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Ilya watched as Shane got dressed, picking up his carefully folded clothes and putting them on.
He was beautiful.
He smiled at Ilya as he walked over to get his shoes, and that’s when it happened. Shane tripped. Ilya’s belt, carelessly discarded on the floor, a painful yelp and a sickening crack, and Hollander was on the ground, clutching his ankle, moaning painfully. Ilya shot up from his bed, and he was by Shane’s side in the blink of an eye.
“Hollander! Hollander, you are okay?”
He tried not to sound too worried. He was.
“Fuck. My ankle,” Shane said, trying to sit up.
Ilya put a hand on his back, helping him sit. He really didn’t like the pained sounds Hollander was making.
“Does it hurt a lot?” he asked.
“What the fuck do you think?” Shane hissed, his face scrunched up in pain. “I think it’s broken.”
“Let me see,” Ilya demanded, taking his feet carefully in his hands.
Even that careful touch made Shane cry out in pain, and Ilya didn’t like what he saw: the ankle had already started swelling, and its angle was all weird.
“Fuck, Hollander. This is not good. You need to go to hospital. Can you stand?”
He slipped his hand under Shane’s armpit, trying to help him up, but the moment Shane put the barest of weight on his ankle, he cried out and slumped back on the floor.
“I can’t, it hurts too much.”
He was fighting tears, Ilya could see it. He looked at Ilya, wide-eyed and afraid, as if he was just realising the full extent of the trouble they were in.
“What do we do? We can’t...We can’t call an ambulance here. They’d guess and I can’t-” his breathing sped up, shallow, fast breaths.
Ilya put a hand on his chin, forcing him to look at Ilya.
“It’s okay, Hollander. We’ll figure it out. Calm down. Deep breaths.”
“I can try to get downstairs,” Shane said, not sounding sure at all.
It was a shit plan, and they both knew it. Hollander wasn’t even supposed to be in this hotel, let alone this floor. And even if he could make it to the elevator, his leg would get so much worse.
“No,” Ilya shook his head. “You can’t move your leg too much. If you fuck your leg up, who will I play against? All the others are so boring.”
“I thought you said I was boring,” Shane sniffled, his voice still high with panic, but at least his breathing had slowed down.
“You are, yes. But it would be even more boring without you.”
“So what do we do?”
Ilya considered their options. There weren’t many. Then he had an idea...A really, really bad idea. Or at least a risky one.
“Scott Hunter is next door, yes?” he said slowly.
“Yes,” Shane was clearly confused. “Why does that matter?”
“We can tell him. Ask to help.”
“No way. No fucking way,” Shane shook his head vehemently. “Are you crazy? He can’t know about us. He would tell everyone-”
“Hunter is gay,” Ilya interrupted his rant.
“What?” Shane stared at him, blinking. “No, he is not.”
“Trust me. I have very good...how you say...gay laser?”
“Gaydar,” Shane corrected him automatically.
“Yes, gaydar. I knew about you like two minutes after we meet.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I am not!” Ilya protested. “I see how Hunter looks at men. And he never cares about any of the sexy women asking for pictures and wanting to fuck him. He is gay. He would keep secret, if we ask.”
“And what do we say? Hey Hunter, we were just fucking each other next door, and I broke my leg, and by the way, we think you're gay, so wanna help us?”
Shane’s laugh was a little hysterical.
Ilya put his hands on Shane’s shoulder, forcing him to hold still.
“Hollander. This is good option. I’ll talk to him, okay? Trust me.”
Shane swallowed. He seemed to want to protest, but he must have realised they didn't have too many choices.
“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay. I will...wait here, I guess.”
“No moving,” Ilya warned him. “And no panicking. I’ll be back soon.”
Ilya stood in front of Scott Hunter’s door, glaring at it. He was nervous. He might have overstated to Shane just how confident he was about Hunter being gay, but Hollander needed to calm down. And Hunter was gay. Probably. Possibly. Ilya was like 60% sure. 55.
He did not let himself think about what would happen if he was wrong. Ilya forced himself to knock.
No answer came, not for a long time, which wasn't surprising given it was the middle of the night.
Ilya banged on the door once more, a little more forceful this time. Finally, Hunter opened, looking half-asleep and very confused.
“What the fuck, Rozanov?” he asked. “It’s 2 am.”
“I need your help,” Ilya said, pushing past him.
He wasn’t gonna discuss this in the corridor.
“I need your help,” he repeated, once inside.
“You hate me,” Hunter said, staring at him. “And now you need my help. Why don’t you ask someone else?”
“I think...I think you’re someone who understands problem like this.”
He didn’t say what he suspected about Hunter out loud. This was not the time to make such an accusation.
Hunter didn’t seem any less confused, so Ilya decided to go on.
“If I tell you this, you can’t tell anyone, yes? It has to be a secret.”
“What the fuck did you do, Rozanov? I’m not helping you with some illegal shit.”
“Not illegal. Not here,” Ilya said.
That didn’t seem to calm Hunter down.
“So what? What do you need my help with?”
“Help is not for me.”
Hunter didn’t like him, and with good reason. Wouldn’t help him if he were dying in a ditch. But maybe he would help Hollander.
“It’s for Hollander. He broke his leg.”
“What? He seemed fine after the game.”
“No, not after game. Now.”
Ilya took a deep breath and decided to just tell the truth.
“He’s in my room. He tripped. I think broke his ankle. I can’t move him too much, risk hurting him more. I can’t call ambulance, because Hollander being in my room at 2 am will raise questions, you understand?”
Ilya could pinpoint the exact moment recognition dawned on Scott Hunter.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned. “I knew there was something going on between you guys. I just didn’t think you would be idiotic enough to do it so openly.”
“You can’t tell. Not to anyone,” Ilya’s voice was deadly serious. “It would ruin our careers. I would be in danger. In Russia, they do not like this, da? So you will not tell.”
Scott Hunter held his hands up, as if to placate Ilya, but it did little to calm him. He could feel his heart beating so hard it felt like it wanted to tear his chest open to escape. If he was wrong about Hunter...
“I won’t tell a soul,” Hunter promised, equally serious. “I wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t out you guys.”
“Good,” Ilya nodded, allowing himself to feel a little relieved.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“I can’t call ambulance to my room, yes? Too suspicious if Hollander is in his biggest rival's room. But you’re his teammate. We take him to your room.”
Scott seemed a little pale, instantly shaking his head.
“I can’t. What if they...”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Ilya knew that he feared the very same thing that he and Hollander were facing right now.
“Listen. You’re his teammate. You say Hollander was drunk, you didn’t want to leave him alone. They will believe you. Good boy Scott Hunter, so nice to teammates.”
Scott slowly nodded, considering.
“I...I guess that makes sense. Okay. Okay, we can do this.
Hunter peered out into the corridor before gesturing to Ilya to lead the way.
Hollander was sitting at the same place Ilya had left him, except his ankle was even more swollen and an ugly shade of purple. Shane looked like he was going to throw up when he saw Hunter.
“Mr. Hunter...” he stammered. “I...”
Ilya had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Scott Hunter kneeled down by Shane’s side, assessing the ankle.
“It’s okay, rook,” he said, very gently. “Rozanov here told me about your...situation.”
If possible, Shane turned even paler.
“And I’m not gonna say a word to anyone,” Hunter went on. “So why don’t we do something about your ankle? It looks nasty.”
“See, Hollander? I told you we can trust him. Plus Hunter is so old, he’ll probably forget what he saw by tomorrow,” Ilya added.
“Not now, Rozanov,” Shane snapped at him, and okay, maybe he was right.
“Listen to your...friend, Rozanov,” Hunter agreed. “Help me get him up. We can take him to my room.”
One arm on each of their shoulders, they helped Shane hop to the room next door. Despite their help, Hollander was in tears by the time they sat him down on Hunter's bed.
Ilya hesitated. He should go, he knew that. There wasn't much else he could do.
Still, it didn't feel right, leaving Hollander like this.
“Give me your phone,” he said.
“What,” Shane blinked up at him.
“Your phone, Hollander.”
Shane obeyed.
“Here,” Ilya handed it back after putting his number in. “Now you can text me from hospital. Tell me if I’ll still have a rival to play with or if ancient Scott Hunter will be my biggest enemy on ice because they cut off your legs or something.”
Hunter grumbled angrily, but Ilya didn't care. He only cared about the way Shane looked at him, then at the phone, then at Ilya again.
“Goodbye, Hollander. See you next season,” Ilya said, before turning to Hunter. “You will take care of him, yes? And secret stays secret?”
Hunter nodded, and that was enough for Ilya. It had to be enough.
“Goodbye then. Don't break your other leg, Hollander. I need to beat you next season, and that would be cheating from me.”