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:

Scott Hunter & Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady & Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Shane Hollander, Kyle Swift, Elena Rygg, Shawn (Heated Rivalry)

Additional Tags:

Past Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Traumatized Ilya Rozanov, Irina Rozanova Haunts the Narrative, Flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Protective Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Literal Sleeping Together, Mild Sexual Content, Derogatory Language, Mental Breakdown, Medical Inaccuracies, Additional Warnings in Author's Note, Abusive Grigori Rozanov, no beta we die like men, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Language:

English

Series:

Part 6 of Seasoned Gay to the Rescue

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-08 Completed: 2026-05-18 Words: 15,363 Chapters: 4/4

It Was Just An Accident

Summary

After stopping Ilya from jumping off a bridge, Scott and Kip take him in. Over the next couple of weeks, they learn about the horrors Ilya has had to endure and hopefully, they can give him the safety he needs.

*This fic is a standalone, and you don't need to read the other fics in this series

Notes

By popular demand this fic is a companion piece to Chapter 3 of They Don’t Always Understand. This fic takes place immediately after. It's not necessary to read that chapter to understand this one!

There's a lot of angst here, but I balanced it out with chunks of joy! Please be aware of the tags!!!

Don't like don't read :)

Chapter 1: It’s a Start

Ilya stares at Scott’s weirdly lit home. He has lamps, but for some reason none of them are casting enough light to illuminate the room. It’s uncomfortably… sexy. And Ilya hates it.

“What is this?” He asks, “Does New York not have bright enough bulbs?”

“What?” Scott asks, confused.

“Your apartment,” Ilya says waving his hand, as he kicks his shoes off by the door. “Why is it so dark? Can you not afford proper lights?”

Scott raises an eyebrow and then leans over to flip the light switch. The entire apartment is blasted in harsh, unforgiving LED lights. “Better?” He asks sarcastically.

“Disgusting.” Ilya replies and makes Scott turn them off. So maybe the shitty lamps were better.

“Come on,” Scott leads him to the laundry room and pops open the lid, “By the time we get back these should be ready to go in the dryer. Here,” Scott reaches out a hand to Ilya, “Take off your clothes and I’ll get you some dry ones. You’re not really my size, but I do have some that I know will fit you. They’re not branded, so you know…” The ‘just in case we get spotted by the paps’ goes unsaid.

Ilya swallows hard, suddenly starting to regret coming home with Scott. Why the fuck did he agree to this? “Oh.. right..” Ilya reminds himself, “Because I fucked up and got caught trying to kill myself and then made things worse when I tried to suck him off to keep his mouth shut. But that didn’t work so now I’m here.”

“Ilya?” Scott’s voice cuts through his thoughts. His hand has lowered and he’s looking at Ilya with an expression he can’t place.

“I’m fine,” Ilya quickly brushes him off and starts shedding his wet clothes. He passes them to Scott who tosses them in. As his jeans get tossed in, Ilya realizes with mute horror that the snow has soaked into his boxers. He’ll have to take them off or sit in it. Fuck.

Scott seems to sense this because he opens the dryer (Ilya notes that it’s still full and has probably been sitting there for a while) and hands Ilya a towel.

“I won’t look,” He assures him, shutting his eyes and turning his head for good measure.

Ilya shucks his boxers fast and grabs the towel covering himself. He finds it strange that he’s used to showering with other men, has had zero problems immediately getting naked in front of Hollander, and yet he’s somehow embarrassed to be seen naked in front of Scott Hunter.

“I’m covered,” Ilya announces.

Scott opens his eyes and nods. Under the annoying white lights on the laundry room, they can see that they’re both a little gross from sitting on the snow covered sidewalk. “You can also shower first if you want to. I can’t imagine you feel very comfortable right now.”

“Calm the fuck down,” Ilya tells himself, “Scott doesn’t want to fuck you. Unless…  he didn’t want to get sucked off in public and-”

I’m pretty soaked too so I’ll shower too.” Scott says, oblivious to Ilya’s current panic.

“Shit this is it, he’s going to want to shower together. Boyfriend or not.”

“The guest room has an en suite bathroom,” Scott continues, “It’s down the hall. I can show you.” He starts moving down the hall gesturing for Ilya to follow.

Ilya nods silently and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He’s endured worse. “With you?” Ilya asks as seductively as possible.

Scott’s back tenses and he stops in front of the guest room. He opens the door, pointedly ignoring Ilya’s comment. “There are fresh towels, and I’ll come by to drop off some clean clothes for you. And if you’re finished showering before me, go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” He pats Ilya lightly on the shoulder and leaves him alone.

It takes all of Scott’s willpower to walk away from Ilya. It bothered him; the way Ilya was so prepared to throw himself at Scott. And deep down, he knows there’s a hell of a lot more trauma underneath that Ilya doesn’t show. Fuck, he knows he might be in over his head by inviting Ilya to love with him and Kip but… he can’t ignore him. He can’t ignore how fast Ilya was to assume he’d use blackmail, how badly he wanted Scott to keep his mouth shut about what happened tonight, and… more than that Scott is scared.

Ilya was going to jump, he was going to kill himself. Realistically, he knows he should be calling the authorities but something in him knows that also isn’t the right move. The best thing he can do is maybe… just maybe change Ilya’s perspective, even by a little bit. Show him that his life matters. Show him that he cares.

Scott shucks his clothes and throws them into the wash with Ilya’s and starts it.

“Fuck my phone!” He yanks the lid up and fishes through to find his pants with his phone. Thank fuck the water hadn’t risen too much so his phone isn’t damaged.

He sees the notification from Kip and opens it.

Kip: Babe? Everything okay?

Scott: Can I call?

Incoming Call… Kip Grady

“Scott?” Kip’s voice is filled with worry as soon as Scott answers the phone. “Is everything okay? You never responded to my text and you were supposed to be at The Kingfisher a half an hour ago.”

“I know, I know,” Scott apologizes. “Uh, one second.” He looks towards the guest room and hurries to his own room and turns on the shower. The noise should help cover his conversation.

“Is that the shower? Scott, are you home?”

“Kip, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Are you breaking-”

“No!” Scott shuts down that train of thought, “I need help.”

“Fuck, okay.” He hears a shuffle from Kip and his background noise gets quieter. “What do you need? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“It’s not me,” Scott reassures him, “But look- I need you to listen and be okay with what I’m telling you. Or I mean, you can be not okay, but-” He takes a deep breath. “Ilya Rozanov is going to be living with us for a while. And I don’t know how long ‘a while’ is right now, but definitely through summer.”

“Okay,” Kip’s voice is slow and careful. “You said ‘us’ just now. You’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, “He knows. About us.”

“Rozanov,” Kip repeats, “The Rozanov who pissed you off so much you ran until you broke the belt on the treadmill? That Rozanov?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Is he blackmailing you?”

“No,” Scott shakes his head even though Kip can’t see him, “I um… I found him tonight… he was… fuck, he was going to kill himself and I stopped him.”

Kip doesn’t say anything, but Scott hears him suck in a sharp breath.

“I didn’t call the cops or anything because, well, our lives are complicated. Especially his and I didn’t want to make things worse. So, I told him to come stay with us because he really needs people who will care about him.” Scott decidedly leaves out the part where Ilya tried to suck his dick. “I took him home so we can change, our clothes got ruined from the snow and I didn’t want to show up like that.”

Kip’s silent for such a long time it makes Scott nervous. “What do you need from me?” Kip finally speaks. “I’m making a list on my phone of things to pick up. Do you know if he has any dietary restrictions?”

Scott’s eyes water. “I um-” his voice cracks.

“Scott?” Kip’s voice is so gentle, “Babe, what’s going on?”

“I just really love you,” He croaks out.

He can hear Kip’s smile, “I love you too. If I head out now-”

“No,” Scott stops him, “I told him we’d meet you at The Kingfisher. I think something… normal is what he needs right now? I think it might freak him out if we treat him differently, you know?”

“Got it,” Kip agrees. “Well, I’m still making a list. We have to do groceries tomorrow anyway. I’ll see you soon, text me when you’re on your way.”

“I will, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Scott hangs up. He loves how devoted Kip is to him, even though they’re having a hard time being in the closet. Kip sticks it through with him. Thick and thin. 

“Till death,” Scott dreams, “One day.”

Scott’s shower is annoyingly nice. It didn’t take long for the water to heat up, and the stupidly fancy waterfall shower with six body jets and a handheld showerhead, was something that Ilya didn’t even know he fucking wanted. Even the floors were heated; something that Ilya thought was just plain stupid but now he was thinking of adding to his own home in Boston.

Ilya actually regretted stepping out of the shower. Stupid Scott Hunter and his stupid fancy shower and plushy towels that felt more like blankets than towels. He wanted to wrap himself in them and hibernate.

Venturing into the bedroom, he noticed the door had been shut and locked from the inside, and there was a neatly folded stack of clothes. Thermal underwear, a pack of unopened boxers, jeans, wool socks, an unbranded long sleeve shirt, plain dark gray hoodie, and a beanie to match. Something in Ilya’s chest squeezed his damn heart so hard he thought it was going to pop.

“There’s a catch, there’s always a catch.” Ilya tries to force down the thought as he pulls on the clothes Scott left for him. “Don’t let your guard down.”

Ilya shuffles into the kitchen. He can hear Scott turning off the shower in his own room. He doesn't really know what to do with himself so he just finds a spot on the couch and sits awkwardly. He can feel his phone vibrating but he’s not going to look. He doesn’t care. It’s probably Alexei drunk and wanting money.

Eventually, the door to Scott’s room opens and he steps out, freshly showered and in clean clothes. “Ready to go kid?” He asks, “My boyfriend can’t wait to meet you.”

When Scott told Ilya they were going to a gay bar, Ilya was not imagining The Kingfisher. He was expecting a stereotypical American gay bar that he sees on TV. An overabundance of scantily clad twinks, beefy men with abs designed for aesthetic and not practicality, shitty EDM music, flashy lights, and straight women who definitely shouldn’t be there. 

Instead, The Kingfisher is a bar. A decently underpopulated sports bar with normal music, weird multi-colored Christmas lights strung along the walls, ESPN on the TVs, the smell of booze, cleaning products, and shit food, and gay people with semi-okay fashion sense. To sum it up. Low key. Very low key.

“Wow,” Ilya says as soon as they’re inside.

“Hey Scott,” the bartender calls out flirtatiously and waves with his fingers wiggling. “I’ll bring your usual?”

Scott returns the smile, “Hi Kyle and yes, please,”

He nods at Ilya, “Who’s the stud?”

With a laugh he claps Ilya on the back, “This is my friend, Ilya.”

“Hi Ilya,” Kyle winks.

Ilya just stares. He’s used to flirting but… not so openly. And in front of Scott Hunter who looks like he doesn’t actually give a shit. But even more importantly, Scott is here often enough that his is on a first name basis with the fucking bartender who knows his usual order.

“Scott!”

Ilya sees further down a very attractive younger man with dark curly hair and a smoking hot body hiding under his clothes. He’s smiling so brightly and Scott is smiling back with just as much light. They greet each other with a deep kiss and Ilya’s mouth fails to stay in place.

“You are gay!”

Scott turns, keeping an arm around the man, who Ilya presumes is his boyfriend. “Yeah,” he laughs, “I am. I told you, I have a boyfriend. This is Kip.”

“Hi,” Kip says, holding out his hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ilya shakes it staring in awe.

“You might wanna close your mouth Rozanov,” Scott snorts.

His mouth betrays him before his brain can catch up, “You are cradle robbing now?”

“Fuck off,” Scott nudges Ilya into the booth, “We’re only three years apart.”

“Yes, but is ancient in hockey years.” He chirps back scooting in next to two other people he failed to notice.

“Hi!” The dark skinned woman next to Ilya smiles at him, “I’m Elena and this is Shawn. Since Scotty and Christopher didn’t feel the need to introduce us.”

“Ah, sorry,” Kip winces.

“I was getting there,” Scott argues.

“Sure you were,” Shawn smirks at him and then turns his attention to Ilya, holding out his hand. Ilya shakes it.

“I was!” Scott pushes back.

Shawn looks at Ilya, “We saw your game tonight. You are a beast on the ice, baby. So strong.”

“I am best hockey player,” Ilya replies easily.

“Oooo!” Shawn fans himself, “I love a man with confidence.”

“Shawn,” Kip scolds lightly.

“What?” Shawn smiles at Ilya, “Flirting is my love language. But I will stop if it makes you uncomfortable. I know straight men don’t really enjoy it.”

Ilya shrugs, “I don’t mind. I am-” He can’t say he’s bi. He’s sure he can trust Scott and Kip’s friends, clearly, since they haven’t outed Scott. “What is word?” He looks at Scott for some reason, as if the man can read his mind. He settles on saying, “Never mind. I am hot to everyone. You are stating facts.”

He winks at Shawn and it makes the rest of the table laugh.

“Oh baby, you are a keeper!”

Kyle arrives carrying a tray of drinks and starts passing them out. “For the hot hockey players, a beer and a vodka.” He sets Ilya’s down with a wink and an air kiss.

There’s a stab of jealousy in Ilya. This is Scott Hunter’s world. He might not be out to the rest of the world but he has all of this. He’s openly being gay. With gay friends. In a gay bar. With his boyfriend. And he is sharing all of that with Ilya.

“Everyone just loves you,” Elena comments, waggling her eyebrows at Ilya.

“Is true,” Ilya grins, sipping his drink. It’s not the best vodka he’s ever had, but it’s not the worst either. “Much to love. I am very hot, very good at hockey…”

Ilya goes on to brag about himself while Scott listens. It almost feels enlightening to listen to the Russian list of all the reasons people love him, when in reality the truth was far different.

“I am not worth loving.” Is what Ilya had said on the bridge.

And the way he was behaving now only confirmed Scott’s suspicions and observations about Ilya. All of it was an act. Well, most of it. His charms and persona were so good that everyone believed it. That there was nothing more under the surface arrogance that made up Ilya Rozanov.

“Eh,” Ilya goes on to say as Scott tunes back into the conversation, “Hollander is fun, but he is boring. He does yoga. Does not fight. Trust me, I have tried.”

“Has he?” Scott wonders suddenly, “tried to bait Shane into fighting?”

“Sadly, only one he drops glove for is Hunter,” Ilya finishes and grins at Scott.

Scott feels his face going red, “That was a fluke!”

“I still want to know!” Ilya all but whines, “Tell me! I want to see Hollander fight. Must do more with my chirps.”

“It was so long ago I don’t even remember what I said,” Scott lies.

“You are liar,” Ilya takes another sip, “You are liar who lies! Tell me! I know you know!”

“Hang on,” Kip grins, encouraged by Ilya, “You never told me either and I asked!”

“The whole table wants to know honey,” Shawn weaves his fingers together and rests his chin on them, “So spill.”

Elena just laughs, “You might be famous out there, but in here you’re just one of us.”

Scott groans at all their expectant faces. “It’s so stupid!”

“Tell us!” They shout at him.

“Fine, fine!” Scott sighs, “He told me ‘Next time we play, I hope you decide to show up’ and I said…” He groans loudly, “I told him that he was starting to sound like you.” He looks at Ilya.

“Me!?” Ilya gawks.

“Yeah, because last night you said the same thing. So I told him that, he asked me what I meant, and I said ‘you fucking heard me Hollander’. And then he drops gloves.”

Ilya’s face breaks into the biggest smile. He laughs so loud it makes the table shake. “That is it!?”

“Yeah!” Scott confirms, “That’s it!” He chuckles while the group laughs. “He sent me an email after that too apologizing for losing himself.”

That apparently makes Ilya laugh harder. He has to admit… he’s having fun. It’s different than when he goes out with the team. No one is expecting him to take home a conquest, grind on people, drink until the world isn’t stable. Even though they think he’s straight, it doesn’t even feel like he’s hiding. He’s letting Shawn and Kyle flirt with him and no one bats an eye. (Shane would be pissed about that if he knew, which makes Ilya smile.) He just gets to exist for a little bit.

It makes him regret a little too. Ilya thinks back to his early days, when he was just fifteen and sleeping with grown men because it was dangerous and fun. How stupid he was back then to seek out a place that preyed on kids like him. At least, he can say with confidence that he kept his promise to Sveta to never go back. 

“Ugh, I hate being old,” Elena groans, “I need to leave if I want to be able to wake up for work tomorrow.”

Shawn sighs, “Why do you have to remind me?”

“We should probably head out too,” Kip nudges Scott, “I want to be able to go to the store early tomorrow before the crowds get in.”

Ilya isn’t even drunk when they get back to Scott’s apartment. He’s barely even tipsy, but he’s buzzed with energy from the bar. It felt… good to have that kind of company. Where he didn’t feel judged by anything. Not even hockey. Kip, Elena, Shawn, and Kyle just felt… normal. Like they didn’t care about how famous he is. Fuck, they certainly didn’t care how famous Scott was. Like they didn’t exist in entirely different worlds and tax brackets.

“What time do you normally wake up, Ilya?” Kip asks. “I mentioned earlier that I was doing groceries, but did you want to come with me?”

“I- uh,” It makes Ilya hesitate because no one’s ever asked. That and it suddenly occurs to him that he’d be going out shopping with another man who isn’t Shane, but more importantly someone who is gay and has seemingly forgotten that paps exist. He can’t risk it.

“Babe,” Scott rescues him, “We’re famous.”

Kip’s lips press together, “Right. Sorry. Sometimes I forget that. No worries.”

“Why are you saying ‘no worries’?” Ilya blurts out, “I will go with you.”

Scott and Kip stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “You will?” Scott asks. “You’re sure?”

Ilya shrugs, “Kip looks like he shops at farmers markets, yes? Barely hockey fans there, no one will notice. If they do I will say I am number one hockey player, Ilya Rozanov. I am shopping with fan who win competition or something. I sign autographs, take pictures. Is fine.”

“Would that work?” Kip asks uncertainty.

Ilya shrugs, “I am Ilya Rozanov.”

-

Ilya was right about two things.

One, Kip shops at a farmers market populated by hipsters and old people who care very little about hockey. Two, it works. Not a single person recognized or cared about Ilya’s presence.

Ilya watches Kip muddle over the difference between purple carrots and orange ones. He’s mentioned something about trying a new smoothie(?) that morning over breakfast. But Ilya was more distracted by the fact that he was currently living with Scott Hunter and his boyfriend. A strange thing to be debating, but it was boring to watch. Boring in a Shane kind of way.

“Excuse me,” Ilya feels someone tap his arm. He turns to find a little old lady with a smile. “Is your friend Harrison DiDua?”

“Who the fuck is that?” Ilya wants to say.

“Oh, he’s my grandson’s favorite actor!” She keeps going and pulls out her phone. “Can I get a picture with him?”

Ilya grins and takes her phone. “Of course.”

He saunters over to Kip, “Hey Harrison.”

“Harrison?” Kip asks, looking at Ilya in confusion.

He keeps smiling, “This very nice lady wants to take a picture with you. You're her grandson’s favorite movie star.” Ilya grabs Kip’s shoulders and pushes him towards her.

“Oh! I think you have me mistaken-”

“I promise I won’t tell,” the old woman begs. “Please, it would mean so much to him.”

“Um…” Kip looks at Ilya helplessly. But Ilya already has the camera open.

“Smile!”

The old lady beams and Kip gives an awkward, weak little smile.

“No, boo!” Ilya announced, “Give actual smile Harrison!”

Kip winces but gives a real one while the old lady smiles wider.

“Yes!” Ilya snaps the picture, flips the camera and takes a selfie before handing the phone back to her. “Is very nice picture.” He winks at her, “I threw one in of myself so you will always remember photographer.”

The old woman blushes and lightly smacks him, “Oh you are funny!”

Ilya grins and rejoins Kip. “This will be fun story for her later. And for me.”

“Well,” Kip sighs, “I can’t say her grandson will be too pleased to know I’m not a celebrity. Who the hell is Harrison anyway?”

Ilya shrugs, “Don’t know.”

Kip checks his list, “Okay we’ve got everything except garlic.”

“Garlic?” Ilya follows him through the stalls, “Does garlic not exist at regular store?”

“It does,” Kip laughs, “But this garlic is special. It’s actually from a farm that Shawn’s restaurant buddy knows. It’s kind of also like the best garlic I’ve ever had? So… I can’t really go back to normal garlic anymore. Besides, I’m cooking tonight and I need garlic.”

“What are you cooking?”

“Chicken and eggplant parm; It’s my dad’s recipe and honestly one of my favorite things to cook.” Kip stops at the garlic stall. “You know it’s funny, I don’t think Scott ever cooked for himself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Kip bends down to inspect a jar of pickled garlic, “Once I made pasta salad and he was like… genuinely shocked that I cooked for him.”

Ilya listens intently while Kip goes on about how Scott has a weird drawer that’s full of takeout menus and how his fridge is basically only ingredients that can go inside a smoothie.

There’s a large part of him that longs for the same kind of life Kip and Scott do. Scott’s in the closet, but he’s making it work. He’s living with his boyfriend who cooks and shops, and friends who know. Fuck, Ilya knows he would give up hockey just to have this life with Shane. He would live to have boring days where he cooks for Shane, does groceries with Shane, does laundry with Shane…

His mama would have loved Shane. That he knows is a fact.

-

They’d been in a market just like this one when he nearly fucked up for the first time. He’d felt like a duckling with her, making sure to stay close and never get lost.

But then he spotted his first crush. It was at a stall selling vegetables and Ilya had been smitten with the owner’s son, Maxim. They were the same age, and he was cute, with dark skin and frizzy hair that stuck out in every direction. He wasn’t a fan of hockey, but he was a fan of football. They’d talked about it while his Mama bought vegetables.

“Mama,” Ilya had announced when they were finally heading home, “Maxim says he will watch hockey for me so we can talk about more stuff together!”

“Oh will he?” Irina asked.

Ilya nodded confidently, “I told him that I will be a big strong hockey player one day! So he can watch me!”

“Is that something you want?” Irina asked, prying for something that even Ilya wasn’t aware of.

“Yes!” Ilya beams up at her, “He is so beautiful Mama. I want to marry him one day!”

At that, Irina had stopped walking and looked around nervously. No one was around. “Ilyushenka, what makes you say that?”

“Well,” Ilya said suddenly nervous, “You are supposed to marry people that you like. And I like him.”

“As a friend?” Irina asked, “Or something else?”

“As a friend,” Ilya answered confidently, “But I also think it would be nice to kiss him like I’ve seen Lyosha kiss his friend.”

“He kisses Sofia?” Irina asked with a frown. Sofia was a nice girl and Alexei… she tried not to think badly of her eldest son, but… he had become too much like his father. Too brazen about resorting to violence and cutting words. She prayed that Ilya would never become like them. His father called him soft, but Irina knew better. Ilya was already going to be a better man than both of them could ever be.

Ilya nodded and then because her sweet boy was so perceptive he asked, “Mama, did I say something wrong?”

Irina smiled at her son and ran her fingers through his curls. It broke her heart to say, “Ilyushenka, you mustn't say these things out loud.”

“Why?”

“Because the world is not very nice to boys who want to kiss other boys.”

“It’s bad?” Ilya’s lip wobbled, “Am I bad?”

“Oh! Ilyushenka, no.” She pulled him into a tight hug, “It’s not bad. You are not bad. It is a beautiful thing to love someone, no matter who they are.”

-

Ilya’s pulled back into the present when Kip finalizes his purchase.

“Thank you!” Kip takes the bag from the stall worker and turns back to Ilya. “Okay, that’s everything. Ready to go home?”

“Yes,” Ilya reaches out to grab some bags to lighten Kip’s load. “I’m excited to try this famous chicken and eggplant parm.”

Chapter 2: Destroyed Lives

Chapter Summary

While helping Kyle move some boxes around The Kingfisher, Ilya comes face to face with someone from his past. Someone who left him with unimaginable scars.

Chapter Notes

Read the tags pleaseeeee!!!!
TW for this chapter: Ilya recalls being assaulted by his brother's friend. Nothing is graphic, but it is mentioned.

Kip is far more perceptive than he lets on. He knows that Scott wears his heart on his sleeve. That he’s secretly been keeping tabs on every rookie he’s ever felt responsible for. He knows that he’s always too eager to commit to something even when he doesn’t have the resources or knowledge. So, when Scott calls him to say that Ilya Rozanov will be staying with them, he’s already prepared.

Weirdly, Kip realizes he’s been prepared for any scenario in which Scott brings home a baby gay. Not that he thought it was plausible, because it’s not, but he expected more along the lines of an orphaned child like Annie. Or a kitten. The kitten was the most plausible one. Or maybe he was the kitten?

And when Ilya Rozanov came to stay with them, Kip was expecting Rozanov. The hockey player with a foul mouth, shit manners, instigating fights, and provoking Scott into developing high blood pressure. Instead, what he realized is that Ilya is probably one of the sweetest, most loving assholes he’s ever met. 

What Ilya also is, is deeply traumatized. He saw the tension in Ilya when Shawn called him ‘straight’. The way he so easily bragged about himself in a way that contradicted what Scott had told him. His smiles seemed a little too easy. And the way his fingers never stopped moving; running his hand along the glass, playing with his clothes or his hair.

In the market, Kip noticed the way Ilya made himself smaller. Not physically, that man was a beast. But in his presence. He stuck close to Kip, made his voice softer, stayed quiet unless it was to ask about something. It was like he blended into the background so effortlessly.

Kip saw how Ilya was at home. Sure, he was loud and liked to help around the apartment, but it felt different. Ilya was careful about his presence. He didn’t just lounge, he asked permission to do things. To sit, to eat, to touch something like the TV remote, or to use Scott’s gym. He made himself small. He occupied the convenient spaces. At first Kip brushed it off as being a house guest, but the longer Ilya stayed, the more Kip realized it was something else.

It’s only been a couple days and Scott is off at morning skate while Kip and Ilya make breakfast.

“Is easy,” Ilya shrugs nibbling on a piece of bacon, “once I ate omelet made of twelve eggs and whole pack of bacon.”

Kip’s mouth drops, “There’s no way. That seems like a lot even for a professional athlete.”

Ilya rolls his eyes, “Yes, team doctor says this too. But it was good.”

“I mean, Scott goes through that many eggs in a few days but not in one sitting.”

Kip eyes his phone as it goes off. “What the hell is Kyle doing calling this early?”

“You should answer it.” Ilya says snagging another piece of bacon.

“Hey Kyle,” Kip answers, putting his phone on speaker so he can continue making breakfast, “You’re on speaker by the way.”

“Hi Scott!” Kyle shouts.

“Offensive,” Ilya replies, “I am not dinosaur.”

“Oh? Hello, Ilya!” Kyle replies flirtatiously. “Didn’t know you were sticking around, that’s even better.”

“Even better?” Kip asks.

“Yeah, because I need a favor.”

Kip frowns, “What kind of favor?”

“The kind that involves two very hot, very muscular men helping me move things around at The Kingfisher. And by two very hot, very muscular men, I mean Scott and Ilya.”

“Excuse you,” Kip snorts, “I am right here.”

“No no,” Kyle laughs, “Not you. You get to be by my side, watching those two hunks get sweaty.”

Kip sighs, “No one said yes to you.”

“I’m saying yes!” Ilya butts in with a grin.

“Okay,” Kip corrects, “Ilya is saying yes. But Scott is at practice.”

“That’s fine,” Kyle agrees, “Because the delivery isn’t coming until the afternoon anyway. Plenty of time.”

“Kyle-”

“Kip! If you’re going to be cavorting with hot hockey players, I want to live vicariously through you.” He practically whines, “Let me drool over your hot boyfriends.”

“I’m monogamous, thank you very much,” Kip points out.

“Ah,” Ilya says with mock disappointment, “I am not worthy of the great Kip Grady.”

“That’s not- I didn’t mean- that-” Kip stutters.

Ilya grins, “Relax. I’m joking. I will be…” He pauses to think, “Honorary boyfriend!”

Kyle laughs through the phone. “Okay honorary boyfriend! I’ll see you three later.”

“No wait-!” Kip tries to stop and plan but it’s already too late. He sighs and hands his phone to Ilya. “Can you text Scott for me so I don’t burn these damn eggs?”

Ilya nods and takes Kip’s phone noting his background photo. It’s a very sweet picture of Scott, taken in their kitchen. It’s a blurry photo of him in an oversized shirt, probably no pants, and messy hair. It looks… domestic.  Like Scott could just be a regular guy living with his boyfriend.

Ilya has one photo of himself and Shane. The only one he felt like he was allowed to keep. The night from the MHL awards when they presented together. He couldn’t bring himself to delete it. It wanted a piece of them, even if it was just that. He has others, but they’re all pap shots and makes him look like some crazed stalker, but… he’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” Ilya asks.

“Can you just tell him that Kyle told us to help him at The Kingfisher?”

Ilya nods and opens the phone.

Kip

Are you too geriatric to lift things?

Scott

What the fuck???

Babe 😭

Oh

Wait

Ilya 🙄

Why aren’t you texting me from your phone?

Kip

Your much younger and hotter boyfriend told me to

Scott

Is he okay?

Kip

Yes he’s fine

He’s making breakfast

Kyle called

We are going to Kingfisher after your practice

Scott

Why?

Kip

He needs help

Scott

In what way?

Does he need a lawyer?

Kip

Come find out

Scott

Ilya tell me!

Kip

Is not bad

Promise

Young hot boyfriend will vouch

Scott

Fine

I’ll trust you

Kip

Love you!! 😘

Scott

Is this Kip or Ilya?

Kip

🤷

Scott

I’m so confused

I love you too?

Kip

You don’t know if you love me???

Babe!

😭

Scott

I love you!!!

♥️♥️♥️

Kip

Weak willed man

Scott

Fuck

Ilya

Kip

I love you

Scott

I don’t know what to believe anymore

But just in case it’s actually you Kip

I love you ♥️

Kip

HA you love me

I will not forget this Scott Hunter

Scott

Fucking dammit

YOu know what?

Fuck you

I love you too

Asshole

Kip

😭♥️

Babe

It's me

Kip had to agree with Kyle. Getting Scott and Ilya to help him move around some delivery boxes to the freezer and the fridge was… hot as fuck. Not only were they both competitive about help, but Scott was working up a sweat that had Kip practically drooling. And at some point both men had lost their shirts. Kip was 100% sure it was because Scott had taken off his shirt first to flex in front of him, and then Ilya promptly lost his to show off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kip watches Kyle’s hand slowly grab his phone to snap a picture. “Don’t you dare,” Kip warns. “You know what could happen if that got out.”

Kyle groans, “They’re just so… umph! You know?”

“Trust me,” Kip sighs imagining all the ways he’d like to lick the sweat off Scott’s body, “I know.”

“Too bad he’s straight,” Kyle sighs, eying Ilya before turning his attention to the door where a small group of men came in.

Based on their accents and language they were speaking, Kip guesses they're Russian. Or he thinks so, based on the way Ilya reacts when they start talking. They’re animated, ordering beer and shit food from Kyle. Kip notes they’re probably getting off from work, which seems… odd given that it’s in the afternoon. But since they’re wearing private security uniforms, he guesses they were working some kind of event.

“Thanks for all the help,” Kyle says coming over. He gestures towards any of the empty booths, “I’ll get you guys anything you want to eat and drink.”

“Water,” Scott and Ilya say immediately.

“Yes, but besides that,” Kyle replies, already heading behind the bar to grab water bottles.

“You have burgers?” Ilya asks, sliding into the booth where Kip is sitting. His sweaty back sticks to the vinyl and he partially regrets not putting his shirt back on. But Scott’s shirt is still off and he’s damned if he’s going to let the Admiral’s captain show him up. Plus, it maybe feels a little nice to be gawked at by Kyle in a space so openly queer he feels like he isn’t about to get hate crime’d.

Also, Ilya mournfully admits to himself, Scott is hot. He’s no Shane Hollander, but he’s hot. His abs are fucking shining with sweat and he can practically see Kip’s horniness like an aura.

Kyle nods, “Sure. Scott?”

Scott nods, “Same.”

“How convenient for Kyle that we both happen to be free,” Ilya drawls, taking a long sip of his water.

Scott huffs a laugh, “You know sometimes I think he tracks our schedule just so he can ask Kip to ask me to help around here.”

“He does,” Kip confirms, “probably my fault though.”

“What do you mean?” Ilya tilts his head.

“This place didn’t used to be a sports bar,” Kip explains, “Well, I mean it was. But we didn’t really watch sports, it was just kind of on TV. I kind of turned it into a hockey bar.”

His face goes a little red and Scott kisses him. “Good thing too.”

Ilya feels that little spark of jealousy in him again. “I wonder if I can bring Shane here one day.” He pulls out his phone and opens his text with Shane. He’s technically not supposed to be on phones but…

“Take picture of me please,” Ilya instructs, handing the phone to Kip.

“Sure,” Kip grabs the phone and holds it up. Ilya stands making sure to pose in a way that shows off the most muscles and hopes the little Christmas lights provide enough of a sparkle.

“For posterity?” Scott asks curiously, “Or for someone else?”

Ilya scowls at him and Kip snaps another picture, “What is this stupid word, ‘posterity’?”

“To keep,” Scott replies, watching Ilya take the phone from Kip and nod his approval.

“Yes,” Ilya says.

“For posterity or to send?”

“Yes.” Ilya doesn’t elaborate further but Scott can tell by the little smile he gives while looking down at his phone, it’s for someone.

Lily Has Sent (1) Image

Jane

Where are you?

Lily

Bar in New York

Jane

Why are you in New York?

Lily

Why are you not asking why I am shirtless?

Jane

Why are you shirtless?

Lily

I was helping friend move boxes

Jane

Shirtless?

Lily

I’m hot

Jealous?

Jane

Yeah, you’re pretty sweaty

I'm not answering that

Lily

Are you hard?

Jane

LILY

Lily

So… yes?

Jane

I’m with my parents!!!!

Lily

You are hard

You should touch yourself

Jane

No!

Lily

☹️

please?

Jane

I’m in the living room!!

Lily

So go somewhere else

Jane

…

…

Lily

Jane???

🥺

Jane Has Sent (1) Image

Jane

Delete that

Lily

Holy fuck

Lily Has Saved (1) Image

Jane

LILY NO

Lily

I can’t jerk off right now

I need for later

Jane

If you don’t delete it I’m never sending you another picture again

Lily Has Deleted (1) Image

Jane

Good

Lily

Are you touching yourself?

Jane

Fuck

Yeah

Lily

Send video

Jane

ABSOLUTELY NOT

Lily

What if I send you video later????

Jane

…

…

Jane Has Sent (1) Video

Jane

Don’t fucking save that

Delete it when you’re done watching

Lily

FUCK

You’re so hot

I want to touch you so bad

Keep touching yourself

Send more video

I want to see you come

Jane

…

…

…

Jane Has Sent (1) Video

Jane

Shit I gotta go back my parents are wondering where I am

Lily

Thank you for videos

😉

Ilya looks up from his phone with a raging hard on. He’s extremely glad that he’s sitting because there’s no way he’d be able to stand up without someone noticing.

His attention is caught on Kyle who comes out carrying plates of food to the three Russian men who walked in earlier. He noticed them when they walked in, but didn’t pay too much attention. Their conversation was boring, talking about stupid things like the weather and grocery store prices.

But then their conversation switched. They went silent after Kyle brought their food, content to eat first before continuing their conversation. “Fuck, I gotta piss,” The one with his back to Ilya grumbled in Russian and got up.

The man passes by without a second glance to Ilya or the rest of the table. Ilya feels his heart dropping to his stomach. The man looked like Alexei’s cop friend, Sergey. Probably Alexei’s best friend, the man who introduced his brother to coke and pinned Ilya down to ‘fuck the faggot out of him’. It wasn’t him. Ilya knew that. His brain knew that. But his body didn’t.

Ilya feels his hands getting clammy and his chest starting to tighten.

“Fuck, don’t think about it.” He tries to order his brain. “It’s not him. You know it’s not him. He’s in fucking Russia.”

But what if he wasn’t? Ilya wants to stop breathing. The phantom pains of what had been done to him started to make his body ache. The injuries were long gone but the memory that was shoved into the deepest recesses of his brain came skyrocketing to the forefront of his mind.

The man came back from the bathroom. His hands are wet and he flings them to dry them off. The water hits Ilya and his brain short circuits. For a second, he’s not being hit with droplets of water. It’s spurts of hot cum that feels like acid.

There’s a blur of a body coming towards him.

Ilya is frozen in his seat.

A plate is set in front of him.

The sound echoes like thunder.

He wants to vomit.

Someone is saying something but it’s all underwater.

Ilya springs to his feet before things can get out of hand. “I need a smoke.” He says as nonchalantly as he can muster before grabbing his shirt and darting out the back entrance.

The New York air hits him hard. It’s a welcome difference even with the stench of sewer filling his nostrils. The door slams shut behind him. Ilya fumbles with the cigarettes in his pocket and barely manages to shove one in his mouth. His hands are trembling as he tries to get his damn lighter to work. FUCK! Why won’t it work!?

Scott’s hand closes around Ilya’s and takes the lighter from him.

“What the fu-” Ilya starts.

But Scott flicks the lighter and holds it up for Ilya. Grateful, he lights the cigarette and sucks in a lungful. The nicotine does its job and Ilya feels his nerves begin to steady.

Scott watches him smoke for a little while, waiting until Ilya looks like he’s not on the verge of a panic attack.

He’d seen the way Ilya’s eyes tracked the Russian man from the table to the bathroom. It looked like Ilya had wanted to jump out of his skin. His face held an expression of fear, one that Scott was unfortunately familiar with. It was the same expression he wore when he’d pinned Ilya down and accidentally triggered a traumatic memory. He had completely frozen, not responding to Scott or Kip gently calling his name. Then, when Kyle had dropped off his burger, Ilya literally bolted muttering about needing a smoke.

Kip jumped up to follow, but Scott stopped him. “Let me.”

He’d gone out to find Ilya struggling with the lighter.

“Who was that man?” Scott decides to directly ask.

“No one,” Ilya takes another drag pretending to be fine, “I don’t know that man.”

Scott leans against the wall, “I don’t want to push but it seemed like you did. If he did something-”

“No,” Ilya insists, “Is not-” He sighs. “I don’t know that man. He’s done nothing wrong. I don’t think anyway. At least not to me.”

Scott stays silent knowing that it’ll eventually prompt Ilya to answer.

Ilya gives Scott a sideways glance before he gives in, “He looked like someone I knew.”

“Someone who hurt you,” Scott says like a statement and watches Ilya’s shoulders tense.

“Yes.” Ilya finally grits out. His cigarette almost burns his fingers, but he lets it fall before grabbing another one. Scott doesn’t say anything, simply holding up the lighter and letting the new one burn.

Ilya’s grateful for the second one and even more so that Scott doesn’t lecture him about it. Fuck, part of him wishes Scott hadn’t followed him out here. He’d much rather smoke, go back inside, and pretend that he’s fine. But no, instead Scott Hunter had to follow him outside and ask him questions. And Ilya doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that it happened, the fact that he feels the insane need to spill his traumas to Scott, or the fact that he’s scared shitless about the idea of Scott just knowing.

“He could use this to blackmail you,” The fearful part of his brain pokes at him. “He’ll know you’re dirty and used. He’ll tell everyone. Shane will find out. He’ll leave you.”

“Ilya?” Scott calls softly. “You’re in your head. What’s going on?”

Ilya blinks and lifts the cigarette to his mouth. He sucks in as much as his lungs will allow before blowing out a slow steady stream.

“My brother’s friend,” Ilya rubs his nose hard, “He looks like my brother’s friend. Shitty person. Flirts with me to test me and I’m stupid so I fall for it. He maybe finds out that I’m not just into girls.” He takes another drag and shrugs hoping to take some of the sting of his words. Maybe it won’t be so bad if he acts like it’s okay. Like it’s all in the past; dead and buried. “And then he gets this idea that I can be fixed if I get fucked. If I get fucked, then I won’t be a faggot.” The words are sour in his mouth.

Scott sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m sorry that happened to you.” The words feel cheap but what else can he even say? “That was wrong, and it shouldn’t’ve happened.”

Ilya shrugs and looks away so Scott can’t see the tears that build up. “Was long time ago.”

“How long is a long time?”

“I was fifteen.”

Scott goes cold. His hands clench and he wants to fly to Russia, find the fucker and beat him into the ground. He wants to kill him.

“You say nothing,” Ilya still can’t look at him, “You say nothing because no one knows, yes?”

“You didn’t report it?” Scott is horrified. "Ilya that's-"

Ilya’s gaze turns sharp and his head jerks to face Scott. “Why?” He spits, “Is Russia. I can’t love men in Russia, they will kill me. And my brother’s friend? He is police. My bother is police. My father is police. All their friends are police. I will die. Russia will kill me and be happy that I am gone. Getting ra-” 

The words stop because he’s never said them aloud. Ilya’s voice chokes and he’s pissed that he can’t seem to keep his damn mouth shut. Because he’s about to fucking cry in front of Scott. “Either I die or I do what I have to so I can survive long enough to play hockey in America.”

Ilya takes a deep breath and forces his shaking hand to deliver the last of his second cigarette to his mouth. “That’s it. Simple.” He ducks his head, both in anger and fear.

“Sounds like you’ve had to do a lot of surviving,” Scott’s voice isn’t soft or pitying like Ilya expected it to be. Instead, he sounds… angry.

Ilya looks up and he’s right. Scott is seething. “You’re angry?”

“Damn right I am,” Scott looks like he’s about to commit a murder. “You suffered through all of that because there wasn’t a single fucking person to protect you. To advocate for you. Fuck, you were a kid! Does that still happen when you go back to Russia?”

Ilya finds himself nodding, shocked at Scott’s response.

“Fuck!”

The expletive has Ilya jumping.

“Sorry,” Scott automatically corrects himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t- fuck, I’m glad you’re here right now instead of in Russia.”

A pit opens in Ilya’s stomach. “I have to go back sometime.”

“No,” Scott is firm, “You don’t, I can help you with the legal side. You can apply for citizenship or-”

Ilya shakes his head, “This isn’t a conversation for now.”

Scott nods, “Okay. But when you need me, I’m here.” He waits until Ilya finishes and drops his cigarette before pulling him into a hug.

-

It’s two days later when Kip realizes he’s made a horrible fucking mistake by suggesting a game night. He just wanted some bonding time to get to know Ilya better. After what had happened at the bar, Kip had done a little bit of research and wanted to know subtle ways to bond with someone and let them know you were safe. So he’d proposed a low stakes game night.

Scott would get out of practice, Kip and Ilya would make some homemade pizzas, and then they’d settle in for maybe some Yahtzee or Go Fish. (He took Scrabble off the table because last time they’d lost a good number of letters and got confused.) And what was supposed to be a nice little game night hopefully filled with laughs and perhaps some meaningful conversations turned into Kip’s new nightmare.

Because Monopoly is a shit fucking game. It’s a shit game with stupid fucking rules and too many pieces to keep track of. And it’s a very poor choice of game to play when trying to bond with new friends. And it’s even worse when it comes down to two very competitive hockey players and a smoothie barista who just wanted to have a quiet game night.

“Just because I live in New York doesn’t mean I want New York Avenue!” Scott argues, “And it’s not a good trade for Boardwalk!”

Ilya groans childishly, “But you have both the blues!”

“Because I landed on those spaces!”

“I want one of each color, Hunter!” Ilya argues, laying out his cards, “And you have the one I need!”

“Well you can’t have it, so pay up.”

“Half.” Ilya tries to negotiate, “I will pay half.”

“No the fuck you won’t,” Scott snorts, “You have more than enough to pay me rent.”

“But I’m saving for a hotel!”

“So give me one of your properties.”

“I was going to!” Ilya waves the New York Avenue card, “But you won’t give me what I want.”

“So give me the card and you won’t pay rent.”

Ilya groans, “What if I give you New York Avenue and Baltic?”

Scott laughs, “As if! Baltic is also a shit property and you don’t even have houses on it.”

“Hunter pleaseeeee!”

Scott shakes his head, “Sorry kid, no deal. Pay up.”

“Fine.” Ilya grumbles and reluctantly passes over the fake money.

“Thank you,” Scott grins haughtily and organizes his stacks of cash.

“He’s a fucking monster,” Kip sighs to himself. “What have I done?”

Kip rolls the dice, and mercifully lands on one of his own properties. Sliding some cash into the bank, he adds this third little green house to State Avenue. The dice are passed to Scott who rolls and finds himself on Park Place.

“Fuck!” Kip and Ilya both shout.

Scott grins wolfishly, slides the cash to the bank, and erects his second hotel.

“We’re fucked.” Kip groans.

“What if we make a pact,” Ilya grabs the dice looking at Kip. “We don’t charge each other and only make Scott pay.”

“That’s cheating!” Scott laughs, “You can’t do that because you’re both losing.”

“Yes, I can!” Ilya argues back and turns to Kip again. “Please younger hotter boyfriend?”

Kip sighs, he’s eager for this game to be over. But there’s a small opportunity that’s being presented to him. “Only if…” He pauses thinking.

“Only if what?” Ilya leans forward.

“Only if you admit Scott isn’t a dinosaur,” he cackles.

Ilya’s face falls. “Never. You are monster Kipstopher Grady. You must pay double now.”

“DOUBLE!?”

Scott bursts out laughing and launches himself at Kip to kiss him on the lips.

And then Ilya flinches, hard. He moves forward with practiced speed and nearly yanks Kip out of the way. His hand stops short of grabbing Kip in a horrified realization of what he’d nearly done.

“B-blyad,” He jerks himself back, holding his hand to his chest like he’s been burned. “I-I thought-” Ilya’s voice falters and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His eyes are wide in shock at his own movements and the realization that something just happened. He’d sucked all the joy out of the night.

He moves to get up but Kip stops him by grabbing his wrist. “Ilya, don’t go.”

Ilya stays frozen. “Sorry,” he forces the words out.

“Don’t be,” Kip watches Scott lean back slowly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m- yes.” He answers slowly.

“It’s okay if you aren’t.” Kip uses his thumb to gently rub Ilya’s wrist. It’s an easy guess to pinpoint why Ilya had immediately thrown himself forward. “Did you think Scott was going to hit me?”

He gives Kip a short jerky nod.

“I would never,” Scott scoots a little closer, not quite touching Ilya but close enough. “I love Kip. I would never raise a hand to him, ever.”

“I know,” Ilya’s voice is stilted. He won’t look at either of them. “I just reacted.”

“We know,” Kip stays gentle and he smiles softly at Ilya. “It’s okay. Like you said, it was just a reaction.”

“It’s not!” Ilya bursts out, frustrated. “It’s not okay! I know this!”

“You acted according to what you thought was going to happen,” Scott tries to comfort him but it only serves to distress Ilya more.

“I thought you were going to hit him,” Ilya presses, “I know you would not do this! I’m not- Is stupid! I don’t want you to think that this is what I think of you!” He needs Scott to know that he’s not Grigori. They’re not even in the same category of person.

“I know that,” Scott reassures, “Ilya I know that.”

“You’re not my father,” Ilya insists.

“He hit you?” Kip’s voice cracks slightly in horror.

“My mother,” Ilya growls, “When she was alive and my father would try to hit me, she'd use her body to protect me. Then when she died, there was no one to stop him.”

Scott feels his stomach dropping. He knew Ilya’s father was abusive but the more he learns, the more it sickens him. 

“You are not him,” Ilya repeats, “You are better than him.”

Scott keeps his hands to himself but asks, “Can I touch you?”

Ilya hesitates and then nods. “Okay.”

Moving closer, Scott reaches out with one careful hand placing it gently on Ilya’s shoulder. At first he tenses, then when he relaxes, Scott pulls him closer. Ilya’s back is pressed to Scott’s chest while both his arms wrap around him. Ilya’s hand flies up instinctively clutching onto Scott’s warm arm.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats softly. “You’re not a bad person.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Scott squeezes him.

Kip inches closer and takes Ilya’s hand, “You were protecting me. I’d go so far as to say that I feel pretty flattered right now.”

Ilya huffs a short laugh. “Monopoly is bad game.”

“The worst.” Kip laughs. “We should’ve done Yahtzee.”

Chapter End Notes

I really started y'all on a high note there didn't I? 🥴

Chapter 3: Whiplash

Chapter Summary

It feels like he’s back in Russia. He feels like he’s watching a movie about himself. Granted, he’s not a drummer and JK Simmons isn’t his father. But the screaming, the demeaning comments, the physical violence sends him spiraling.
“Ignore it,” He tries to force himself to push through, “It’s just a movie. It’s not real.” Except it feels real. It’s very fucking real and this damn movie is giving him a panic attack.

Chapter Notes

This is the darkest chapter so PLEASEEEEE heed the warnings!!!!

Triggers for Ilya having a severe panic attack that leads to EMTs being called and temporary catatonia, depictions of child abuse, and at one point Grigori tells Ilya to kill himself

The rest of the week goes by without incident. Kip figures out that UNO is also a very bad choice of game but only because Ilya insisted they use six decks, plus some of the more insane expansion packs, to make one massive game of UNO. It got confusing so fast and devolved into foolhardy arguments about rules.

Scott makes sure that Ilya is never alone, and if he is it’s not for longer than an hour. He’s lucky that his and Kip’s schedules overlap some but at the very least, Ilya has company. They don’t always have activities either, sometimes it’s just them working out or watching a movie while passively scrolling on their phones.

Scott stretches out on the couch half watching the movie, Whiplash. He’d never seen it but Eric had recommended it so he figured that he and Ilya could watch it together. Ilya had seemingly turned out towards the beginning and was content to text “Jane.” The “girl” that Scott noticed he talked to the most. And based on the one or two accidental text he’s seen, but his own observations, Scott highly suspects “Jane” is Shane Hollander. Also… Jane and Shane, Lily and Ilya. Not the most clever pseudonyms. He’s a little shocked no one’s caught on yet. Even Kip asked Scott the other night if Jane was Hollander.

Ilya’s phone buzzes again and Scott can’t help but glance over.

Jane

How’s New York?

Lily

Boring

Like you

😘

Jane

Wow

Fuck you

♥️

Lily

Why are you on phone?

You have concussion

Jane

Relax, I’m limiting my time

Lily

Good

Send me picture

Jane Has Sent (1) Image

Lily

Nooooo

What is this?

Jane

My lunch

Lily

It’s so boring

Bird food

Jane

It’s healthy!

We’re athletes! You would benefit from it too

Lily

No

 😤

Send me real picture

Jane

That was a real picture

Lily

Of your dick!

Jane

I’m not sending you a dick pic

Lily

Please

🥺

Jane

…

…

Lily

Janeeeeeeeee

Pleaseeeeeee

Jane Has Sent (1) Image

Lily

Holy fuck

Is that my shirt???

Jane

You like?

😘

You left it here

Jane Has Sent (1) Image

Anddddd Scott really didn’t need to know what Shane Hollander’s hard penis looked like. He looks away, grateful that Ilya hasn’t noticed that he glimpsed their conversation. Their very horny conversation. Ilya gets up mumbling something about using the bathroom.

“Want me to pause the movie?” Scott calls.

“No, is fine!” Ilya shouts back, “I can hear from bathroom.”

“No, he can’t,” Scott knows but he lets it pass and turns up the volume. He’s not keen to listen in on what he’s sure is about to be Ilya jerking off to Shane. In an astonishing 10 minutes later, Ilya returns with a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Gross,” Scott laughs to himself. But Ilya seems pleased with himself. As he settles back into watching the movie.

Ilya hates Whiplash. From the moment it started, he knew he was going to hate it. So he’d opened his phone and started texting Shane as a distraction. And Shane was a very good distraction.

Slipping away to the bathroom, Ilya shoves his headphones in.

Video Call to Jane…

Lily

Jane pick up

Pick up

Pleaseeeee

😭

I need to see you

I'm alone

Please

Please!!!

Incoming Video Call From Jane

Ilya picks up immediately and Shane’s face fills the screen.

“Holy shit,” proper words escape Ilya as he stares at the specimen that is Shane fucking Hollander. Shane’s thick muscular thighs are spread wide and Ilya’s accidentally forgotten Boston shirt rides up. His skin is flushed red and one hand is wrapped around his dick.

“Ilya,” Shane whimpers, “I need you.”

“Fuck,” Ilya croaks and shoves his hand down his pants. He angles the camera to the best of his ability so Shane can watch him jerk off.

He lasts all of two minutes, coming embarrassingly fast like was in the throes of puberty. He blows Shane an air kiss to end their call and Ilya spends the 8 minutes pretending like he doesn’t have anywhere else to be. He knows he needs to go back out eventually, but he doesn’t want to keep watching the damn movie.

Ilya gets back onto the couch, tucking his legs in and forces himself to stare at the screen. Scott doesn’t seem affected by the movie based on how he passively scrolls and looks up when scenes get loud. For Ilya, Shane was the only thing that kept him grounded. And now Shane is off his phone because he exceeded his allowed screen time.

It feels like he’s back in Russia. He feels like he’s watching a movie about himself. Granted, he’s not a drummer and JK Simmons isn’t his father. But the screaming, the demeaning comments, the physical violence sends him spiraling.

“Ignore it,” He tries to force himself to push through, “It’s just a movie. It’s not real.” Except it feels real. It’s very fucking real and this damn movie is giving him a panic attack. He watches Miles Teller’s character practice drumming until his fingers bleed and Ilya remembers how often his feet would bleed the same way. It was never enough to satisfy his father. The screaming gets louder and Ilya shuts his eyes. In his mind, it’s not a movie anymore.

-

“Stupid fucking boy!” His father backhands Ilya and he goes sprawling to the floor. Fuck, he’s barely eighteen and still lets his father hit him like he’s a child. He’s built, he’s bigger than his father, he’s all muscle. He should be able to fight back. But he doesn’t. Pathetic.

“Lazy!” Grigori continues his tirade, “Letting Canada win! They are a bunch of wimps and softies! And you couldn’t even fucking beat them!”

“I’m sorry father,” Ilya mumbles. He picks himself up off the floor, keeping his eyes downcast.

“How are you supposed to be the number one draft pick if you can’t even win a fucking game? Huh?” 

The slap stings his face, but this time he remains standing. He doesn’t even know how to defend himself.

“Answer me!” Grigori’s face is red and there’s a vein on his forehead that looks like he’s about to explode.

“I can’t,” Ilya keeps his voice neutral.

The next hit sends Ilya to his knees gasping for breath. A glob of spit lands in his hair and drips onto the floor.

“Pathetic,” His father spits, “You’re a waste of space. You do nothing but bring shame into this family. No wonder your mother killed herself. You are weak just like her. If you’re not going to work hard, you might as well kill yourself too.”

-

And then one of the characters hangs himself.

Ilya can’t take it.

He can’t breathe.

It feels like his father’s hands are around his throat.

A loud, unmistakable sob betrays him as the sound is ripped from his throat.

Scott jolts upright when he hears the cry. Ilya is curled in on himself, having a full blown panic attack. His hands are clutched in his hair, pulling at the blonde curls.

“Ilya!?” Scott rushes over, “I’m going to touch your arm.”

Ilya flinches hard when Scott touches him, not registering that it’s him. “P-please don’t-” He forces himself to gasp out the words but Scott doesn’t understand Russian.

“Ilya, it’s Scott.” He tries again, rubbing his arm as gently as possible. “You’re safe here. It’s me.”

But Ilya doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s struggling to breathe and Scott moved his hand from his arm to Ilya’s back. He’s wheezing, trying hard to gulp in air but failing to do so.

Scott’s heart is pounding so hard it drowns out the movie. “Ilya,” He calls again, “Ilya I need you to breathe.” He pats Ilya’s back, rubbing it, anything to try and get him to take a breath. Nothing works. 

There’s a loud crash from the TV and Ilya’s head jerks up at the sound. His tear streaked eyes are glued to the TV. His pupils are blown wide and Scott nearly has a heart attack. Ilya’s lips are starting to turn blue with lack of oxygen.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Scott grabs Ilya’s face; he’s gasping like a dying fish. He grabs the remote, shutting off the TV and grabs his phone.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Please help me!” Scott pleads into his phone, putting the operator on speaker.

“Okay sir,” The woman says calmly, “Can you describe to me what’s going on?”

“My friend, he’s having a panic attack and he’s not breathing. His lips are blue, oh fuck- Ilya!?” Scott watches in horror as Ilya’s limbs start to get heavy and his body slumps against the couch.

“Sir,” The operator remains collected as she reads off his address for him to confirm, “I have EMTs on their way to you, they’ll be there in three minutes. I need you to try and stimulate oxygen flow.”

“Yeah,” Scott rasps, “I can do that.” Ilya’s breathing sounds even worse.

“I need you to get him to lie on his side,” The woman instructs, “it’ll help increase blood flow to his brain.”

“G-got it.”

Ilya’s slumped against the couch so it doesn’t take much effort for him to maneuver Ilya into a full lying down position. His eyes are open, staring at nothing and Scott is trying so hard not to panic himself.

“He’s on his side.”

“That’s good,” The operator continues, “I need you to go into the kitchen and get something cold. A packet of frozen vegetables or a wash cloth. Place it on his forehead. The drastic change in temperature should help shock his body into reacting.”

“Okay.” Scott scrambles to his feet darting into the kitchen. He grabs a bag of frozen okra and falls back down to Ilya. He presses the bag to Ilya’s forehead.

Fucking magic.

Ilya takes in a gasp of air, blinking involuntarily.

“Holy fuck!” Scott gasps in relief. “He took a breath!”

“Good, that’s good,” The woman praises. “You’re doing really well. The EMTs should be at your door soon, just keep him breathing.”

Scott keeps the bag pressed to Ilya’s forehead. “You’re okay,” Scott uses his other hand to rub Ilya’s back, “You’re safe. It’s me, it’s Scott. You’re doing so great. Just keep breathing for me, okay?” He has no idea if Ilya can hear him or not, but he hopes so.

Eventually, the EMTs arrive and Ilya’s breathing has started to even out. Scott watches them take over, placing an oxygen mask over Ilya’s face and talking to him. He tries to stick close, but the EMTs gently usher him away so they can assess Ilya. Scott can’t hear what they’re saying, but he sees Ilya shaking his head at them.

“Sir,” One of the EMTs comes up to him, “Can you tell us what happened?”

Scott nods, “We were watching a movie and I think… fuck, it’s my fault. It was an intense movie and I think it triggered a panic attack. I wasn’t paying attention until I heard him crying. I thought it was just a regular panic attack but when he lifted his head, I saw that his lips were starting to turn blue. And that’s when I called 911.”

“Thank you,” The EMT pats Scott on the shoulder, “You did the right thing.”

“Are you taking him to the hospital?” Scott asks worriedly. He’s impressed at how easily the operator and the EMTs are able to stay calm.

“Well, right now we’re just doing an assessment.” He explains, “Ilya is awake and responsive. We have him on oxygen and from there we’ll determine if he comes with us or not.”

Scott nods, “Thank you.”

“Sit tight for us, okay?” The EMT says and nods towards the kitchen.

“Right, yeah.” He sucks in a breath and sits.

The world turns to a buzzy static as Scott watches Ilya getting cared for. His heart won’t stop pounding He was so fucking scared that Ilya was going to die on his couch. Why didn’t he pay more attention to him? He should’ve vetted the movie first. He should’ve known it was going to be a massive trigger for Ilya. Scott feels like the worst fucking person on the planet.

After the EMTs determine that Ilya is okay to stay, they leave and Scott rushes to Ilya’s side. He knows he should ask, but Scott wraps his arms around Ilya holding him as tightly as he can.

“Fucking hell, kid. You scared me,” Scott doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic.

“Sorry,” Ilya mumbles weakly returning the hug, “Didn’t know that was going to happen.”

Scott doesn’t let go. He keeps holding onto Ilya feeling the rise and fall of his chest and his steady heartbeat under his fingers. Selfishly, he wanted the assurance that Ilya wasn’t just going to disappear. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Scott rubs his back gently and then pulls away a little so he can look him in the eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t see that you were hurting, I should’ve known.”

Ilya shakes his head, “You couldn’t have.”

“Yes,” Scott presses his lips together, “I should have. Ilya, from everything you have ever told me, I should have known. I should have looked into the movie before playing it. I should have been able to predict that it wasn’t a good movie for us to watch. I so sorry, I should have been paying attention to you.” Scott pulls him into a hug. Ilya starts trembling under him and Scott realizes he’s crying again.

“I have you,” He whispers, “I’m here, I’m so sorry, Ilya.”

“I fucking hate you,” Ilya mumbles into his shoulder. There’s no bite to it and he presses his face harder into Scott’s body. What he wants to say is “stay with me”. Because everything is too overwhelming and his skin is itching with exhaustion. His whole body is aching and sore and he just wants to lie down. But if he does, he’ll be alone and he’s afraid of the ‘what if’. What if his body decides it doesn’t want to get up anymore.

“It’s okay if you do,” Scott answers softly.

Ilya pulls away rubbing at his eyes noting the wet blotches he left on Scott’s shirt. “I don’t.” Ilya corrects not wanting Scott to actually think he actually hates him.

“Can we talk?” Scott asks, “Not just about what happened right now. But also about that night.”

That night… Ilya knew he meant the night Scott found him on the bridge. He didn’t want to but he has the sinking feeling the conversation was unavoidable. He nods slowly, “Okay.” Ilya shifts sitting positions to try and be more comfortable, wedding himself into the corner of the couch.

Scott shuffles so he can face Ilya but also be close enough to sweep him into a hug. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I will probably answer,” Ilya admits softly. He’s too tired to fight and if someone has to know, at least it’s Scott. The man knows too much about him, if he was going to bury Ilya, he would’ve done it already. “What do you want to know?”

“The movie?” Scott decides to start with the immediate.

“My father and my coaches,” Ilya answers tiredly, “they used to make me practice like that. It didn’t matter if my hands and feet were bleeding. If I was too hurt, they would tell me I was weak and they’d hit me for it. Only stopped when I came here.”

“You said before,” Scott remembers, “You’d go back to Russia over the summer. Did they…?”

Ilya sighs and shrugs, “Yes. When I go back for the summer they treat me like I'm a child again. Not so much my father anymore because he had dementia. Plus he is dead. But my brother, he likes to hit me. Unless I give him money.” He leans his head on the pillow. “Ask something else. I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Scott keeps his eyes on Ilya. He carries himself with such a deep sadness it breaks his heart. “Then, can I ask about that night? About why?”

“Why I was there?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

Ilya sighs, “It was a bad day. I just wanted to walk… clear my head. It’s just where I ended up.”

“You were going to jump.”

“Yes.”

“Did you want to die?”

Ilya pauses, “No, but… I… was curious, I guess. To see what would happen if I did it.”

“Do you still feel like that?”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t want to die, but if it happens, it happens.” Ilya sinks deeper into the couch. “I just wanted to feel something.”

Scott nods. “The next time you feel like that, will you call me? I don’t care what time it is, please call me.”

Ilya frowns at him, “Why? I still don’t get it. Why do you care?”

“Because I love you, kid.” Scott says it so fucking easily like Ilya actually matters.

Ilya scoffs, “You love me? You Americans are too loose with this word.”

“Maybe,” Scott’s face is serious. “But I’m serious. I do love you Ilya. Not in a romantic sense, obviously. But I love you like you’re family. My family.”

“I have been here a week, Hunter.”

“It’s enough.”

“It can’t be,” Ilya argues, “One week is not enough. All I have done is stay in your house, and have fucking panic attacks because I am weak. Because I can’t control-”

“That’s your father talking,” Scott cuts him off, “You’re not weak. You are just a boy trying to survive in an impossible situation. Would you say the same thing if it was Kip? What if he were in your shoes? Would you call him weak? What about if it was any one of your teammates? Marlow, Connors? What if it was even someone like Hollander?”

Scott lets it sit because Ilya is smart. He knows he’s playing a dangerous game by mentioning Hollander, but it works. He watches Ilya go silent, his brain processing.

Slowly, he shakes his head. “I would not call any of them weak.”

“And neither are you.” Scott reaches forward and squeezes Ilya’s shoulder. But Ilya keeps shaking his head looking away while tears roll down his face. “I know it’s hard for you to believe, but you’re not any of the lies your father told you. You’re incredibly fucking smart, you might be an asshole but you’re also one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. Instead of turning into someone like your father, you became the opposite of him.”

At that Ilya looks up at him. There’s a spark of what Scott hopes is hope.

“I’ve seen that in you this whole week. You never lash out, you don’t get angry. On the ice sure, but that’s different. What little faith you have, you used it and you trusted me and Kip. That’s so fucking special, Ilya. You’re not your father, you’re better than him. You’re better than anyone who has ever hurt you.”

“Fuck you,” Ilya sputters rubbing furiously at his eyes, “Fuck you for caring. Fuck you for saying that you love me.”

Scott can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. He leans forward and pulls Ilya into a hug. “I’ll take those ‘fuck yous’.” He places a soft kiss on the top of Ilya’s head.

Ilya hates that he keeps crying. He can’t fucking stop. But with each heaving breath he takes, he slips further into exhaustion. And when he can’t cry any more he just sags against Scott. Scott, who hasn’t let go once. Who keeps rubbing his back and whispering that he’s safe. Fuck, and Ilya wants to belive him so fucking badly.

Scott keeps holding Ilya until his breathing evens out. He stops shaking and his body loses any semblance of strength. Carefully, Scott tilts his head down. The rest of Ilya’s body has gone slack and his eyes are closed. Even asleep, Ilya looks like he’s been drained.

Gently, so he doesn’t disturb Ilya, Scott readjusts them to be in a more comfortable position. It would be painful for both of them if they both had numb limbs and stiff necks. Ilya shuffles in his sleep, his arms wrapping around Scott before settling on his chest.

Kip comes home carrying bags of Chinese takeout. He hadn’t heard from Scott or Ilya about dinner plans so he took the initiative to just get food.

Opening the door, he’s surprised to find only the kitchen light on, the TV off and absolute silence. “Hello?” He calls out.

“In here,” He hears Scott loudly whispering from the living room.

Kip sets the bags in the kitchen first before he wanders towards the couch. His heart warms at the sight. Ilya is fast asleep, hugging Scott like a koala.

“Ah,” he says with a smile, “I see. He fell asleep and you felt like it was a crime to move?”

Scott smiles, “Yeah.”

Kip leans over and kisses him softly. “Well, if you want to wake him, I brought home food.”

There’s a shuffle and a tiny groan from Ilya. “Food?” he mumbles barely awake.

“Chinese,” Kip says softly. “Take your time, I still need to shower and change.”

“Okay,” Ilya mumbles and doesn’t say more.

Chapter End Notes

I'm so sorry!!!! ALSO THIS WAS NOT MEDICAL ADVICE this was entirely based on what to do if a child is having a breath-holding spell.
But real talk, I watched Whiplash with my friends, had a panic attack, and no one understood why. Sooo... I hate the movie. Bad times.

Last Chapter goes out on Monday!

Chapter 4: It’s Just Glass

Chapter Summary

And as much as Ilya never wants this week to end… it must.
And it ends with a glass.
A shattered drinking glass on the kitchen floor.

Chapter Notes

Here we are at the end folks it's been a wild ride of tears and agony. ❤️ As usual PLEASE heed the tags!! This chapter has more depictions of Grigori being an absolute garbage person.

A couple weeks go by and Ilya is finding it to be one of the best two weeks of his life. Minus the panic attacks, of course. And Ilya doesn’t do anything special, he works out in Scott’s home gym. Sometimes with Kip because holy fuck his body has to get like that somehow. He learns random things about history while Scott is out at practice which is annoying because somehow he’s in the playoffs while Boston is finished for the season.

The thing that gets him is the fact that he isn’t alone. He’s not in his empty Boston house with only the TV to fill the silence. And he can’t bug Sveta to come stay with him because she’s doing important work. It would be inconvenient and rude for him to demand she keep him company.

But this… it’s given Ilya a taste of what he could have.

And as much as he never wants it to end… it must.

And it ends with a glass.

A shattered drinking glass on the kitchen floor.

They’d been making dinner. Borscht, because Scott and Kip have never had it before and Ilya wanted to show off his cooking prowess.

“You know, you could run a whole cooking workshop,” Kip says, stealing a piece of raw beet off the chopping board when Ilya isn’t looking.

“Get me one,” Scott mouths at Kip.

Kip reaches for a piece then yanks his hand back when Ilya turns around. “Probably, but would be only Russian food. Or easy things like tuna melt.” He grabs the oil from the counter and turns around again. Kip snags a beet and tosses it to Scott who pops it in his mouth at the same time Ilya turns around again. Ilya narrows his eyes at them. “You’re acting suspicious.”

“You’re suspicious,” Scott can’t resist saying, displaying flashes of beet in his mouth.

“Hunter!” Ilya points at his mouth while Kip laughs. “You can’t eat them before they’re in the borscht!” He points at Kip with slightly pink teeth. “You are guilty too! I can see it!”

All three of them are laughing and the conversation flows into something easy. Like they’ve been doing it forever. Scott can’t help but admire how natural it feels to have Ilya in his house. Deep down, he wonders if this is what it’s like to have kids. With his husband (well, he’s got to ask Kip first) by his side.

He gets up and stands behind Kip’s chair, hugging him from behind and planting kisses into his neck. Kip laughs, tilting his head to give Scott better access.

“Gross,” Ilya flicks water at them, “Is like watching grandparents make out.”

Kip laughs and turns to give Scott a proper kiss.

“Food is ready,” Ilya finally announces, pleased with himself. The bowls of steaming borscht are out and they eat.

It’s easy.

It’s comfortable.

It’s deceptive.

Because Ilya lets himself believe that this could be his life. He lets himself believe that everything is okay. He chooses the delusion and the fantasy he’s concocted for himself. The fantasy of having dinner with family. Scott and Kip are his weird gay dads, and he’s just a kid again. Happy to be there, sharing food and trading stories. Maybe one day he’ll introduce them to his boyfriend, Shane Hollander. He lets himself imagine it because for once, he doesn’t feel like he has to die, he’s in a home where he feels safe.

And then his elbow knocks his drinking glass from the table.

It shatters.

“Fuck!”

Ilya drops to his knees, ignoring how the glass cuts into them. He starts sweeping up the shards, smearing his blood across the tile.

“Ilya?” Scott’s voice is underwater and so far away.

-

The glass shards of his father’s drinking glass cut into his skin. They glimmer dangerously under the dining room lights. They mock him and his clumsy little hands. The spilled vodka was already soaking into the wooden floors.

“Father,” Ilya looks up at Grigori with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry! It was an accident!”

Grigori smacks Ilya across the face and he crashes into the dining table. “Worthless boy. Clean up this mess.”

“Yes father.” Ilya gets up and moves to grab a broom.

His father grabs his forearm with bruising strength. “Pick it up with your hands.”

“But it’ll cut me.” Ilya protests, as if that matters.

“You should’ve thought of that before you dropped the glass.”

“But Mama says-”

Grigori shakes Ilya hard until his head spins. “She’s not fucking here, is she? No, she’s fucking dead because she was weak. Like you are. You can’t even bring me a fucking glass of vodka. It’s a fucking waste of good vodka!” His father smacks him hard.

There’s a hand in his hair and suddenly Ilya is on his knees. His face is being pressed into the glass. He sobs as it cuts into his skin.

“Clean it up,” Grigori orders.

Ilya cries, his tears blending with the blood and vodka.

“If you don’t,” His father threatens, “I will make you drink it from the floor. Would you rather have glass in your mouth or in your hands?” He smacks the back of Ilya’s head. The glass digs into his cheeks. “Answer me!”

“My hands!” He cries out.

Grigori yanks his head back. “Good. Now pick it up.”

Ilya starts scooping the pieces towards him, gathering them in a little pile. Bloody streaks leave marks in the floor while his tears dilute the stains.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whimpers hoping that maybe his father will take pity on him. “I’m sorry, it was an accident. It was an accident.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Grigori snaps, “I’m tired of hear you cry. Pathetic. You act like a fucking faggot.”

-

“I’m sorry,” Ilya’s voice cracks, the tears threatening to spill. He can’t cry. They’ll think he’s pathetic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Ilya, stop.” Scott grabs his wrists while Kip jumps up to grab a dish towel. “Ilya, stop, you’re bleeding.” But Ilya keeps reaching for the glass, stuck in a spiral of ‘I’m sorry’.

“I promise, it was an accident. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Scott bodies Ilya, pulling him away from the glass, careful not to step in it. “I know, it’s okay. Accidents happen, that’s why they’re called that.”

“But I broke it.”

“Ilya, it was an accident. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Father, I’m sorry.”

Scott and Kip freeze and make eye contact. Like he had on the bridge, Scott reaches forward and gently lifts Ilya’s head. “Ilya, it’s Scott and Kip.”

He blinks at them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Scott keeps his hand on Ilya’s face. “You’re okay. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Ilya nods numbly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He’s gentle when he pulls Ilya up, careful not to disrupt the glass shards that have embedded themselves in Ilya’s knees and hands.

Scott pulls Ilya into his and Kip’s bathroom, setting him on the closed lit of the toilet. Ilya stays silent, staring at the wall while Scott grabs the first aid kit and tweezers.

Kneeling by Ilya, he starts using cotton balls and alcohol to disinfect and clean off the blood from Ilya’s knees. “Hey,” he says, “Talk to me. What happened?”

Ilya swallows, “It was after my mother’s funeral. My father ordered me to get him a glass of vodka but I was clumsy and dropped it. He made me pick it up with my hands.”

Scott nods, “That was wrong of him. Can you show me your hands?”

Obediently, Ilya opens his palms to Scott. “I didn’t mean to break yours.”

“I know,” Scott answers calmly, “It’s just a glass. Easily replaceable. You’re not.” He tosses the bloody cotton balls and starts using the tweezers to plus the glass from Ilya’s skin.

-

Ilya forces himself to finish dinner with Scott and Kip. The floor had been completely cleaned, but he could sense that he fucked up. After helping with dishes, he excused himself and retreated to his room. No, not his room. Scott and Kip’s guest room. Because that’s all he was. A guest. He wasn’t family. This wasn’t his family. He was just someone who kept fucking up. He’d let himself get carried away with the fantasy.

Ilya sinks to the floor, unable to stop the tremors. What the fuck was wrong with him? He thought by being here with Scott and Kip that he’d have an easier time keeping his demons at bay. Especially after his severe panic attack the prior week. But he just proved once again how broken he was. He wasn’t someone Scott and Kip needed in their lives. He needed to go.

-

Scott’s head is spinning. He feels like he fucked up. Even lying in bed with his wonderful boyfriend wasn’t helping. He wanted so badly to show Ilya that he was fine. That he was safe.

“He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Scott sighs mournfully resting his back against the headboard.

Kip snuggles further into his boyfriend’s chest, “Of course he does. He’s spent his whole life like that, you can’t expect him to automatically realize that he’s safe. And that’s not a reflection on you, you know that right? You’re doing your best.”

“I know,” Scott pulls Kip closer, “I just wish I could fix everything for him, you know?”

“Because you’re a good person, Scott. These things take time. Just be there for him.”

“You know I will be, however long it takes.”

“Have you told him that?”

Scott shakes his head, “I’m worried it’ll change something if I say it. Like… I don’t know. I don’t want him to think that I think he’s broken or something.”

“You should talk to him,” Kip pokes his side, “I’m serious. You’re already treating him like glass by telling me and not him. Don’t do that.”

“Fuck,” Scott breathes, “Fuck, I have. And I said I wasn’t.” He sits up. “I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Kip smiles and rubs his back, “Go now. I’m pretty sure he’s still awake.”

Scott slides out of bed and crosses the house to Ilya’s room. He can see from the gap under the door that his light is still on. Raising a hand he gives a gentle knock. “Ilya? Can I come in?”

“It’s unlocked,” Ilya’s tired voice comes through.

Scott opens the door and his heart sinks to his stomach. Ilya is packing. His suitcase is open on the bed.

“Don’t go,” Scott shuts the door behind him, “Please stay.”

“I can’t.” Ilya doesn’t stop, “I should go. I need to go.”

“No, you don’t.” There’s desperation in his voice, he knows it. “Ilya please stay. If this is about the glass-”

“It’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Scott pleads. He goes to Ilya’s side, “Please look at me.”

Ilya stops packing and sits on the bed. “I keep fucking up.” He looks up at Scott. “You invited me here and all I’ve done is have fucking panic attacks and you and Kip keep having to clean up after me.”

“You don’t need to apologize for your traumas.”

“But it makes me difficult.”

“No, it makes you human.” Scott sits next to him. “I meant what I said, kid. You’re family to me. And that means we- me and Kip, we have your back. Through everything, traumas and all.”

“I’m fucked up.”

Scott shakes his head, “Everyone is.”

“Not like me.”

Scott takes a deep breath. “I wish I could fix things for you. Make it so that you don't have to deal with all this garbage.”

Ilya watches him, trying to get a read on what he’s saying. Does Scott think he’s broken? Too far gone that he can’t be repaired?

“I want you to feel safe,” Scott continues, “I want you to know that you’re loved, that there’s someone in your corner. You’re not alone in this, you don’t need to be.”

Ilya’s mouth is dry. Love is a hard fucking pill to swallow for him. Love comes with conditions. Love, like the kind Scott is offering, only happens to Ilya when he’s useful to someone. So what use is he to Scott Hunter? When does it become conditional?

“You and I both know what it’s like to be alone,” Scott keeps talking, “being queer in the MHL is very fucking lonely. And I was scared out of my fucking mind when I realized that in order to be happy, in order to heal, I needed to let someone in. And I started with Kip and his friends, his dad… and it changed my life. He made me braver.” He looks at Ilya, “I want that for you. I want to be that person for you. Kip wants to be that person for you.”

Ilya stays silent. He shoves aside the distrust he feels, but… Scott was brave, wasn’t he? He’s happy now. He has a life that isn’t just hockey. He has a boyfriend. They cook together…

But Scott isn’t Russian. He isn’t Ilya. He doesn’t have a psychotic brother with a coke addiction. He won’t get killed for being queer in his home country.

“What if I stay?” The scared but hopeful part of Ilya asks. “What happens then?”

“I need to go back to Boston.”

“Ilya-”

“Not right now,” Ilya clarifies, “I will stop packing. I will stay. But I do need to go back soon. Sveta, my friend, is coming to visit because we’re going back to Russia together. And Marley wants to come over to watch the finals.”

“Russia,” Scott says softly.

“Yes,” Ilya confirms, “I… don’t think I will stay the whole summer, but I need to go back.”

“And after?”

Ilya shrugs, “I come back to America.”

“Here?”

Ilya doesn’t say anything.

“Our door is always open to you.” Scott hesitates and then adds, “Unless you can’t stand us, and then that’s a different story.”

Ilya huffs a short laugh, “You are not so bad Hunter. Kip is angel. Perfect.”

Scott laughs, “I’ll tell him that.” There’s a moment of quiet. “Ilya, I’m serious though. Stay with us for the summer.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.” He gestures to the space, “Your room will always be here.”

“My room?”

“Of course, your room.”

Ilya nods slowly, “Okay. Maybe I come back after Russia.”

“Please do.”

Two Month Later…

“Congratulations,” Ilya’s voice comes out of nowhere and Scott nearly shits himself in fear. “Wow,” Ilya says, stepping out of the shadows. “You scare very easy.”

Scott huffs trying to soothe his racing heart. “Ilya. Good to see you kid.”

It had been an interesting couple of months. Ilya had gone back to Boston, and Scott had gone on to win the Cup and kiss Kip on national television. They’d stayed in touch, mostly through text. Actually, mostly though Kip and Ilya sending memes and Ilya testing out new chirps. But it worked, it was more communication than they’d ever had. Sometimes, Ilya would call when he wanted to talk. Usually about something meaningless, but Scott could always tell when it was because he needed company.

“Kip should have been in the audience,” Ilya states, sipping his beer. “But I get why he was not.”

“Yeah,” Scott sighs, “The media has been swarming trying to pin him down. It’s kind of brutal.”

Ilya hums. “You did something good with that kiss.”

Scott smiles, “I hope so… it would be nice if I made a difference.”

“You did,” Ilya’s face is steady and serious, “You made a difference for me… and mine. What you did, that was important. You change things for me. For us. I know what I want and because of you, I think a future is possible. Thank you.”

Fuck, Scott has tears in his eyes. “Can I hug you?”

Ilya snorts, “You are so emotional.”

But he reaches out anyway, and lets Scott hug him.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all so much for your love and support on this fic!! It makes me feel so special to know y'all have been following along with me! I hope you'll stick around for more in this series and more HR fics from me in general!

Also, if you're interested in more of this series, I've got a 3rd companion fic in the works serving as a sequel to Showing Up For Him & (Not) Like My Mother!