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Shane had not thought this through. He should have known better. He should have known that he couldn’t just walk onto the ice like nothing happened. But those were yesterday’s mistakes. And he had to deal with them today.
When he came back to the hotel room yesterday, he had been halfway through a panic attack. He had slipped into the bathroom, trying to avoid whatever look Hayden had on his face.
In the bathroom he tried to subdue his panic, using breathing techniques he had known ever since he was a child. And most importantly, he tried not to think about the look on Ilya’s face as he left him behind on his couch.
It was no use. Ilya’s clothes were still clinging to his body and as much as he would have liked to want to take them off, he didn’t. It was the only thing he still had to keep them connected, since he obviously screwed up royally. He would be lucky if Ilya ever wanted to look at him again.
He hadn’t meant for it to happen. To run away like that, without giving any explanation. But who could blame him? Ilya flipped the script on him. This isn’t what they did. They didn’t stay after sex. They certainly didn’t sleep together after sex. It had been so nice, and for a moment Shane had felt so safe with Ilya’s arms around him and his warm breath on his neck.
But then he realized he liked it a little too much. He started to fantasize about having that more often. But he knew that Ilya didn’t want that. They were supposed to keep it casual, which Ilya only emphasized by telling Shane he still fucked women.
Or at least that’s what Shane thought he had been doing. But not more than a few minutes later, after a strained phone call, Ilya had pulled Shane in and started stroking his hair.
It was weird and Shane was confused about what was happening. It was even worse when he felt the light pressure of a kiss on his hair.
Which meant he had to go back to safer waters. He had calmed down a little, his face buried in Ilya’s crotch. Usually, sex with Ilya cleared his head. But he hadn’t accounted for the intimacy of wrapping his hand around both their cocks at the same time. Or the way Ilya spit in his hand, so he would have a bit more friction to work with. Or how Ilya had breathed his name when he finally came.
Shane.
He definitely hadn’t accounted for that, let alone breathing Ilya’s name back in response. The need to push Ilya down on the couch and kiss him senseless was too much. Ilya chasing his kisses after that intimate orgasm was too much. The sound of Ilya saying his name pounding in his head was too much.
If Shane was true to himself, he had not wanted to leave. On the contrary, he had wanted to stay so badly that his heart hurt. He didn’t know if this meant something to Ilya, if he felt it too. The pull to keep the other close and never let go. But it didn’t matter, they could never be something.
Which is why he had to walk away. Ignoring how Ilya went back to saying his last name, like their entire relationship didn’t just change on that god forsaken couch. Ignoring the hurt in his voice. Ignoring the arm stuck out, as if he was waiting for Shane to sit back down and crawl into his arms.
It was the right thing to do. It was.
But staring at himself in the mirror, seeing his red rimmed eyes, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He washed his face and willed himself to calm down. He couldn’t face his friend in the middle of a panic attack. That could wait. That needed to wait.
He waited a few more minutes, hoping his eyes looked a little less like he had been crying, when he finally stepped into the room again.
Hayden’s head whipped around at the sound, his eyes on Shane immediately.
“You okay, Shane? Did something happen?” Hayden asked, his voice laced with concern.
Shane tried to avoid eye contact, instead focusing on getting ready for bed. “I’m alright.” He hoped Hayden didn’t hear the slight tremble in his voice.
Hayden frowned, but then sighed resigned. “Okay. You can tell me if you want to talk about something, okay?”
Seemed like Shane got lucky then. He slipped in the bed on his side of the room, not bothering to change out of the sweatpants and t-shirt. As long as he could still smell Ilya, he could still imagine that they were fine. He pulled the covers over his head, hoping they would hide the quiet sobs coming from his mouth.
He didn’t want to cry. He wanted to fall asleep and not think about it anymore.
Eventually he did.
But he hadn’t been prepared for how today would feel. Normally he would be buzzing with excitement to be able to play against Boston. It was always the most fun anyway. But instead of electricity, he could feel the panic lingering under his skin.
It was a mistake to assume that yesterday’s panic wouldn’t follow him to today. How did Ilya feel? Would he even want to see Shane? Would he chirp like nothing happened? Or would he look at Shane, with those piercing blue eyes, demanding to know why he left?
Shane didn’t think he would be able to handle that. He didn’t think he would be able to look at Ilya ever again. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted Ilya to look at him.
He went through the motions of his pregame ritual, vaguely aware of Hayden checking on him. Apparently, his responses were good enough for Hayden to leave him alone. It wasn’t like Shane usually talked much before a game, his captain’s speech excluded.
When he finished putting his gear on, just like the rest of the team, he amped them up with a short speech. It all came back to, “Let’s fuck them up!” and everyone was roaring and rolling out. This was familiar.
For a second it felt good to be on the ice. As usual with Montreal v. Boston, the arena was filled to the brim. It didn’t matter where the game was, the fans always came to play. The Montreal fans might have been in the minority, but they were definitely the loudest.
Shane closed his eyes, soaking in the noise of fans chanting their names. And he forgot. It was as if the ice was running through his veins, giving him some magical connection to hockey.
Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes, making eye contact with Rozanov right across the rink. Neither of them looked away. Rozanov was staring brazenly, which could have been dangerous in any other situation, except that even from here Shane could see there was no flirting or teasing in his gaze.
If anyone got it on video, it would be brushed off as a stare down between rivals. But Shane knew the truth. The murderous look on Rozanov’s face had nothing to do with how much he wanted to win, and everything to do with how Shane left him.
Don’t look at me, Shane silently begged.
It didn’t work. Rozanov was clearly not interested in backing down first. Eventually, Shane was the one who broke their eye contact, and skated away, desperately trying to ignore the growing thrum of panic under his skin.
“You okay?” Hayden asked, as soon as Shane reached the boards where he was standing.
Shane nodded. “Yes, for sure.” That didn’t even sound convincing to himself. He was surprised Hayden bought it at all. But it was good. As long as Shane could still hide it, there was nothing wrong. He was in control.
He grabbed his water bottle, itching for some relief. The water was cold as it flowed easily down his throat. It gave him a moment of clarity, firing him up for the game they were about to play. It did nothing to the thrum, steadily throbbing through his body.
He should have thought about the certainty of facing off against Rozanov when the game started. But somehow, he hadn’t. So, when his coach ordered him to get on the ice, he skated over automatically, bending down when he reached the center.
That’s when he smelled him. It shouldn’t be possible, not with all the people around them, all the gear on their bodies. But sleeping in Ilya’s clothes, clutching his shirt to his nose, Shane had become very familiar with his smell.
It almost knocked him down right there and then. Being in such close proximity was overwhelming in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
Shane glanced up, breathing out when he saw Rozanov was completely fixated on the ice. He could do this. They would play the game like they normally would.
The puck dropped, and Shane was off, Rozanov not far behind him. It wasn’t long before he was checked into the boards and could only watch as Rozanov took off with the puck. There had been no chirp. No teasing remark hinting at their post game activities.
Shane almost wanted Ilya to be angry with him. At least he would be saying something. The silence was worse. The rest of his shift Shane was determined to illicit some kind of reaction from Rozanov. He checked him, sometimes barely legal. Checks that Rozanov wouldn’t hesitate to drop his gloves for. But nothing.
It was clear that Rozanov didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. He should be relieved. At least he had some clarity now. He could ignore all his feelings, not needing to face them anymore.
But he didn’t feel relieved. He felt scared. Scared that he wouldn’t see Ilya again. Wouldn’t hear his voice anymore, soft in a way that was only reserved for Shane. Scared that he would never get to wake up with him again and he could have kicked himself for only letting that happen once.
His skin was throbbing, begging him to reach out to Rozanov, their gear still creating too much of a distance whenever they crashed into each other. His fingers were aching in his gloves. Worst of all, Rozanov seemed completely unbothered.
Sure, he wasn’t checking him and chirping him as much, but he was playing hard, brutal and beautiful. And Shane was chasing after him like a lost puppy. Not really, since he was still too focused on playing the game, but every time Rozanov skated away, he took Shane’s heart with him.
That made their second face off in the game even worse. Shane could barely keep himself from reaching out, and his hands were shaky where they held on to the stick. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Rozanov looked at him now.
Maybe he would crumble and land flat on the ice. Maybe Ilya would touch him then. Maybe Ilya would notice that Shane was sorry, that his heart was bleeding out and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He bent down and got immediately overwhelmed by Ilya’s presence around him.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me, Shane pleaded. He repeated it as a mantra in his head, as if that would make it come true somehow. Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
His stick tapped on the ice, uneven movements caused by his still shaking hands. Don’t look at me. Another tap. Don’t look at me.
“What,” Rozanov bit out.
Shane got startled. He didn’t say it out loud, did he? He didn’t remember doing that. But why else would Rozanov be speaking to him now? His heart started beating faster below his heaving chest. When did the air in the arena get so tight?
He tried using the same breath techniques as he did yesterday, a valiant attempt at calming himself. He squeezed his eyes, and repeated the same four words, over and over again in his head, this time putting more focus on not saying them out loud.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
“Hollander,” Rozanov’s voice cut through again. “Are you okay?”
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
Shane couldn’t bear it anymore. The words weren't enough, the tapping of his stick and the deep breaths weren't calming him down. The only thing he could think about was Ilya.
If only he had taken the time to properly work through it yesterday. But he didn’t. He was faintly aware of Rozanov still calling out to him, but it wasn’t enough to break him out of his spiraling.
Then the puck dropped, Rozanov won the face off, and everything made sense again. His hands sat steady on his stick, and it only took a minute for him to steal the puck off an oblivious Raider. Not long after, the goal horn sounded and for the tiniest moment everything was clear.
Automatically, his eyes found Rozanov, accustomed to acting smug about getting a goal against him. He got the breath sucked out of him when he saw him looking back.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
The next thing he knew he was on the player’s bench, Hayden sitting next to him talking his ear off. He didn’t remember getting off the ice for the line change. He didn’t remember it at all. He was so tired. His head hung and he could feel the heaviness in his limbs. He wasn’t sure he could get up if he tried. He was frozen.
Shane lifted his head, just a bit so he could scan the ice. Jerseys blended into one another, impossible to make out the number he was looking for. Were his eyes blurry? Was he crying? He squeezed his eyes, as if it could somehow stop the tears from falling down. It was extremely unprofessional, and he felt stupid. Hockey was the only thing he could do, and now he was failing at that too?
What a fucking failure. Couldn’t even get up to face Rozanov again. If Shane wasn’t already sure that Rozanov was done with him, this would have taken the cake. There was nothing between them except hockey. And now he couldn’t even do that right.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
Hayden was talking to him. He could hear it. But he couldn’t make out the words. It was probably not that important anyway. His eyes focused on a fan in the stands wearing a neon green kit. Who would wear that to a game like this? It’s not even close to the colors of Montreal and Boston.
Even though it was the ugliest shirt he had ever seen, he kept his eyes on it. As long as he was focusing on something, he was still there. How many people were in this stadium right now? Shane didn’t know the capacity of the Raiders stadium. He should know it. He was good with statistics.
He was definitely going to look that up when he got home. After the game they would be going back to Montreal. And they would leave Boston. Shane would leave Rozanov behind. Maybe for good.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
How much time had passed? Was it time for a line change again? Was Rozanov already on the ice? Maybe he was waiting for Shane at the face off spot. The idea of Ilya waiting for him to show up, despite everything, made him giddy inside.
He should look.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
That T-shirt really was atrocious. No one could ever convince him to wear something like that. Ilya would probably like it. Very bold.
Wait, where was it?
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
He should find something else to do. No more green shirt. If he didn’t know the capacity of the stadium, he could just start counting. He had all the time in the world. No one was here, no one was looking at him.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
The mantra kept repeating in his head. He kind of liked it now. It was familiar, and it had a cadence to it that was very satisfying. Someone should write a song about it. Maybe he could write a song about it, if hockey didn’t work out.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
He would be the worst pop star. An ex-hockey player writing love songs about his rival? That was laughable. Especially since he ruined that. Ilya was certainly mad at him. What a brutal career that would be.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
Shit, he forgot to get something for the twins’ birthday. Jackie was going to be so pissed. He already missed their birthday last year. It was not like he was their dad, but being a godfather came pretty close. What do four-year-old girls even like?
Ilya was probably really good with kids. He should ask him. Shane remembered one of his interviews. Rozanov had said he had a niece. Maybe she was around the same age.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
Did he have dinner prepared for tonight? He sure as hell wouldn’t be eating tuna melts again. Those sandwiches were probably cursed. Not that Shane believed in that.
Somewhere along the line, Shane got lost in a train of thought, with every topic somehow coming back to Ilya.
It wasn’t long before he zoned out completely.
»*«
Hayden was worried. He had been since yesterday, when Shane got back from what he thought was a date with Lily. But something had clearly gone wrong, Shane’s red puffy eyes being the first thing Hayden saw.
He should have pushed when Shane said he was okay, but Hayden knew him and knew that he wouldn’t want to talk about it. He offered though. He shouldn’t have ended it there.
He had immediately known that something was wrong today. Shane always went through his pregame ritual as if it were something set in stone. Except today he had been sloppy. The tape on his stick was not as neat as it normally was. And the worst thing was that Shane didn’t even seem to notice. That should have been his first sign that Shane wasn’t in the right mind to play hockey.
The second sign was when Hayden caught him staring off into the distance on multiple instances. When Shane joined him before the game, Hayden had quickly asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, for sure,” Shane said.
It hadn’t sound convincing at all.
But then the game started, and Shane seemed to be fine. He played hockey as he normally did, maybe being a bit more brutal in his checks against Rozanov, but Hayden didn’t mind. That asshole deserved everything that came for him.
Maybe Shane just needed to let out his anger. Clearly, he went through a breakup of some sorts and had to work off steam.
Hayden told himself that that was it.
But it was around the second face off that he noticed Shane wasn’t exactly steady on the ice. Even from multiple feet away, Hayden could see his hands shaking.
That didn’t happen to Shane. He breathed hockey. It’s what he did best. And even with his shaky hands, he proved him right. The goal horn sounded, and Hayden skated up to him, bumping their helmets together as they always did.
That’s when he noticed Shane’s eyes. They weren't focused at all. He didn’t look at Hayden, as a matter of fact he didn’t look at anything.
Their coach called for a line change, and Hayden pulled Shane with him. His friend went willingly. Only Hayden didn’t know if Shane was even aware he was on the ice anymore. The goal must have been pure muscle memory.
He tried to avoid his coaches eyes as he pushed Shane towards the player’s bench. Shane collapsed on top of it, like he had no control over his body.
Now Hayden was really getting concerned. He had never seen Shane like this, sure, but he didn’t know if he had ever seen anyone like this. It was like he was in a trance.
“Shane, are you okay?” Hayden nudged him.
He got no response.
He slung his arm around Shane’s shoulder, pulling him in so he could get closer to his ear. “You doing good, buddy? Talk to me.”
Shane just let it happen. No chirp about professionality, and how they should be focused on the game. Nothing. Hayden followed his gaze to the stands, hoping that there would be something so remotely interesting there, that it would explain why Shane wasn’t listening to him.
He found nothing. Just the same old fans that were always there at games. Suddenly the crowd roared at a bad check. Hayden immediately whipped his head around to look at Shane. He knew he didn’t like loud noises, so this would surely wake him up.
There was no difference. Maybe a slight head tilt, as if there really was something interesting to look at this time.
Hayden’s hand found Shane’s thigh, squeezing hard. “I’m getting really worried here, buddy. Please just say something.”
Shane blinked as if he heard him. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he started tapping his stick to his helmet in a determined rhythm.
“What’s up with him? He’s even weirder than usual,” someone next to him snickered.
Hayden turned around to look at his teammate. “Shut the fuck up, Comeau. Keep your ice on the ice if you want to watch something so badly.”
Comeau scoffed, holding his hands up in resignation. “Jesus, I was just noticing.”
“Notice something else,” Hayden spat.
He turned his attention back to Shane. Who was now whispering something. This was good, he was finally coming back to himself. It didn’t matter that Hayden couldn’t make out the words for the life of him.
He moved closer, as far as both their helmets would let them. “What was that, Shane?”
But he didn’t need to ask, because apparently Shane was not stopping now. His voice was barely a whisper, but Hayden could still hear it this time.
“Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me,” Shane murmured quietly.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Hayden didn’t think Shane was even aware he was saying it out loud.
He kept his voice low as he asked, “You don’t want me to look at you? What do you mean, Shane?”
“Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me,” Shane repeated, hitting his helmet with his stick over and over again.
“Hey, you have to stop that, buddy, you’re going to hurt yourself!”
It was no use. Shane kept going, repeating the same four words as if it was a mantra. What the hell had Lily done to leave him in such a state? And they were in the middle of the game, this was not the time for anyone, let alone Shane, to freak out.
“Hollander! Your turn!” Coach Theriault yelled.
Fuck. This was what he was afraid of.
“Please Shane, snap out of it,” Hayden begged. “I know you can do it, come on.”
Nothing.
“Hollander, I said: get the fuck on the ice!”
Damn it. Hayden really fucking hated their coach. That man had no empathy whatsoever. Couldn’t he see that there was something wrong? Shane would never ignore a direct order from his coach, in fact had never done it before today, and still fucking Theriault didn’t notice that there was something wrong?
“He’s not hearing you!” Hayden said exasperated. “He’s unresponsive.”
“The fuck you mean, unresponsive? Fix it!” The angry words out of his coach’s mouth turned the attention of all their teammates to them.
Hayden was disappointed with how many were matching the rage on Theriault’s face. Only a few of them looked somewhat worried.
He tried to keep his own anger at bay, but it still slipped through as he yelled back. “I’m trying! It’s not working!”
“Fucking useless shit, get it under control,” Theriault hissed.
“Yes, sir,” Hayden said dryly. He didn’t feel like being nice to his coach today. And he basically got the green light to fix whatever was wrong with Shane, which was a win in his book.
He took off his helmet and crouched down in front of Shane, cramming himself in the tiny space between the boards and the player’s bench. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least he could look at Shane this way.
He rested his hands on Shane’s thighs, squeezing through the pads, hoping to make contact with him.
“I’m going to take off your helmet, okay?”
He still didn’t get an answer, except for the soft whispering. “Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me.”
What was that about anyway?
Hayden shoved his arm between Shane’s hockey stick and his head, keeping him from accidentally bashing his own brains in as he carefully took off the helmet. He didn’t know what he had hoped to achieve with this, because now it became even clearer how out of it Shane was.
His eyes were not even focused. Hayden would be surprised if Shane could see anything at all, with how they were filled with tears. Maybe it was the cold air hitting his bare face, but Shane sighed softly.
Hayden’s optimism was short lived, as nothing else changed. The taps continued, this time on his left arm that was still leaning on Shane’s shoulder.
Hayden didn’t stop him. If this was how Shane needed to regulate his emotions right now, he was supposed to let him, right?
His right hand came up to Shane’s cheek, slapping him a few times, as you would do when trying to wake someone up. It didn’t work. Nothing seemed to work.
Just as he was going to try and talk as a way to hopefully snap him out of it, he heard a deep voice with a Russian accent behind him.
“Is Hollander okay?”
Hayden rotated his body as far as he could, while still keeping his hands in place. Just in time to see Ilya fucking Rozanov skating by and stopping to lean slightly over the boards.
“Fuck off, Rozanov, it’s none of your business,” Hayden snapped.
Rozanov frowned, but to his credit he didn’t say anything else. His face looked more worried than any of his teammates faces had, and that for some reason pissed off Hayden even more. What were they even doing with this team, if even their rival could show more concern for Shane’s wellbeing?
Before Hayden had to deal with those thoughts, Rozanov had luckily already skated away, giving him the opportunity to focus on Shane again. Maybe even use this to his advantage.
“What an asshole, right?” Hayden chuckled. He kept his gaze locked on Shane’s eyes, watching for any change. “You sure you want to leave him out there alone? We might need you to keep him busy. This way he might get ahead of you in the scoring race! We can’t let a Raider beat a Metro.” Hayden fake gagged at that last sentence. If there was anything that could snap Shane out of this it was the idea of losing to his rival.
Around them the game was continuing, barely anyone looking bothered by what was happening on the Metros bench. Hayden was sure the media would have a lot to say about it after the game, but at least they weren't being nagged now.
“I was going to invite you over for dinner, as soon as we got to Montreal. Yes, I know, we have the twin’s birthday soon, but you should come over for a normal dinner first. Jackie and the kids miss you. And I’d like to hang out with you outside of hockey too. Big surprise, I know! Ring the bells, Hayden Pike has friends!”
“Indeed, very surprising,” said someone behind him.
Hayden really wished he didn’t recognize who it was, but unfortunately, he didn’t have to turn around. He groaned loudly and stood up to face the man behind him.
“Something is wrong, what is it,” Rozanov demanded.
Hayden sighed defeatedly. “He won’t snap out of it.”
Rozanov frowned. “Out of what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s in some kind of trance.”
Rozanov nodded silently, as if he was contemplating something. Then determination flashed across his face. “Okay, I will help.”
“What?” Hayden blinked, processing those words.
Rozanov shrugged, like he hadn’t just offered to help his rival, and hopped the boards. His helmet touched the floor before Hayden even had time to blink. This was in so many ways illegal. Or was it? He didn’t know the etiquette of entering the opposing team spaces, but it looked illegal.
The gold white jersey stuck out in sea of blue and it felt like the entire arena took a breath when Rozanov crouched down in front of Shane.
“Maybe his good old rival will be able to help him, hmm?” The words were obviously meant for Hayden, but Rozanov was saying them to Shane instead.
Hayden couldn’t help but make a last remark. “What’s it to you?”
Rozanov huffed, clearly annoyed as he looked over at him. “Is boring on the ice without him. Answer good enough for you?”
“Jeez, calm down,” he said, holding his hands up. “Go ahead, see what you can do.”
He was hesitant to have Rozanov see Shane in such a vulnerable state, but nothing he had tried so far had worked, and he was getting desperate.
Hayden watched the scene unfold in front of him. It was weird. The hard lines around Rozanov’s eyes seemed to soften as soon as he looked at Shane. It almost looked like fondness. Maybe he just really valued their rivalry?
He scanned his surroundings. The clock was still ticking, but the game had fallen silent. All the players and fans had stilled, now watching the crouched down figure, crammed into a spot way too small for a player like him. Everyone was holding their breath, including Hayden.
Rozanov tapped Shane’s knee as if to alert him that he was there. “Hollander.”
He got no reaction. Hayden really shouldn’t feel smug about that, but if Rozanov had gotten Shane to respond after one word, he would have started to question his own capabilities as a best friend.
“Hollander.” Rozanov tried again.
Nothing. Shane stared through him as if he wasn’t even there.
“Shane.”
Oh. Clearly Rozanov moved on to different methods.
The big Russian didn’t look so scary anymore as he kept saying Shane’s name softly. His gloves were already off, and his thumb moved up and brushed lightly against Shane’s cheek. “Shane.”
It didn’t work. Shane’s knuckles were white from where he was gripping his hockey stick. Rozanov pried his fingers off carefully and took it from his hands, laying it on the ground at a safe distance. Fuck. He should have thought of that. At least Shane wouldn’t be able to hurt himself anymore.
“I will take off your skates now, okay?” Rozanov tapped Shane’s thigh again, alerting him that something was going to happen.
It was the movement of someone who had dealt with this before. Maybe that’s why Rozanov came over to help? Maybe he had someone in his life that had panic attacks or meltdowns or whatever the fuck this was?
Rozanov untied the laces on Shane’s skates, and it was weirdly intimate to watch a rival captain being on his knees for their captain. He could see the shock on a few of his teammates’ faces, clearly sharing the sentiment.
But Rozanov seemed wholly unbothered by the ordeal. There was no stutter in his movements. Not as he untied the skates, one by one, and set Shane’s feet down on the ground like they were something precious to deal with.
Then Hayden heard Shane start to whisper again. Fuck. He still hadn’t figured out what he meant with those words.
“Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me,” Shane’s voice was quiet, but Rozanov heard him and nodded along.
His hand came up under Shane’s chin, lifting it with a finger, as he smiled softly. “Too bad, hmm? I am looking at you.” His thumb grazed back and forth on Shane’s jawline, while keeping his head steady.
His other hand rested on Shane’s thigh, way too high to be comfortable for Shane if Hayden had anything to say about it, so he stepped a little closer, ready to swoop in if needed.
“Don’t look at me, don’t look—” Shane was about to repeat that weird mantra, when Rozanov interrupted.
“I am looking, Shane. And I am not going to look away.”
Hayden didn’t like how stern and demanding Rozanov sounded, and was about to take another step, when suddenly Shane started to shake his head.
“No,“ He croaked out. “Don’t look.”
The tears that had been stuck in his eyes, keeping them glassy, now started freely falling down. Rozanov cupped Shane’s cheeks with both hands, catching them and stopping Shane from frantically shaking his head.
“I am not going to go away, Shane. Unless you use your words to tell me.”
It still sounded commanding, as if Rozanov was giving an order, but at the same time Hayden was struck by the fondness in his voice. This didn’t look like rivalry anymore. Rozanov looked comfortable being this close to him, and Shane hadn’t flinched away. This was something more. At a minimum they were friends.
Hayden quickly looked around, making sure no one else was seeing what he was seeing. Luckily no one was as close to the scene as he was. His gaze flicked over all the players, meeting some confused stares, but nothing more.
He could hear Rozanov still talking, his voice low and quiet, making sure to keep it as private as possible. “Is very boring to play hockey without you. I am always very excited to play against Hollander, like I say: Only second-best player can keep up with me.”
Shane huffed at that, but was still crying as he tried to shake his head again. His hands were flexing and unflexing, missing something to hold on to.
Hayden sighed in relief. If Shane could react to a chirp like that it meant that he was coming back to himself.
“Your hands are very restless, Shane,” Rozanov murmured. “Should find something else to hold on to.”
Shane’s eyes widened, and his hands shot out to grab Rozanov’s hair, pulling him closer. Rozanov hissed, clearly not prepared for the sharp tug on his curls.
Hayden almost chuckled at that, but he was too baffled by Shane gripping Rozanov like a lifeline. When exactly had his friend become so comfortable with him?
“Yes, yes, very good,” Rozanov chuckled deeply and he brought his hands down to grip Shane’s thighs. “I thought maybe you would grab my jersey, hmm? Not my very sweaty hair.”
Shane shook his head, tearing up again. “Don’t care, I need—”
“I know what you need,” Rozanov said quietly.
Well, that made one of them, because Hayden really didn’t know what the hell was going on here.
Shane kept shaking his head, making Hayden wonder if Rozanov should have kept his hands there to steady him.
“No, I need…” Shane almost whimpered, still refusing to make eye-contact with the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“No. No more of this.” Rozanov reached up, using his right hand to cup Shane’s cheek again, and his eyes searched his face. “Tell me what is going on.”
Shane forcefully shook his head. “No. You should leave… You are mad at me and I ruined everything and—”
“No, no, Shane,” Rozanov shushed him. “Shane. Look at me.”
And finally, he did. Shane tore his gaze away from wherever he had been staring, and Hayden held his breath.
Shane looked at Rozanov, not contradicting him, but instead focusing his attention on the man in front of him.
“Good. Now listen to me.” Rozanov shifted closer, or maybe it was Shane that pulled him in.
“You think I am mad about yesterday?” He shook his head as if it was something ridiculous. “I am not mad. I could never be mad at you, Shane.”
“No?” Shane’s voice was pitched high, and his eyes widened.
“No,” Rozanov said firmly.
That’s when Shane started blinking rapidly. As if he was making up for hours of keeping his eyes wide open. The fluttering of his eyelids did nothing to keep the tears in, and Hayden could only watch as his best friend cried silently.
“Not fair,” Rozanov grumbled, the back of his hand brushing over Shane’s nose and cheeks. As if he was tracing the freckles splattered there. “Still pretty, even when you cry.”
Shane huffed, but a smile finally broke through on his face.
Fuck yes. Hayden was slightly annoyed that his rival calling him pretty was what did it, but still he was damn glad to see a smile on Shane’s face. There were no words to describe what happened to Rozanov’s face in that moment.
He was beaming up at Shane. Hayden didn’t know if he had ever seen a smile this bright on his face. Hell, he was wondering if he had even seen the man smile at all, if this was what he looked like when it was genuine.
“See? There you are.” Rozanov grinned.
It wasn’t long before a matching grin appeared on Shane’s face.
The two men only had eyes for each other.
Hayden breathed. Okay, Shane was good again. They needed to get a move on, preferably escaping to the locker room to avoid whatever was going to go down here. He moved, and was about to grab Shane’s arm to pull him away, when—
Shane tugged on Rozanov’s hair, leaning down at the same time, and closed the tiny distance between them, kissing him hard.
What the fuck? What was Shane doing? Did he know what he was doing?
Hayden was about to freak out on Shane’s behalf, when Rozanov’s hand moved to the back of Shane’s neck, and instead of flinching away, he pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.
Oh. This was not one sided then. Cool. Totally cool. Yes, Hayden could deal with this. Shane was obviously… gay? And Rozanov too? And they were making out, like all rival captains do, this didn’t have to mean anything.
Except it definitely did, because they weren't breaking away from each other, and Hayden could hear the murmurs in the crowd getting louder, which was unfortunate, since he kind of forgot he was standing in the middle of the stadium, which meant Shane and Rozanov were on display for everyone to see, and… Fuck.
His head shot up, scanning around him to see who would be supportive. From the disgusted look on the Metro’s faces he already saw they wouldn’t be any help. But then he made eye contact with a similarly confused Cliff Marleau across the rink, and when he beckoned him to come over, the man didn’t hesitate.
The alternate captain of the Raiders rallied his team together, and in only a minute they did what they should have thought of doing before.
The Boston team formed a wall in front of the boards, shielding both captains from whatever cameras were pointed at them. Hayden looked around, trying to make himself useful, as he caught a camera a little more to the side.
He stepped in front of it immediately, the camera man gruffy as he looked at him and scoffed loudly. Hayden didn’t care. He was protecting his friend by doing something he should have done before, but at least he was doing it now.
He had to watch his best friend and captain suck face with Rozanov for way too long, when they finally pulled apart.
The two captains smiled at each other, still so close that their noses were brushing together. They had seemingly forgotten where they were, as they breathed, refusing to let go of where they both still had their hands stuck in each other’s hair.
It was an intimate scene, that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Hayden’s heart hurt. It was obvious to him that this, between them, wasn’t a new thing at all. Which meant that they had been keeping this a secret, trying to protect whatever they had from blowing up in their faces. Suddenly it made more sense why Shane had come back in such a panicked state. And now it was all out in the open anyway.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was already doing the rounds on social media. The wall of Raiders stood firm and Hayden didn’t move, but it had already been too late. And there was no way to protect them from all the fans who had their phone out.
Hayden really didn’t want to be the one to burst their little bubble. Whatever hatred he harbored against Rozanov had quickly vanished when he brought his best friend down from what was probably the worst panic attack of his life.
It had been terrifying to see Shane so unresponsive, when there was physically nothing wrong with him, and Hayden had truly been at his wits’ end before Rozanov swooped in to save the day. How could you ever thank someone for that?
Rozanov seemed to be the first one out of the two to realize where they were. Hayden supposed that was lucky, since apparently, he was fucking great at talking Shane down, and there was inevitably another freakout bound to happen.
Rozanov stood up awkwardly on his skates, and damn that must have been uncomfortable to sit crouched down like that for so long with your skates still on, but he only wobbled slightly. He pulled Shane up by his hands, and it was clear that he was also using his body to shield Shane from the crowd.
Fuck. Another thing that he had to thank the asshole for. If he could even still call him that. Rozanov steered Shane towards the tunnel, his arm protectively slung around him. Hayden didn’t hesitate to follow them.
He chuckled, having to try really hard not to burst out laughing, as he saw the wall of hockey players shuffling with them, shielding Shane and their captain as they walked past everyone else. It looked ridiculous, with a few Raiders looking back over their shoulders, apparently having the task of keeping track of their movements. He could faintly hear them giving orders.
“They’re going left!”
“Ouch, you’re pushing me!”
“Left! Go left!”
“Which way is that?!”
“Dude, you don’t know what your left side is?”
“My hands are on your back, so now I can't look at my fingers!”
“You’re not a fucking preschooler, you’re supposed to know your lefts and rights without using your fucking hands!”
“It’s not my fault! I’m dyslectic!”
“As far as I know, being dyslectic doesn’t make you an idiot!”
That’s when Hayden couldn’t bear it anymore and he burst into a fit of giggles. He had known that the Metros had the brains in this rivalry, but he didn’t know it was this bad. At least they hadn’t hesitated to stand up for their captain and their rival captain, which was more than he could say for his own team.
It felt like a huge release to laugh for a second, before having to deal with everything that was undoubtedly going to happen after this.
He realized he was further behind Shane and Rozanov than he thought, and he quickly made his way through the tunnel towards the visitor’s locker room. At the door he could already hear the voices talking inside.
Hayden took a deep breath and stepped inside.