Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

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

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Platonic Relationships, Male Friendship, Found Family, Marleau is a paladin for the oath of the BRO CODE, He is dragging Ilya kicking and screaming into talking about his feelings, a first name is said but not the one you think, Ilya Rozanov Comes Out To Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov Friendship, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-30 Completed: 2026-04-08 Words: 19,309 Chapters: 4/4

bro code

Summary

Cliff has no clue how to help Roz, but when he sees him struggling after his Montreal girl dumps him, he knows he’s going to have to figure it out. Whether Roz wants him to or not.

~

Ilya very much does not want to be helped right now, but thankfully for Ilya, Cliff is not asking his opinion on the matter.

Notes

Tw: one very minor joke about suicide is made by Ilya in this chapter. It is mentioned the once, and then not again.

If you have read 'pretty boy anthem' then I want to say you look great today, and I hope you have a good day! But also you may notice the very beginning is almost verbatim to a short scene in that fic. That is because this fic only happened because while I was writing that fic, Cliff waltzed in and was so concerned about Ilya that the plot got derailed and I got 1k words in before realizing I would be better off cutting that whole section. But I saved it in another document and I love writing Marleau so much that I blinked and realized I had written around 6k of Cliff & Ilya bestie content. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rule #1: bros before hoes

Ottawa 2017

If Ilya has to hear Connors croon about Rose fucking Landry one more time, he is burning this dive bar down with all of the Raiders inside it. The bar was trash, as was its vodka, but it was cheap and they poured heavy here. Normally, he wouldn’t drink piss vodka, but he had a goal tonight.

He knocks back his vodka just as an excuse to leave the table and get more. Because God truly does hate Ilya, the tv behind the bar is playing some gossip segment on the hottest new couple of Montreal.

“What do you even get for a girl like that on a first date? Roses feel a bit on the nose, don’t they?”

Ilya scoffs, and leans up against the bar so he can wave down the bartender. Hollander probably would get flowers for a girl like that. Something pretty for someone pretty. Hollander just loved pretty things now, and he certainly loves flowers. Or at least he liked lilies until he found roses and threw Lily in the fucking trash.

Fuck Rose Landry. Fuck Hollander.

“Well, not anymore I am not.” He mumbled in Russian, as he squinted down and wondered when the bartender had refilled his empty glass, and why they had only filled it halfway.

“What?” Ilya felt a hand land on his shoulder, rougher than most would, but lighter than he was used to getting in the Raiders locker room, and looked up to see Cliff looking between his glass and him.

“Whoa Roz! Didn’t realize we were playing to win tonight!” Cliff was grinning, but Roz thought there might be something off about his eyes. It was hard to tell though given how much Cliff was swaying.

Roz scowled at him and tried to figure out why Cliff was moving so much. Asshole couldn’t just stand still? “We always play to win.” He realized after he spoke that his accent sounded like it had 6 years ago, slurred and thick. Or maybe just slurred.

Cliff stares at him for a moment, and then the hand on Ilya’s shoulder moves to grip him more firmly. “Jesus, you really are drunk, huh? I honestly was starting to think it was impossible, like a fish drowning or something.”

“I am not fish, I am Russian. Russians do not get drunk and they are not like fish.” Ilya felt fairly confident on this, but less than he would have been 4 shots ago.

“Suuure, bud.” Ilya suddenly realizes that at some point in the last minute, Cliff had shifted in between Ilya and the bar. Between Ilya and the vodka, fuck.

Ilya growled, which was perhaps not as intimidating while resting a significant amount of his weight against Cliff’s hand, and he says, “Marleau, you are pissing me off.”

“Sorry Roz, you say that to me every other day, it isn’t as effective as you think.” Cliff paused, then turned his gaze skyward and muttered. “God, I am going to regret this,” before sighing and moving to gesture at the barstool he had been blocking which Ilya triumphantly, and perhaps a bit unsteadily, sat down in.

As Cliff slides into the one next to him, Ilya realizes that his vodka was now gone, and a bottle of water had appeared in its place. He squinted down at the water, then back up at Marleau. “You are… magic?”

Cliff chortled, “Jesus, drunk you is a hoot! I need to get you trashed more often.”

“I am not-” Ilya started.

“Drunk,” Cliff said in a terrible imitation of Ilya. “I know, I know! And you aren’t a fish, but you should probably still drink that water, Roz.”

Ilya looked at it deeply suspicious, then realized the state of his stomach and grabbed the water. Russians may be able to get drunk with enough piss vodka, but they certainly did not throw up from vodka.

“Sooo...” Cliff let the word draw out.

Ilya scowled at him again, “...What? What are you saying? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cliff groaned, “Cause you look like shit, man? Come on, I know we don’t really do this normally, but don’t make this more painful than it has to be. What’s going on?”

Ilya choked on his water a little, which did awful things to his stomach, and wiping at his mouth said, “Nyet! No things are going on.”

“Really?” Cliff looked extremely doubtful. His eyes searched Ilya's face, and Ilya couldn't tell what Cliff thought he was seeing.

Ilya felt a flash of panic. Outside of the train wreck that was being closeted and whatever the word was to describe what he and Hollander were- used to be, fuck- Ilya had always feared being seen, really seen. He was too much like his mother, but not really because she was good and Ilya was not. It was why no one could look at him too hard, they would be able to tell. Just like his father and brother could always tell. And they would be disgusted, just like his family was. They would leave, just like Hollander did.

Ilya could save this, he had to. “Nothing at all, I am fine.”

“Roz…”

“Marleau.” Ilya tried to glare Cliff off, but it just seemed to make his face shift into even more concern. Fuck, this wasn't working.

“Listen, Roz, I know we don't do this normally, but you know you're my best friend, right?”

Ilya felt a bit thrown by this sudden shift in conversation, and it shocked him into silence for a moment that apparently lasted too long because Cliff groaned again, seemingly more at himself than Ilya and said, “Jesus, I am awful at this.”

“No,” Ilya tried to find the words, but fuck he was too drunk for this. He chugged some more water than continued. “You are… Yes, me too.”

“What?”

Ilya rolled his eyes, “Idiot, I am trying to say you are best friend as well.”

Ilya had thought about Svetlana for a second before he spoke, but Sveta would always be a complicated knot of sex, family, and Russia to him. Friend was not the right word for her. And with a pang in his heart, he had realized it was true as he said it. Cliff had been the first friend he had made in America if you don't count Hollander, and Cliff had been the one he spoke with the most. He was the only Raider Ilya had ever hung out with one on one, or cooked for when the loneliness was driving him mad and he needed to taste Russian food even though none of the recipes were meant for one person. Cliff had shown up with a 6 pack of beer, a smile, and no questions or teasing. Ilya had appreciated the last part the most.

“Oh!” Cliff looked shocked as well for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. “Awww Roz!”

“What?” Ilya said defensively. “You started this!”

“Yeah, but…” Cliff looked like he was trying to stop smiling but couldn’t. “Good. I'm glad.”

Cliff took a breath and seemed to muster his confidence before continuing. “Ok, so we are best friends, right?” A small smile crept back onto his face as he said the words like he couldn't help it, but he seemed more serious than a moment ago.

“Yes…” Ilya said back hesitantly, very suspicious of where this was going.

“So, as the one and only best friend of Ilya Rozanov, it's my job to make sure you're doing ok.”

Ilya groaned. He started trying to make eye contact with the bartender to at least get more alcohol for this, but the man seemed to be purposefully ignoring him. Cliff leaned in over the bar, cutting off Ilya's eyeline with his only hope for more vodka.

“Hey! I'm serious!” Cliff paused. “Look, Roz… I'm worried about you.”

“What? Why worry? I am fine! Completely normal.”

Cliff rolled his eyes. “Oh, so normal now looks like getting as drunk as you got after winning the Stanley Cup after winning a game against fucking Ottawa? It looks like trying to pick up so many chicks it makes me look like a prude?”

“Just because you cannot get laid like me-”

“Hey, I can get laid plenty!” Cliff looked offended, but unfortunately it seemed to only motivate him more.

“Listen, what I'm saying is I've noticed things. And I'm worried about you. You're skipping hang outs, you don't answer my texts, and you're-” Cliff waves a hand at all of Ilya. Ilya feels deeply offended, even if he understands what Cliff is getting at.

Cliff huffs, “I'm worried, and I'm here for you. What is going on? If you want to talk- Scratch that, if you need to talk cause I'm actually sure you don't want to, then I want to listen.”

Ilya should tell Cliff to fuck off, he really should, and he goes to do it but the words won't come out of his mouth for some reason. On the tv, he sees Shane's happy face again, holding hands with Rose Landry. Fuck.

“I…” Ilya started. Stopped.

Cliff waited for a moment, then gently prompted, “Is it Jane?”

Ilya's head jerked to Cliff, and he winced. “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it's been kinda obvious to the whole team that you're dealing with a breakup-”

“There is no breakup!” Ilya snapped. He took a breath then grumbled bitterly, “There would need to be relationship to breakup.”

Fuck, he said too much. Fuck piss vodka and fuck this conversation.

“So, that's what's going on. You, what, wanted more?” Cliff looked impressed, and surprised. “Damn, never thought I would see the day Rozanov tried to tie himself down to one girl. Jane must be something.”

“H- She is.” Ilya barely saved that one, fuck. He realizes now he is actually too drunk for this. He tries to drink more water, but his glass is empty now. Cliff raises a hand, and the bartender instantly walks over. Blyat, that fucker really was ignoring him.

Another glass of water is placed in front of Ilya, and the asshole walks away again to pretend to wipe off clean glasses. Ilya drinks his water, hoping Cliff would finally drop it.

No such luck. Cliff says, “Ok, so you like her, and she, what, doesn't like you?”

Ilya could appreciate Cliff was trying, but he really was awful at this. Thankfully, Ilya was used to dealing with hockey players with no ability to communicate. It was evident from the past 7 years of fucking Hollander that Ilya was one himself.

“She- I am not sure. Yes, maybe.” Ilya realized suddenly that that was the first time he had ever admitted, even to himself, that he liked Hollander. For more than sex.

Cliff just looked at Ilya for a moment, and Ilya got that same squirming discomfort of being perceived again, which he was tired of, from both Cliff and himself. Before he could deflect and get out of this, Cliff said, “Listen, if that is the case, then fuck her. She's an idiot. You're a catch, and if she doesn't recognize that then it's her loss.”

Ilya laughed bitterly as he glanced up at the tv again. Shane certainly didn't look like he was losing. He looked happy as could be, holding hands out in public for millions to look at and talk about, no repercussions at all. And Ilya was here. Alone and drunk.

Well, maybe not alone. Ilya drank some more water, for the first time feeling the smallest flickers of gratitude towards Cliff for this, rather than panic and annoyance.

Cliff continued, “Are you sure though that it's that? What did this chick say?”

Ilya rolled his eyes, “Oh so you want play by play now. My cry story?”

“Sob story, bud. And I don't know, maybe?” Cliff seemed out of his depth here but soldiered on. “Isn't that how this goes? You tell me stuff and I say, ‘that blows’?”

“Well, there is no blowing anymore.” Ilya looked wistful for a moment. “Very sad. It was good blowing.”

Cliff to his credit actually looked genuinely sympathetic for Ilya’s loss. He clapped a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “Sorry, bud.”

They shared a moment of silence for Ilya's loss of any future Shane Hollander blowjobs. Not that Cliff knew that was what they were mourning.

Maybe it was the actual sympathy Cliff was showing, or the hand on his shoulder, but Ilya found himself continuing. The words came out hesitant, like carefully edging out onto ice that one wasn’t sure was frozen enough to keep one from crashing through.

“I tried to make it more than sex, but then I fuck up. I do too much, maybe too fast. Then Jane says she can't do this anymore.” Ilya was looking down at his water just to avoid meeting Cliff’s gaze.

The hand on his shoulder grips a bit firmer, but not the way he has felt in the past from his father, or very rarely, his brother. The grip felt comforting, which was foreign to Ilya. Cliff’s next words were slow, like he was trying desperately to pad his normal blunt way of talking.

“Roz, I’m sorry, man. I would be wrecked after that too.”

Ilya risked looking up at Cliff’s face, and rather than the pity he feared seeing, Cliff actually seemed understanding, like this wasn’t completely changing his view of Ilya to something pathetic. Which was how Ilya felt right now.

Cliff’s eyebrows dipped into something contemplative, and he said, “Tell me to fuck off if this is too much-”

“Fuck off.” Ilya said automatically, but it was ruined by the amused curl that he could feel on his lips. With a start, he realized it was the first time he had smiled all night.

Cliff laughed. “You fuck off! Fuck it, I’m saying it anyways.”

He coughed, and got serious again, looking Ilya in the eye and keeping his hand on his shoulder, sturdy and reassuring. “She said she couldn’t, right?”

Ilya groaned. “Yes, yes. She did. Thank you for reminding me of upsetting thing. You are doing great.”

“Fuck off, Rozy! I’m trying here, let me get to my point! Jesus. So she said she couldn’t do whatever y'all were doing before this. Not that she didn’t want to? She say why? Like what, was it the publicity, or the long distance? She not into rich, ripped Russians?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, “You are flirting? I know I said I am single but this is very bold. I am very vulnerable right now. You wish to take advantage?”

“Oh, come on, I have eyes, but you’re like my brother. Don’t be weird.” Cliff chuckled in spite of himself, and shoved lightly at Ilya’s shoulder.

That made something in Ilya do a somersault. Maybe his stomach, or maybe his heart. Putting aside the brother statement, which was hard to do given how it was making him feel like Cliff had just punched him in the gut, a part of Ilya marveled at Cliff’s reaction. Cliff hadn't gotten mad, or tried to say something homophobic back in defense of Ilya joking that he was at all interested in men. He had just laughed and acted like it was nothing.

God, fuck this. Ilya was tired after all these weeks of needing to pretend that he was fine. He was tired of not being able to tell a single person that he felt like he had just tried to nudge ever so slightly towards something more than sex with another person for the first time ever, just to be looked at with horrified eyes and absolute rejection. He was tired of lying, at least about this.

He looked around him, but the bartender was back to ignoring them on the other side of the bar, and the Raiders were all on the other side of the bar, shouting and oblivious. No one was nearby who could hear.

“Jane was scared to be more than fucking. Because Jane is scared to be gay.”

Ilya could see Cliff trying to figure out what that meant and utterly failing. God, his best friend really was an idiot. Ilya tried to pretend that he didn’t feel immensely fond about that fact.

Cliff said slowly, “Jane… is a lesbian?”

Ilya dropped his head to the bar, groaned, then looked back up at Cliff with a scowl on his face. “You are so stupid. Jane is man. I am man. We fuck. Jane can pretend to be straight if it is just sex, but more would mean he likes to suck dick AND have feelings for other men. Or he just hates the idea of having them for me, I am not sure.”

“Oh.” Cliff’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Finally!” Ilya drank some water just to break eye contact again so he could hide from facing whatever expression Cliff had right now.

“Seriously?” Cliff whispered.

Actually screw that plan. Ilya looked at Cliff with a glare and felt his shoulders tightening defensively, like the moment before he dropped the gloves. Cliff realized how that sounded and quickly backtracked.

“Shit, sorry! I meant, uhhhh, cool!”

“Cool?” Did Ilya not know what that word meant? He felt like he didn’t know, because it made no sense in this context.

“Fuck, gimme a sec, man.” Cliff looked up to the ceiling, then back at Ilya with the type of serious expression he saved for playoff games. “Thank you for telling me. I’m changing what I said before from ‘fuck her’ to ‘fuck him’.”

Ilya couldn’t stop himself. “Actually, bisexual means I do both.”

“Really?” Cliff blinked. “Actually that sounds kinda awesome, Roz. You get laid twice as much! Now I wonder why I didn’t guess it before, you slut.”

Ilya felt the fondness again, stronger than before. He felt his shoulders lowering, and he felt lighter than he had in weeks. Like he had put down something heavy he had been carrying for weeks, or more accurately, years.

“Yes, I get laid even more than you realized. Yay, me.” Ilya waved a hand dismissively, but fuck, he was smiling again. “Also, you slutshame me for being bisexual. Very problematic, Cliff.”

“Oh, fuck, really? Sorry, man.” Cliff seemed genuinely remorseful, then he perked up. “Wait, Cliff?”

Ilya felt deja-vu. What was with him and first names recently? Did a witch fucking curse him when he wasn’t looking? He was broken out of it when Cliff leaned over and gave him a one-armed hug, nearly knocking him over with the enthusiasm of it.

“Aww, you softie! Can I call you Ilya?” The name was borderline unrecognizable with Cliff’s accent.

“Not when you say it like that, no.”

This led to Ilya spending the next five minutes repeating his name slowly, then more irritatedly, as Cliff butchered the pronunciation again and again. In Cliff’s defense, he was clearly trying very hard to get it right, but failing utterly.

Ilya realized after the third “EEL-yah!” that he was laughing, and that he actually might not mind hearing his name mangled in Cliff’s southern drawl when the man was laughing back with him like that.

—-

Montreal 2017

Cliff is just starting to think he is definitely getting laid tonight, when he spots Ilya rushing towards the door to the club with a look on his face like someone had just died, or was about to die.

Cliff looks at the absolute 10 he’s been dancing with for the past hour, then back at Ilya’s rapidly disappearing back. Fuck. Ilya is going to owe him for this one.

“I AM SO SORRY!” Cliff is forced to shout into the girl’s ear to be heard over the music before he backs away, which feels like it makes things worse than this already was.

“WHAT?” She shouts back, looking confused, annoyed, and like she couldn’t understand him over the music.

He shouts over his shoulder as he starts to push his way through the crowd. “YOU’RE HOT! LOOK ME UP IN BOSTON!”

If she says something in reply, he doesn’t hear it. He thinks for a moment he has lost Ilya, but then he catches a glimpse of cheetah print heading out the door, and he follows it, hoping he isn’t just following a girl who is into animal print. He bursts outside into the cold Montreal air, and spots Ilya walking so fast it was almost running away from the club.

“Whoa, hey!”

Ilya turns to look over his shoulder, a scowl on his face. “What are you doing here, Marleau?”

“Hey Ilya” Cliff stresses the name as he jogs to catch up with him. “I saw my best friend running out of that club like someone was chasing him so I ran to see if he was ok. Are you?”

“Fuck off.” Ilya spit, but at least he wasn’t running anymore.

“No, we did this whole game already. I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, I proved that last time. Tell me what’s wrong.” Fuck, Cliff was not drunk enough to be standing out in the Montreal winter in just a tshirt.

“Nothing is fucking wrong!” Ilya shouted, looking like someone for whom everything was wrong.

Marleau groaned and said with as much patience as he could manage right now. “Ilya, bud. Come on, it’s me, your best fucking friend. Just fucking talk to me!” He put a hand on Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya looked at Cliff’s hand like he was going to bite it, and also like he was about to teach Cliff some new Russian swear words, when his head jerked back to look at the club like someone had pulled an invisible leash on him.

Confused, Cliff looked back over his shoulder to figure out what the hell was going on. While they had been talking, a commotion had started amongst those waiting in line outside, as Rose Landry, looking INSANELY good, exited holding Shane Hollander’s hand. She practically skipped over to a car pulling up to the curb, and got inside quickly, likely hoping to avoid paparazzi. Hollander moved slower, and was looking back over his shoulder as he got in, eyes locked on the entrance of the club like he was looking for something. Or someone. After a moment in which he apparently didn’t find what he was looking for, he closed the door.

Cliff whistled, and turned to look back at Ilya as the car pulled away. “Whoa, damn! I didn’t even realize-”

Ilya looked hollow. Scratch that, he looked pissed off, but something in his eyes looked empty and devastated. Cliff would say he had never seen anything like it on Ilya’s face before, but he had. He had seen it a month ago in a shitty bar when Ilya was drunker than Cliff had ever seen him and snarling at a tv. A tv that was running a segment on Rose Landry and Shane Hollander’s new relationship. And he had seen it again shortly after, during the conversation in which Ilya had told him about Jane, a man from Montreal who told Ilya he couldn’t be with him. Oh. Oh shit.

“Fuck,” Cliff breathed.

Ilya had been staring after the car disappearing into the distance, but at Cliff’s quiet swear he darts his gaze back to Cliff’s face. Ilya only looks at him for a second before his eyes go wide and something panicked creeps into his expression before he wrangles his face back into a glare. “No.”

“Ja-”

“Nyet.” Ilya growls, trying to shut Cliff up.

Cliff, as previously stated, is a stubborn son of a bitch (a title Lucy Marleau will proudly call herself if anyone asks, thank you very much), so he isn’t letting Ilya get out of this.

“Sha-”

“No, Cliff, fuck!” Ilya looks furious, but under it Cliff thinks he can detect a flicker of terror.

“Ilya, you seriously-”

“No! Blyat, I-” Ilya massaged his temple and growled in frustration. “Fuck, Cliff. You get a brain now?”

“Hey!” Cliff is offended on principle, but to be honest he was a bit surprised himself that he had figured this out. Still, it's about the principle of the matter. “You can’t call me dumb when I just figured out that you’ve apparently been fucking Holl-”

Ilya lunged and pushed Cliff against the wall with a hand over his mouth. “Not here!”

Cliff was the youngest of 4, he knew how to play this game. He licked Ilya’s hand. Yuck, it tasted like sticky bar tables. He was definitely getting norovirus after this.

“Really?” Ilya hissed, pulling his hand back with a disgusted look.

“You started it!”

“You-” Ilya cut himself off, swore in Russian, then after a moment of scowling thought, said, “Hotel. Then we talk.”

Thank god Cliff had his phone and wallet on him. He would text Carmichael to grab his jacket. He needed to order an Uber.

—-

Ilya only lets Cliff talk once they are in the hotel room with both locks on the door in place. Then he grits his teeth like he's about to get punched and says, “Okei, go.”

“Dude.” Cliff stared at Ilya. Ilya stared back with a scowl.

Cliff said it again. “Dude!”

Ilya's scowl deepened. “What?” The stress seemed to be making his accent thicker, or maybe he was just trying to play up the scary Russian act. Cliff has seen Ilya watch too many puppy videos to be fooled by that though.

Cliff put up his hand for a high five. “NICE!”

Ilya looked at Cliff’s hand then at Cliff like the two things were separate entities and he had no idea how they were connected. “What?”

“Bro!” Cliff was grinning, both at the situation and Ilya's face. “You fucking bagged Hollander? I don't like dick but the guy is a literal fucking underwear model! How was the sex?”

Ilya looked like he had no idea what language Cliff was speaking at all. Cliff still had his hand in the air, but once it became clear that Ilya was going to leave him hanging, he lowered it reluctantly.

Slowly, like Cliff really was going to punch him any second, Ilya said, “You are congratulating me… on fucking Hollander?”

Cliff blinked, “Well, yeah man. If I saw you had hooked up with a Victoria's Secret model I would highfive you too. Calvin Klein is like the dude equivalent, right?”

Ilya seemed cautious as he said, “You are not confused? Surprised?”

Cliff sat down on the end of the bed. “Well, sure I was. I was freaking out for that whole car ride. But then when I thought about it more, it all kinda made sense, you know?”

Ilya looked like he did not know in fact. “Made sense? How does me fucking Hollander make sense? Why are you not angry right now?”

“I mean, you've always seemed kinda obsessed with him- Angry, why would I be angry?”

“You are not asking, ‘did you throw games? Did you play bad because you suck his dick and don't hate him?’”

Cliff snorted and held up a finger. “First off, I never thought you hated Hollander. You grin the whole time you are playing him, and for days afterwards. At least you used to.”

He held up a second finger. “Second, it's impossible to think you play bad on purpose against him both because I think it would kill you to even try and also cause you look like you're trying to kill the guy out there half the time. Can't believe you board the guy like that on the regular and he still wants to fuck you.”

Ilya stilled as memories of earlier in the night insistently demanded his attention again. “Used to fuck me. Not anymore.”

Cliff winced. “Shit, sorry man. Got caught up in the moment and forgot.” He pats the bed next to him, then when Ilya makes no movement towards it, he pats it even harder and says, “Come on, asshole, sit down next to your best bud Cliff and talk about it.”

Ilya grimaced. “I regret telling you that.”

Cliff winked at him, “No take backs, Ilya! Fuckin’ got you. Now sit down.”

Ilya groaned and sat down, complaining as he did so, “You are strange man. What hockey player wants to talk this much?”

Cliff shrugged, “I've got 3 older sisters and was raised by a single mom. I've been harassed into talking about my feelings my whole life, y'know? Taught me some things about how you force stubborn bastards like me to open up.”

Ilya sat on the bed rigid and tense like the thing was going to bite him. He stared at Cliff. Cliff stared back at him. The moment stretched into a minute, then another, before Cliff groaned and threw his head back.

“Jesus, Ilya! You're even fucking worse at this then I am.”

Ilya gritted out through his teeth. “Well, yes, some of us do not have sisters to teach us. Or moms.”

Cliff sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Damn, really? Fuck, we are talking about that another time, ok? Let's start with Jane- I mean Shane.”

“Hollander,” Ilya corrected, but if he was being honest while he still did not want to talk about Hollander, he wanted to talk about his mother even less.

Cliff raised an eyebrow, “You been hooking up for how many years and you still call him Hollander? Y'all do that in bed too?”

Ilya was going to kill Cliff. Or maybe himself. “6 years and yes, Hollander felt very strongly about no Shane in bed or otherwise. Is why he left.”

Cliff looked surprised, then pissed. “Wait, 6 years of screwing each other and he ends it because you wanted to call him by his first name? Who the hell does he fucking think he is?”

“Shane Hollander?” Ilya offered, grumpy at first, but when Cliff barks out a laugh he is shocked to find that his lips are fighting to twist into a smile. He shuts it down of course, but the fact that it happened at all after this dogshit night was impressive.

“Even Shane fucking Hollander can put on his big boy pants and let his 6 year hookup call him Shane. Speaking of, 6 years is fucking forever! That's your rookie year, right?”

“Summer before actually.”

Cliff let out an impressed whistle. “Damn, Rozy! How the hell did you pull that off?”

Ilya knew Holland- Shane, fuck it- would not want him to talk about this, but Ilya frankly couldn't care less about that right now. Not now that the bigger secret was out, and not now that Shane was casually grinding Ilya's heart into broken glass in Montreal clubs. Also, sue him, he has wanted to brag about pulling the NHL's Hottest Player for years.

“We have commercial summer before rookie year together. I asked for us to film together, we hooked up for first time then.”

Cliff seemed enthralled, and like he would be eating popcorn if he had it right then. “How did you even know he liked dick?”

Ilya smiled smugly. “Was pretty obvious when he got hard after staring at my ass in the shower.”

Cliff hooted and grabbed Ilya’s shoulder in a one armed hug. “ROZY! Damn! God, I wish I had as much game as you do. Turned fucking Shane Hollander to the dick side without even trying.”

“There was some flexing.” Ilya added modestly.

Cliff cackled and clapped Ilya’s shoulder again. “With you, I don't doubt it. 6 fucking years, man!”

Ilya sobered up at the reminder. “Yes. Well, done now. Must go flex in shower for some other hot hockey player. You have suggestions?”

Cliff got serious as well, but didn't let go of Ilya's shoulder. “Hey, sorry man, I keep getting distracted by the insanity of it all, but I know this sucks for you.”

Ilya scratched at his nose, looking away from Cliff. “Does not suck. Was good sex occasionally for long time, is over now. I find new dick eventually.”

“Come on, Ilya, don't lie to me. If Shane really was Jane then I know you liked him, and I mean actually liked him, not just banging him.”

Ilya wanted to make a joke about the banging again, but the words were stuck in his throat. Embarrassingly, he felt his eyes starting to prickle. He hurriedly cleared his throat and grumbled, “Is nothing. He likes girls now, and does not want to look at me.”

“You sure about that, bud?” Cliff said carefully. “Cause where I was standing, it looked like he was trying to spot you before he left. Also, if I'm being honest, Rose Landry- which fuck, that has to have sucked to see them together constantly, I didn't even think about that- she looked like she was skipping off to get to the bedroom. And Hollander looked like he was walking to his fucking execution. If Rose Landry was looking at me like that, I would have been skipping myself. You confident he likes girls?”

“He said so, but…”

“But?” Cliff raised an eyebrow.

Ilya rolled his eyes and turned to lock eyes with Cliff for the first time this whole conversation. “Hollander is gay. Very gay.”

“Huh!” Cliff looked thoughtful, then said, “Well, I guess you would know.”

“Yes. I know.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, contemplating Shane's undeniable homosexuality, then Cliff said, “Ok, this is the part where my sisters would probably say something like ‘fuck him, you're better off without the dickbag’ and maybe I should, but I've seen how happy you get texting him over the years. I never see you get that happy for anything else. And I also saw the way Hollander was looking around for you before he left.”

“Marleau.” Ilya said with warning in his tone.

“Ilya,” Cliff said, stressing the first name again. “Hear me out! What I'm sayin’ is that I think you have a chance.”

“A chance.” It was not a question.

“Yes, Roz, Jesus!” Cliff let go of Ilya so he could start gesticulating with his hands. “You say Hollander is gay, I believe you. Rose Landry is a fucking 10 man, she's not gonna stick with someone not into her. She's got plenty of other dudes to pick from who can get it up.”

Ilya felt offended on Shane's behalf despite himself, then pissed at himself that he was offended. Maybe that was why he gave in and said, “So?”

“Sooo,” Cliff grinned and nudged Ilya, “You've got a chance to get your man back! If he deserves it is another thing. I'll say what my sisters would definitely say and tell you that Hollander better apologize and beg for forgiveness before you even consider it, but seriously I think there's a chance he will be single again and thinking about what he had.”

“Just because you go back to your exes-” Ilya couldn't resist.

Cliff squawked, “Hey, that was once!”

“Twice.”

“Shit, really?”

“Amanda.”

Cliff grimaced. “Ooooh yeah. Shit, I think I repressed that one.”

Ilya found himself huffing out a small laugh as he said, “As you should. She was, what is word, a bitch?”

“Bro, I'm not sure its ok to say that about women. As a dude I mean, my sisters say it all the time.” Cliff looked serious, then thoughtful. “Or is it allowed if you like dick too? Like a solidarity thing?”

Ilya couldn’t stop the laughter that came out of him after that.

—---

Tampa 2017

Text from Marleau:
ROZY! Killer fucking goal, that goalie looked like he was pissing himself seeing you coming!
Also, Ilya. Ilya. My man. YOU KISSED HIS HELMET?
Pick up the phone, you're giving me details, you fucking legend

Text from Roz:
I do not kiss and tell
But Jane was checking me out at pool
;)

Text from Marleau:
HELL YEAH
GET IT ROZ!!!
🍆❤️🍆

Chapter 2: Rule #2: when your bro needs you, you're there.

Chapter Summary

Ilya gets some calls. Cliff gets jetlag.

Chapter Notes

Trigger warnings for this chapter: Discussions of domestic abuse, suicide, and death of a parent.

The US suicide hotline is 988.
The domestic violence hotline is 800-799-7233.

Take care of yourself and your friends. ❤️

Ilya is suspiciously close-mouthed when he comes back from Tampa. He's unwilling to share any details in a way that makes Cliff suspect something more than hooking up with Hollander had happened. Ilya seems pensive, like he was considering some choice that Cliff had a fairly good guess as to what it was. Even so, something seems lighter about Ilya, and he's definitely less pissed off than he has been for the past few months.

The boys notice it too. After a practice with less suicide drills and bagskates then they have had in months, Hammersmith sighs in relief once Ilya is in the shower and says, “I think we actually survived the great breakup of 2017.”

Connors looks like a man saved from execution. “Oh thank god. I thought I was gonna die before we even made it to playoffs.”

Carmichael nudges Cliff with his shoulder, “Marleau, you know if he's back with Jane, or is there some new chick that Rozanov is banging?”

Cliff debates for a moment if this crosses a line for Ilya, but it sounds like the boys suspected already and it was something Cliff would have said before he found out it was actually Hollander that Ilya was banging. Plus, maybe it would help Ilya's cover? Fuck, this secret shit was hard, he wasn't sure how Ilya did it. Cliff would out himself within the day if it was him.

Deciding to play it cool like he would normally, he shrugged and said, “He hasn't told me directly but I'm pretty fuckin’ sure Jane decided Roz was worth the trouble again.”

A round of whoops and cheers went up the room, until a voice cut through it all.

“What is this about my trouble?” Ilya strided up to his locker with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He cut a sharp look around the room as all of the Raiders present dropped their eyes to the floor. “You are all missing my trouble?”

There were some indistinct mumbles around the room as everyone avoided looking at Ilya, except for Cliff who wasn't scared of his admittedly terrifying friend. Maybe that was a sign of him not being the sharpest tool in the shed, but Cliff preferred to think of it as a sign of their friendship instead.

Over the Raiders' ducked heads, Ilya caught Cliff’s eye and winked.

Oh yeah, Hollander and Ilya had definitely banged during All Stars.

—

Unfortunately, the post-sex glow went away fairly quickly over the next week. Ilya seems increasingly tense, and checks his phone regularly. Cliff has picked up over time that Ilya's family situation wasn't great, and Ilya had mentioned off-handedly in the past that his father was sick. Cliff suspected that things must be worsening with his dad, because Ilya seemed increasingly stretched thin as time went on.

Despite all of the slow, begrudging progress Cliff had made with Ilya, the conversation about Ilya's family only happens because Ilya is forced to. They are rooming together on the road when Ilya gets a phone call from his brother. Ilya normally steps out for these calls, but Cliff has still overheard enough pissed off sounding Russian to guess what Ilya's relationship with his brother is like. Then again, Russian always sounds a bit pissed off to Cliff. Or maybe that's just because it's Ilya saying it.

Still, Cliff feels vaguely proud, but mostly concerned, when Ilya chooses to take this call in front of him. The call itself ends in Ilya shouting at the phone and hanging up only to immediately dial another number. Ilya is quieter when he starts talking to the new person, quieter than Cliff has ever seen him, like the light of Ilya's whole personality had just been dimmed. There is a cautiousness to Ilya's whole body that on any other person Cliff would say looked nervous. The whole thing just felt so distinctly un-Ilya that it rang alarm bells in Cliff’s head.

This second call is shorter, and Ilya keeps that caution to his voice the whole time, but Cliff can also see him get frustrated at points. The conversation seems disjuncted in some way, like the person on the other end was starting and stopping, and there are moments where Cliff can hear quiet from the other end before Ilya worriedly starts saying, “Papa? Papa-” before breaking off into more Russian that Cliff can't parse. At one point, Ilya stiffens and listens to a long stream of angry Russian, and quietly responds with the tone of an apology. Cliff has no idea what was just said to Ilya or why he reacted like that, but he knew he didn't like it.

Eventually, with a sigh and some texts sent off immediately after the call, Ilya puts down his phone and starts to unpack the suitcase that he had barely brought in the door before the first call came through. Cliff can tell Ilya is trying to pretend none of that was out of the norm, but his jaw was clenched, and despite the glare, his eyes had a slightly unfocused look to them that Cliff had seen on rare occasions before.

Cliff cleared his throat. Ilya ignored him, but he could see his shoulders hitch up slightly.

Cliff coughed. Ilya said nothing.

“So-”

“No.”

Cliff grumbled, “You know I am going to get you to talk about this eventually.”

“No, I do not know this.”

Cliff sighed, and decided to let Ilya have it this time, but this wasn't over. At least he had plenty of experience at this point with forcing his best friend to talk about his feelings, even when it was clearly the last thing he wanted to do.

—

Ilya knew better than to hope that Cliff really was dropping this, and yet he still foolishly held onto that hope that Cliff would get distracted and move on. A hope that was swiftly crushed when the next day as they packed up their bags, Ilya swiftly rejected a call from Alexei the second he saw the name. Apparently this was not fast enough however to stop Cliff from seeing.

Rather than badgering him verbally again to open up, this time Cliff just gave him a look with a raised eyebrow and a prompting expression. All of this talking about his feelings really was making Ilya soft, because somehow this worked on Ilya.

“It was just my piece of shit brother.” He told himself he was just trying to save himself from the nagging that Cliff has proved he was capable of, but Ilya was surprised by the realization that he actually did want to talk about this. Ilya had woken up the day after the conversation with Shane in Tampa feeling lighter than he had felt in years, but that was weeks ago. He had not wanted to burden Shane since, or to give Shane more reason to believe there was any chance for more than their current arrangement when Ilya knew it was impossible.

Maybe it is for all of these reasons, or just the open expression on Marleau's face that Ilya continues. “I am sure he is asking for more money again. He says it is for father's medicine, but I pay to doctor directly. It is probably for coke again, just like the rest of the time.”

Cliff nodded thoughtfully but more casually than Ilya would have expected to do with this information. “My dad did that after I first got signed. Found my number and called me up being all nice at first, then mean as hell once I said no. I blocked him right after so I don't know if it was for coke or booze, but with how much of a shitbag he is I wouldn't have been surprised.”

Ilya blinked, surprised that Cliff apparently had assholes for relatives too. Or that Cliff, a heart of gold jock who had made it his mission to get Ilya to talk about his feelings could even be related to assholes. It didn't feel genetically possible, not like Ilya who was genetically an asshole himself. “Ah. Your mother then, she…?”

Cliff snorted, “Chased the shithead out of the house with a shotgun? Yeah, he hasn't been in my life since I was real little. That was the first time I had heard from him in years, and I would have rather not spoken to him at all any of the previous times either.”

“Oh.” Ilya was suddenly on the other side of this, and wondering how Cliff did this. “Do you… want to talk about this?”

Cliff looked startled, then grinned at Ilya. “Aww, look at you, Roz! Getting all sweet on me.”

“Is your fault, Marleau. You infect me with American nonsense about feelings and sharing.” Ilya sniffed, and looked away. “Offer is there, take it or no?”

“I mean, not much to talk about.” Cliff shrugged and chucked his toiletry bag into his suitcase. “He's a piece of shit and I don’t really think about him at all. Mom kicked him out when I was 4, called the cops on him after he hit me. Honestly, I don’t even remember it.”

“He hit you?” Ilya felt a wave of protective rage roll through him, picturing a small Cliff, no muscles or height to protect him like it did on the ice and getting hurt by someone who should have cared. It was one thing when Ilya's father had done it, but Ilya knew there was no way Cliff had done anything to earn it like Ilya had. Ilya stiffened as he remembered what Cliff had said about the rest of his family. “Your sisters, did he hurt them too?”

Cliff scowled. “Nah, I'd need to kill him if he had frankly. He never touched my sisters thankfully, but y'know I was a boy so,” He shrugged again. “Guess he thought it was different.”

Cliff looked uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment and looked down at his suitcase as he said, “Though, I do think he might have hit Mom before I came along. I don't know, she doesn't really talk about him much. She bought the shotgun after he showed up at the house when he heard her restaurant had taken off. Asking for money, piece of shit. Like he hasn't been dodging paying child support for most of my life. He knows we are serious about calling the police on him though, so he kept to himself for a long time after that. Me getting NHL money was enough to get him sniffing around again I guess, but at least he never talked to Ma.” Cliff looked like he would have spit if they weren't inside.

Then he shrugged, and gave a self-conscious laugh. “Guess it was your turn for my sob story, huh?”

“I am glad you told me.” Ilya was surprised how true the words felt. “I tell you so much of my sob story, only feels fair now, yes?”

Cliff groaned, “Yeah, I guess. Still sucks to be on this side even if I am preaching about sharing feelings these days.”

“Yes, well now you know how I feel.” Ilya paused, then said only half-jokingly, “If he ever talks to you or your mother again, tell me and I will make him think you know Russian mafia. That will keep him from coming back.”

Cliff chuckled, and a much smaller smile than Ilya was used to seeing on Cliff crept onto his face. “Thanks, Ilya.”

Ilya was surprised to find a similar smile on his own face, and was startled by how much fondness he felt for the way his name sounded after Cliff’s accent mangled it.

That fondness was swiftly swept away when Cliff’s smile went sly and he said, “Alright, your turn.”

Ilya groaned, but he knew it was coming out more affectionate than it would with anyone else. “No, no, I do not wish to take away from your special moment.”

Cliff grinned, “Come on, Roz! It can be our moment! Let's keep the ball rolling!”

“We do not play with balls, this is terrible metaphor.” Ilya rolled his eyes but was smiling, despite himself. He sobered up slightly as he continued, but tried hard to keep his tone casual. “It is like you said, not much to say, yes? Brother is shithead who is bad at taking care of Father. Calls me for money sometimes.”

“Uh huh, money he uses for drugs. And now you need to try to take care of your dad from another continent? That fucking blows, man.”

“Yes, well,” Ilya tried to casually look out the window and admire the beautiful view of a hotel parking lot in Buffalo. “I am here, and not there, so really least I can do.”

“Hey, Ilya,” Ilya felt a hand clap his shoulder and realized Cliff had used his distraction as an opportunity to walk up to him. “You’re here cause you need to be, right? I'm sure you would be there helping with whatever is going on if you could.”

Ilya hesitated, then said, “Maybe. Maybe not. Father has always been… Demanding. And it is not easier now that he thinks he is speaking to a younger me sometimes.”

Cliff had a look on his face that Ilya wishes was not directed at him. It made him feel like he should push and try to get away. It felt too late for that however, like he had lost that battle months ago.

“Now when you say demanding, you mean strict, or… He like my dad at all?”

Ilya picked his words carefully, trying to get this back under control as much as he could. “Not entirely.”

Cliff's expression sharpened and his jaw tensed. “But at least a little bit.”

Ilya was feeling cornered, and was working as hard as could to not snap and try to get away from this. His conversation with Shane, and this tentatively deepening friendship with Cliff had him wanting to be different but old habits were hard. And certain things were truths he had learned many years ago, such as the danger of relying on others, as well as the one slipping out of his lips now. “Not like that in a very long time, and my father used it for discipline. I was a lazy child. The discipline made me more focused. I have gone far because of it.”

Cliff looked more serious than Ilya had ever seen him. “Ilya, as someone with a bastard of a father to another, you don't have to defend him. And I find it hard to picture you as ever being lazy, you're the most talented player out there. Pretty sure half the NHL has nightmares about you. And more importantly, sounds like you were a fucking kid, same as I was. You deserved better.”

Ilya embarrassingly felt his eyes start to prickle and looked away from Cliff again. Had something broken in him? He hadn't cried in years before he broke down in Shane's arms. Now between Shane and Cliff, it felt like all those emotions he had ignored for years were starting to seep through the cracks.

Cliff let him hide his reddening eyes, but he kept with the careful prying open of Ilya's ribcage. “I know you said your mom was gone. Was your brother any less of a piece of shit then? He help at all?”

Ilya snorted, and the choked up noise of his voice when he spoke next made him feel small and pitiful. “Alexei would barely look at me before Mama died. He started snorting coke around then and it was only a few years later he caught me with coach's son. After that, well, all the more reason to hate me once he knew I was a faggot.” Ilya shrugged, like this wasn’t something that had always tortured him.

He paused, and decided he was deep in enough that there was no point not going all the way. Cliff had proven he would not let Ilya get out of any of this, and even more importantly, that he would understand. “Mama tried, I could tell she wanted to help. But Father was so hard on her too. She tried, but she could not...”

“She couldn't…?” Cliff sounded so careful, like he was holding something fragile. Ilya hated it, but also it felt like the only reason he could keep talking.

“I was 12 when she decided no more. She was strong. Please do not think she was weak. She tried so hard, and I know she did it for me. But she could not anymore… I found her after. She had been saving sleeping pills for months.”

“Fuck, Ilya.” Suddenly, Ilya was rocked to the side with the force of the hug engulfing him. He lost the battle with his tears. He could taste salt where the tears had trickled down to his lips as Cliff wrapped his arms around him.

With Shane, Ilya had felt like he was being held together as he fractured. But Cliff was a big man, even bigger than Ilya, and he hugged Ilya tight like he could hide him from the world if he just hugged him close enough. Ilya could feel some kind of wretched noise trying to creep out of him, and he buried his face in Cliff's shoulder to smother it.

A moment passed like that passed, before, with unspoken understanding, both men mutually pulled back and immediately avoided eye contact for the minute it took to pull themselves together. Ilya did Cliff the grace of ignoring his watery eyes as Cliff did the same for Ilya. Once their breathing steadied out a bit more, Cliff risked looking back at Ilya and clapped a hand on his shoulder again.

“I'm sorry about your mom and that your dad and brother are awful. Thanks for telling me.”

Ilya nodded stiffly, then more genuinely. “I am sorry your dad is absolute shithead as well. You deserved more.”

Ilya hesitated then tentatively said, “Is ok though about my brother. I have better brother now, yes?”

Cliff’s eyes got watery again. “You fucking asshole, Roz. Love you, man.” He threw his arms around Ilya again.

—-

The universe doesn't give either of them much time to recover from that conversation. Instead, it hands them a fucking bombshell.

After a victory against the Metros, Cliff hears the strained, furious Russian that always makes it clear Ilya is talking to Alexei cut through the celebratory chatter. Cliff looks over just in time to see the color drain from Ilya's face. He instantly starts to push his way past a confused Connors and Carmichael to get to Ilya just as Ilya barks something Russian into the phone and hangs up.

“Hey, Roz, what's going on?” Cliff tries to catch Ilya's eyes, but Ilya immediately turns to his locker and starts shoving things into his duffel bag. Cliff tries again, “Ilya, talk to me. What did Alexei say?”

“I need to go.” Ilya tries to pick up his bag and walk out, then looks down and realizes his skates are still on. He drops his bag on the ground and starts tearing at his laces. Cliff realizes his breaths are coming out unsteady, and when he finally catches Ilya's eyes, they look like Ilya is somewhere far away.

“Ilya, please. What's going on?”

Ilya's eyes look completely empty as he says, “My father is dead.”

“Fuck,” Cliff breathes. Then he sits down next to Ilya and starts tearing at his own shoelaces. “Ok, let's go.”

“What?” Ilya's accent has come out in full force again, making the W round out into a V sound.

“I'm driving you, where are we going?” Cliff glances up for a moment to see that Ilya has sharpened, looking more present in the conversation than he was a moment ago, if only because of the confusion on his face. “Come on, man. You're not driving like this, and I'm not leaving you alone. Where are we going?”

Ilya stared at Cliff like he had never seen him before, then said, “My house. Then airport.”

Cliff nodded firmly. “Alright.”

—

In the car, Cliff sees Ilya's phone light up with call after call, until he sees Ilya text something in Cyrillic and silences it. He doesn't turn it off however, because he needs it to look up flights.

“When is the next one to Moscow?” Cliff asks as he breaks the speed limit to get to Ilya's house.

“9 PM.”

Cliff grimaced. That would be tight, but doable. He cranked up the speed even more.

“I know this is a lot right now, but do you have any idea when the funeral will be?” Cliff was asking partially because he needed the information to plan, but also because he wanted to keep Ilya present with him, and not to where he had been going when he had looked hollowed out like that. Cliff really didn't know what that expression was, but he knew he didn't like it.

Ilya swore in Russian, then said, “Thursday at earliest. No one will plan anything till I am there because they will want me to pay for it.”

Cliff tucked away that information for the moment and nodded. “Ok, I'll look at flights from Nashville. We can't have both captains out, but if I leave from the game then I might be able to make it in time.”

Cliff heard a choked noise, and when he glanced over, he saw Ilya looking at him uncomprehending again. “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Ilya, there's no damn way I am letting you go to a place you hate with people who treat you like shit for your dad's fucking funeral alone.”

“Svetlana will be there.”

Cliff rolled his eyes and pushed the engine harder. “Great, one person in the whole fuckin’ country. I'm coming, Roz.”

“I am not ask-” Ilya sounded angry, but Cliff knew that was how Ilya acted when he was unsure.

“No, you're not asking. I'm saying. Boston pays me plenty too, bud. I can afford it. And you can show me Moscow, and I can brag to all the boys I saw Russia.”

Cliff glanced another glance over, and saw that Ilya was staring at him, looking lost. Cliff didn't think anyone in the NHL, except maybe Hollander, would guess that Ilya Rozanov could ever look so fragile. He went for one final blow.

“Tell me you wouldn't do it for me if I needed you to.”

Ilya let out a shaky breath, then said, “Ok. I send you airport information.”

An hour later, Cliff drops Ilya off at the airport with a parting shout of, “Text Jane for fucks's sake, before I figure out how to do it myself.” Ilya grumbles, and Cliff doesn't know if he really will text Hollander, but at least for that moment Ilya looks like himself again. Then his expression shutters, his shoulders square, and he heads off to Moscow like a man walking to his own funeral.

—-

Three days later, Cliff stumbles out of the Moscow airport squinting and jetlagged. The only reason he had gotten any sleep on the plane was because the shoulder injury he got in Nashville had been just nasty enough that the medical team had prescribed him some pain meds that had put him to sleep for half the flight. However, his shoulder had not enjoyed being in a shaky airplane seat for twelve hours straight, and had kept him awake for the second half.

He had changed into his suit in the airport restroom, so he is in stiff funeral black when a very sleek looking car rolls up to the curb and Svetlana, who he has had about three short interactions with prior to now opens the door and says, “We have 30 minutes until the church ceremony begins. Get in.”

Cliff gets in, and Svetlana quickly pulls the car out into the airport traffic. She drives aggressively enough that Cliff can't help but feel like she would have made a great hockey player.

“How was the flight?” She says curtly as she cuts off a van.

“Long, lots of turbulence? Good booze though.” The jetlag made Cliff feel like he was sleepwalking, and the Cyrillic on all of the signs made it look like he was on an alien planet. Still, he had to keep going for now. He chugged the energy drink he had grabbed in the airport on his way out.

Svetlana hummed then said, “You can drink with your pain meds for that shoulder injury? Sloppy play against Nashville by the way. You only won because Robins is a mediocre center.”

Cliff huffed out a laugh. She had given him some sharp critiques on his hockey the last three times they had talked as well. Guess it made sense Roz only got close with people who were completely obsessed with hockey. Maybe that was his type? Hollander certainly fit the bill.

“Well, I was a bit distracted.”

She hummed again in acknowledgement then said, “Ilyushka will not say it, so I will. Thank you for being here for him. He needs it. These people are vultures, and they have been circling him these past few days pecking away at him. I have tried where I can, but I can only do so much on my own.”

Cliff’s voice caught in his throat, but he forced it out and said, “Of course. He's my brother.”

—
They arrive right before the beginning of the church ceremony, so aside from a firm, quick pat on the shoulder and nod from Ilya, there is not time for Cliff to really speak with Ilya for most of the funeral. Still, he's glad he came the second he sees Ilya's face.

Ilya looks like a different person entirely. He is stone-faced, with none of his usual charm and cockiness. He greets people and thanks them for coming, but none of the emotion reaches his eyes. He looks as cold as the tombstone they bury his father under. It pulls out a memory from years ago, of the interview Cliff had seen of Ilya after his loss at the Olympics. For a long time, that had been the only time Cliff had ever seen Ilya look like that. But here was that expression again.

After the ceremony, during the meal for the wake, Cliff quietly sits to Ilya's right as Svetlana takes the seat to his left, like they are insulating Ilya from the rest of the people in attendance. Svetlana had quietly pointed out people to him under her breath when they first arrived, so he knows that the man across the table who has been scowling at Ilya is Alexei.

He has stunningly little resemblance to Ilya, and based off the picture of Grigori Rozanov that was placed above the casket, Cliff has to assume that Ilya takes strongly after his mother in contrast to Alexei's clear resemblance to their father. Cliff couldn’t help but feel this was appropriate, given the cold stare that was present on both Alexei's face and Grigori’s photo.

Even now, dead-eyed and expressionless, Ilya has more light to him than either his brother or his father. Suddenly, Cliff is struck by how much he wishes he could meet Ilya's mother, and see where his best friend had gotten his lively personality and sharp, witty humor. It certainly wasn't from these people, with this thick, hostile atmosphere that seemed intent on suffocating that light out of his best friend. Vultures, Svetlana had called them, and Cliff could see the resemblance.

Cliff is marveling at how stunningly silent this dinner was, a sharp contrast to a typical Marleau affair full of shouting and playful ribbing, when he sees Ilya glance at Alexei then stand up from his seat. Cliff catches Svetlana's eye as both Alexei and Ilya walk through a beaded curtain into the adjacent hallway. He doesn't know this situation well enough to judge what is best to do here, but when she tilts her head quickly in that direction after a moment of consideration, he is eager to take it as permission and goes to follow.

That delay means that he pushes through the bead curtain just in time to see Alexei push Ilya against the wall and Ilya shout something at him in sharp Russian.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off him.” He doesn't know how much English Alexei speaks, but between his tone and body language, Cliff is sure he gets the message across. Cliff is a big guy, tall and broad, and while he uses it on the ice, off the ice he tries to not intimidate people unless it's a real asshole. Which he is certain Alexei is, so he straightens up, widens his stance, and lets himself look exactly as intimidating as he is.

It seems to work on Alexei as he steps back from Ilya, but it doesn't get the asshole to stop completely, as he barks out something at Ilya which Ilya returns in the same tone. Then, Alexei looks at Cliff, and says something with a sneer that Cliff can't understand, but has to guess is in reference to him. Ilya's face goes from cold, forced emotionlessness to hot fury.

There's a moment before Ilya throws the punch where Cliff could have said something and stopped him, but Cliff wanted to punch Alexei himself. This asshole let down Ilya his whole life. He should have been the one protecting him and instead he let Ilya take who knows how much abuse, and gave him even more. Ilya deserved to punch him.

The way Alexei looks after the punch lands makes Cliff think Ilya has never physically defended himself before. Behind him, Cliff can hear Svetlana push through the bead curtain and say something in Russian to Ilya, but he is busy moving to stand by Ilya's side and make it clear what exactly would happen if Alexei decided to return the punch.

What happens next is hard for Cliff to follow, as a fast-paced back and forth in Russian ensues, before Alexei straightens his suit, and without a further word walks out. While Cliff is trying to understand the look in Ilya's eyes and figure out what happened, Svetlana steps in and whispers something to Ilya in a low, soothing voice. Ilya says something back, but stills at Svetlana's reply which Cliff could swear included the name Jane. Then she leaves, and it is just Cliff and Ilya.

He gives Ilya a moment to just breathe, before he quietly asks, “How are you?”

Ilya lets out a sharp laugh that is as far from humor as can be. “Fine. Not good. Bad.”

Ilya looks the most expressive he has all day, and it breaks Cliff's heart. His friend looks cracked open and drained. He looks exhausted down to the bone, and trying to hold it together but failing. Cliff can't stop himself from stepping in, and hugging Ilya tightly.

There's a second where Ilya stiffens, and Cliff wonders if this crosses a line to do in Russia, but then Ilya softens into the hug like its keeping him standing and hugs Cliff back.

“Hey, 2 more days and we are home.” Cliff tells Ilya.

Ilya laughs wetly into Cliff's shoulder. “Yes, home. I am ready to go home.”

—-

It is dark when they make it back to Ilya's apartment, and Cliff’s body is rioting. He is falling asleep standing up. He closes his eyes in the elevator leaning against the wall to find Ilya gently shaking him awake a moment later and ushering him to his apartment. Cliff barely has the presence of mind to take off his shoes before falling onto the couch. If Ilya says something to him, he doesn't hear it, as he passes out still wearing his suit.

When he blinks open his eyes next, it is to the smell of coffee in the air. He has no idea what time it is, but the brightness of the light coming through the windows makes him suspect he had been sleeping for awhile.

Groggily, he sits up and spots Ilya walking into the room with a mug of coffee.

“Jesus Christ, man, did you get the number of the car that ran me over?”

“I think it was a plane actually. I did not get the pilot's name for revenge but for you I will find it.” Ilya handed the mug to Cliff who gulped it down gratefully.

“I could kiss you right now, Roz. I really could.”

“Sorry Cliff, but you are not hot enough to be worth ruining over a decade of hard work keeping Russia from knowing I kiss men.” Ilya still seemed tired, with a sad look to his eyes, but he mustered up a smile and enough energy to be an asshole. Typical Rozy.

Cliff would shove him, but he didn't want to spill any beautiful, life-saving coffee, so instead he just says, “Fuck off, Roz. I'm plenty hot enough.”

Then he paused and looked around, taking in the apartment for the first time. “Why does it look like a grandpa lives here?” He eyed some thick tasseled curtains. “Or a grandma?”

Ilya rolled his eyes, “Oh, so you are interior designer now?”

“I'm just saying! Your place in Boston looks completely different! Why do you even know that word anyways?”

“Because Hollander is very boring. Also, keep your decorating opinions to yourself, I have seen your apartment. I am surprised you even have a bedframe.”

Cliff decided to ignore that and goes for the more interesting part of that statement. “Speaking of Hollander, you talk with him yet?”

Ilya nodded, with a strange look in his eyes. “Yes, my first night here. And last night.”

“Oh.” Maybe it was good Cliff had passed out last night. “Glad you're fucking talking to him about this shit.”

Ilya avoided his gaze and said in a weird tone Cliff couldn't read. “Yes, lots of talking. About things.”

“Okay…?”

A grimace crept onto Ilya's face. “Can I… talk with you about something.”

Cliff was so proud, but he didn't want to make Ilya clam up by poking fun at him, so he gestured to the window and said, “Uh, yeah, Roz. I kinda flew to Moscow for that. I'm all ears.”

“That is such a stupid phrase,” Ilya muttered then visibly steeled himself. “Last night, I told Shane I loved him.”

Cliff's mouth dropped open. Sputtering, he said, “Fuck Roz, that's great, I think? Man, I'm too tired for this. But seriously I am happy for you figuring that shit out. What did he say?”

Apparently something behind Cliff was suddenly very interesting because Ilya was looking very intently over his shoulder rather than at Cliff. He shrugged, and speaking very casually said, “I said it in Russian so he did not say anything.”

Cliff stared at Ilya. Ilya kept avoiding his gaze.

“Bro.”

“...”

“BRO.”

“I regret telling you already.”

“No, no, I'm glad I'm not spending 30 minutes pulling this shit out of you anymore.” Cliff scrambled to say. “Seriously, I am proud! But like, why would you not just fucking tell Hollander in a way where he would know what the hell you are saying?”

Ilya looked frustrated when he met Cliff's eyes, but Cliff wasn't sure if the frustration was with him, or the world at large. “Because it doesn't fucking matter! I don't need to give Shane the idea that we can be anything more than people who fuck sometimes!”

“Uh, hate to be the one to break this to you, bud, but you already are? You're here for your dad's funeral and you called him twice already.”

“One of those calls was mostly just phone sex.”

Cliff blinked. “Shit, really? That's pretty great actually.”

Ilya’s smile looked longing and delighted. “He wore his glasses.”

“Dude, that is not as hot of a statement as you are making it sound.”

Ilya sniffed. “I pity you, Cliff.”

“Alright, congrats on your weird glasses kink and the phone sex. Happy for you, dude.”

Ilya looked more touched by that than someone really should be perhaps.

Cliff continued, “Seriously though, just fucking accept you're way too far along to act like this is casual. You fuckin’ love the guy.”

Ilya shook his head. “You do not get it. It does not matter how I feel. We can not be anything, it is too dangerous. For both of us. I could never go back to Russia if we were found out, and our careers would be ruined. Hockey is the most important thing to Hollander. I cannot be the reason he loses it.”

“You sure its the most important? More important than you are to him?” Cliff said gently. Ilya didn't say anything in response, but based on his expression it had clearly hit him somewhere vital.

Cliff kept going. “Also, I don't know everything and I've only been here a day, but would it be the worst thing to leave Russia? It's pretty clear you hate it here. You've looked miserable the whole time, and I don't think it is just because of the funeral. You're crabby as hell and upset every year right before you go back.”

Ilya's jaw clenched and he sounded bitter as he said, “It does not matter what I want, or if I like it here or not.”

“I think it matters a lot, Roz.”

Ilya's face shifted, and got that expression that after all these years Cliff could finally tell was the look that only Hollander could bring out of him. Fondness and longing. Some sadness too. “Shane said something similar once.”

Cliff smiled at Ilya. “Well, maybe you should listen to him. Hollander is a lot smarter than me, and you too apparently, you meathead. So listen to the smart guy if you're not going to listen to me.”

Ilya blinked away the glimmer in his eyes, and with a small catch in his voice, said, “Maybe. Maybe.”

—-

Originally, the day after the funeral was supposed to be for Ilya to take care of remaining funeral business, and for him to show Cliff around Moscow briefly before both took a direct flight back to Boston for the next game. However, Ilya informed Cliff that in the fight with Alexei the day before he had given Alexei his entire fucking apartment, and the day instead turned into the two of them packing up things Ilya didn’t want to leave behind.

Cliff had had a lot to say about Ilya's decision, mostly swear words and asking why he would give his asshole brother who was a grown adult with a job anything, but he helped Ilya without any complaint. Halfway through the day, Svetlana showed up dressed more casually than he had ever seen her, and went to work wrapping fragile tea cups that Cliff learned were from Ilya's mom.

Weirdly, the whole thing ended up being a lot of fun. He argued with Ilya all day about his weird decorating, and got to bond with Svetlana over making fun of Ilya. As he packed boxes, he listened to Svetlana and Ilya complain that there wasn't time to take Cliff to some of their favorite clubs. By the end of the day, he had picked up plenty of new Russian rappers to listen to during his workouts, and he got to try pelmeni for the first time from what Ilya swore was the best restaurant in Moscow.

Maybe he didn't see much of Moscow beyond Ilya's apartment, but Cliff couldn't help but think today had been more fun than visiting any tourist attractions or Russian landmarks would have been. When Svetlana drops both of them off at the airport, she surprises him with a quick hug.

She whispers into his ear, “You are a good friend, Cliff Marleau. Do not let him ignore Jane.”

Stunned, Cliff nods, and she steps back and addresses both of them. “Tighten up your defense against the Admirals or Scott Hunter will slip in. Ilyushka, you should focus on your passes rather than your fights.”

God, Roz really did have a type.

Chapter End Notes

Wow, so glad to give everyone another chapter of my fun, goofy bro fic- oh.

I debated on if it was realistic to have Cliff fly to Moscow, then I remembered that when my mother was dying, my friend flew across the country to watch tv with me for a week. Two of my other friends drove 7 hours in one day to attend my mom's funeral so they could be there for me. Also both of those friends recently hunted me for sport across the internet and found my Ao3 so hi guys. Nicole, I still hate that you read my smut. Love you.

Anyways we are definitely being silly next chapter, haha no sad things here!! *kicks concussion plotline behind a curtain* Next chapter we get a Live Marleau Reaction.

Chapter 3: Rule #3: When you fuck up, apologize.

Chapter Summary

Shane enters the narrative.

Chapter Notes

Cliff loved Ilya, he really did, but sometimes his best friend tried his patience.

“I need to end things with Hollander.”

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Roz.” Cliff groaned and chugged some water as he ran. They were jogging together in the early morning at a park where only a handful of early bird joggers and dog walkers could be seen. They had been taking the isolation as an opportunity to rehash the stupidest fucking argument in the world.

Ilya shook his head firmly. “I cannot keep letting this go further. I will tell him after the next game.”

“And what, you’re just gonna stop loving him the second you dump him?” Cliff was ready to strangle Ilya, this was the fourth time they had had this conversation. “You’re just going to make yourself miserable! Jesus, Roz, think of us if not yourself. The boys can’t handle another great breakup of 2017, we barely survived the last one. I think you gave Connors PTSD!”

Ilya rolled his eyes, “You all skate much faster now, and whine too much.”

“The rookies puked on the ice!”

Ilya’s jaw was clenched in the stubborn way that Cliff knew meant he didn’t intend to budge at all.

Cliff genuinely did not want to deal with post-breakup Ilya again. He went for the big guns.

“Plus, you’re gonna make Hollander miserable too?”

Ilya missed a step, but recovered quickly and shot Cliff a glare.

“It will be better for him. He will understand.”

“What if he doesn’t? Hollander’s got those big puppy eyes, man. I don’t even want to know what it looks like when he cries.”

Ilya’s face did something complicated and wounded as he clearly imagined it. Still, that stubborn clench of his jaw was still there.

Cliff wasn’t above begging. “Come on, Ilya. Just fucking bang Hollander, call it a win, and stop trying to torture yourself. Or better yet, tell the guy you fucking love him, make out about it, then have hot love sex!”

“Love sex?” Ilya wrinkled his nose and looked at Cliff.

“I don’t know!” Cliff was out of breath from the running and the shouting, but he couldn’t let up. He needed to be strong for Ilya, and for Hollander, but most importantly for the boys and Cliff himself.

“Seriously, man. I haven’t seen you pick up anyone in months. At this rate, you’ll break up with him and end up as some sad, celibate monk who only jerks off to Shane Hollander trading cards or something.”

Ilya snorted and shoved at Cliff’s shoulder, almost sending him off the trail, then started to sprint to put distance between them. “Fuck off and focus on your own sad sex life, Marleau!”

Cliff shouted after him, “You can outrun me, but you can’t outrun your feelings, Roz!”

---

Cliff has tried his hardest with Ilya, but he wasn’t sure if he had gotten through to him about the Hollander thing. It turns out to not matter in the end.

“Shit.” Cliff breathed, ears ringing from the solid impact that had sent Hollander flying across the ice. It was a clean hit, the kind Hollander had dodged or taken smoothly from Cliff a hundred times. But Hollander had been looking back at Ilya, and not at Cliff. “Shit!”

“Marleau, you motherfucker!” Suddenly, Pike was in front of him, and socking him across the face.

“Fuck,” Cliff groaned, rubbing his jaw. “I’m sorry, I really am! Jesus, is he gonna be okay?”

His jaw stung, but Cliff couldn’t care less about that when Ilya was standing back from where Hollander was on the ice, looking shell-shocked and devastated. Fuck. Cliff had put that look on his best friend’s face. He wishes Pike had punched him harder actually.

With another, “Sorry, seriously I am”, Cliff wrestles out of Pike’s grip on his jersey, and skates over to Ilya, getting there before the referee can. “Roz, I am so, so sorry.”

Ilya doesn’t even look at him, eyes stuck on where Hollander is getting put onto the board. That referee was getting closer, and louder. Cliff sucked in a breath and grabbed Ilya’s shoulder lightly.

“Ilya, Ilya, man I know you probably hate me right now, but you gotta move back. He’s gonna be okay.” Cliff had no idea at all if Hollander was going to be ok. Fuck, he hated himself right now.

The medics are disappearing down the tunnel when Ilya’s eyes finally flicker over to Cliff. “You think he will be okay?”

Cliff lied through his teeth. “Absolutely.”

---
Playing after that was agony, and the tense silence in their hotel room that night while Ilya waited for a text that never came was worse. Cliff reminded Ilya several times that even if Hollander was awake, he probably didn’t have access to his phone. The tension didn’t crack until finally Ilya’s phone chimed with an alert, and his whole body untensed as he read the official tweet from the Metros stating that Hollander was awake and stable.

Cliff collapsed onto his bed with a sigh of deep relief. Jesus Christ. He wasn’t sure the last time he had felt that scared. Now he just needed to deal with the guilt, but at least it sounded from the announcement that the Metros expected Hollander to be back for next season, so the concussion couldn’t have been too severe.

Cliff had been planning on giving Hollander a shovel talk eventually, but after this he wasn’t sure he could ever look the man in the eyes. He probably needed to start with Ilya, who Cliff had also been struggling to look in the eyes for the past few hours.

“Ilya, I really am so sor-”

Ilya huffed out a breath. “Marleau, I know. You have said it often. It was clean hit.”

“I know, but shit man, you love Hollander.”

Ilya flinched at the reminder, but he looked up and caught Cliff’s gaze. “Cliff, it is okay. I understand.”

A shaky breath forced its way out of Cliff. “You sure you don’t want me to punch me about it? Give me a matching bruise to Pike’s?”

Ilya let out a small laugh, looking startled by it. “Maybe some other time. I do not want to do anything that matches Pike however.”

Marleau chuckled, feeling exhausted but more like himself than he had felt since he saw Hollander laid out on the ice. A thought occurred to him, and he looked curiously at Ilya.

“Are you going to visit him?”

Ilya looked pensive, but nodded after a moment. “Tomorrow maybe. It is normal for a captain to visit after hit like that. Hopefully, people will not think too much about it.”

“Would people think less of it if I came too?” Cliff offered, and when Ilya looked surprised up at him, he said, “I really would like to apologize to Hollander too.

“Ah.” Ilya looked thoughtful then said, “Yes, that probably would help. Less strange, better story.”

Cliff wasn’t going to tell Ilya, but aside from the obvious reasons, he also just wanted to make sure Ilya was okay. Cliff had seen enough hockey injuries to know the bruises and bandages often looked pretty rough. And hell, maybe if Ilya tried to do something stupid like break up with the man he wasn’t even dating, Cliff could get in there faster and shove Ilya’s foot in his mouth.

---

Aside from some weird looks at check-in, it isn’t that difficult to get into Hollander’s hotel room. Maybe their story really is that convincing, or maybe the hospital staff just don’t want to argue with the firm tone to Ilya’s voice. Either way, they are able to get Hollander’s room number.

Ilya enters first, looking somewhat desperate to finally see Hollander well after the way he had looked when Ilya last saw him. Cliff walked in behind him, going seemingly unnoticed at first by Hollander who is practically singing, “Ilyaaaaaaaa!”

If Cliff had ever had any doubts about if Ilya’s feelings toward Hollander were reciprocated, they were gone now. Hollander looked like it was Christmas morning and Ilya was the puppy he had been asking for all year.

Ilya shushes Hollander quietly, but he looks more gentle and soft than Cliff has ever seen in the past decade of knowing the Russian.

“I, ah… are you okay?” Ilya asks awkwardly.

Jesus, this was probably the first, and maybe only time that Cliff would ever see Ilya Rozanov looking like an anxious highschooler talking to their crush. If it weren't for the way that Hollander is currently in the hospital because of Cliff, he would make fun of Ilya for it.

Shane doesn’t seem to mind the nervousness though, as he smiles up at Ilya and says, “Concussion and a fractured collarbone, out for the playoffs, but…”

“Could have been worse?”

“Could have been worse!” Shane squints up at Ilya and seems to notice the way Ilya was awkwardly standing in the doorway, partially blocking Marleau from entering fully.

“Hey.” He says, then puts out his hand and whines, “Heyyyyyyyyy.”

Ilya rushes across the room, shushing and hovering nervously as he grabs Hollander’s outstretched hand.

“Yes,” Shane whispers, squinting his eyes like a content cat in the sun. “Better…”

“Oh my god.” Cliff whispered. “He’s high as a kite.”

This finally alerts Hollander to the fact that Cliff is standing right there, and his head actually cocks curiously to the side like he is the Christmas puppy in question. “Marleau?” His voice pitched up at the end and turned the end of Cliff’s name into a distinct confused ‘oh?’ sound.

A grown man should not be this cute, what the hell.

“Hi Hollander,” Cliff said a bit nervously. “I’m just here to say sorry about the hit. I am so sorry, Hollander. Seriously, I did not mean to hit you that hard.”

Shane blinked up at him and said, “It’s okay! We all get our bell rung eventually, right?” He ends this with a sunny smile at Cliff that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. Ilya would probably kill him if he ever told him this, but Cliff was really understanding why Ilya was down so bad for this man.

Then, as if his brain was on a 10 second delay, Shane looked down at his hand held between Ilya’s and up at Marleau. There was a moment of silence as Shane looked like he was buffering, then he went, “Wait. Oh no. Uhhhhh.”

Ilya saved Shane from the panic and/or flailing for an excuse that the man was slowly ramping up to through his drugged haze. Cliff can see him give a small squeeze to Shane's hand, and in a reassuring voice he says, “It is okay, Hollander. Cliff figured out you were Jane months ago and has told no one. We can trust him, he is a good friend.”

“Oh!" There is a long pause where Shane visibly buffers before the drugged contentment apparently wins out and he settles on, "...Nice.”

Laughing at Hollander after you gave him a concussion is definitely in bad taste, Cliff reminded himself as he tried to stop himself from chuckling, and he purposefully avoided looking at Ilya because he bets whatever constipated expression Ilya is making to try to not look ridiculously in love would send him over.

The whole situation notches up in absurdity when Shane looks up at Cliff to smile sweetly and say, “I wanted to say, thank you for going to Russia with Ilya! I wish I could have gone to Russia for Ilya…” He trails off, then seems to remember something and turns to Ilya.

“Oh! Ilya, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hollander.” Ilya says warningly, but still in that soft tone with a tender, pained look in his eyes.

Shane bulldozes on, determined or just oblivious. “Will you come to my cottage this summer? Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house! We will have so much fun, it’s so private. No one will know…” Shane blinks slowly and looks at Marleau then says, “Marleau will know, but no one else will know.”

“Holllander, you know we can’t do that.” Ilya says stiffly, looking like he was forcing himself to walk on hot coals as he did so. Cliff edged closer, ostensibly to give support, but really because he was not letting Ilya fuck this up for himself.

Shane carries on, “Mmm, we could have a week, or even two! Be completely alone… together…”

Good lord, was this boy drugged. Cliff can’t admire it for too long, because he sees Ilya’s face pinching in a way similar to how it has during their frequent arguments over the past week. Cliff gives a swift stomp to Ilya’s foot under the bed where Hollander can’t see it.

Ilya shoots him a quick glare, then looks back to where Hollander is smiling obliviously up at him. “Maybe-” Cliff kicks him again, harder. “Fuck-”

“Ilya?” The confused lilt is back to Hollander’s voice, and his eyes look big and wet even to Cliff.

Clearly, Ilya has no defense against that look, because this time he says, “When you are better, we can talk more about it.”

Cliff raises an eyebrow at him which Ilya ignores. Fine, Cliff could let it go with that for now, but Ilya was not getting out of the conversation after this where Cliff gave him a powerpoint presentation on why he should fucking go have a sex-cation at Hollander’s Ottawa love-shack. Jesus, it was like Ilya wanted to get blue balls and die alone.

“Okay. Yay!” The look that passed between the two of them made Cliff feel like he had stumbled into a romance movie. He was suddenly very aware of how much he should not be here right now. Plus, it was his responsibility as Ilya’s bro to wingman and there was an important job he could be doing here.

“Uh, I’m going to step out for a minute. Keep an eye out, y’know.” He raised his eyebrows at Ilya significantly and tilted his head at Hollander, clucking his tongue to make a kissing noise as he did so. Ilya made a disgruntled face back at him that made Cliff distinctly feel like an older sibling for once in his life, but after an eye roll towards Cliff he gave a grateful nod.

“Oh,” Hollander mumbled, “Okay, bye Marleau! Thank you for visiting.” He smiled again, and Marleau wished desperately he could get a photo right now of the way Ilya and Hollander looked with Ilya holding onto his hand as Hollander smiled. Fuck, this closet shit sucked.

“Bye Hollander. Sorry again.” He gave an even more unsubtle look to Ilya, trying to communicate with his eyes, kiss your boy, you fucking idiot. He didn’t wait to see Ilya’s reaction, and stepped out to keep an eye on the hallway so he could head off any well-meaning nurses on their way.

Inside, he heard the indistinct sound of talking for a little bit, then a long moment of silence. Cliff smiled to himself.

—---

June 2017

Text from Marleau:
How’s the sexcation?

Text from Roz:
This is not a cottage, too many rooms. Small mansion.
This is good though, we need multiple beds. No time for laundry. 😈

Text from Marleau:
NICE 👊
You make me feel like a fuckin nun
I need to get out to the club soon
I need my wingman tho, Hollander needs to give you back eventually

Text from Roz:
You must wait, there is still one more week of sexcation
I will tell Shane I need to do charity
Help sad needy Boston player get laid

Text from Marleau:
Fuck off!
Like you’re the charity type

Text from Roz:
About that. I have news I must tell you. But that is conversation for when I am in Boston again
I have other news though
I told Shane I love him
Again. But in English this time

Text from Marleau:
…
…
Sorry I had to tell my old lady neighbor I was okay cause I was yelling so loud
FUCKING FINALLY
What did he say?

Text from Roz:
He said holy shit first
Then he said it back ♥️

Text from Marleau:
Roz I say this in the most nonhomophobic way possible:
GAYYY
Seriously tho dude I’m so happy for you two
Hope Hollander knows he bagged a 10
And also that its fuckin insane he domesticated Ilya Rozanov
Speakin of, can I talk to him when he isn't drugged to hell?
Want to meet the guy my best friend is dating
I’d give him a shovel talk but I think you would kill me and also I think I’m never gonna stop feeling guilty about the concussion
Roz
Buddy you there? Been a minute.
I said I’m sorry
Wait
YOU DOG
🍆🍆?

Text from Roz:
Shane was wearing his glasses
I would say sorry but I am not
Also Shane says hi and yes he would like to meet you off ice
Now he has read the rest of the texts and is mad at me :(

Text from Marleau:
God I hope I find someone as hot and horny as Shane one day
Shit that came out weird

Text from Roz:
Shane is taken
I will take away Shane privileges from you

Text from Marleau:
I’m sorry! Let me talk to your boyfriend when he isn't high! Or playing hockey

Text from Roz:
Ok this is second offense
One more and we have problem

Text from Marleau:
Wait what was the first?

Text from Roz:
Sending my boyfriend to the hospital

Text from Marleau:
BRO I SAID IM SORRY 😭

Chapter End Notes

I went back and forth a lot on including a scene with the Scott kiss but ultimately, I liked the idea of Cliff's convincing working enough that Ilya agrees to the cottage pre-kiss. Just picture Cliff getting pumped for Ilya though when Scott comes out.

One more chapter! (Probably, I'm going back and forth on how much I want to write for the Ottawa years) Also, I have a surprise planned that I think no one will see coming >:)

Chapter 4: Rule #4: Always be your bro's wingman

Chapter Summary

Texts to and from Ottawa over the years.

Chapter Notes

A fun fact about me is that I hate writing texting, both because of the formatting and the actual texts. So this chapter was really hard and I'm still not sure if any of it feels in character. Also please suspend your disbelief that they would be this relaxed about names over text at this point.

Also this chapter is based so strongly upon the 3 years where one of my best friends moved 900 miles away so they could be with their eventual wife. Long distance friendship sucks but also is totally possible with enough commitment and weekly phone calls.

September 2018

Groupchat: Shane and His Flowers 💐

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
Rose, I want you to know you can absolutely say no to any of this.

Text from Rose 🌹:
Hello??? This is ominous.

Text from Lily 🌸:
Hollander, you make this sound like we are asking her to hide body
Rose ignore this man

Text from Rose 🌹:
Ok lol
What’s this about?

Text from Lily 🌸:
I heard you are filming in Boston soon

—
Text from Roz:
How was first practice

Text from Marleau:
AWFUL

Text from Roz:
Sorry

Text from Marleau:
I MISS YOU
THE BOYS MISS YOU
WHY DID YOU HAVE TO FALL IN LOVE WITH A CANADIAN

Text from Roz:
You are captain now though

Text from Marleau:
NOT WORTH IT

Text from Roz:
Sorry
Hope this helps
[Contact Information Attached]

Text from Marleau:
…
Roz.
Did you just send me Rose Landry’s phone number

Text from Roz:
Me and Shane said very nice things about you
Had to convince her not all hockey players are gay
Do not fuck this up.

Text from Marleau:
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Text from Roz:
♥️

—

November 2018

Groupchat: Shane and His Flowers 💐

Text from Rose 🌹:
I'll be honest, I thought you two were outliers. I was like, “ok, so sweet softie hockey players apparently exist, but there can't be more than two of them.”
Apparently I was wrong???

Text from Lily 🌸:
Oh good, he listened to me and did not fuck it up.

Text from Rose 🌹:
Nopeee.
Might have been the best first date I've ever been on
Sorry Shane

Text from Lily 🌸:
Also I take offense.
I am not softie, or sweet

Text from Rose 🌹:
Sorry Ilya but that is so not true
I know the truth now, you're a secret loverboy

Text from Lily 🌸:
>:(

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
I don't take the first date thing personally at all.
I was kind of hung up on this Russian guy at the time and trying to pretend I wasn't.
And I was gay.

Text from Lily 🌸:
:)
Also, “was” gay?
You seemed pretty gay still last night

Text from Rose 🌹:
💀

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
Ilya…

Text from Lily 🌸:
What? I am supposed to pretend you are virgin?
Rose has very good evidence that is not true

Text from Rose 🌹:
Very good is a bit of a stretch unfortunately…
Sorry Shane

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
I regret introducing you and also this groupchat
But again, fair.

Text from Lily 🌸:
We needed special club.
For people who have seen Shane Hollander’s dick.
Soon, Rose and I will have one for people who have seen Marleau naked.

Text from Rose 🌹:
What?

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
What?

Text from Lily 🌸:
Locker room, remember?
Shane, did you get so jealous you forget?

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
…Maybe

Text from Rose 🌹:
Ohhhhh
Also 🤞

Text from Lily 🌸:
Get it girlboss 🤞

Text from Shane 👨🏻‍💼:
I repeat, why did I introduce you two?

—

Text from Roz:
Continue to not fuck this up.

Text from Marleau:
Dude I'm fuckin TRYING MY HARDEST
Also wait does this mean she had fun?

Text from Roz:
…

Text from Marleau:
ROZ PLEASE

Text from Roz:
🤐

—

March 2019

Text from Marleau:
Sorry abt being out of the playoffs already

Text from Roz:
It is not surprising.

Text from Marleau:
Still sucks
The Cens have looked better this season then the past decade though

Text from Roz:
Yes
That is over now though.

Text from Marleau:
Next season you'll get them
Well everyone except Boston, we are getting the cup.

Text from Roz:
Sure.

Text from Marleau:
So I had an idea.

Text from Roz:
Really? Your very first one?

Text from Marleau:
Fuck off Roz
Anyways
You've got all this free time now
And I know you can't join Hollander on the road.

Text from Roz:
It would probably make it obvious we are fucking if I share a room with him, yes
What is this idea you worked so hard to think of
Say before you forget and never have another one

Text from Marleau:
I won't have much time to hang out but if you come to Boston then I can get you tickets for our first playoff home game against Montreal
You can hang with Rose, she's gonna be watching too
And I bet you've never actually gotten to watch Shane play a game you weren't in.

Text from Roz:
…
Would be very nostalgic to watch Metros lose in Boston
Ok.

Text from Marleau:
Hell yeah! The boys are gonna freak
You can be our good luck charm against the Metros
Give us a speech about making Montreal cry just like the good old days
Maybe we can go out after with Rose and Shane? Like a doubledate but ppl just think it's me and Rose with our best friends?

Text from Roz:
I will ask if Shane is ok with it but I would like that.
…
Thank you

Text from Marleau:
No problem, dude. I'm just psyched to get my best friend back for a few days.

—
February 2020

Text from Roz:
I saw hit
How bad is it?

Text from Marleau:
That fucker broke my leg
I'm gonna be out for the rest of the fucking season
God I could kill Kent right now

Text from Roz:
They play Ottawa in 3 days. I will make sure to give him extra attention.

Text from Marleau:
Thanks Roz ❤️

Text from Roz:
No need for thanks, I am always happy to punch Dallas Kent

—

September 2020

Text from Marleau:
Chel time tonight, let's goooo
I'm finally going to get my REVENGE

Text from Roz:
No, not tonight.
I am busy.

Text from Marleau:
You hanging with the Cens finally?

Text from Roz:
Finally? What do you mean?

Text from Marleau:
Cmon Roz
They told me last time you always dodge hanging out and asked if you were like that with the Raiders too.
One of the rooks asked if you were an introvert and I had to keep a straight face.
It can't all just be seeing Hollander, he's on the road half the time.

Text from Roz:
What are you trying to say

Text from Marleau:
Look, man, I'm worried about you.
You keep dodging my calls and canceling on me too.
Does Hollander know you're doing this?

Text from Roz:
I move to different country and still need to deal with this, блять.
I am fine. Do not talk to Hollander about this.

Text from Marleau:
So he doesn't know then

Text from Roz:
There is nothing to tell him
I just do not want to spend time with teammates.
the Cens or annoying old teammates

Text from Marleau:
Oof bud. That hurt a little.

Text from Roz:
…
Sorry.
…
So
I am maybe doing less than good.

Text from Marleau:
I could tell.
It makes sense. You just moved your whole life and you need to hide the biggest part of your life from all your new teammates.
Plus the Cens are lovely people but as a team…

Text from Roz:
Do not shit talk my team.

Text from Marleau:
Sorry man

Text from Roz:
Is joke. I know we are dogshit team.

Text from Marleau:
Oh thank god, I didn't want to have to say it.
Anyways, I'm getting distracted.
Listen, have you thought at all abt seeing someone to talk about everything?

Text from Roz:
I am seeing someone, they are somewhat famous actually, maybe you have heard of them before?

Text from Marleau:
Roz, I'm being serious.

Text from Roz:
…
Yes.
I have thought about it.

Text from Marleau:
Cool, well if I send you the number of a therapist in Ottawa, will you call them?

Text from Roz:
…
I have two conditions.

Text from Marleau:
Ok, shoot.

Text from Roz:
They must speak Russian.
I do not want to put feelings in ridiculous English and not be understood.

Text from Marleau:
Shit, yeah that makes sense. Ok, sure I'll need to dig a bit more but I'll find someone.
What's the second?

Text from Roz:
I only see therapist if you see therapist.

Text from Marleau:
…
Huh.

Text from Roz:
Not worth it anymore?

Text from Marleau:
Nah
My sister has been bugging me abt talking to someone ever since that injury last February.
Also ofc it's worth it
It's for you, idiot.

Text from Roz:
You are a very strange man, Cliff Marleau.

Text from Marleau:
You're WAY weirder than me dude.

—-
The Next Day

Text from Marleau:
Galina Molchalina, PsyD
#753-XXX-XXXX
anddddddd- drumroll please?

Text from Roz:
🥁

Text from Marleau:
C’mon, one drum? Only one?

Text from Roz:
🙄
🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

Text from Marleau:
FINALLY
[Screenshot of appointment confirmation]
Got my own appointment scheduled for next Tuesday.
Better get to calling, Roz

Text from Roz:
Fine fine yes I call
I will not let you beat me at therapy.

Text from Marleau:
Pretty sure you can't beat ppl at therapy dude.
I'm not sure tho, guess I'll let you know next Tuesday.

Text from Roz:
Marleau, you are so stupid.

Text from Marleau:
Hey! Your genius plan was to just avoid everyone except Hollander forever.
Give me some credit, I was a bit smarter than that.
Speaking of, you tell Hollander abt any of this yet?

Text from Roz:
…no

Text from Marleau:
Roz

Text from Roz:
Fine.

Text from Marleau:
🎉

—
November 2020

Text from Marleau:
Got time for Chel tonight?

Text from Roz:
Do you have time to lose to me again? 😈

Text from Marleau:
Oh I'm gonna destroy you, asshole.

—
December 2020

Text from Marleau:
Offer still open to call the Russian mafia on my asshole dad?

Text from Roz:
What did he do?

Text from Marleau:
Tried to show up at my sister’s wedding
And he was drunk too.
I just had to practically throw him out of the church.

Text from Roz:
Do you still have his number?

Text from Marleau:
Yeah, I kept it just in case something like this happened.

Text from Roz:
Send it to me.

Text from Marleau:
[Contact Information Attached]

Text from Roz:
…
…
He says he will leave you alone and he is sorry. Would Katy like him to send wedding gift as part of his apology, or just fuck off?

Text from Marleau:
Roz, you’re the fucking best.
She says to tell him to fuck off

Text from Roz:
Will do.
Tell Katy and Tomas I say congratulations and my gift is in the mail.

—

January 2021

Text from Marleau:
THE NEWS JUST SAID YOUR PLANE HAD AN ENGINE FAILURE?
ARE YOU OK??
ILYA?

Text from Roz:
Stop shouting, my eyes hurt

Text from Marleau:
THANK FUCKING GOD
Fuck sorry man but what the fuck happened?

Text from Roz:
Plane turned out to be very badly made.

Text from Marleau:
Are you alright? Did anyone get hurt?

Text from Roz:
No one was hurt, just scared.

Text from Marleau:
God I would be losing it, fuck, Ilya.
I'm so glad you're ok.

Text from Roz:
Yes, me too.
I love you, Cliff.
Thank you for being my friend all of these years.

Text from Marleau:
Man, Roz…
I love you too brother
God I wish I wasn't in fucking Denver, wish I could hug you right now.
Also PLEASE call your therapist as soon as you can

Text from Roz:
I have appointment with Galina on Wednesday

Text from Marleau:
Dude, you just almost died, I think this constitutes an emergency, call her today.
I'm guessing you're going to Montreal as soon as you can to see Shane, but do a call for now at least.

Text from Roz:
Okay, I will call
Thank you.

—

January 2021

Text from Roz:
[Photo of Ilya's hand held out in front of a ridiculous number of fake candles]

Text from Marleau:
Ok? Cool? Did yall buy out a candle warehouse?

Text from Roz:
Cliff you are an idiot
Look at my finger

Text from Marleau:
…
OH!
HOLY SHIT!

Text from Roz:
Finally 🙄

Text from Marleau:
HOLLANDER PROPOSED?
I didn't think he had it in him! I thought for sure you would crack first, Mr. Loverboy.

Text from Roz:
I have rubbed off on him much over the years. I am “in him” plenty enough for it too 😏

Text from Marleau:
Let's hold off on the sex jokes for like 5 mins so we can talk about your FUCKING ENGAGEMENT.

—

March 2021

Text from Roz:
Cliff you are an uncle
I have a beautiful daughter now

Text from Marleau:
SHIT ok I wondered if this was gonna happen eventually
How old is the kid?
Would I remember the mom?

Text from Roz:
You would remember if you had met my daughter's mother
She is a real bitch

Text from Marleau:
Listen I'm still not sure if we are allowed to call women that
Sucks to hear that she's awful though
I guess that's what you get when accidents happen after years of being a manwhore
Does Shane know yet?

Text from Roz:
He does not know yet that he is a father

Text from Marleau:
Damn Roz you really should talk with him about this soon. Finding out your fiancé has a kid is kinda major
Thanks for telling me first tho I guess?
I'm obviously here if you want to call and talk about it.
What's the kid like? Have you met her yet?

Text from Roz:
The most adorable baby in the whole world.
[Photo of a very cute dog of indeterminate breed smiling up at a camera with a Centaurs toy in their mouth.]

Text from Marleau:
DUDE I WAS IN CRISIS MODE

Text from Roz:
I think she has my eyes 🥺🐶❤️

—

Text from Marleau:
FUCK
Do you want me to kill Pike??
That FUCKING IDIOT
I'm looking at plane tickets but I'm not sure if you're in Montreal still or back in Ottawa
Fuck Ilya, I'm so sorry
God, Shane has to be freaking out
After all those years its fuckin HAYDEN PIKE who blows it?
I thought I would have been the one to fuck it up, but somehow Pike managed to be the bigger idiot?
And you were just about to fucking come out too, god I'm so pissed for yall
…
Roz you ok? I'm seriously ready to fly out to you, just wait for me to be there before you murder Pike so I can help hide the body

Text from Roz:
Sorry just woke up, Pike just told us about it
I am not murdering Pike today
Also no need to fly out, I am ok

Text from Marleau:
Are you sure? How are you both doing?

Text from Roz:
Shane is very upset
I do not have all the words right now for how I feel

Text from Marleau:
Bad?

Text from Roz:
Some bad. Weirdly some good.
There is no more waiting, everyone knows now.
I do not want to see Shane upset like this and did not want it to happen like this
But now it is done and we will tell everyone soon
It is still very bad though
There are a lot of feelings right now.

Text from Marleau:
Jesus, I bet.
Offer is still open for help with hiding the body, whether that's Pike, Roger Crowell or the Montreal Metros.

Text from Roz:
I will let you know when I need your services
We will see who needs murdering after this is done

—

July 2021

Text from Marleau:
Okay, how early should Rose and I be there to help with wedding things?

Text from Roz:
Things?

Text from Marleau:
Yeah? Like setting up the tables/chairs, or shit like that?
Wait, yall probably just hired some company for that didn't you

Text from Roz:
No we did not hire anyone

Text from Marleau:
Oh, good thing we planned to arrive early enough that we can help
How much is there to setup then?

Text from Roz:
Nothing

Text from Marleau:
?
What do you mean nothing?

Text from Roz:
It is backyard wedding.
We are going to stand in the backyard and exchange vows. Harris is bringing a speaker.

Text from Marleau:
…
Now when you say stand, you mean like you and Shane are standing while everyone else is sitting down and watching, right?

Text from Roz:
…

Text from Marleau:
RIGHT?

Text from Roz:
No.

Text from Marleau:
Roz.
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, “NO?”

—-
July 2021

“Alright, I’d tell everyone to sit down, but two psychos planned this wedding so there’s no chairs. So stay standing I guess?”

Cliff looked out at the audience of wedding guests, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. He was in front of audiences of thousands all the time, and yet it still felt intimidating to have everyone’s eyes on him. From the side, Rose gave him a supportive thumbs up, and he smiled gratefully back at her. Then he looked over at the happy couple, who had been practically fused at the hip since their vows were read. Shane smiled at him, but Ilya was exaggeratedly rolling his eyes and groaning. “Cliff, must you do your sappy feelings talk? Can we not just drink and dance to music?”

Cliff rolled his eyes back jokingly. “Shut it, Roz. I wrote out this whole fucking speech and I’m saying it no matter what, I don’t care if it’s your wedding.”

Ilya groaned again, “Ugh, I am getting flashbacks. Yes, yes, go ahead. It is not worth arguing, I have learned this.”

The audience gave a small smatter of laughter, which settled down as Cliff cleared his throat and looked down at the speech he had written out. Thank god Rose had helped him, she was way better with words then he was. His original draft had been a mess.

“When I was growing up, I was the baby of the family and had three sisters.” He felt everyone’s eyes on him, and it made him want to look away, but he forced his eyes up to look at everyone. “My dad was out of the picture, but I was too young to really know what that meant, so every Christmas, I asked for a brother.”

He swallowed and made eye contact with Ilya, who was looking quiet and attentive for once.

“I loved my sisters, and I loved my mom, but all I wanted was someone to joke around with and roughhouse. Someone who really got me. So every year as a kid, I wished for a brother. It took 20 years for my wish to be granted though, when an asshole from Russia with the biggest ego I had ever seen and all the talent to back it up ended up on my team.” A subdued grin broke across Ilya’s face, and for a moment, Cliff just grinned back at him. Then he continued.

“It wasn’t easy befriending Roz. He was great for partying, but hissed and fled like a stray cat the second you reached out a hand. It took years to get him to agree to hang out with me, and it took a hell of a lot of nagging, yelling, and pleading to get him to open up.”

“Sooo much nagging, oh my god.” Ilya moaned dramatically, leaning into Shane's shoulder as more laughter broke out.

“Hey asshole, can you shut up? I'm trying to talk over here.” Cliff grumbled jokingly.

Shane chuckled good-naturedly and put his arm around Ilya's shoulder. “I'll try to reel him in, sorry Cliff.”

“Dude, you're so lucky you found Hollander. Someone would have killed you years ago without him.” Cliff joked, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face as he did so.

Ilya dramatically zipped his lips shut, but he couldn't stop smiling at Shane in a way that made it very clear how lucky he thought he was.

Cliff had to look down at his notes and find his place again as the laughter died down again. “Harassing Ilya till he finally opened up to me was one of the best choices I have ever made. I thought we had been friends before that, but after I learned about the giant, Canadian hockey player-shaped secret that Ilya had been keeping close to his chest all of those years, I got to see a different side of Ilya. The soft side he only kept for Shane, and now occasionally me. The complete dumbass side who wouldn't let himself just be happy, and the secret part of him that loved as fiercely as he played. I saw the true Ilya, who was so fucking brave, and eventually, after getting his head out of his ass, happier than I had ever seen him before.”

Cliff looked up, locked eyes with Ilya and smiled, warm and teary-eyed. It was okay though, because Ilya's eyes were wet as well. He saw Shane gave Ilya a reassuring squeeze around the shoulders, and a kiss to the side of Ilya's head. Cliff cleared his throat and forced himself to keep going, deciding to improvise a little as he did so.

“I know I just said Ilya was lucky, but really it's Hollander whose the lucky one. Lucky to have the best captain out on the ice with him. Lucky to get Roz to change his man hoe ways and become the most loyal, and sickeningly in love man I have ever seen. Lucky to have Ilya, my brother, by his side for the rest of his life.”

Cliff turns to make eye contact with Shane now. “Hollander, I hope you always remember how lucky you are to have bagged Ilya. Take care of him please.”

Shane gives him a small, serious nod back, and Cliff smiles at him before locking eyes with Ilya again.

“Ilya, I'm so happy you found Hollander, and that you decided to listen to your heart. Thanks for telling me all those years ago.”

Ilya’s chuckle sounds choked up with emotion, as he walks over to Cliff and pulls him into a tight hug which Cliff returns happily. “Я люблю тебя, брат.”

Chapter End Notes

Я люблю тебя, брат- I love you, brother

This started as just 700 words cut from my draft of another fic, and here we are, nearly 20k later. Super fun to write supportive bestie Cliff, and I've enjoyed bonding with everyone over our collective love of Cliff. Fingers crossed for him appearing in season 2.

Also some notes:
-Cliff in this fic was always supposed to be a parallel to the type of support Rose offers Shane. Back in chapter 1, I was like "Huh.... HUH. What if..." so this was lowkey cooking this whole time in the background.
-Let's assume for this fic that Shane introduced Rose and Ilya in that first year at some point and they hit it off so well that Shane instantly regretted it (not really, he secretly loves it). Second assumption is that in this fic, Rose and Cliff are closer in age than their actors' age gap, with only a 3-4 year age gap. Which in your late 20s-early 30s with an established career is really not a significant age gap.
-The name/nicknames of the groupchat with Rose are a lil cameo from pretty boy anthem(my gnc Ilya fic that started all this), could not include it in that fic but this is their groupchat name in that universe as well.
-I really wanted to make it clear that this is a reciprocal friendship. Ilya is there for Cliff as much as Cliff is for him, even if it is in different ways. Also, with the bro code theming of this fic, I had to include the actual #1 rule of the bro code: being the wingman.
-Ilya has absolutely seen Cliff naked outside of the locker room, but they have a mutual pact to never speak of it again because it is a story that involves a lot of alcohol and several dumb decisions on all sides.
-I had to change to Cyrillic for the last line because brother in Russian is brat apparently?? So Cliff is brat.
-Many have gone "Cliff Marleau, bisexual? 🤔" in the comments, to which I, a bisexual, say ;)

Thanks for reading everyone ❤️ tell your bro you love them today.