with rosemary that Jacki always kept in the house. And, yeah, maybe Rozanov could manage to eat them if he was feeling better. It was a good test, right? So he could tell Shane.

Rozanov let out a long, loud groan when one of the girls (Estelle, of course) tried to sabotage someone’s date and get the guy to choose her as his match for the night.

Hayden heard the crunch of another one of the crackers.

“Jacki likes that guy,” Hayden said. “he’s an actor.”

Rozanov grunted in acknowledgement, too focused, he guessed, to say anything else.

“Really, it’s just because she thinks he’s cute.” Hayden hesitated, then added, “I like him too.”

The implication sat there in the air between them.

“You have terrible taste in men.”

Hayden let out a breath, whole body relaxing, until he was laughing.

“Am trying to watch TV, Pike.”

And it shouldn’t have felt this good, having his big revelation ignored. But Rozanov was over there being a prick and acting like it was normal, and it- god, it did feel normal. It felt kind of great.

Hayden made himself turn away, back to the screen and the hot tub and the desperate contestants. He hated to say it, but he maybe sort of got it. Why Shane had to pick Ilya Rozanov out of everyone in the world.

Why an asshole like that would have made Shane feel safe enough to do something so crazy as show him the vulnerable parts of himself.

He glanced back over at him. Ilya Rozanov was an asshole. That was a fact. But Hayden was starting to realize he wasn’t just an asshole. He was 31 flavors of asshole, and he was pretty sure Shane knew how to read all of them.

Day Four

Hayden didn’t regret all of his life choices when he woke up, so the days started pretty good, compared to the rest of them.

Rozanov was back to normal (shame) that morning, and he ate his eggs without incident, other than calling Hayden afraid of seasoning.

At some point, Rozanov asked about Hayden’s family, the Pikes he made it clear he preferred to Hayden himself, and for some reason the whole thing about stupid fucking Mike had come up, and now Rozanov was sitting there, nodding at him, while he ranted.

“And I know you’re probably going to say it’s my fault for challenging him on it, but I couldn’t let him keep doing it, so if that makes me the ass here then I guess I’m the ass. But I don’t like how he talks to my wife, and I don’t like how he treats Jacki’s sister like she doesn’t have her own opinions, and someone should have beat that guy up way before now.”

Rozanov just nodded. “Yes.”

Hayden stopped. “What?”

“Yes, he sounds terrible. Even worse than you. Your wife is surrounded by horrible men, I feel very bad for you.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“But you were right, to fight him.”

“Tell my wife that.”

“Jacki is not stupid,” Rozanov shrugged. “She knows you are right. She is just trying to not make her sister unhappy too.”

“Yeah. I probably could have found a better way to deal with it, without causing such a big thing between them.”

“Yes,” Rozanov agreed, flatly. “but punching him in the face is more satisfying.”

Hayden made Rozanov his weird soup, and he ordered himself dumplings from an Asian Streetfood place that delivered in 15 minutes or less, and they watched the finale of the terrible reality show (Estelle should not have won, they were both in agreement on that) and then started the second season that it absolutely shouldn’t have been renewed for. Rozanov even took his pill with minimum fighting.

He was steadier on his feet than he had been the whole time Hayden’d been staying with him, and he ignored Hayden telling him to sit back down enough times that Hayden finally stopped telling him to when he realized he wasn’t about to fall over.

“You should call your wife” Rozanov told him, then started wiping down the tables.

“Why are you cleaning? You’ve been sleeping for like 48 hours, now all the sudden you’re the maid?”

He glowered at him. “Call your wife and stop talking to me.”

He called his wife.

“Hey, baby!” Jacki sounded happy. God, it felt so good to hear her voice. “Sorry I haven’t called you back. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing- I just missed you. And I won’t say it-”

“Mike’s being a dick,” She told him anyway. “And I got into a fight with him already, so now we’re both on the shit list.”

“Oh good, it was getting lonely on it all alone.”

Jacki laughed. “And it took you three years before you snapped. I had two days without you as a buffer and I couldn’t make it.”

“Is Georgie pissed?”

“Georgie’s always pissed these days. She’ll get over it. Especially when she has way more fun when we host the family trip.”

“Oh, is that how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

“Okay, I can get behind that! But first- tell me everything. What am I missing?”

It was 40 minutes before got off the phone again, and his cheeks hurt from smiling. Rozanov eyed him, before dropping back down onto the couch again.

“Now you must tell me why you look so creepy.”

“Creepy? I’m happy.”

He waved a hand like there was no difference.

“Fine- Jacki told me about the trip. It’s kind of a shit show.”

“Oh?”

Rozanov listened to him talk about the bad hotel and the way Jacki’s mother kept trying to kumbaya everyone so hard it was actually causing fights and how everyone had gotten a stomach bug they were passing around like tag. His eyes were so big he looked like he was watching another episode of a crappy competition show.

“These people sound awful.”

“Hey- this is my wife’s family, not reality TV.”

“Bah. I know that- they’d be hotter on TV.”

“Hey!”

“Not Jacki,” He corrected himself. “Jacki is-”

“Nope. Don’t say a fucking thing.”

“Are you sure you want that same gross soup?” Hayden asked on his way to the kitchen.

“No. I want big Sunday roast.”

“Whatever.”

Hayden was heating up the soup, and picking over some cold pieces of dumplings from his left over when he heard some movement.

He wasn’t worried about Rozanov falling and breaking his hip or anything anymore. He’d been walking around- cleaning- all day, and even seemed like he was going to be smart enough, for once, to stop when he needed to rest. It was, honestly, nice to not be the only one on his feet all day, especially because his ankle had seemingly remembered that it was injured. He was sure Rozanov would never in a million years admit that he even knew Hayden was supposed to be resting his ankle, but he’d been doing all but pushing Hayden into his chair every time he was supposed to be resting. It felt almost wrong to say it, but Ilya Rozanov wasn’t as combative as people took him for (when he wanted to be). The problem was, he was a bitch. But you couldn’t have everything, right?

There was another noise, and this time Hayden realized it was the sound of metal. He moved to the doorway as fast as he could, just in time to see the front door swing open, keys still in the lock.

Shane Hollander stood in the low evening sunlight, and walked, without breaking his stride, directly from the front porch to the couch, laying himself on top of Ilya Rozanov.

“Shane!”

“Ilya.” He buried his face in Rozanov’s neck. After a second, he pulled back and looked at him. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Better. So much better now.”

Shane smiled at him, glowing.

“How are you here?” Rozanov whispered.

“I took my own flight home. I said I had a family member I needed to be there for.”

“A family member, huh?’

Shane kissed him.

“You’re really okay?”

“I am really okay.” Rozanov stared at him for a second, eyes painfully soft. “I missed you.”

Shane smiled as Rozanov pressed his thumb to his freckles, leaning into his touch. “I missed you too.”

And it didn’t matter that they’d forgotten Hayden was there. It didn’t matter that there was still a lingering weirdness in his gut, or in his chest. It didn’t matter that Ilya Rozanov was an asshole.

Hayden just knew he’d never seen either of them look happier.

“Oh! Hayd.” Shane scrambled off of Rozanov, face pink. “Thanks for taking care of him. You’re a really good friend.”

Hayden put one hand on Shane’s shoulder, face serious.

“Never ask me to do this again.”