Archive of Our Own

“Babe,” Hayden hears from the other side of the bed. Instinctively, he pulls the blanket over his head and rolls to the opposite side. “Babe, wake up.”

He grunts in response. What time is it even? Definitely not a socially acceptable time to wake up on a Saturday morning.

But Pike has 4 children so, realistically speaking, any time is a socially acceptable time to get up.

“What is it? Is it Amber?” he asks, eyes still closed.

The room is dark and, strangely, silent.

A beat goes by.

That’s not particularly usual in this household.

He turns onto his back and then to the right side of the double bed, not sure what he expects to find. He can't think of a single reason why Jackie would want to wake him up before sunrise if there isn’t a crying baby involved in the equation.

When he opens his eyes, she’s sitting upright, her back pressed against the fancy dark wood headboard. Her hair is completely disheveled, one hand covering her mouth.

If that image alone isn’t enough to scare the living shit out of Hayden, her eyes finish the job. They’re wide, frozen and locked on the glowing phone in her hand.

"What is it?" Hayden tries again, this time a little more exasperated than before. Sharper. Maybe a little scared. This should be something important. Whatever the fuck Jackie saw on her phone was enough to wake her sleep-deprived husband at five a.m.

She swallows hard.

"You might wanna make some calls."

Then she hands the phone to a more confused Hayden Pike than ever.

At first he doesn't quite understand what's happening. For a split second, seeing his own face on the screen, he sighs and wonders if he'd be kicked out of bed if he loudly complained about being woken up just to see the FanMail he'd sent Brad the day before.

He shifts his gaze from the screen to his wife's eyes, clearly irritated. He didn't understand what he was supposed to be seeing.

She just raises her eyebrows in response, what Hayden clearly read as ‘just wait for it’.

He returns his attention to the video and then—

Holy. Shit.

In the mirror behind him, the reflection is as clear as day: the large backyard of Hayden's house. In the middle of the well-kept stretch of lawn, in the dark stone driveway, both of his cars parked exactly where they should be.

Until Shane steps into frame, with Ilya right behind him.

“Fuck.” Hayden whispers under his breath.

“Wait for it,” Jackie orders, her voice bitter and tight. Hayden feels the blood drain from his face.

In the video, he’s still congratulating the random person who bought this stupid FanMail completely unaware. 

Then Shane laughs and Ilya, without thinking twice, reaches for him. Instinctively, his hand slides to the back of Shane’s neck and pulls him closer. Shane doesn't hesitate, he just takes a small step forward at the same moment their mouths meet.

And it's not a quick kiss either. It's a well-given kiss. The kind that only extremely passionate people dare to share, and only when they forget the rest of the world exists. The kind that makes you lose your balance a little.

A real real kiss. 

There is no universe where someone watching this doesn’t recognize them. There is no lie big enough to cover it up. There is no way people won’t immediately understand what this means.

Hayden feels his stomach drop.

He just kicked his best friend and his boyfriend out of the closet. Accidentally.

His hands start to shake.

“Shit,” he whispers.

Jackie presses her lips into a thin line.

“Yes.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He throws the blanket off and gets out of bed. “Oh my God. Shane is going to kill me.”

Jackie stares at him with a closed face and furrowed brow. There's not much that can be done now.

“Where is this, where did you find it?” Hayden asks, exasperated.

Jackie makes a face and hesitates, “Twitter?”

“Fuck.” Hayden whispers.

When he looks at Jackie again though, for the first time, beneath all the apprehension, there’s also empathy. As if she’s silently apologizing for what he’s about to walk into.

"Like I said," she murmurs, attempting a small, useless smile, "you might wanna start making some calls."

Hayden runs a hand through his hair, pacing now. "Shit."

[...]

Troy isn’t sure if he's dreaming.

His brain feels scrambled and his skull is pulsing in punishment for the criminal, abysmal amount of apple cider he drank at Bood's barbecue the night before.

But wait — no. He is definitely hearing the annoying, shrill, relentless ringing of his phone right beside him. That is not a dream.

Beside him, Harris huffs and blindly kicks something off the bed and it hits the floor with a soft thud. It could only be Mr. Neck-Neck. Troy couldn't care less.

"I've told you to change that ringtone a thousand times," Harris's voice comes out muffled against the pillow. He burrows himself deeper under the covers, trying to escape the unbearable noise while pressing his back against Troy's.

Troy smiles faintly, but his happiness leaves his face almost instantly as the phone keeps ringing. 

He grunts and stretches an arm toward the bedside table in Harris's room, fingers dragging over cold wood until they find the phone, with eyes still closed.

"Yeah?" He grumbles, probably far much ruder than necessary for someone who hasn’t even checked who’s calling yet.

Regardless, he doesn't care. Whoever it was, they just woke him up early on a hungover Saturday. That’s on them, no apologies.

"Oh my fucking God, thank Christ you answered." a voice Troy doesn't immediately recognize reaches his ears.

His eyes snap open.

He frowns and pulls the phone away from his ear and squints at the screen to see who exactly was calling. The number isn't saved in his contacts.

He clears his throat, "Who's this?"

Harris surfaces from the blanket cocoon and stares at him, confusion written all over his face.

"Okay, right, I guess you don't know who I am," the voice says quickly, breathing unevenly. Troy can even feel a little sorry for him, because whoever this guy is, he's definitely having a worse morning than he is. "I'm Hayden."

A beat goes by. Harris is still staring at him, confused at the lack of words he’s saying to the phone.

“As in…” Troy blinks, trying to force his brain online, “the Voyager’s first-line left wing?”

Harris mouths silently, what?!

“Yes. As in exactly that.” Hayden says, probably a lot stressed, because Troy can almost hear him pacing. “Do you know where Shane is?”

Troy is obligated to bring his phone screen into his field of vision one more time just to make sure this is not some bizarre alcohol-induced hallucination.

“What?” He asks, his voice sharpening, “Why on earth would I know where your captain is?”

“Shit.” He says, “I meant Ilya.”

Troy blinks.

“What?”

Hayden snorts. For someone who refuses to explain what the hell is going on, he should’ve expected a little more resistance to his weird-ass questions.

“Okay, listen.” He takes a deep breath. “You have no idea how many people I had to call just to get your number. So just answer me, please. Ilya mentioned something about a team barbecue. Did he go? Yesterday?”

Troy presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“To Bood’s barbecue?” He huffs out a laugh. “Nah, he never shows up to those.”

“Thank God,” Hayden breathes. 

Troy is so confused he might just hang up and pretend this conversation never happened.

“They’re probably still in Montreal then,” Hayden keeps going, “Okay. Good. Thank you.”

Troy glances at Harris and shrugs.

“Who’s they?”

A pause.

“Look,” Hayden says, voice tightening, "everything is shit right now and I don't have time to explain. I just need to find Shane. So thanks for the help."

“Shane Hollander?” Troy asks, slowly his voice thinner than usual. He suddenly starts to feel something cold crawling up his spine. “Wait. Does that mean I was right? Are they actually together?”

Hayden pauses.

Harris's mouth is wide open as he stares at his boyfriend on the phone.

The silence makes it possible for Troy to hear his heart beating once, twice, three times, and then—

“You knew?”

“Well,” Troy swallows, “I mean… not knew. Wasn’t totally sure, at least.”

Hayden, despite everything, manages to let out a short, almost hysterical laugh.

“Just open Twitter,” he says, softer now, but still tired. “You’ll understand. I've got some apologies to make."

And then he hangs up, without much more explanation. 

Troy lowers the phone slowly.

Harris, very naked and very confused, stares at him.

“What the hell was that?”

Troy doesn’t answer.

He’s already opening Twitter.

It doesn’t take too long to find what Hayden was probably talking about. In fact, it takes less than half a second: it’s everywhere. It’s the only thing his hockey-based timeline is interested in talking about.

The video starts playing before Troy even taps on any of the posts. 

Harris shifts awkwardly, sitting up against the headboard and trying to scoot closer to his boyfriend, staring intently at the phone screen.

At first, it doesn’t seem like anything special. Hayden’s ordinary face, whom Troy had never seen off the ice, spouting nonsense to whoever Brad was, wishing him a happy birthday or whatever.

Normal, he thinks. He never actually saw any FanMails before this one.

Until disaster strikes.

Shane steps into the frame with Ilya right behind him and Troy’s stomach drops before his brain can catch up.

When the video ends, Troy feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. He just locks his phone and drops it onto the duvet.

Harris is the one who decides to break the silence.

“What do you mean,” he begins slowly, turning his head so that his eyes meet Troy’s, “you knew?”

Troy swallows hard.

Right. He heard the phone call. 

“Well,” he says carefully, “I didn’t know, know.”

Harris shifts, sitting cross-legged among the stuffed animals at the foot of the bed. He has that look on his face, the one of someone who won’t let Troy move until he tells him everything.

Troy exhales.

“When I finally worked up the courage to tell Ilya I was gay,” he says, quieter, “he told me he wasn’t straight.”

Harris blinks.

“I just watched thirty seconds of your captain devouring another guy’s mouth,” he says flatly, “and even I’m struggling to reconcile that with his entire womanizing persona.”

Troy huffs out a weak breath. 

“Well, yeah,” he tries, “that was kind of my first reaction too.”

Harris throws himself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“So. Okay. He’s bi.”

Troy clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Harris takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and literally acting as if this information changed everything he was sure of in his life. As if it physically hurts.

Which, honestly, for a gay hockey fan who worshipped rivalries and narratives and straight-coded captains his whole life… maybe it does.

“And Hollander?” Harris asks, eyes still shut, but with a furrowed brow. “How did you know about him?”

Troy hesitates.

“Ah…” he begins, but hesitates. “It’s just that— I’d heard the rumors, you know, of him being gay.”

“Yeah.” Harris agrees. Everyone in the Hockey world heard that at least once.

“And,” he keeps going, “when Ilya told me that he liked guys… I remembered the training camps they have together. The way they look at each other sometimes.” He sighs. “I don’t know, okay? It just… clicked.”

The silence stretches between them.

“And he confirmed it?”

Troy sniffles and decides to lie down beside Harris, staring at the grey-ish ceiling too. 

“No,” he murmurs, “He just changed the subject.”

Harris lets out a humorless laugh.

“Oh my God, this sucks,” he says, because, clearly, yes it does.

They didn’t choose this. 

They clearly didn’t do this on purpose. Troy has no idea if they even had plans to go public at any point in time. He knew Ilya was a little upset about the situation, but considering the conversation they had just a couple of weeks ago, he clearly had looked exhausted just discussing the possibility of honesty.

"Yeah. I talked to Ilya the other day," he decides to share his thoughts, softly. "Told him that being out was the best I've ever felt. That maybe he should do it too." 

He almost smiles at the memory. 

Harris waited for the rest.

"He just sighed and told me it wasn't just his secret to share."

Harris hesitates, turning his head slowly.

"Wow."

"Yeah." 

Troy presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The situation is so absurd that Troy almost manages to forget how much his head hurts. Almost.

"Can you even believe it?" Harris asks, clearly still in denial about what just happened.

Troy lets out a shaky breath. "Not really. I mean… they’re sworn rivals."

As if being gay as a hockey player isn't hard enough. Troy could understand it entirely. All the macho and homophobic culture would be enough to make anyone stay in the closet forever.

But that?

Falling for the captain of your direct opponent? Falling for the guy the whole media villainizes you with?

Troy can’t even imagine. He can’t even form words to try to understand how fucking hard that probably was. Seeing each other only a handful times a year and still having to pretend it meant nothing on the ice.

Troy’s mind flashes back to the game against Toronto at the start of the season, when a rookie sneered that Ilya was protecting Troy, his ‘new meat’, because he was probably tired of ‘fucking Shane Hollander’s ass.’

He remembers how Ilya had dropped his gloves before the sentence had even finished.

At the time, Troy thought the anger came from the slur, from being called gay. Now he understands what that really came from.

“Shit,” Troy whispers, “I just really hope they’re okay.” 

Harris stays quiet for about a minute before he changes Troy’s line of reasoning almost completely.

“Do you think Scott Hunter knows yet?” 

“What?” He turns his head sharply. “Why does that matter?”

Realistically speaking, Troy does know why that matters. Hunter was almost the founder of gay hockey. If there's anyone who understands what this means, what the media storm is going to be like, what the pressure will feel, it’s Scott.

“Oh my God,” Harris says suddenly, pushing himself up. “You have his number, right? From the group chat? You should totally call him and tell him.”

“What?” Troy nearly yelps.

“Yeah.” Harris sits again. “It’s only 7 AM, he probably hasn’t seen the news yet.”

Troy lets out a disbelieving laugh. He’s kidding, right?

When Harris doesn’t laugh back, he frowns.

“What?” he practically shouts, once again. “Why would I do that? The only thing me and him have in common is being gay.”

Harris raises his eyebrows.

“Why are you acting as if that’s not enough?” He laughs and lunges towards Troy's phone. “Do it, do it, do it!”

[...]

“Your phone is ringing,” Kip points out, smiling in a way that very clearly suggests he does not care at all with that. Not right now, at least.

“Yeah?” Scott replies, eyes locked on Kip’s as he drags his underwear slowly down his hips. “Do you want me to answer it?”

He laughs guiltily.

“Not really.”

Scott leans closer, crowding into his husband’s space. “That’s what I thought.”

The problem, unfortunately, is that the phone doesn’t stop ringing. It goes silent for maybe thirty seconds before another call erupts from the bedside table.

Five minutes later, Kip is holding Scott’s hair back and murmuring against his ear, “Maybe you should check it,” his fingers brushing over Scott’s cheek. “It might actually be important.”

Scott practically grunges in frustration. Realistically, he knows that seven calls in a row is not usually a good sign. 

“Hope it’s nothing that requires me to leave this bed, at least,” he mutters.

Kip grins and slides out from under him, collapsing dramatically against the ridiculous pile of satin pillows Scott insists on using.

“Who knows?” He asks wickedly with a mischievous grin. “Maybe someone finally leaked our sex tape.”

Scott snorts back, “You mean our non-existent one?”

“That one exactly,” he smiles.

Scott clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. Might as well get it over with. 

He sits down and picks up his phone, realizing, with a mixture of dread and shock, that it's not just one person calling repeatedly, but several people calling him at the same time.

What time is it? Seven thirty a.m.? Why is half the league awake?

He quickly scans the notifications. Two missed calls from Carter Vaughan, three from Greg Huff, one from Helena, and one from his agent.

He swallows hard. This simply cannot be good.

Somehow the messages previews on the notification center are worse. 

Helena is typing in all caps demanding that Kip check his phone immediately. Carter keeps spamming “check twitter” non-stop for the past 4 minutes. Greg Huff has sent approximately twelve exploding-head emojis and nothing else.

Kip shifts closer, shoulder brushing Scott’s. Scott can practically hear him swallow hard.

This is absolutely not how he expected his morning to begin.

Before Scott can even decide who to call back first to find out what the actual fuck is going on, the screen lights up again in his hand and a new call is announced.

Troy Barrett.

Scott frowns in confusion. 

They’re not exactly close. Why would Troy be calling him at seven-thirty in the morning?

“Do you think this is gay-related?” Kip asks quietly against his shoulder.

Scott turns towards him. “Why would you assume that?”

“Well—” he shrugs, “You are kind of the ‘to-go gay’ for hockey emergencies. Everyone called you when Troy came out, remember?”

Scott rolls his eyes and considers ignoring Troy's call altogether.

But then again, he kind of sees Troy as a younger version of himself. He reminds him too much of 24 year-old Scott Hunter: a messy and defensive hockey player that’s used to carrying more than he should. Since he got transferred to the centaurs, the kid has undeniably settled down, making sure to stay out of the headlines. 

At least until he decided to come out in a very, very public way. Until he decided to hold a press conference and call Scott Hunter his hero in front of the entire hockey world.

Maybe he owes the kid a little more than an ignored call.

And, besides, Troy has been, on the rare occasions they've seen each other, good company. Respectful. Has even been funny in the group chat, on one occasion.

Before Scott can overthink it, he swipes to answer and automatically puts the phone on speaker.

“Scott?” Troy’s voice carries through the room, hesitant, almost like a question rather than a greeting. 

“Yes?” he answers, cautiously.

“Oh, fuck, he really did pick up,” an unfamiliar voice mutters in the background before Troy hurriedly shushes him, disapprovingly.

“What’s going on?” Scott rubs his temple. “I just woke up to a million notifications, I was about to check what the hell was the commotion about when you called.”

Troy clears his throat.

“Yeah, well.” He coughs, “I guess you could call it… a commotion.”

“Is this gay-related?” Kip blurts out, leaning closer to the phone. Scott drops his hand over his face. Unbelievable.

Troy and his mysterious companion’s laughter appears in the next second, surely expecting anything but that.

“I keep telling Scott,” Kip continues proudly when no one immediately answers him, “that only a gay-related catastrophe would generate this many missed calls before eight in the morning.”

“That’s Kip,” Scott mutters. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

Troy is still laughing, so the voice Scott doesn’t yet recognize replies, “It is, in fact, extremely gay-related.”

Kip pumps his fist in victory, eliciting a laugh from Scott, “I knew it.”

“And that’s Harris,” Troy adds, finally introducing the mysterious voice. Scott wonders if for some reason he should know a Harris, but he can’t think of anyone.

He looks at Kip, maybe hoping he would know what the hell ‘a Harris’ was. He doesn’t have much luck.

When neither says anything, Troy clears out, “My boyfriend.”

Oh, okay.

That explains the background commentary.

“Okay, so.” Scott says, unconsciously straightening his posture and slipping fully into captain mode, “What’s the calamity, and what can we do to fix it?”

“Well—” Troy exhales. “I don’t really think we can fix it.”

Scott’s stomach tightens.

“Scott,” Harris cuts in gently, “some new people just came out. From the hockey world.”

He blinks.

“More players?” He’s genuinely startled. “More than one? That’s— wait, that’s great. Who is it? How did they do it?”

Silence.

Two seconds, maybe three.

“So,” Troy's voice cuts through the awkwardness, “That’s… sort of the issue. They didn’t exactly choose to come out.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Scott locks eyes with Kip, who suddenly looks far less amused.

"What happened?" He asks in Scott's place.

"You know, maybe you should just watch it yourself," Troy says, “I’m sending you the video that’s blowing up everywhere. Just watch it.”

Scott frowns but opens the message as it comes through. He doesn't understand why he can't just say the players' names. 

What kind of video even makes two closeted players come out at the same time? What happened? Were they seen at a gay club hooking up with two men simultaneously? Were they caught leaving a club together? Holding hands? Kissing each other?

Scott presses play.

Just as Hayden Pike’s face fills up his screen, Troy says, still very much on the line, “Hayden sent someone this FanMail and they just posted it on Twitter. It’s everywhere now.”

Scott frowns, but doesn’t answer it right away.

The video just keeps playing.

“FanMail?” he repeats, distracted.

On-screen, Hayden is babbling about someone’s birthday. Scott doesn’t recognize exactly where he is, but he assumes it’s his house, probably. The camera is a little shaky.

The angle shifts lightly and Scott stills. 

In the background, reflected on a wall mirror, he recognizes Shane Hollander walking into frame. 

Scott’s eyes widen. Of course, he’s heard the rumors before, about him being gay. But he admits he always dismissed them as just some locker-room banter. Thought it was because Shane’s mostly a private man and is almost never seen with women. Scott never actually believed he was gay, not really.

But if Troy says this is about hockey players accidentally coming out, and Shane is suddenly in frame then— yeah, maybe those rumors were true after all.

Just a second later, someone else steps in right behind Shane. 

Ilya Rozanov. Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

Scott nearly throws his hands in the air.

He turns slowly towards Kip, who’s just as dumbfounded. 

“Is that…” he starts, whispering.

“Yes, it fucking is,” Scott answers immediately.

And then the least thing Scott Hunter ever expected happens, right before his fucking eyes.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, the league’s most notorious rivals, smile at each other. And kiss. An unmistakable kiss. 

And it’s not even subtle. Rozanov is almost swallowing Hollander’s poor mouth.  Hands in hair and gripping each other’s shirts. We’re talking about tongues down deep, crystal clear. All in full on 4K images.

Scott can’t even breathe.

All those nights out on the Kingsfisher, all the ridiculous conspiracy theories with Kip and Bannett about the slight possibility of Rozanov being, well, not gay, but maybe bissexual. 

But he never, and he means, never, though the rivalry between those two would be fake. That this, whatever this was, had been going on behind closed doors.

In the next second or two his brain catches up with what’s happening and suddenly, Rozanov’s transfer to Ottawa makes sense. He chose to move to one of the worst teams in the league, a little over three seasons ago, and no one ever made sense of why he’d done that.

But now everything kind of makes sense and Scott feels mildly nauseous. He moved just to get closer to his fucking boyfriend. Who he’s been playing against all his life. Who is his literal rival.

There is no worse way to be outed than this.

Scott cleans his throat. 

“Has anyone talked to them yet?”

Troy hesitates.

“Me and Harris only found out because Hayden called me, panicking, trying to find Shane Hollander’s whereabouts. And that was like fifteen minutes ago so… I don’t know?”

Scott runs a hand through his hair and looks at Kip, silently asking for ideas of ​​what to do. He has none.

His head is blank. This situation is awful, and he has no idea what can be done to prevent it from ruining the reputations of two of the biggest hockey stars of their time.

“Okay.” Scott starts carefully. “Just make sure to not say anything publicly. Don’t comment anywhere. Don't engage.” He breathes out, 

“They'll be looking for your reactions, watching you guys.” Kip adds, a second later. “I mean, active openly gay players. They’ll want reactions. Don't give them one.”

Troy lets out a small laugh.

“I'm dating a social media manager. He’ll physically restrain me before I do anything stupid.”

Kip snorts. “Smart man.”

“Anyway,” Troy continues, “it’s shit. But I figured you’d want to know. Sorry for calling out of nowhere.”

“No, no, you did the right thing,” Scott says.

“Good,” Harris adds softly.

“Yeah,” Troy agrees, “But now if you don’t mind, we’ll hang up because we’re not done freaking out about it.”

Scott laughs. The whole situation is probably weird for Troy, considering Ilya is his captain and, from what Scott’s seen online, his alleged friend. 

“Alright, good luck,” he says, with a smile.

They hang up after saying their goodbyes.

And the room falls back into a silent bloom. For maybe three full seconds.

Scott slowly lowers the phone and turns to Kip. And just absolutely loses his mind.

“What,” he says slowly, articulating every syllable, “the actual, fuck.”

Kip is already sitting up.

“Those two?!” Scott demands, gesturing violently at the frozen frame of Shane and Ilya mid-kiss, “Those two?!”

Kip grabs the phone from his hand and replays the clip.

“They’ve been fighting in press conferences for, what? A decade?”

Scott’s still mouth-opened, “probably more.” He sighs, “God, I remember being at a press conference in 2015 when Rozanov called him overrated for at least five minutes straight”

Kip shakes his head violently, staring at the screen. “I thought they hated each other.”

“And this is what they were doing instead?” Scott is nearly shouting and he thanks every financial decision he’s ever made for buying an isolated apartment.

Kip presses pause again and zooms in them, as if it’d make the people on the screen change. 

“Oh my god.”

Scott drags both hands through his hair.

“How long do you even think this has been going on?” Kip asks suddenly, still studying and analyzing the evidence like it’s forensic material.

“At least three years,” Scott says automatically.

Kip snaps his head toward him. “Three?!”

“Well,” Scott argues, “why else would Rozanov transfer to Ottawa? There was no logical reason other than to be closer to him.”

Kip falls back against the headboard.

“Unbelievable.”

Scott gestures at the screen again, still trying to process how this could possibly be real. He stays like that for nearly a full minute, mentally replaying every single interaction he’s ever had with either one of them.

He remembers when Ilya showed up at that gay bar in Texas, in 2017. He remembers how unexpectedly serious he’d been, so out of character for him, when he’d said he was proud of what Scott had done, that it would change things, a lot of things. At the time, Scott had wondered, briefly, if it was possible Rozanov wasn’t straight.

He’d dismissed it almost immediately, though, as it had seemed improbable. Absurd, even.

A second later he remembers Shane’s email from around the same time. When he congratulated Scott on his relationship with Kip and said how excited he was to learn how Hockey would change with his coming out.

Scott hadn’t thought much of it then. In his defense, he’d received dozens of messages just like that, from a lot of people. Shane’s hadn’t stood out, not in a way that suggested it meant something more, at least.

Now he wonders if it did. Probably, right?

He remembers getting into a fight with Hollander in, what, 2016, maybe? He’d joked that Shane’s on-ice chirps were so bad that he had started to sound just like Rozanov.

Shane got so defensive that he actually dropped his gloves, even though the game had already ended. Scott blinks and wonders if it was actually possible for them to already be together back then. Probably not, right? 

Kip breaks the silence. “So.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “So?”

Kip’s smiling.

“You are absolutely adding them to the group chat.”

Scott jerks upright. “What? No!”

Kip laughs. “You have to! It’s the gay hockey players group chat.” 

“Absolutely not!” He says back, “not right now, at least.”

Kip grunts, “Ugh, fine. But when you do, I want screenshots.”

Scott laughs despite himself.

“Do you know who probably hasn’t seen the news yet and definitely needs to know about this?” he asks.

Kip grins slowly. “I do, actually”

Scott grabs his phone back.

“I’m calling him.”

[...]

“God.” Kyle grumbles and shrinks into himself as the ringing slices through the quiet room. “Your ringtone sounds like a grandfather’s.”

Eric squeezes his eyes shut before fully processing exactly what’s going on.

Right. Phone.

He exhales, pushes the blanket off, and stumbles toward the TV stand where his phone is charging.

His vision is still blurry from sleep, but the name lighting up the screen is unmistakable. Scott Hunter.

The unbearable ringing stops the second as Eric picks it up, but the phone continues vibrating insistently in his hand, announcing the upcoming call.

“Who is it?” Kyle asks unmoved and apparently completely uninterested.

“Scott,” Eric replies, frowning. “I hope I didn’t accidentally miss practice, he’d actually kill me.”

Kyle clears his throat and finally lifts the gray sleep mask off his face. “No practice today, I checked your calendar yesterday.”

Oh, wow. Eric pauses mid-step. “I didn’t know you had access to my team’s calendar.”

Kyle smirks, “Kip shared Scott’s with me.”

Eric huffs a laugh but looks back down at his phone. Eight in the morning. What on earth could Scott possibly want at eight in the morning?

“Aren’t you gonna answer it?” Kyle asks when Eric just stands there staring at the screen.

He slowly slides his finger across the screen, picking it up.

“Scott,” he says, voice still heavy with sleep, “you’re on speaker.”

Scott laughs and replies immediately, “So are you, my friend.”

“Great,” Kyle mutters in the background as Eric crawls back into bed. “Double date.”

Eric hears Kip laughing faintly in the background.

“So,” Eric says, settling against the pillows, “to what do I own the pleasure?” 

A beat goes by.

“Do you remember,” Scott begins carefully, “that one time at the Kingfisher when we drank way more than we should’ve and discussed for an entire hour whether Rozanov could ever possibly like men?” 

Eric blinks and turns slowly to Kyle, with a frown and a very much confused face.

Kyle, notably, does not look as confused as his boyfriend about where this conversation is going. Instead, he seems actually intrigued and maybe even excited.

“What?” Kyle asks slowly. “What did you find out about him that’s big enough to justify a call at this time of the morning?”

“More like,” Kip cuts in cheerfully, “what the entire world found out about him.”

Eric straightens slightly.

“What?” It’s his turn to ask, stunned. “Did he come out?”

There’s a hesitation on the other end.

“Uh…” Scott tries, “you could phrase it like that.”

“Oh my God,” Kyle pushes himself up on one elbow now, fully awake. “He got caught with someone, didn’t he?”

Scott and Kip burst into laughter, almost hysterical. There’s no way Kyle actually got it right.

“Did you just guess right?” Eric asks, shocked.

Kyle grins, smug.

Eric leans back against him, resting his head against Kyle’s bare chest as the laughter continues through the speaker. The phone rests on the shadow of his collarbone while the two distant friends continue laughing.

“But I knew he wasn’t straight,” Eric says confidently. “Or at least not entirely.”

“Look at you,” Kyle teases. “No longer the league’s only bisexual.”

Scott snorts. “I never pictured you and Rozanov sharing the same sexual label.” he says, but quickly corrects himself, “I mean, to be fair, I used to think at some point both of you were straight, so clearly my judgment is flawed.”

Kip laughs.

“I always had doubts,” Kyle adds. “Ever since that Vegas story.”

“What Vegas story?” Eric asks, confused.

“The gay bar in Vegas after Scott’s speech,” Kip clears out. “He danced with like four different guys in the same night.”

“Oh, yeah.” Eric remembers the story. He wasn't physically there when it happened, but it was the biggest topic of discussion in favor of Rozanov's bisexuality.

“Yes.” Scott agrees. “I remember waking up the next day and trying to convince myself that it had been a dream.”

“It wasn’t.” Kip laughs.

“Okay, okay,” Eric interrupts, curiosity officially winning when he remembers what the phone call was actually about. “Enough preamble. What actually happened? Who was he caught kissing?”

The line goes silent for long enough that Eric checks to see if the call disconnected.

When Scott speaks again, his tone has changed. He pronounces each word slowly, measuring everything. 

“You are not going to believe who it was.”

Eric swallows hard.

“Who?” Kyle bites the bait, “do we know him?”

“Oh,” Kip says brightly, “you absolutely do.” His voice is so cheerful that Eric could practically see the smile on his lips.

Scott inhales.

“Shane,” Scott says slowly and Eric’s stomach drops, “—motherucking Hollander.”

Eric bolts upright off Kyle’s chest so fast he almost drops the phone.

They stare at each other, mouths agape.

“No.” Eric says.

“Yes,” Kip says back, laughing.

“No way.” Kyle breathes.

“Yes, way,” Scott retorts.

Silence.

“Those two?” Eric is so incredulous that he doesn't even know exactly what to say. “Those two?” He repeats, like maybe if he says it again it’ll rearrange into different names.

“Yes, those two,” Scott confirms. “Hayden posted a video last night and it went viral.”

Kyle gasps dramatically. “Of course he did.”

“It wasn’t even about them,” Kip adds, still half-laughing. “He was filming something, I don’t know, A FanMail, I think, and in the background—”

“They’re there,” Scott cuts in. “Very there.”

Eric presses his eyes closed and practically throws himself against the headboard.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks.

There’s a pause, only Scott’s low laugh being heard.

“Full on mouth contact,” Kip clarifies brightly, in case it wasn’t obvious.

Kyle slaps a hand over his own mouth. “Stop.”

“I’m serious,” Scott continues. “They’re in the back corner of the video. It takes a second to notice, but once you do…”

“You cannot unsee it,” Kip finishes.

Kyle flops back dramatically against the pillows. “This is unbelievable. We spent years psychoanalyzing Rozanov. Years. Meanwhile, Hollander was just— what? Running covert operations?”

Eric runs a hand down his face.

“Apparently.” Kip agrees. “Troy Barrett called us like ten minutes ago to share the news.”

“Troy Barrett?” Kyle almost shouts.

“Yeah.” Scott says, “good kid, that one.”

Eric laughs.

“Wow, hockey is gayer than ever, now.”

They all laugh. Eric tries not to think about how, a few years ago, they would never have been having a conversation like this one.

“Wait,” Kyle cuts in, slowly. “Hayden posted it himself? He didn’t see it?”

“Kind of,” Scott says. “He sent it specifically to one fan, who bought the FanMail. But then they screen-recorded it and shared it on Twitter. Now it’s everywhere.”

“I assume by now it’s on TikTok with dramatic edits.” Kip points out.

Scott snorts. “Oh, it absolutely is.”

Kyle shakes his head in disbelief. “Shane Hollander.” He says slowly. “Mr. Aggressively Heterosexual handshake. Mr. ‘Bro, nice assist.’”

“Oh my God,” Scott mutters, realization dawning. “Remember how defensive he used to get if anyone even joked about Rozanov? About the rivalry?”

“God, how did we never notice it?” Eric asks, almost rhetorically. 

“Unbelievable,” Kyle continues. “That’s really a plot twist.”

Despite himself, Eric lets out a short laugh.

“I don’t know how Shane can stand Rozanov as a boyfriend, can you even imagine it?” Scott says.

“I try not to,” Kip replies.

“I wonder if he’s also so unbearably irritating with Hollander.” Scott sighs. “There’s no way, right?”

“Nah, Hollander would’ve broken up with him at this point.” Kyle retorts.

Kip laughs. “I’m sure he keeps him on a short leash.” 

They all giggle. 

“Okay,” Eric says more seriously. “Are they…” he hesitates, not knowing exactly what to say. “Are they okay?”

The laughter on the other end softens.

Scott sighs.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “According to Troy, Shane’s not answering Hayden. Neither has posted anything. Hayden must've reported the original video, but… it’s too late now.”

Kip’s tone shifts, less amused now. “It’s blowing up fast.”

Eric sits up straighter.

“Were they out? To anyone?”

“No idea,” Scott says. “That’s maybe a problem, can you believe it if his parents found out like this?”

Kyle, for once, doesn’t make a joke.

“God,” Kip breathes. 

Eric’s mind is clearly racing now.

“This could get ugly,” he murmurs. “With the press and sponsors, and stuff.”

“And teams,” Kyle adds.

“Yeah,” Scott says quietly. “I don’t know what exactly can be done at this point.”

Kyle frowns slightly. “You think they didn’t mean for it to get out?”

Eric looks at him like that’s obvious.

“If they wanted it public,” Eric says, “they wouldn’t have been hiding in the background of someone else’s video.”

Silence settles for a second.

Then, because he physically cannot help himself, Kyle says:

“I still can’t believe it’s Hollander.”

“Kyle.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, though he’s clearly not. “It’s just— we held symposiums about Rozanov. We had spreadsheets. Theories. And Shane was just there. Existing. Kissing in the corners of videos.”

“Kyle.”

“I feel betrayed.”

Scott laughs weakly. “You feel betrayed?”

“Yes,” Kyle insists. “As a member of the investigative committee.”

Kip snorts.

Eric nudges Kyle lightly but doesn’t smile this time.

“Jokes aside,” Eric says into the phone, steady now, “if this gets framed wrong… if people start turning it into some scandal…”

“They will,” Scott says bluntly.

“And if either of them wasn’t ready—” Eric continues.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Scott finishes.

There’s a beat.

Kyle looks at Eric more carefully now.

“You’re going to call them, aren’t you?”

Eric doesn’t answer immediately.

“Maybe,” he answers, smiling. “But first, I gotta tell the only member of the group chat who hasn't been contacted yet.”

Kip snorts, “Do you think he’s gonna pick up?”

Eric shrugs. “Hope so.

Scott laughs loudly.

“I knew this group chat was a good idea.”

[...]

Ryan stares quietly at the leaves drifting down from the trees in his backyard.

His phone buzzes on the kitchen table, again.

“Are you sure you’re just going to ignore them?” Fabian asks from the counter.

Ryan turns slowly, with a small and unassuming smile on his face. His eyes settle on his boyfriend, barefoot, in nothing but his underwear, leaning against the dark wood counter while the coffee machine hums.

He shrugs. “It’s not like I don’t know what it’s about.”

Fabian narrows his eyes at him.

“Still,” he says. “Don’t you think it’s rude to ignore them? That’s, what, the fourth call?”

Ryan presses his lips into a thin line, trying not to smile wider.

“I don’t want them to know I already knew about Shane and Ilya.”

Fabian lets out a soft laugh.

“It’s kind of impressive that they didn’t know yet,” he says. “It’s not like those two are exactly subtle when they’re together.”

Ryan glances back toward the window, crossing his legs as he leans against the frame.

“I think no one suspected it because they’re just so different from each other,” he says, thoughtfully.

Fabian arches a brow, playful. “Different how? It’s not like they’re me and you.”

Ryan laughs softly, but really considers the question.

“Well,” he says mildly, “one of them starts fights for fun. The other one pretends he doesn’t like watching it.”

Fabian snorts.

“And yet,” he says, “they held hands under the table for our entire double dinner.”

Ryan’s smile deepens, “And held each other close at your concert.”

Ha laughs. “God, and they thought we didn’t notice anything.”

“They were terrible at it,” Ryan agrees.

He laughs softly and pushes off the wall, walking over to press a gentle kiss to Fabian’s mouth.

His phone vibrates again on the table.

Fabian pulls back just slightly.

“You sure you don’t want to answer?”

Ryan glances at the screen without picking it up, seeing Eric’s and Scott’s names starting to pile up on the notification center.

He chooses to flip the phone face down.

“They’ll figure it out eventually.”

The coffee machine clicks off. Outside, another leaf falls.

[...]

*TWO DAYS LATER*

Scott:
So...

Should we add them, or...

Bannett:
This is going to make All-Star weekend deeply homoerotic.

Ryan:
God, thank hell I retired.

Troy:
Shouldn’t we maybe wait? I mean… they didn’t choose this.

Scott:
Shane was deeply confused when I asked if he wanted to join, but he said yes so…

Also he asked if there were rules.

Bannett:
But there are no rules

Scott:
Exactly.

I’m adding them, may God have mercy on us.

Shane:
Please tell me this group is encrypted.

Ryan:
God. This is really Shane.

Scott:
We don’t even know how encryption works.

Bannett:
Scott absolutely does not know how encryption works.

Scott:
I know enough.

Bannett:
It’s called Gay Agenda 2.0

Scott:
We lost the first one in 2019

Troy:
The first one was just Scott, alone, hoping for some new friends

Scott:
Hey!

Ilya:
I expect flowers.

Bennett:
I’ve never received flowers. Even when I came out.

Ilya:
I’m not you. I’m the main character.

Scott:
Oh my God, he’s insufferable even digitally.

Who agreed on adding him?

Troy:
Let’s focus, though.

Are you two… okay?

Ilya:
I have been publicly outed to the entire hockey community.

I am thriving.

Bennett:
That’s concerning.

Shane:
He is not thriving.

Scott:
Blink twice if you need extraction.

Ilya:
I blink once for attention.

Troy:
Oh my God.

Bannett:
I can’t believe the most stable rivalry in the league was all sexual tension.

Troy:
I KNEW IT

Shane:
Please stop typing in all caps.

Scott:
This is a historic day.

Ilya:
Yes. My bisexual villain era begins.

Shane:
Who even taught you these words?

Ilya:
My good friend TikTok.

Bannett:
But you’ve been in your villain era for years now?

Ilya:
But now it has better branding, yes?

Shane:
Why is the group photo a rainbow Zamboni?

Bannett:
Representation matters.

Ilya:
This is all very dramatic for lunch time.

Shane:
Yes. Why don’t you come downstairs to actually eat, then?

Ilya:
Eat what? 😈

Troy:
God.

Scott:
I’m never gonna be used to this…

Ilya:
Yes. You’re welcome.

Scott:
No one’s thanking you.

Bannett:
Well you two just broke the internet.

ESPN just posted.

Troy:
Harris says TSN too (he’s reading along).

Bannett:
My dad just texted me a link with “is this hockey related?”

Ilya:
Tell him yes.

Scott:
The heterossexuals are not going to survive this.

Troy:
Do we have a media strategy?

Scott:
Yes.

I am pretending it never happened.

Ilya:
I wish I could do same, Shane insists we need statement.

Shane:
I am begging you all to stop talking.

Ryan:
Please don’t. I’m having fun.

Bennett:
Was this the biggest enemies to lovers ever?

Bannett:
Are we already allowed to make jokes?

We were all watching a slow burn live on tv.

Ilya:
I prefer elite athletes fucking each other.

Shane:
God.

Scott:
Of course you do.

Shane:
I am going to throw my phone into a river.

Scott:
Don’t. It’ll be okay. Everyone eventually got over it when we came out.

Troy:
Yeah, thank god their situation is just like ours.

Bannett:
Wait until the fans start to clip everytime you guys called each other bad for the last year.

Shane:
I hate my life.

Ryan:
Welcome to the club.

Ilya:
Does this mean I get an honorary membership card?

Scott:
You get a toaster and lifelong group chat harassment.

Troy:
And brunch.

Bannett:
Mostly harassment.

Ilya:
Perfect. I was afraid this would be emotionally supportive or something.

Ryan:
We tried that once.

Ilya:
I respect vulnerability. From distance. In others.

Shane:
I am in physical pain reading this.

Scott:
That’s good, it means you’re healing.

Ilya:
What? Are you not used to seeing your boyfriend bonding with the other much much gay men in hockey?

Are you feeling lightheaded?

Shane:
I deeply hate you.

Troy:
So since there has already been a hard launch, when’s the soft one? Maybe matching outfits?

Ilya:
We already match. It’s called being fucking hot.

Troy:
Jesus Christ.

Bannett:
Is he always like this?

Shane:
Believe me. Worse.

Ilya:
Shane is jealous because I am charismatic under pressure and he’s not.

Shane:
Charismatic? You threatened to fight a cameraman last year.

Ilya:
He disrespected the lighting.

Scott:
You two are going to be unbearable at All-Star weekend.

Bannett:
What about at a red carpet???

Ryan:
Oh my god, a red carpet.

Ilya:
I will hold his hand.

Shane:
You will absolutely not.

Troy:
Ilya are you absolutely sure your boyfriend likes you?

Ilya:
I will trip and accidentally grab it. So you can’t blame me.

Scott:
Accidental gay hand-holding. Classic.

Troy:
Someone needs to give their PR team a raise.

Bannett:
Or give them popcorn.

Troy:
Wait. Important question.

Who tops?

Scott:
That looks kind of obvious…

Shane:
I am leaving.

Ilya:
I do.

Shane:
ILYA.

Ryan:
Wow. That was immediate. No hesitation.

Ilya:
I am decisive.

Troy:
He didn’t even pretend to think about it.

Bannett:
Confidence like that explains everything.

Troy:
Okay but serious—

Shane:
No serious.

Troy:
—how long has this been happening?

Ilya:
Define ‘happening’.

Troy:
Oh he’s evil evil.

Ryan:
This is better than cable.

Ilya:
We have been enemies professionally and soulmates spiritually.

Scott:
That is the worst sentence ever typed.

Bannett:
Put it on merch.

Ilya:
I will.

Shane:
You are not making merch.

Ilya:
Boring.

“Rivalry but Make It Gay.”

Scott:
I’d wear it.

Bannett:
You would absolutely wear it.

Ilya:
He already has it drafted in Canva.

Scott:
Stop exposing me.

Bannett:
Wait

Hold on

Troy:
Why do I feel like we’re missing critical lore here?

Scott:
Yeah, rewind.

You guys have to tell us when it started.

Ilya:
What started?

Troy:
Don’t do that.

Don’t you dare.

Scott:
You’ve been coming to my gay bar for YEARS and never once thought of telling me??

Ilya:
Shane’s very boring and very secretive.

Bannett:
Yeah, true. But we were so curious to know if you were really straight that Kyle made me try to hit on you to see if you’d be gay back.

Shane:
YOU WHAT?

Ilya:
And he’s very jealous too, apparently.

But don’t worry, moya lyubov', he just made a fool of himself at the time.

Scott:
I still can’t believe he managed to hide his own secrets just finding out about everyone else’s.

Bannett:
Yeah, can agree.

Troy:
Me too. He knew I was gay before I said anything about it.

Ilya:
Yes, yes, I’m very perceptive.

Shane:
Don’t start.

Ryan:
Oh my God, can we come back?

Scott:
Oh yeah.

When did this start?

Shane:
...

That’s not relevant.

Troy:
Oh actually it feels really relevant to me.

Bannett:
Extremely relevant.

Ilya:
Technically speaking…

Shane:
ILYA.

Troy:
Technically speaking WHAT.

Ilya:
We have known each other since rookie year.

Troy:
Yes. We all know that.

Ilya:
We have known each other, biblically speaking, since rookie year

Scott:
…

Wait.

No.

Troy:
…

What.

Scott:
I’m going to ask this one more time just to make sure I didn’t misunderstand.

Since. When?

Ilya:
Was it 2010, Shane?

Shane:
Don’t you dare bring me up.

Ilya:
Yeah, that’s right. The summer before our rookie year, 2010.

Bannett:
I’m sorry.

TWO THOUSAND AND TEN???

Scott:
That’s…

That’s a decade.

Troy:
THAT’S MORE THAN A DECADE.

Sorry, Harris stole my phone.

He’s totally completely freaking out.

Ryan:
Even I, who already knew they were together before all this, am shocked by it.

Scott:
Wait, you knew?

Ryan:
Yeah, they’re terrible at closing doors.

Bannett:
But wait, you’ve been beefing publicly for TEN YEARS

Scott:
Yeah, you shittalked each other in interviews.

Troy:
You said he was overrated in every sense possible in 2015.

Ilya:
He was being annoying.

Shane:
I hate this group.

Bannett:
God. Rookie year.

Scott:
You were children.

Ilya:
We were adults.

Bannett:
Barely.

Scott:
You’re telling me this entire league has been accidentally witnessing a secret decade-long enemies-with-benefits arc??

Ryan:
This is cinema.

Shane:
It was not an “arc.”

Bannett:
Oh I cannot WAIT to hear this.

Scott:
Please elaborate.

Shane:
I won’t say anything else.

Ilya:
It’s because it was only sex for the first 7 years.

Forgive me, my boyfriend does not like people knowing he has sex.

Troy:
Just sex???

FOR SEVEN YEARS?

Scott:
The biggest situationship ever.

Bannett:
Since 2010.

Troy:
Seven fucking years of casual sex.

Ilya:
Very competitive, though.

Scott:
Oh my God

I don’t wanna hear about your competitive sex.

Ilya:
Your loss.

Shane:
Ilya could you at least TRY to behave? Please?

Ilya:
Sorry :)

Troy:
I need details but also I don’t.

Bannett:
You hated each other publicly…

Scott:
Meanwhile privately you were—

Shane:
We were not—

Ilya:
It was efficient.

Troy:
Efficient??

Shane please control your man.

Shane:
I’m trying, but he doesn’t facilitate it.

Ryan:
I am retired and Rozanov still somehow keeps stressing me.

Bannett:
So everything was just… heated rivalry games.

Troy:
Oh my God.

Scott:
The bench chirping.

The penalties.

The staring.

Troy:
Was all of that just foreplay for you two?

Shane:
I am going to burn my phone.

Ilya:
I thought you were going to throw it in a river?

Bannett:
I cannot believe we all thought you were just emotionally repressed athletes.

Ilya:
It’s because we were.

Scott:
You two are sick.

Ilya:
Thank you.

Troy:
WHEN did it stop being “just sex.”

Shane:
2017

Troy:
And what exactly happened in 2017.

Ilya:
He caught feelings.

Shane:
This is NOT how it happened.

Ilya:
This absolutely is.

Bannett:
Oh this is delicious.

I never thought I’d be able to witness this.

Scott:
Rookie year hookup to seven-year secret situation to accidental love story.

Troy:
This is the most dramatic thing to ever happen in professional hockey.

Ilya:
It is called long-term character development.

Shane:
I’m never speaking again.

Bannett:
Oh no you don’t.

You owe us a prequel series.

Ilya:
I’ll tell you guys what happened, you freaks.

He sat me down after 7 years of sucking my dick and told me, seriously, that he thought he was gay.

Shane:
ILYA

Bannett:
I’m sorry, he told you he was gay???

Ilya:
Yes. Very dramatic.

Shane:
That is not how it happened.

Bannett:
Please do tell us how it did happen then.

Ilya:
We were in hidden in all-stars hotel in florida.

Shane:
Stop.

Troy:
I must tell you that Harris CANNOT stop laughing.

Scott:
WHAT? ALL-STARS?

Ilya:
He looked at me like I had personally offended God.

Scott:
You usually do.

Ilya:
And he said, “It’s not just being gay, it’s you.”

Bannett:
OH.

Scott:
Oh.

Ryan:
Oh no.

Bannett:
This just shifted genres.

Troy:
Wait wait wait, come back.

You were hooking up for seven years.

And then he goes “I’m gay.”

Like that was new information????

Ilya:
Apparently it was new to him.

Shane:
Jesus.

Bannett:
So what were you before 2017, Shane?

Scott:
Spiritually heterosexual?

Troy:
Hockey Straight?

Bannett:
Competitive ambiguity?

Ilya:
He insisted it was “just physical.”

Shane:
It was.

Ilya:
For seven years.

Yeah. Maybe.

Bannett:
I need a timeline with footnotes.

So 2010–2017 = “just sex.”

Scott:
2017 = existential crisis

Troy:
2018–2021 = slow burn emotional repression

Bannett:
2022 = public gay accidental coming out via 4K kiss.

Scott:
This is the most unhinged relationship arc in NHL history.

Shane:
It was private.

Bannett:
It was ELEVEN YEARS.

Troy:
What did you say when he told you he was gay, Ilya?

Ilya:
I said, “Well. What makes you think that?”

Shane:
…

I am leaving.

Bannett:
No, you’re not!

Ryan:
Stay, we deserve this.

Ilya:
Even you, Price?

Ryan:
🤷

Bannett:
So let me get this straight. (haha)

You two were secretly sleeping together since rookie year.

While publicly at war and privately just being emotion wreckers?

Scott:
And then in 2017 Shane goes “I’m gay” like he just discovered oxygen.

Ilya:
Correct.

Shane:
C’mon, I meant that I wasn’t bi like him!

Troy:
And you figured THAT out after trying to fuck Rose Landry?

Bannett:
Oh. My. God. I almost forgot about that.

Shane:
Oh no, sore topic.

Ilya:
I’m leaving.

Scott:
OKAY

Let's come back to Shane figuring out he’s gay arc.

Shane:
We don’t really need to.

Ilya:
He told me he could not keep pretending I did not matter.

Shane:
Ilya.

Scott:
Oh, that’s actually so cute.

Ryan:
You’ve been in love for almost a decade

Ilya:
Yes. I am aware.

Troy:
You are????

Scott:
Oh my god he’s been the only emotionally literate one this whole time.

Bannett:
That’s the scariest part.

Troy:
So what happened after the “I’m gay” speech.

Shane:
He panicked.

Ilya:
I panicked.

Shane:
And then I almost died on the ice.

Ilya:
And he took advantage of my vulnerability at the time and asked me to spend the summer with him.

Scott:
Wait hold on, almost died?

Bannett:
Was that when Cliff Marlow checked you out?

Shane:
Yes.

Bannett:
Okay, but what then?

Ilya:
I was scared of going to his cottage and never being able to spend time without him again.

I kind of already knew I liked him.

Shane:
He didn’t answer me, I didn’t know if he’d come or not

Scott:
But then what??

Ilya:
Then a crazy old man who desperately needs to retire kissed his boyfriend on center ice when he won Stanley Cup in 2017.

Scott:
Oh.

Troy:
Oh.

Bannett:
Oh.

Ryan:
Oh.

Shane:
We literally couldn’t believe our eyes.

Ilya:
Correct. And then I decided: fuck it. And went to his cottage.

Troy:
And you've been together ever since?

Shane:
Basically.

Scott:
I can’t believe I’ve been a part of this story.

Bannett:
And I cannot believe I thought this was recent.

Troy:
I feel lied to.

Bannett:
Change the group name.

“Since 2010”

Ilya:
Finally. Recognition.

Shane:
I’m turning my phone off.

Troy:
You kissed him in 4K after a TEN YEAR PREQUEL.

Scott:
You do not get privacy anymore.

Ryan:
Honestly?

Worth it being added to this group.