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Cliff Marlow didn't understand what has happened to his best friend.
Not even two days ago, to everyone's surprise, Ilya Rozanov asked him for advice on how to best show someone how much you care about them. Why he thought chronically single Cliff, who was never been in a relationship for longer than a week, was the best person to ask for that sort of advice, was still something he tried to wrap his mind around. But it didn't matter.
When Ilya asks for help, he receives it. That wasn't something that happened all too often, after all. Or ever, really. Ilya usually bottles everything up, even when it's obvious that he needs help with something; he never asks for assistence. A lone fighter; someone who isn't used to have other's fend for him.
Not a surprise considering everything Ilya has ever told him about his family; which frankly, wasn't much, but enough for Cliff to get the general gist of things.
Despite having little to no actual relationship experience—casual sex obviously wasn't the issue, he does that often enough—Cliff did his best to help his best friend in every way possible.
"What's your plan?" To which Ilya simply replied by shrugging. No wonder he needs help, Cliff thought and took out his phone to look up cute and romantic date ideas and started to read them out. All of which got shut down for pretty much the same few reasons.
"Jane and I cannot go out in public" or "We are very private people" or even "Jane is very shy, do not want her to be uncomfortable by being seen together"; Cliff couldn't lie, he was growing a bit frustrated with his ideas—other people's ideas that he had found online—apparently all being very bad. Ilya kept repeating that Cliff didn't know what he was doing. No shit.
Cliff Marlow has never been the relationship type.
And neither was Ilya Rozanov. Or so he thought at least.
Ilya wanted to put in a lot of effort for his Jane; it was nice to see him showing his more vulnerable side for once. Not that Cliff would ever actually say that out loud. They were best friends for a few years already, he was Ilya's alternate Captain and they probably have more shared experience in the bedroom—thanks to their multiple "trips to Paris" over the years—than most people they knew.
But feelings? Romantic date ideas? All of this? That was all a little new. Not something they would typically talk about.
Maybe this Jane, whoever she was, changed Ilya in a way. Maybe she's the one to finally turn the playboy into a Lover Boy. The way he spoke about her, Cliff suspected that he was at least halfway there to embracing his inner Lover Boy.
It took another dozen ideas, until Cliff apparently finally suggested something worth thinking about for longer than a second.
"Invite her over to your house and cook for her?" Finally a win. The sudden spark in Ilya's eyes couldn't lie, or even hide his excitement.
It's private, it's intimate and shows her that he cares. It ticked all boxes that Ilya was looking for.
"Marley, you beautiful bastard. That is the perfect idea," Ilya had said and immediately started researching a very specific diet; and what foods he could make following the restrictions of it. A diet that felt a little too specific for him to know about, but Cliff decided to just not question it too much.
Jane was probably a health nut or something; that had to be it. Why she would choose Ilya as her partner then, was another mystery. Cliff was certain that he has never seen Ilya eat a vegetable that wasn't deep-fried. Whatever floats her boat, she knows what she's getting herself into. Cliff thought, as he fondly watched his best friend continue his research.
Though it seemed that Ilya had moved on from recipes—he already found the perfect one, he said—and was now ordering crates of Ginger Ale from Canada.
Cliff raised an eyebrow. "Jane says American Ginger Ale tastes different, even when it is from the same brand. Is the only 'fun drink'," he put the term in air quotes, "that she actually drinks. Do not want to be the only one drinking a sugary drink. She wouldn't let me hear the end of it."
"Makes sense," That Jane of his seemed quite particular, but that wasn't for Cliff to comment on. Not that he ever even would; Ilya looks too happy and he doesn't want to be rude.
He left Ilya to it. Cliff has done his job and was now excited to hear how things went with his best friend and his Montreal Girl.
~~~~
He fully expected to see Ilya come in for the next practice head over heels for his girl. Glowing from the great sex that they probably had—Ilya had never even heard of the term "a gentleman never tells"; or even of "too much information" for that matter—but when Ilya eventually arrived at the arena, the vibes were completely off. Everyone, even those who didn't know about his date, knew that something was wrong.
He was cold, distant; like he was when he first joined the Bears. Keeping everyone an arm's length away from him.
Cliff figured that his date probably didn't go well and wanted to talk to Ilya about it, but didn't know how to best handle the situation. With Ilya being as distant as he's been acting, fully pushing Cliff away was very likely. The thought of losing his best friend was very scary to him.
He had to handle this situation as delicately as he could.
But unfortunately that wasn't exactly his strong suit.
"How was your date?" He asked Ilya after practice. The fact that he was still able to talk after all the extra drills that Ilya had them do was a surprise to him, too.
"What do you think, Marley?" Ilya asked, through gritted teeth, but there was no heat behind his words. Quite the opposite actually; he sounded distant. Cold. Sad.
"I'm sorry, Brother," Cliff offered, "I really thought that the idea was good."
"It was good," Ilya got up after finishing his laces. "Until she ran away."
"She-?" He couldn't finish his question, because Ilya left. He had never seen him leave this quickly after practice; he didn't even do his post-practice rituals with the team. The team probably wouldn't have been on board with doing them today, anyway. Everyone was pissed off and tired; but for their Captain to not even try to say something directed to them. It was odd to say the least.
~~~~
Cliff had tried time and time again to get Ilya to talk to him; his shitty mood getting worse by the day and it felt like there was nothing he could do to help him.
He's Ilya's best friend, for fucks sake, he should be doing something, right?
But how do you cheer someone up, if you don't even know the full story why he's upset or when he doesn't let you come close enough to attempt any comforting?
It was frustrating, but Cliff knew that if he pushed too hard, Ilya would only close up more. That man was a fucking vault when it came to his emotions and no one knew the combination to crack the lock.
He just had to wait and see how this entire situation would develop; wait for Ilya to approach him.
No matter how long it would take.
~~~~
Holy shit.
~~~~
A few weeks have passed since Cliff learned about the fact that Ilya's Montreal Girl was actually a Montreal Boy. They haven't talked about it again, neither over text nor in person. It was a secret that quietly connected them.
Cliff was curious about the identity of "Jane"—whatever his real name may be—but didn't plan to ask Ilya about it any time soon; or ever. Even though, he didn't know anything, aside from a fake name, Cliff knew that this situation was bigger than it appeared to one's eye at first.
He considered all factors, that made Ilya be so secretive about his relationship—if one can even call it that, now that they are basically broken up, from what he understood—and came to the conclusion that he simply doesn't want to know any more about it. The thought of Ilya's homophobic home country alone, sending a shiver down his spine.
No wonder he's so secretive about it.
And well, Russia wasn't the only issue in this equation. While Russia's generally the bigger threat in the grand scheme of things, the league wasn't much better.
Everyone around Ilya—with only a few exception; one of them being Cliff, of course—was either homophobic, an asshole or a homophobic asshole. Hell, even Cliff who now proudly titles himself to be an ally, used to throw around slurs like they're tone indicators, before his sister came out to him a while ago.
Looking back, he definitely didn't make Ilya feel safe in the locker room either with the way he talked and behaved; it feels like a miracle to him that Ilya still talks to him at all.
He tries to not think about the whole thing too much; afraid that he would maybe misspeak and accidentally give something away when asked. And chose to distract himself with mindless exercise in the Bears' gym.
Next to him was Connors, who seemed to be very enthralled by something on his phone screen.
Cliff didn't really care and he would've preferred to continue minding his own business, but Connors insisted on showing him what he was reading about.
As he read the headline, he felt a weird feeling creep up in his chest; something that he couldn't quite identify, even if he wanted to.
Shane Hollander started dating the movie star Rose Landry.
Was this feeling jealousy, maybe?
Cliff always thought that Rose Landry was an absolute babe, but he didn't expect to actually think that way about her at some point.
It couldn't be that. There was just no way.
This weird feeling came from something else.
"Well, good for them," Cliff chocked out, after Connors excitedly shared all kinds of gossip about the new It-couple.
Cliff still couldn't shake the feeling.
"That all you have to say to this? Wow," Connors laughed, apparently expecting more of Cliff. Then he spotted Ilya enter the gym. "Maybe Roz has more to say about it," he waved the Bears Captain over to them.
And as Ilya read the headline, Cliff finally understood what this off feeling was.
Ilya looked like someone pulled out the rug from under his feet.
It was at this moment that all pieces finally clicked into place.
Ilya Rozanov's Montreal "Jane" was Shane fucking Hollander.
Shane Hollander, the only person that Ilya had ever planned a date for.
Shane Hollander, the guy that Ilya imported Ginger Ale from Canada for, because the American one tastes "wrong". The guy that Ilya wanted to feel as comfortable as possible in his house.
Shane Hollander, who felt things between him and his rival were getting too serious and bolted from their date; that Cliff helped plan.
Shit, this was bigger than he thought.
~~~~
There had to be something that he can do.
He's been breaking his brain about it for weeks, but he couldn't come up with anything.
He obviously couldn't just approach Hollander and talk to him; no one is supposed to know about their love affair—or whatever it really was—and learning that Cliff had found out, would probably only make things worse.
How it could get any worse, Cliff didn't know. But he sure as hell didn't want to find out. He couldn't be the reason for the door to permanently get closed; for his best friend to lose the one person he really likes—maybe even loves—forever.
He was in his hotel room in Montreal, still trying to come up with a way to cheer his best friend up, when he got a panicked text from Connors; who Ilya was rooming with on this trip.
Roz really is strange sometimes, Cliff thought, as he picked out a shirt to wear after sending a text to the Bears group chat. To his shock, most of them were actually down for going to the club.
But not even two hours ago, when Cliff asked him if he had anything planned that night and he said no, Ilya has changed his mind and wanted to go out. Cliff got a weird feeling again, but shook it off. Maybe this is him trying to move on from Hollander.
An attempt to find someone to hook up with so he can finally get his mind off of his ex for at least one night. And honestly, the club felt like the safest place for that. There was no way Hollander would go out partying; he wasn't he guy for that.
At least he hasn't been that guy before.
He thought that he would never meet Hollander here—in a fucking, loud ass night club of all places—but there he was. Dancing with his girlfriend, seemingly enjoying himself; or at least trying to.
Cliff never prided himself to be the smartest fella out there—he was especially shit at picking up most behavioral acts from other people—but even he could see that there was something off about Hollander. He had his beautiful movie star girlfriend feel him up on the dancefloor, but it looked like it was doing nothing for him.
Like he was embarrassed to even be there or something.
It probably was true, too.
Hollander doesn't go clubbing. Cliff imagined that he's the type of guy to go home after practice, pop a can of Ginger Ale and read a book; something boring like that. Not that there was anything wrong with boring hobbies.
Cliff's eyes scanned the club, trying to find Ilya. Maybe warn him that Hollander is there too, to prevent some of the inevitable crash out he would most likely have. But when he eventually spotted Ilya by the bar, it was already too late.
Like in trance, Ilya stared across the dancefloor, his eyes locked on Hollander and Rose Landry. His facial expression like he got punched in the stomach; grimacing in emotional pain. Shaking off the girl that clung onto his arm, Cliff rushed over to his best friend.
"Roz?" No reaction.
"Hey man?" No reaction again.
"Ilya." Finally a reaction. He flinched at the mention of his first name and turned to Cliff, looking at him like Cliff had just called him a slur.
"We should go." It wasn't exactly a suggestion, more so a demand, but Ilya refused. He wasn't going anywhere, no matter how much it hurt him. He continued to stare at Hollander getting touched by his girlfriend on the dancefloor.
"I'm not going to just stand here and watch you self-destruct, dude," Cliff tried to grab Ilya's arm, but got pushed back.
"Fuck off then. I never asked for your help," he snapped and while Cliff knew to not take it too seriously—as Ilya was, very clearly, already drunk— he was taken aback by his best friend's harsh tone.
Cliff should've continued to push the matter; drag him out of the club by his ear if he had to, but he didn't. He just stood by and watched, as Ilya took another shot of Vodka—horrible, disgusting Canadian Vodka—and then approached a random girl who was feeling herself; happily jumping around on the dancefloor.
He's going to make out with her in front of Hollander. Cliff immediately understood Ilya's intentions and thought it was a horrible idea.
But maybe this was a mistake that Ilya had to make, he wasn't sure.
What he knew for sure, though, was that it was very difficult to watch.
By now Hollander has also spotted him and had a similar—if not the exact same—expression on his face. Dread. Heartbreak. Seeing someone whose sheer presence in the same space as oneself just hurts.
I have to fix this. Cliff thought, can't continue watching these two hurt themselves like this.
But there was no point in trying anything right now.
He decided to text Ilya the next morning.
~~~~