Chapter Text
To the public eye, Rozanov and Hollander seemed like rivals and hated each other, but the media has a way of spinning something from the truth. And Scott Hunter believed he knew what was really happening between the two under the surface.
It all started in the 2011 All-Stars weekend in Nashville. When Scott was watching the skills competition for shot accuracy on the bench, he, like everyone else, watched Hollander and Rozanov’s interactions carefully. He knew he didn’t really need to though, they were competing against each other the entire weekend like no one else existed. Rozanov would throw as many chirps against him and Hollander as possible, and neither of them would engage. Scott looked at Rozanov as the Russian beat his record of 8.5 seconds with an 8. Rozanov held up his stick like a rifle, pointing it up at the rafters and playing to the crowd. As Rozanov skated back towards the bench, Scott wondered if he was going to chirp at him with his usual dinosaur joke.
“Looks like I beat your fucking record Hunter,” Rozanov said to him as he stopped in front of him. There it is. “Too bad you’re older than the fucking dinosaurs. Even they can aim faster than you.”
Scott shook his head. This kid will never stop making fun of his age. “Fuck you, Rozanov. How many times do I have to tell you this? I’m only three fucking years older than you.”
“Sure, sure. That’s what all dinosaurs say.”
“You won’t be so fucking smug when Hollander beats you,” Scott pointed out. “You know he will.”
Rozanov shrugged, “Probably. Hollander takes this shit too seriously. Does not give himself time to enjoy the weekend off. But if he beats me, then he beats you too, da?”
Scott sighed as Rozanov skated away. He wasn’t wrong though. Hollander took these games too seriously. It was supposed to be a week of fun for the best players in the league while everyone else got to stay home with their wives, not studying everyone’s strategies and giving all your effort to beat these stupid records.
Hollander skated up to the line. Once the timer buzzed, he immediately started shooting shot after shot, each one perfectly hitting the targets. 6.7 seconds. Damn, the kid was really good. Maybe he felt the need to impress all the older players that the rookie was not here to play.
Did I just consider myself as an older player? Rozanov’s jokes must finally be getting to him. He watched as Hollander gave Rozanov a smug smirk while he skated past him, while Rozanov looked at him with a glint in his eyes. Scott got up to grab his water bottle but paused mid drink when he saw Rozanov and Hollander skating towards each other. The Canadian seemed to be trying to casually press himself into the boards while Rozanov skated a few feet closer. Scott discreetly walked closer to them. He was just making sure they didn’t start fighting each other, of course.
“Going to bed early tonight. I think.” Rozanov was saying.
“Oh?”
Rozanov leaned down and whispered something to Hollander as he skated away that Scott could barely hear.
“1221.”
Scott’s brows furrowed. What did that mean? 1221. Was it a secret code? Whatever. He wasn’t going to spend his time thinking about what the modern slangs were these days. Damn I really am getting old.
When Scott sat next to Hollander a few minutes later, he mustered up the courage to ask him, “The fuck did Rozanov want?”
He could've sworn Hollander’s cheeks slightly tinged pink before he shook his head and said too quickly, “Nothing. Just shit-talking, you know?”
Scott nodded. “Guy’s a fucking asshole. Always compares me to a dinosaur.”
Hollander let out a snort and gave him a small smile. “Yeah. He’s a real fucking piece of shit.”
Scott was really fucking tired. He’d only managed to congratulate a couple players after the events and changed and headed to the hotel rooms as fast as possible. He wanted to talk to Kip and get away from the chatter. Maybe he should’ve taken Ilya’s idea and left early. Scott was acting very old today, and Rozanov was never going to let him live it down.
When Scott got off the elevator and stepped into the hallway, his eyebrows shot up when he saw Hollander knock on a door, looked around and somehow not noticing him standing in the corner, and walked inside the room. Scott frowned, then shook his head.
He’s probably visiting a friend.
Then why did he look so nervous? His brain countered. Scott shook his head again to clear his thoughts, then walked to his room. He stopped himself short when he realized his room was the one next to the room Hollander walked in. Almost lost his fucking mind when he remembers Rozanov’s room was next to his.
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“Hey Hunter, guess what?” Rozanov had asked him this morning.
Scott sighed. “What do you want, Rozanov?”
“I just wanted you to know we are room buddies!”
“We’re what?”
“I am in the room next to yours. We are room buddies now. Is that what you call it? When people are next to each other? Like houses in village?”
“It’s called neighbors. Also, how could you possibly know what room I’m in?”
Rozanov just shrugged, “I saw you walk out of your door earlier. Walk towards the elevators. I took the stairs because unlike you, ancient dinosaur, my legs can fucking carry me.”
Scott frowned. “Why the fuck were you watching me like a creep?”
“Is not my fault you fucking walked in front of me!” Rozanov said, exasperated, “Was just trying to go downstairs and eat food.”
Before Scott could say anything, Rozanov had blown him a raspberry and walked away to get more pancakes.
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Why was Hollander knocking on his rival’s door at.. He checks his watch, ..12:15 A.M?
Scott replays their interaction again in his head. 1221. He looks up at his own door; 1222. Looks at Rozanov’s; 1221. Holy shit!
“Going to bed early tonight.” Rozanov had said that with a smirk.
“Oh?” Shane’s cheeks were slightly pink.
Oh my fucking god, Scott thinks, are they together? Instantly, he opens the door to his room and closes it shut, back leaning against it and staring at the room in front of him, his brain crowding with questions.
How long have they been doing this?
Were they together?
Does anyone know?
Was their rivalry real or an act?
Scott manages to fall into a fitful sleep, wondering how two giant hockey stars could have a secret relationship away from the prying eyes of the media. Oh, and also if he was going to need music to sleep to avoid any possible sounds coming from next door.