Work Text:
Scott Hunter had spent most of his adult life being careful.
Careful with interviews.
Careful with reporters.
Careful with photographers.
Careful with social media.
Careful with where he looked, who he stood next to, how long he smiled at somebody, how often he mentioned certain people, and especially careful with the fact that the person he loved was currently walking beside him carrying a canvas beach bag decorated with little cartoon oranges.
Being captain of the New York Admirals meant living under a microscope.
Being a closeted gay captain of the New York Admirals meant living under ten microscopes simultaneously while someone shouted questions through a megaphone.
Fortunately, Scott had become extremely good at it.
Unfortunately, his boyfriend Kip Grady had absolutely no interest in being careful.
"You're staring again."
Scott looked away from Kip.
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You looked at me like I was the last bottle of water in a desert."
Scott sighed.
"I was admiring the sunset."
"The sunset is behind you."
Scott glanced over his shoulder. The sunset was indeed behind him.
Kip smiled.
"You are terrible at lying."
"Good thing I'm not in a profession where public perception matters."
Kip laughed so hard he nearly dropped the beach bag.
Scott couldn't help smiling.
That was the entire problem with Kip.
Everything about him made smiling easy.
They had been together for almost three years now.
Three years since Scott had walked into a smoothie shop during the offseason.
Three years since he had met a ridiculously handsome barista who had spent fifteen minutes explaining mango quality with the seriousness of a Nobel Prize lecture.
Three years since Scott's life had become infinitely more complicated and infinitely better.
Now they were standing on a tiny island that barely appeared on travel websites.
The island was private. Remote. Quiet.
Popular within certain circles. Unknown to almost everybody else.
Exactly what Scott needed.
For two glorious weeks he didn't have to worry about cameras hiding behind bushes.
For two glorious weeks nobody cared that he was Scott Hunter.
For two glorious weeks he could simply be a man on vacation with his boyfriend.
And so far it had been perfect.
They spent mornings sleeping late. Afternoons on the beach.
Evenings eating expensive seafood while pretending they understood wine.
The only stressful thing that had happened all week was when Kip accidentally befriended a pelican.
The pelican had followed them for three days.
Scott still wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't following them now.
"You know," Kip said, "I think this might be the happiest I've ever seen you."
Scott looked at him.
The expression on Kip's face was soft. Warm. Honest. Dangerously sincere.
The kind of expression that made Scott feel things he usually kept locked away.
"I am happy."
Kip bumped his shoulder.
"Good."
They continued walking.
Ahead of them the path wound upward toward the highest point on the island.
The receptionist at their hotel had recommended it.
Apparently the lookout point offered a panoramic view of everything.
The beaches. The forests. The ocean. The neighbouring islands. The sunset.
So naturally Kip had immediately decided they needed to visit.
Scott had agreed.
Mostly because Kip looked adorable when he got excited about things.
The trail wasn't difficult. Just steep enough to be annoying.
By the time they reached the final stretch, Kip was breathing hard.
Meanwhile Scott looked completely fine.
Years of professional hockey conditioning were unfair.
"I hate athletes."
"You say that while dating one."
"Exactly. I know too much."
Scott smirked.
"You need help carrying anything?"
"I need you to stop existing so effortlessly."
"That's not very romantic."
"It would help my self-esteem."
They reached the summit just as the sun began sinking toward the horizon.
The view was spectacular.
Orange light spread across the water. The ocean looked molten. The sky looked painted.
Even Scott had to admit it was worth the climb.
For several moments neither of them spoke.
Then Kip quietly slipped his hand into Scott's.
No cameras. No reporters. No teammates. No expectations.
Just them.
Scott squeezed gently.
And then he heard laughter coming from the opposite side of the lookout point.
Another couple.
No surprise there.
The island attracted couples.
Still, something about the laughter felt oddly familiar.
A loud masculine laugh. Followed by softer giggling.
Scott frowned.
The figures emerged from the darkness.
Still too far away to identify.
The loud one said something.
The wind carried the voice.
Scott froze.
No.
Impossible.
The accent was unmistakable.
Russian.
His stomach dropped.
The figures kept approaching.
Closer. Closer.
The light faded.
Faces became visible.
And suddenly the world stopped moving.
Because standing twenty feet away was Ilya Rozanov.
Captain of the Boston Bears.
Scott's longtime rival.
League superstar.
Professional menace. Certified pain in the ass.
And beside him stood Shane Hollander.
Captain of the Montreal Metros.
The other best player in hockey.
Quiet. Polite. Awkward.
Terrifyingly talented.
For several seconds nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Nobody spoke.
The four of them simply stared at each other.
Scott looked at Ilya.
Ilya looked at Scott.
Kip looked at Shane.
Shane looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
The silence stretched.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
Finally Ilya pointed at Scott.
"You."
Scott pointed back.
"You."
Ilya slowly turned toward Shane.
"Well."
Shane covered his face.
"Oh no."
Another silence.
Then Kip said the only thing anyone could apparently think of.
"...what are you doing here?"
Everyone groaned simultaneously.
"Excellent question." Ilya said.
"Very insightful."
Scott rubbed his temples.
"This cannot be happening."
"I agree." Shane muttered.
"This is statistically ridiculous."
"It is actually impressive," Kip said. "Three closeted hockey disasters and a barista somehow picked the same secret island."
Ilya immediately pointed at him.
"I like him."
"Everybody likes him."
"Understandable."
Another awkward silence followed.
Then all four men spoke at once.
"What…"
"How long…"
"Since when…"
"Seriously?"
Nobody finished.
Ilya barked out a laugh.
"Okay. We start over."
Nobody objected, because clearly normal conversation had failed.
Ilya crossed his arms.
"You first."
Scott stared.
"Why me?"
"Because you look oldest."
Scott nearly choked.
"I am three years older than you."
"Ancient."
"I hate you."
"Many people do."
Shane sighed heavily.
"Ilya."
"What?"
"Focus."
"Right."
Ilya pointed between Scott and Kip.
"You together?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Three years."
Ilya nodded thoughtfully, then pointed to himself and Shane.
"A decade."
The world stopped again.
Scott blinked. Kip blinked.
Nobody spoke.
"A decade?" Scott repeated.
"Yes."
"Ten years?"
"Yes."
"Ten actual years?"
"Scott," Kip said quietly, "I think a decade means ten."
Scott ignored him.
"Ten?"
"Why do you keep saying ten?"
"Because that's insane."
Ilya looked offended.
"Love is beautiful, yes."
Scott stared.
"Ten years."
Shane looked embarrassed.
"We met before our rookie season."
"Before your rookie season?"
"Yes."
"And nobody knows?"
"No."
Scott sat down heavily on a nearby bench, because suddenly he needed support.
He had spent years thinking he was the only captain in hockey hiding something this significant.
Apparently not.
Apparently his two biggest rivals had been secretly dating for over a decade.
And somehow nobody had figured it out.
Not the media. Not the fans. Not the league. Not even him.
Especially not him.
"I need a minute."
"You are taking this harder than we did." Ilya observed.
"I played against you for years."
"Yes."
"And the entire time…"
"Yes."
"You two were secretly together."
"Correct."
Scott stared into space, then another realization hit him.
"Oh my God."
"What now?"
"The chirping."
"What chirping?"
"The endless chirping."
Ilya frowned.
"What about it?"
Scott pointed dramatically.
"You weren't trying to annoy Shane."
"No."
"You were flirting."
Shane immediately turned red. Ilya grinned.
"You flirt like a ten-year-old boy."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I choose to hear it as one."
Kip was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
Meanwhile Shane appeared ready to jump off the lookout point.
"Please stop talking."
"No."
"Ilya."
"No."
"I have suffered enough."
"No."
Scott suddenly remembered something. His eyes widened.
"The All-Star Game."
Shane froze. Ilya froze.
"Oh no..." Shane whispered.
"The year you kept stealing Shane's ginger ale."
Kip looked confused.
"What?"
Scott pointed dramatically again.
"He stole Shane's ginger ale twenty-three times."
"It was romantic."
"It was weird."
"It can be both."
And for the first time since the shocking revelation, Shane laughed.
A genuine laugh. Warm and helpless.
The sound surprised all of them. Especially Ilya.
Because he immediately looked at Shane as if the sun had personally decided to smile at him.
And suddenly everything made sense.
Every interaction. Every strange moment. Every odd glance.
Ten years. Somehow ten years.
Scott looked at Kip. Kip looked back.
And they both realized exactly how absurd this situation was.
Three professional hockey disasters - and a barista - on the same tiny secret island.
Watching the same sunset.
All because none of them had told anyone the truth.
The universe clearly had a sense of humor.
Unfortunately, Scott had a feeling the universe wasn't finished laughing yet.
The universe, Scott decided, was a malicious entity.
Not evil. Not cruel.
Just deeply committed to comedy at his expense.
Because there was simply no reasonable explanation for this.
Out of all the islands. Out of all the countries. Out of all the secret destinations. Out of all the sunsets.
He had somehow managed to walk directly into Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander.
At the exact top of the exact hill on the exact evening they had chosen to visit it.
The odds had to be microscopic.
Shane seemed to be thinking the same thing.
"This shouldn't be possible."
"Correct." Scott said.
"I feel like we're in a simulation."
"Also correct."
Ilya shrugged.
"Or maybe all queer hockey players share one brain cell, yes."
Kip immediately laughed. Scott hated that it was funny.
Ilya pointed at himself.
"Bisexual."
Then pointed at Scott.
"Gay."
Then Shane.
"Gay."
Then Kip.
"Very gay."
"Thank you?" Kip said.
"You are welcome."
Shane groaned.
"I am begging you not to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be yourself."
"Impossible."
The sunset continued behind them.
Orange fading into purple. The ocean darkening. A breeze rolled across the hilltop.
Normally it would have been romantic.
Instead it felt like the world's strangest support group meeting.
Nobody seemed eager to leave.
Mostly because everyone had questions. Years worth of questions.
And suddenly there was no reason not to ask them.
Scott leaned forward.
"Okay."
"Okay." Shane agreed.
"We need information."
Ilya pointed at him.
"I like this meeting."
"This isn't a meeting."
"It absolutely is."
Kip raised his hand.
"I have a question."
"Of course you do." Scott said.
"Thank you."
"You don't need permission."
"I know."
"Then why did you raise your hand?"
"It felt professional."
Scott rubbed his face.
Kip turned toward Shane and Ilya.
"Which one of you made the first move?"
Shane immediately looked at the ocean.
Ilya immediately grinned.
"Me."
"Obviously." Scott muttered.
"Very obviously."
Shane sighed. Ilya looked proud.
"We met at rookie orientation."
"That's adorable."
"It was not adorable."
"It was very adorable."
"It was a disaster."
Ilya nodded enthusiastically.
"Disaster."
Shane pointed accusingly.
“He was smoking at a forbidden place, I told him to stop smoking.”
Kip laughed.
"Oh no."
Scott could already see where this was going.
"What happened next?"
"I told him to go away."
"And?"
Ilya smiled.
"I did not. I organized a commercial shot together."
"Romantic."
"Concerning."
"Same thing sometimes."
Scott was beginning to understand why this relationship had survived ten years.
Shane was the brakes. Ilya was the accelerator.
Together they somehow formed a functioning vehicle.
A deeply questionable vehicle.
But still. Functional. Mostly.
"Wait." Scott said.
"You've actually been together the entire time?"
Shane nodded.
"More or less."
"What does more or less mean?"
Both of them suddenly looked guilty.
Scott narrowed his eyes.
"What."
Kip narrowed his eyes too.
"What."
Ilya scratched his chin.
"There was brief period."
"How brief?"
"A few weeks."
Shane looked embarrassed.
"We broke up once."
"Why?"
"Because we were idiots."
"Fair."
"And then Ilya got jealous."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I was completely calm."
"You started three fights."
"They deserved it."
"None of them deserved it."
"They looked at you."
Scott and Kip exchanged a look.
"Wow." Kip said.
"Wow." Scott agreed.
Shane turned even redder. Ilya looked completely unapologetic.
"Anyway."
"You got back together?"
"Yes."
"So you've been together ever since."
"Yes."
"Ten years."
"Yes."
Scott shook his head again.
Every time he heard the number it felt less believable.
Then another realization hit him.
A terrible realization.
The kind that arrived slowly and brought friends.
His eyes widened.
"Oh my God."
"What now?" Shane asked.
Scott pointed at Ilya.
"The women."
Ilya frowned.
"What women?"
"The women."
"Oh."
"The women."
"Oh."
"The dozens and dozens and dozens of women."
Recognition dawned.
Then Ilya burst out laughing.
"Oh that."
Scott stared.
"'Oh that'?"
"It helps."
"It HELPS?"
"People expect it."
Kip looked fascinated.
"Wait."
He pointed at Ilya.
"You're telling me your entire manwhore reputation is basically camouflage?"
"Not completely, but yes.”
"That's insane."
"Thank you."
Shane quietly covered his face.
Scott wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or exhaustion.
Possibly both.
Then Scott remembered years of magazine covers.
Years of rumours. Years of gossip.
And suddenly everything looked different.
Every single story. Every single sighting. Every single photograph.
"Oh my God."
"There is another one?" Shane asked weakly.
"The awards ceremony."
The colour immediately drained from Shane's face.
Ilya started laughing before Scott even continued.
"The year everyone thought you left early because you were sick."
Shane closed his eyes.
"Oh no."
"You weren't sick."
"No."
"You left because Ilya got ejected from the afterparty."
"Technically escorted."
"You started a karaoke-related incident."
"I stand by my actions."
"There were police."
"They loved my singing."
"There were complaints."
"Art is controversial."
Kip was crying with laughter now. Actually crying.
Meanwhile Scott felt like somebody had handed him ten years of hidden context.
Nothing in hockey history made sense anymore.
Or maybe everything made sense now.
Which was somehow worse.
The conversation continued for nearly an hour.
Stories emerged. Secrets surfaced. Memories were re-examined.
Every few minutes somebody discovered another moment that suddenly had a completely different explanation.
By the end all four of them were laughing, because the truth was honestly ridiculous.
Eventually darkness settled fully over the island.
Lights appeared in the distance below.
The first stars emerged overhead.
And reality slowly returned.
Shane was the first one to acknowledge it.
"We should probably leave."
The mood shifted slightly, because unfortunately he was right.
Vacation was one thing. Real life was another.
Scott looked around the group.
"What happens now?"
Nobody answered immediately.
The question mattered. A lot.
Because each of them was holding the others' lives in their hands.
One conversation. One mistake. One leak.
That was all it would take.
Finally Shane spoke.
"We forget this happened."
"Agreed."
Scott nodded.
"Agreed."
Kip nodded too.
"Agreed."
Everyone looked at Ilya.
Ilya looked offended.
"What?"
"You are the weakest link."
"I am insulted."
"You should be."
"I can keep secrets."
Shane laughed. Actually laughed.
"That's the funniest thing you've said all night."
"Rude."
"It's true."
"Rude and true."
Scott pointed.
"Exactly."
Ilya considered this, then sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
He stood up, straightened his shirt and extended a hand.
"A pact."
Scott looked at the offered hand, then shook it.
"A pact."
Shane joined. Then Kip.
Four hands. Four men. Four enormous secrets.
The strangest alliance in professional hockey history.
Nobody said it out loud, but they all understood.
Whatever happened after tonight, none of them would betray the others.
Not intentionally. Not ever.
The moment felt oddly meaningful.
Almost emotional.
Then Ilya ruined it. Naturally.
He looked around.
Thought for a moment, and smiled.
"Oh."
Everyone immediately became suspicious.
"What?" Scott asked.
"I just realized something."
Nobody liked that smile.
"What?"
Ilya pointed between himself and Shane.
Then between Scott and Kip.
Then back again.
The smile grew wider.
"Oh no." Shane whispered.
"Ilya." Scott warned.
"We are technically double dating."
Silence.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
Then Shane made a sound that was suspiciously close to a scream.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Very yes."
Scott felt his soul leave his body.
Kip collapsed onto the bench laughing.
Shane looked ready to throw himself into the ocean.
And Ilya looked impossibly pleased with himself.
"We are never calling it that."
"We absolutely are."
"We absolutely are not."
"I am texting you vacation photos tomorrow."
"You don't have my number."
"I have everybody's number."
That was unfortunately true.
"Ilya…"
"Double date."
"No."
"Secret hockey double date."
"No."
"Historic double date."
"No."
"Annual double date."
"NO."
Ilya's grin became positively radiant.
The kind of grin usually associated with natural disasters.
Scott immediately understood the true danger of this situation.
It wasn't that they had discovered each other's secrets.
It wasn't the risk to their careers.
It wasn't the emotional implications.
It wasn't the shock.
The real problem was much worse.
Because now Ilya Rozanov knew.
Ilya slung an arm around Shane's shoulders. Shane accepted it automatically. Comfortably.
Like he'd been doing it forever.
Which, Scott supposed, he had.
Then Ilya started walking away.
A few steps later he turned around.
"Good meeting."
"It wasn't a meeting."
"Excellent meeting."
"It wasn't…"
"See you at training camp, Grandpa."
Scott stared.
"You are thirty."
"You are older."
"By three years."
"Ancient."
"I hate you."
Ilya laughed. Shane waved apologetically.
Then the two of them disappeared down the trail.
Scott and Kip watched them go.
Silence settled over the lookout point once more.
Finally Kip spoke.
"You know."
"What."
"We might actually be the normal couple."
Scott considered that.
He thought about the last two hours.
The revelations. The stories. The ginger ale. The karaoke incident.
The ten-year secret relationship. The fake womanizer reputation.
The double-date proposal.
Then he sighed.
"God help us."
Because for the first time in his life, Scott Hunter had met a hockey couple even more dysfunctional than his own.
And somehow that realization was the most terrifying part of the entire evening.