Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

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

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Missing Scene, Coming Out, Post-Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry), Vulnerable Ilya Rozanov, POV Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, 2017 MLH Awards in Las Vegas (Game Changers), Smoking, Canon Compliant, more or less, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, No beta we die like Grigori Rozanov, no AI, hate that i have to say that now, AI was not a thing the last time i wrote fic, oh how times change, rereading this i've realized that scott might be coming away from this convo with the impression that ilya is gay, and i would just like to make it clear, ilya's bisexuality is very important, to his character and the story and also to me as a fellow bisexual, however i don't think he would bother to specifically label himself or explain his sexuality unprompted, and scott is processing too much information all at once here to think to ask about the details of ilya's exact sexual orientation, he is reaching out to scott here as a fellow queer man and the focus is on the similarities in their experiences not the differences

Language:

English

Collections:

hollanov for the heart <3, RainyBugs_Hollanov_Yay!, AHRFC

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-24 Words: 2,556 Chapters: 1/1

First, but not only

Summary

Rozanov took another drag of his cigarette and glanced away from Scott, smile fading. “I have… certain reputation, yes?”

Scott nodded, partially because it was true—Ilya Rozanov was one of the most notorious men in the league—and partially because Scott was curious where he was going with this.

Rozanov ashed his cigarette and glared down at the sparks as they fell. “Is not accident. My reputation. Is for safety. Protective.” He shrugged. “Is not all untrue—I am asshole, I am proud to be asshole. But… I am maybe not quite the person you think I am.”

-

Ilya Rozanov comes out to Scott Hunter at the MLH Awards

Notes

So uhhh.... holy shit Heated Rivalry happened. I haven't written fanfiction in like four years but this show has seized me and not let me go. This is easily the hardest I've hyperfixated on anything since Supernatural, and while I'm not expecting anything in my life to ever top the collective lovesickness of November 5, 2020, I will gleefully admit that the cultural explosion of Heated Rivalry has come the closest so far.

This is yet another take on the scene that is referenced but never shown where Ilya talks to Scott at the MLH awards; 300 people have probably written this already but for some reason this was the thing that stuck in my brain so this is what I wrote. I will say that I think in the show Scott has 100% clocked them, but for this specific fic to work Scott doesn't know about Ilya and Shane. It's probably a little ooc, I'm not sure Ilya would be able to stand expressing emotion in front of someone who annoys him as much as Scott Hunter, but then again I do think Ilya respects Scott a lot more than he lets on, and once he's decided to trust somebody he's very genuine, so who knows. Also I have not read the books so all of my characterization is coming from the show and what I've picked up from other fic

(This was supposed to be a canon compliant missing scene but then Ilya simply would not shut the fuck up so now it’s slightly canon divergence, oops) ((either that or Ilya lied later about not mentioning Shane when he talked to Scott, you pick))

Scott gripped the railing with white knuckles, staring out at the city and trying to take deep breaths. He was fine. He was fine. No one was being horrible. He’d received a fucking standing ovation for his MVP acceptance speech. Crowell had only grimaced a little bit when he’d shaken Scott’s hand. People all night had been coming up to him to tell him how brave he was, to say they supported him, to express their admiration.

Scott wasn’t feeling very brave. Scott was mostly feeling tired, and maybe a little nauseous.

He knew it had been the right decision not to bring Kip, the overwhelming attention that had been focused on Scott all night only strengthened his conviction on that front, but god he missed him. Would it be too pathetic if he called him?

He groaned and dropped his head, eyes struggling to refocus on the lawn several stories below. A part of him wanted to laugh. Scott Hunter, man of the hour, MVP of the MLH, hiding outside on a random balcony because people were being nice to him, desperately missing his boyfriend who would have come with him in a heartbeat if Scott had just been selfish enough to ask. Fuck, he was a mess.

He’d just begun to reach for his phone when a door slammed open behind him and Scott jerked around with a tiny yelp that he was absolutely never admitting to anyone was a sound he was capable of making.

Ilya Rozanov blinked back at him from the doorway, holding a pack of cigarettes and looking almost… guilty?

Scott didn’t know Rozanov, not really. He knew his reputation, knew how he played and how he chirped, but he’d never spoken to the man off the ice. As far as Scott could remember, Rozanov wasn’t one of the guys who threw around slurs, but he wasn’t one of the guys who had been publicly supporting Scott on social media either. And so far nobody had been overtly nasty to him tonight, but they were alone right now, out of sight of the crowd and the cameras, and Rozanov had never been known to be hesitant to throw a punch. Scott braced himself, anxiety churning in his gut.

Rozanov huffed out a breath and let the door swing shut behind him. He crossed to Scott, who took an instinctive step away, but Rozanov just leaned his back against the railing and took a cigarette out of the pack. Scott watched him light it and tried to decide if he should say something.

“You want?” Rozanov raised an eyebrow and tilted the box of cigarettes towards Scott.

“No thanks,” Scott shook his head. Rozanov shrugged, relaxing further against the railing and letting his eyes fall closed as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

Scott couldn’t tell if Rozanov was fucking with him, if he really had just come outside to smoke or if he was waiting for Scott to let down his guard before he pushed him off the balcony. He was probably being paranoid (he was definitely being paranoid, whispered a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Kip), but Scott would never have kept himself and his secret safe for as long as he had without being cautious.

Rozanov opened his eyes and chuffed a quiet laugh. “Relax, Hunter, I do not bite.”

Even deeply uncomfortable and slightly terrified, Scott couldn’t resist pointing out the blatant falsehood of that statement. “You literally bit Hayden Pike in a fight two years ago, people are still making memes about it.”

“Pike deserved it. I do not bite if you do not deserve it.” Rozanov tilted his head slightly. “Unless is sexy biting, but you are not my type. Anyway, I am impressed you know what meme is, considering your old age”

“I’m three years older than you, asshole!”

“No, no, this is lie, you are liar, you are forty-five at youngest, I am sure of this.” Raozanov was grinning at Scott now, and against his better judgement Scott found himself relaxing slightly. At the very least Rozanov wasn’t so disgusted by Scott’s sexuality that he was uncomfortable making a sex joke, which was probably a good sign.

“Fuck off,” Scott shot back, too tired to come up with a more creative response. “What the hell do you want, Rozanov?”

Rozanov took another drag of his cigarette and glanced away from Scott, smile fading. “I have… certain reputation, yes?”

Scott nodded, partially because it was true—Ilya Rozanov was one of the most notorious men in the league—and partially because Scott was curious where he was going with this.

Rozanov ashed his cigarette and glared down at the sparks as they fell. “Is not accident. My reputation. Is for safety. Protective.” He shrugged. “Is not all untrue—I am asshole, I am proud to be asshole. But… I am maybe not quite the person you think I am.”

Rozanov was avoiding eye contact, and Scott was solidly confused at this point. The kid looked almost nervous, shoulders hunched and hand trembling just a tiny bit as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips. His accent sounded thicker than Scott remembered it being, too, at least in recent years. And Rozanov was saying… what, exactly? That his public persona was intentionally a hot mess? Why? And, maybe more importantly, why was he saying this to Scott of all people?

“Russia has laws, about propaganda,” Rozanov continued. “I cannot publicly support homosexuality. I do not know what they would do to me. Arrest me, maybe. Someone as famous as me, maybe one day I just disappear. I cannot do like others, make twitter post and say you are brave.”

And, oh, okay, this was another one of those conversations then. Rozanov was letting Scott know that he wasn’t completely the dick he made himself out to be, that he supported Scott personally even though he couldn’t do so publicly. That was kind of sweet, actually. It almost felt more genuine than a lot of the responses he’d gotten, where he half suspected that most other players were only on his side for the sake of their own public images. Scott opened his mouth to say thank you—but Rozanov was still talking.

“I can never do what you have done.”

And that—Scott wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. He had done a lot of things recently. He’d won the cup, he’d won MVP, he’d kissed the man he loved in front of the entire world. But Rozanov already had a cup and an MVP award to his name, and… surely he wasn’t talking about coming out? That couldn’t possibly be…

Protective, he’d called his reputation, his very public persona of the arrogant playboy, the womanizing asshole. Not an accident.

The way his voice had tightened when he’d said, I do not know what they would do to me.

The fear in his eyes that still wouldn’t meet Scott’s.

Okay. Okay. This was… unexpected. Certainly not a guess Scott ever would have made without the evidence of the last few minutes. And he shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, shouldn’t make assumptions, because maybe Rozanov meant something entirely different and Scott was about to feel like the world’s biggest idiot. He almost hoped that was the case. That would probably be easier.

“Rozanov—” he started, and then stopped, because what the fuck was he even supposed to say right now?

But Rozanov managed to surprise him yet again, because he squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and then lifted his head to look directly at Scott. “Thank you.”

“I—you’re welcome?” Scott said, manners taking over as he tried to parse what the hell Rozanov was talking about. “Sorry, I just, maybe I’m missing something here—what exactly are you thanking me for?”

Rozanov frowned at Scott for a moment, then his eyes went wide. “You do not know? He was so sure you… hmm. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

“Yeah, no, I’m lost, man,” Scott admitted.

Rozanov laughed, then cut himself off with a slight wince. “I have been with many people, yes? Is common knowledge. I do not hide this.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Scott said. He very carefully didn’t read into the fact that Rozanov had said people, not women.

Rozanov nodded. He looked away from Scott again, then closed his eyes as if even looking the other way was still too much. When he continued, it was in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “Many people, yes. But I have only loved one.” He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his fingers drifted up to brush the cross at his throat. “Same one, since I was practically still child.”

There was pain in Rozanov’s voice, an ache that felt far too familiar. Scott was back to thinking his suspicions about this conversation may have had some merit after all. He knew that longing. He knew that fear.

He kept his mouth shut and let Rozanov speak.

“I have loved,” Rozanov said, and it sounded like a death sentence falling from his lips. He shook his head, took a drag of his cigarette, and squared his shoulders, eyes still closed. “I love,” he repeated, and this time it wasn’t an admission of guilt, but a declaration of truth, ringing with certainty and a quiet sort of defiance. Scott couldn’t help the thought that this was the Ilya Rozanov he knew, a man who apologized for nothing.

“I have never said this,” Rozanov continued, “because I was afraid. Because I believed it impossible. But you…” Rozanov opened his eyes at last and looked at Scott, and it was hard to tell for sure in the dim balcony lighting but it almost looked like he was crying.

“I thank you, Scott Hunter, because now you give me hope.”

“Shit,” Scott whispered, and maybe he was crying a little bit too, but god. This man, this kid, who Scott barely knew, who Scott barely even liked—he was carrying the same kind of heartache that Scott had once resigned himself to a lifetime of, and now he was baring his soul for Scott to see, for Scott to understand what maybe not a single other person ever could. And he was thanking Scott for hope.

Scott thought back to the way he had been drowning before he met Kip. Dying the slow death of a man who had been quietly suffocating for years. He remembered how it felt, the realization that somewhere along the way the color had seeped out of his life and left him wandering through endless gray fog. The future he longed for, every day further out of reach.

Meeting Kip had saved his life because suddenly that far-off future was something he could imagine, something he could dream of in a way that felt possible like it never had before. Kip had given him hope.

And now, without even realizing it, Scott had paid that forward.

Rozanov glanced away and swiped roughly at his eyes. Scott pretended not to notice, pretended he wasn’t doing the same. Rozanov coughed and gave him a small nod, so subtle Scott almost wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“I cannot be brave in same way as you,” Rozanov said, and Scott’s chest tightened as he realized the truth of that statement, of what Rozanov had revealed about Russia. “But maybe… maybe now I can be not so scared. Maybe now I will tell him.”

Scott couldn’t help the instinctive fear that still surged at that thought, and he knew Rozanov had clocked it by the way his eyebrows raised at Scott’s sharp inhale.

“Be careful,” Scott said lamely, like Rozanov was not just as aware as he was of the consequences of carelessness. But Rozanov surprised him by laughing.

“No, is not what you are thinking, is not something new. I am careful for decade now. He is twice as careful as I am. Careful gets us nowhere, only hurt and alone. We have said how we feel in every way but words. You took risk, risk paid off. Maybe is time I take risk too.”

“A decade?” Scott blinked and tried to quickly do math in his head. “That’s—holy shit, man, that’s longer than you’ve been in the league, Jesus."

Rozanov shrugged. “First few years I was more admiring from afar, but yes, still technically started before our rookie season.”

Scott’s brain snagged on one word in that sentence, and before he could stop to think if it was wise to press, he was blurting, “‘our’?”

Rozanov stiffened immediately. “Ah, no, I misspeak, mean to say ‘my’, English is terrible language, really.”

“Uh huh.” Scott decided to drop it. Rozanov was looking tenser now than he had at any earlier point in this conversation. If he really was in a relationship with another player then it was probably safer for everyone involved if Scott didn’t know, regardless of his curiosity.

Rozanov stared at him for a long moment, before seeming to accept that Scott wasn’t going to challenge him on his mediocre lie and relaxing slightly. “You are not the only one with secrets, Scott Hunter. I could make you look like… teeniest potato in whole garden.” He flashed his teeth and stubbed out his cigarette, then flicked it over the balcony railing.

“Littering!” Scott protested instinctively.

Rozanov threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Everyone is right, you really are boring old man. Have a good night, Hunter. When your pretty boyfriend gets tired of taking care of you in nursing home, send him to me and I will find him better lover his own age.” Rozanov shot Scott a wink and went back inside.

“I’m not even old!” Scott called halfheartedly after him. The door banged shut.

Well then. That had just happened.

Scott had been certain his brain had already spiraled over every possible scenario for how this night could have played out, but he could admit that he had not even remotely expected one of the biggest stars in the MLH to come out to him. He had been even less prepared to hear that his own actions had inspired the courage in someone else to imagine a future that wouldn’t hurt quite so much.

Scott had known logically that he couldn’t be the only one. But it hadn’t been until now that he really believed it. There was at least one other. Maybe two, if he’d correctly guessed what Rozanov had been implying.

He wasn’t alone.

He was still first. But now being first meant something so much more immediate. Rozanov was tangible evidence that what Scott had done had made a difference in more lives than just his own. That alone made everything worth it.

Scott was still tired, and he still missed Kip, and he still dreaded going back inside to the reception where everyone was talking about him. But he had a newfound sense of gratitude, and a newfound faith that things would keep moving forward. He was finally certain of what he had been trying to convince himself for weeks.

Scott was the first. But he was not the only one. And he would not be the last.