Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/M, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike & Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates, Bodyswap, POV Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Anxious Shane Hollander, mild biphobia, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Gets Outed, Ilya Rozanov Gets Outed

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of You Know Where I Am, You Know Where To Find Me, Part 1 of Cup Full Of Soulmates

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-25 Words: 9,653 Chapters: 1/1

Love Is Not A Choice

Summary

March third is PQ Day. All over the globe couples are finding their datemates, waking up in the bodies of the other couple who’ll support them forever. Hayden’s been married for eight years now but evidently the other half of their Power Quad are nowhere near that peak, because it’s been eight Marchs of fuck all. Eight years of waking beside Jackie, both of them in their own bodies, in love but missing part of who they’re destined to be. And then Hayden opens his eyes in the spring of 2018, and recognises the well toned thighs he pulls the duvet off of.

Notes

Brought to you by my HR Texting Buddy coming at me with me the concept that Hayden and Jackie press Shane to get a girlfriend because they love him and want to swing, and my brain going okay, I see you, I hear you, but PLATONIC SOULMATES. Also brought to you by just completing my thirty hour autism in preschoolers course, to better support the multiple children at the daycare on the spectrum. Arthur Pike being autistic is so important to me.

Also written for the first image of my Cup Full Of Soulmates challenge. Used the elements of the winter setting, the multiple houses, and the peppermint.

Hayden doesn’t often get to sleep in. From childhood he’s had the uncanny ability to sleep through any alarm set, but that skill doesn’t matter when you surround yourself with people willing to yank your blankets off. First he had his parents, then he paid his college roommate to make sure he got to class, then he had Jackie, and a newborn. Hell, it was even his initial reason for bunking with Shane on roadies. Some of the Metros exhibit every man for themselves behaviour, smirk when Coach is screaming at someone for being late, or otherwise a failure, but Shane would never allow the sanctity of hockey to be spoiled by being off routine.

Today is different. It’s March third, PQ Day, and while it’s not a stat holiday -no sense in shutting down society when it’s only going to actively affect a small population- neither the MLH nor the NBA have games today, and MLB spring training is cancelled too. The school division treats it as another St Patrick’s, or Valentines, a theme day, a day for specialised curriculum, so Ruby and Emma still have to go in. Technically it’s up to them when they take Arthur and Amber in to daycare, but Arthur’s on a waitlist for the autism diagnosis his daycare staff are certain of, and his day will have significantly less meltdowns if he’s given the structure of going in. Before they fell asleep Jackie was kind enough to promise Hayden the reward of a rare sleep in while she got the kids ready, and he just wasn’t altruistic enough to turn it down.

It’s not like he won’t be rewarding her back, anyway. Maybe it’s a slight dick move to make her get everyone going, but if he sleeps in he’ll have the energy to go down on her for hours once all the kids are gone. It’ll be their joyous version of mourning another year without Shane in their life. For years now, he and Jackie have been pushing as hard as they can to get Shane to date one of Jackie’s friends. The only way fate grants them a Power Quad is if Shane actually fucking dates someone, someone compatible enough to end up with the universe uniting two perfect pairs. It was a wild few months when he and Jackie thought it might be Rose fuckin’ Landry, but March third 2017 came and went without a blink. And now Shane is single again, and it’s going to be another year without a chance of waking up tied together forever.

For not nearly the first time in his life, Hayden wakes up to screaming. Parents know the screams of their children. From the day they’re born, a wet diaper scream is different than a hungry scream. As they’ve gotten older, new categories have opened, ones like ‘my sister is bugging me’ and ‘the seam in my sock makes me want to die’, but parsing emotions from across the house has never lost relevance. Emma is startled, but not actually terrified, and that means Hayden can spare the time to look down at himself as he shoves the blankets off, rather than just sprinting to his daughter’s room.

He can’t help the way his hope skyrockets with the duvet out of the way. Last night’s loose boxers are tighter now, fabric taut against thick thighs. One half of the other part of their Power Quad is built, thighs that could crush a watermelon. An athlete, certainly, whether recreationally or professionally. Male, that’s easy enough to see in the way his boxers lie. And he’s Asian. Sure it could be any Asian dude from anywhere in the world, but why would destiny do that to Hayden and Jackie, when it could just fucking finally officially give them Shane? Fuck, it’s been since 2010.

There’s a mirror in the hall above the once decorative table that now stands as an ‘I’ll put that away later’ vessel. A quick glance in it as he passes on his way to Emms gives Hayden what he’s wanted for years: Shane in his Power Quad. It’s a skin tingling victory. The godfather to his children is his universe decreed best friend, exactly as it should be. It’s also a surprise. Shane’s supposed to be single. It’s a staple article in magazines and on websites every end of February, which celebrities are seeing new partners since last year, and not yet in a PQ. Either he met someone over the weekend, his shy nature preventing him from bragging about a conquest so new, despite the evident perfection of their fledging relationship, or whatever negative in Shane and Rose’s relationship that prevented them from being a PQ candidate last year got fixed over text, and now everything is perfect conditions.

From the moment he enters the teal painted room of his eldest by seven minutes daughter, Hayden knows why Emma screamed. He wants to fucking scream too. There are picture books made for young parents whose kid will see their Power Quad forming. Hayden has Bessie’s Four Fishies on the toyroom’s bookshelf, right beside Jillian Jiggs and If You Give A Mouse A Cookie and the entire oeuvre of Robert Munsch, but Emma startles easily. They’ve never successfully sat her on a mall Santa’s lap, and she cried for the first two weeks of kindergarten. It nearly killed them, having to walk away. Of all their children, Hayden could have guessed Emma’d scream at seeing a stranger at her bedside, waking her up for school. And not a stranger in the form of Rose Landry, or some placid brunette Shane’d met while nursing a single beer for a night at a bar. The body menacing Hayden’s skittish daughter is Ilya motherfucking Rozanov.

Even as an adult, knowing it’s Jackie under the body she’s been burdened with, Hayden can’t help his hands curling into fists when the elbow throwing oaf in front of him picks up his daughter and begins to sing to her. What keeps him still -because surely Uncle Shane cuddling her has to be more normal than this bastard- is how quickly Emma settles. It might be a hideously wrong body that’s rocking her, but the song is hers, the child’s version of decrypting a code. It’s Old MacDonald, but made up to have random items of importance to Emma on the farm, like Giddyup Jake, or her Monster High dolls. Each of their children have one, though Amber’s cherished items right now are more like burp cloth, soother, and current clutched taggie. No one but Mom could be singing this song, even if she’s in the body of a Russian monster.

After a minute of singing, Jackie boosts Emma out of her lap and rolls smoothly to her knees. She clamps her hands on their daughter’s shoulders, now a heavy crooked knuckled weight instead of the feathers and sugar she’s always been. Hayden thinks he might be in mourning, seeing it. “Wake up your sister and go make your cereal. At least one fruit each. Okay, sweet one?”

They’re trying to teach age appropriate self sufficiency, so the cereal is in the bottom cabinet, the milk they buy by the four litre is portioned into water bottles light enough to be lifted, and said fruit is already free of seeds and sliced in Tupperware in the fridge. Emma’s got the best chance of waking Ruby up without a fight that’ll last all morning, and it frees Jackie up to deal with their more needy children, which she often during the season needs to do herself.

“Okay, mommy,” Emma says, lightly. Bessie’s Four Fishies and whatever Ms Reynolds said about tomorrow during class yesterday must have kicked in, because she doesn’t hesitate to use the title.

Emma leaves the room, not thinking to close the door, because what kid does? It’s Jackie who lunges towards the white painted plank and bats at it. It’s Rozanov’s innate strength that has it almost slamming, and only her quick mommy reflexes has it not shutting loudly enough to rouse Amber.

“Oh my god,” Jackie says, rubbing her wide hands over her birthmark spotted face. It’s weird that she’s not sweaty. Hayden only ever sees Rozanov when he’s sweaty.

“Hayd?” She prompts a moment later. But what’s he supposed to say? He’s Shane, and that’s what they’ve wanted for years, but Jackie isn’t any of the single women in her contact list. She’s fuckin’ Rozanov, and what is that supposed to say about Shane? About their future as a Quad?

“You’ve got one,” Jackie offers.

“What the fuck,” Hayden allows himself to groan. It’s all so fucked.

“Yep,” she agrees. The popping P at the end she always does sounds so much different with a Russian accent.

“What the fucking fuck.” He’s imagined Shane and his girl, his Power Quad, hanging out with the kids whenever they can, because fate would never pair himself and Jackie with someone who didn’t adore the kids. He imagined the couple coming over for board game nights and dinners and movies. Rozanov has a luxury car collection. He has a Tumblr fan account just for aggregating his clubbing photos.

“Okay, swear jar.”

“Ba-“ he cuts himself off. Can he really say baby while looking into that stupid arrogant face?

Jackie frowns at him. “Bee. Baby. And continue…?”

“Maybe not now, okay?”

The sharp arch of her ‘are you fucking kidding me’ eyebrows is oddly familiar in Rozanov’s expression. Must be the resting I Will Murder You face. “Definitely not okay. I know it’s weird, but come on, Hayd. Do you love me or my body? Because newsflash, I’m not gonna look the same when I’m eighty, husband, and your balls will be at your knees but you don’t see me bitching and withholding love.”

Natural aging seems different to him than the love of his life carrying the countenance of his enemy, but okay. It’s still the basic picture book lesson; your loved one is still themselves on March third, they’ve just learned something new.

“Okay. Sorry baby. But it is weird, right?”

“How long do you think he’s known he’s bi? Is he even? He would have told us, right? If he’s known for a while.”

Oh, so this is what Shane feels like when he’s stressed. It’s tinglier than Hayden’s own crushing red weight in the back of his brain, in the deep of his muscles. Shane’s stress feels like bees, little legs vibrating on his skin as a drone builds in his ears.

“Ugh, baby, I don’t know. I don’t know anything, at this point.” He’d love to believe this is as much of a surprise to Shane as it is to them, a one night stand somehow compatible enough that fate’s given a thumbs up, that he hasn’t been concealing his sexuality as Jackie and Hayden have told him everything about themselves. But even in that best case scenario, Shane still had to arrange a one night stand. Shane still had to want Rozanov in his bed. Shane still has to be near perfect with the goddamn enemy, for the universe to give them a checkmark.

“Okay. Okay. We can figure this out. But I really don’t want to leave Ruby and Emma for too long, or they’re going to sneak apple juice.” Their daughters, like most six year olds, are sugar hounds. More than once Hayden’s caught Ruby eating something sweet directly from the packaging. Juice, cookies, marshmallows. Once it was a straight up sugar packet at a diner, poured right into her mouth while they were busy cutting Amber some small toast strips. “You wake up Arthur. He’s not going to like … this,” Jackie gestures to herself. Yeah, Hayden can’t blame him. He doesn’t either. “I’ll feed Amber.”

Arthur hates routine being changed. Lots of kids do, there’s a reason the daycare has a picture schedule on the wall, but for his beautiful son it goes beyond the standard. Luckily Hayden knows the details of how Shane interacts with his children. He’s over often enough, and has long since been given babysitting rights. Arthur’s too young to understand PQ Day, to explain why Shane and a stranger are in his house, but Hayden should be able to fake being Uncle Shane for just long enough to get him to daycare without triggering him.

The first task of which is to get dressed. Uncle Shane doesn’t participate in casual partial nudity. Not unless it’s in the locker room, and even then at the very minimum. Hayden always thought it was just another one of his quirks, but now that he knows he’s queer, maybe it has more to do with that. Not that he’s some lech, likely to sexualize something if he’s involving his own nudity, but more for the safety of hindsight. Comeau will have a harder time claiming perv in the locker room if Shane has an eight year track record of being a fully dressed prude.

Hayden doesn’t tend to give a lot of thought to his clothes. He’s gotten better at accessorizing girls. Ruby and Emma are starting to want to dress themselves, even pick out things to buy, but for years it was up to him or Jackie to make sure their socks matched their dress, their leggings matched their sweaters. But for him, it’s either game day suit, or jeans and whatever shirt is on the hanger closest to his grasping hand. The dark wash pair he picks up from the ‘doesn’t need a wash yet but get them off the floor’ basket smell fine, so Hayden shucks them on, then picks a shirt out of his closet at random. Hayden puts it on without a second thought, and nearly starts wretching when the fabric settles on his skin. Yesterday he’d have sworn it was fine, he’s worn it before, but today it’s a revolting travesty against his skin. Shane’s got sensory issues, fucking noted. It’s not like he hadn’t already guessed that. Shane likes ginger ale like Arthur likes watered down orange juice. Most people would go insane from the tedium of a performance diet, but research on Arthur has taught him about safe foods, and Shane’s whole thing definitely fits.

Vile shirt swapped for a better one -and he might have to literally throw it out, who knows how many times he’s hugged Shane wearing it and his best friend has wanted to recoil and cry but not let himself- Hayden tromps out to collect the last troop from his in need of a remodel bedroom. Arthur’s got a focal wall car wallpaper, but he’s been hyperfixated on sharks for months now, and there are a bunch of Hammerhead and sawnose crayon drawings taped up courtesy of his older sisters. If the obsession lasts into the off season, Hayden can absolutely picture Jackie making him redo the wallpaper to an ocean theme. It’s not like they can’t afford it.

“Shane? No Shane. Mommy.” Arthur demands from the centre of his new big boy bed. It doesn’t surprise Hayden that Emma’s scream, or something else, woke him, but he didn’t want to get out of bed. Every morning Jackie scoops him out of his rolling onto the floor barricade of body pillows, and sings his good morning song. That’s what is supposed to happen. He probably wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning alone if the fire alarm went off.

“Sorry, buddy. Mommy’s not available right now.”

“Mommy!” Arthur shouts.

“Sorry, buddy. Can I pick you up so we can go eat raspberries?” Raspberries in yogurt is best, but raspberry oatmeal in the cold winter or a raspberry Go Pure bar if they’re late and need to eat in the car are also acceptable.

“Mommy,” Arthur groans, hitting his forehead a few times. It kills Hayden to not stop him, but online consensus is if he’s struggling with proprioception, it’s bad to try to prevent self regulation. It’ll only lead to Arthur banging and hitting harder to compensate for being blocked, inevitably leading to a truly hard bang when there’s no interception.

“Arthur, I’m going to pick you up now.” Because Shane would. He knows how to pick Arthur up and ignore the flailing arms, to not care about getting hit a few times as he’s in the way. He knows how to use the right amount of pressure -too much, for a typical kid- to help Arthur find his body again.

“Shaaaane. Berries,” Arthur moans, after a few minutes of flat hands pressing on his back.

“Yeah, buddy. Let’s go.”

Hayden helps Arthur push on his slippers -a compromise between hating the cold hardwood on his feet and also loathing socks with all of his being- and follows him downstairs. Jackie must have intervened at the right time, Ruby and Emma are both enjoying Shreddies with banana slices, and Amber’s ignoring her bottle for her own smeared and smashed banana chunks. Hayden gives kisses to all his girls -Ruby’s hi daddy proof Emma’d explained the situation satisfactorily- and sets up Arthur with his yogurt. Interesting, how panic felt different between the two bodies, but love feels the same.

The girls are upstairs picking out outfits while Jackie is wiping down Amber, when suddenly she freezes, cloth dangling loosely from her hand. “Shane’s not out.”

“Yeah, I know.” It’s one of the first things Hayden wants to know about, how long he’s known and if Hayden’s done anything to make him feel like he couldn’t tell him.

“No. I mean, who’s dropping off the kids?”

Fuck, a problem Hayden didn’t even think about needing to conceal. For his sake, Hayden hopes Shane hasn’t been self aware for too long. It seems like a never ending chore, having to unearth all the potential ways to get caught and bury them deeper.

“Shit-“

“Hayden!”

“No, it’s okay. You get Arthur dressed, I’ll go ask Parm.” Shane’s presence over a stranger’s isn’t going to be enough to prevent their boy’s screaming at having to wear clothing, so it might as well be Hayden who navigates this. He supports Amber, no longer sticky, on his hip, jams slides onto his feet, and heads out for their Hail Mary.

Never in his life has Hayden been more grateful for his left side neighbours, Parminder and Sanchit. They’ve lived up to the hype in the past. They’re always in the kitchen, making the whole street smell like slow cooked dal makhani. They have their whole own host of cultural holidays but never forget to wish the Pikes their happy Western ones. They’re also mild cricket fans and don’t care about any other sport. Intellectually the Dhillons understand he’s a Metro and she’s a WAG, but he doubts they could name another team in the league. Today that ignorance is going to save their asses. Neither Shane Hollander nor Ilya Rozanov can be seen dropping Jade and Emma off at school or Arthur and Amber at daycare. Especially not on March fucking third.

It’s a little past seven thirty in the morning, but their house lights are on, so Hayden feels less bad about knocking on their door. He would have, regardless, desperation winning over manners, but it’s good that he doesn’t have to feel guilty about it. Parm answers in a green blouse and leggings, looking lovely, albeit suspicious. People don’t do face to face these days.

“Hey. It’s Hayden,” he cuts to the chase, bouncing Amber slightly as he swivels as hip to keep her moving.

“Oh! Congratulations on such a momentous day!” Parm says loudly enough in her realization to bring her husband to the door. He’s as tidily dressed as she is, and his smile nearly as big. Parm and Sanchit, like himself and Jackie, have been married nearly a decade, with no PQ. Whoever they’re meant to be best friends forever with, they’re not together yet. Hayden hopes it happens soon for them, and that whomever their other half is, isn’t as messy as his is turning out to be.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, first thing in the morning, but can you drop the kids off? We really need to talk to them, the sooner the better.”

“Of course.”

“Just text us the addresses, and if there’s any signing in steps or anything.”

“Thanks. Thank you. As you can guess, it’s been a hell of a wake up.”

Sanchit laughs. “Better not let your wife hear you swearing like that.”

“Trust me, that’s been a part of the morning,” Hayden quips back. “We’ll finish getting them ready, back in fifteen?”

“We’ll be here.”

Approximately fifteen minutes later, give or take a fight on if Emma can bring her Clawdeen Wolf doll to school, Hayden’s got his kids at the end of the driveway, and his neighbours walking up it. Hayden gives Sanchit the van keys. It’ll be easier than uninstalling and reinstalling four car seats of various sizes and weight capacities. It’d have to be two in Parm’s car, two in Sanchit’s. Lending a family sized vehicle is less effort.

“Just put them in the mailbox when you’re done. Do an errand or three, if you want, I don’t care about the gas.”

“We’ll just tuck them in. We won’t even knock.”

“Just keep the moaning down,” Sanchit jokes. “Maybe close the windows.”

Hayden blushes a bit, knowing it’ll show significantly on Shane’s face. The Dhillons clearly think they want privacy for one thing. And in different circumstances they’d be right. There are repetitive yearly polls on many different platforms asking if you’d fuck while in your PQ’s body. It’s something everyone has a stance on; the one chance to fuck your spouse while they don’t look like your spouse, but your eternal, god-given best friends. This year the Twitter one he’s seen is at sixty five percent. Hayden would guess that’s right. For every couple that talks big about something semi-kinky that they won’t actually follow through with, there’s a couple conservative enough to say no, absolutely not who end up going wild in the moment. He and Jackie had always kind of figured they would, not a definite, but most likely. As likely as a one off in the future, a Power Quad family vacation where one night, after drinks, Hayden and Jackie would fuck on one bed while Shane and Jackie’s best friend fucked on the other. Nothing gay, just united, as the universe said they’re meant to be. But now Hayden is wearing Shane’s body, and his wife is hiding inside the kitchen as Rozanov, and everything they’ve spent almost a decade imagining is in fucking flames.

Hayden watches the Dhillons take off, no last minute issues he needs to solve. Arthur’s probably going to kick his shoes off in the car, but at least he likes his car seat, the restraint calming to him. He returns to his wife safely hidden in the kitchen, swilling back some coffee, her usual mug engulfed in Rozanov’s hands.

“So.” Hayden sighs as he rubs his hands over his face. “What do we do now? Do we text him?”

“Oh yeah?” Jackie asks, eyebrows once again sarcastically raised. “and how long will he leave us on Read out of sheer panic?”

“A while,” Hayden answers grimly. It’s entirely in Shane’s character to ignore them for the next fifteen hours, and then tomorrow pretend it was all a hallucination, something that never happened. Unless they take pictures, where’s the proof?

She puts her mug down, and slaps her palms on the table as leverage to stand. “We need to do this face to face.”

“You really think we should go over?”

“We need to work this out. We’re going to work this out, we’re a Power Quad. It literally must be fine, when it comes down to it.”

Hayden shrugs. He’s moved on from disbelief and upset to apathy. Maybe their PQ dynamic will be them all being cool with ignoring each other. It’s not something you see in media often, but if every couple eventually finds its way into a PQ, surely different personality types will elicit different relationships. Not that he wanted that with Shane, but he really doesn’t know how he’s going to survive sixty five years alongside Rozanov. Ignorance just makes sense at this point.

But Jackie’s always been the optimist to his realist. And it’s not like Hayden doesn’t need to talk to Shane, figure out how the fuck this happened and how they’re supposed to keep their friendship stable while having to sweep their failed Power Quad under the rug. So they get in the Ford and start towards Shane’s condo, nervously crunching the center console peppermints to dust as they go. It only occurs to Hayden ten minutes into the drive that Shane might not even be home. No one plays today, he could have hopped a plane after practice yesterday to spend a day and a half with his new lover. Reebok money is last minute first class flight money.

Three stoplights away from Shane’s, Jackie asks, “Do we want to work out a game plan, or…?”

“Not really.” Jackie gives him such an eye for that that he hastens to explain. “I don’t think it’ll matter what we want to say, I think it’ll have to be based on what he’s willing to say.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. It’s more defeatist than cocky prick Rozanov ever is, on the ice or in interviews, and Hayden kind of hates that it makes him put out a hand to place on his thigh. But it’s just Rozanov’s body, it’s his wife, and she’s worried she won’t get her happy ending. He can’t see how they will, truthfully, but he doesn’t want her spirit broken. Jackie is beautiful, and she deserves everything she wants.

The second shock of the day comes after Hayden steers them into visitor parking and pockets the keys. Half the row down, there’s a custom painted golden Lincoln MKC. It might not be an sky blue McLaren P1 or orange 918 Spyder, his famously personalized vehicles, but it’s still obvious. Hayden’s theory in reverse, then, Rozanov putting up the big bucks for a visit. Hayden doesn’t have to point it out to Jackie, she sees it for herself. What a way to turn a disaster into an apocalypse.

“Should we come back later?”

“That’s literally worse than being left on Read,” Jackie replies, and strives for the front doors of the complex. And what can he do but follow, long legs eating up the pavement on the way to what’s certainly going to be a confrontation?

If Hayden lives in what could be called wealthy suburbia, a four bath six bed home with a great room and a fully furnished basement, Shane is definitely rocking wealthy downtown core. The string of luxury multifloor condos are matched with a beautiful exterior and great amenities. A monitored parking lot, a gym actually somewhat useable for late night stress exercising, a pool and sauna. Beyond the high slatted wood privacy fencing there are two bookable party terraces, and a third on the West-most section of the roof. That’s what makes it so funny that the back entrance is basically murder alley. Barely lit, full of dumpsters, with a scraggly mini parking lot for mangment. It’s meant for emergency exits only, doors and stairs only offered so that the building meets code.

Hayden’s never questioned the choice. Sure he doesn’t get out as much as JJ and some of the other guys would like, but Shane fits better in the anonymity of downtown better than he would in the suburbs. Plus, in full honesty, Yuna probably had something to do with the initial scouting, and she’d want him somewhere trendy. But Rozanov’s here, and who’s to say how many times he’s been here before? Due to an unfortunate married couple neighbour at the Marriot like six years ago, Hayden knows Shane thinks the idea of being overheard is absolutely mortifying. It was supposed to be an investment opportunity, but did he buy a second condo just so that he wouldn’t have neighbours in earshot? Hayden wouldn’t put it past him for a moment, and is sure if he said it out loud, Jackie would agree.

“Last chance for a game plan,” she says as they wait for the elevator. It’s only a three floor building, Shane’s door on the second floor, but it gives them a moment more to talk.

Hayden shrugs. “Nothing’s changed. Shane’s gonna be quiet, he’s gonna be a dickhead, and we’ll just have to be our best selves so everything doesn’t get worse.”

They’re big words, but it’s still hard to exit the elevator and walk down the hall to the corner property, the one Shane actually resides in, the other being, maybe, the barrier property. Fuck, has Shane really being doing this nightmarish activity long enough for that to have been his reasoning?
Hayden uses his key, because if he waits to be let in they might never get started talking at all. He braces himself for the chance they’re fucking, because manwhore Rozanov is obviously on the kinky side of the classic PQ debate, and Shane is dickmitized. At least the visual will only be himself and his gorgeous wife, something he’s seen in iPhone recorded videos over the years. It’s a scene about fifty/fifty with seeing Shane working through his stress with repetitive movement, like sit ups or yoga, while Rozanov stoically drinks vodka and acts stiff faced about being outed by the universe.

What Hayden doesn’t expect is to walk in on Jackie’s form sitting on the floor, knees up so she can grab her calves in a self soothing hug. She’s not hyperventilating, but it’s close. Jackie doesn’t get deeply stressed often, but when she does, her breath regulation is the first thing to go. And frozen on the couch, hands woven into his hair, is Hayden. Without verbal clues, it’s hard to guess which stressed boy is Shane, and which is his enemy.

“What’s happening?” Jackie asks in her currently deep voice. Obviously they know what’s the big deal. But it lets them talk about it from their point of view.

Hayden watches as his head rips out of his hands at the sound of their intruders, and his facsimile face contorts into a snarl. “Blyat. Fuck you want, Pike?

Okay, so Rozanov woke up as him today, that much is clear. While Shane could theoretically know languages outside of English and French, he rarely cusses people out. And when it does, it’s mostly calling people assholes with some degree of pouting. Rozanov sounds like he wants to beat Hayden to death with the nearest lamp. It is utterly fucked to hear such raging broken English come out of his pure Canadian soul. Hayden has four kids, two of which watch him on tv, he doesn’t get to be scary and furious.

“I’m Jackie, actually. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.”

“How could we? Pike does not get invited to awards shows.”

Fuck, he’s such a dickhead. How is Shane destined to be with this punk?

“Certainly not as many as you, I guess,” Jackie says, because she’s learned from having four children, and her pre WAG career in retail, to pick her battles. “But, what’s happening?”

“We are mad at each other’s stupid faces,” Rozanov snaps.

“Okay, I guess the first thing you need to learn about us is we won’t be tolerating spouses being called nasty names.” Hayden crosses his arms, noticing the drag of even this shirt more than he ever would in his own body.

Rozanov rolls his eyes. “Not calling Shane’s face bad. He is prettiest man on earth. Calling your stupid faces stupid. Make lots of problems.”

“If we’re causing problems we’d like to know what they are,” Jackie says with infinitely more grace than anyone could ever think warranted. “I’d like to help solve them, if I could.”

“Of course you want, you are least bad.”

It shouldn’t be relief that Hayden’s feeling, knowing that Rozanov hates Jackie less. He’s a prick. Not only should Jackie be indifferent to his opinion of her, he should feel honoured they’re even listening to him. But Jackie wants to fix this, make this more palatable, and Hayden wants her happy. She wants to make her way out of this with a Hallmark PQ, and inquiring as to his pouting is probably the first step.

“I have best friend. Childhood friend, since we are four. As teenagers she is beautiful. We fuck around. Is not romantic, but fun. We are both bisexual. I cannot publicly be, because hockey, because Russia, but maybe she marry boy. Secret boy, perfect excuse to be around often. He cannot be homophobic, Sveta would never allow. Fate would not link that. Or she marries girl, and I have three hot girlfriends. Win/win.”

Yeah, Rozanov is a notorious playboy. Notably on the ethical side of slutting around, nothing Dallas Kentish has ever come out about him. But of course he’d view a Power Quad as an opportunity to have three girlfriends on his arms at a glitzy alcohol soaked party. Of course he’d be in the minority of people who use their Power Quad status to have a relationship of four, instead of an eternal friendship.

“Even when Shane became my beloved, still Sveta is win/win. Maybe hot man who I can show Shane off to, who helps show him gay isn’t automatic ruin. Maybe woman to be best friend to replace secret keeper Rose Landry.”

Oh, shit. Rozanov’s very specifically using gay in relation to Shane, while making his own equal interest exceedingly clear. Once again Hayden’s skin tingles, wondering just how long Shane has known this about himself. If it’s been longer than a single game, it’s been long enough to hear Comeau or Drapeau drop a homophobic slur. And if it’s been long enough for Rose Landry to know, and Rozanov to dislike her enough to want to replace her with a lover of Sveta’s, it’s surely been since 2016. It’s insane to think about Shane and Rozanov having been together for that long. It’s even crazier to imagine how much it must have sucked to see Shane attempt heterosexuality on eTalk.

“Not this year. Wasn’t supposed to be. Sveta’s not serious with anyone right now. Was just supposed to be a March third, not the March third. Then I wake up, and this stupid face.” Rozanov gestures furiously to Hayden’s features. “Twenty year friendship with Sveta, and fate gives me this. Pah!”

“Okay, I can see how that would be upsetting,” Jackie soothes. “But that’s not what Shane’s upset about.”

Because he’s still just sitting there, drowning in a t-shirt meant for his own shoulders, not Jackie’s slim frame. He’s not rocking back and forth, or verbally spiralling, but the way he’s clutching himself isn’t good either. And unless Hayden’s been vastly misconstruing their friendship, it’s not because Shane doesn’t think they’re close enough to spend a lifetime with. He’s the kids godparent, for fucksakes.

Rozanov sighs. “Like I said. bisexual. Was always going to fuck PQ. Unless they didn’t want to, of course. Is PQ, best friends forever. Should fuck around.”

Yep, that tracks with the sex positive kind of person Rozanov is. Hayden knows his mouse didn’t hover for a single second over that Twitter poll either.

“But now Shane is you,” Rozanov throws an arm out to Jackie. Hayden’s instinct is to fight, what with the disgust in Rozanov’s voice, but with a look at how calmly Jackie is holding Rozanov’s body, he subsides. Rozanov’s issue isn’t actual Jackie’s actual body, he knows, an issue that would have Hayden brawling with any Metro or player talking shit. It’s what it means. “Now Shane has pussy and tits and has decided is what I really want, despite everything. Plus, he cannot even have own PQ fun time, because woman, and hetero worst Metro.”

Any reflexive ‘hey’ Hayden might throw out dies a quick death on his tongue when something in Rozanov’s speech makes Shane lift his head off his knees. He’s not acknowledging them, just the asshole on the couch, but it’s a start. “I’m not saying you don’t love me. I’m just saying that it makes sense that our PQ has a woman. To give you what you need.”

“Oh my god, Hollander,” Rozanov groans theatrically, before bringing it down a notch and using his boyfriend’s actual name. “Shane. Do not need pussy. Need you. I like pussy, sure. But I need you. But pussy was always in the equation, so why is it new, and upsetting?”

As far as romantic declarations go, it’s not to Hayden’s tastes. But something about the up front crudeness must do it for Shane. Probably something to do with how the blunt honesty makes more sense to his literal thought patterns than more nuanced romantic words might. Hayden can practically see his panic melted spine reform, vertebrae by vertebrae. Jackie’s body stops huddling in on itself as Shane finds himself ready to answer.

“Because it’s not your childhood best friend who I’ve basically accepted is your second half. Or her girlfriend, who would be cool, and slutty, and like you two, to fit in. It’s Jackie. One of my best friends.”

“So I don’t fuck Jackie!” Rozanov bellows, bursting to his feet.

“Good,” Hayden mutters. But only quietly, because he knows what’s coming.

“How about Jackie decides who Jackie fucks,” she demands, putting her hands on her hips in a way that looks odd on Rozanov’s body.

“No,” Rozanov shakes his head. “I mean, yes, you are your own woman, not chattel-“

Shane boggles up at him. His posture is far more loose now, legs loosely butterflied with his knees against the floor. “Where the fuck did you learn chattel?”

Rozanov ignores his vocabulary question to continue his point. “But also no. Because I could give a shit about pussy if it makes you sad. Could give a shit about women, or Pike, or a real man-“

“Hey!” Hayden protests. He’s been doing exceptionally well, keeping silent against the barrage of shit Rozanov’s been doling out, but that’s too much.

“Or PQ, or anything, if it makes you sad. Want you happy, moy muskusnaya dynya. Ya tebya lyublyu. Now can I hug you, or you still think I’m going to get hard for the skin of a lady?”

The Russian words mean something. The rejection of women means something. Rozanov claiming Shane with crystal clarity after the presumably years of meticulously careful hiding means something. Shane is a complicated man, with some razor sharp edges, but Rozanov’s apparently known that for some time, and he knows how to lay himself against him without getting cut, or at least with the brash attitude of finding getting hurt worth it. There’s no question to Hayden that they have hurt each other, over the years, Rose Landry probably just the beginning of the list. Rozanov asks for closeness, and Shane raises his arms in an offer that Hayden is starting to get that Rozanov would never turn down.

Rozanov wastes no time dropping to his knees on the expensive hardwood. He shuffles in until he can sit in his ass in the V of Shane’s legs, his own hooking over Shane’s thighs and curling around his back. Shane buries his face in Rozanov’s shoulder, Jackie’s long hair shielding him from the world. Hayden’s hands on his wife’s back keeps Shane safe, held.

It’s a slight shift of inches and clothing layers to what has always been Hayden’s favourite sex position, a mutually sitting cowgirl, low on the power thrusting, high on making out and titplay. Hayden’s seen their bodies press together like this from multiple angles, he and Jackie have never shied away from filming a good time. This kind of voyeurism feels different. They look sweet in it, and not just because there’s no sweaty caresses involved. Hayden can see Shane and Rozanov in their bodies, holding each other the way he and his wife have for lifetimes and thinks he could probably handle the intimacy if he ever saw it with their true bodies. There’s care here, despite what he once assumed.

They can’t leave now. There are things they haven’t talked about. But interrupting them in the cooldown of a panic attack seems cruel. Hayden knows Jackie is as reluctant to bother Shane as he is. It’s still surprising to him when she kicks off her size twelve Reeboks, and heads deeper into the open floorplan space. It’s weird, how delicately his wife can pilot his body, past the couple on the floor with no attention, and onto the couch. Or maybe he is like that sometimes, and it’s just something he can’t let the ice or the media see.

Hayden’s not sure he holds himself half as well, but he makes it to the couch without incident. Shane and Rozanov are fully focused on each other, and the way Shane’s breath is slowing as he’s held. Jackie pulls out her phone, almost certainly to give them privacy, despite Hayden knowing exactly how often she’s going to be flicking her eyes off the screen. He can’t blame her. He’s taken his phone out too, the perfect mask of a friend who is capable of giving people space, but the Metros group chat has nothing on this. He thought he knew Shane, thought his best friend was comfortable at the Pike house, accommodated in every way. And maybe that’s true, still. But this is a different level, an hitherto unknown level of comfort, the way Shane melts into Rozanov. It’s impossible to hate it.

Eventually, though, Shane uses his Captain Hollander power to pull himself together and sit up once again. Tender hour is over, time to make a plan. Still, he’s never been one for improteau speeches, things that aren’t perfect media soundbites. It doesn’t surprise Hayden at all that once his long hair is out of the way, he begins with “so. Uh-“

Jackie’s got this. Hayden doesn’t even pretend to be interested in opening his mouth, just stays steady backup for his perfect wife as she sits to match Shane’s posture without forcing eye contact upon him. She centres herself and says, “I promise we’ll have lots of dinner parties with Svetlana.”

Ilya wasn’t even looking at them when Shane stammered through his beginning, far more interested in keeping his hands on his boyfriend. At the name drop his eyes flare wide as he sharply turns his head. “What?”

“We’re not trying to steal the spot of your best friend,” Jackie continues.

“Oh, she’d kill you if you tried.” Shane nudges Rozanov and he swiftly adds, “but thank you.”

“And we’ll only tell who it’s safe to tell about this, and if that’s no one we’ll understand.” Hayden thinks it’s important to make that clear right away. Sure Mom wants them to hit this last milestone, now that they’re married with a house and children, but Shane’s safety is more important than pleasing his mother.

“Sveta, and my parents know. Rose. You could probably tell your family,” Shane offers quietly. Jackie’s siblings all flood in for every birth and postpartum, Shane’s met them enough to know Mark and Elliot won’t sell the Power Quad story to the media. Even Mom wouldn't be crazy or mean enough to tell the tabloids exactly who her son is intimately connected to.

“Hockey can’t know until I have passport,” Rozanov states. It’s a flat statement that would probably technically sound more threatening in a heavy Russian accent, the one Hayden’s heard for almost a decade before a good player goes smashing into the boards. But the words and the meaning behind them are threatening enough, in a very real way. A Russian passport is not a good thing to have attached to a work visa for the most homophobic major league sport. It makes Hayden wonder just how long Rozanov has considered himself bi. If it’s been much longer than pre-Rose Landry, Hayden’s surprised he hasn’t used Boston’s resources to go for American citizenship.

“Of course not, man. Jesus Christ, we’d never,” Hayden vows. Mom can wait. She’s getting way too into Facebook these days.

“I know why there’s reservations, with us. I do.” Jackie spares them the enumerated list, but Hayden knows each problem point as well as the Captains in the room. “But I’m not going to pretend to be upset Shane’s in our PQ. We’ve wanted that since the first time he came over for dinner.”

Rozanov shifts then, unhooking his legs and spinning on an asscheek until he’s facing them, back tucked against Shane’s chest. Jackie’s face is all Rozanov’s press scrum smirk, cocky and annoyed and bored. Vaguely resentful, in a Russian way that no North American player can get away with. “Oh yeah? I know that day. Snowed out game ruined my plans, we were supposed to fuck for first time. Figures you were happy that day.”

“Wow, that’s graphic,” Hayden says faintly. It’s either that, or spiral about how goddamn long ago that was. Rookie season? Rookie fucking season? They’ve been into each other that long? Shane’s been hiding himself that long? Gross. Infuriating. Tragic.

Rozanov scoffs. “Is really not. No detail at all.”

Shane winces, chin notched into Rozanov’s shoulder. He’s not quite cuddling the way they once were, desperately clutching and breathing each other’s breath, but Jackie’s petite hands curl around Rozanov’s flanks in a way Hayden’s sure he appreciates. “I’d let it go. He’s got kind of a filthy mouth.”

Hayden decides to let it go. The less he knows the better, probably. They’re not that kind of Power Quad, at least not yet. And if he provokes it, there’s surely a lot for Rozanov to share. Sex since 2010? On an athlete’s libido?

Well that was the weather, not us. But I’m sure you had fun the next time,” Jackie offers.

“Sex was very good,” Rozanov says, nodding so faux enthusiastically that even Shane ‘Literal’ Hollander notices and rolls his eyes. Rozanov’s punchline comes with a dropped tone explaining. “Two years later. Only flirted between blowjobs and first fuck.”

“Ilya, oh my god,” Shane mutters.

“You flirted for two years?” It’s Jackie’s clarification tone filtered through a Russian accent, and Hayden fears it’s lost some of the sharpness that gets shit done at WAG and daycare board meetings. It needs to be expressed as calmly as possible that it’s fucking insane that Boston Raiders Ilya Rozanov pursued a fuck for so long, when he had his pick of the bar every time he went out.

“Filthy mouth, ei? Put to use,” Rozanov answers with a lascivious wink.

“It’s not just- We got- We’ve been officially a couple since July,” Shane rejects a few answers before fully stating his final choice.

“Seriously? Seriously.”

Shane mistakes Hayden’s upset at the disparity between hooking up in 2010 and being a couple in 2017 with him doubting they are a couple. Bad luck for Hayden, because it only gets Shane throwing them another curveball. “Seriously enough that he’s leaving Boston.”

“What?”

“Don’t leak it, Pike. It’ll come up at the trade deadline. Going to be first line for the Centaurs.”

“Wait, the Ottawa Centaurs?”

Rozanov raises his eyebrows mockingly. “You know another?”

“The Boston fans are going to flip out.”

“Yes. But whose loyalty more important? Faceless crowd, or Shane?”

Is the choice the biggest declaration of adoration Hayden’s seen? Probably not, truthfully. Hayden still grants that to Rozanov’s desperation to hug Shane calm. But it’s definitely the one with the most public fallout. All of Boston, all the podcasts, all the couch riding fans, they’re all going to have an opinion on Captain Roz leaving the Raiders for fuckin’ Ottawa.

“It’s a two hour drive away from Montreal. And they had cap space,” Shane explains. Because of course proximity doesn’t matter if the team can’t afford it. The LA Dukes and Anaheim Geese are close, but they couldn’t scoop up a star centre with how much they’re paying Felix and Washerman, respectively.

“Canadian citizenship is better anyway. Have had marriage since 2005.”

Canadian and close? Their only other option would be Calgary and Edmonton, and again, who knows if their management teams would both go for the complete restructuring it would necessitate. Easier for Rozanov to just walk onto a team of scrubs, a oak towering over brush.

“Well, good.” Jackie boldly declares. It’d be unfair to say she doesn’t get hockey. Not when prior to the kids she was in the arena as much as he was. But it’s not the entirety of her life, like it is the three of theirs. It’s easier for her to step back from the enormous chasm that is this career choice, and recentre them in social behaviours. “If you’re in Ottawa it’ll be easier to meet up for dinners. Drinks. Pool. Hot tubbing. Board games. What kind of late twenties couple friend cliche are you, Ilya Rozanov?”

“Dinners are nice. Video games. Bonfires are nice,” Rozanov answers her. And that last one means something, refers to an event Hayden and Jackie were at the time not safe enough to share with, Hayden is certain of it, because Shane’s response to it is to hold his torso a little tighter, and kiss his neck and jawline in quick succession.

“I can do a bonfire. And I’ll kick your ass at Smash Bros. Dibs on Luigi forever, starting in three, two, one, now.”

“Of course you claim Luigi. Why are all Metros so basic?” Rozanov sighs. Hayden would bet ten bucks on him playing Bowser or Wario, like the annoying shit he is.

“Dinner wasn’t on the optional list, just so you’re aware. The post dinner event, sure. But not the sit down. Friends eat together.” Family does too, a Pike family rule as firm as the swear jar. Hayden is already anticipating his teenage kids shouting hypocrite at them having to bail on friends for family dinner while he spends half the week away from the house. But who knows. He might be retired by then. The Metros aren’t a team he’s going to push himself beyond his limits for, not when he’s already dreading everything they’ll have to say to Shane about his rival when the Centaurs deal drops. If their PQ gets outed, the only people who will have their backs are JJ and maybe Hammer. None of them are worth too many more concussions.

“Yeah. Hey, have you eaten yet?” It’s nearing eight thirty, hours past when Shane usually eats, but clearly they were also using the day off to sleep in.

Rozanov snorts. “Oh yeah. Hollander wakes up with a pussy and his first thought is pancakes and bacon.”

“He has a macrobiotic diet, dick.” Just because Hayden wants no part in it other than accommodating it when Shane comes over doesn’t mean Rozanov can fuck with it. To a guy like Shane, processed meat or dairy is as performance altering as steroids. He’s probably never had a sugar rush in his life. There’s no game today, but there is one on Monday, against the Nomads, and Hayden won’t tolerate Rozanov putting Shane off his game.

“No shit, Pike. Eats all kind of miserable garbage to be strong enough to carry whole team on back.”

“Oh my god, is this what the next forty years are going to be like?” Shane groans. Hayden sees right through it. If he was actually upset he wouldn’t be tucked so deeply into the curve of Rozanov’s neck. He’s suddenly positive Shane calls him an asshole at least once a date.

“Them arguing about who loves you more?” Jackie asks. “Probably. The real question is can we get to this place with any other combos.”

Physically incapable of just saying that Hayden is right, that they haven’t had time to eat and probably should, Rozanov instead leaps to his feet then puts out a hand to boost Shane, like Jackie isn’t a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than Hayden. “Kitchen. I am making us oatmeal, it is least bad.”

“All my breakfasts are fine,” Shane says, like a fucking liar. Hayden’s seen what he calls breakfast, and it’s rarely if ever pleasant.

“You can come,” Rozanov shrugs. “Can make four as well as two.”

Hayden’s already eaten, but seeing as it’s the first remotely kind gesture from the Russian, Jackie would straight up murder him if he rebuked it. So he levers himself to his feet and follows behind the couple, his wife at his side.

Shane’s got a kitchen as stunning as the rest of his condo. He’s got countertops for days, and the shelving of a professional chef. It’s mostly wasted on him, the autism and the performance diet doubling the pressure to only consume a small collection of foods, but at least his safe-foods are healthy. Arthur likes orange juice so much the pediatrician told them to start watering down his sippy cups to prevent acidic stomach irritation. Hayden hops himself up on one of the breakfast bar stools, wishing that Shane felt comfortable enough to place himself on the third, the left to Jackie being on his right. Instead Shane is leaning against the counter, still needing to orbit Rozanov. Or maybe it’s the other way. Hayden doubts Rozanov would have departed for the kitchen if Shane had continued sitting on the living room floor.

It’s not lost on Hayden that Rozanov knows where everything is. Pots, bowls, cutlery, everything is plucked directly from the first cupboard or drawer he opens. Each ingredient, too, is swiftly and unceremoniously retrieved. Rozanov doesn’t just spend time here when he can, he takes care of Shane when he does.

“You know how to cook? Most of the guys here get a prepped meal service. Boston does it differently?”

Rozanov scoffs, as he stirs the thickening almond milk oatmeal. “Boston does everything differently.”

Yeah, Hayden walked right into that one.

“But yes. My mother died when I was twelve. My father did not get Polina for a few years. Man of the house does not do things like cook. Alexei followed every footstep,” he says, butchering the idiom. “Had to cook, if didn’t want to starve. Or eat at friends. Many meals with Sveta. Her father is famous goaltender, Sergei Vetrov. Liked feeding aspiring KHL star.”

Hayden knows in that second, knows deep in his fuckin’ soul, that if Amber or Arthur or the twins ever bring home a friend who cannot have a family dinner, whether they’re sad, or accepting, or acting out about it, he will feed them for as long as they need it. Shit, no wonder Rozanov was expecting Svetlana to be in his PQ.

“That sucks,” Jackie allows Hayden to say, because she knows as well as he does that whatever empathetic thing she wants to say will be too much for Rozanov.

“Yes.”

Hayden has a feeling Rozanov is used to relying on his scary Russian bitch face to make himself seem unaffected by the tragic shit in his life. Unfortunately for him, his current body is set to uninhibited Canadian. It’s in the mouth, the eyes, the eyebrows. Ilya Rozanov misses his mother, and his dad and brother are -were- terrible. Shit, no wonder he only took like a week of bereavement. Who makes a grieving twelve year old servant to the rest of the family to protect their masculinity? And why does Hayden get the feeling it never stopped? He’s probably still sending MHL money back home, like they deserve that.

“We’re going to start a mental health charity. Once he’s in Ottawa. A good cause, and it’ll give people a reason for us being seen together.”

“That’s a good plan, man,” Hayden says, instead of vocalizing anything or even wincing at the obvious correlation between Ilya’s dead mother and Shane caring about mental health. Jackie’s practically having an empathic fit beside him, Ilya’s large hand clenching around his under the eyeline of the bartop, but she knows better than to unpack this right now. It’s a miracle they’ve made it this far today.

“Let us know when you’re staring it up, and I’ll get the WAGs involved in promoting it,” she says instead. An asset to the plan they’ve developed, the plan Hayden imagines Shane spent hours concocting. An ally to their relationship trajectory. It’s everything one half of a PQ should offer the other.

Once the pot is taken off the element, Ilya stirs in a cup of pumpkin puree, and a half cup of sunflower seed butter, as well as a drizzle of maple syrup for the least guilt inducing sweetener. After the semi-solids melt, he quarters the pot into Shane’s muted sage bowls, and shakes on some cinnamon and a handful of crushed walnuts with a loose wrist.

“Thanks,” Hayden says as Ilya puts the bowl down in front of him.

“Is no problem,” he dismisses, avoiding making eye contact while he lifts his own chunky russet tinted bowl to his chest to eat while standing, hip inches away from Shane’s.

Hayden doesn’t know how Boston is, but he wonders how often Ilya hears that. Gratitude, with no strings attached. No pressure to do more, to do better. No pressure to be exceptionally masculine and wittily arrogant and professionally intimidating while doing it. Maybe this is how they start to be a PQ. With manners. With gently appreciating each other’s efforts. It shouldn’t be a unique enough dynamic to qualify for a perfect universe granted unity, but shouldn’ts aren’t reality. If that’s something Shane and Ilya are in desperate need of, it’s something Hayden is certain he and Jackie can provide.