Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Scott Hunter & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Missing Scene, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Developing Relationship, Heart-to-Heart, Good Friend Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Soft Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-27 Words: 2,039 Chapters: 1/1

Leap of Faith

Summary

“Have you talked to Scott Hunter?”

“No—”

“I did. Briefly, after MLH Awards in June.”

“And… what did he say?”

“Hey,” Scott says, and when Ilya looks up at him he’s watching him with a softer, concerned expression. “Are you okay?”
------
Ilya wants to know how to do the hard thing

Notes

i realize im kind of very late to the party on this one but yes hello i brought yet another cake i guess :')

also for anyone who’s interested i made a hollanov playlist!

“Have you talked to Scott Hunter?” 

“No—”

“I did. Briefly, after MLH Awards in June.” 

“And… what did he say?”

—---

Ilya swallows thickly, heart pounding underneath his ribcage. He’s already downed one glass of champagne, but he knocks the second one back for good measure, suddenly cursing the fact that they don’t have an ounce of vodka in this fancy party. 

He usually doesn’t stay at these things for a second longer than he has to. It doesn’t help that Shane isn’t here, and Ilya doesn’t have that stupid flighty feeling in the pit of his stomach every time they lock eyes from across the party. If Shane were here, it would make this easier; Ilya could kiss him stupid and feel him around him and maybe convince Shane that they could do this together. 

But Shane isn’t here, and instead Ilya is left taking a deep breath, fingers itching for another drink as he makes his way through the throngs of people in search of his quarry. It’s scaring him half to death, but the image from the Cup game is seared into his brain, and every time Ilya blinks, it changes to himself and Shane out there on the ice, to him and Shane actually being able to have more—

“Rozanov.”

Fuck. He’s in front of Hunter, now, and he’s frozen like a deer in headlights, mouth suddenly gone bone dry. Everything he planned to say has flown right out of his head, replaced by a paralyzing sense of fear that takes him over from head to toe, and he needs to say something before Hunter runs away and he misses his chance, but he can’t make his mouth move no matter how he tries. 

Hunter’s brow furrows. “Hey. Rozanov?”

Ilya blinks, and he has no idea what his face looks like, but he tries very hard to school it into something even vaguely appropriate. “Hunter,” he chokes out, clearing his throat and pulling at his collar. “Congratulations.” 

Scott smiles at him. “Thank you.”

After a beat of silence, broken only by the dull roar in the crowd in the background, a hand rests softly on his shoulder. “Hey,” Scott says, and when Ilya looks up at him he’s watching him with a softer, concerned expression. “Are you okay?” 

“I, uh…” Ilya clears his throat again, trying to take deep breaths and clear away the fog from his brain. There’s so much he wants to say and so little he can reveal at the same time, but his heart is screaming at him to chase what he wants above anything else. “Do you mind if we… talk? Please.”

Hunter’s brow furrows, but he nods, clapping Ilya on the shoulder lightly and jerking his head towards the exit. Ilya follows him in a daze, hoping against hope that no one spots the two of them leaving and gets the disastrously wrong idea. But no one follows them as they make their way out of the crowded venue and into a less-traveled hallway. “What’s up?” Scott says, cocking his head. “I don’t think we’ve had a game against Boston for a while.”

“It’s not—Not about hockey.” Ilya takes a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I just—” A member of the catering staff brushes past him and Ilya jumps sky high. “Not here,” he says immediately, body tensing up as the reminder of exactly what he came here to say slams into him. “Too many people.” 

Scott watches him curiously for another moment, and Ilya really doesn’t like the look on his face. He seems to come to some silent understanding as he looks Ilya up and down, and his expression changes into a soft smile. 

“You smoke, right? There’s a spot on the roof.” 

“Yes.” Ilya breathes a sigh of relief. “I—Yes.” 

—----

When they finally make it up there, Ilya white-knuckles the edge of the rooftop barrier. He doesn’t smoke, and Scott doesn’t seem surprised, which somehow makes Ilya even more nervous. He… He can do this. He can trust Hunter, right? Hunter should know how it feels, what he’s going through, so it should be safe. He was brave enough to chase what he wanted, so why does it feel like pulling teeth for Ilya to get the words out?

Scott simply stands next to him, letting him gather his thoughts. And after a few minutes, when it becomes clear that Ilya’s voice is locked up, he looks over at him with that same concerned expression.

“Is everything okay?” 

Ilya swallows thickly. “Is… hard to say.” 

Scott hums an affirmative, turning to face him. Ilya takes another moment to breathe, cursing under his breath when the words just don’t fucking come, but a moment later he feels Hunter’s hand on his shoulder again. 

“Rozanov. Is this about… what I think it’s about?” 

Ilya sighs. “...Probably.” And then, in a smaller voice. “Yes. I—”

Scott grips his shoulders with both hands, turning Ilya to face him. Ilya can’t look him in the eyes, but Hunter doesn’t ask him to. It’s so weird to be doing this; they’ve never had a real, proper conversation before now, but…

But Shane’s face flashes through Ilya’s head again, and it gives him more resolve than a shot of vodka ever could. 

Hunter squeezes his shoulders when Ilya still can’t meet his eyes. “Oh.”

Ilya’s breath hitches, and before his brain can catch up with his body, he’s shoving Hunter away. “Forget it. It’s stupid.” 

“Hey, whoa—Rozanov, wait. Wait, wait, wait.” 

Hunter stops him from leaving, and now his expression is downright pained. Ilya chokes on a lump in the back of his throat, because Hunter always seemed like a nice guy, and all that stuff he said in his speech is flashing through his head, and God, he needs to finally get this off his chest. 

Scott huffs a laugh. “Relax. Okay? It’s alright.” 

“I—”

“Look, I know we don’t know each other very well,” Scott says, gripping Ilya’s biceps lightly and turning Ilya to face him again. “But I meant everything I said in that speech. If this is… what I think it is, then I’m here to listen.” He chuckles, patting Ilya’s arm. “And… it seems that I’ve had more to drink tonight than I thought, so I definitely won’t remember this tomorrow.” 

Ilya hasn’t seen him drink a drop all night. 

“...Thank you,” he whispers, looking down at the floor. Scott gestures to a few of the couches that scatter the roof, and the two of them take a seat side by side. Ilya takes another deep breath. “Give me a minute.” 

“Take your time. I think we’ve got a while before anyone comes looking for either of us.” 

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Ilya finds his voice. “What you did. It… changed things. For me. It made me… realize some things.” 

Scott hums. “So you…”

“I… like men. Yes. But I knew that a while ago.” Ilya tenses all over when he says it, because he’s only said that aloud a few times in his life.

Scott squeezes his shoulder. “Okay. Hey. Clearly, I’m not judging. I, uh… I guess I’m really happy that I can help you.” 

Ilya smirks, huffing a laugh. But that’s not really what he came to say. The hard part is… figuring out the rest of it. 

“You… You were with him in secret, yes? Before the Cup.”

Scott makes a small ah noise, but he only nods, waiting for Ilya to pry himself open with a blunt knife. 

It feels a little bit like being flayed raw, but he remembers how his heart soared at the thought of spending the summer with Shane in Canada, and it spurs him on again. “I don’t know how to be brave.” His voice wavers, but it doesn’t break, and Ilya digs his fingernails into the skin on his forearm to guard against the impulse to keep his mouth shut. “I want more, but I don’t know how to take it.” 

“So there’s… someone?” 

Ilya swallows thickly, thinking about dark hair and freckles that look like starlight and the prospect of uninterrupted boring afternoons. 

He nods slowly.

Scott’s expression softens. “And you want to go public?”

Yes? No? Maybe? Ilya has no fucking idea.

“I want him,” he says instead, the whisper tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I just want him.” 

It’s a little embarrassing, how quickly he chokes up, how quickly a wave of longing so powerful slams into him in one wave. He wants post-game kisses on the ice, he wants to be able to hoist each other up whenever either of them win a cup, he wants, he wants, he wants.

When Ilya looks over at Hunter again, the other man is smiling.

“How about that,” he muses, laughing a little. “Love is a good look on you, Rozanov.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Hunter.” 

Scott punches his arm lightly, and it makes Ilya smile enough that some of the nerves melt away. 

“Tell me how to be brave like you.” Ilya hates how silly he sounds, how childish, but he is so, so far out of his depth here and he’s desperate for a life raft.

“Honestly, I don’t know. For me, I just… realized that everything holding me back was so small compared to how strongly I felt for Kip. I cared more about him than I cared about the fallout.”

Ilya’s breath hitches. It sounds so simple, in theory, but the thought of exactly how much shit he and Shane are going to have to sift through keeps his feelings firmly locked away.

Hunter calls his name again, and Ilya realizes that he’s been staring into space for the past minute or two. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Scott’s voice gets softer on the next words. “Do you love him?”

Ilya squeezes his eyes shut, thinking about that cold night in Moscow, when the only voice he wanted to hear was Shane’s. 

I’m so in love with you, and I don’t know what to do about it.

“Yes,” he whispers, in a shaky voice. 

“Does he know?”

Ilya’s bottom lip trembles. “No. Well… Maybe, I don’t know—”

“Okay. Telling him is a good start.” 

Ilya sighs, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. “I don’t want to lose him.” 

Scott squeezes his shoulder. “You’ll lose him if you don’t tell him,” he says sadly. “I almost lost Kip that way. He left, because I couldn’t give him what he needed. What he deserved. Don’t make that mistake, okay?” 

“I—”

But then Scott’s phone rings, and the sound makes Ilya jump and straighten up instantly. Scott curses as he silences it. “Shit. They’re looking for me for press photos.” He looks back at Ilya again, looking conflicted. “But, if you still need to talk…?”

Ilya gives him a small smile, shaking his head. “No. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” 

Scott gives him a sympathetic look, squeezing his shoulder one more time, before getting up off the couch and ruffling his hair. “You will,” he says, softly. “You’re someone who fights for what you want.”

Ilya smiles at him, and when Scott motions for him to accompany him downstairs, Ilya shakes his head. “I will stay for a while. The view is nice.”

Scott nods, but before he goes, he walks back over and hands Ilya his phone. There’s an empty contact already on the screen, and Ilya smiles a little as he puts his number in.

Scott ruffles his hair one more time. “Like I said. I’ve been drinking like crazy tonight, so I definitely won’t remember this conversation in the morning. But if you ever want to talk about anything, you can call me, okay? I’ll text you my number.” 

Ilya gives him a real smile then, feeling like at least some of the weight has lifted. “Thank you, Hunter. See you next season, yes?”

Scott nods, before making his way down the stairs. And Ilya stares at the sky, thinking about freckles and strawberry shampoo and lips that know exactly where he likes to be kissed. 

Thinking about home, and the person who makes it so.