Chapter Text
Airports always made Shane restless. It wasn't the crowds; that he was used to. It was the feeling of being suspended while waiting to board the flight, like life had pressed pause without asking his permission. Everything smelled faintly of burnt coffee and recycled air, and every surface was designed to keep people moving without ever letting them settle.
He stood near the departure board long enough to memorize the layout. The word CANCELED was still there, glaring and final. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back to bleed off the tension collecting between them.
Nearby, Hayden was pacing in a tight semicircle, phone pressed to his ear. His voice carried just enough for Shane to hear fragments of conversation. He was complaining to Jackie about how long they've been waiting for the airline to clear and announce that they could board.
“No, I get it,” Hayden said into the receiver. “I know it’s weather. I’m just saying…”
Shane tuned him out. He didn’t need the play-by-play. He knew Hayden hated delays as much as he did, but the thing that was bothering his best friend right now was being away from his wife and kids. He pulled his phone out, checking for new messages, knowing the one he was looking for wasn't going to come.
The overhead announcement crackled to life.
“Attention passengers. Due to severe weather conditions, all remaining outbound flights this evening have been cancelled—”
The terminal reacted immediately. Groans rippled outward. Someone swore. Someone else laughed, sharp and humorless. Shane felt it settle in his chest, heavy but expected. He had known it was coming the moment the snow started coming down sideways against the windows.
Hayden pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at Shane like he didn't just hear the same announcement. “They cancelled it.”
“Yeah,” Shane said quietly. “I heard.”
Hayden dragged a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”
Shane nodded, already mentally cycling through the logistics. They would need to book a hotel room, and with the amount of people still stuck behind, he wasn't sure there would be much availability. He looked back down at his phone, his thumb hovering over the Lily text thread again.
He and Hayden weren't the only ones stuck. There were dozens of other players from other teams here with them. Along with some coaches, league representatives, and even some higher ups who didn't make the early morning flight before the storm got heavy. Among these, unfortunately, was Rozanov, who was across the terminal, leaning casually against a pillar, eyes glued to his phone. Shane hated the way he stood calm and collected, like the universe didn't just throw a wrench into everyone's plans. Classic.
He looked infuriatingly at ease, standing with his coat open, his bag slung over one shoulder. No tension in his posture at all, like getting snowed in was a mild amusement at best. His eyes flicked up and landed on Shane immediately. They always do. His lips curled up, in a knowing smile. Like he knew Shane had been thinking of him. He immediately looked down at his phone again, which didn't help because it was still on Lily.
Shane’s stomach felt uneasy and his throat felt tight. “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. He knew Rozanov was going to make his way over without even looking up. He could just feel his presence. There always seemed to be some kind of electric pull between them. Or an invisible string tethering them to each other.
“What?” Hayden asked, distracted.
“Nothing,” Shane said quickly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Just… nothing.” He looked back at the departure board, willing them to change.
Ilya tucked his phone into his pocket and pushed himself off the pillar. The announcement was still echoing through the terminal, a beautiful, robotic death toll for everyone’s travel plans. He didn't mind. In Russia, people learn quickly that the weather does not care about your schedule. They move on. They adapt. In America, they always act surprise when nature disagrees with them. Apparently, Canadians were just the same.
He made his way over to opposite wall of the terminal, unhurried, enjoying the way Hollander’s entire body seemed to brace for impact.
“Well,” Ilya said as he slid beside Hollander, voice low and teasing, “Looks like we get to extend our vacation.”
Hollander didn’t bother looking at him, eyes locked on the departure board like it owed him an explanation. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?” Ilya's smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just here to enjoy the show. Watching you lose your mind over cancelled flights.”
Hollander's gaze flicked up, flat and unimpressed. “I’m not losing my mind. You’re just annoying.”
“Annoying?” Ilya leaned back, clutching his chest dramatically. "You wound me."
Hollander's jaw clenched, but the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed him. “Asshole.”
Marlow had drifted over, thumbs dancing across his phone. He settled next to Pike, who had been standing off to the side, observing. Looking up and catching the end of their conversation, he snorted. “You two always like this?”
“Yeah,” Pike and Hollander said in perfect time, voices low but unmistakable in their synchronicity.
Ilya's grin deepened. “Wow, so the only time Montreal can find rhythm is when you agree on me and Hollander?”
"Shut the fuck up, Rozanov!" They said again in unison. Marlow and Ilya guffawed.
A team coordinator approached, his shoulders slumped like a man who’d seen one too many spreadsheets and far too little sleep. “Alright, listen up. Hotels are scrambling to find extra rooms, but it's very limited. We’ll have to double up wherever possible.”
The names started flying.
“Pike, Marlow: you’re together. Hollander…”
Hollander’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
“Hollander, you’ll be with Rozanov.”
Ilya caught the color drain from Hollander’s face, stark and almost poetic against the sterile airport lighting.
“What?” Hollander’s voice cracked, barely contained outrage.
Pike’s voice came out firm and sharp. “No way. Absolutely not.”
Ilya stayed calm, shifting the strap of his bag with a practiced ease. He leaned in slightly, letting his accent thicken just enough the way he knew Pike hated. “I do not mind. We are professionals, are we not, Pike?”
Hollander tore a sharp look at him. “You don’t get a vote.”
The coordinator raised his hands helplessly, voice strained. “Look, guys, I’ve already made the last minute adjustments. Everyone is accounted for. This is the only option and the hotel’s already confirmed it.” Without waiting for another protest, he moved away, leaving a charged silence behind.
Ilya’s gaze locked on Hollander’s. His eyes lingered on the freckles dusting Hollander’s cheeks, now flushed with a mix of frustration and something softer. “And neither do you.”
Hollander opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Ilya stepped closer. Just close enough for the subtle scent of his cologne to reach him, a quiet, intimate invasion. His voice dropped to a low, vibrating whisper meant only for Hollander. “You will survive,” he said. “You always do, Hollander.” Then, with a slow, deliberate wink, he added, “Besides, I’ll be right there.”
“This is ridiculous,” Pike muttered, his eyes glued to his phone screen as he followed Cliff through the underground parking garage. He wasn't even looking at where he was going, too busy typing a response to a text, his thumb moving at top speed. “We barely even know each other. I’ve spent years trying to keep you away from my goalie, and now I’m sharing a bathroom with you?”
Cliff grinned. He adjusted his bag, his massive frame barely noticing the weight. He didn’t hate Pike. The guy wasn't the most dominant winger in the league, but he worked hard and held his own on the ice. Off the ice, he was just... busy.
“You know my stats, Pike,” Cliff said, his voice a rumbling, easy baritone. “You know I lead the league in hits and I’m third in blocked shots. That’s a solid foundation for a roommate. You don't get a blue-liner with better defensive awareness than me.”
“That literally has nothing to do with us sharing a room,” Pike said, finally looking up as they reached the elevator doors. He didn't sound angry, just overwhelmed. He held up his phone, which was vibrating with a FaceTime request. “I haven't seen Jackie or the kids all week. It's not easy for her to deal with two toddlers and a baby with me traveling all the time.”
Cliff hummed, stepping into the elevator. He felt bad for the guy. Pike looked stressed. But there wasn't really anything they could do. It was out of their control. He'd rather not spend however many days they were stuck here being uptight about the fact that they were stuck. He decided to change the subject instead.
“You snore?” he asked, cutting right through the domestic chaos.
Pike stopped short, blinking. “Probably, but my wife hasn't complained too much about it lately.”
Cliff studied him for a second, head tilted. Pike wasn't wound tight like Hollander; he was just pulled in six different directions at once. “Okay. Good. If your kids don’t FaceTime you at midnight and scream, I won’t smother you with a pillow." They laughed, and the tension eased off Pike's shoulders slightly. "I’m a simple. I like my sleep and I like free breakfast buffets.”
“Ruby and Jade are almost three,” Pike said, and Cliff watched the guy’s face melt. “And Arthur is barely a few months. My wife definitely will call. She’s solo-parenting a circus right now."
“Well, you better say your last goodbyes on that call." Pike laughed. "It's fine. I can sleep through a goal horn if I’m tired enough. Don't worry about it.” Cliff shrugged his massive shoulders, leaning his back against the elevator wall. He could sleep through a riot if he had to. It was one of his best qualities.
As the elevator moved, Cliff caught their reflections in the doors. He looked relaxed, like he was on vacation. Pike, on the other hand, was already back on his phone, his brow furrowed with intensity.
“I hate this storm,” Pike admitted, finally lowering his shoulders and putting his phone away. “I just want to get home.”
Cliff laughed, a deep, warm sound. He reached out and rested a firm hand on Pike’s shoulder, steady and reassuring.
“I love it,” Cliff said, eyes shining. “The world slows down. Phones might still buzz, well, yours anyway, but the noise quiets. We get to stay in a free room. Relax, Pike. We’ll get you back to the circus soon enough. Tonight, we’re just two guys with nowhere to be.”
Pike glanced at Cliff’s hand, then up at him, letting out a weary breath and managing a small smile.
“Fine,” he muttered, not pulling away. “But if you wake me up early the one time I can actually get at least six hours of sleep, we’ll have a problem.”
Cliff’s grin grew wider. “Deal.”
As they stepped out, Cliff spotted Rozy and Hollander heading toward the front desk of the hotel. One looked like he won the lottery and the other looked like he was headed to his own execution.
Cliff snorted. Poor Hollzy. Rozy was going to eat him alive in that room.
“Check them out,” Cliff nudged Pike, nodding toward their own captains. “Imagine if you got Roz instead of me." He beamed at Pike.
"I'll definitely count my blessings on that."
"Man, imagine the tension in that room. Probably shouldn’t leave them alone with anything sharp.”
Pike let out a surprised laugh, distracted from his phone for a moment. “My money's on Shane.”
Cliff chuckled, swinging his bag. Pike isn't so bad. He wonders why Rozy's always talking shit on the guy.
The hotel lobby was a disaster of wet coats and angry hockey players. Ilya stood in the line, Hollander hovering beside him like a ghost. He could practically hear the other man’s heart. Every time a stray body pushed against them, their shoulders brushed. Hollander did not move away. He stayed rooted, a statue of panic.
At the front desk, the receptionist kept her gazed focused on her computer screen, clearly too tired to care about hockey rivalry. “Last names?”
“Hollander.”
“Rozanov.”
The receptionist’s fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard. “One room. Two keys.” She hesitated, glancing up at them. “It’s a king bed. I hope that’s alright. We’re fully booked.”
Ilya caught the flicker of discomfort in Hollander’s eyes, bracing himself for an outburst. But Hollander swallowed it down, silent and overwhelmed.
“Fine,” Hollander’s voice was flat, as if marking a funeral rite.
“Perfect,” Ilya said smoothly, snatching the keys before Hollander’s hand could reach them.
As they moved toward the elevators, the silence between them crackled like electricity. Ilya’s hands stayed casually in his pockets, while Hollander’s posture screamed punishment, like a player dragged off the ice for a brutal penalty.
“You could have said no,” Ilya murmured as the elevator doors slid shut, sealing them together.
Hollander stiffened, back pressed to the cold metal wall. “I did.”
Ilya’s smirk finally broke through his calm facade. “You said ‘fine.’ There’s a difference, Hollander.”
He watched Hollander’s reflection in the glass, jaw clenched so tight it seemed it might shatter, eyes locked on the floor numbers descending. A man clinging to the illusion of control. Ilya knew otherwise. They had one room, one bed. And Hollander had surrendered with that single word: fine.
The elevator slowed. Ding. Ilya stepped out first, the heavy, reluctant footsteps of his companion trailing behind him into the stillness of the corridor.
Hayden dropped his duffel bag alongside the wall, just inside the entryway. He didn't move for a second, his eyes immediately darting across the room to the two separate, glorious beds placed side-by-side.
He exhaled a breath he felt like he’d been holding since the cancellation announcement at the terminal. "Okay," he muttered, nodding once. "Good. Two beds. That’s… civilized."
Marlow followed him in, looking like he's never experienced a single moment of travel anxiety in his life. He didn't even stop to look at the view or check the mini-bar. He just took three strides and tossed his jacket onto the mattress closest to the window. It landed with a heavy thud, marking territory like a flag.
"Dibs," Marlow said.
Hayden blinked, looking from the jacket back to the massive defenseman. "On what grounds?"
"Standard shotgun rules. I'm in line of the bed, I called dibs," Marlow said, already unzipping his bag.
"Damn."
"Also, this one is farther from the door. Less chance of someone breaking in to murder me in the middle of the night."
Hayden stared at him, genuinely trying to follow the logic. "When the hell would that happen?"
"Statistically," Marlow said, sitting down to test the firmness of the bed, "it's never not a possibility."
Hayden sighed, the familiar weight of being the adult in the room settling onto his shoulders. He grabbed his back, walked to the opposite side of Marlow, and set it down on the floor at the end of the bed. He sat down and was pulling his phone out of his pocket by habit. He had four new texts from Jackie.
JACKIE 💛
Still snowing?
Kids are feral.
Ruby says goodnight.
Jade says you owe her pancakes.
Hayden felt his jaw loosen, a small smile tugging at his mouth despite the exhaustion. He tapped out a quick I love you all, tell them I'll be home soon, before glancing across the room.
Marlow was flopped backward onto his bed, boots still on the duvet, scrolling through his phone with a level of focus usually reserved for a power play. Hayden noticed he was switching between chats, three different ones from the looks of it, with such a pace that Hayden was almost impressed.
"You’re texting like three women," Hayden said, as he sat down, leaning back against his headboard.
Marlow squinted at the screen, his thumb never stopping. "Four. One might ghost. I plan ahead. It's called being prepared, Pike."
"That’s exhausting."
"That’s efficient," Marlow countered, finally locked his screen and looked over. "Have you ever been single? Or did you just skip that part of life?"
"Yes," Hayden said dryly. "Briefly. I didn’t like it."
Marlow grinned, a wide, effortless expression. "Man, you're whipped."
Hayden smirked, shaking his head. "Whipped? Maybe. Or maybe I just know what’s worth sticking around for." He paused, eyes narrowed playfully. "But hey, keep juggling those conversations, Casanova."
Marlow laughed, tossing his phone onto the bed. "This is just warming up, Pike. Efficiency is key." He gave Hayden a cocky grin. "Besides, being whipped sounds way too boring."
"Whatever you say. But here’s a serious question: do you snore?"
Marlow didn’t even hesitate. "Yeah."
Hayden closed his eyes and let his head thud back against the wall. "How bad?"
"Like a chainsaw with emotional damage."
“Fantastic,” he said, his tone blending resigned amusement with mild annoyance.
A brief, easy silence settled between them as snow pressed softly against the window. The quiet made the hotel room feel like a small island in a vast white sea.
Marlow glanced over. “So, you good with being stuck? Not planning to hot-wire a bus to Montreal?”
Hayden shrugged, checking his phone one last time. “Not ideal. But it is what it is. Jackie says the girls are pretending the living room’s a frozen tundra, so maybe I’m safer here.”
He settled back into his pillows, thinking of his captain stuck with a man who thrived on provocation. A flicker of pity for Shane passed through him, but just as he started to relax, his phone buzzed in his hand.
SHANE
Dinner in an hour? Rozanov is coming too. I don't think it's safe for us to be alone too long. I might actually commit a crime. I need a buffer. Ask Marlow too. Meet in the lobby?
He glanced over at Marlow, who attention was back on his phone, chuckling. “Looks like the peace and quiet is on a timer,” Hayden said, sitting up straighter. “Shane wants to grab dinner in an hour. And Rozanov’s coming.”
Marlow didn’t even bother looking up, his fingers dancing over the screen as he sent off a last message. “Perfect. I’m starving. Besides, I want to see if Hollzy’s still hanging onto any hair or if Rozy’s managed to annoy it all off. Count me in.”
Hayden sighed, already bracing for the headache that was sure to follow. “Right. Dinner with all four of us. This should be… interesting.” He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least it’ll break up the night.”