Chapter Text
Paramedic George Nguyen is tired. Scratch that, he’s absolutely exhausted. Having been thrown up on, yelled at and scratched (fuck you Squiggles) throughout his shift so far, he’s more than ready to shower and let the remaining hours of his shift pass with a snack and an unhealthy amount of doom scrolling. Thankfully the showers at the firehouse have decent pressure and in no time at all, George is settling down into one of the comfier chairs in the common room. He opens his phone, frowning at the multiple messages on his screen from his roommate group chat.
Now here’s the thing, George has lived with Dean and Ellis for a couple of years now and they are nice guys but sometimes they get a little overexcited. Just last month, there was a frankly concerning message with an in depth analysis on the recipe change of the donuts from their local café. The debate that followed went on for hours and made George mute the group chat for the next week. Rolling his eyes, George opens the chat and is shocked when the topic of conversation is something he actually cares for.
5C BOYS
D: Guys look at this shit!!!
Link: Ottawa Centaurs’ Captain and Hockey Star Shane Hollander comes out as gay.
E: No fucking way!!!!
D: Yeah, said he has a boyfriend and everything.
E: Man, he can suck whatever dick he wants if he gets a cup for Ottawa! THAT’S MY FUCKING CAPTAIN!!!!!!!
D: GO CENTAURS!!!!
E: GO CENTAURS!!!
A smile tugs at George’s mouth as he reads the messages. Well, at least his roommates aren’t homophobes he supposes.
A big Russian shadow looms over him, “Georgie you are in my seat.”
George looks up to meet the eyes of Ilya Rozanov, who is staring at him intently as he snacks on a bag of chips. “Fuck off Roz, this isn’t your seat.” George replies, going back to read the rest of the article.
Blue eyes continue to burn holes in the side of his head. “Is definitely my seat.” He deadpans, “I always sit there. Maria? I always sit here, yes?” He calls on the senior paramedic who sits across the room, deep in the latest of her cowboy romance novels. George swears there must be about 20 in the series and all of them are terrible. (Yes, he did read one once thanks to a power cut and a dead phone, it’s the main reason he keeps a fully charged power bank in his locker at all times now.)
Maria sighs, “Boys, stop fighting.” She says, tone bored and gaze not moving from the book in her hand.
George rolls his eyes, “Dude it’s been a shitty shift, just leave me alone.” And promptly goes back to scrolling through the twitter reactions, hoping Rozanov just leaves him be.
Of course, Ilya Rozanov, the menace to society that he is, does not leave George alone. He sits in the chair directly across from him and continues eating, crunching his chips obnoxiously loud. “Ah, yes. I hear you were attacked by kitten?”
“It was a fully grown cat.” George rebuffs, “and the old lady threw up on me.”
Rozanov smirks, “Poor Georgie.” And then as if noticing he’s not getting the usual level of friction from his teasing, he asks. “What are you frowning at?”
“I’m not frowning, I’m reading.”
Rozanov stands and walks back over to George, perching on the arm of the chair where he sits. “Fine. What are you reading?”
“Just an article- turns out Shane Hollander is gay.” George informs him. Rozanov likes hockey, surely he’ll want to know about this.
“Shane Hollander is gay?” Comes an exclamation from Carson Clark, self-proclaimed hockey superfan, although George is pretty sure both Rozanov and Maria could beat him at hockey trivia any day- not that he’d ever tell Rozanov that. “No way man.”
George nods. “Way, I’ll text the link to you.”
The text pings through on Clark’s phone a few seconds later and he reads through the piece, letting out a “Well I’ll be damned.” once he’s finished.
“Wait Roz you met him at that drill thing last month, right? Did he mention a boyfriend?” Clark asks.
George scoffs, “Yeah, Shane Hollander is a bloodhound for queer people and just spilled his little gay guts to the fucking bisexual terminator in the middle of a training exercise.” The rest of the room chuckle, Clark turning an embarrassed shade of pink.
“I confirm Shane Hollander did not tell me anything about boyfriend at the warehouse.” George holds his hand up in a ‘see’ motion at Clark. “But he did tell me he was single when we went on a date.”
Every head in the room snaps towards Rozanov, expressions ranging from confusion to utter disbelief.
“A date?” George guffaws. “No fucking way.”
“Yes, is true. I am Shane Hollander’s boyfriend.”
It’s a wonder that George’s eyes find their way forward again with how hard he rolls his them. Of course, Rozanov finds some way to turn this into a joke. There’s no actual way Roz bagged the Shane Hollander. Even if he is a really good-looking guy. (What? He’s straight not blind). It seems the rest of the room are in agreement as they all let out groans and chorus their disbelief at Roz’s antics.
Roz looks almost offended. “Why do you not believe I am the boyfriend of the most handsome man in the NHL?”
Laughing, George says. “Roz, dude you’re like the biggest troll I know.” Hums of agreement chime from around the common area.
The Russian scrunches his face up and gestures to it. “I am very handsome.”
“No, not troll like you’re ugly. Like a shit-stirrer, someone who jokes all the time.”
Roz stands up, flamboyantly waving his arms. George can’t believe he ever thought this man was straight. “I would not joke about Shane Hollander and his gorgeous freckles. They are like kisses from the sun.” Which ok, dramatic but valid. George wonders how he would talk about someone he actually is dating.
Clark chimes in, “Roz I think you’re getting a little bit carried away there, buddy.”
“Carried away? I could talk about Shane Hollander all day.” Roz states, standing from his position on the arm of the chair.
Before this can go any further and Roz can go on another of his tirades, (there was an incident where a rookie made the mistake of asking him about his dog, Anya)
“You know what Roz, have your goddamn seat. I don’t wanna sit here and listen to you wax poetic about Shane Hollander for the rest of my shift. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the bunk room. With noise cancelling headphones.”
Theres a few half-hearted murmurs as he leaves the room, mostly drowned out by Rozanov still describing Shane Hollander’s best attributes. In some twisted way, George admires Roz’s commitment to the bit. It still makes him chuckle as he walks away, imagining a world where Rozanov, the single most infuriating man he has ever met, is dating Canada’s golden boy. Yeah, there’s no way.