Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Rose Landry/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

5+1 Things, Slice of Life, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, POV Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov Friendship, Protective Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide Attempts, but not actually, Friendship/Love

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of the cliff chronicles

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-12 Completed: 2026-05-18 Words: 13,474 Chapters: 6/6

i know the sound of your heart

Summary

5 times Cliff Marlow realized something had changed with Ilya Rozanov leading up to his transfer to Ottawa + 1 (what he decided to do about it)

or: canon compliant but slightly canon divergent, set in between the events of Heated Rivalry and The Long Game

or: Cliff Marlow's perspective of Ilya's last season in Boston while him and Shane are boyfriends

or: Cliff Marlow is not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's a loyal fucking friend

Chapter 1: cliff marlow is getting older

Chapter Notes

yes the title is taken from The Sound by the 1975. why are most of my fics named after songs written by Taylor Swift or Matty Healy? I'm glad you asked, in this paper I will examine...

Looking back at it, there were subtle clues around the whole thing. In the way there always were. The first time Cliff noticed it was after the first game of the season, the first win of the season. Rozy was a party animal, always had been, and that was one of many things Cliff loved about him. One of the many reasons they had become friends so quickly.

But Cliff had never been a stranger to change, and he'd never hesitated to adapt to a situation. It was part of what made him such a great hockey player. And he surely wasn't a stranger to the new cracking noise his knees made sometimes when he stood up, the subtle ache he felt days after Rozy pushed the team too hard during bag skates, and the way that he couldn't drink quite as much as he used to without paying the price.

And he had noticed Roz's new phone habits. The fucker had always been glued to it, constantly texting "the masses" as he liked to say. But where before, that had come with a furrow to his brow and his tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth, his texting face had transformed completely to an almost fond, soft smile.

And if Cliff didn’t know any better, which most people on the team would claim he didn't, he would almost think that the light pink dusted on Roz's cheeks when responding to texts nowadays was from a blush rather than "overexertion" at practice.

So, when after the first game of the season, the rookies practically drooling to go out with the famed Ilya Rozanov, Connor Connors, Victor St. Simon, and Cliff Marlow, and Rozy shrugged carelessly to Cliff's suggestion to start the night at a karaoke bar, Cliff knew something was up.

Because Rozanov was great at karaoke, but he fucking hated it.

And Cliff could only ever convince him to go after at least seven drinks, and as far as he was concerned, Rozanov was sober, of competent, clear mind, and not protesting at all.

Cliff nudged him with his shoulder while everyone around them changed, the prospect of going out and getting fucked up to celebrate looming brightly in their future, and asked, "Rozy, you feeling alright?"

Cliff analyzed the way Rozanov's shoulders froze slightly before relaxing into his usual careless 'Russian charm'.

"As good as ever, Marly." He responded, clapping his hand onto Cliff's shoulder with a broad smile. "Hey, maybe when we duet tonight, you will not sound like dying cat, yes?"

Cliff nodded slowly, watching as Rozanov picked his phone up, thumbs flying furiously across the screen and soft smile settled on his face.

And later, when Rozanov left the bar early, after an obligatory duet with Cliff, and a respectable four shots with the rookies, Cliff was nearly already too fucked up to notice.

And when he woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life, that he was sure would be topped in no time, he had a text from Rozy sent at 6:53 am. Which- what the fuck?

'run and bagels after at 9?'

It was 8:47 am. But Roz hardly ever texted him first to hang out, and Cliff would be damned if he turned him down.

'9:30 and you're on.'

He managed to make it through a shower, because he smelled like the floor of a bar, and two whole glasses of water without throwing up before Roz was knocking at his front door.

"Marly, you are so old, you cannot also be slow. Pick struggle!" Rozanov called from outside.

Cliff rolled his eyes fondly as he pulled the door open, "Fuck off, Rozy." He replied good naturedly.

Rozanov's eyes widened slightly as he took in Cliff's appearance, the corners of his mouth pulling upward in an all too familiar smirk, "And today you are ugly too. Hard life for you."

Nearly 7 years of playing together, and being best friends, had taught him that continuing to argue would only cause Rozanov to come up with new, inspired retorts, and it was way too early in the morning for Cliff to keep up with him.

So he inclined his head to the door and asked, "Left or right?" and then they were off running down the sleepy suburb streets.

Chapter End Notes

this fic is a love child, born from a writing exercise to help my writer's block and my unconditional love for cliff marlow. i hope you enjoy it!!!!

Chapter 2: cliff marlow makes a big mistake

The second time Cliff could really pinpoint something different was the first Montreal game of the season.

The vibes were always a little different leading up to games against their big rivals, namely Montreal and those fuckers in Toronto, but this time they were different in a… different way.

"Rozy, brother, you're practically vibrating," Cliff stated, watching as Roz paced in little figure eight-like circles in their hotel room.

"Shut the fuck up, Marly." Roz replied half-heartedly, sounding like his heart wasn't truly in it. His phone vibrated from its position lying face down on the desk, and his head shot up faster than a dog that had caught the scent of a particularly energetic squirrel begging to be hunted down.

He bolted across the room lightning fast, eyes scanning the words on his screen before settling into a shape that could only be described as hearts.

"Oh dude, you're so fucking whipped!" Cliff exclaimed with glee, adjusting the bag of ice on his left shoulder as he tried to sit up for a better look. His own eyes lighting up with joy as he processed exactly what he was witnessing. "Man, I should've known… Jane finally locked you down, huh?"

And maybe it was because he wasn't fully listening, not really paying attention, mind far up and away, absorbed in responding to Jane, that Roz didn't immediately rebuke what Cliff had said.

"Yes, this is me. I am locked." Rozanov replied, nodding almost subconsciously as his thumbs flew across his screen, no doubt texting some half vulgar, half affectionate response to his Montreal girl.

"Are you gonna see each other after the game, dude?" Cliff questioned curiously, still elated and watching that rosy pink color spread across his best friend's cheeks, and god, he should really make a comment on it. Because in the perfectly air conditioned four star hotel three hours after morning skate, there was exactly zero excuse Roz could make to counteract what Cliff already knew to be true.

Russians did, in fact, blush.

"Mmm, maybe. Yes, probably." Roz responded, thumbs still moving almost at the speed of light.

"Jesus, dude. When's the wedding?" Cliff asked, eyebrows waggling, "And when do I get to meet her?"

Roz's head snapped up at this. "What? No, Marly. There is no meet her. Jane is beautiful and perfect and you are too slow and bad at hockey to meet her."

Cliff bristled slightly. Of course, he knew Rozanov was just joking. It was part of what they did, part of why they were so close. They joked with each other, they partied together, and on the rare occasion, they maybe exchanged a couple mushy feelings words when they were really, truly far gone drunk.

And look, Cliff had never been the sharpest tool in the shed, or the brightest crayon in the box. Really, he hadn't even been like the second or third sharpest or brightest… and, he wasn't an asshole. He was just very prone to putting his foot in his mouth sometimes.

And that was probably why he said it, "Slow and bad at hockey? You should ask golden boy Hollzy if he feels that way after that hit I laid on him last season."

It was immediate, almost like a switch had been flipped. The easy joking grin slid off of Rozanov's face, replaced with something that could be mistaken for nothingness, blank, emotionless. In the same way that the hottest fires burned so blue they were almost white.

Years of being Roz's best friend was the only reason Cliff knew, this was not emotionless. This was pure anger.

"Excuse me?" Rozanov asked, his voice careful, even, and low.

Cliff was already apologizing before Roz had even finished asking.

"Rozy, fuck. I didn't mean that. I don't know why I said that. I felt fucking awful after that hit I-" He paused, glancing down at his shoes as if they held the magic answer, or maybe the magic 'go back in time' button. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

And it was true, all of it was true. For some reason Cliff still wasn't exactly sure of, Rozanov had bolted from the locker room straight after that game, leaving him to fill in at media as the A.

So after a quick shower, which he'd hoped washed away the redness of his eyes and drowned out his sobs, he had gone out to face the scrum, expecting some sort of hanging, or stoning, or firing squad from the Montreal reporters.

And… things had been rather tame. Maybe they could see the dejected way he hung his head, like a man sent to the gallows, as he entered the media room. Or maybe the finnicky water pressure in the visiting locker rooms hadn't done as good a job as he hoped erasing all the evidence that he'd been crying.

He had thought he'd almost killed Hollander, after all.

But maybe, it was the genuine apology he issued to Hollander, the Metros, and all of their fans for the accidental blindside hit he'd laid before any reporters had a chance to ask their questions, that made them go fairly easy on him.

So yeah, Cliff had felt terrible.

And making it worse was the fact that Rozy didn't talk to him for nearly two weeks after the hit. Which in hindsight, maybe should've been added to the list of subtle clues.

"Cliff," Rozanov warned, his voice lower than Cliff had ever heard it. Far more serious too, if the fact that Roz had first named him had any influence.

Cliff watched as Rozanov closed his eyes and drew in one deep breath, exhaled, then a second, and another exhale, before he opened his eyes again.

"Never fucking say this, anything like this, again." Rozanov finished, eyes still blazing with unleashed rage.

Cliff gulped and nodded immediately, "Of course, brother. I'm-" he paused, "I'm sorry."

Rozanov nodded once, more an acknowledgement that he'd heard him than an agreement. He inclined his head toward the door, "I'm going to," he said as if it explained everything, and then he slipped out of the room.

Later, in the locker room between warm-ups and the start of the game, it finally dawned on him. He turned to face Roz, who despite their earlier frosty moment, was sitting next to him on the bench, double checking the knots on his skates.

"The whole rivalry thing is bullshit, isn't it?" He phrased it like a question, when really it was more of a statement.

Rozanov froze, his shoulders hiking up just the slightest bit as he glanced briefly at Cliff. He said nothing.

"I mean, it kind of makes sense. You two were the same draft class, played at World Juniors twice, the Olympics in Sochi… it would almost be weirder if you hadn't become friends." Cliff continued, reasoning it out as he went along.

Roz's shoulders dropped and he seemed to let out a sigh of relief, "Friends, yes."

The game was brutal, like all Boston and Montreal games were. Cliff already had a couple sore spots he was sure were going to turn into nasty purple bruises.

Midway through the third, the score was tied 2-2 when Rozanov stripped the puck from Pike and sent it flying towards Cliff.

He'd barely made it two feet when he was checked into the boards from a force hitting him right in his left shoulder. He let out an audible groan, nearly dropping his stick as the puck was easily stolen from him.

"Try and keep up, Marlow." A slightly cocky voice whispered in his ear, and-

What the fuck?

Hollander was speeding down the ice before Cliff even had a chance to readjust his grip. He skated after him, but he was half a second to slow in his attempt to poke the puck out of the way as Hollander buried it into the top right corner of Boston's net with his lethal slapshot.

He tried to shake it off as he hopped the boards for line change. He tried to shake it off as the trainers called him over to get a look at his shoulder. He tried to shake it off while he sought out Rozanov, a subtle smile displayed on his face despite the fact that Boston was down a goal.

Some fucking coincidence.

A week later, Rozanov and Hollander broke the internet by announcing the Irina Foundation, a charity supporting those with mental illness and those experiencing suicidal thoughts and ideation.

Cliff tuned into the press conference, because of course he did. He was always going to support his boy. And he teared up a little, maybe a lot, when Rozy started talking about his mom.

He wasn't sure exactly what to say to Roz. Because what exactly could you say after finding out about something like that?

Cliff wasn't an expert in emotional shit, but he was pretty sure no amount of "I'm sorry for your loss" was going to make anything better. So he texted in the only way he knew how, in the language both him and Roz spoke.

'when is the boston camp bro? gotta add to the schedule'

The reply came hours later.

'july 23- july 27'

Cliff smiled and typed back.

'wonderful. love you bro'

Chapter 3: cliff marlow is a good friend

Chapter Summary

all cliff wanted to do was sleep, and then he got a call from an unknown number

Chapter Notes

TW: heavy themes (suicidal thoughts) discussed in this chapter, gets a little scary for a sec but everyone is okay

The third time was different. It had nothing to do with hockey.

The Raiders had just gotten back from a brutal two week roadie, and all Cliff wanted to do was go home and collapse into bed. In fact, he was starting to think there was nothing worth living for more in life than sleeping.

And that was what he did. He didn't even make it upstairs to his bedroom, he just collapsed on the couch and was dead to the world.

He dreamed about girls and sports cars and finally beating Rozanov in chess. Chess appeared in an embarrassing amount of his dreams lately. He'd learned almost two months ago now, and he had yet to beat anyone on the team except for Connors and Hammy. Roz was weirdly good at it.

He had just put Roz into check in the dream when the fire alarm started going off. Which was weird, because they were playing in a park. And then the fire alarm started sounding oddly like his ringtone, and fuck.

He was going to block whoever was calling. Because anyone with any sense at all would not be calling him at two in the morning when, of course, he would be sleeping.

He glanced at his phone screen.

It was an unknown number with an unfamiliar area code.

Cliff was pissed, and he was going to give the fucking spam caller a piece of his mind. He was going to make them regret the day they were born.

He tapped the screen to answer the call and exclaimed, "What the fuck do you want?"

"Cliff? Cliff Marlow?" A frantic, familiar voice on the other end asked.

Cliff was so stunned he forgot to respond, because why the fuck was Shane Hollander calling him at two in the motherfucking morning.

"Fuck, this is Cliff Marlow's number, right? I swear to god if he gave me the wrong number, I'll kill him. " Hollander rambled, his voice his pitched and breathy, seeming nervous for some unknown reason.

"I- uh, what?" Cliff responded smartly.

"Marlow, is that you?" Hollander asked.

"Umm, yes?" Cliff answered, still utterly confused and doing a terrible job of hiding it.

"Thank fuck, I wasn't sure if he-" Hollander paused, "He got so weird about it when I asked, I just- I told him it was for just in case, and this is that case, and fuck, I'm probably not making any sense right now, I'm just so freaked-"

"Hollander." Cliff interrupted, his brain swimming with confusion from the incomplete sentences, the hazy jut woken up state of mind, and the fact that well, as established, he was not the sharpest or brightest. "What the fuck are you talking about man? It's two in the morning."

Hollander let out a nervous laugh on the other line. "Yeah. Yeah, trust me, I know. But he sent me something weird earlier, and now he's not answering my texts, and I can't sleep until I know he's okay, and I have a game early tomorrow, so I thought I would call and see if you could go check on him before I drove down there myself."

Cliff was silent for probably thirty seconds as he processed Hollander's word vomit of an explanation.

And apparently, that was too many seconds for Hollander.

"Please, I know this is weird, and we've never really talked before, but-"

"Hollander." Cliff interrupted for the second time.

Hollander audibly gulped, "Marlow," he replied somewhat hesitantly.

"I'm getting in the car. I'll call you when I get there." Cliff said gently and waited for an acknowledgement before hanging up.

It really wasn't a question in his mind. Because Cliff Marlow wasn’t sharp or bright, and he definitely wasn't winning any awards for any categories ever, at all, save for one, but he wasn't fucking blind either.

Some guys get lucky enough to play their whole careers with their best friend, and Cliff would be damned if he wasn't one of those guys.

He picked up on the things Rozy tried to keep hidden.

Like the fact that he had a poor relationship with his family, or that he was an equal opportunist when it came to flirting… or the fact that there were some days where he was absolutely not okay.

And maybe if he hadn't been so exhausted when they'd gotten back to Boston earlier, if he'd opened his fucking eyes, and not been a selfish little shit, he would've noticed that Roz was moving in slow motion.

He made the twenty minute drive between their places in fourteen.

He didn't even knock at the door. He had stopped doing that after the second time he'd dealt with a butt ass naked Rozanov vomiting his guts up into the sink on a particularly heavy drinking night after escorting him home, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start again now.

The house was cold, quiet, and seemingly empty.

Cliff was warm, loud, and full of nervous energy.

"Roz!" He called out from the entryway, breaking into a fast sort of jog into the kitchen as he called out again, "Rozy, brother, where are you?"

He wasn't in the kitchen. He wasn't in the dining room. He wasn't in the living room.

Almost hesitantly, Cliff pushed open the door to Rozanov's bedroom. It was empty. But the door to the bathroom was ajar, and he could hear water running.

Cliff crossed the room with five long strides and pushed the door open so hard it slammed into the wall, surely leaving a dent.

Roz was sitting, shivering, under the spray of the shower fully clothed.

Cliff hit the light and watched the way Rozanov flinched slightly. It was then that Cliff noticed his hands were shaking around an empty bottle. His stomach dropped and his whole body ran cold.

In the blink of an eye, he was across the room, stepping into the shower and under the spray with Rozanov, hauling him up to his feet and dragging him to the toilet.

"What the fuck, Roz? What the actual fucking fuck?" He muttered under his breath, mind racing as he calculated the odds of him overpowering Rozanov and which fingers would be best to lose so he could still hold his hockey stick if he shoved them down Roz's throat, and he bit them off.

Rozanov made an incoherent noise as Cliff forced him to the ground in front of the toilet.

"You do not get to fucking do this to me, dude. We're winning a fucking cup this year- fuck, that's not even important. You're my fucking brother, man- fuck." Cliff hissed out as he maneuvered Rozanov on the floor.

"Marly," Roz said weakly, "I didn't-"

"I don't give a fuck, man." Cliff spat out as he slapped his hand lightly against Rozanov's face, "Excuse me if I don't fucking trust you right now. You're gonna fucking throw up, and then I'm driving you to the hospital, and we can talk about this later."

Rozanov sighed as his shoulder's deflated, and he opened his mouth.

Cliff wasted no time, and spared no regard for Rozanov's comfort as he jammed his fingers into the back on his throat. Rozanov began retching almost immediately.

Cliff did it over, and over, and over again until there was nothing more coming out. He collapsed against the wall behind him, nearly shaking as he allowed himself a breather. Rozanov leaned with his body draped on the toilet, head leaning on its seat when he spoke.

"I didn't do it, Marly. I promise." He said, his voice coming out hoarse. "I-" he paused, "I dropped them. I didn't want to do it, Marly, I dropped them."

Cliff's heart was still beating wildly in his chest as he glanced at his best friend suspiciously.

Rozanov was half lifting his arm, a finger pointed toward the shower where the water was still running. "The floor," he muttered, "they are dissolving on floor. Is why I was in shower."

Cliff dragged himself across the floor to the shower, where sure enough, somewhere close to sixty small white dots were dissolving, the slight pink stain of dissolved candy coating littering the shower floor.

Cliff let out a choked sob of relief and buried his face in his hands. It was fucked, and he knew that, but he was allowing himself thirty seconds to fall apart before he had to pull it together and be there for his fucking friend.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly when his thirty seconds were up and opened his eyes to find a still damp Rozanov in front of him. He looked pitiful in the way a stray dog looks when it rains, and Cliff nearly broke down again over it.

And despite the rush of relief he'd just experienced, he wasn't taking any fucking chances. He stood up and walked as quickly as he could manage without full on sprinting from the room.

He returned seconds later with a black hoodie, black boxers, and a pair of Adidas sweatpants. He set them on the countertop.

"Put these on." He commanded.

Rozanov inclined his head towards the door, as if he were asking for privacy.

Cliff shook his head fiercely, "No. I'm staying here."

He watched as Rozanov stripped, averting his eyes only when he changed his boxers. "We're still going to the hospital. To make sure." He stated as if it were an inarguable fact. He said it the way he might say the sky is blue, or Boston is cold in the winter, or Montreal sucks.

By some miracle, Rozanov nodded his head slowly like he'd already resigned himself to that.

It was only once they were settled into Cliff's car, and his Bluetooth immediately started ringing with the same unknown number from earlier, that he remembered the whole reason he was at Roz's, at now three am, in the first place.

"Shit," he cursed as he accepted the call.

"What the fuck, Cliff?" Hollander hissed into the phone as soon as the call connected. "What the fuck is happening?"

Roz recoiled in the passenger seat like he'd been shot. Cliff spared a quick glance over as he reversed out of Roz's driveway and followed the map toward the closest ER.

Roz's eyes were wide and scared as he looked back at Cliff, practically pleading for help. Hollander was still nearly screaming different variations of curses on the phone.

"I have him." Cliff cut in. "He's here, he can hear you, it's been-" Cliff paused. "We're headed to the ER just in case, but I think he's fine."

"Ilya," Hollander breathed out shakily, and then he was speaking words that could not possibly be English. In fact, the harsh stilted syllables sounded oddly like some rudimentary version of Russian.

Cliff heard a stuttered inhale beside him, but kept his eyes on the road.

The seven minute drive was a mix of Russian and English phrases Cliff knew but didn't really understand in this particular context, but he figured it wasn't really necessary for him to understand as long as Roz was okay.

They waited side by side in the ER for nearly four hours because Cliff, not wanting to trigger any emergency holds or anything, told the front desk his friend was just having some unspecified pain.

Cliff didn't fully relax until they finally brought the two of them back and returned with the results from Rozanov's blood panel. Everything was normal, he was just severely dehydrated, which made sense given the fact that Cliff made him throw everything up.

Cliff put his headphones on and took a much needed nap, and Roz called Hollander while waiting for the bag of fluids to finish.

When he woke up, it seemed like color was finally returning to Rozanov's cheeks. Cliff sent a text to their Coach that Roz was sick, he was taking care of him, and they would both be missing practice nonnegotiable.

The ride back to Roz's house was mostly silent. Cliff looked over at him every twenty seconds to make sure he was still there, breathing, alive. He tucked Roz into bed, smacked a big, obnoxious kiss to his forehead, and watched him fall asleep.

Then he raided the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, practically tore the house apart looking for any other pill bottles, and finally, collapsed on the couch in the living room, right outside Roz's bedroom, and called Hollander.

"Hey, so, what the fuck?" He greeted when the call connected.

Hollander let out a tired sounding laugh, "Yeah, that's a completely valid reaction."

When it became clear that he wasn't intending on sharing anything further, Cliff continued, "Hollander, my friend, I'm gonna need a little more from you than just that."

"I know, I know- I'm just, uh, trying to figure out how to say it." Hollander replied quietly. His voice was a little raw, like he'd just spent the last couple hours screaming or crying or something equally as taxing.

Cliff waited patiently, leaving a path clear for him to continue.

"Obviously, Rozanov and I have gotten closer through our work on the charity." Hollander started, his voice stilted and awkward, almost robotic as he continued, "Through our shared work, we are in daily correspondence-"

"Hollzy, fuck man, cut the media PR bullshit please. I just stuck my fingers down my best friend's throat, and raided his house to find every even slightly dangerous medication he has." Cliff sighed, his exhaustion finally, finally beginning to catch up with him.

It was almost eight in the morning and he'd been awake for the past six hours.

"I don't give a fuck how much you text, hell, I don't care about anything right now except for Rozy, so please just tell me what the fuck just happened before I decide that our plane crashed and I'm, unfortunately, in hell." Cliff sighed.

"Right," Hollander replied, "Right, umm. Rozanov told me a couple months ago that sometimes he thinks he's like his mother. So, I made him promise to text me if he was ever feeling really bad, and I made him send me your number for a worst case scenario type uh, scenario I guess."

Cliff nodded, processing, absorbing, analyzing.

"And today was that worst case scenario?" He questioned.

"Yeah." Hollander replied, and Cliff kind of hated the way his voice broke over the word.

"Well, fuck." Cliff answered smartly.

"Yeah, fuck." Hollander echoed.

It killed him that Rozanov had never talked to him about this stuff. That somehow he found Hollander an easier confidant despite the fact that him and Cliff had bled, sweat, cried, even thrown up together. Because yes, they were bros.

And sure, Cliff loved talking about hot chicks, and sports cars, and stupid dude things. But Cliff also loved Roz fiercely.

"You're a good friend, Hollander. I'm glad he has you." Cliff managed to say after a long pause.

Hollander made a sort of choked sound, "You're a really good friend too, Cliff."

Cliff made a noise of protest that was immediately interrupted.

"I mean it." Hollander said emphatically, "I don't know what I- I mean, he would've done without you tonight. And he wants to talk to you, he does. It's just really hard for him to talk about this stuff."

Cliff nodded, though he wasn't sure he really got it. The only thing he was sure of, was that he was going to be right here on the couch when Rozy woke up.

And they were going to talk whether he liked it or not.

And more importantly, there was no way Cliff was leaving until he knew that Roz knew beyond any conceivable doubt just how important he was to him. And maybe, just maybe, he could convince Roz to come be his roommate for the next couple weeks.

Chapter End Notes

i have the next two chapters already written! working on the final one <3 i hope this wasn't too dark

Chapter 4: cliff marlow gets a gift

Chapter Summary

for the first time in seven years, rozy isn't coming to marlow family christmas... cliff has some thoughts about that

Chapter Notes

One thing that had remained true since Cliff had joined the Boston Raiders and started playing beautiful fucking hockey with Rozy, was that Rozy never went home for Christmas break. For one, it wasn't long enough to make nearly 24 hours of air travel worth it. And for two, Rozy didn't ever really seems to be that excited to go back to Russia.

Cliff was especially sure that he wouldn't go back now that his father had passed.

And Cliff, being from Boston with somewhere over 20 cousins, always invited Rozy home with him for the holidays.

And the two of them crowded into Cliff's childhood bedroom, into his twin XL bed and its trundle, despite the fact that the beds were still somehow too small for them despite being named 'XL'.

They would spend the nights drinking spiked egg nog with Cliff's parents, the days carrying Cliff's sister's shopping bags all throughout the mall, and buying her whatever she wanted.

On Christmas Eve, Cliff and Rozy would climb into the back back of his mom's minivan for a two hour trip east of Boston to his Gram and Gramps's house where all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins would meet up for a dinner that his Gramps spent days cooking for.

And with everything that had gone on so far that season, Roz was honestly lucky that Cliff wasn't insisting they sleep in the same bed handcuffed together at night.

He had settled for moving Roz into his baby-proofed, Rozanov-proofed, mentally-ill-and-possibly-sometimes-suicidal-proofed guest room.

And he had, apparently wrongfully, assumed that Roz would be joining his family for Christmas break for the seventh year in a row.

That assumption was promptly corrected when, one day into break, he watched from the couch, where he was procrastinating packing his own bag and driving to his parents, as Roz wheeled out a medium sized black carry-on with a nondescript baseball cap pulled low down on his face.

"Uh, going somewhere?" Cliff asked, voice dripping with confusion.

And yeah, maybe he had forgotten to expressly invite Rozy to his family Christmas this year, but he'd just assumed the man would know! They'd been doing this for seven years now for god sake.

"Yes. Ottawa." Roz replied with something akin to a small, peaceful smile on his face.

Cliff's head jerked slightly in surprise, "Ottawa?" he repeated distantly, eyebrows furrowing as his big, dumb hockey player mind worked out what exactly that meant. "Like Shane Hollander's hometown, Ottawa?"

"I was not aware there was another Ottawa." Roz replied with the usual careless smirk he wore when he was making fun of him.

"Well, I, uh- yeah, I guess you're right. But what the fuck are you doing in Ottawa?" Cliff asked incredulously.

It wasn't lost on him that Hollzy and Rozy were apparently friends.

That much had become pretty clear based on the conversation they'd had two months ago after Cliff tucked Roz into bed.

What Cliff was unaware of, however, was the fact that Hollander, despite living in fucking Montreal, had somehow managed to become closer to Roz than he was, to the point where Roz was choosing to fly to a whole other country for a fucking four day break, rather than driving 30 minutes across town with Cliff.

He began thinking back on the past two months. Was Roz really that tired of him that he didn't want to spend the holiday recess together? Was he being overbearing? Because what else could Shane Hollander possibly offer that Cliff couldn't???

So yeah, looking back on it… maybe this wasn't exactly a sign. It wasn't not a sign.

If anything, finding out about everything really made Cliff feel better about the whole HolidayBreakGate of 2017. Because, well yeah, that's what Shane Hollander could offer.

Roz smiled at him.

It wasn't an answer at all.

And then he stepped back into the doorway of Cliff's guest bedroom and produced five wrapped gifts.

He brought them over and handed them to Cliff one by one.

The first was crudely wrapped in the shape of the Russian vodka that Roz always drank and had gotten his dad hooked on. "This is for Papa Marlow." Roz said.

The second was a medium sized box that Cliff had absolutely zero chance of guessing what was inside. "For your mama."

The third was tiny and suspiciously looked like the exact shape and size of one of those Visa gift cards that Cliff was honestly terrified to find out how much it held on it. "For your sister."

And then there was the last two.

The first was poorly wrapped in the same way the first three had been. But the second had neat, crisp edges, and was wrapped in the way that someone who pays attention to all the little details and can't stand imperfection wraps things.

"From me," Roz said, handing Cliff the poorly wrapped one. "And this one, from Shane."

Cliff was so taken aback by the fact that Shane Hollander had apparently gotten him a Christmas gift, that it escaped his notice that Rozy called him Shane.

"I- what?" Cliff stuttered out, looking at the present suspiciously like it might blow itself to smithereens in his hand. "Where did you- how did you- huh?"

"He dropped it off last time Montreal was here." Roz replied sheepishly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck which was slightly flushed pink.

Cliff didn't know what to say.

What could he possibly say to that?

"Okay." He responded smartly. Because okay, sure, yeah. Apparently him and Hollander were, still on a last name basis, but sending each other Christmas gifts now.

"I have to go. Flight is in two hours." Roz told him bluntly, and then looked at him hesitantly for a short second before wrapping his giant arms around him.

Cliff returned the hug immediately.

"Thank you for being such a good friend, Marly." Rozy said earnestly.

And Cliff's eyes definitely didn't well up with tears. They didn't, really.

Later that night when he opened the two gifts addressed to him, because there was no way he was waiting three days to open a present from his apparently close personal friend, Shane Hollander, his eyes definitely didn't well up again.

Hollander had gotten him a photo that he'd never seen before, taken on the ice just moments after him and Roz had won their first cup together. They both had pure, childlike elation written all over their faces as they fought to jump into each other's arms. Seconds later, they'd ended up in a clumsy heap on the ground, but this picture perfectly captured the moment, both slightly suspended in the air and arms wrapped around each other, the faint red haze of the angry red alarm that had singled the end of the game, and of Boston's 20 year Cup drought.

It was perfect. And it was in a vintage golden frame that suspiciously matched the rest of the décor of Cliff's house to a tee.

There was a sticky note attached to the back of the frame.

'Merry Christmas, Marlow! A friend of a friend was at the game and caught this on camera. Thought you might want to have it! -Shane'

He dabbed at his eyes… because, allergies.

And then he grabbed Roz's gift.

It ended up being somewhat of a gag. He opened four different layers before pulling out the real gift. It was a mug.

A custom mug that had a picture of the two of them from their first practice together and blocky black text saying 'World's #1 Brother'.

Cliff wasn't even ashamed to admit he cried at that one. And that he rather obnoxiously rolled his eyes when he pulled out five thousand dollars in cash from the inside of the mug.

Chapter End Notes

next part going up tomorrow!!! hope you guys like it so far!

Chapter 5: cliff marlow doesn't like to lose

Chapter Notes

this one is kinda short, last chapter going up tomorrow!!

Boston's epic playoff crash out surprised exactly five die hard Boston hockey fans who never knew when to leave well enough alone.

Other than that? No one was shocked.

Throughout his years of playing professional hockey, Cliff learned that sometimes you could want something so bad, more than anything, more than fucking anyone else on the whole ice, and sometimes it just wasn't enough.

And it fucking sucked.

Cliff was disappointed.

St. Simon was disappointed from his spot in the press box with his whole foot wrapped in a cast still.

Connors was disappointed with his whole body covered in fucking tiger balm because he'd been playing through so many strains and sprains that he wasn't sure which part of him wasn't injured anymore.

Hammersmith was distraught, realizing that his second to last hockey season before retirement had come to a close without another Cup.

The mood in the locker room, after their game 5 loss to Montreal, which stung more because it was Montreal, was especially somber, because they all knew how many of them were due to get paid this offseason.

And knowing that, meant they all knew without a doubt, that this same group of guys would not be together come October.

Especially with the huge hit Boston was about to take to give Rozy a contract to rival Shane Hollander's new one.

So yeah, the mood in the room was somber as hell.

But nobody was more upset than Roz. And honestly, it kind of broke Cliff a little bit.

He wasn't angry, he wasn't frustrated even. He walked into the locker room with the despair of someone who had left it all out there and still lost. Like someone who had known he was marching into the gallows, and still played his hardest despite it.

He was upset in the way you get hopelessly upset about something you know you have the ability to change but just can't.

Because really, Boston just didn't have the depth to get past Montreal this season. And Montreal probably didn't have the depth to knock off the Admirals. So really, it was all for nothing. And it fucking sucked.

Roz collapsed onto one of the benches as soon as the media was kicked out. And then he did something that he had never, not once done in front of the team in his seven years of being a Raider.

He broke down.

Full on cried, shoulders shaking, snotty, ugly, waterworks.

And they all just looked on in shock until Cliff joined him on the bench and wrapped his giant arms around Rozy's shoulders. He held him while he sobbed, and maybe even joined in with a couple sniffles of his own, because that was his best fucking friend, and like hell was he gonna let him fall apart alone.

And suddenly, he was blanketed by one of the rookies, and then another, and then Hammersmith, and then Connors, and apparently St. Simon had hobbled his way down from the press box because soon Cliff could smell his signature cologne in the pile too.

And for five long minutes, the 2017-2018 Boston Raiders team just held each other and grieved.

It was out of the ordinary, sure. Was it a sign? Cliff wasn't really sure. Not in the moment at least. But afterward? Yeah, it was another one of the fucking signs.

LeClaire walked into the room with a resigned look on his face after they all separated. He took a long look at Roz, and then fixed Cliff with the same one. And then he grumbled something Cliff had never heard from him before.

"I'm proud of you boys. Thank you for what you've done for Boston."

It didn't make sense to him at the time. It made sense to him later.

It was a gift and a goodbye all wrapped up in one.

Months after, Cliff would wonder if he was that transparent, that LeClaire had known what he was going to do before he did.

Later, they stood outside their favorite lowkey bar. None of them were stupid enough to show their faces in a high profile, regular, Boston sports fan joint. No, that would have been a death sentence. Especially after getting knocked out on home ice. There was nobody the city of Boston hated right now more than their hockey team, well, except maybe the Montreal Voyageurs on pure fucking principle.

Cliff had long since accepted that Roz's days of being an absolute fucking menace and picking up girls to take home with the slight raise of one eyebrow were over, and honestly, he was getting kind of tired of meaningless sex and revolving bed partners himself.

They were sharing a cigarette while they waited for their rideshare cars to show up. It was kind of an intimate thing, but again, Cliff had once cleaned a black out drunk, butt ass naked Rozanov off after he'd vomited his guts out, so in the grand scheme of things, who gave a fuck about a little bit of shared saliva?

They were quiet in the way that they sometimes were when there was too much to say and words weren't enough. It was the same way that they were loud when there was nothing really to say at all but neither one of them wanted to be left alone with their thoughts.

Cliff glanced down at his phone screen. His ride was 4 minutes away.

Once it ticked down to 3, he would ask Roz about his summer plans. 3 minutes was the perfect amount of time, for them, to get in everything they needed to say, and well, if it went south... it would only be 3 minutes of awkward.

"So, Russia?" Cliff asked incredibly nonchalantly except for the fact that his palms were sweating a little bit and he was shooting worried glances at Roz in his peripheral. 

Maybe 3 minutes was no longer long enough for these efficient talks they usually had, because it took Roz a whole minute before he answered.

"No, Marly," was all he said when he finally did.

Cliff chuckled and nodded. "Good for you, Rozy."

He rolled his eyes at the questioning look Rozanov sent him.

"What, you think I'm an idiot?" Cliff asked.

Rozanov snorted.

"Rude, but fair." Cliff replied with a slight shake of his head.

They looked up at each other, in a rare moment of vulnerable eye contact. Roz's eyes were sad, almost watering, bursting with emotion like they were screaming something at him. Something that Cliff just couldn't quite figure out in time before a slight beep knocked him out of whatever weird tension filled eye contact they were having.

It definitely hadn't been a full 3 minutes. It was fine though, they had time.

They had the rest of their careers together to talk.

Cliff walked up to the door of the black Toyota Camry. Trusty and reliable, his first car, and the one his dad still drove. He turned to face Rozy as he grabbed the handle of the car door.

"You gonna be okay, Ilya?" He asked, a rare moment of seriousness. One they hadn't had in months. He thought back on the morning after the November scare where he'd sat for four hours in the emergency room, wondering if his best friend was about to keel over onto the floor and start seizing or throwing up or something else awful...

They had sat for a long time at Cliff's way too long, way too lonely dining room table. He wasn't even sure why he had it. He usually just ate on the couch. But the conversation had felt a bit too serious for the couch.

Cliff spoke first. "You're moving in," he'd said, simple and easy.

Roz had nodded.

"I love you, man," Cliff had continued. "Don't fucking do that shit again."

"I'm sorry I scared you, Marly." Roz had said, somewhat shamefully, with his head pointed down toward the smooth wood grain.

"Good. You should be. Fuck you." Cliff had said wetly, and though he'd deny it, he was nearly choking on his tears.

"My head is not so good sometimes." Roz told him, and then he had explained a little bit about his mother, and the way he sometimes thought he might be like her.

And Cliff had listened. Later that day, they had gone to the animal shelter to help take the dogs out for walks. And a week after Roz had moved in, the dining room table, and the place in general, had stopped feeling so lonely...

Roz looked him up and down, stayed silent for a couple long moments. Cliff appreciated it, that he was thinking about his answer and not just giving him some bullshit placation he didn't really mean. A small smile spread across his face. "Yes. I think I am, Cliff." Rozanov replied.

Cliff nodded. "Good." 

He opened the car door and slid in. He confirmed his name with the driver and gave him the pin in his phone, then he rolled down the window. 

"Hey, you take care of yourself, brother. And tell Hollzy I said good luck, and to fix his weak fucking backhand." Cliff called out the window.

Roz nearly doubled over with laughter.

"Goodnight, asshole!" Cliff yelled with a smile as his car began driving away. 

"Fuck you, Marly!" Rozanov called in reply, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

"Maybe in your dreams!" Cliff responded, laughing to himself as he stuck his head back inside the cab of the car and rolled the window up. He would tip his driver well for the disturbance.

He would see Roz at locker clean out, an end of season ritual before summer began.

They would laugh and joke like they always had, and Cliff would miss the way Rozanov seemed content to linger, the way his eyes drank up everything about the room they'd been in thousands of times.

He would laugh at Roz for bribing the zamboni guys to let them do one more skate on clean, fresh ice. And his eyes would get a little misty when Rozanov would point up at the rafters, at the banner that hung from 2014, when they'd won the Cup, and reminisce about how far they'd come.

When Roz would hug him for the final time before flying out and fucking off to wherever he was going for the summer, Cliff wouldn't complain, couldn't ever complain about the slight way the hug lingered.

And when he would say, "Thank you for making Boston special, Marly," and clap him on the back, Cliff would just assume it was some weird Russian to English translation error, and respond with an equally enthusiastic, "My pleasure, brother."

He would realize, later that night, the way he sometimes did after conversations, that he should have said it, or something to the same effect, back. He would debate texting, then shrug, because after all, they had time. They'd both be in Boston next season, he could say it then.

Chapter 6: cliff marlow signs his contract

Chapter Summary

cliff is in extension talks with boston when his agent drops some unexpected news on him...

Chapter Notes

The final fucking sign, Jesus.

It wasn't anything pleasant. In fact, it was something incredibly unpleasant, unexpected, and un-

It was just fucked.

His agent had been in preliminary talks with Boston's front office, working on his contract renewal, trying to up his salary.

And honestly, Cliff didn't really care about the money. Boston had already offered more than he expected, and he could've retired tomorrow and been set for life.

He wasn't expecting Ilya Rozanov money. He wasn't an Ilya Rozanov caliber player, at the end of the day.

But he understood why his agent wanted to negotiate him a higher salary. The higher the salary, the higher the money he would get from his percent.

After their emotional final playoff game, even more emotional locker clear out, and Montreal's elimination from the playoffs, Roz had fucked off to the middle of nowhere Canada to go do macho bro shit like riding jet skis, fishing, and hiking with Shane Hollander.

Cliff had met up with them at the NHL awards, which were in LA this year, to support Roz, who was an MVP finalist. Cliff didn't often attend the NHL awards, he wasn't usually up for any of the big awards, but Roz had asked him to come, and so he did.

It had been surprisingly enjoyable hanging out with Roz, Hollander, and Hollander's ex-girlfriend and current best friend, Rose Landry. A few of the times they went to dinner had felt surprisingly like a set up, and hey, Cliff wasn't complaining.

So, between spending time with his family, recovering and rehabbing a couple minor injuries from the season, and flying out to LA to woo Rose Landry with his new buddy Shane Hollander's enthusiastic encouragement, Cliff hadn't really put much thought into his contract.

And it wasn't that he didn't care about it, because he did.

He just didn't really care about the whole legal money aspect of it, because at the end of the day, his life was pretty fucking good. He was playing high level hockey, he had more than enough money to support himself, his family, and future generations of Cliff Marlow Jr's and Cliff Marlow the third's, he was maybe kind of dating one of the most famous, beautiful, funny movie stars probably ever, even though Roz got all weird whenever Cliff mentioned that part, and most importantly…

He got to play beautiful fucking hockey with his best fucking friend.

He had gotten back from his most recent trip to LA on a redeye earlier that morning and was having lunch with his mom in a bit. His dad had been invited too, but had chosen, in his old age, to spend the day playing golf with the neighbors.

He opened the door to his house which smelled like the lemony fresh, almost sterile cleaner that the housekeeper he paid to deep clean once a month used.

The importance of deep cleaning your not-so-bachelor pad was something he'd been educated on this summer.

Another was the importance of checking in and making your girl feel special.

His phone rang three times before connecting.

"Cliff! Hi!" Rose greeted from the other line, yawning softly.

"Hey there, Rosie, did I wake you?" he asked casually.

"No, no. It's about time I get up anyway." She replied, her voice sweet, punctuated with another yawn, and soft with lightness a voice gets when you're talking while smiling.

"Well I won't keep you from your long day of greatness, but I just wanted to let you know I made it back to Boston, and I'm already missing your pretty face." He told her earnestly.

The Cliff Marlow of the early days with the Boston Raiders definitely would've fucked this up. But he was getting old, and he knew his mom would be expecting grandbabies soon. Plus, he really, really liked Rose.

"Hmm, is my pretty face all you miss?" Rose teased lightly.

Cliff took the opportunity to tell her, in great detail, every little thing he missed about her, from her running commentary and behind the scenes anecdotes during movies, her beautifully creative mind, the uncanny way she managed to beat him at just about every game they'd ever played, and of course, because he was a man after all, the pretty little noises she made every time he kissed her.

Despite his initial promise not to keep her, they talked for another twenty minutes while he emptied his suitcase and started a load of laundry before he had to go get in the car to meet his mom.

When he said, "Bye Rosie," and hung up, it was only because he was staring at the framed photo Shane Hollander had gotten him for Christmas, that he realized how funny it was how similar Rosie and Rozy sounded.

His mom was good as she always was. They met up at their favorite Italian restaurant, and Cliff ordered half the menu in appetizers for them to sample. There was no way they were gonna finish all the food, but hey, leftovers! And he loved the place and didn't mind running up his total to up the 25% tip he always left.

His mom explained to him, in great detail, the recent drama with the HOA, told him about his dad's latest house renovation project, and scolded him about not calling his sister often enough even though every time he tried to text her she either didn't respond or sent an eye roll emoji. They were about halfway through their main course, both already basically full when she finally brought it up.

"So I hear things are getting serious with you and your little movie star." She started with a mischievous smirk on her face.

Cliff dropped his fork, cheeks turning bright pink at the loud clattering sound that resounded throughout the small, intimate dining room, looking sheepishly at the people who glanced his way. "Jesus, Ma." He huffed, "How did you even find out about that?"

Rose and him had been extremely careful and entirely discreet, renting out restaurants privately, and sneaking around in baseball caps and sunglasses. It wasn't that they intended to hide from the public forever, but while they were still figuring things out, they didn't want the details of their relationship spread across every tabloid the way it had been last year when Shane and Rose had dated.

Plus there was the whole "optics" of it all to figure out.

Rose's publicist didn't want her establishing a type for herself in the media unless she was sure that their relationship was actually serious and maybe gonna lead to something. Which was a lot of pressure, but they'd talked about being a little less discreet in public during the weekend they'd just spent together after many assurances from Cliff that he could handle the public attention, adoration and scrutiny alike.

His mom just sent him a startlingly familiar wink.

"Rozanov?!" He exclaimed with an exasperated sigh. "He told you?"

His mom threw her head back laughing and shook her head, slightly fond at him. "Did you really think you could keep it a secret from me, Cliff?"

And yeah, he knew that his parents and Roz texted sometimes. Roz had been a staple at Marlow family holidays up until this past year, and sometimes he came over for family dinner after game days, but he hadn't expected Roz to go revealing his romantic escapades like that. Not that he considered what he was doing with Rose to be escapades.

"I don't know, Ma. I was gonna tell you, I just-" He broke off, yeah, he probably should have told her by now, he'd just never gotten around to it. He'd never actually told his parents about a relationship before. He'd never had anything that felt that serious. "We're still figuring things out, but yeah, it's serious. She's really-"

He was cut off by a sharp ring. And look, Cliff Marlow was a certified Mama's boy.

And as a certified Mama's boy to a no-nonsense Italian mother, he knew more than damn well to keep his phone silenced and away when they were at the table. There were a select few people who could break through his do not disturb. The members of his family, of course. Rose, because well, it was part of making your girl feel special. Roz, because he was Cliff's best friend. Shane Hollander, because well, the events of the past year seemed to necessitate that. And his agent.

And honestly, when he pulled his phone out of his pocket with a sheepish expression on his face, he was expecting his sister finally returning one of his many missed calls, his dad asking if they could order him something to-go, Roz calling to tell him some stupid pointless shit that could've been a text, or even Hollzy calling to ask how his weekend with Rose had gone. Rose knew he was at lunch with his mom, so it probably wasn't her unless there was some sort of emergency.

But it was his agent. He screened it. Whatever it was, he could deal with it after lunch.

"Where was I-" he started, and then his phone ring again. 

Like clockwork, every time the call went to voicemail, the ringing would end briefly and then start up again a second later. After the sixth call, his phone began loudly dinging with texts.

"Umm, I think I should get this. It's Phil." He told his mom, looking up uncertainly. 

So, with his mom's permission, he answered the call in the middle of the restaurant they were sat in, and his jaw promptly fucking dropped.

"Boston is increasing their initial offer by 750,000 a year, upping your extension bonus by a million, and they want to give you the C." His agent exclaimed excitedly from the other line. And okay, yeah, he understood now why his agent thought it was urgent, but still, it could wait until after lunch.

So Cliff said, "Okay,", promptly hung up the phone, and finished lunch.

His mom asked him what the call had been about.

"An increased offer or something." He replied, though his voice sounded kind of distant in his ears.

"Oh Cliff, that's wonderful!" His mom exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I'm glad they're seeing the value you bring to the team."

"And the C." He added grimly. 

He knew what it meant. Of course he knew what it meant. 

And judging by the crestfallen look on his mom's face, she did too. 

Given that they were both full, all that was really left was to box up everything they hadn't eaten to take home. Cliff paid the bill, tipped generously, and helped his mom carry all the leftovers to her car. He had suddenly, very explicably, lost his appetite.

His mom wrapped him up into a tight hug outside of the restaurant. It lasted long enough that he could feel a wetness soak through his t-shirt where her head was pressed against the top of his shoulder.

"Honey," she said softly, "I've loved watching you play for Boston."

It was an innocent statement, with no real meaning or implication other than a regular expression of affection for her son, not something entirely rare in his family. However, later he would think back on it, and wonder if she knew. If he was really that transparent and predictable.

It wasn't something to be ashamed of, he was sure. He was a Mama's boy after all, of course she would know him rather well.

When he got back to his house, he put on the glasses he only ever rarely wore for reading contracts and other serious things like that. He pulled up the updated offer that his agent had forwarded to his email and began reviewing it at the long wooden dining table that always felt so lonely.

He looked around his house, the one he had bought with his first extension contract from Boston. It was a lovely house, really it was. But it had never quite felt like home. 

That wasn't true.

The only time it had ever really felt like home was for the brief few months Roz had lived in it. Even in the middle of the cold, dreary winter, Roz had made the space feel bright.

And now? In the warm, golden light of the summer? The house somehow felt darker and colder than ever.

He picked up the phone and dialed his agent.

"Hey Phil, sorry for hanging up earlier. I was out to lunch with my Ma, you know how she gets." Cliff started.

Phil had been his agent since he was 16 and first started really showing signs of promise to play professionally. So yeah, Phil really did know how his mom could get.

"No problem, Marlow. Have you had a chance to review the contract yet? I can talk you through it, though honestly I think we can get another 250 out of Boston. They seemed pretty desperate." Phil responded, talking in the mile a minute way he often did that usually took Cliff an embarrassingly long amount of time to respond because first he had to process the amount and speed of words coming from Phil's mouth.

"Actually, I wanted to know what my options are." Cliff heard himself saying.

"Your options? Marlow, you're 27, and Boston wants to make you their franchise player, their Captain. I'll be honest with you man, this is probably the best offer we're gonna get." Phil responded rather candidly.

And which, yeah, that wasn't a surprise. Cliff wasn't really franchise player level, and Boston already had a franchise player. Well, they were supposed to.

"I'm not." He said. 

"You're not what?" Phil asked impatiently.

"A franchise player." He clarified.

"Marlow, who gives a fuck? Let that be their problem. They're offering you life changing money, this is literally my job as your agent, like the best I could possibly hope to do. This is like a fucking Kirk Cousins level contract for you." Phil said.

Cliff winced slightly at that. It was harsh, but totally fair. "I don't think I can sign with Boston." He said.

It was a surprise. But then again, it wasn't.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Phil huffed impatiently. "Marlow, it's like ethically and morally wrong for me not to do everything I can to convince you to accept this deal. You want options? I can get them, but I fucking promise they aren't gonna look any better than this, and Boston isn't gonna like your lack of commitment."

Cliff let a small laugh bubble out of him at that. It wasn't about the money, it wasn't ever about the money. He understood why it was about the money to Phil, but some things were way more important than money.

Cliff Marlow was no genius, anyone would tell you that. His high school biology teacher, most of the teams he'd interviewed with before the draft, the Boston trainers who'd turned a blind eye to a few of his more mild concussions, hell, even his own family would tell you that.

He was no genius, but he had his moments. And now? He had a gut feeling.

"Phil, I know this makes absolutely no sense, but I want you to look into a team for me."

Phil sighed on the other line despondently when he asked what team it was.

And when Cliff told him, he simply replied in a pinched, almost nasally, yet resigned voice, "I had a feeling you were going to say that."

His new contract was respectable. For a hockey player, maybe it wasn't anything to write home about, and he definitely hadn't swindled his new team like he would've if he'd signed Boston's updated offer. He was making just slightly under Boston's initial extension offer to him.

He felt bad and a little disloyal, the fans would surely hate him, but he didn't really care that much. He'd always performed better when being booed for some reason. And he was sure there would be a lot of that when they played at TD Garden this upcoming season.

Despite being native Bostonians, his parents and most of his extended family assured him that they were, and always would be, Cliff Marlow fans, not Boston Raiders fans, and if that meant they had to switch teams, then so be it. 

It's not exactly like anyone was going to call them bandwagons given last season's record of the team he was joining.

He was excited, if not a little nervous to meet the guys on the team. According to his agent, they gutted most of last season's team, which was much needed, and made a lot of trades, so he wouldn't really be the new guy in the locker room, since it would be mostly new guys anyway. 

It kind of reminded him of the gutted Boston team when he first started playing, the one that had been designed around Rozanov, and to some extent, himself too.

The news about his contract was probably going to be posted soon. Almost all of Cliff's most important people already knew anyway. All except one.

He called Rose earlier this morning.

The first thing she'd asked him, before she even said hello, or let him ask her how she was doing, was if he'd told him yet.

"...no." Cliff had replied hesitantly.

"Cliff! Why?!" She had exclaimed dramatically, with a playful note in her voice.

"I don't know, Rosie." He'd groaned, "What if he's like, I don't know, weirded out?"

Cliff knew it was stupid, but he was weirdly insecure about the whole thing. Because Roz was his best friend, but he wasn't sure he was Roz's best friend. Not with his ever blooming friendship with Hollander, and the stupid two months the two of them were spending training together in the offseason at Hollander's stupidly, annoyingly, apparently cool glass fucking McMansion that Roz had sent him pictures of earlier in the summer.

"Cliff, he's your best friend." Rose had replied matter of factly, "He's going to be excited."

"Yeah, but am I his best friend?" Cliff had asked, voicing his exact concerns and insecurities.

"Don't be silly, of course you are." Rose had answered, sounding amused. They'd had variations of this same exact conversation before, but he'd never expressly brought up Hollander's name, because him and Rose had dated, and they apparently still talked all the time which was something Roz was weirdly jealous about, and honestly Cliff had started to have less than savory feelings about it too lately.

But like, Rose was his girlfriend, so he should be able to be honest with her about, you know, feelings and stuff. So he had told her.

"I don't know, I think he's replacing me with Hollzy."

He hadn't been expecting her to burst out laughing. For nearly a whole minute. Fifty-four seconds. He'd counted.

"Sorry, sorry," She had said once she finally got herself back under control. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. That was rude of me."

He sighed, "It's fine. I just, I don't know. I don't even know how they got so close. Like, they're supposed to fucking hate each other or some shit, but obviously they don't. And like, I've been Roz's best friend since fucking like 2010. And him and Hollzy become friends last year, and now I'm replaced?" 

Rose had hummed in acknowledgement on the other line, but didn't say much. Content just to let him rant and talk out his feelings.

"Sorry, I know I'm being ridiculous. Roz can have other friends, obviously. It's just- he's like my brother, you know? I guess I'm a little jealous about how much he opens up to Hollzy, I know they have some special connection because they're both the best, but like, I could listen to, you know?" He continued, "I just wish he'd talk to me more when I can tell he's not doing good."

He let out a deep sigh. "Okay, sorry for ranting. I'm done."

He could almost hear the soft smile in Rose's voice on the other line when she'd responded, "You never have to apologize for that, Cliff. I talk your ear off all the time-"

"I love when you do." He'd cut in quickly.

"I know," she had said softly.

It was something they'd been dancing around for the past couple weeks. He would tell her that he loved the way she talked about color grading in movies they watched together on facetime, and she would tell him that she loved how disciplined he was about hockey and how he liked to cook dinner for her rather than just order take out when they were together. It hadn't been very long, and maybe it was a little crazy, and a little fast, but Cliff was sure some day soon he was going to slip up and just flat out say it.

"I think you should tell him soon. Definitely before the news breaks on ESPN. He'll be over the moon, Cliff. Shane says he's been really nervous about starting somewhere new and the whole not really knowing anyone of it all." Rose had told him softly.

And well, yeah. So the news about his new contract was expected to drop at 6 pm, if it wasn't leaked any earlier by the insiders. And he knew, unofficially of course, that the big bombshell new of Roz's signing would drop tomorrow.

Because again, not a genius, but once he realized Roz wasn't re-signing with Boston, it had been pretty easy to figure out where he was going. Not Montreal, the league wasn't ready for him and Hollander on the same team yet, and Montreal couldn't afford him anyway.

Ottawa was the logical next team.

And if he hadn't been 100% sure when he asked Phil to look into it, he certainly was after. And it made the respectable, but ordinary offer they gave him make sense. Because Cliff Marlow would've been a star on last year's Centaurs team, and they surely would've given him a large contract to lure him away from Boston if they hadn't obviously had a superstar to pay.

It was nearing 4 pm now, prime time for an insider to leak the news. If he was gonna call Roz and tell him, he would have to do it soon. 

He navigated to the contact through his messaging app. It was easy enough to find, given that it was one of his few pins, the only others being his mom, his family group chat, and Rose. He hit the call button and let it ring.

Once, twice, three-

"Marly!" Roz exclaimed, slightly surprised, "Is good to hear from you. How are you?"

"I'm good, Roz. How's the McMansion?" He responded lightly.

Roz groaned, "Beautiful, wonderful, exquisite. I want to live here, Marly." 

Cliff nearly snorted.

"Hollander taught me how to ride the jet skis today. We raced. I beat him, of course. Then he made me skate for three hours on his synthetic ice rink, was very terrible. I told him it is off season, we should be resting, but he is crazy, so."

Cliff smiled. He could almost picture Roz's casual, nonchalant shrug at the end of the sentence. "That sounds great, brother, really." He replied in earnest.

He could almost feel the casual, curious interest in the shift in Roz's tone, "So, you sign extension yet?"

Here it was, he almost had him.

"Nope!" He replied cheerfully, popping the 'p' loudly.

"Marly! Training camp starts next week. Your agent must be freaking out." Roz replied, more serious than Cliff had ever heard him. "What is wrong? Are they not paying you enough?"

"Not quite," Cliff replied with a slight smirk beginning to grow on his face.

"Then what?" Roz asked exasperated. He sounded stressed in a way Cliff could hardly imagine, maybe Hollander was rubbing off on him.

"Well, there were a couple problems." Cliff started, "For one, they offered me the a huge contract. Crazy signing bonus, honestly crazy high yearly too."

"And why is this a problem?" Roz asked dryly.

"Well, for two, they wanted a seven year extension, and a no trade clause added." Cliff continued.

Roz made a noise of exasperation that was so high it almost sounded like a squeal, "Marly, I know you are dumb as rocks, but none of this sounds like a problem. Is most players' dream contract, probably."

"Well, for three, and see, this was probably the biggest problem... they offered me the C." Cliff finished.

He heard a sharp intake of air on the other end.

"And I thought, surely that can't be right." He prompted when Roz said nothing.

"Marly, I-" Roz sighed, "I was going to tell you. I just- I couldn't figure out how."

"It's fine, Roz, really." Cliff said dismissively, "I-"

"It is not fine. I am sorry. You are my best friend, probably-" Cliff scoffed at the probably, "-and I should have told you, but you should sign this extension. It's a good deal, the best. I told them to value you, when I told them I would not re-sign."

"I appreciate that, Cap, but I'm not re-signing with Boston." Cliff said. He paused, waited for the words to sink in.

Hook.

Line.

"Wait-" Roz said, his voice suspiciously wet sounding. "Cap?"

Sinker.

"Go Cens, baby." Cliff replied enthusiastically.

"Marly, do not fucking joke-"

"Why would I joke about this? That's just cruel, Rozy." He replied with a smile splitting his face.

"What the fuck, Marlow? The Centaurs are terrible, why would you-" Roz exclaimed.

"Why would you?" Cliff shot back, "And hey, we built a terrible Boston team up from the ground. We won a fucking Cup, we can do it again."

Cliff heard a shaky inhale and then silence. He almost wondered if Roz had hung up, but then-

"Fuck you, Marly." Roz exhaled shakily. "I fucking hate you."

"I love you too, brother." Cliff replied with a smile.

"I can't believe you. You are terrible and ridiculous. I can't believe you sign with terrible team, move to terribly boring country, all to have probably terrible season barely, if even, making the playoffs." Roz said, and Cliff could hear the way his voice was dripping with emotion.

Because Cliff knew well enough by now, that Roz's critical disbelief was less about the team itself and more about his unwillingness to believe Cliff had done it for him. And Cliff knew that from Roz, I hate you really meant "I love you" and fuck you meant "you're my best friend".

It was the same way Cliff knew that boring was one of Roz's favorite things, with the way he assigned the adjective to everything of beauty, like the Marlow family Easter egg hunt and Hollander's cottage. It was the same way that Cliff knew, to Roz, terrible really meant "wonderful".

"Well, I guess we have a lot of work to do. But it's a good thing you and I already make a pretty fucking good pair." Cliff responded quickly, easily matching Roz's fire and emotion.

"Yes." Roz replied softly, though the words held a world of meaning.

They were quiet on the phone for a moment before Cliff heard the familiar swooshing noise of an ESPN alert. Fucking insiders.

"Well, it's official." Cliff said grinning. 

"Obviously, you'll be staying at my house until you find a place you like." Roz said matter-of-factly.

"Oh?" Cliff asked casually, which- what? How the fuck did Roz already have a house?

"Yes. It is a big house, and even though you are very terrible and boring, I will let you stay." Roz replied.

"Holy shit, Ilya. Did you see-" Cliff heard Hollander's voice before suddenly the volume cut out. Ten seconds later, he heard Roz again.

"Okay, Marly. Have to go, boring things to do. Very excited to- umm, play with you. I will text you, uh, my address, I don't have much furniture yet, so bring whatever- fuck- you want. Okay bye-bye." Roz said, the words coming out rushed and a little bit slurred, and then the slight beeping of the phone hanging up resounded in his ears.

He chuckled to himself as he tossed his phone on the couch cushion beside him. He'd already deleted social media, and he definitely wouldn't be checking his dms anytime soon with all the death threats from angry Boston fans that were certain to be in them. If there was anything truly important or interesting, he was sure Rose would share it with him.

His phone dinged with a text from her.

'You're officially a Centaur! Congrats babe'

'Please tell me you called him before the news broke'

He laughed again as he typed his reply.

'Thank you Rosie'

'Buzzer beater'

'News dropped while we were on the phone, but yes I told him before'

She responded quickly with a couple screenshots of tweets and a sweet text.

'Proud of you babe'

Cliff clicked on the carousel of images he sent. The first one read:

#1 CENS FAN @cens4life

HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK CLIFF MARLOW????!!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

The second one was nearly just as funny.

Ottawa City Official @cityofottawa

Cliff Marlow?? Like THE Cliff Marlow who knocked out Shane Hollander two years ago??? You're on thin ice until you win us some games, buddy

He responded quickly.

'Haha'

'Glad it's not all death threats'

He set his phone back down on the couch cushion, closed his eyes, and sighed. Tomorrow, he would begin packing up the house that had never really been a home. Well, actually he would hire people to do that part. It wouldn't take long, he was leaving most of the furniture for staging and either giving it to whoever bought the house or donating it.

Then, he would go stay with his parents for a few days before flying up to settle in before training camp and reuniting with his best friend.

For some reason, he had an inkling that he'd be seeing Hollander quite a bit in the next year, for purposes other than just the discussing the Irina Foundation, and he wasn't all that mad about it. Roz obviously liked the guy well enough to go spend his whole offseason at his house, and Rose and him seemed to still have a pretty great relationship, so Cliff would play nice.

And maybe the Centaurs would have some other surprising, talented additions who, for some reason, decided they wanted the challenge of playing for a historically awful team in a historically very cold, very boring city. But boring was good, and Cliff liked the cold. And with a first line centered by Ilya Rozanov with Cliff Marlow on his wing? Anything was possible.

So in retrospect, yeah, maybe he should've seen the signs earlier. Maybe they were all pointing him to the fact that Roz was going to leave Boston, that he was going to leave Boston. But again, as established many times before, Cliff Marlow was not the sharpest tool in the shed. But he got there, eventually.

And now he would be going to play for Ottawa with a few things he knew for certain to be true.

1) Playing for Boston had been one of the greatest blessings of his life, because it led him to meet his best friend.

2) Somewhere along the way, through years of partying, blacking out, and causing trouble, Cliff Marlow and Ilya Rozanov had grown up.

3) At least part of why they were in Ottawa, was because his best friend had a very close friendship with his archrival (and Cliff was never to mention the accidental hit again or Centaurs fans, or Roz himself, might kill him).

4) Sometimes there would be hard days, for himself and for Roz, but they would get better. Things always got better. And it was a lot easier to believe that when you had someone right by your side dragging you to through the tunnel back out into the sunshine.

5) He, for better or for worse, but definitely for better, had a brother that he would do anything for. 

And maybe the upcoming season would have some disappointment and a couple losing streaks in store for them, and maybe it would have some surprises. At least he wouldn't be going through it alone.

Chapter End Notes

okay guys welcome to the end of this story!! i have, for a long time, been in love with fanon cliff marlow, and like I said, this started off as a writing exercise that turned into something fun I wanted to share with you all! a couple notes:

1) this is why i tagged canon compliant but also canon divergent bc.... my baby cliff is going to ottawa!!

2) honestly i had so much fun writing this that i might turn it into a series and include more marly-rozy friendship moments joining a new team together, explore cliff and rose's relationship more, and show a little glimpse of hollanov in this canon divergent universe :)

3) the kirk cousins contract thing (if you don't know anything about the NFL): kirk cousins is a fairly mediocre-slightly above average QB, though not in recent years. He's also basically known for, in addition to swag surfing, his agent swindling NFL teams (cough, falcons) into giving him absurdly high contracts and then underperforming- or, well performing in a way that is surprising to no one, he just shouldn't have gotten a contract that large lol

4) if you've made it this far, and you like what you've read, you might like my other fics! I have Equal and Opposite and
every day is like a battle
I'm also working on a new one that I'll publish the first chapter of soon, so keep an eye out if you're interested!

5) thank you for all the love and support! i hope you all love cliff marlow as much as I do!