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Shane Hollander’s legs vibrated with anxiety as he took step after step in the chilly evening of early October, trying not to think about his destination.
He wasn't doing a very great job at it, though. Scott Hunter's house was terrifying to look at even from afar, and for a second, Shane's hand went to his phone.
His rapidly beating heart and the repeated chant of ‘I fucked up, I fucked up' made him desperate to text Ilya, to at least let him know what to expect in case Scott said anything, and that their whole careers were going to end because Shane had been stupid.
He didn't, though. Shane redirected his hand away from his pocket and up to his cap, pulling it lower over his ears.
The street was eerily quiet, so Shane went down the walk of shame with only the sound of crunching leaves and his self-deprecating thoughts to keep him company.
Unfortunately, though, the distance between him and the door had to end at some point, and Shane found himself standing in front of it like a creep for longer than was necessary.
‘Okay, just ring. The quicker, the better. Once this is over with, I can go die in the car,’ he told himself, but didn't make any actual move to press the small button next to the door.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot.
God fucking damn it…
He didn't want to look suspicious by sitting on Scott Hunter's porch at eight pm on a Saturday like an idiot, so after a respectable five minutes spent failing at collecting himself, Shane finally pressed the button.
He stepped away from it right after, as if he could still leave and pretend nothing had happened, but the thought of going back to his car without talking things out with Scott made the anxiety in his legs rise to his chest.
The door creaked open, and Scott's head peeked through. A lot of shady people rang his doorbell on Saturday evenings, it seemed.
“Hello?- Oh! Hollander!” He stepped out entirely, closing the door behind him. He quickly inspected Shane before letting his eyes narrow slightly. “Hollander…”
Shane cleared his throat.
“Hi. I, um, came here to apologize…?” He winced. “I'm sorry for yesterday, I didn't-"
“Dude, don't worry about it,“ Scott interrupted. “Fights happen all the time, right?”
Shane looked him in the eye for a second, a poor attempt at deciphering his thoughts.
“Yeah, I know. It's just…”
Scott tried to catch his eye again, perhaps to read him the way Shane couldn't read him.
Shane hated talking to people sometimes.
“Is it what I said?” Scott suddenly said.
By Shane's reaction, who tensed like he'd been struck by thunder, he was sure Scott was probably deciding to use the blackmail he had on him after all. Shane's pulse quickened.
“I mean,” he continued, without letting Shane breathe. “I'm used to fights, it's in the sport. I just didn't really expect it to come from you.”
The look on his face made the message that much clearer: ‘You don't fight often. I know I hit a nerve.’
Shane rubbed the back of his neck and kept his hand there to fiddle with his cap as he scrambled for words.
“Um- this is really awkward. I know you know.”
He looked up for a brief second, somewhere towards the space between Scott's shoulder and face, but he didn't seem to understand him, because the confusion in his voice didn't sound practiced when he said: “What?”
Shane blinked.
“The chirp,” he tried.
“Yeah?”
Scott looked confused, but a part of Shane was convinced that it was all an act. That the second Shane left, Scott would make some calls, or invite his friends over to make fun of him, and soon all of Shane and Ilya's hard work would be flushed right down the drain.
But Scott acting confused made Shane confused, too. Does he really want him to say it out loud, for everyone to hear?
He briefly scanned the street. It was empty.
Still, what if someone happened to pass by right when he said it? What if people were outside, and spying on them?
Hockey players Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter, talking about Shane being gay on a Saturday night, in public.
He could already see the headlines.
Bile rose in his throat, but Shane pushed it down.
“You know…‘You're starting to sound like him'?”
Scott frowned. “I know what I said. I'm just surprised it made you snap at me.”
“Well- I didn't mean to, if that helps. I was more angry at myself, I guess? I was so sure that we were being subtle, but if you were able to see it and chirp about it-"
“Wait.”
Shane took a small step back when Scott's extended palm almost met his face.
He kept it up for a while, signaling for Shane to remain quiet.
“Sound like him,” and “Subtle about it?” Scott whispered to himself.
With dawning horror, Shane realized that Scott Hunter had had absolutely zero idea about-
“Shit! You and Rozanov?”
Shane looked around quickly before burying his head in his arms, breaths fast and ragged. “Fuck, you didn't know, and I just told you.”
Scott opened his mouth. Closed it.
Tried again.
“No, what? Pffft! I- I knew that- please don't have a panic attack.”
Shane kept his eyes on the floor. His head was pounding. “Fuck, I'm so dead, I'm so dead-"
“Hey. It's okay, I promise.”
Is it, though?
Shane looked up at the soft expression on Hunter's face and the awkward shuffle of his left foot on the ground.
“I'm really sorry, Hollander. I swear I wouldn't have said that if I knew.”
Shane was dumbfounded.
“You're okay with…”
Scott nodded minutely.
“Yeah. Actually, my boyfriend is inside, watching TV. I wouldn't have kept you standing here like this otherwise.”
Shane laughed a bit, partly to shake off his nerves, and partly to mask the shock he'd just received.
Scott had a boyfriend? There were more queer NHL players?
“Don't worry, I don't mind. I didn't plan to stay here too long, anyway.”
Scott took that as his sign to do a one-eighty and invite Shane inside. Or at least pin down a double date with the bunch of them. Queer hockey players need to stick together, and all that.
Kip would be thrilled about the idea.
“Well, if you change your mind, I was just about to order dinner.”
“Don't worry about it.”
They stared at each other for a minute.
“So, you and Rozanov, huh?”
Shane's cheeks flushed a bright red, but his expression turned sour.
“It's actually kind of complicated...”
Scott found his opportunity to lure the younger in. He opened the door and held it open for him to step through.
“I got time. Dump it on me, rook.”