Chapter Text
“I’m not asking a lot out of you.”
Hayden rips his neck guard off, scratching the irritated skin. Actually, all of his skin feels irritated right now. It’s like his body is experiencing an allergic reaction to the mere mention of having dinner with Ilya fucking Rozanov.
Still, Shane looks hopeful. He’s got the spark back in his eyes, he played a great game tonight, and he’s staring at Hayden like he has the power to brighten up his entire life. Or send it crashing down. So, he musters up the fakest smile he can offer, and nods once.
“Sure, buddy.”
“Yes!” Shane cheers quietly, then checks himself. The others are starting to pile out of the showers. “I- uh, I assume you talked to Jackie? Right?”
Hayden strips his shirt off and shoves it in his bag. “Yeah, man. I’m sorry.”
“No! No, don’t be- don’t be sorry,” Shane dismisses. He’s still got that stupid little smile on his face. “It’s fine. I expect nothing less. I just… maybe she would want to come?”
“Shane,” Hayden says seriously as he grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist, walking toward the shower stalls. Shane follows him like a lost puppy. “I think Jackie would kill me if I didn’t invite her.”
Shane breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay! That’s- that’s good. How’s, uh… tomorrow?”
“Fine by me,” Hayden starts the water, scrubbing at his sweaty skin. He checks behind them and moves in closer, ensuring nobody can hear his voice. “Look. Uh. He’s… he’s treating you right?”
Shane blushes down to his chest. He tugs his own clothes off and begins to shower in the stall next to him. “Yeah. I… yeah.”
“Okay,” Hayden exhales. He keeps his eyes on Shane for a beat longer. “Just… you’ll tell me, right? If that changes?”
“Yes.”
Shane peeks over at him when Hayden doesn’t respond. He’s holding his hand out, his pinky sticking up, and has his eyebrows raised at Shane.
“Jesus, Hayd. You need me to make a pinky promise?”
Hayden just wags his hand at him again. Shane rolls his eyes but connects their pinkies, twisting their hands together before pulling away and beginning to shampoo his own hair.
He can work with a pinky promise. Those can’t legally be broken.
-
“Hayden. Sit.”
Hayden follows the order obediently. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, and finally takes the slow, deep breath that Jackie has been requesting for the last twenty minutes. Her soft, manicured fingers rest on either side of his face, and he allows his eyes to flutter shut.
“You’re gonna be fine,” she soothes, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks. He reaches around her and grips her ass, pulling her closer, and buries his face in the familiar softness of her sweater. He takes another deep inhale. “Why are you so stressed?”
When he doesn’t answer, she tugs at his hair gently. He moves so he’s only resting half of his face against her chest and frees his mouth up. “I… I don’t know.”
“I think you do know.”
He rolls his eyes fondly. She can always see right through him. He moves his grip to a more appropriate spot, cupping her lower back, and tries to collect his thoughts.
“He’s my best friend,” he starts, his eyes shutting again when Jackie begins to scrape her nails through his scalp. “I just… seeing him like that. It was scary. I’ve never seen him so upset. So… I don’t know. Vulnerable, I guess.”
“It must’ve been hard for you.” Jackie allows him to pull her down onto his lap, tucking her chin over his shoulder. He runs his hand up and down her back, not quite sure who he’s soothing with the motion, but feeling the tension leave his body anyway.
“And, I mean… it’s Rozanov. Guy’s an asshole. He’s always been like that. It’s just… it’s hard for me to see him as anything other than Shane’s rival. Or the guy who made him feel that… that fucked up.”
Jackie presses a kiss to his shoulder and pulls back, resting her weight on his thighs. She cups his face again and ducks her gaze to meet his eyes. “I get that. It’s valid. But you have to try. You need to have some trust in Shane. He’s a big boy, you know. He can take care of himself.”
“I think he’s spent his entire life taking care of himself.”
Jackie smiles softly at him and kisses the corner of his mouth before getting up. “Okay. Here’s the plan. We’ll make a safe word. If he’s really bothering you, and you need me to make a diversion so you can take a breather, you just say it. Got it?”
God, Hayden thinks. I fucking love her. “Got it.”
Two hours later, Haydne finds himself in a place he wouldn’t even go to with a gun. Sitting across from Ilya Rozanov, trying to avoid eye contact, and picking at the delicious bird food Jackie put together for them all. He thanks his lucky stars that Jackie’s mom was able to take the kids.
“So.” Shane breaks the silence first.
Hayden flinches a little when Jackie rests her hand on his leg. He looks up at Shane. “So.”
“So,” Rozanov repeats. He looks… nervous?
“So, Shane. How’s your parents?” Jackie diverts. He rests his hand on top of hers and squeezes.
“Uh. Good. Yeah. They’re good,” Shane mumbles. He puts his fork down and sighs. “Look. This is horrible. Can we just… can we talk?”
“Nothing to say,” Hayden says bitterly. Jackie pinches him.
“I also have nothing,” Rozanov says. He’s bouncing his leg under the table. Hayden kind of wants to cut it off. Instead, he turns to Jackie.
“Wow. This food is good. Was it made with pineapple?” He stresses the last word. Jackie rolls her eyes.
“Okay. Follow me. Both of you.”
He stands, following her, and grunts in displeasure when Rozanov does so as well. She leads them near the front door, shoving both of them into the coat closet. Once they’re in, she closes the door in front of her, the sound of a lock clicking making Hayden’s heart rate shoot up.
“What the fuck?” Hayden calls, twisting the doorknob. It doesn’t budge. He bangs on the wood for a moment before giving up. “Jesus. What the hell?”
“Talk,” Jackie says through the door. “You aren’t coming out until you’re civil.”
“What happened to the safeword?!”
“Please,” Shane’s voice replaces Jackie’s. “Just try.”
“You were in on this, weren’t you?” Hayden accuses. He hears nothing but footsteps walking away from the door. He continues wobbling the doorknob for a long moment.
“Maybe door is voice activated.”
Hayden whips around, glaring at Ilya, who is making himself comfortable on the ground next to a box of diapers. “What?”
“Maybe you have to say door open.”
“What the… what the fuck are you even saying?” Hayden’s voice comes out much quieter than he wants. He wants to sound angry, biting, snarky. Instead, he just sounds… scared.
Because if there’s one thing Hayden Pike hates more than Ilya Rozanov, it’s an enclosed space.
It’s something he’s been working on in the privacy of his own home, mostly on the off season. He hasn’t even brought it up to Jackie. It’s a stupid, stupid phobia, especially for someone who spends most of the year with his head encased in a helmet, but something about being trapped makes his breath pick up. At this rate, the room is going to run out of oxygen in the next hour.
He doesn’t realize that Rozanov has stood up, doesn’t even realize Rozanov is trying to speak to him, until the Russian is directly in front of him. Hayden can’t look at him. Can’t open his eyes. He can’t fucking breathe-
“Pike,” Rozanov calls. He hesitates before resting a tense hand on Hayden’s shoulders. “You are having panic attack.”
“Stop, stop, just- just fuck off,” Hayden shoves at him, but there’s nowhere for him to move. He brings his hands up to the collar on his shirt, sucking in painful heaving breaths as he scratches up his neck. He’s going to die in this stupid closet, surrounded by children’s toys and winter jackets, with Ilya Fucking Rozanov. “Fuck.”
“Pike,” Rozanov repeats, gripping his shoulder again. Hayden squirms- or, well, attempts to. Rozanov doesn’t let him go far. “You will pass out. Take a breath.”
“No, no, I can’t, I can’t, I need-” Hayden doesn’t know what he needs. He needs Jackie, needs Shane, needs the kids. Needs the cocky Russian bastard in front of him to stop looking at him with a gaze filled with something other than hatred before he loses his shit. “I can’t, I can’t-”
“Hey, hey,” Rozanov quiets his voice. It’s softer, but it still has a sharp edge to it, like he knows he’s to be listened to. “Stop talking. Take a breath.”
“Rozanov,” Hayden chokes out. He finds, with absolute horror, that his hands have moved without his consent. Instead of scratching his neck enough to make a bloody mess, he’s gripping onto the solid muscle of Rozanov’s biceps, tightening his fingers into the soft material of his hoodie in a way that must be painful. Rozanov doesn’t even flinch.
“It’s okay,” Rozanov says softly. “You need to calm down.”
“I’m gonna die,” Hayden pants. He squeezes his eyes shut again and knocks his head back against the door repeatedly, getting harder every time. “I’m gonna fucking die in here, with the person I hate the most, and you’re probably gonna- gonna steal my watch, and then my son is gonna grow up and wonder what happened to his dad’s only family heirloom, and you’re gonna sell it on Etsy for twelve dollars, and-“
Hayden’s rambling is cut off when Rozanov roughly moves him away from the door, his own back against the hard wood, and brings his giant hand up to squeeze tightly at the back of Hayden’s neck. The grip shuts Hayden up instantly. His shoulders loosen, his head drops, but his chest is still rapidly rising and falling in a nearly hysterical manner.
“Hayden,” Rozanov says. “Shut the fuck up.”
Hayden swallows thickly. Rozanov doesn’t remove the hand from his neck, but he uses the other one to brace himself back against the door, taking slow, deep breaths. He’s loud and obnoxious with it, as he is with everything else, but after a moment, Hayden finds himself copying the rhythm.
“There we go,” Rozanov says after a few minutes. “Good. Easy.”
“Fuck,” Hayden spits out, suddenly aware of himself, of his proximity to the man who he uses as the villain in all of his kids bedtimes stories. He takes a big step back and braces his hands on his knees, suddenly light headed.
“Sit,” Rozanov orders. Hayden is disgusted to find that he’s already moving to sit on the floor. “Head between knees.”
It takes more energy to argue than to obey, so Hayden props his legs up and presses his face in between his knees, rocking back and forth a little in a self soothing motion. He hears rustling above him, and when his heart rate has settled into a normal level, he looks up. Rozanov is holding a water bottle out to him, the cap already twisted off.
“Drink. All of it.”
Hayden does so, chugging the bottle down and scrunching the plastic up. He hands it back to Rozanov and holds his hand out for the cap. The man gives him a look of confusion but places it in his open palm, and Hayden doesn’t think twice before shoving the hard plastic circle into his mouth, chewing on it.
“Okay,” Rozanov says quietly. He shuffles a little. “Is okay if I sit down?”
Hayden glances up at him, spots something strikingly like concern in Rozanov’s eyes. He nods, but Rozanov doesn’t move.
“Words, Pike. Need to know you have enough brains to make them.”
Hayden’s glare returns. He kicks a box out of the way and gestures to the ground. “Sit, whatever. I don’t care.”
Rozanov sits across from him, his legs straight out in front of him, and Hayden tries not to focus on the fact that his moral enemy is staring at him, trying to get a read. He relaxes after a couple minutes of silence.
“Uh,” Hayden starts, because Rozanov sure isn’t going to. “Sorry. For that. That was- I don’t know.”
“Panic attack,” Rozanov supplies. He fidgets with the edge of his own hoodie. “You get them lots?”
“No,” Hayden dismisses. Shane gets panic attacks. Shane locks himself in the bathroom and shakes and cries and can’t breathe. Shane needs his help between the two of them. Hayden just… has episodes, sometimes. “No.”
“Ah,” Rozanov says, like he’s seeing something Hayden isn’t. “Is not big deal.”
“I don’t have panic attacks, Rozanov,” Hayden bites out. The other man just shrugs. They go back to sitting in silence until it’s physically painful for Hayden to continue doing so. “You’re… you’re good at that. At calming people down.”
“Wasn’t,” Rozanov says. He looks to the side, his jaw tense. “Had to learn when I started seeing Shane.”
Finally, a topic the two of them can share. Hayden goes to open his mouth again when Rozanov hisses in pain.
“Back hurts.” He rubs a spot on his lower back, arching and trying to stretch. Hayden looks at where he’s cramped up across from him and sighs, making room for Rozanov to come sit next to him. There’s more leg room for the taller man. Once he’s next to him, Hayden feels better. He doesn’t have to look at him this way.
“I had to, as well,” Hayden offers. “Learn. I didn’t know how to help him. The first time he, uh, got like that, I was a mess. We were in a hotel together, like, two weeks after our first game. He was just rocking and silent and started whining if I tried to touch him.”
“Yes,” Rozanov agrees. He blows out a little sigh and shakes his head. “He does not ask for help.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Neither do you.” Rozanov takes him by surprise. He darts his eyes to him and finds the other man already looking at him. “Is okay, you know. To be scared.”
“Yeah? Is it?” Hayden barks. “I’m not sure I’m gonna take any lessons on emotional intelligence from you.”
He’s itching for a fight, for Rozanov to insult him back. Instead, the man just shrugs and looks away. “Fair.”
“You- what?”
“I am asshole,” Rozanov says quietly. “Is easy this way. People know what I am before I meet them.”
Hayden settles. He lays his legs out in front of him and inhales slowly. “Must be hard.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know. Everyone thinking you suck. Most of them have never even had a conversation with you.”
“Have you?” Rozanov asks. “Had a conversation with me? Before you write me off as… as terrible person. We never have even talked.”
Hayden opens his mouth to respond, to beak at him, but finds that he’s right. This is the first time he and Rozanov have ever had a private conversation that wasn’t chirps on the ice or snide comments in passing. He’s completely dismissed the man before he’s even got to know him.
“I’m sorry,” Hayden surprises himself. He doesn’t even register that he’s thinking the words until they’re out. “I’m… I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I’m sorry.”
Rozanov tenses beside him. He takes a breath and then knocks his foot against Hayden’s. “Is okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Hayden replies. “I’m- I don’t know, man. I’m protective. Of Shane, I mean. I don’t… all I hear is that you two hate each other, and then I see him like… like that a couple weeks ago. I didn’t know what to think.”
“Is good that he has you,” Rozanov says. When Hayden looks over at him, his eyes are closed, and his head is back against the wall. He looks almost… content. “I am happy he has friend like you.”
“I’m happy he has someone like you, too,” Hayden mumbles. He gets a cramp in his ass from the awkward position and adjusts, moving an inch closer to Rozanov. “I still don’t like you, though.”
Rozanov snorts out a quiet laugh. “I can handle that. I do not like you much either.”
“You’re arrogant, and rude, and if you ever treat Shane like you did that night, I will…” he thinks of the most horrifying threat he can imagine. “I will have another kid.”
“Oh god, no, anything but that,” Rozanov dramatically whispers. Hayden can’t help but chuckle, and after a few moments, the two of them are practically doubled over, laughing like idiots. It takes a minute for them to calm down enough, and once they do, Hayden finds his shoulder pressed against Rozanov’s. “I promise,” Rozanov says, voice cracking a little. “I will never let that happen again. He is everything to me.”
Hayden takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he agrees, nodding a little. “I can deal with that.” He holds his hand out to him. “Friends, Rozanov?”
Rozanov looks at his hand, then up to Hayden’s eyes, then nods. He shakes his hand. “Can call me Ilya, I guess. If we are friends.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
-
“Do you think they’ve killed eachother?” Shane asks, leg bouncing as he leans forward on his elbows. Jackie laughs quietly and rubs his back.
“Probably not. Hayden knows I don’t like to clean. He wouldn’t leave a crime scene for me to deal with.”
Shane huffs out a laugh and checks his watch. “Okay. They’ve been in there for an hour. They’re either best friends or dead.”
“I guess we can let them go,” Jackie agrees. She stands up and cracks her neck, grunting a little. “These kids are running me straight into my grave, I swear to god.”
Shane follows after her, a little nervous about what he might see inside the closet. He pictures the dead bodies of his best friend and boyfriend, both choked out from the aggressive hands of one another. He pictures a hole dug out the door, the two of them using whatever kind of weapon they can to free themselves. He pictures them mid fist-fight, Hayden losing (of course), and prepares himself to have to drag Ilya off of him.
What he’s not picturing, however, is for Jackie to open the door and find the two of them asleep, snuggled up against each other like they’re long lost lovers.
Hayden is snoring softly, his face smushed against Ilya’s shoulder, a small circle of drool already appearing on the man’s hoodie. Ilya is equally as passed out, but his head is tilted against Hayden’s. They’re slumped against the wall of the closet, and Shane thinks he’s never seen anything as amazing as this.
Shane looks to his side to see Jackie holding up her phone, taking as many pictures of the scene as she can. He can’t stop the loud laugh that bursts out of him, his hand flying to his mouth to silence himself, but the damage is done. Hayden blinks himself awake groggily, rubbing his eyes, causing Ilya to grunt as he wakes up. The second the two of them realize the position they’re in, they shove off of the other, sending themselves flying in every direction. Shane thinks he’s about to cry with the force of his laughter
“What the fuck?” Hayden gripes, rubbing his head where he’s just smacked it into an old baby sensory chair. Ilya scrambles up on his feet.
Jackie takes a minute to catch her breath, and, still wheezing, grips onto Shane’s arm. “Do you-“ she bursts out into more giggles. “Do you two need Shane and I to take the guest room tonight?”
“Fuck off,” Hayden groans, stumbling as he stands. He glares at Shane and Jackie. “You guys are traitors.”
“I’m not the one cuddling with your wife,” Shane says, then doubles over, holding onto Jackie for stability. Ilya rolls his eyes and shoulders past Hayden.
“Yes, yes. Laugh it up. Mister comedian,” he grabs Shane by the shoulder. “Can we leave?”
“You sure you two don’t wanna cuddle some more?” Jackie asks. Hayden rolls his eyes.
“Am sure. Thank you for hosting, Jackie,” Ilya leans in and kisses Jackie on the cheek, dragging Shane away as he’s still laughing. “Goodbye, Hayden.”
“Bye, Ilya.”
“Fine,” Hayden admits that night, after the other couple has left, after the kids have been FaceTimed, after he and Jackie get comfortable in bed. “I guess he’s not that bad.”
The next time they come for dinner, the picture of Hayden and Ilya is up above the fireplace. Ilya grumbles at it. Hayden tries to hide it. Shane asks Jackie to make a dozen copies so he can have one in every room.