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If anyone asked Hayden Pike why he had Ilya Rozanov—the arrogant, cocky, Russian hockey player who he loathed for the better part of his entire career—added on Snapchat, he would brush it off as a mistake.
It really wasn’t, though.
—
2015
They lost to Boston tonight; 4-3. The locker room was filled with solemn, sweaty, and large bodies trudging through the mud of defeat. Shane left quickly, skinning himself clean of his protective gear and racing out of the arena before any reports could come begging for his appearance.
Hayden understood, as did most of their teammates. It was a hard loss, more devastating due to the game-winning goal from Boston being shot in the small opening of the net by none other than their smug captain; Rozanov.
When Shane bolted out of the locker room, Hayden noticed, he didn’t really match the expressions of the other guys. Heads ducked down in embarrassment, shoulders shrugged over as they sadly strip themselves of their jerseys to take a quick shower and sulk on their way home.
Shane was buzzing, like he was trying to hide a smile across his face as he scurried out the door. His ankles weren’t even fully inside of his Reebok sneakers yet, his hockey bag tossed carelessly across his shoulder, and his phone shoved haphazardly in his pocket as he strides towards the parking lot. He left, with no words to show for the shitty game his team just endured.
Hayden wanted to text, ask him if he’s okay and why he was in such a rush to get back to his lonely Montreal apartment with a smile across his face after such a horrible loss. He plucked his phone out of the top of his cubby, smiling when his device lights up with a family photo of him and Jackie at Disneyland with Ruby and Jade. He typed in the four numbers correlating to Jackie’s birthday with heavy fingers, sighing as he swipes over to open Snapchat.
“Pike!” A voice boomed at him from across the relatively silent locker room, catching the attention of himself and some of his other sulking teammates; hopeful for something to cheer up their dreadful evening.
Hayden almost snapped his neck in half looking up from his phone at Comeau, holding out his own phone in his hand and attempting to hold in a laugh.
“…Yeah?” Hayden reluctantly asks. Comeau steps towards him slowly, as if to not poke the bear.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a hater.”
Hayden furrows his eyebrows, and frowns slightly. Of course, as a hockey player in the biggest league on the planet, he was bound to have people dislike him. Fans not satisfied with his plays, or his calls as alternative captain. Coaches were disappointed in him, but the scorn on their faces mostly dissipated at practice the next morning.
Comeau laughs, and shoves his phone in Hayden’s face. The very last thing he expected was to be shown Ilya Rozanov’s Snapchat story, but that’s what he was looking at.
It was a picture of Rozanov—Hayden shudders—smirking with sweat on his forehead and a smidge of his hockey jersey showing. Most of his face was covered by some UI, the title reading ‘Swipe up for a TBH’, whatever the hell that meant. However, in white letters written across a black line, Hayden choked out the words in his head.
“Hayden Pike- i hate u.”
Hayden raised his eyebrow, ridicule written all over his face. He feels the rage pile in the bottom of his gut, Rozanov and his stupid self being stupid on a public Snapchat story. Fucking stupid. Comeau is laughing in his face now, pointing at the phone as if Hayden cannot see what’s written on the illuminated screen. Hayden scoffs as he pulls out his own phone again, going immediately to Snapchat and opening his camera.
“Show me his stupid QR code, Comeau,” Hayden sneers, and Comeau pulls the phone back to his chest with laughter. He taps on his phone a few times, and faces it back to Hayden while catching his breath.
Hayden holds out his phone camera, scanning the Snapchat QR code with Rozanov’s obnoxious Bitmoji staring back at him through the screen. Hayden scoffs once more, turning back to his cubby once Rozanov’s full profile is on his phone.
As soon as it’s scanned, Comeau walks away to show off Hayden’s humiliation ritual to all of the other teammates, gaining a smile and chuckles from the far side of the desolate locker room.
Hayden gave his teammate a side eye before locking his eyes back on the screen in front of him. The yellow ‘Add Back’ text with a plus sign next to him is setting off blaring alarms in his head.
Since when did Rozanov add him on Snapchat? And… Why?
Hayden shrugs, tapping the button begrudgingly. Once he swipes back to his home page, and Rozanov is the first user on his list—minus his pinned—he taps to the circular icon next to his obnoxiously long username.
Hayden doesn’t count how many times he has to scroll through each and every one of Rozanov’s stories over the past twenty-four hours, but it’s a lot. Random pictures of the scenery around him, pictures of him in the locker room before the game tonight, and Hayden finally reaches the series of stories where the infamous TBH’s took place.
His eyes are scanning the screen for his own name as the stories whizz past, and it takes him to the third most recent post on his public story to see it in the flesh.
He doesn’t take the time to dwell on it, or read it over and over again. He simply swipes up, and his thumbs are lightning across the keyboard as he types angrily.
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
i didn’t even swipe up?
replied to your story
Hayden can’t even bother waiting for a reply, shoving his phone deep in the pocket of his sweatpants he wears after games. Shoving the rest of his gear into the large compartment of his duffle bag, and slipping on his slides.
Before he can leave the locker room, his phone buzzes in his pocket loudly. Internally cursing at himself, he sighs and reluctantly pulls his phone out again, swiping to the notification’s origins. He scowls at his screen once he reads the message.
ILYA ROZANOV #81⚡️🐻🏒🍺🇷🇺
you just did
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
take that shit down
ILYA ROZANOV #81⚡️🐻🏒🍺🇷🇺
no
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
fuck you
ILYA ROZANOV #81⚡️🐻🏒🍺🇷🇺
ok
bring XXL condom
for me of course
Hayden shuts off his phone, flicking the ringer off with his thumb and shoves it back into the depths of his pockets. He’s shaking his head down at the floor as he strides out of the locker room, looking both ways before making a run for the exit to avoid the press.
He really wishes he was looking at the overbearing reporters right now, rather than staring at the smirk on Rozanov’s face from across the lobby of the rink. He’s walking out of his team’s locker room, backwards hat on his head and his skin glistening with sweat. He tossed a wink in Hayden’s direction, and strutted towards the exit near his end of the rink.
Hayden tried his best not to puke on the drive home, or Jackie would be fuming at him.
—
Hayden really should’ve removed Rozanov from his Snapchat after that incident.
It sort of intrigued him, though. Swiping through the stories section of his Snapchat friends and finding a good chunk of them to just be shit posts from Rozanov. It gave him leverage, if Rozanov had shit to say about him, he could quip back at him with something personal. Maybe Rozanov would chirp him on the ice, and Hayden could reply by reminding him of some idiotic thing he’d done and put on his story for the public to see.
Hayden sets his phone down on the dinner table after receiving a polite cough from Jackie. He jerks his head up, and smiles along with whatever topic of conversation he’s supposed to be having with his in-laws.
He tries to avoid the prying eyes of Jackie’s parents, poking around at the leftover food on his plate. Arthur—the newest member of their family—starts babbling around in Jackie’s arms. Hayden sees the light at the end of the tunnel; an out, and he takes it.
“Here, let me take him,” Hayden stands from his chair, reaching out to gently grasp Arthur from Jackie’s arms.
“Thanks, Hon,” Jackie smiles up at him. Hayden can’t help but fall in love all over again.
He hoists the infant in his arms, picking up his cell phone and swerving around the dinner table towards the stairs. The voices of Jackie and her parents fade into the first floor as Hayden climbs up the stairs, shushing the whining baby in his arms.
His phone is buzzing in his back pocket where he slid it before trudging up the steps, and he groans when he realizes the specific notification noise, disparate from the regular one on his phone.
Hayden settles Arthur down pretty quickly, singing a soft lullaby and turning out the lights before exiting the nursery with a soft click of a door and an exasperated sigh.
His phone illuminates in the dark hallway as he leans against the door, pulling up his Snapchat and seeing a blue box with the text New Chat next to none other than Rozanov.
Hayden wants to fucking kill the guy, whatever he has to say is not worth the air. His curiosity is piqued, though. What if he’s apologizing? He couldn’t even imagine that, never in a million years would Rozanov be caught apologizing. Warily, Hayden opens the chat to a white screen with a small bit of text coming from Rozanov.
ILYA ROZANOV #81⚡️🐻🏒🍺🇷🇺
wdyll
Hayden furrows his eyebrows. The idiot is drunk texting, spurring random letters and probably keyboard smashing Hayden as a joke, or quite frankly by accident if he’s drunk. It’s probably late in Boston, and they’d just played against Montreal not long ago.
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
what the fuck do you want
Hayden typed back quickly, scoffing and shaking his head. He could still hear Jackie with her parents downstairs, so he decides to indulge and stay cooped up to ‘’watch over Arthur’’.
ILYA ROZANOV #81⚡️🐻🏒🍺🇷🇺
answer question
Hayden screws his mouth tight, raising an eyebrow at his screen. What the fuck kind of question did he even ask?
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
fuck off rozanov
Timing seems to be on his side today, Hayden can hear the soft voices of Jackie’s parents bidding a farewell. He turns his phone on silent, and rushes down the stairs to catch her parents before they leave to thank them for coming, and probably apologize for being so lacking.
—
The night is crawling upon the open windows, and Hayden is lying in bed next to his soundly sleeping wife. He sneakily checks if she’s actually asleep; he’s fallen victim to one of her pranks before, and scoffs into the quiet atmosphere. When she doesn’t stir, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and quickly turns the brightness all the way down.
His fingers move with muscle memory, typing in Jackie’s birthday once again and opening his phone to Snapchat.
He clicks on one of his pinned users, typing up a message to the one man who never steps foot on Snapchat in the big 2015.
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
what does it mean when someone says “wdyll”?
The answer comes a lot quicker than he expects, especially this late at night in Montreal.
SHANE HOLLANDER
Why?
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
just curious
SHANE HOLLANDER
What do you look like?
Hayden raised an eyebrow. An odd request, but okay.
He sends a photo of him, flash on with his shirt off in his bed. He puts a dog filter on, sticking his tongue out as the phone snaps a picture. He watches as the Delivered changes to Opened, and Shane’s Bitmoji hesitates before typing.
SHANE HOLLANDER
No, “wdyll” means “What do you look like?”
HAYDEN PIKE 🏒🍁
oh
thanks man
see ya tomorrow
Hayden shuts his phone off in complete shame and utter embarrassment, closing his eyes and hoping the creeping image doesn’t lure in his head for the rest of the night.
—
2016
Their locker room is full of bustling bodies, shouting in victory as they’d just won the game against Boston at home; 5-2. He patted Shane on the shoulder, smiling at his best friend and commemorating him for scoring a hat trick tonight.
All of their fellow teammates reciprocated, throwing Shane into a circle and throwing him in the air like a ragdoll with all of his hockey gear still on; jersey discarded in his cubby neatly.
Everyone is chuckling and chanting, even Hayden himself gets a few pats on the back for scoring the other two goals to bring them towards the win this evening.
By the time the Metros are done tossing Shane in the air and praising him for his work tonight, and after Shane’s captain's speech to end the night, the press and reporters are waiting outside for a statement from Shane, and most likely Hayden.
He’s about to peel off his jersey before a notification comes through his phone, and Hayden immediately recognizes the sound. He hopes, and prays, that the notification isn’t filled with obnoxious emojis. But, alas, it is.
Reluctantly he opens the app, in red writing is New Snap next to Rozanov’s name on his list. Hayden sighs, but warily opens the snap to a picture of Rozanov. He’s… noticeably lacking a top, and grinning at the screen with a sweaty body on display. A messily written ‘S’ is plastered on the screen, and Hayden grimaces at the sight.
He furrowed his eyebrows and frowned, somehow Rozanov still managed to get under his skin even after a victory for his team. He is not starting a streak with Ilya fucking Rozanov.
Hayden tossed his phone in the upper compartment of his cubby, and sat down to strap off the rest of his protective gear.
“Why is this dude trying to start a streak with me?”
Comeau’s voice breaks the silence, earning a curious stare from Shane and Hayden; the only two left still stripping themselves of their gear before hopping in the shower. He was stalling for the reporters, and Hayden can assume Shane was too.
“Who?” Shane stood up from his seat, walking over to where Comeau was standing in the middle of the muggy room. Hayden is surprised Shane even knows what a Snapchat streak is.
When Comeau flipped the phone to face Shane, eyebrows raised at the question, Hayden swore Shane went red in his cheeks.
Hayden could see the glimpse of Rozanov plastered across the screen of Comeau’s phone, the very same snap he had received a few moments ago. He’d probably sent it to all the Metros he somehow got ahold of being friends with on Snapchat, and Hayden scoffed.
He wasn’t the only one who made a noise with his mouth at the photo, because he swore he could hear a gasp escape Shane’s mouth. Not filled with hostility or annoyance like Hayden; no.
He looked almost flushed. Granted, they had just played a hard hockey game and sweat was still coating Shane’s forehead and hair, but it was a look he’d never seen on Shane’s face before.
“You alright there, cap?” Comeau asks before Hayden can, and Shane shakes his head to bring himself back to reality.
“Yep, just—weird,” Shane gives Comeau a reassuring smile, and quickly strips from the rest of his gear and walks out the door to face the press within a matter of thirty seconds.
Hayden raises an eyebrow, but continues to pack his hockey bag and follow Shane to give statements to reporters. He expected to walk out and be greeted by a journalist hoping to get an interview with him and Shane together—captain and alternative captain together—but Shane was nowhere to be found.
“I guess it’s just you today, Mr. Pike!” A reporter—a lady who Hayden has grown accustomed to being interviewed by for the past few years—beams at him as soon as he exits the locker room.
Hayden shrugs, and lines up in front of the camera with a smile on his face. Totally not thinking about why his best friend—Shane Hollander—was going red at a stupid picture of Ilya Rozanov.
—
Christmas had come and went like a flash for Hayden. Him and Jackie were… more than generous this year with the gifts. With Ruby and Emma being three and Arthur being one, he had to make it memorable for them.
A lot—really, a truck full—of presents, and a nice dinner cooked by his wonderful wife later, Christmas was over. That means hockey is back in, and Hayden relishes being on the ice again.
Hayden’s carpooling with Shane to practice today, eager to hear about his holiday endeavours with his family in Ottawa. When Shane enters the passenger seat of his SUV, he’s met with a version of his best friend he hasn’t met yet.
Shane looks miserable. His hood covering his head from the snow doesn’t immediately come off as he enters the vehicle, he has visible eye bags and it almost looks like he’s been… crying?
Despite being friends for a good chunk of their lives, Hayden hasn’t really reached this point in his friendship with Shane. Yes, when Hayden’s dog died when he was nineteen and a rookie, Shane did comfort him. Yes, when Hayden shattered his knee and was out for half a season, Shane was there for him.
Shane didn’t really show this side of him, at least not with Hayden. It’s almost as if he’s experiencing sadness for the first time in his life, he’s sulking in the passenger seat and Hayden has no idea what to do about it.
Hayden starts up the car as Shane buckles himself in, thanking Hayden for the ride and immediately going back to frowning. He’s never looked so small to Hayden, he’s normally been seen as Captain of the Montreal Metros, the Shane Hollander. Now, he’s just Shane, and he’s never looked so small.
As Hayden pulls out of the driveway, he takes a chance to glance at Shane. He’s looking at his phone like a bomb is going to go off, and if he replies to an upcoming message it’ll spare the planet. Hayden frowns, he’s never seen his best friend this distraught before.
“You okay, buddy?” Hayden can’t help but ask. It’s the least he could do, Shane was sitting in his car looking like a crumpled leaf.
Shane is shocked to hear his voice, immediately sitting up straight and gathering himself as if he’s been caught.
“Yeah, totally!” He tries to convince Hayden, pulling his hands further into the sleeves of his hoodie, “just cold.”
“Okay,” Hayden says, still skeptical, but lets it slide. It’s fucking freezing.
“Just—“ he begins, wondering on how to even approach this conversation. He turns the heat up, toying with the dials to try and think of what to say as Shane awaits his reply. “—If you need anything, you can always talk to me.”
For the first time since he entered the vehicle, Shane smiles.
“Thank you,” he nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Hayden figured he looked too upset to talk before practice started. Maybe another day.
“Of course, man. I’m always here,” he assured Shane, reaching over and patting him on the back. He replied with a hum, going back to staring out the passenger window.
Before they knew it, they were at the rink. It was a short drive from Hayden’s house, and an even shorter one from Shane’s. They walk through the doors and the aroma of ice and rubber fills Hayden’s nostrils, he smiles. Shane is trailing behind him when they reach their respective stalls, getting into their hockey gear with the rest of the team to get straight into practice.
“Dude, you seen Rozanov’s stories recently?” Comeau piped up from beside Hayden, pulling his jersey over his head with a phone in his free hand. Hayden raises his eyebrows, scoffing.
“What is your obsession with that asshat?” Hayden spits, tossing his hockey bag on the floor and taking off his jacket.
He hears a shudder from behind him, but Comeau is shoving a phone screen in his face.
It’s a picture of Rozanov, he’s laying flat on his bed with a black and white filter on, some sad music playing on a loop with a broken heart emoji painting the top of the screen.
Jesus, why is everyone so damn depressed. It’s Christmas, for fucks sake!
“So?” Hayden turns away from Comeau, taking off his hat and taking out his protective gear. “Let him be sad!”
Comeau shrugs, putting his phone away and buckling his helmet on his head. Hayden rolls his eyes, facing towards Shane as he straps on his protective shin pads.
God, if he thought the car ride here was the worst he’s seen Shane, he was very wrong.
He was bent over while sitting in his cubby, arms resting on his knees and his head in his hands. It didn’t even look like he was breathing.
“You good, man?” Hayden asks again, comfortingly patting Shane on the back. He spooks Shane like an alley cat, the captain rises from his spot and—
Shane faces him for less than a second, but Hayden swore he saw tear tracks on his cheeks.
Hayden hears a sniffle, and then Shane is putting on the rest of his gear as fast as he can before bolting it out of the locker room. He even forgot to take off his skate guards.
Hayden frowns, hoping that his words from earlier stick to Shane, and that he’ll come to Hayden for anything. Because this—whatever is going on with Shane—isn’t nothing.
—
2017
The rest of the season went by quick, and suddenly it was summer, and suddenly Hayden had a new baby. Amber was born a couple weeks ago, and he’s still soaking up all the newborn feels with Jackie.
After ghosting his entire inner circle for almost a month—and now that it’s summer—he gives Shane a call. He hadn’t heard from his best friend since before his child was born, and he’s dying to gloat to anyone else but Jackie about how adorable his newborn baby was.
He knew Shane was at his family cottage in the middle of nowhere in Quebec, doing some silent retreat to ease his nerves… or whatever. Hayden completely ignored the silent part of his retreat, ringing him on a Tuesday afternoon.
The call was not what he was expecting.
It lasted about three minutes, with a series of obscene noises coming from the other end of the line. He knew Shane muted his phone once or twice, the line going dead and Hayden figured he hung up—or had been forced to. He swore he could hear heavy breathing other than Shane, but that was impossible. He was alone, on a silent retreat. Why on earth would someone else be there?
After Shane had hung up on him, he couldn't help but to stare into the void for a few moments. Recollecting his thoughts, he goes into dad-mode. Was Shane okay? Did he get kidnapped or held for ransom at his own cottage? Why was he acting so… weird?
Hayden thought the worst, and then some. He swiped out of the phone app and into Snapchat, going immediately to Shane’s contact information. His smiling Bitmoji with a Metros jersey fills his screen, and he scrolls down to his location.
‘This user is not sharing their location with you.’
Hayden sighs, but still clicks on the map to be sure. He pinches the map outward from his location, aiming it to where he knows the cottage is. And—
What the fuck?
There’s people on his Snap map in Quebec, sure. A few of his cousins and distant family, old friends he hasn’t reconnected with in years.
But in the flesh, hovering over the cottage location on Hayden’s Snapchat map, is Ilya Rozanov.
Him with his stupid Bitmoji, smirking and winking at him through the screen with a Boston jersey on.
Hayden swears his heart stops for a few seconds.
He can’t do anything other than try to regulate his breathing and stare at the illuminating screen. He double checks and then triple checks that yes; that is the general location of Shane’s cottage. So, why the fuck was Ilya Rozanov in the middle of butt-fuck Quebec, specifically at Shane Hollander’s family cottage?
Hayden’s mind raced through a million possibilities. They’d both been kidnapped, being held for ransom and Shane’s weird call to Hayden was more of a cry for help. Or—Hayden tries not to let his mind dwell—Rozanov was the one who kidnapped Shane, probably breaking his bones so he would be out for the upcoming season. They’d never win the cup again if that happened.
He swipes out of the app, back to the green phone icon and clicks on his most recent caller. It rings five times, before beeping with Shane’s voicemail. Fuck.
Calling Ilya Rozanov is the last thing Hayden wants to do, but he considers it for a minute. Only a minute, before sliding his phone in his pocket and grabbing his keys, yelling at Jackie he’ll be back home soon with dinner.
Hayden is about an hour out from the cottage, and he’d been there before. Albeit, it’s been a few years, but he knows the general location and his SUV has built in navigation. Thank God.
He revs the vehicle, pulling it out of the driveway before his seatbelt is even on.
—
The drive is grueling to say the least. Hayden has thought of every single scenario that Shane could be in, and none of them are positive. He could be hurt right now, for fucks sake. The weight of Shane Hollander’s well-being is on Hayden’s shoulders, and it’s crushing him to the driver’s seat as he pulls up the twisty driveway of the cottage.
Hayden scoffs, it’s not really a cottage. He thinks of a cottage where fairies and nymphs live, a little home with a small bedroom and greenery surrounding the concrete walls. Well, there’s definitely greenery.
Shane’s cottage is almost bigger than Hayden’s own home, the whole thing plastered with windows from top to bottom, slanted roofing with dark colors to contrast the light world around them. It looks a bit different from the last time Hayden was here, it had probably been renovated recently.
He tugs the car in park, shutting it off and sliding out of the driver's seat without bothering to take his keys. He strides up the steps, and pauses. Are you supposed to knock in his scenario? When your best friend is probably writhing in the basement, tied up in ropes?
Hayden ponders it for a moment, instead bringing his hands to cup the nearby window and try to get eyes inside. It’s dark; outside as the sun is setting and inside due to the lack of lights on. That’s sort of a good sign, Shane would be furious if every single light in the house was on despite being filthy rich.
Hayden removes his hands from the now foggy glass, glancing around at his surroundings. He silently thanks his good memory, and spots a synthetic rock on the ground out of place. The spare key.
He remembers being here one summer, Shane was in the shower and Hayden arrived earlier than expected. Shane had texted him prior about that, telling him where the spare key was if he ever needed it. Well, now he does.
Hayden fumbles with the plastic rock, flipping it over to find the tiny key sitting inside. He tosses the rock back on the ground and immediately unlocks the door, swinging it open and striding in the house.
He’s about to yell for Shane, or grab a baseball bat from the closet, before his eyes trail over to the windows lining the back of the cottage.
On the deck outside, the sun is setting behind a candlelit dinner. Shane is on one side of the table, a smile on his face, and fucking Rozanov is on the other end, sipping from a can of coke.
This has got to be some sick prank Shane is pulling on Hayden, really.
He steps closer, trying not to let Shane know he technically broke into his home, but he can’t leave now. No fucking way, not after he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.
Hayden takes cautious footsteps, closer and closer, watching as Shane takes a bite out of the food on his plate. He waits, and takes a breath of relief when he doesn’t fall to the floor and begins to choke. Okay, so Rozanov didn’t poison him. That’s a good start.
He’s about to announce his arrival, stepping out from the glass sliding door and assuring Shane he needed to make sure he was okay. And ask what the hell Rozanov was doing at his cottage, having… dinner with him?
He can’t, though. Because as he opens his mouth and steps closer to the door, Rozanov leans in and fucking kisses Shane. On the lips, probably with tongue. Not like the little kisses Hayden would give his teammates on the cheek or head after a good play in a game; no, definitely not. That’s how Hayden would kiss Jackie.
Hayden chokes. Not how he wanted to tell Shane he had been lurking, but it happens out of his control. Shane and… Rozanov, both face Hayden in a panic, Shane pulls away from Rozanov like he’s made of fire and Shane is water. Hayden tries to breathe through a coughing fit, as Shane rises from his seat to slide through the glass door into the cottage where Hayden is doubled over.
Shane looks petrified, and suddenly Hayden is more terrified than he had been ten seconds earlier.
One last heave exits Hayden’s mouth as he stands up straight, Shane is in front of him with a tense look on his face and his eyebrows are worried together. Rozanov is still on the other side of the glass door, he doesn’t look nearly as horrified as he and Shane do. He almost looks like he’s smirking, and Hayden loses it.
“What—“ he coughs, pointing at Rozanov through the glass, “—the fuck was that?”
Shane opens his mouth, and closes it again. He twists his body to face Rozanov, ushering him inside. Hayden instinctively backs away, his hand holding his stomach in fear of throwing up. He can feel the bile rising in his stomach as soon as Rozanov enters the cottage, walking to stand beside Shane. He wraps an arm around Shane’s waist, and Hayden almost pukes all over the floor.
“I— uh,” Shane trails off, his voice is shaky as he looks to Rozanov for answers. Rozanov just nods at him, a smirk on his face as he looks down at a disheveled Hayden.
Apparently Shane is taking his sweet time explaining, so Rozanov speaks up with a heavy accent.
“We are lovers.”
Hayden really regrets not leaving earlier. He bites down the bile in his throat and swallows into the hollow pit of his gut. He widens his eyes, and he’s never seen Shane look so horrified.
“No…” Hayden says just above a whisper in disbelief. How did this even happen? Since when was Shane gay? And Rozanov? He’s like… the womanizer.
Shane looks defeated when the words leave Hayden’s mouth. He’s quick to correct himself before Shane starts fucking crying right then and there, because he looks on the brink of tears.
“I mean—not no, but like…” Hayden trails off, and Shane raises an eyebrow at him as he leans into Rozanov’s touch. Hayden forces back a gag. “Him? Really?”
“What? You wish it was you, Pike?” Rozanov and his stupid accent speaks in the silence, his voice is filled with venom as he pounces closer to Hayden.
“I’m married!” Hayden raises his hands in innocence, going slack to his sides when Rozanov backs off.
“Can we just—“ Shane sighs, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice is scratchy and his nerves seem to have calmed down slightly. “—sit down? Or something?” Shane gestures to the living room couches, and both Hayden and Rozanov stood frozen.
“Please!” Shane raised his voice, echoing throughout the dark halls of the cottage. It spooked Hayden to see Shane this distraught, so he made his way over to the couch.
Rozanov followed his tail, Hayden sat on the corner of the L-shaped couch whilst Rozanov sat on the other end, the furthest away he could possibly get. Hayden crosses his arms over his chest, and Rozanov has his arms splayed out over the top of the couch. He’s thankful for Shane to enter with some drinks in his arms before Hayden could rip Rozanov’s head off, or vice versa.
Shane sets a beer down on the table in front of Hayden, sitting down next to Rozanov and handing him a can of coke while Shane holds his signature ginger ale. Shane leans into Rozanov’s touch, and Hayden tries not to spit out the beer he just took a swig of.
They drink in silence for a few moments. Hayden’s unsure what to do in this situation, he’s never had a best friend who is hooking up with the enemy, let alone said enemy being a man.
“So,” Hayden starts, causing Shane to look at him with anticipation. Rozanov continues to sip his coke and pay very little attention to Hayden.
“Are you… gay? Or…” Hayden trails off, trying to remember the correct terms for sexualities he had no idea about until now.
Shane gulps down his ginger ale, shuddering on the couch. “Yeah, I’m uh— gay.”
“Cool,” Hayden says, hoping it will give Shane some clarity. He looks to Rozanov with begrudging eyes, narrowing at the idiot who can’t even bother to pay attention to the very serious conversation being held at hand.
“And what about you? Mister ladies man, you gay too?” Hayden spits at him, causing Rozanov to eye him as he sips his coke. He sighs, setting down the can and sinking into the couch beside Shane.
“No.”
Well, great.
Shane scoffs, setting down his ginger ale next to Rozanov’s coke can on the coffee table.
“Ilya likes both,” Shane speaks for his… lover. Hayden tries not to shudder at Shane saying Rozanov’s first name with so much admiration.
“Ah,” Hayden nods, taking another long swig of the beer bottle before setting it down on the coffee table to join the other beverages.
The awkward silence from earlier unfortunately returns, no sipping drinks to fill the tension as Hayden huffs.
“You going to keep asking stupid questions, Pike?” Rozanov speaks up, saying more than one word this time. Hayden raises his eyebrows, leaning forward.
“Rozanov—“
“Ilya,” He corrects with a smirk plastered on his face, Hayden scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“I am not calling you that, asshole.”
Rozanov shrugs, wrapping a hand around Shane’s waist again. The fucker knows what he’s doing, and it’s working.
“When did this start?” Hayden asks, taking Rozanov’s advice for the first and only time.
Shane stares at the floor in silence, and Rozanov waits for him to answer this time. Shane sighs, pressing his thumbs to his eyes before throwing his head up.
“Since we were rookies.”
Hayden is close to choking again.
“What?” He coughs out, earning a laugh from Rozanov. Shane sighs, shaking his head at the floor.
“Since before we were rookies, actually.”
Hayden is silent for a moment, his mouth gaped open as he tries to register his best friend’s words of confirmation.
“You’ve been dating this whole time—“
“No!”
“God, no,” Rozanov is still smirking at Hayden as he speaks, he’s having too much fun with this while Hayden is having a mental breakdown.
“So, then what? You guys have been fucking for nine years?” Hayden jokes, but neither Shane nor Rozanov laughs. It takes a moment for his smile to fade with theirs, and he takes a deep breath and leans his back into the couch cushions “Holy shit, what the fuck—“
“Hayd, look,” Shane starts, breaking Hayden out of his meltdown to ease him the best he can. His hands are shaking and his knee is twitching up and down. “—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Hayden stays quiet for a moment, letting the words sit in the air.
“I forgive you,” he says after a few moments, earning a sigh of relief from Shane. Rozanov is still quiet in the corner, fiddling with Shane’s shirt.
“But I was worried sick! I thought you had gotten kidnapped or something. You sounded weird over the phone, and then when I saw Rozanov’s obnoxious Bitmoji at the cottage, and I thought—“
“—Wait,” Shane cuts Hayden off, turning to face Rozanov.
“You didn’t turn off your location? Hold on—“ Shane realizes, “—you have Hayden on Snapchat?” Shane beams at him, eyebrows furrowed as he scolds his boyfriend. Hayden will need to get used to referring to Rozanov as that.
“Da. And I only have location on for two people,” Rozanov speaks, reassuring Shane with a rub along his torso.
“Why am I one of them?!” Hayden exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. Rozanov chuckles at him with a smirk.
“Is funny. And my Bitmoji is not obnoxious, is just me,” Rozanov smirks at him, and Hayden scoffs.
“You are obnoxious.”
Rozanov blows a raspberry at him, causing Hayden to roll his eyes in annoyance.
Silence fills the room for the third time. It’s much less tense and awkward than prior, however.
“I’ll be right back,” Shane stands from the couch, grabbing Hayden’s empty beer bottle and cracking the two empty soda cans in his hand, stepping over Rozanov’s legs and entering the kitchen.
Hayden stares daggers into Rozanov, the Russian leans forward to pluck a case from underneath the coffee table. He raises a boxy looking object at Hayden, the title reading ‘MLH 2017’ with Rozanov’s idiotic face plastered on the front.
“You want to play?” He spoke, gesturing to the video game in his hands.
“What the fuck? No!” Hayden exclaimed, leaning back and crossing his arms. His eyebrows furrowed at Rozanov in anger.
“You are in it,” Rozanov states in a monotone voice, and Hayden sits up.
Hayden ponders for a moment, and Rozanov is raising an eyebrow at him in anticipation. Hayden looks back at Shane in the kitchen, and then back at Rozanov who is awaiting an answer.
“Fine, put it in.”
Rozanov stands with a smirk, opening the case and sliding the disc into the PlayStation. He tosses Hayden a controller as the TV illuminates the dark room, and Hayden scoffs when he realizes he is not player one. He shakes his head at Rozanov, a smile almost visible on his face.
When Shane returns, he slides into the comfortable spot next to Rozanov, glued to his side with another ginger ale in his hands. Shane leans his head in Rozanov’s chest, and Hayden thinks it’ll be somewhat worth it to put up with fucking Rozanov to see Shane this happy.
They continued to talk while playing. About their relationship, about hockey, about their relationship more. It took a while for Hayden to wrap his head around, and even now he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fully register it. After ending on a win against Rozanov—albeit, he was beaten twice prior—Hayden bid his farewell to Shane and his new boyfriend. Hayden left the cottage with a half smile on his face, confusion still rushing through his gut at Shane’s choice of a boyfriend.
When Hayden arrives home without dinner a couple hours later, the dark night looming on him as he enters his house and is faced with a very angry wife. He raises his hands in pleading, stepping through the threshold of his own home.
“You’re not gonna believe what I found out.”
—
The next morning, Hayden wakes to a bright sun shining down at him through the open window of his bedroom. He plucks his phone out of the charging stand and scrolls through social media, landing on Snapchat.
He doesn’t hesitate to click on the illuminating circle around Rozanov’s Snapchat, and curses at himself for smiling when he opens the story.
It’s a stupid picture, really. The TV screen from last night illuminating on his phone, a picture of his victory screen after winning against Hayden last night. Hayden scoffs, tapping to the next story from Rozanov.
This time, Hayden doesn’t scold himself for smiling. It’s a picture of Rozanov in a lake, presumably the one looming outside of the cottage. He’s in the water doing a handstand, and there’s no doubt who took the picture. There’s italicized text in the upper corner of the screen, reading ‘My favourite place’ with a heart emoji next to the white text.
Hayden thinks that Rozanov’s favourite place isn’t a location at all, rather an actual person. Still, he rolls his eyes at the idiotic Russian that his best friend—unfortunately—fell in love with.