Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

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

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Cutting, Protective Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Irina Rozanova Haunts the Narrative, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, no beta we die like men, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Additional Warnings in Author's Note, Mild Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Bad Parent Grigori Rozanov, Love Confessions, Protective Kip Grady, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of Seasoned Gay to the Rescue

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-08 Completed: 2026-03-22 Words: 22,566 Chapters: 6/6

Showing Up For Him

Summary

Shane wasn’t his boyfriend. But for a while it had felt like it. They’d been alone in his house. He’d made them tuna melts and watched TV. They’d cuddled like a real couple. And then he had to go and ruin it. Like he ruins everything. The press won't stop talking about Shane and Rose. He's turning into his mother and for some reason, Scott Hunter is the only one who sees him. And it scares him.

OR

Ilya spirals after the tuna melt scene and engages in self-destructive behaviors. Scott Hunter notices and refuses to go away.

 

*This is a stand alone fic and is not related to the others in the series.

Notes

Y'all are in for an angsty ride! Please PLEASE read the trigger warnings. Take care of yourselves and take breaks if you need to. Each chapter will have their own trigger warnings if they apply.

*This is a stand alone fic and is not related to the others in the series.

Chapter 1: Not Okay

The press is eating Ilya alive. Especially because the Raiders had just lost 4-2 to the Admirals. Scott could tell that Ilya was getting irritated, especially the way his legs bounced under the table. Scott was taking most of the questions and Ilya seemed all too willing to let him. Normally, he’d expect the Russian to fire off some mouthy answer or say that the Admirals got lucky. But no. Ilya was uncharacteristically off his game.

Scott answers another question that Ilya replies to with just an eyeroll making the press laugh. He gives a sideways glance to the Raider who was adjusting his sleeve. Something caught his eye. He didn’t want to keep looking because he didn’t want to draw attention but… It couldn’t be, could it?

It looks like there are thin red lines on the inside of Ilya’s wrists. They’re disturbingly familiar and he wants to ask Ilya what they are. Part of him wants the real answer but the other part, the less rational part, wants him to be wrong. That they’re not self inflicted, it’s an accident. That he got the cuts some other way.

Something lurches in his stomach and he misses the next question the reporter asks. Instead of answering, he simply just smiles and says that they’re out of time and done with questions. He sees a wash of relief flood over Ilya as they both get up and leave the conference room.

“What a shit show,” Scott comments, hoping to strike up a conversation with the younger captain.

Ilya just shrugs, “Was bad, yes.”

Scott is at a loss for words. He doesn’t know how to strike up a conversation and bring it up so he says, “You should come drinking.”

Ilya looks at him like he just kicked a puppy. “What the fuck?”

“What?”

“No.” He shakes his head, “I am not doing this.”

“Why not?”

This confuses Ilya even more, “What do you mean ‘why not’? I am not going drinking with a dinosaur. You cannot keep up.”

Scott laughs, “I can’t keep up?”

“No, goodbye.” And then he’s gone.

Fuck.

-

There was something about the way that Scott tried to strike up a conversation with him that didn’t sit right with him. He’s never really exchanged more than chirps with the other hockey player. Scott talking to him wasn’t that out of the ordinary but it was the way that Scott looked at him that set him on edge. It was like he knew something.

Well, Scott was friends with Shane so maybe… did Shane say something about them? Ilya squashes that thought immediately. Shane would never jeopardize his own MHL career. It makes his heart clench thinking about Shane.

If he hadn’t used Shane’s first name… invited him to stay… Maybe he would be texting “Jane” about his victory against the Admirals. He wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of his hotel bathroom wallowing in self-pity. He lost the game and he lost his… his what?

Ilya feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes because Shane wasn’t his boyfriend. But for a while it had felt like it. They’d been alone in his house. He’d made them tuna melts and watched TV. They’d cuddled like a real couple. And then he had to go and ruin it. Like he ruins everything.

Ilya digs his nails into his wrists, feeling pain blossom from the cuts he’d made before he left Boston. He drinks it in, wanting more. But he can’t do more because he’s rooming with Marlow and he does not want to risk his best friend seeing his shame. He needs a distraction.

Ilya slams the door open, making Marlow jump, “Let’s go out! I want to get drunk and make this stupid loud city remember Ilya Rozanov!”

“Fuck yeah!” Marlow shouts and leaps out of bed. His phone is already out, “Club right?”

“Yes,” Ilya confirms, “Plenty of beautiful women.” What he doesn’t say is that there’s no way he’s sleeping with anyone tonight. He can’t because if they see his wrists they’ll know and he can’t risk a leak to the press. But the distraction will be enough.

-

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scroll this much,” Kip comments.

They’re lying on the couch and Scott is lying in Kip’s lap and his boyfriend is running his fingers through his hair. There’s a murder documentary on the TV but he’s not watching. Instead, he’s scrolling on his phone looking at feeds of Shane and his new girlfriend Rose. It’s not what he’s looking for, but it’s unavoidable.

Scott sighs and looks up at Kip. “I’m worried.”

“About?”

He wants to tell Kip everything, but he feels like he’s betraying Ilya’s trust (not that he has it) if he does. “There’s another player that I’m worried about.” Scott admits. “I can’t tell you who because I don’t want to… out him.”

“Out?” Kip latches onto the word, “There’s another gay hockey player?”

Scott shakes his head, “No, I mean out as in, he’s got a secret. He’s not gay, I don’t think.” He pauses to consider it and then confirms, “No. I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” Kip accepts it. “So, what’s going on?”

Scott hesitates, “I think he’s hurting himself.”

Kip’s hands pause in his hair, “Hurting himself.” It’s a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah. I uh… earlier, I saw the inside of his wrists.” Scott swallows, “It made me think of Gordie.” Gordie was a young rookie that Scott used to know, a bright kid with a great future ahead of him. They’d trained together with dreams of making it to the MHL. Except one day, he didn’t show up to practice and Scott found out he’d committed suicide.

Scott takes a deep breath, “So I can’t stop thinking about him. Both of them.”

“And you’re scrolling to distract yourself?” Kip asked. It was non-judgemental but there was a deeper question that Scott knew he wanted to ask.

“Yes, no. I don’t know. I keep thinking that if I scroll, maybe I’ll see that he’s out partying or drinking somewhere.”

“You want to make sure he’s not alone.” Kip states.

“Yeah.” He sighs again, “Is that stupid?”

Kip leans down and kisses his forehead, “No. Not at all. I think you care a lot. And if you want to make sure he’s okay, I’m not going to stop you. I’ll even help you if you want.”

Scott rolls over and climbs into Kip’s lap kissing him. “Fuck, I love you.”

Kip smiles, “I love you too.” 

Scott really wants to grind down on his boyfriend and ride him, but finding a certain Boston hockey player is a little more important. He climbs off Kip and sidles up next to him pulling up his phone.

“So,” Kip says grabbing his own, “Don’t tell me his name, but can you at least give me some generic things to look for?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, “look for anything relating to Raiders players at bars or clubs.”

Kip looks stunned, “Not one of your players?”

Fuck, that might’ve given it away. “Not one of mine,” Scott confirms, “I’d have a better idea on how to approach one of our boys.”

“Got it.” Kip searches through some feeds before texting Kyle (he always seemed to know things).

Scott keeps going through some feeds on the hunt for any sign of Ilya. Or even which hotel the Raiders players were staying in. He was coming up with nothing until-

“I think I found something,” Kip announces and shows his phone to Scott. “It’s not explicit but there’s a club called Neon Nights and rumor says that a few Boston players were spotted there. Doesn’t say who though.”

Scott pulls up the club’s feed hoping to spot Ilya in the background of a photo or even an actual picture of him with some girl. He finds exactly what he’s looking for. A trio of girls has taken a selfie and the recognizable mop of golden curls is in the background. Bingo.

“I can check-”

“No,” Scott interjects standing up, “You’re the best. I found him.”

“I think I deserve a reward for that,” Kip grins.

“Yes you do,” Scott takes Kip’s face and kisses him deeply letting his tongue do the talking. Kip moans into the kiss and it makes it so much more regrettable when he pulls away. “I promise,” Scott whispers into his mouth, “Whatever you want to do, for however long you want to do it, I’m yours.”

“Oh?” Kip raises an eyebrow chasing Scott’s lips, “Even if it’s having dinner with my dad and playing bingo for five hours?”

“Even that,” Scott promises, “Anything for you.”

“Good,” Kip says, “Because you don’t have practice tomorrow and I don’t have work. We’re going to have brunch with my dad and after, I want to keep you in bed all day.”

Fuck, Scott is embarrassingly hard now. “Fuck, okay.”

“Go on,” Kip grins, “I’ll see you later.”

-

Getting into Neon Nights was a lot easier than expected, especially because the bouncer recognized him immediately. The music is too loud, there’s too many people, it smells like alcohol and sweat- oh god, he’s just proving Ilya right that he’s just an old man.

Scott heads to the bar and orders a club soda.

“Just a club soda?” The bartender asks, her voice dripping in judgement.

It makes him want to vomit, but he knows how to charm almost any girl. “Any,” he thinks, “Because lesbians exist and they couldn’t care less if I flirted with them.” Scott leans over the bar and gives her a little wink, “I like to stay sober because how am I supposed to remember all the gorgeous faces around me?”

That does the trick and she blushes. She hands him his club soda and a napkin with her number on it. Scott takes the napkin and politely slides it into his pocket. He almost feels bad; he’ll never call her.

Picking up his drink and taking a small sip, Scott scans the crowd. He spots Cliff Marlow, Victor St-Simon, and Connors. But no Ilya. Frowning, the only other place Ilya could be is the bathrooms but he’s not about to go check. Alternatively, Ilya could’ve already gone home with someone but something in Scott’s gut tells him that’s not the case.

As stealthily as he can, he makes his way towards Marlow pretending not to notice him until they “bump” into each other.

“Sorry,” Scott apologizes before feigning shock, “Oh shit. Marlow!”

Marlow grins at him, “Scott fucking Hunter! What are you doing here man? I didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

Scott shrugs, “It’s not usually. But I was feeling like mixing it up tonight.”

“Oh, I get it,” Marlow winks. He does not get it but that’s okay.

“I’m surprised Rozanov isn’t here,” Scott laughs, fishing for information, “He leave you behind to get laid?”

Marlow lets out a laugh, “Nah. He went out for a smoke.”

Bingo. “Ah, so you’ve still got a chance!” Scott jokes. He excuses himself stating that he needs to use the restroom. His drink get abandoned on some random table and he beelines for the side exit. He pushes open the door and spies exactly who he’s looking for. Ilya leans against a wall, cigarette in hand.

“Rozanov,” He walks over.

Ilya freezes when he sees Scott and then groans. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Scott snorts. “Isn’t it past yours?”

“What? You are copying me now?” Ilya blows smoke in his direction. There’s a light smirk on his face.

“Asshole,” Scott laughs, “I’m only a few years older than you.”

“So,” Ilya takes another drag, “What is it they say about dogs and cats? Ah yes, in hockey years that is like dinosaur age.”

Scott shakes his head with a good-natured huff. “Look, Rozanov, I didn’t come here to exchange chirps.”

“Oh? What? You came to the club but can’t keep up because you’re too old?”

“Ha. Ha. Another old joke.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, I came because I was looking for you.” He closes the distance between them and leans against the wall.

It catches Ilya off guard. For a moment his face flickers with a confused seriousness before he settles into a joke. “Come to suck my dick in an alley?” He teases, “Or do you want me to suck your dick? Because I didn’t think-”

Scott gets up and stands too close to Ilya. And because he can’t think of the best (or any better) way to approach the situation… he reaches out and plucks the cigarette from Ilya’s hand.

“What the fuck!?” Ilya reaches out to grab it and Scott catches his wrist. The one he knows has cuts. It’s a shit move but the slight flinch from Ilya is all he needs to confirm. He lets go and allows for Ilya to take the cigarette back. 

“What the fuck was that you old fuck?” Ilya snaps. He transfers the cigarette to his other hand, hiding the one Scott just grabbed.

“I know.” It comes out harsher than he means it to. Then softer, “I know.”

Ilya freezes. There’s a sudden fear on his face, one that Scott recognizes. He’s seen it a thousand times in his own reflection. A fear of getting outed. Oh, shit, fuck. Another discovery he didn’t intend to make.

“You don’t know anything.” Ilya stamps out his cigarette and makes a move to leave but Scott steps in his way. “Was just a joke. Don’t want to suck dick.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Scott does his best to reassure him.

Ilya’s eyes are darting around looking for eavesdroppers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He makes another move and his face is so fucking scared. And then, “Whatever you heard or might’ve seen, it isn’t true.” That part sets off alarm bells in Scott’s head. Was there blackmail involved? Did someone see Ilya with a man?

He voices his concern, “Are you being blackmailed? By who?”

Ilya unintentionally backs himself into a corner and his breath is coming out in shorter bursts.

Scott reaches out and grabs Ilya’s shoulders. “Breathe, kid.”

“I’m not-” his voice cracks, “I’m not- It’s not-”

“Hey, hey.” Scott finds himself positioning himself between Ilya and his view of the crowds behind him. “It’s okay if you are,” He placed one hand on Ilya’s face to try and steady him. “I won’t say anything if you are. That’s not what this is about.”

Ilya’s on the verge of a panic attack but he’s doing a remarkable job at keeping it at bay.

“Breathe,” Scott orders and takes in a deep breath hoping Ilya will copy him. It works and Ilya steadies slightly. Once Scott is satisfied he won’t continue to panic, he asks again. “Are you being blackmailed? Did someone actually see you? Is there a rumor going around? Because if there is, I can help stop things before they circulate.”

Ilya shakes his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. But what you said-”

“I’m sorry,” Scott takes his hand from Ilya’s face and lets it rest on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“Well good job, you did.” Ilya’s hands are still shaking as he produces another cigarette and lights it. They’re silent for a while before he says in a voice that’s too quiet for him, “You will not tell?”

“I would never,” Scott assures him, squeezing his shoulder, “Being outed isn’t something anyone needs to experience. Besides, that would make me a hypocrite.”

Ilya’s eyes shoot up to meet Scott’s. An understanding passes through the younger hockey player and he just nods. “Okay.”

Scott lets his hand drop from Ilya’s shoulder. He regrets it a little when he notices Ilya unconsciously chasing his touch. “I do still want to talk to you about something.”

“About what?” He looks nervous again.

“Let me look?”

“At what, pervert?” There’s no bite to it and Ilya looks exhausted now. “Because we both like what we like does not mean I want you to look at my dick. It is impressive dick, but-”

Scott does not take the bait. “During the press conference, I thought I saw something.”

“Oh? What did you think you saw?”

He takes the arm Ilya is hiding and as gently as he can and rolls up the sleeves. Ilya freezes but doesn’t stop him. Looking down, Scott can see the damage Ilya has done to himself. Perfect little lines of self-inflicted cuts run across his wrists. Ilya yanks his arm back and shoves down his sleeves.

“What happened?”

He takes a step away from Scott, “None of your business.”

“Rozanov, that’s not something-”

“I said, it’s none of your business. Leave me alone.”

Scott shakes his head and reaches for Ilya, “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can.” Ilya bites back, “Is easy. This is nothing.”

His voice is as gentle as he can make it. “It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like-”

“Looks like what?” Ilya challenges, “I am fine. Is nothing.”

“Please talk to me.” Scott feels like he’s begging.

Ilya’s gone back on the defense. “You don’t know anything old man.”

“Look, I understand-”

“No you don’t.” He’s mad now, “You don’t know anything.”

The side door opens and Marlow interrupts them. “There you are!” He shouts and Ilya’s mask is back. “Roz, there’s this super hot girl who would be perfect for you!”

Ilya shoves his cigarette into Scott’s hand and disappears back into the club.

“What was that?” Scott hears Marlow asking before the doors close.

“Nothing, just stupid Scott Hunter being a buzz kill. I need more vodka to forget.”

The door shuts behind them and Ilya feels his stomach dropping. He was careless and Scott Hunter, Scott Hunter of all people, saw him. He accidentally outed himself and now Scott knows about his shame. It’s too much. He doesn’t want to be in the club anymore. He wants to be home in Boston with a razor in his hand. At least, that way he can make the feelings come out instead of staying inside.

Chapter 2: In a Parking Lot

Chapter Summary

Games are always the perfect distraction. He just gets to go out on the ice, throw some chirps, and aggravate the opposing teams into dropping their gloves. Getting under their skin is one of his favorite things to do. Except, today he doesn’t feel like that. He feels like shit because a new picture of Shane and Rose has started circulating.
-
Scott Hunter shows up at Boston's next game with a plan.

Chapter Notes

Hi so I'm back with another angsty chapter! Please see help if you need it!!!!!
My apologies in advance to any Coyotes fans. I know they don't exist anymore but this was pre their move to fucking Utah T^T

Chapter Triggers: descriptions of self harm, homophobia and slurs from Alexei

If you would like to skip the self-harm, it starts here "Ilya’s feet move of their own accord taking him to the bathroom." and ends here "The moment is over and he needs to leave and get ready for the game."

“How insane would it be to go to Boston?” Scott asks his arm wrapped around Kip in post-sex bliss.

“Boston?”

Scott sighs, “That player I was talking about, I was planning to give him my number but we got interrupted. And I don’t know anyone that could potentially have his number.”

Kip rolls over and sits on Scott’s thighs. “You want to go visit Ilya in Boston to make sure he’s okay, don’t you?”

Scott blanks, shocked to hear Ilya’s name. “What?”

“Sorry,” Kip shrugs, “I kind of figured it out.”

“How?”

“When you came home last night,” Kip explains, running his hands over Scott’s arms that have attached themselves to his hips. “You were grumbling in a way that I’ve only ever seen when you face off against Rozanov.”

“I’m that obvious?”

Kip laughs and leans down to kiss him, “Of course you are. Besides, out of all the other hockey players that aren’t on your team, I hear you talk about Hollander and Rozanov the most.”

Scott shrugs, “I just… I guess because I’ve known them since they were rookies. I kind of feel responsible for them. Even now after all this time.”

Kip looks down at Scott, “I love you. I love that you care so much about them.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do!” He laughs and leans forward resting on his elbows, “Scott Hunter your heart never ceases to amaze me. It’s part of why I love you so much.” Embarrassingly, Scott feels his dick twitch against their stomachs. Kip grins, “That’s the other part.”

Scott groans and flips them over pinning Kip to the bed. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

He kisses his boyfriend letting his tongue slip into Kip’s mouth. Kip pushes up against him and Scott loses himself in the sensations.

After round two, they’re both out of breath and sweaty. “So, Boston?” Kip asks.

Scott laughs, “Yeah. Boston.” He rolls on his side to look at Kip, “Want to come with me?”

“Seriously?” Kip asks in disbelief, “You want me to go with you?”

“Yeah,” Scott replies.

“In public, with you?” The comment hurts, but Scott knows why. They’re still in the closet and being seen together is dangerous. Fuck, he couldn’t even go to an art gallery with Kip without being completely paranoid. Still, Kip gives him another out. “I know you get enthusiastic about going places with me but, it’s really okay. You don’t have to. I’m perfectly content to stay at home.”

Scott can tell that Kip is preparing for him to change his mind. But for once, Scott isn’t going to allow that. Besides, Ilya knows that he’s gay (or at least knows that he likes men). And Kip deserves so much more than what Scott is giving him.

“Come with me,” Scott reiterates, “to Boston for their next game. It’s Thursday.”

Kip smiles sadly at him, “I’m working.”

“Switch shifts. Call Maria or Jeff.”

“Scott.”

“Please,” Scott gives his best puppy dog eyes that he knows Kip will cave to. “Come with me to Boston. I’ll take you to all the art museums. I won’t chicken out.”

There’s a spark of hope in Kip’s eyes followed by skepticism. “Don’t do this to me please.”

It breaks Scott’s heart. “Kip. What can I say to make you believe me? I want you there with me. Please.”

Kip takes a deep breath, “Okay. Okay. I’ll go with you. Let me sort out my shifts with Maria.”

“Thank you.” Scott kisses him, “I already got our tickets.”

“What?” Kip blinks at him. “When?”

“This morning before brunch with your dad.”

-

Ilya feels like he should be excited for the game later. Games are always the perfect distraction. He just gets to go out on the ice, throw some chirps, and aggravate the opposing teams into dropping their gloves. Getting under their skin is one of his favorite things to do. Except, today he doesn’t feel like that. He feels like shit because a new picture of Shane and Rose has started circulating.

Ilya will never admit that he’s jealous. He wants to be the one in those tabloids with his arm around Shane Hollander’s waist and kissing his neck. He wants to show their love to the world and say “fuck you” to the homophobes. Stupid Rose Landry and her stupid charms. Ilya does not want to imagine the way Shane makes her laugh. That should be him making Shane laugh not her.

His fingers are itching to release his anger, his jealousy, his sadness. Ilya refuses to say depression. That’ll make him more like his mother and he doesn’t want that. Ilya decidedly does not want to die. He just wants things to hurt less. Or at least make his outsides match his insides. If he can watch his body physically healing, maybe it’ll do something inside him.

Ilya’s feet move of their own accord taking him to the bathroom. He can’t look at himself in the mirror and see what he’s become. He pulls the razor he’s been hiding in his medicine cabinet. Ironically hidden away in a bandaid box. He doesn’t know why he hides it, no one comes to visit.

Holding the sharp object in his hand, there’s a wave of anticipatory relief that floods him. Soon, he’ll get to feel something more distracting than what his heart is doing. He knows he’s lying to himself but the temporary reprieve will be enough. He turns his wrist over surveying the partially healing marks. He knows he needs to be careful or else someone on his team might see. Ilya is already pissed that Scott Hunter noticed but the old fuck is in New York, doesn’t have Ilya’s number, or knows where he lives. And their next game against the Admirals isn’t for a few weeks. So who cares.

Ilya sinks to the floor making himself comfortable. Pressing the blade to his wrist Ilya lets out a loud sigh when the pinch of pain hits. He vaguely wonders if this is what doing drugs feels like. He would never. Ilya hates pills, he doesn’t even keep Advil around. He watches his blood bead on his skin. The sting grounds him as he makes another cut. It makes his heart race a little and his mind starts to calm. He wants to be greedy and makes another few cuts until… oh fuck.

Ilya stares down at his mangled wrist. It’s nothing life threatening but it’s definitely not something he can easily hide now. Fuck. He’s gone and ruined this too. It’s supposed to make him feel better, not make him paranoid. At least it’s cold enough outside that he can get away with always being in long sleeves. Black sleeves, of course. Just in case.

He sighs and leans his head back against the wall closing his eyes. He wants to feel as much as he can for now. Eventually, he knows he needs to clean up. Avoiding the mirror, he washes the blade taking care to slide it back into the bandaids box, and then his wrist. The blood washes away and there’s a twinge of disappointment. The moment is over and he needs to leave and get ready for the game.

-

Turns out if he dresses down and wears a Raiders jersey, a beanie, and some fake glasses, no one bats an eye at him or Kip. Everyone is too concerned with getting to their seats, wrestling food or not bumping into each other. No one looks twice at two guys there to watch a game. It’s honestly a fucking miracle and Scott nearly laughs when he sees a pair of guys arguing about his, his, stats. Not even when they bump into them by accident. All they see is another fan and an obstacle preventing them from getting to their seats.

Even Kip is laughing about it as he tugs them towards their seats. They’re terrible seats, and definitely the cheapest in the arena. But all the good ones might draw too much attention and the tickets are purchased under Kip’s name. They do have to avoid the jumbotron, but the easiest way to do that is with a giant poster that says “Go Raiders” that Scott can easily duck behind.

The game is against the Coyotes, probably the worst team in the entire MHL. No cups, consistent losses, but for some reason they’re a team who still fights hard on the ice. Shit, they’re not even in the same division as Boston so the game should be a slaughter. He doesn't even think there’s a single Coyotes fan in the area. He spots a handful of burgundy jerseys so he takes it back. At the very least, he knows the Arizona team will have fun. He wonders if knowing they're going to lose allows for more freedom?

The game starts and it’s not what Scott was expecting. Arizona is bringing the heat and Boston is struggling. It takes everyone off guard and the handful of Coyotes fans are screaming their heads off then they score the first goal. What the fuck.

“Holy shit,” Kip’s mouth is open, “I thought you said they were terrible.”

“They are,” Scott replies astonished.

Ilya is giving the other team a run for their money. He skates circles around them, easily taking the next two goals. But then Arizona scores two more. The commentators are going wild speculating if this might be their first win against Boston.

With the game heating up, Scott finds it hard to tear his eyes away. But he keeps watching Ilya trying to pinpoint any kind of indicator that something is off. When his face is on the jumbotron, Scott is searching his face attempting to gain a glimpse into what’s going on with the Russian. But Ilya is acting like himself. Chirping and starting at least one fight, getting sent to the penalty box, and then body slamming the other players into the boards. He looks like he’s having fun except… Arizona scores once more and they’re in the lead.

Scott watches Ilya transform into a fucking demon. He’s not playing dirty but he’s much more aggressive. His face seems to be in a permanent scowl and he’s chipping so much he manages to get five of the other players in the penalty box for attempting to fight him.

“Scott,” Kip murmurs softly.

“I know,” he mumbles back, “He’s slipping.”

In the end, Ilya scores the winning goal. The stadium is in an uproar and the Coyotes fans are hit with disappointment.

Scott stands with Kip and they start to usher out of the stadium. It was time to shed the disguise. He pats the pocket of his jacket feeling for the items he brought with him. A small first aid kit and a piece of paper with his phone number written on it. Maybe it’s overkill, maybe he’ll need it. He really hopes it’s overkill.

“Can you wait for me in the car?” Scott asks, “I’m going to try and catch Ilya in the locker rooms.”

Kip nods, “Of course.”

-

He knows that played very well against the Coyotes. It’s a home game, and they’re not even in the same division. It’s supposed to be an easy victory but they win 5-4 and it irritates him. Arizona isn’t even a place that has fucking snow, he should be able to crush them without sweating. He’s off his fucking game. Throughout the game he felt the sting of his fresh cuts getting irritated with his sweat and chafing of his gloves. The pain helps him to focus so why didn’t it work?

“Maybe,” he thinks miserably, “I need to cut deeper.”

The locker room is buzzing with energy. The Raiders are shocked that the Coyotes even put up a fight. Even their coach is at a loss for words. “Hot damn,” Marlow sheds his gear, “Who knew they had it in them?”

“I know,” Ilya grumbles and drops his own. The others start heading off to the showers and Ilya feels a pang of anxiety grip him. He can’t not shower. It’ll be too odd. What he can do is stay distracted long enough to be the last person to shower and leave.

He grabs his phone automatically seeing another post about stupid Rose Landry. And to make things worse, he gets a call from Alexei. Well, a distraction is a distraction.

“Chto ty khochesh? What do you want?” He snaps into the phone. His tone is enough to make the others skitter around him. Marlow pats him in the shoulder with a sympathetic look and disappears into the showers.

Not even a hello, Alexei starts with, “I need money.”

“No,” Ilya snaps, “I just gave you money.”

“Boo hoo you whiney faggot,” his brother mocks, “Rich boy wants to hoard all the money for himself. Don’t you love your family? What about the rest of us? Huh? All it takes is a little money to keep us alive. Are we not worth that?”

Ilya wants to scream. Now more than ever, he wants the blade in his hand. He hates the words as it comes out of his mouth, “How much?”

“Ten thousand.”

“I can’t send that right now.”

“Why?” Alexei challenges, “Too busy sucking American cock? That’s all you're good for isn’t it? You’re a disgrace to this family. Is that how you win games? You get on your knees and suck the other captain’s dick like a good little faggot?”

Even now, Ilya hates how Alexei’s words get to him. He’s so fucking angry that he wants to punch someone. He hates himself as he says, “Tomorrow. I’ll send money tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“It’s late. All the banks are closed.”

He hears Alexei scoff, “Fine. Tomorrow.” There’s not even a goodbye.

When Ilya pulls back to himself, the locker room is empty except for Marlow who is sitting patiently on the bench next to him.

“What are you still doing here?” Ilya asks, exhausted.

“You good, brother? That uh, sounded intense.” Marlow’s concern is written all over his face. It makes Ilya sick that he’s the cause.

He sighs pretending like the conversation was nothing, “Yes. Fine. Stupid caretaker for my father. Medicine mix up is all. Is good now.” He doesn't feel right lying to his best friend but he needs Marley to not question anything.

“Damn,” Marlow stands, “Sorry about all that.”

“Yes,” Ilya sucks in a breath, “I will shower now. I am gross.”

Marlow laughs and claps Ilya on the back. “See you later.”

“Bye.” Ilya watches his friend leave and lets the rest of the air out of his lungs. He can’t deny that there’s something that twists pleasantly in his chest when Marlow calls him ‘brother’.

Ilya kicks a rock and watches it skitter across the parking lot. It’s late by the time he’s done, but the shower did help his mood a little. The cuts had opened back up and the hot water gave him a much needed reprieve.

“Rozanov.”

Ilya jumps, dropping his phone and clutching his chest. “Blyad!” He sees Scott standing in front of him and groans loudly. “Are you a stalker now?” Ilya bites at him. He picks up his phone lamenting the cracked screen.

“Sure,” Scott shrugs, “Consider me a stalker.” He sees the broken phone. “Oh, god. Sorry. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“No thanks,” Ilya chirps, “I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

Scott winces, “I know you don’t. But I did contribute to breaking your phone.”

Ilya looks down at his phone. He doesn't really need another expense on top of what he’s about to send to Alexei. “Yeah, okay.” And then… “Hang on, why are you here?”

“I felt like taking a vacation,” Scott simply says.

Ilya narrows his eyes, “To Boston?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Is good city but you have been here many times.”

“For games,” Scott points out, “Not for vacation.”

“Okay.” Unsure of what to say, Ilya just says, “Bye.” He makes a move towards his favorite orange sports car when Scott moves forward as well and stands by the passenger side door.

“What are you doing?” Ilya demands.

“Going with you,” Scott says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ilya laughs, “No you are not.”

“I beg to differ. Now unlock the car.”

“No.”

“Rozanov.”

“Hunter.”

“Unlock the door.”

“No. Go away.”

Scott moves to the driver side of the car. Ilya watches his every move, feeling very much like he’s being circled by a shark. Scott backs him into the door of his car. Scott is only an inch taller than Ilya but right now it feels like a lot more. There’s a look in Scott’s eyes that makes him queasy. He knows too much and Ilya hates it.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Scott’s voice is steady but gentle, “And we can either do it here in the parking lot. Or you can let me in your car for ten minutes. I’ll tell you what I have to say and afterwards, I will get out of your car and you can drive home, go party, or do whatever you do after a game.”

Ilya swallows hard and just nods. He unlocks the car and watches Scott slide into his passenger seat. What the fuck did he just agree to?

Scott didn’t mean to scare Ilya, and he feels guilty about it. He knows he’s coming across as too aggressive but he honestly doesn’t know what else to do. Ilya slides into the car, shutting the door. “Okay, you said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

His walls are up and that’s fine. “Calm down,” Scott tells himself, “Just be open and honest. Let him come to you.”

“How are you?” He starts.

“We won,” Ilya replies flatly. 

It’s a non-answer but Scott will take it. “I know,” he simply states, “I was watching.”

“You… were?”

“I was in the stands.” The answer visibly takes Ilya by surprise. “Can I see your wrists?”

Ilya doesn’t answer and Scott opens his hands and leaves them there. It’s an open invitation, but he won’t press the issue if Ilya doesn’t want to show him. It takes him by surprise when Ilya hesitates before offering up his hands to Scott. Gently, he holds Ilya’s hand and pushes back the sleeve.

Scott schools his expression when he sees. There are a lot more cuts on his arm and they’re all fresh too; bright red and irritated. Some have reopened and bleed sluggishly. His heart tightens and he wants to cry for the young man in front of him. 

Ilya’s face is expressionless until Scott lets go of his hand. He didn’t expect that he’d comply with Scott’s request to see his wrist. Fuck, he thought he was going to get a lecture from the older man. He doesn’t even know why he showed him. Ilya tries to withdraw but stops when Scott says, “Hold on.” His heart is beating faster than when he's on the ice.

Ilya watches as Scott reaches into his jacket pocket and produces the small first aid kit. That throws him off. He was prepared for this? 

Opening the little kit, Ilya notes it’s got alcohol swabs, a hand warmer, and some gauze. It’s not anything standard which means… Ah, Scott must’ve put it together for him. It does something to Ilya and makes his heart twist and his stomach fall.

Scott gently takes Ilya’s arm and pushes the sleeve further back. Scott activates a hand warmer and places it in Ilya’s hand. Instantly, Ilya feels the warmth seeping into his cold skin and he hates that it makes him feel marginally better. He hates that it’s Scott Hunter who’s making him feel better.

The sting of alcohol over his cuts reminds him of his father. His stupid father who would hit him and leave bruises on his arms and his body as a child. He always hated his father’s touch. Scott’s touch is different. He’s kinder, he takes careful note of when Ilya flinches. Softens his touch when Ilya winces. He flew to fucking Boston to watch his game and accost him in the parking lot to… to what? Bandage his wrists?

“I used to know someone like you.” Scott says, “Gordie. We trained together.” Ilya doesn’t say anything and lets Scott continue. “We had dreams of making it to the MHL and getting drafted together.”

Ilya can’t take his eyes off Scott’s hands. The way they hold him so gently and clean his angry cuts. There’s no judgement, no yelling. No telling him that he’s weak just like his mama. “Mama wasn’t weak,” Ilya reminds himself. “I am not weak.”

Scott places a clean piece of gauze over Ilya’s cuts and starts to wrap it. “One time I forgot my jacket in the locker rooms. So I went back to get it and I saw Gordie naked. He’d just gotten out of the shower.” He pauses for a breath. “He had cuts all over his legs. Some were old, some were new. I asked him about it and at first he tried to hide it. Told me it was nothing. But I knew that it wasn’t nothing.” Scott finishes bandaging Ilya’s wrist but doesn’t let go. “I had just lost my parents so I didn’t take that too well. Eventually, he told me that it was something he did to make himself feel better. He didn’t want to die, but he needed some kind of release.” Scott pulls down Ilya’s sleeve.

“What happened to him?” Ilya’s voice is soft when he asks.

Scott takes in a deep breath and leans back into the seat. “He died. Suicide. Slit his wrists in the bathtub.”

Ilya’s breath catches. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can say anything. They’re silent for a long time.

“I promise,” Scott finally says, “If this is the last time you ever want to talk to me, that’s fine. I just want you to know there’s someone in your corner, okay?” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the scrap of paper that has his number. He hands it to Ilya. “If you want it, this is my number. Call or text me any time. I promise I’ll answer.”

Scott takes it as a personal victory when Ilya takes it and doesn’t immediately throw it away.

Chapter End Notes

Soooo how are we feeling?? I promise things will get better before the fic is done!!

Chapter 3: We Meet Again

Chapter Summary

It’s been a couple months since Scott last saw Ilya. The Russian never reached out beyond his initial text of “This is Ilya.” At the next Admirals vs Raiders game, Scott makes a big life decision. Ilya is not as okay as he forces everyone to believe.

Chapter Notes

Hello! I'm back with another chapter and I am SO sorry in advance for the whiplash ❤️ Also, Scott and Kip's story follows a bit closer to the book where way more people know about their relationship.

Content Warnings: a lot of depressed Ilya putting himself down, depictions of self-harm (although, not as much as last chapter)

“I saw a movie about you,” Ilya says during their faceoff. “I had no idea your struggles.” Scott remains silent, wildly confused about what the fuck Ilya is talking about. “So sad you turn into wax when the sun comes up.”

Scott actually laughs so hard he loses the faceoff. He manages to steal the puck back for a moment before Marlow takes it from him and the Raiders score the first goal of the night.

It’s been a couple months since Scott last saw Ilya. The Russian never reached out beyond his initial text of “This is Ilya.” And Scott didn’t want to push the issue. But he kept an eye on the tabloids and occasionally snuck into Raider games. 

His personal victory came when he watched a locker room interview where Ilya walked out in a towel (cue one of the reporters swooning over his abs). His skin was clean. He flexed and winked at the camera which made the rest of the Raiders hoot and tease him over it. The scandal came after, when his towel slipped as he was walking away. For weeks, Scott couldn’t open social media without seeing a screenshot, gif, slow motion video, etc of Rozanov’s bare ass. Part of him wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Either way, he was glad to see the young man back to his usual self.

The Admirals win by one point and Ilya is chirping at Scott to hurry back to the museum before dawn. And during the press conference, Scott is happy to note that Ilya is in short sleeves and has clean wrists.

“You look good Rozanov,” Scott says once the press have been ushered away.

Ilya shrugs, “I always look good. Why?” He waggles his eyebrows, “Want a piece?”

Scott laughs, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Aw but is more fun if you’re there.”

Scott takes a second to look around and make sure they’re not being watched before he says, “My boyfriend isn’t into threesomes.” Ilya’s mouth drops open and Scott leaves him with a wink. He grabs his phone and texts Kip.

Scott: Are you still here?

Kip: Of course. I’m waiting for you.

Scott: Are you wearing my jersey?

Kip: Should I not be?

Scott: You definitely should be.

Scott: I want to fuck you in it later.

Scott: In just the jersey.

Kip: DONE.

Scott: I need a favor though.

Kip: Okay?

Scott: Come to the locker rooms. Bring your dad.

Kip: Why?

Scott: Trust me.

Scott: I’ll meet you at the entrance to the access tunnel. It’s where we skate in from.

Kip: Gotcha.

Scott collects Kip and George, making sure that no one else can see them. “What’s this about?” Kip asks, letting Scott lead him down the tunnels.

“Trust me, okay?” Scott has no idea the ramifications of what he’s going to do. Oh god, he’s really going to fucking do this. He’s high on the win and the apparent personal win of encouraging Ilya to stop hurting himself. Nothing can go wrong. And Kip is here wearing his jersey.

“Scott,” Kip stops walking and tugs at Scott’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“Is everything okay?” George asks.

“Yeah,” Scott nods, his grin splitting his face. “I’m just doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He was going to do this when he wins the cup, but now is as good a time as any. And he wants to surprise Kip. Show him for real that he’s loved. He wants to give him the sunshine he deserves.

“Like giving us a tour?” George’s eyes light up and Scott smiles.

“Yeah, something like that.” He takes Kip’s hand and keeps walking down the tunnel until they reach the Admiral’s locker rooms.

“Hey guys!” He shouts. Everyone turns to look at him. Scott claps George on the back. “This is my friend George Grady, I promised him a tour. And this-” He pulls Kip forward and wraps an arm around his waist, “-is my boyfriend, Kip.”

Kip’s mouth drops open and looks up at Scott. The locker room is silent before it explodes in whoops. Vaughn comes up and steals Kip away from Scott. “Kip, right? You have got to tell us what Scott is like when he’s at home.”

“No way,” Anderson shouts, “I want to know how you met!” The others start gathering around Kip demanding to know things like how his curls stay so nice or if Scott is a secret collector of stupid things.

George grabs Scott’s arm, “Thank you.”

“I’m tired of hiding him,” Scott answers, “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” At that George Grady wraps Scott into a hug before he too is whisked away with promises of being shown all the team secrets.

“Hell of a thing you did,” Head Coach Murdock says coming up to Scott. “Brave thing, you did.”

Scott nods suddenly feeling queasy. “I uh… I didn’t plan this.” He finds himself saying. “I just… he deserved not to be kept a secret.”

Murdock nods, “Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

“You gonna release a statement?”

Scott shakes his head, “I uh… I didn’t really think that far ahead. I just thought maybe this was a good start. I don’t know if I’m ready to be out to the rest of the world yet.”

“Let us know if and when you do.” Murdock claps him on the back, “We’ll stand by you, kid.”

Scott feels his eyes welling up. “Thanks. Thank you.”

“Heck,” Murdock laughs, “This might be better than a damn win.” He nods towards the rest of the Admirals who have crowded Kip. “You might want to rescue your boyfriend.”

“Ah, yes.” Scott heads over and breaks up the group. “Alright, alright. Enough pestering Kip. The rest of you still stink. Go shower, get drunk! Go home and rest!”

There are groans of protest and someone shouting which bars to go to. George joins them with a signed jersey from all the Admirals.

“I’ll meet you back at the car,” Scott says and kisses Kip. He hears a few whoops and cheers. But eventually, everyone departs and Scott is the last to grab his bag and leave.

As he walks, he passes by the Raider’s locker room and hears a sound from inside. Is someone still there? He thought he’d be the last one, caught up in the excitement of coming out. It had gone a lot better than he’d expected. Not a single slur or insult. The quiet (metaphorically, of course) support had meant everything to him.

Something in Scott’s gut tugs him to check. He doesn’t know why, but there’s an uneasy feeling that forms. Something that’s starting to scream with each step that he takes towards the locker room. He wants to find a janitor or a staff member. Hell, he’ll even take a snooping journalist.

Scott pushes open the door and steps inside. His stomach drops. Ilya’s cubby is the only one that’s still untidied. His shoes are and socks are still on the floor and someone is definitely in the showers. His heart begins to race thinking of Gordie… what he must’ve looked like in the bathroom. How much blood there would’ve been. He drops his bag letting his feet carry him to the bathrooms, terrified of what he might find.

Scott is greeted with a startled Russian curse and a wet sponge getting thrown at his face. Ilya has grabbed a towel and is using it to cover himself shouting expletives in Russian. And Scott doesn’t need to speak the language to know that it’s along the lines of “get the fuck out”. Ordinarily, he’d apologize and fuck off, except he can’t. Because in the few seconds of Ilya’s body that he saw, he saw his legs. Thighs that would ordinarily be covered by boxers are littered with cuts. Some he notices are enough to tinge the water pink and soak into the stark white towel.

They stand there staring at each other. Terror plainly written on Ilya’s face. Scott has no idea what his own looks like but it must be something awful for Ilya to back up into the wall. Ilya says something in Russian that sounds like a plea of some kind.

“Okay,” Scott finally says, breaking their silent stalemate. “Finish showering.”

He leaves Ilya to finish and heads back into the locker rooms. Luckily they’re all the same layout so he knows exactly where to find the first aid kit. Grabbing it, he finds what he’s looking for and sits on the bench.

Scott: Babe, I’m so sorry something came up.

Kip: Everything okay?

Scott: Not really.

Scott: I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Kip: Alright.

Kip: I’m going to the Kingfisher. I’d like to celebrate tonight.

Scott: I’ll meet you at home. I might bring someone back with me.

Kip: I can go home and make sure the guest room is set up.

Scott: No, go out and enjoy yourself.

Scott: I’m sorry.

Kip: Don’t ever be Scott Hunter. Not for using your heart.

Kip: I love you.

Scott: I love you too.

As soon as Scott leaves him, Ilya sinks to the floor. His chest is too tight and his lungs can’t take in enough air. There’s water running in his eyes and he knows it’s not just from the shower. The water’s already gone cold and he’s starting to shiver. The towel that he used and failed to hide his thighs is soaked on the floor. The irritation of his cuts is screaming at him in a way that’s no longer pleasurable. Instead he’s reminded of his own misery.

He thought he’d be able to swallow the loss and go back to his hotel. Instead, Scott fucking Hunter found him and is waiting for him beyond the showers. He saw the disappointment in Scott’s eyes and it fucking hurt. And he doesn’t even know why. Ilya shouldn’t care about what stupid Scott thinks. He shouldn’t care that he feels like he just disappointed his father. Fuck, maybe this is worse. Worse because… because… does Scott Hunter care? That can’t be right. It can’t be right because he isn’t worth being cared about.

The water is icy and Ilya can feel his extremities going numb. He’s got half a mind to stay and let himself die of hypothermia but he doesn’t want Scott to come back and see him. So he turns off the shower and stares down at the sopping wet towel. He picks it up and wrings it out. It’s cold and gross and definitely covered in nasty floor germs but he can’t bring himself to truly care. It covers him and that’s fine.

He steps out and finds Scott sitting on the bench with the first aid kit already open. His face doesn’t have an expression that he can decipher. Feeling like a child he shuffles in his wet towel to his cubby.

“Sit,” Scott orders and Ilya doesn’t find the strength to argue. He sits and Scott stands grabbing a clean dry towel and hands it to Ilya. He takes it, not bothering to mumble or acknowledge the gesture. The wet one is taken from him and dumped into the bin. Another is wrapped around his shoulders and the warmth makes Ilya briefly close his eyes.

Then, Scott is kneeling at his feet. “Let me see.” His voice is soft and Ilya’s face flushes. For Scott to see he’s going to have to spread his legs and it’s not something he wants to do. He doesn’t realize that he’s shaking until Scott speaks again. “Ilya. I’m going to touch your knee, okay?”

He forces the tears not to fall and he gives a jerky nod. Scott places a gentle hand on his knee. “Can I move the towel?”

Ilya sucks in his breath and shakes his head. He doesn’t want Scott to do anything. He doesn’t want the older man to take care of him. He just wants to sit and vanish into the floor.

“Okay,” Scott is patient with him and it only frustrates Ilya. “Take your time. You can move the towel when you’re ready. I just want to make sure your legs don’t get infected.” Why isn’t Scott yelling at him? Scolding him?

Finally, Ilya forces himself to breathe and he moves the towel up making sure he’s covering his penis. Fuck, he really wishes he’d cut on less on his inner thighs and focused more on the tops and sides. Ilya is aware of how fucked up that sounds. But Ilya doesn’t care how terrible his legs look. No one who cares will ever see them. Shane will never see them. He’s too busy having the time of his life with Rose Landry.

Scott doesn’t react to the multitude of cuts or the various stages of healing they’re all in. All he does is clean them. He’s so fucking careful with Ilya like he’s fucking precious or something and it hurts. Ilya wants to hurt but not like this. He’s irrationally angry with how Scott is acting like he somehow matters.

“Okay,” Scott says after he finishes wrapping Ilya’s legs. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

Ilya blanches. “What?”

“You can pick,” Scott says standing up. “Restaurant, bar, wherever. No clubs.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Scott replies like he does this everyday, “You shouldn’t be alone right now and I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Fine. There is bar,” Ilya says finally. He’s banking on Scott’s terror at being spotted at a gay bar by the press. He knows it’s fucking cruel but he’s desperate to get out of this situation. But he’d heard of the place before and he’d been tempted to go but couldn’t risk being spotted. “Is called The Kingfisher.” As soon as they arrive, or if Scott looks it up, he’ll know it’s a gay bar. He’ll chicken out and Ilya can make his escape.

“Sure.” Scott replies. “We’ll take my car.”

Fuck.

-

Ilya has a sinking feeling when Scott doesn’t need a map to drive them to The Kingfisher. That sinking feeling turns into a pit when he opens the door and greets the fucking bartender by name. “Hi Kyle.”

Fucking dammit. And even worse is when a man stands up from one of the tables in shock and blurts out, “Scott!?”

Scott walks over with a bright smile and kisses him on the mouth. “Hey.” He gestures for Ilya to come over. “Ilya,” He says with his arm wrapped around the man, “This is my boyfriend Kip.”

“Hey,” Kip smiles and holds out a hand, “Big fan.”

“Hello,” Ilya chokes out, staring at Scott. “You are… boyfriends?”

“Yeah,” Scott beams, “Boyfriends.”

Wanting to be an absolute menace and because it’s the only thing Ilya knows how to do he says, “So you are cradle robber now?”

“Fuck off,” Scott laughs.

“Um, do we get an introduction? Or are you just going to ignore us?” The other woman says in the booth. She gestures towards herself and the other man.

“Right, sorry.” Kip gestures to the other two. “These are my friends Elena and Shawn.”

“Hello.” Ilya says again.

Scott kisses Kip on the cheek. “We’re going to sit in the back, I’ll talk to you later.”

Kip nods. “Nice meeting you, Ilya.”

“You too.”

Ilya follows Scott to the back of the bar where they sit and Kyle brings over drinks without being prompted. He gives Ilya a flirtatious smile and hands him a vodka and a beer to Scott. The napkin has his phone number on it. Ilya gives him a polite but tight-lipped smile. He will not need this number.

There’s a game playing on the TV and Scott makes some comments on it. He goes on about the smoothie shop that Kip works at and talks about how he wants to buy some painting for his walls.

Ilya is itching to ask, “You have boyfriend?”

Scott nods, “Yeah. I told you earlier. And you met him, obviously.”

“You are out?”

“No,” Scott huffs a short laugh. “Well, sort of. Uh, the Admirals know and Kip’s friends know. And his dad. But we’re not out to the whole league or the rest of the world. That’s a lot and I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Is he?”

“Kip?”

“Yes.”

Scott pauses thoughtfully before answering. “He’s… I can’t really speak for him but I know that sometimes it kills him that we can’t be out. Or that I’m not ready. But one day we will. Having safe people around helps a lot. It’s easier to be braver that way.”

Ilya nods. He finds himself jealous of Scott but also… maybe he can be a little brave too. “I am not completely gay.” He says before he can lose the nerve, “I like women, yes?” He takes in a breath, “But I also like men.”

Scott smiles, “Thanks for telling me. Are you seeing anyone?”

Ilya looks down into his vodka. He downs the rest of his glass. “No. Not anymore. My-” He stops because Shane was never his anything. He was someone that Ilya fucked. They hooked up. It was that simple… Except that it wasn’t. He fucked up, wanted more, and stupidly believed that Shane would want more too. “Someone I… I loved him.” Ilya can’t believe the words that came out of his mouth. Fuck, he needs to stop talking now.

“What happened?” Scott asks sympathetically.

“He left,” Ilya mourns softly. “I was stupid. He didn’t choose me.”

Scott reaches out and squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Ilya.”

Finally, Ilya can’t take it anymore. “Why are you doing this?”

To Scott’s credit, he doesn’t pretend not to know what Ilya is talking about. “Because I care about you.”

Ilya scoffs, “No you don’t.”

“I do.” Scott insists, “Of course I do.”

“Why?”

Scott takes a moment. “I didn’t tell you about Gordie so you could take notes and be better at hiding.” That makes Ilya look away and sink deeper into his seat. “I was hoping that you’d maybe think of me as someone you can talk to.”

“What if I don’t want to talk to you?” Ilya bites back.

Scott sighs and there’s a deeper heaviness. “Ilya, if it’s not me you need to talk to a professional. Or someone.”

“And if I don’t?” It’s a challenge and Ilya wants Scott to give up. Leave him alone and prove that he’s not worth the time or effort.

Scott looks at him seriously. “Ilya, I’ll have to tell someone.” Ilya grows cold and his hands tighten around his glass. He knows the implications of what Scott is saying. He’s obligated to report Ilya and Ilya does not want that to happen. It’ll ruin everything. He’ll have to go back to Russia. His father will probably beat him for being weak. Alexei will probably beat him for not having money. He’ll lose hockey. The only thing he’s got left.

“Please,” Ilya’s voice cracks, “Please do not tell anyone. I will stop. I will do anything.” He starts rambling, begging in Russian. The fear of being found out is too much. The world is closing in on him and it’s not until Scott is next to him, hugging him, that he stops.

“Breath, Rozanov. I’m not going to say anything.”

“You will not tell anyone?” Ilya’s voice is too soft for him. Too fucking young.

Scott looks at him and shakes his head. “No. Not if you promise me something.”

“What?”

“Call me. Text me, I don’t care. The next time you get the urge. I don’t care what time of day or night. I don’t give a shit if it’s during practice or whatever. We don’t have to talk about it or anything. We can just eat, or sit in a room, watch a movie, anything.”

Ilya looks like he wants to protest but he doesn't. 

“Okay.” Ilya whispers. “I will call.”

Chapter End Notes

Love y'all! Thanks for continuing to stick with me <3 I promise, there's light at the end of this tunnel.

Chapter 4: Finally, He Calls

Chapter Summary

“Hello?” Scott’s voice is thick with sleep.
Ilya freezes, his mouth goes dry and he doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is fucking breathe into the phone. He didn’t plan this far.
“Ilya?” Scott sounds more awake.
“Nothing, never mind,” Ilya says, “bad dial.” He hangs up.

-

Drunk and spiraling, Ilya finally calls Scott.

Chapter Notes

Buckle up folks, it's a heavy one!
Chapter Triggers for descriptions of self harm and talks of suicide (related to Irena)

“Noooo!” Ilya wails, too drunk to properly articulate himself well enough. He leans against Scott who drags him back to his car. Kip walks close behind laughing at Scott’s peril at having to hold up the Russian.

Scott pulls open the door, glad The Kingfisher isn’t too frequented this time of night. “Ilya, get in the car. We’re taking you home.”

“Scott no!” Ilya struggles against getting into the backseat, “You said he’s not into threesomes! I’m respectful!”

Kip howls with laughter and Scott groans. “I’m taking you back to our house so you can sleep. Not so we can have sex.”

“Why not?” Ilya thrusts his hips out, “Am I not sexy?”

Scott groans knowing wherever he’ll say is a trap. “Ilya, I’m very happily in a relationship with Kip.”

“So I’m not sexy?”

Kip laughs louder and Scott pinches his nose. “You are… conventionally attractive.”

“It’s okay,” Kip’s having a hard time breathing now, “You can say he’s hot.”

Ilya nods very seriously and climbs into the backseat. “You have good taste.” He pauses and then with much more emotion that surprises Scott, “I did not taste him Scott Hunter! I am respectful!”

“I didn’t think you did,” Scott assures him and shuts the door. He turns to Kip. “Babe.”

“I’m sorry,” Kip can’t stop laughing, “I’m sorry. You told him I wasn’t into threesomes?”

Scott huffs and grabs Kip possessively (or as possessively as being in public will allow), “I’m not willing to share you.”

That gets Kip to simmer down but his pants to tighten. “Fuck, I love you.”

Scott risks it and captures Kip’s lips in a deep kiss.

There’s knocking on the glass and Ilya has his face pressed to the glass, “Go old man!!”

“Okay,” Scott laugh-groans, “Let’s go home.”

-

It had been a few weeks since then and at one point, Scott had come down to Boston for a few more incognito Raiders games. Ilya had gotten good at picking him out of the crowd - not that he’d ever tell Scott that he noticed the Admirals player showing up to his games. And the press certainly never noticed. It made him feel strange that there was someone who constantly showed up for him with a shittily made sign that just said “Go Ilya!” There was an ache there, one that he didn’t know how to address. At one point during the month, Kip had asked to come by because there was a gallery showing that he wanted to go to. And Ilya had happily obliged. It was new, and exciting to have an openly gay friend (he was even teaching Kip how to chirp properly).

For a while, things were fine. He was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Ilya needs to throw away his phone. He needs to throw away his phone so he doesn't keep staring at the same pictures of Shane Hollander and his stupid beautiful freckles. His chest hurts and his body aches for a boy who doesn’t want him.

He can’t stop replaying that day in his mind. The way it had felt when he’d asked Shane to stay… and he’d said yes. For that one day they could have everything and not care about the stupid world beyond them. For once he was waking up with the love of his life in his arms and it was the best fucking day of his life. Fuck being number one draft pick, that had been ruined by his father. For that one fucking day, for those precious few hours, Shane Hollander had been his entire world and he wanted nothing more.

Ilya had thought just for a moment that things were going to be okay. He’d made them tuna melts. He stocked his fridge with ginger ale. He… he wanted to pretend like he and Shane could be more. Fuck stupid Russia. Fuck his stupid father and brother. He just wanted to be happy. 

“I guess I don’t deserve that,” Ilya thought. Then a flicker of a dangerous thought, “I wonder if Mama was happy when she died.” Fear shot through him. Because he didn’t want to die like she did. But he also didn’t want to be miserable like she was.

A new picture of Shane and Rose popped up on his phone. Just the two of them in some romantic candle lit restaurant. Shane looked good. So did she. Apparently they were the type of couple who had clothes that looked good together. She was in a low cut black dress and he was in a nice brown jacket. They looked like they were in deep conversation and Ilya couldn’t stop the rush of jealousy and anguish.

Fuck this shit.

Ilya crawls off his couch turning up the TV hoping it could drown out his thoughts. But what was even better for drowning out thoughts was vodka. Phone shoved into his pocket, Ilya beelines for the kitchen and grabs a bottle of vodka. He has one that’s already open but he needs the satisfaction of opening a new bottle.

He reaches for a glass because the thought of drinking straight from the bottle makes him feel pathetic. Ilya doesn’t take the time to savor his drink because he wants to empty his brain. Maybe he can watch something mindless on TV and fall asleep or something. He grabs the bottle and totters back to the couch.

There is nothing interesting on, but he does come across a channel playing some black and white movie called Casablanca. It makes him think of Scott Hunter so he watches the movie wondering if he can chirp about it or if it would be too obscure. Either way Ilya pockets a few old Hollywood chirps he can use for their next game. He decides on watching it because he feels too lazy to keep searching. The movie isn’t actually as boring as Ilya thought it would be and for some reason he’s absolutely convinced himself that Scott has seen it. If not, then Kip definitely has. It seems like the type of movie the smoothie barista would watch for the aesthetics of it.

Ilya is halfway through the movie and the nearly empty bottle of vodka is not doing its job. As he watches Ingrid Bergman confess her love to Humphrey Bogart despite being married, all he can think about is Shane. Fuck… He’s Humphrey Bogart and Shane is Ingrid Bergman who is married to Paul Henreid/Rose. FUCK. Is that what his future is going to look like? Watching Shane be happy with someone while he stays single and forever alone?

“I can’t do this.” Ilya mutters and grabs the vodka bottle he tips the last of it into his glass. He laments at his high tolerance and slams the bottle with a little too much force on the table. It cracks and shatters into large shards that scatter across the floor. Some of the smaller pieces fly upwards and cut into his bare chest. Dammit, why didn’t he wear a shirt?

“Fuck.” Now he has to clean up. Ilya finishes his drink and stands, ignoring how the glass cuts into his feet. “It’s okay,” he thinks, “Can’t really feel it anyway.” He stumbles for the kitchen to grab a towel and groans when he sees the bloody footprints he’s leaving behind. What a mess.

Everything is spinning and he can’t see straight. Not that he wants to see straight, but he would like the spinning to stop. Ilya manages to stop himself from crashing into the counter but he comes face to face with his knife block. The silver handles catch the light so prettily and he instinctively grabs one to watch the lights reflect off it.

Ilya catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the knife. Fuck, he looks pathetic. Red eyes, deeper eye bags, and unkept curls that frizz or stick to his face. He slides to the floor holding the knife. Its edges are so sharp and so tempting… and his leg is right there…

Without thinking, Ilya sheds his sweatpants ignoring how it smears the blood on the floor. Whatever, he can deal with his shitty decisions tomorrow. His hands are shaking and it makes him laugh. He can’t even hold a knife straight. Ilya digs down into his leg and drags a jagged side halfway across before he stops.

The movie is still playing and he thinks of Scott. 

“Call me. Text me, I don’t care. The next time you get the urge. I don’t care what time of day or night. I don’t give a shit if it’s during practice or whatever. We don’t have to talk about it or anything. We can just eat, or sit in a room, watch a movie, anything.”

Fucking dammit. He throws the knife across the kitchen. Shit, he’s cut deeper than he thought. It’s not deep enough to kill him, but deep enough to be more irritating than comforting. And it’s just low enough that boxers won’t be able to hide it. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What did he do?

Ilya’s glad he didn’t throw his sweatpants far. He drags it over watching in morbid fascination as it leaves bloody streaks. Fishing into the pockets he pulls out his phone. It’s just past 11pm. There’s no way that Scott will answer. But… at least he can say he tried? Before he can chicken out, he calls Scott Hunter.

It rings for a while to the point where Ilya thinks he won’t answer and then-

“Hello?” Scott’s voice is thick with sleep.

Ilya freezes, his mouth goes dry and he doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is fucking breathe into the phone. He didn’t plan this far.

“Ilya?” Scott sounds more awake.

“Nothing, never mind,” Ilya says, “bad dial.” He hangs up.

Scott stares at his phone screen trying to process what just happened. 

“Babe?” Kips sits up bleary eyed. “Everything okay?”

“No, I don’t know.” He redials but there’s no answer. His heart is pounding. Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong. Ilya’s voice was slurred, he sounded drunk. And his breathing was a little too heavy. He opens his text messages.

Scott: Ilya?

Scott: You okay?

Scott: What’s going on?

Ilya: …

“I’m going to Boston,” Scott tells Kip, getting out of bed and grabbing clothes.

“You want me to come with you?” Kip is already getting up as well.

Scott shakes his head, “No, stay. I think it’ll just freak him out.”

“It’s a three and a half hour drive,” Kip points out, “I won’t go in but at least you’ll have another person to rely on. Let me handle the other things like hotels and food, you focus on Ilya.”

“Okay.”

Scott: Ilya, I need you to call me right now. I need to know you didn’t do something.

Ilya: …

Scott: If you don’t answer me in the next five minutes, I’m calling an ambulance.

Scott: I know where you live.

Incoming Call… Ilya Rozanov

“Ilya!” Scott answers immediately.

“I am fine,” Ilya says, sounding exhausted. His accent seems thicker than usual and his English is even worse. “What do you English speakers say? Dial with ass? Butt dial. Am watching movie. You are in it. Called… Casablanca.”

Scott ignores the chirp. “You’re just drunk?” He tries to confirm.

There’s too much of a hesitation. “... yes.”

“How much?”

“Normal amount for Russian.” There’s a pause and then, “Actually, too little for Russian. Could drink more.”

“Don’t drink more.”

Ilya sighs. “Okay. Fine. Will not drink more.” There’s a mutter in Russian and then, “You are like babushka. Not in good way.”

Scott presses, “Nothing else?” Ilya remains silent for such a long time that he has to look down and confirm that he’s still on the line. “Ilya. You there?”

“Yes, still here.”

“Did you do anything else?”

“Not on purpose.”

Scott’s heart fucking stops.

Ilya speaks again, “Am not going to kill myself if that is what you are thinking.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

His voice is softer now, “Maybe I do not dial with ass. But you answer, so is okay.”

“Don’t hang up,” Scott orders, “Ilya, can you tell me what you did?”

“... was accident. I do not want to talk about it.”

“Okay that’s fine,” Scott tries to keep Ilya on the line. His keys are already in his hand and he’s rushing to get out the door. “But I want you to just tell me something okay?”

“Depends.” Ilya replies warily.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No.” There’s a loud sigh. “I do not plan to die, Scott Hunter. Talking to you is boring now.” He hangs up.

“Fuck, no-! Don’t hang up!” Scott’s slamming his hand into the elevator buttons, willing them to go faster. He calls back.

“Hello, this is Ilya. I will never listen to this.”

-

There is an incessant banging on Ilya’s door. He jolts upright in a startle panic and it makes his head swim and his stomach lurch. Ilya quickly realizes that he’s fallen asleep (well, more like passed out) on the floor of his kitchen. His leg is leaking sluggishly and his feet are starting to burn from the glass shards that are still embedded. The alcohol hasn’t worn off so he’s still drunk and the banging on the door is making everything worse.

Ilya goes to check his phone and finds it dead. “Fucking shit,” He grumbles.

“Shut up!” He shouts to the door. It comes out hoarse but apparently it’s loud enough because the banging stops. And then starts again.

Groaning with irritation, Ilya forces himself to stand trying to ignore how the glass digs into his skin. He’s doing a weird walk that reopens the wounds and adds to the bloody footprints on his floors. Fuck, his house looks like a crime scene. There’s a joke somewhere in there but Ilya can’t think of it.

Reaching the door, he suddenly stops. His memory is a little fuzzy but he distinctly remembers Scott warning him on the phone. Warning him about… what? Fuck. Did Scott call the police? Or an ambulance? Oh fuck no, he can’t handle that. This could get out. The press would know, the whole world would know just how damaged he is. He’d be kicked out of the MHL. He can’t go back to Russia. If that happens… Ilya knows he’d rather join his Mama than go back to Russia.

The knocking pauses for a moment. “Ilya?” It’s Scott’s voice. “I can see your shadow, open the door please.”

“Is just you?” Ilya calls out, hating just how scared he sounds.

“Yeah,” Scott confirms. Fuck, why does his voice have to sound so nice? “It’s just me. I promise.”

Ilya eases the door open and shuts it when Scott enters.

Scott tries so fucking hard to school his expression when he sees Ilya. He looks bad. His hair is disheveled, he’s only in boxers and worse, Ilya is covered in blood. “Oh god,” Scott can’t stop the words out of his mouth. “Oh god, Ilya.” His hands fumble for his phone, he needs to call an ambulance. Take him to the hospital.

Ilya seems to sense this and snatches his phone. “Is worse than it looks.” He states, getting the word order wrong. “Check me yourself. You will see.”

“Tell me,” Scott’s eyes are already assessing as best he can. He’s got one half cut on his thigh that still bleeds, although it doesn’t look deep but is aggravated. His chest is littered with tiny pinprick cuts, there’s blood on both his feet and there are… fuck there are bloody footprints leading towards the door.

Ilya sucks in a breath before answering, “I got drunk. Broke a bottle by accident,” he emphasizes. “Got everywhere. Went to clean it up and saw kitchen knife.” He looks down at his leg. “Started…  then called you.” He pauses. “Did not think you would pick up. Or come here. What time is it?”

“Time isn’t important,” Scott says. He’s so fucking happy that Kip had the sense to stop at a 24hr pharmacy to pick up first aid supplies. “Okay first things first. Where is all this blood coming from?”

“Leg.” Ilya points and then, “Feet and body from glass. Was not on purpose.” He insists.

“I believe you. Did you clean up the glass?”

Ilya shakes his head.

“Where did you break it?”

“Living room. By the TV.”

“Is there broken glass in the kitchen?”

“No.”

Scott nods. “Can you walk- no. Actually, don’t.”

“I can walk.”

“Without tracking more blood around your house?”

Ilya hesitates. “No.”

“I’m going to carry you then.”

Ilya scoffs. “No.”

Scott gives him a sharp look that shuts him up immediately. He sets down the bag of medical supplies to keep his hands free. Wordlessly, Ilya is scooped up bridal style and gently carried. It’s shocking how massive Ilya is, but in Scott’s arms he feels like a child. Even for the distance between the foyer and the kitchen Ilya leans into Scott like he’s never been held a day in life. And suddenly, Scott is wondering if the young man has ever been shown some kind of affection.

He kicks out a chair with his foot and gently places Ilya down. Looking around, he notices there is a lot more blood tracking from the living room and a small puddle of blood on the floor. 

“Clean up later,” Scott starts listing to himself, “Start with Ilya. Treat his leg, then the glass.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says and rushes back to grab the bag. Scott is pleased that Ilya stayed put although he looks more like a dejected toddler in time out.

“I need to shower.” Ilya says flatly.

Scott nods reassessing, “Let me get the glass out of you, and then you can shower. And after, I’ll patch you up.” He’s not giving any room for Ilya to protest. “Do you have tweezers?”

“What is tweezers?”

Scott frowns a little unsure of how to describe it so he makes a pinching motion. “To get the glass out.”

“Oh yes, bathroom. In the mirror- NO!” Ilya jolts upright, gasping and swaying when his feet hit the floor.

“Woah,” Scott grabs Ilya, easing him back. “I take it there’s something you don’t want me to see there?”

Ilya shuts his eyes, feeling himself nod. Fuck, why did Scott have to be so perceptive?

“What if I carry you to the bathroom?” Scott’s hand is on his shoulder rubbing it comfortingly. “You can watch. I’m not going to snoop.”

Ilya nods again, still not opening his eyes. He feels Scott pick him up again and Ilya rests his head on Scott’s shoulder. He feels so fucking small, but even he can’t deny how good it feels to be held. Ilya knows he will never say it aloud, but for some reason Scott makes him feel safe. His thick arms are warm and protective. Something about it makes him ache for the father he will never have.

“Ilya?” Scott’s voice is soft, “Don’t pass out on me now. I’m setting you down on the toilet.”

He opens his eyes and then points to the mirror. “On the shelf.”

Scott turns and opens the mirror wide so Ilya can see that he’s only reaching for the tweezers. Once he’s got them, he sits by Ilya’s feet, gently taking one and uses his phone’s flashlight to see better. He winces when he sees just how bad his skin is. There’s glass everywhere.

“What was the movie you were watching?” Scott strikes up a conversation to hopefully distract Ilya while he starts picking out shards. “I believe I remember you saying I was in it? I’ve done commercials before, but never a movie.”

Ilya tries to force a smile on his face or even a laugh. He can’t so instead he says miserably, “Why do you care?”

Scott frowns at the question like he’s baffled Ilya is even asking it. “Because you’re someone I care about.”

“But why?” Ilya insists, “I am not worth it.”

Scott’s heart breaks and he stops to look up at Ilya. “Of course you’re worth it.”

“But why?” He keeps insisting. “For what reason? We are not on same team, we do not talk, we are not in same state. Who am I to you?”

“Because you’re someone I care about,” Scott reiterates. His hand rests on Ilya’s calf, squeezing it. “It doesn’t matter if we’re not on the same team, talk often, or live in the same state. I care about you because you’re someone worth caring about.”

“That is not an answer!” Ilya shouts, his voice cracking. “I do not understand why!”

Scott lets go of his leg and stands. He pulls Ilya in close, hugging him as tightly as he can. He wants to shield him from everything and tell him not to listen to the demons who told him he wasn’t worth caring about. Ilya grabs his arm trying to wrench him off but there’s no strength to it. He holds Scott sobbing into his arms. He has no more tears to shed, but his body won’t stop shaking.

“No one will stay for me,” Ilya mumbles into Scott’s arm. He leans heavily against the older man now, nothing in him wanting to fight anymore.

Scott holds Ilya’s head close to him, hoping his heartbeat will supply a steady rhythm and calm the Russian. He says nothing, letting Ilya continue.

“I am scared to be like Mama. She was so funny and beautiful. But she was also very sad and lonely… and then she died… It was an accident,” Ilya whispers. “She accidentally swallowed a bottle of pills.”

“Oh, Ilya.” Scott hugs him just a little tighter when he feels Ilya shaking. “How old were you?”

“Twelve… I found her… Papa told me she was weak because she chose to let her feelings take over her.”

“You don’t think that, do you?” Scott asked.

Ilya shakes his head, “No. She was not weak. She was very strong. She must not have a choice for her to do this.”

Scott pulls away from Ilya to kneel in front of him. “Ilya, tell me you don’t think that.”

“I don’t,” Ilya croaks. “But I am scared that I might not have a choice one day. Like Mama.”

“Hey,” Scott reaches up and brushes away Ilya’s tears. “You’re making a choice now,” He says with a comforting smile, “You called me. That’s already a good thing.” He hugs him again until Ilya stops shaking.

“Okay,” Scott wipes away the last of Ilya’s tears, “Let’s finish patching you up. Then shower, and sleep.” He finishes pulling glass out of Ilya’s skin making quick note about how drowsy the Russian is getting. While Ilya showers, Scott heads into his bedroom to grab some fresh clothes.

“How many more times am I going to be doing this?” Scott thinks as he grabs something clear from a drawer. He knows it’ll be as many times as Ilya needs but something needs to change. He doesn’t want to be on the other end of a call if something… if Ilya does something he can’t come back from. Or heaven forbid, finds him.

His phone goes off.

Kip: Everything okay?

Scott: Yes and no. As well as it can be I guess.

Kip: Need me to do a run for something?

Scott: No, I think we’re okay for now.

Kip: Got it. I booked a room at the closest Hilton.

Kip has shared his location.

Scott: Thanks. I love you.

Kip: Love you too! Keep me updated, please.

Scott: I will, promise.

The shower turns off and Scott knocks on the door. “I’ve got your clothes.”

“You can come in,” Ilya answers tiredly, “You have already seen me naked. What’s one more time?”

He pushes the door open and Ilya has wrapped a towel around his shoulders. He sits on the toilet expectantly. Ilya looks like he’s being crushed by the world. It simultaneously makes him look both young and old.

Scott hands Ilya his boxers and starts preparing the items he needs. Ilya sheds the towels shivering slightly while he shoves himself into his clothes. Scott pushes back Ilya’s boxers a bit to give himself room and starts cleaning. He’s cut deeper this time and it starts bleeding again. It might be overkill, but Scott applies a few strips of butterfly tape anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Scott gives his knee a light squeeze, “You did the right thing by calling me.”

“I didn’t want you to see and tell someone.” Ilya admits.

“That’s a good enough reason for me,” Scott keeps his voice calm. “I said as long as you called me I wouldn’t say anything. I keep my promises.”

Ilya nods but doesn’t say more.

“I do want to talk about this though.” He can’t take a distraction approach this time, “Not tonight, obviously. You’ve been through a lot and you should also sleep and sober up.”

“I have practice tomorrow.”

“No,” Scott is firm, “You don’t. Call your coach, tell him you’re sick. Or it’s a family emergency, I don’t care. You’re not going.”

“I am captain.”

“If this was Marlow,” Scott presses a piece of fresh gauze on Ilya’s leg, “Or any one of your players, would you let them play? Or would give them a day to heal?”

Ilya remains silent because they both know the answer.

“Hold this here,” Scott instructs. Ilya does as he says. “It’s okay to not be okay,” Scott starts wrapping his leg. “The difference comes when we can acknowledge when we’re not and seek help when we need it.”

Ilya doesn’t say anything more only giving occasional nods to whatever Scott is saying. But Scott suspects he stopped listening a while ago based on how his head sometimes lulls off to the side.

“Ilya,” Scott whispers softly once he’s done. The young man had completely fallen asleep while Scott was putting tiny bandaids on his chest and wrapping his feet. “Ilya?”

No dice. He was out. “Well,” Scott thinks, gently picking up Ilya again and carrying him to his bed. “At least he’s sleeping now.”

Chapter End Notes

Ah so I ended up adding a 6th chapter because this one became way too long and I chunked it up into two parts. I promise the next chapter isn't as heavy!!

Chapter 5: It’s Going to be Okay Now

Chapter Summary

Ilya wakes up with his head stuffed with cotton and his body aching all over. His curtains are drawn and the clock on his nightstand tells him it’s nearing 11:30am. Fuck, he slept in and he’s got practice in a couple hours. He’s needs-
Wait.
Last night…
Scott Hunter showing up…

-

The aftermath of the pervious night & Scott and Ilya have a long awaited conversation.

Chapter Notes

We're almost to the end y'all, I know it doesn't seem like it. Thanks to all of you who've been sticking with me on this! Enjoy <3

Chapter warnings: mentions of self-harm and past child abuse

It’s 5am by the time Scott makes sure Ilya is in bed and sleeping. He’s fucking exhausted as well but there’s no way he’s sleeping right now.

Scott: I’m sure you’re already asleep but I just wanted to let you know that we’re good right now. I’m going to stay here until he wakes up and we can form some kind of game plan.

Scott: If he lets me.

Scott: I just don’t think he should wake up alone today.

It’s not the most robust explanation he can offer Kip, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. His head swims with worry as he shuts the door to Ilya’s bedroom.

Heading to the bathroom, Scott makes sure to clean up everything and toss all the bloody rags. He doesn’t want there to be a trace of anything that could potentially scare Ilya. When he gets to the living room, the sun is streaming through the open windows.

Scott’s heart nearly stops in his chest. Ilya’s house looks like a horror show. There’s blood streaked across the floor, dried and bloody footprints track between the kitchen, living room, and front door, and there’s a pair of sweatpants resting in a pool of blood by the counter… and a kitchen knife. Tears rush to his eyes and he brushes them away. He needs to focus on cleaning.

Ilya does not have any cleaning supplies beyond a container of dish soap. Scott doesn’t want to leave, so it’ll have to do. At least, he finds a bucket and some towels. Getting on his hands and knees, Scott makes sure to scrub down every inch and every spec of blood that he comes across.

Scott’s phone goes off and he looks down to see that it’s now 8:45am.

Kip: Can I call?

He glances back at Ilya’s room and then decides.

Scott: Sure.

Incoming Call… Kip Grady

“Hey,” Scott keeps his voice low, not wanting to accidentally wake Ilya.

“I saw your text,” Kip replies, “Any progress?”

“Not really,” He replies, hoping his worry doesn’t shine through. “He’s asleep right now and I just finished cleaning.”

“And how are you?”

Scott sighs softly, “I’m just glad to be here.” He doesn’t anticipate his voice getting choked up, “Oh god, Kip it’s bad. I just want to protect him from whatever’s hurting him.”

“I know,” Kip’s voice is soft and loving. “And I’m here to support you, supporting him. I’m guessing you haven’t slept yet?”

“Not yet,” Scott admits.

“Can you look in his fridge and tell me if he has food?”

Scott does as Kip asks and checks. Ilya’s fridge is devoid of anything beyond condiments and what he’s pretty sure is rotting tuna. He doesn’t need to do a sniff check when he notices the mold colonizing the contents.

“He doesn’t,” Scott confirms. He gags when he empties it into the garbage disposal and washes the container.

There’s rustling on the other end and Kip’s voice comes through with a little echo letting him know that he’s on speaker. “Do you know if he has any dietary restrictions?”

“Uh, no. I don’t know or at least don’t think he does. He doesn’t strike me as the type who does.”

“Got it.” Kip pauses for a while. “I’ll come by with food and general groceries. And some spare clothes for you. I’ll meet you in the driveway or I can drop it off at the door. Whatever makes sense.”

Scott didn’t even think about his own clothes. He loves Kip so damn much. “You’re the best,” Scott breathes out feeling a little weight lift off him, “I don’t deserve you. I love you.”

Kip laughs, “Yes you do, and I love you too.”

“You’re right,” Scott smiles, “I do deserve you.”

“I’ll text you when I’ve got everything and I’m on my way to you.”

“Got it.”

“Love you, bye.”

Kip arrives an hour later with bags of groceries and a couple changes of clothes for Scott and a small bag of toiletries. Thankfully, Ilya is still sleeping so Scott is more than happy to run to the door and take all the items from Kip.

“Thank you so much,” Scott kisses Kip who grimaces a little.

“Sorry,” Kip laughs, “You just do not smell great.”

Scott grins and resists the urge to scrub his nasty self against Kips’ face. “I’m hoping to shower and cook before Ilya wakes up.”

Kip nods, “Yes please. I’m still at the hotel but let me know if you want me to run any errands.”

“I don’t want to just keep you on standby. That’s not fair.”

Kip shrugs, “Like I said, I’m here for you. And if that means being on standby that’s fine with me.”

“God, you really are the best.” Scott kisses him again.

“I know,” Kip smiles. "I'm going to do some research and send you some things that I think will help. You focus on the now, and I can help with the later stuff."

Scott hugs Kip as tightly as he can, "I really love you."

Kip kisses him lightly, "I love you. I love your massive heart." He gives Scott a tiny squeeze on the butt, "Go and shower. Check your phone and read what I send." And then he's out the door and leaving.

-

After a much needed and much enjoyed shower, Scott heads back into the kitchen. He’d stuck the knife Ilya used back into the block but he can’t stop thinking about it. It was the biggest knife in the damn block and even holding it, Scott could tell it held significant weight. Part of him wanted to take the knife and throw it away but he couldn’t. He wanted the kitchen to look normal, to provide some kind of semblance of “Okay” for Ilya. If Ilya wanted to toss the knife, Scott wanted him to decide that. He already felt like there was so much in Ilya’s life that the kid couldn’t control, he didn’t want to start taking decisions away from him.

Ilya wakes up with his head stuffed with cotton and his body aching all over. His curtains are drawn and the clock on his nightstand tells him it’s nearing 11:30am. Fuck, he slept in and he’s got practice in a couple hours. He’s needs-

Wait.

Last night…

Scott Hunter showing up…

He hears a noise coming from his kitchen and Ilya sits up ignoring the throbbing in his head. His leg is stinging and his feet feel like they’ve been shredded. He suddenly remembers breaking the vodka bottle and stepping in the glass. Fuck.

Ilya tries to force back a whimper when he stands. His floors are cold and even with the bandages wrapped around his feet he can still feel them. He feels fucking pathetic when he lands on his knees. He’s a hockey player for fucks sake. He’s endured worse. Played with broken ribs, sprains, taken punches to the face, he should be able to handle this. So why can’t he?

He spies house slippers that he’s never really used but right now they look like they’re going to be his best way to walk out without wanting to cry. He’s right because when he stands, there’s enough plush in them to soften the pain.

There’s a set of clothes on his dresser, ones that look like they’ve been prepared for him. Ilya moves slowly but he’s able to get himself dressed and finally shuffles out into the kitchen. His house is spotless and smells like… food. He smells bacon and eggs, and fresh bread.

Scott Hunter is standing in his kitchen making breakfast. He’s in different clothes than yesterday, and his hair is slightly damp. He seems to sense Ilya because he turns around and smiles. “Morning.”

“Hello.” Ilya offers quietly, uncertainly.

“I plugged your phone in,” Scott says gesturing to an outlet by the table. “You should probably text or call your coach.”

Ilya just does and drifts towards his phone. He still can’t believe that Scott is still in his house and cooking breakfast.

Ilya: hello coach. will not be at practice, am sick.

Desjourneys: You’re sick? Not hungover?

Ilya: yes, very bad.

Ilya: a lot of time spent in bathroom or on floor

Technically not a lie, but he’s not going to elaborate. Desjourneys can draw his own conclusions.

Desjourneys: Are you going to be okay?

It’s a loaded question and Ilya doesn’t really want to answer. But he needs to keep his cover.

Ilya: yes, will be back soon.

Desjourneys: Get better, let me know when you’re coming back.

Ilya: thank you

Ilya sets his phone on Do Not Disturb and leaves it plugged in. He doesn’t really want to be holding it right now. He doesn’t want to accidentally see something about Shane and Rose.

“You are cooking,” Ilya simply states. He pulls out a chair and sits wincing as he does.

“Bacon, eggs, and there’s bread in the oven. I didn’t make it, it’s one of those pre-made dough things that you can just throw in the oven.”

Scott’s tone is so light it makes Ilya nervous. He hates that it does.

A thought strikes him, “You went shopping?”

Scott chuckles, and brings over a cup of orange juice and pain killers, “No. I had it delivered.”

Ilya takes the juice but refuses the pills. “No.”

“You aren’t in pain?” Scott looks confused. “I saw you didn’t have any Advil or anything so I got some.”

“I-” Ilya hesitates and then admits softly, “I do not like pills.”

It takes Scott a moment and then he withdraws his hand. “Oh god, Ilya. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.”

“Is okay,” Ilya takes a sip. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he found that he couldn’t stop. When the glass is empty, he notices that Scott has somehow gone from the table to the fridge and places the juice bottle next to him. Something twists in his chest.

“Well, I also have lidocaine,” Scott supplies and goes back to cooking. “So when we change your bandages, we can use it.”

“No,” Ilya remains firm, “No-”

“It’s not pills,” Scott assures him, turning off the stove and plating the food. “It’s a numbing ointment. We can’t use it on your leg but for your chest and feet we can.”

“Oh… okay.”

The food is set on the table and they start eating. Scott offers light conversation about nothing in general but all Ilya can feel is fear. He’s so fucking scared that something will happen. It’s too good right now. Like he’s moments away from disaster… that Scott will snap and something bad will happen.

“Ilya?”

Ilya’s head snaps to Scott’s.

“What’re you thinking?”

“You are scaring me,” Ilya whispers.

Scott’s face twists into an expression Ilya can’t recognize. He puts down his fork and a stab of fear goes through Ilya. “This is it,” he thinks, shutting his eyes, “I fucked up. He’s going to leave. He’s going to hit me. He’s going to do something.”

But then, there’s a large hand wrapping around his own. “Why are you scared?” And god, Scott sounds so concerned.

Ilya can’t open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment. The moment when Scott inevitably tells him that he’s too fucked up. “Because something bad is going to happen.”

“Like what?” Scott’s too gentle.

“I don’t know.” He whispers.

There’s a long pause and then a shuffling. Scott’s hand lets go of his hand and Ilya lets out a choked sound that makes him hate himself more. Then, Scott’s hands are back. An arm is thrown over his shoulder and he’s being pulled into a side hug.

“Ilya,” Scott asks, “Can you open your eyes for me?”

He shakes his head.

“Can you answer a question for me then?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. You can just nod or shake your head.”

Ilya nods.

“Is this…” There’s hesitancy when Scott asks. “Is this the first time anyone has ever taken care of you… like this?”

At that Ilya pauses. His mother took care of him, of course she did. She was the best person in his life. Sveta… sometimes but he never let her see this part of him. He wouldn’t dare show her this side of him. He knows she’d be disappointed to know that, but that’s exactly why he won’t tell her. And Shane… Shane too but not like this. He didn’t know Ilya’s secrets to this extent. He didn’t get the chance. But was there anyone else? 

“Yes,” Ilya answers, his voice remarkably steady, “My mother.”

“Is she the only one?” Scott pulls away to sit again. His gaze turned on Ilya whose eyes are finally open and staring down at his half-eaten breakfast.

Ilya nods slowly, “Yes. My father is not like her and my brother… he preferred to…” He doesn’t want to finish and says instead, “He is like our father.” The words are bitter in his mouth. And then, because he can’t help himself and needs so desperately to lighten the mood he says, “You are like Mama but you are too old. More like grandmother.”

“Older brother at best,” Scott scoffs and gestures for Ilya to finish his food.

“No no,” Ilya remains firm, glad to have turned the conversation around. At least for now. “You are geriatric.”

“When the fuck did you learn geriatric?”

“I learn for you,” Ilya’s so fucking proud of himself. “Tell me, what was it like to live in black and white?”

-

“I will do dishes,” Ilya announces as Scott turns the faucet on. “It’s rude to overwork the elderly.”

Scott huffs a laugh, “You need to work on your chirps Rozanov. Can’t keep calling me old forever.”

Ilya makes a face, “Yes, I can. Unlike you, my chirps never get old.” He rinses everything, popping them into the dishwasher.

It occurs to Ilya that he doesn’t have anything to do today. He’s supposed to be at practice and he’s not doing that so… he could work out in his home gym. With Scott? There’s a slow pit that’s starting to form in his stomach. Scott will probably leave today and then he’ll be alone again.

“That’s okay,” Ilya tells himself trying to stamp down the growing dread, “You’re been alone before. This isn’t different.”

Scott notices when Ilya grows quiet. His body becomes tense and he’s been staring at the running water and washing the same dish for far longer than necessary.

“Ilya?” There’s no response. Scott reaches over and takes the plate from Ilya and turns off the water. 

Ilya blinks and looks at him. “Why did you do that?”

“Your hands are turning red,” Scott points out and Ilya looks down. “The water’s too hot.”

“Oh…” Ilya stares at the plate before he gives up and sticks it in the dishwasher.

“Oh, uh-” Scott gestures to Ilya’s living room, “I wasn’t sure what to do with your couch cushions so I just stripped them and put them in the laundry room.”

Ilya looks at him and frowns, “You strip my couch?”

“Yeah.” Scott takes him to the living room and shows him. “I just removed the fabric. I didn’t think I could get out all the glass shards so I just removed them. Plus they should be cleaned in general.”

Ilya stares at the stark white lining of the pillows. “You cut them off?”

Scott cocks his head, “No? There’s a zipper.”

“There is?”

“How do you clean them?”

“I don’t?”

Scott nods, “Okay. You’re getting some lessons in that this week.”

Ilya freezes, “This week?” He hates that there’s a hope swelling in his chest. “This week” means that Scott will still be here. He’s not leaving.

Scott laughs and claps Ilya on the back, “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Shit, I’ll annoy the hell out of you until you’ll be begging me to leave.”

“No,” Ilya lets the mirth take over, “I will be calling retirement home asking for them to take you. I will tell them, ‘Come get this old man! He thinks he is still very young and can play hockey!’”

“Okay, okay.” Scott rolls his eyes and sits on the couch. “What do you like to watch?”

Ilya sits a bit further away, not waiting to sit too close. Part of him is still too scared to acknowledge that this is what he’s doing now. Scott Hunter is here, and Ilya will have to open up to him at some point. But… he thanks a god he doesn’t believe in that Scott has patience.

“Whatever,” Ilya shrugs and then tacks on a very soft, “Nothing about Hollander.”

Scott takes a mental note of the way Ilya said Shane’s name but flips the TV onto some documentary about tiles in Philadelphia. As they watch, his mind goes elsewhere. Hollander. Ilya had said it so mournfully that it makes him think. “Not anymore,” “He left,” and “I loved him” is what Ilya has said at the bar. Was Ilya in love with Shane Hollander? And if it was… Scott starts mentally going through all the times Hollander and Rozanov interacted…

The hotel number during their first All Stars game… calling Rozanov ‘your boy’ at the MHL Awards… the way they play against each other and it looks like they come alive… his chirp that made Hollander drop his gloves for the first time… oh fuck. Ilya is in love with Shane Hollander and based on what he’d said, it was reciprocated until a very short time ago.

There’s a flash of remembrance at Ilya’s words from before. “He didn’t choose me.” Shane broke up with Ilya. And that was… “When he started dating Rose,” Scott accurately guesses. He wonders if that's when Ilya started-

“You can ask,” Ilya suddenly says softly, breaking Scott out of his thoughts. He curls up into a ball, drawing his knees to his chest. He looks so small which is a feat considering his size.

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, “Only if you’re ready.”

Ilya shrugs, “You will ask and I want to get it over with.”

There's a long moment of silence before Scott nods. “Stop me whenever you need to. None of this has to happen all at once.”

“Okay.”

Scott takes a breath, “Can we start with what happened last night? You were still pretty drunk when you were explaining it to me.”

“I saw…” Ilya swallows. Can he bring himself to tell Scott? The truth about Shane? No, he can’t. Because that’s not his secret to tell. Instead he settles on, “I saw him.”

“Hollander?” Scott wonders to himself, “When?”

“Not in person, obviously.” Ilya adds, “Just… online. It’s hard to avoid.”

“Ah, so it is Hollander.” Scott confirms. The tabloids on Shane and Rose Landry's relationship is hard to avoid.

Ilya continues, “I got angry, started drinking, finished bottle-”

“You finished the bottle?” Scott can’t help but blurt out.

Ilya looks at him and rolls his eyes, “Yes whole bottle. Is not big deal.”

“How-?”

“I am Russian. One bottle is nothing. Is like one beer for other people.”

It sounds so wrong, but somehow Scott believes him. Ilya was drunk yesterday, but on a whole bottle he feels like anyone would be foaming on the floor. “Or you just have a very high tolerance.” Scott points out.

“Yes,” Ilya repeats like Scott is stupid for saying so, “I am Russian.”

“Right… okay, go on.”

Ilya sighs, he was hoping to keep the brevity for a bit but no dice. “I got mad, accidentally smashed bottle on the table. Glass went everywhere and I went to clean it up.” He sucks in a deep breath and forces out the next words. “Went to the kitchen to clean it up, saw the knife and I… I just wanted to stop feeling like shit. So I…” He gestures to his leg. “Then I call you. Did not think you would answer.”

“Can I ask when you started cutting yourself?”

“For the first time or recently?”

Something cold grips Scott. “For the first time.” This wasn’t something new then. “Whichever one you want to tell me.”

Ilya thinks for a moment and then says, “Recently, when… fuck,” Ilya gives into the label that he’s sure isn’t really a label, “When he broke up with me.” He shifts fast, “First time was after my Mama died.”

“Last night, you said you were twelve?”

“Yes,” Ilya nods, “She… she used to do this too. Once I saw her and asked and she told me that it was something she did to feel better, but that I shouldn’t do it. She said it was only because sometimes she felt very empty inside.” Ilya swallows hard, “I didn’t know what she meant until after she died. But I… I just wanted to feel close to her again.”

“Did it help?”

Ilya sucks in a breath, “It did. Until my father found out. I told him why and he just-” he stops talking. He’s oversharing, but fuck Scott Hunter’s stupid face and gentle expression makes him continue. “He beat me,” Ilya breathes out. “He said if I wanted to feel something that he’d do that for me. Or he would get Alexei to do it. He made me…” His voice wavers and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. It’s a long time before he gathers himself. “He would make me undress so he could inspect me, and make sure I wasn’t cutting. I couldn’t be a star hockey player if I was… damaged.”

“You’re not damaged,” Scott automatically replies, “You’re hurting, there’s a difference.” His stomach opens into a pit. It makes sense now why Ilya just submitted to Scott when he asked to see his wrists and his legs. Unknowingly, he’d relied on Ilya’s trauma to get him to comply. 

“Not to my father,” Ilya mutters.

"He was wrong for that." Scott takes a breath, “Thank you for telling me.”

Ilya remains silent for a while. “What now?”

“We come up with a plan,” Scott says. “So that this doesn’t happen again.”

Ilya picks at a loose thread. “I don’t think I’m that strong.” He mutters so softly that Scott almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m not telling you to quit cold turkey, that seems unrealistic.”

“Cold turkey?” Ilya narrows his eyes, “I do not want to eat cold turkey.”

“It just means you stop,” Scott explains, “But more… harshly? Uh… like if you were going to stop smoking, you don’t cut down on how many packs or cigarettes you smoke a day.”

“So I just stop…” Ilya can’t even bring himself to say the word.

“Yeah,” Scott gets up and sits closer to Ilya. “But I’m not telling you to do that. I’m no expert in this by any means, but I did some reading. We can find you coping skills instead. And if you absolutely need to… hurt yourself, then we control it. Call me, I’ll come over. No questions asked. I’ll sit with you and make sure you don’t get sick or get an infection.”

Ilya’s stomach twists. He can’t fathom cutting himself in front of Scott, but he doesn't even know if it would matter in the moment. Would his urge be too much for him to care? “I…” he starts, unsure of what to even say. He doesn’t even know if this is something he can follow through with.

Scott seems to sense his hesitation because he adds, “Or it doesn’t have to be me, it can be anyone you trust. Do you have a support system?”

Ilya looks at Scott, “What is ‘support system’?”

“It’s when you have someone, or more than one person, who you can lean on. Emotionally, I mean. Someone you can talk to who understands you or someone you feel safe with.”

Ilya presses his chin into his knees. The answer is obvious but right now, Ilya doesn’t want to say anything. It makes him feel more pathetic because his “support system” isn’t a system at all. It’s just Scott fucking Hunter somehow, for some reason insisting that he is worth caring about. And if he says it, then he’s just putting an unnecessary burden on Scott. The other man didn’t ask for this, and at what point will he get fed up with Ilya? If he pushes too hard, if he’s too pathetic, Scott will leave… but then again, Scott already saw him at his worst.

His head is swimming and he can’t think properly anymore. He wants to say any number of names but none of them have ever seen this side of him and he’s not willing to risk it. Ilya can’t look at Scott when he says it. “You?”

“Am I the only one?” Scott’s voice is free of judgement, but it almost sounds sad.

“Yes.” Ilya mumbles back.

“Okay,” Scott nods, “then unless you can think of something that will work better for you, that’s what we’ll do.”

Ilya finally looks at him, “What?” He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Well,” Scott replies, “Obviously I’m staying for the week. Longer if needed, but then we stay in touch. And I don’t mean occasionally. Like I said, we figure something out together.”

“I thought you might just want to leave,” Ilya turns his eyes back to the TV which he realizes has been muted for far longer than he probably realized.

Scott gets up and sits close enough to Ilya to place a warm hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Ilya shrugs unconsciously leaning into him, “Most people do.” He says it with so much weight that Scott can’t help when he squeezes Ilya’s shoulder. “My father told me that my Mama was so weak because she couldn’t even stay for me.”

“I won’t do that to you, I promise.”

It’s so sincere that Ilya truly, for the first time in his life, believes that someone will stay. “And you will still show up for games?”

Scott looks surprised and confused that Ilya mentioned it. “Yeah, of course. You… noticed?”

Ilya resists the urge to roll his eyes, “Yes. I noticed. Even when you bring much younger and hotter boyfriend.”

Scott cracks a small smile. “I might regret this but-”A spike of fear goes though Ilya until Scott says, “I think Kip might like you more than me. As a friend, obviously.”

Ilya’s face broadens into a grin. “I will never let this go, Scott Hunter.”

Scott sighs, “Yeah. I know.”

Ilya finally shifts and leans against Scott. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start and Scott is more than happy with that. At some point during their movie marathon, Ilya ended up falling asleep with his head in Scott’s lap.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter is the last one friends! That happy ending is coming, I promise!

Also, there's a one-shot companion piece to this chapter that goes more in depth into Ilya's childhood trauma if you're interested!
It's called Only If You Feel Empty Inside

Chapter 6: Through the Storm

Chapter Summary

The All Star Game is coming up and Ilya is scared about what that means for his future with Shane. Ilya starts to spiral, but luckily Scott and Kip are there to catch him.

Chapter Notes

Here are at the final chapter! I promise only light angst, and happy endings all around <3 Thank y'all for sticking with me on this one!

The Admirals were on a bit of a winning streak and Scott is 1000% certain it’s because of Kip. He can’t say how or why, but it is. Having his team just know about him freeing in a way that he never really believed was possible.

He’s excited to go home, there’s a bounce in his step and when he gets his hands on Kip… he’s going to make him see the whole fucking universe tonight. Scott knows Kip was watching from the living room and part of him really hopes he’s just in Scott’s jersey.

Even in the hallway he can smell something fucking incredible cooking inside. Scott reaches for the door handle and hears laughter from inside. Was Kip on the phone? Or did someone come over? And then he hears the telltale sound of Ilya laughing like there’s nothing funnier than whatever Kip had apparently said.

He unlocks the door and finds both of them in the kitchen. Kip is in an apron (Scott files away the idea to have Kip wear just the apron) and Ilya is in an Adidas tracksuit. There’s some kind of dough on the counter and something boiling away on the stove. It fills him with a type of warmth that make him feel so fucking lucky to have them in his life.

“Oh, have the archaeologists finished studying your bones?” Ilya chirps as a way of greeting.

Scott clicks his tongue and suppresses a smile, “Good to see you too, kid.” Then, “Did you learn the word archaeologist for that?”

“Yes,” Ilya replies proudly. “Kip taught me that word!” He lifts the wine glass he’s holding.

“The betrayal!” Scott feigns offense, dropping his bag and kicking off his shoes.

“Hi babe,” Kip smiles and moves forward to greet Scott with an embrace and a light kiss. Scott does not want a light kiss and deepens it. Ilya whistles when they pull away and Kip’s face has a nice blush to it.

“Is that wine?” Scott asks Ilya. He follows Kip back to the kitchen.

Ilya rolls his eyes, “No. Is vodka in wine glass. Kip says it looks very fancy like this.”

“It does,” Kip affirms with a smile. He pours Scott a glass. “Congrats on your win.”

“Yes,” Ilya nods, “Was impressive, did not know History Channel has hockey games.”

Scott sighs, “What’s for dinner?”

“Well,” Kip says, “Actually, Ilya is teaching me to cook borscht and um..” He looks to Ilya.

“Pelmeni.” Ilya fills in. “Kip is very good cook.” He shrugs, “I did not feel like cooking today so I drove to New York.”

Scott hums, “It does smell good.” In the few weeks that had passed since Scott drove to Boston, Ilya had frequently made trips to New York. He claimed it was to bother Scott and boo him at games (he never followed through on this and came in disguise and sat next to Kip and Elena, or Kip and his dad). But they both knew it was their new system at work.

At some point, Ilya had (on his own) opened up to Kip about his struggles and Kip had been more than happy to be another person for Ilya to lean on. And he was damn fucking proud of himself for it too. Ilya knew there would always be a hole that his mother left, and the one his father would never fill, and a Shane specific shaped gap in his soul,  but… He’d never felt more loved than he did with Hunter and Kip. He would never tell them that though. Kip maybe yes, Scott never. He had a reputation to uphold.

But he’d been doing more cooking lately. Kip had suggested he pick up a different outlet that both made him feel close to his mother but also something that wasn’t related to hockey. Ilya had picked cooking and often found himself making things that reminded him of his mother. Or something complicated enough to make him feel accomplished when he was done. And more often than not, he’d drive to New York (or complain and get Scott and Kip to drive down to Boston) so they could taste his creations.

“New York has better Russian groceries than Boston,” Ilya complains watching Kip roll out the dough.

Scott slides into the barstool next to Ilya, “Any special meaning behind this recipe?”

Ilya shrugs his moon sobering but attempting to fake something lighter, “Was something my Mama made when I needed to… cheer up.” With a tiny smile he adds, “Never for Alexei, only me. He was too mean already, did not appreciate Mama’s food.”

“Ah,” Scott picks up on it, “It’s going to be one of those kind of nights.” It was a kind of night that could very easily send Ilya spiraling if he was alone. One of the nights when something made his thoughts go into a frenzy. And it had taken some metaphorical teeth pulling (and some late night drives to Boston) to get him to finally open up when he was about to spiral. He never said why, but Scott had his own suspicions.

“Well, I can’t wait to try your version. You know, when I looked it up, I thought it was going to be way harder.” Kip moves the conversation along, knowing it’s what Ilya needs instead of dwelling on mixed memories.

“No, boo!” Ilya chimes in, “Only good recipes are in Russian. And you have personal Russian right here. Only Russian you need.” He leans forward towards Scott. “Why are you not helping your hot boyfriend? He is not house uh… housewife!”

“House husband,” Scott blurts out before he can stop himself. Kip’s eyes shoot up and Scott stutters, “I-I mean- the phrase- not that you’re- I mean, if you- I’m not calling- unless- we haven't talked about marriage yet!”

Ilya lets out a loud exaggerated groan, “You are very bad at flirting Scott Hunter. Tell him, Kip.”

Kip sputters, his face going bright red. “I mean, I do have a job and house wife or house husband- it’s more like boyfriend, but if marriage is on the table-”

Ilya’s gaze passes back and forth between them. “Ah, you are too scared to say you want to marry each other, yes?”

“Ilya!” Kip’s face is tomato red.

Scott sputters out, “Rozanov!” It’s infuriating when he’s right.

The young Russian just grins and shrugs. “Yes, yes. I am asshole. But you are stuck with me.” Suddenly his face falls realizing what he’d just said. They were stuck with him.

“Hey,” Scott reaches over and quickly grabs the hand that isn’t holding the wine-glass-vodka. “No one is stuck with you. We chose you, okay?”

Ilya nods quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kip goes in for a hug, “You’re part of this family.” Kip pulls away and cracks a smile, “So in this house wife scenario, that means… if Scott’s the breadwinner and I’m the house husband then that makes you our child.”

Ilya laughs, “Oh yes, you are good father.”

“Does that mean Soctt knocked me up?” Kip asks mirthfully. “Or is it the other way around? I got him pregnant?”

Ilya doubles over, “Yes!”

Scott shakes his head with a laugh and plays along, “Damn right, you got me pregnant.” He throws an arm over Ilya, tugging him close, “Came out 200lbs of pure muscle, curly hair, and drinking vodka.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” Kip laughs. They clink glasses and Kip goes back to making pelmeni with Ilya instructing him.

“It feels nice,” Scott thinks, “To have a full home.”

“Ah, I check on borscht,” Ilya announces and gets up to check the pot.

Scott feels his phone buzzing in his pocket.

Kip: Should I actually try to get you pregnant? 😈

He nearly chokes on his wine making eye contact with his boyfriend who has a tiny little smirk. His face goes bright red but he ducks his head and answers anyway.

Scott: I’d like to see you try. 😉

After dinner, they end up on the couch watching a murder docuseries with Kip and Ilya shouting commentary like they’re pundits.

“It’s obvious!” Ilya shouts, jumping up to point at the suspect as if he was in the room, “He did it! Even the murder weapon was right there!”

“Come on!” Kip groans, “That was basically a confession!” He huffs and cuddles further into Scott who readjusts his arm to a more comfortable position.

“Why is police so stupid?” Ilya wails at the TV.

“And they just let him go!?” Kip yells.

Scott can’t help the grin that takes over. He loves watching them get worked up about it. They have two episodes left and watching the two of them lament over the investigations or cheer on good decisions never fails to fill his heart.

“Booo!” Ilya flops back down on the couch unintentionally whacking Scott in the shoulder. He starts to move, but Scott lifts his arm instead leaving an open invitation for Ilya to join.

It never fails to surprise Ilya just how willing and easy it is for Scott to open his life to him. Taking the unspoken invitation, he allows himself to lean in against Scott and rest his head against the other man’s shoulder.

The docuseries continues to play and at some point, Kip retires to the bedroom citing an early shift. “Goodnight,” Kip plants a loving kiss on Scott’s lips and then, as if he’d been doing it his whole life, gives Ilya a quick peck on the head before disappearing into the bedroom.

“Sleep well,” Scott turns the volume down and turns on the subtitles. They both know Scott has no intentions of joining Kip just yet. It’ll be right when the sun is starting to wake up that Ilya will finally sleep.

It's on these nights when things become quiet that Ilya will start to spiral. Not all the time, and if they’re lucky he’ll just fall asleep. If not, then Scott and usually Kip will stay awake with him, filling the space with talking or just watching something together.

It’s not perfect, and once or twice Ilya spiraled so hard that nothing could make it stop. Those were the worst. Where Scott would sit in the bathroom with Ilya making sure he didn’t cut too deep or keep going. And after, he’d disinfect and hold Ilya until he fell asleep.

“The All-Star game is coming up,” Ilya says softly. His hand finds a loose thread on Scott’s sweatpants.

“Yeah,” Scott replies, knowing where the conversation is heading. “We’ll be on the same team this year.” Ilya had never commented about his relationship with Hollander but he knows why Ilya is bringing it up now. Hollander was voted as team captain and Ilya will play on the same line.

“He will be there,” Ilya carefully omits Shane’s name. “And I am… scared.” Scott remains silent, letting Ilya talk. “I am worried he will be engaged. Or that I am just… someone he will never want to talk to again. Like I am just… something he can throw away.” His voice strains, “I’m scared it will make me feel like Mama.”

Scott lets his other arm come up and wrap around Ilya. He presses a gentle kiss into his hair. “We won’t let that happen, kid. I’ll be there and I’ll look out for you. I promise. Whatever happens, we face it together.”

“Okay.”

-

Compatible is Ilya’s new favorite word. Shane and Rose are not compatible. It makes his heart fucking soar. And now Shane is in his lap, kissing him and making him feel like all is right with the world. He doesn’t care that they can’t be anything because of stupid fucking Russia. Shane is gay. 

He said, “I think I like you a little too much” which in Ilya’s head is basically a confession of love. He wants to say it back, but he won’t. He can’t. He can’t fuck this up again.

Shane’s hands are travelling up his shirt, thumbing his nipples and moaning into his mouth. “Ilya,” Shane lets out a loud moan when Ilya dips his head and finds the perfect spot to suck on Shane’s neck.

A burst of joy explodes in his chest. Shane used his first name. He pulls away and treads his fingers in Shane’s hair. “Again,” he commands, hoping it doesn’t sound as needy as he’s feeling.

“I-Ilya,” Shane complies breathlessly. “Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.” His name sounds so right coming from Shane’s mouth. It’s a song he never wants to forget.

Shane’s fingers scramble to undo Ilya’s shirt but without success. Reluctantly, they have to pull apart just to rid themselves of the offending material. He drops to his knees, eyes already closed and mouth open to capture Ilya’s cock. And fuck, Ilya can’t get his closes off fast enough. They’re not even completely off before Shane is swallowing him like a starving man.

“Oh fuck, Shane!” His name slips out before he can catch himself. But it only spurs him on and Shane is whimpering. Ilya nearly cums on the spot. Shane is using his hands to brace himself when- he feels them. The scars and cuts in various stages of healing, but all healing.

Shane’s mouth is off Ilya’s dick so fast. Ilya panics. He tries to get away but his damn pants are trapped around his ankles and Shane has latched onto his legs to stop him.

“Ilya,” Shane’s face is horrified and Ilya’s chest constricts. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ilya tries to kiss him, “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing!” Shane’s eyes are wide staring.

“Please stop.” Ilya hates when his voice cracks. “Don’t look.”

Shane listens and looks up at Ilya, his stupid brown eyes all watery. “Ilya.”

“Please don’t look,” He pleads, shutting his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Shane’s face. He won’t be able to handle it. “Is nothing. Is stupid.”

“This isn’t stupid.” Shane’s stupidly soft and gentle hands are tracing his scars, treating him like he’s made of glass and he can’t stand it. “Ilya what happened?”

“Nothing!” Ilya tries so hard not to lash out, “Nothing happened! I made bad decision, okay! It’s over, done! I stop!” He’s yelling and there are tears trapped behind his closed eyes. He takes a deep breath and resigns himself to the inevitable. “You can leave me now,” He whispers hoarsely, “I know you want to.”

Shane sounds horrified, “Why would I want that?”

“Because,” Ilya still refuses to open his eyes, “I’m damaged. I’m fucked in the head. Why would you want that?” 

Shane lets go of his legs and Ilya lets out a choked and devastated sob. Here it is, the moment that Shane leaves him for good. But then, Shane is back in his lap; arms around him, hugging him so tightly. Ilya opens his eyes and all the tears fall.

“I don’t want to ever hear you say that you’re damaged or that you’re fucked in the head,” Shane chokes up, “I want you. Ilya I want all of you. Every part of you, even the parts that you hate about yourself. Because I-” Shane stops and pulls his head away. Gently, with both hands he cradles Ilya’s head lifting it up so they can see eye to eye. Shane brushes his tears away with his thumbs. “I- I know we can’t be anything. But I-” Shane swallows hard. “I love you.”

“Fuck.” Ilya’s heart stops.

“It’s okay if you don’t love me-”

“Fuck, Shane. I love you so much.” The words are out before Ilya can stop them. Through the tears they kiss each other until there’s nothing left to cry.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Shane says softly, “But I want to be there for you. I don’t care if that means I’m flying to Boston every week for you. I will.”

Ilya laughs through his sniffles, “I think Scott would like that very much.”

Shane frowns, “What does Scott HUnter have to do with it?”

“Ah,” Ilya admits, “He has been helping me. Him and-” He can’t out the pair so he says, “My friend, Kip.”

There’s a flash of pain that crosses Shane’s face. One that Ilya recognizes as guilt. “Don’t feel bad,” Ilya tries to assure him. “Scott only found out because I was not careful.”

“What do you mean?” Shane’s voice rises in panic.

“No, nothing bad! I did not try to kill myself.”

“You tried to kill yourself!?” He’s on the verge of a panic attack, checking Ilya’s wrists and for some reason, his neck.

“No! I just said I did not try to kill myself.” Ilya’s pretty sure he’s fucking this up, “But I uh… he saw the… cuts once. And did not let me keep going.” It’s an oversimplification, but he knows there’s time for a more in depth conversation later. “Shane,” Ilya makes sure to hold Shane’s attention, “I did not try to die. I do not want to die.”

Shane takes a deep breath, but his eyes are still glassy. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t do this life without you.”

“I will not do that to you,” Ilya promises even with his gut churning as he says it. “Unless I don’t have a choice.” Echoes in the back of his mind. But he will make sure it doesn’t come to that.

-

Ilya wishes he could’ve gone to the MHL Awards in Vegas and shown his support for Scott. But he couldn’t. The press were fucking piranas out for blood and Ilya couldn’t risk it. What he did decide to risk was charming his way into swiping an all access keycard from some poor housekeeper, and texting Scott to ask what room he was staying in. He waited patiently inside Scott’s room, feeling a little like a stalker, but he needed to see him. He watched the awards on TV, then waited for the afterparty to be over. Which took fucking forever.

Scott was glad when everything was over. There were a lot of tight lipped smiles, a diplomatic threat from that fucking asshole Commissioner Crowell, incredibly invasive questions from the press, and some genuine support from other players and awards attendees. Even the afterparty drained him more than usual. But in the end, it felt good to be out in the open. Elena had been right, he and Kip deserved sunshine. He wished he’d been able to bring Kip but there was no way he was about to trust his boyfriend into the media hellfire that was raining down on him.

Blissfully, he’d booked the penthouse which meant privacy. Scott reached his door- was that? The TV was on. He didn’t remember leaving it on, unless housekeeping had gone and turned it on to the hotel’s channel.

Scott opened the door and saw a pair of shoes. Fuck, someone was here. It wasn’t Kip, he’d just sent him a group selfie from the Kingfisher. Carefully, he crept in and found Ilya Rozanov fast asleep on his bed, mouth open and TV set to ESPN. Scott huffed out a laugh and walked over sitting on the edge. He couldn’t bring himself to wake him up so he didn’t. Instead, he just shed his suit, showered, and slept in the other room.

Ilya woke up to the sun shining in his face and the smell of breakfast. He jolts upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to do that.

“Morning,” Scott calls out. Ilya lifts his head and notices Scott peering in from the other room. “Sleep well.”

“Fuck,” Ilya groans, rolls out of bed, and shuffles to Scott. “Sorry, I was going to stay awake and surprise you.”

“Yeah,” Scott laughs, plucking fruit from the breakfast tray, “Well, I was surprised. I thought you were in Boston.” He gestures to the food, “I ordered breakfast for us.”

“Thanks.” Ilya sits opposite Scott. “I was in Boston,” Ilya admits, “But I just came to say um… thank you.”

“Oh?”

“For what you did when you won the cup. Kissing Kip, that was… brave. He is very special.”

“Well, I didn’t plan to do that. I just… I kept thinking that it wasn’t fair that all the other guys got to bring their loved ones on the ice to celebrate. And I wanted that too. Kip doesn’t deserve to be kept a secret.”

Ilya nods seriously. “You changed things. For me at least. Me and… mine. It feels like there is hope now.”

Scott’s smile softens a little. “I’m glad.”

“Not just that though,” Ilya comes a little fidgety.

“Everything okay?” Scott asks gently.

“Yes, more than.” Ilya nods, “Because of you, I am going to Ottawa to spend time with him. It’s the longest time we’ll have together.” He gives Scott a tiny smile. “Is terrifying, da? But I am ready. I have… I talked to my therapist about it.”

Scott’s eyes grow wide at the admission. “You’re seeing someone?”

Ilya nods sheepishly, “I found Russian therapist. She is good and knows about me being bisexual and about… about me. She taught me new coping strategies.” He takes a deep breath. “Thank you for not letting me go.”

Scott can’t resist getting up and hugging Ilya so tightly. “I love you, kid. Kip does too. We meant it, you’re part of this damn family whether you like it or not. I’m so fucking proud of you, kid.”

Ilya’s laugh is full of mirth and tears. For the first time in his life, he feels like his happiness is deserved.

Chapter End Notes

We made it to the end! Thank you all so SO much for taking the time to read, leave kudos, or comments, it means so much to me. I hope y'all enjoyed this fic just and much as I loved writing it. If you did, pretty please toss a kudos or a comment my way <3
I'm a huge sucker for Scott Hunter just being a parent to Ilya/Shane and I'll be writing more fics so I hope y'all will stick around! <3