Work Text:
June 2022
The trail in Algonquin Provincial Park had been merciless- a long, winding path of root-laced dirt and granite that climbed and dropped ruthlessly, testing knee joints of its hikers. Four friends hit the route accompanied by two dogs and enough gear to make a pack mule file a complaint. It was exactly what they’d wanted during post-season time- no hockey, no pressure, no media circus. Only trees probably older than Canada itself, the kind of quiet that made your ears ring, and the four of them finally relaxed enough to realize they were just normal people who hiked for fun.
Ilya led the way, because of course he did. His backpack- identical to Shane’s because with new found freedom they were slowly turning into one of those couples who liked to match- sat perfectly balanced on his shoulders. Carefully packed gear and supplies- including Anya’s kibble and the ridiculous little booties she refused to wear until her paws got sore- were stored inside. Anya trotted beside him now, tongue lolling, tail whipping like a metronome.
Behind them, Shane moved with the quiet efficiency of a man who’d spent his entire life calculating his every step. He kept one eye on Ilya and Anya and one on the trail. He was focused and had everything under control- just the way he liked it best.
Troy brought up the rear, someone had to. His pack was noticeably larger- borderline obscene- and Harris had been side eyeing it from the beginning.
“I’m fine, Troy,” Harris said for the fifth time, voice low and edged with that particular brand of annoyed fondness only long term boyfriends could perfect. His own pack was smaller, sensible, stuffed mostly with Chiron’s supplies- dog’s food, water bowl, and the harness that looked like it belonged on a small horse. Chiron himself plodded along beside Harris, occasionally leaning his massive body against Harris’s leg just to be closer to one of his daddies.
“You say that,” Troy grunted, “but your knee’s been clicking since the third hill. I packed extra tape, the good kind. And the heating patches. And-”
“And my emotional support boyfriend,” Harris finished dryly. “Relax. I’m not going to drop dead on a marked trail. I’m feeling good.” In the year and a half they've been together, Harris' physical condition had improved significantly. Troy still loved to spoil him with sweet treats but overall, Harris had adjust to his boyfriend's healthy athletic diet. He walked Chiron every evening, Troy joined then when he was back in town. Harris skipped Troy's ten miles morning run with the dog- he left this form of activity for fitness-crazy people, he was normal- thank you very much. Harris even started to work out more frequently than in the past years. His dad bod had turned to average size. All his queer non hockey friends even started to joke he lost his bear status and turned into an otter. Even his cardiologist was extremely happy with him and told him to keep doing the good work. The strange part was that this all happened without him even realizing it. Just a lucky coincidence or maybe Troy was rubbing off on him just as much as he was on Troy. The truth was Harris had never felt this good. That's why Troy's overprotectiveness was pissing him off just a little bit.
“Just let me handle this.” Troy pleaded while making that cute face Harris couldn’t resist.
Ilya twisted around, walking backward for a few dangerous steps. “Aww, look at him. Big strong Troy, carrying the entire pharmacy because his man might get a tiny blister. Very romantic. Very sexy. Very-”
“Shut up, Rozanov,” Troy said without heat. Shane and Ilya still didn’t know about Harris’ heart condition.
“-very husband material,” Ilya finished, grinning like a shark while glancing at Harris. Anya chose that moment to dart between his legs, nearly sending him ass first into a blueberry bush. He laughed, loud and bright, the sound bouncing off the pines.
By the time they reached the backcountry shelter- a sturdy little wooden cottage perched on a ridge with one big common room, a wood stove, and a bathroom that was basically a closet with a toilet and a solar shower- it was dusk. The sky had gone that perfect Ontario purple, and the bugs were just starting their evening shift.
They dropped their packs inside with collective groans. The room was sparse. With their sleeping mats laid out on the floor there was practically no space left. Next to a small table was the door that led to the bathroom with no lock. Just a flimsy latch that looked like it was about to deintegrate.
Troy claimed the far corner and immediately started unpacking like a man on a mission. Out came pretty big toiletry bag filled with tiny travel bottles, the neatly rolled microfibre cloths and the small jar of something that smelled like expensive herbs. Then, from the very bottom of the bag he pulled out the headband. It was black, fluffy and unmistakably equipped with two perky cat ears. The exact colour of his hair. Troy didn’t even hesitate- he just slid it on without thinking, the ears flopping forward as he bent to dig for his cleanser.
Ilya, who had been mid sip of water, choked so hard Shane had to thump his back. “What,” Ilya wheezed, eyes watering, “the actual fuck, Barrett?”
Troy didn’t look up. “Skin care. Some of us like having faces that don’t look like we lost a fight with a cheese grater.”
“I’m talking about the cat ears! Fuck! I can’t!. Now I wish the team share rooms during away games. I was robbed of that view.” Ilya lamented still quite shocked.
“I forgot my old headband for the Boston game back in January and that was the only thing available in the drug store next to the hotel.” Troy said defensively.
Harris snorted, already feeding Chiron from a collapsible bowl. “It grew on him.”
“This one doesn't pull my hair,” Troy was already fed up with the conversation.
“No wonder. It’s so soft. And that look. О, Боже!” Ilya laughed heartily as he reached for Troy's headband. He didn't have time to enjoy its fluffiness for long because Troy slapped his hand away.
"Back off!" Troy growled like very dangerous kitty. This made Ilya lough even stronger.
“What about all that other stuff?” Shane asked, clearly intrigued, pointing to the products lying on the mat. Troy pretended not to hear the question.
“He’s got a whole routine. Morning and night. I don’t know. Looks like twelve steps or more, when he’s home. I told him to downsize for the hike, but nooo. At least he took those smaller travel bottles.” Harris provided eagerly. Troy looked at him judgingly. The betrayal! Harris was selling his deepest secrets for couple of laughs.
“Twelve?” Ilya’s voice cracked with delight. He abandoned his own pack and dropped to his knees beside Troy’s bag like it was a Christmas present. “Show me. Right now. I need to see this witchcraft.”
Troy tried to shove the bag away, but Ilya was faster. He plucked out a small bottle of vitamin C serum, turned it over, read the label with theatrical concentration. “Ooh, fancy. Shane, look- retinol. Actual retinol and it smells so nice. We use the one from the pharmacy that smells like meth den.”
Shane wandered over and took the bottle from Ilya’s hand. He scanned the ingredients, eyebrows lifting. “This is good stuff. Really good. Hyaluronic acid, niacinamide… Troy, you hiding a whole lab in there?”
Harris grinned, beard neatly trimmed as always, his own three-product routine already laid out on the table- cleanser, moisturizer, and the SPF they all used because skin cancer was not on the menu. “Told you. At home he’s got the full altar. LED mask, jade roller, gua sha. All the fancy stuff. This is the camping version. He’s slumming it for us.”
Troy’s ears were already pink under the cat ears. “Harris. Stop helping.”
Ilya was in heaven. He looked at the headband on top of Troy’s head like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. “This. This almost killed me. You wear this? To wash your face? You look like a very angry, very pretty cat. I’m obsessed. The internet thinks Shane has some insane twenty-step Korean routine and it’s actually you, you beautiful emo boy.” Ilya was laughing so hard he was crying.
Shane leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with that small, private smile he only ever let out when Ilya was being extra. “We’re basic,” he contributed. “Same cleanser, same moisturizer, same SPF. We mostly share. Sometimes he steals my hand cream when he thinks I’m not looking.”
“Traitor,” Ilya muttered, but he was already digging deeper into Troy’s bag, pulling out tiny pots and tubes with the glee of a raccoon in a dumpster. “Look at this. Sheet masks? You brought sheet masks? On a hike?”
Troy tried again to snatch the bag with no avail. “Yes, I brought one mask. For tomorrow morning. Don’t touch it.” He said gravely but Ilya thought he would never be able to take Troy's threats seriously again.
Ilya flopped onto his sleeping mat, clutching his chest. “I’m having the best day of my life. Better than winning the Cup. Better than marrying this one.” He jerked a thumb at Shane. “Harris, your boyfriend is a skincare influencer and we never knew. I feel betrayed.”
Harris laughed so hard Chiron looked up from his bowl, ears perked, drool stringing from his massive jowls. Anya, sensing chaos, immediately stole one of Shane’s socks and bolted across the room. Shane lunged after her. Chiron decided this was a game and barrelled in, knocking over Troy’s pack and sending three more tiny bottles rolling across the floor.
“Anya! Chiron! Traitors!” Troy yelled, but he was laughing now too, the broody edge cracking under the sheer stupidity of it all. Troy took off his headband. Hunger overcame his beauty routine, which had to wait its turn.
They cooked dinner on the little camp stove- pasta, because it was fast and easy- and ate outside on the porch while the dogs snored in a heap by the door. The banter never stopped. Ilya kept circling back to the headband, calling it “the feline of Troy” and threatening to start an Instagram account dedicated to it.
Shane read every label on Troy’s products with genuine interest, occasionally muttering things like “we should try this one” that made Ilya’s stomach do a stupid happy flip. He loved the idea of them doing some ridiculous face spa night together, just the two of them, towels on heads, pretending they weren’t two of the most famous hockey players alive. He pretended to be engrossed in his pasta, but Shane caught the look and smirked like he knew exactly what Ilya was thinking.
Later, when the sun was fully gone and the only light was brought by solar lamps and the wood stove, they took turns in the bathroom. With no lock and just a thin door came the mutual understanding that they were all adults who had seen worse in locker rooms.
Troy went last, because he had the longest routine and he refused to be rushed. The shower hissed for a while, then stopped. Silence. Ilya waited exactly two minutes- counting in his head like a sniper- then stood up.
Shane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t.”
“Нет. I have to,” Ilya whispered, already creeping toward the door on sock feet. “For science, for the fans, for the universe that is expanding.”
Harris didn’t even try to stop him. He just grinned and scratched Chiron’s ears. “He’s gonna kill you.” Harris really enjoyed a good prank from time to time.
“Worth it.” Ilya eased the door open.
Troy stood at the tiny sink in sweat pants and a faded black t-shirt, the cat ear headband firmly in place, face glistening with whatever night time potion he’d just applied. He looked soft and ridiculous and weirdly, stupidly cute. Ilya’s phone was already out. The shutter sound went off like gunfire.
Troy spun around so fast he nearly slipped on the wet floor. “Rozanov-” Click. Click. Click. “Get out!”
Ilya danced backward, still snapping, laughing so hard he could barely hold the phone steady. Troy lunged, but Ilya was faster- years of dodging defencemen paid off- and bolted back into the main room. Troy stormed after him, headband ears flopping, face shiny and furious. “You absolute Russian menace-”
Harris and Shane were already cracking up. Anya lifted her head, tail thumping once in approval of the drama. Chiron just farted loudly and went back to sleep. Troy rounded on Shane. “You let him do that? You just sat there while he invaded my private bathroom time?”
Shane, who had been reading on his mat, set his kindle down with exaggerated care. His voice was low, amused, the playful edge he only ever let out with his closest friends. “I wanted to see it too.”
Troy stared. “You what?”
“You look cute,” Shane said simply. “Like a very pissed off house cat. It’s a good look on you, Barrett.”
Troy’s face went tomato red. The grumpy turned embarrassed man actually sputtered. “I hate all of you.”
Ilya collapsed onto his mat, still scrolling through the photos, cackling. “This one. Look at this one. Caption: ‘When the skincare routine is stronger than your forecheck.’ I’m posting this tomorrow. The world needs to know.”
Troy snatched at the phone. Ilya held it away. They wrestled like idiots until Chiron decided enough was enough, stood up, and planted himself between them like a furry referee. Anya immediately stole Ilya’s pillow and claimed it as her own. They gave up eventually.
The four of them arranged their mats in a rough square. Dogs were curled in the middle snoring like old grandpas. Later Anya wedged herself between Ilya and Shane, head on Ilya’s chest. Chiron sprawled across Troy’s legs, one massive paw draped possessively over his ankle. They talked for hours. Ilya chirped Troy about the headband until Troy threatened to smother him with it. Harris recounted the time Chiron had stolen an entire slow cooked chicken off the counter back home. Shane quietly admitted that maybe they should up their routine just a little and Ilya pretended to be horrified while secretly thrilled at the thought of lazy Sunday mornings with matching face masks and Shane’s fingers smoothing cream over his cheekbones.
At some point Troy muttered while eyeing Ilya’s phone, “Rozanov, you better sleep with one eye open,” but there was no heat in it. Just the warm, familiar exhaustion of being with people who knew exactly how far they could push before it stopped being funny. They fell asleep like that- dogs snoring loud enough to wake the moose three valleys over, the wood stove ticking down, four friends who minutes ago teased each other without mercy now curled up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
In the morning they made coffee and oatmeal, packed up, and hit the trail again. Troy skipped a big chunk of his morning routine. He didn't want to give Ilya more ammo. The banter picked up right where it left off. Anya chased a squirrel and almost dragged Ilya into a creek. Chiron found a mud puddle the size of a small pond and rolled in it, emerging looking like a swamp monster. Harris’ knee didn’t click once but Troy still refused to let him carry anything heavier than a water bottle. Harris called him an overprotective asshole and kissed him anyway not caring if anybody was looking.
Ilya waited until they were back at the trailhead, phones finally back in service, before he did it. He picked the best photo- the one where Troy was mid glare, cat ears slightly crooked, face dewy and shining under the awful bathroom light. He added a caption in his usual chaotic style:
RealIlyaRozanov: When the fans think @ShaneHollander24 has the insane skincare routine but it’s actually this guy and his 12-step ritual. Troy Barrett please say meow #SkincareGate #CatboyBarrett
He hit post before anyone could stop him. Troy’s phone buzzed. He looked down. His face did the thing again. “Ilya.”
“Yes, kitten?”
“You’re dead.” But he was smiling.
Shane leaned over Ilya’s shoulder, read the post, and laughed softly. “You know this is going to end every single rumour about my ‘beauty regime,’ right?”
“That’s the plan,” Ilya said, smug as hell. “Serve them Troy on a silver platter. They’ll forget all about you. And maybe next time we do this, he’ll bring the full LED mask. We can have a group spa night. Very manly. Very Canadian wilderness.”
Harris barked a laugh. “I’m in.” Troy flipped them all off, but he was already scrolling through the comments that were exploding in real time- heart eyes, shocked emojis, and at least three people demanding a full tutorial.
“Now all fancy brands will want to collaborate with Troy and forget about Shane. Yuna will murder you.” Harris looked at Ilya with staged seriousness.
“Fuck, I haven't thought about that!” Ilya did look quite scared. Yuna was no joke.
Later that day the dogs bounded ahead toward the car. Ilya slipped his hand into Shane’s as they walked. “Best trip ever,” he said quietly, just for him.
Shane squeezed back. “Yeah. Next time we’re bringing the sheet masks.”
Ilya grinned, wild and bright and completely, unapologetically himself. “Deal. And I’m stealing Troy’s headband. For science.”
Somewhere behind them, Troy groaned. “I heard that.” The forest swallowed their laughter, and for once, the whole world- headlines, rumours, expectations- felt very far away. Just four friends, two ridiculous dogs, and the long trail home.