Chapter Text
The International Prospect Cup was finally here, and team practice would start tomorrow. Which means Shane’s already at the rink in the early hours of the morning to get some extra drills in. Who wouldn’t be? Well, all the other players, or so Shane hoped.
Everything had turned out exactly as expected for Shane’s hockey career so far, and everyone talking about this up and comer Russian player wasn’t worrying him. A bit. Wasn’t worrying him a bit. Worry had nothing to do with Shane getting to the rink before the sun was even up.
He went straight to the locker room and geared up. The sooner he got onto the ice the sooner these nerves would straighten themselves out. He wanted to be clearheaded when he’d finally meet Rozanov face to face. From everything he’d seen, Rozanov was a combination of skill and brutality. Shane would need to be perfect to pull out a win for Canada.
Fuck, he’d really wanted to have the ice to himself. As Shane neared the ice he could hear the unmistakable swishing sounds of someone skating. And another person was with him, a coach and a player? Shane decided to get closer and, well, not sneak exactly, but peek without interrupting.
His heart came to a halt. It was Rozanov. Shane decided this was a good a time as any to get his fill. Rozanov was running drills, so he didn’t have his helmet on and, wow, his hair was even prettier than in the pictures. Not that Shane thought it was pretty. Just, like, aesthetically pleasing as far as hair goes. And not that he had searched for pictures of Rozanov, they were just everywhere online.
Rozanov was bigger than he’d pictured too. Some days it seemed like everyone had decided to leave Shane behind, becoming men while Shane stayed back with his boyish face. The freckles did nothing to help all the “cute” and “pretty boy” comments he’d seen online. As he continued to watch Rozanov skate, Shane could tell that his size didn’t take away from his speed. Shane still thought he could take him.
Shane was brought out of his reveries, or pivotal hockey studies, by the coach yelling at Rozanov. It was the first time Shane had taken a good look at the coach only to realize it wasn’t a coach at all, but Rozanov’s father. Shane could feel his cheeks heat while he tried to convince himself again that looking up Rozanov’s family pictures had all been a part of preparing for the tournament.
Shane had no idea what the man was saying, but didn’t like the tone. From the look on Rozanov’s face, neither did he. Shane’s parents had never been anything but supportive for Shane, and he was taken aback by how harsh Rozanov’s father sounded. Come to think of it, why was he making Rozanov practice so early? I mean, Shane was here, but only because he couldn’t get back to sleep.
Shane watched Rozanov closely to try and figure out why he was being yelled at. He couldn’t find any fault in the skills Rozanov had shown so far. Rozanov started skating faster and his father yelled the same word again, over and over. Each time his father yelled Rozanov seemed to pick up speed. Shane could hear the low thrumming of his heartbeat in his head as his anxiety increased. Rozanov was going to hurt himself if he kept this up. Why wasn’t his father stopping this?
Three things happened quickly. Shane decided he’d had enough and took a step towards the ice. Rozanov was speeding past his father and taking aim at the goal. Rozanov’s father tossed the hockey stick he was holding into Rozanov’s path. Shane froze in shock as Rozanov fell to the ice hard. Without a helmet his head made direct contact with the ice and he slid forward completely still.
Rozanov’s father took a step towards his son and spat at the ice next to him. He muttered under his breath in what sounded like disgust and then walked off the ice. Shane hurried onto the ice when he realized his father wasn’t checking on him. What kind of shitty father did Rozanov have?
He was next to Rozanov in an instant. Rozanov was lying on his right side so Shane could only see the left side of his face, even that was covered in his blond curls. He’d seen players get injured, sure, but never without a medic on standby. Shane got to his knees on the ice and peered down at the man’s face trying to stay calm. Shane had a fleeting thought of how good looking he was in person and then pushed it aside. He gently patted Rozanov’s cheek.
“Rozanov. Hey, Rozanov, can you wake up for me?” No response.
If he couldn’t wake him this next time, he’d call an ambulance. Fuck not panicking. Yelling louder, “Rozanov! Wake up! Now!” Okay, that felt a little mean. “Please? Rozanov, can you please wake up now?!”
The Russian finally stirred and groaned as he opened his eyes. Shane sighed in relief. Rozanov’s eyes searched around trying to find where he was when they connected with Shane’s and widened. Shane could feel himself blush from the eye contact and was immediately annoyed with himself. Not the time, Shane. Cut it out.
“Hey, you okay? You took a fall, do you remember?” Shane felt incredibly stupid. What if he didn’t know any English. Shane had pictured hundreds of first meetings with Rozanov, it had become his new hobby. None of his imaginary scenarios had been as absolutely fucked as this one.
“I remember. Am fine. Please get off of me.” It was only then that Shane realized he was, indeed, a bit on top of Rozanov. Rozanov was supposed to be the damsel in distress, not him. He muttered a couple sorry’s as he shuffled off, being careful to make as little contact as possible.
Shane sat back on his heels and reached out to touch Rozanov’s arm, “You think you can get up or do you need-“ Rozanov smacked Shane’s hand away and started to stand.
Shane got up and shifted around awkwardly, not knowing if he was still needed or if he should just leave. Pretending it was only Canadian politeness, he settled on staying. He’d thought about Rozanov so much, spent so much time watching him online, and now he was finally in front of him. Shane didn’t even understand this pull he felt. He wanted to spend more time with Rozanov, even if the situation was a little wanting.
When Rozanov was finally standing he glanced over his shoulder and gave a look that said clearly enough, “What the fuck are you still doing here?” Shane ignored it. Rozanov swayed slightly, looking like he could barely stand on his own. Shane was kind of impressed that he could muster enough energy to be a dick right now.
Only after he turned could Shane see the Russian straight on and noticed the trail of blood coming down the right side of Rozanov’s face.
“Shit, you’re bleeding!” Rozanov seemed startled himself and hesitantly touched his head, seemingly following the pain. He winced when he made contact.
“There’s no way you’re not concussed, I’ll take you to a doctor.” Shane had already stepped closer to take a look and placed his hands on either side of Rozanov’s face. He’d been too eager coming forward and their bodies were flush against each other.
Rozanov glanced down between them and back up to Shane’s eyes. “Are you sure you are good skater, Hollander?” Rozanov looked amused, and Shane’s stomach swooped happily. Sure, he’d been insulted, but Rozanov knew who he was. Shane tried to push down his excitement and replaced his smile with a scowl. “Shut up, asshole.” The lights were too dim to see Rozanov’s injuries well.
“Let’s get you off the ice first. I need to take a better look.” Shane shuffled to his side and put an arm around Rozanov. The Russian grumbled, but let himself be led off the ice and back to the locker room.
The trip back definitely felt longer than the quick walk out to the ice that morning. Barely 10 minutes had passed, but Shane felt like it had been hours. He took it as a good sign that Rozanov was carrying most of his own weight, but there were too many groans on the way to the locker room for Shane to feel too confident. The way Rozanov was trying to hide the groans told Shane that it was going to be near impossible to convince this man to get to a hospital.
After some maneuvering through the door and propping up the Russian against the lockers Shane grabbed the first aid kit out and set it on the bench. “Sit” Shane motioned to the bench.
“Am really fine, Hol-“
“Sit.”
Rozanov looked up and lifted his eyebrows, reminding Shane that he didn’t exactly know this guy well enough to be ordering him around. “Please” Shane added. The please seemed to be enough for Rozanov. Or maybe it was the way Shane started to look nervously anywhere but at Rozanov.
Rozanov straddled the bench, sat down, and looked up at Shane. Shane pretended he wasn’t affected and straddled the bench facing Rozanov. Their knees were touching and Shane could feel his face heat further. He chanced a glance up at Rozanov and was met with a smirk. Shane never realized he had a blushing problem, but here he was blushing again. Get it together, man.
He shuffled through the supplies to avoid Rozanov’s face and finally found what he needed. Once the q-tip was covered in antiseptic, he reached out to Rozanov’s face. Rozanov seemed hell bent on making eye contact with Shane as much as possible. He couldn’t tell if he was making fun of him for the blushing or- he couldn’t just like looking at Shane, could he?
Objectively speaking, Rozanov looked like a normal, albeit stunning, straight hockey player. But Shane was used to girls looking at him this way, not the other guys on the ice. And he does get called pretty a lot…. Rozanov followed Shane’s gulp with his eyes and their eyes met again.
Shane gave his head a shake, he was imagining things. Shane leaned forward and lifted a curl gently out of the way with his left hand and with his right started dabbing the cut as lightly as he could. He felt a pang of guilt when Rozanov sucked in a breath, but otherwise didn’t show his discomfort.
“Sorry, I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Rozanov peered up at Shane with what Shane could only describe as wonder. Shane had a fleeting thought that Rozanov wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. Watching him with his father on the ice, he couldn’t imagine what Rozanov’s home life was like.
Shane returned his focus to Rozanov’s injury and let him know, “The cut’s not too bad, but it’s going to cause one hell of a bruise. How are you feeling?”
Rozanov cleared his throat before speaking, “Head is, how you say, aching. Has ached before. I am fine, Hollander. No doctor.”
Shane understood. He wouldn’t want to risk being benched either. He knew Rozanov would say no to a doctor, but Shane wasn’t comfortable just letting him leave either. He’d seen how hard Rozanov’s head hit the ice and he knew Rozanov’s father was the last person that would look out for him.
“Okay, no doctor. But we have to make a compromise.” Shane was done with the antiseptic and picked up the washcloth he’d dampened to start wiping the blood off the side of Rozanov’s face.
Rozanov scrunched his face in confusion. “What do you mean, compromise?”
Shane wasn’t sure if he didn’t know the word compromise or wanted more details. Shane paused wiping Rozanov’s now clean face to elaborate, “If we don’t know if you’re concussed” (Shane cringed internally at the accidental use of the word we) “you need someone to watch out and make sure you’re okay to play.”
“I have had concussion before, Hollander. I do not need babysitter.”
Shane ignored Rozanov and continued, “If you insist on not telling anyone, and I’m the only person that knows, then you need to let me take care of you.” Shane readied himself for the rejection.
Rozanov looked perplexed. “You do not know me. Why are you acting like you care about me, Hollander?”
Well, Shane hadn’t expected that response. “It’s not- I’m not saying I- I just want to win fair and square, Rozanov. It’s nothing more than that. I can’t have you collapsing during the game.” There. Totally convincing reason. Shane almost believed it himself.
A thick silence filled the locker room as Shane stared at Rozanov. Rozanov seemed to be considering something, Shane wasn’t sure what. He’d expected to be rejected quickly, but Rozanov was actually considering it. He tried to lower his excitement. He’d be taking care of Rozanov for a few days, it wasn’t like he was getting a boyfriend.
“So… you want me to come and stay in your room tonight?” Rozanov was staring towards Shane’s shorts and reached out to play with some threading that was coming loose at Shane’s knee. Rozanov glanced up at Shane, seemingly unsure why Shane hadn’t answered. If Shane could have answered, he would.
“I, uh, yeah. Stay with me. I’ve got a room at the hotel right down the road. I’ll just keep an eye on you. You know, uh, make sure you’re okay.” Every sentence seemed to come out like a question. Shane knew he was rambling and finally stopped. Rozanov seemed to be waiting for him to look up again before he answered.
“Sure, Hollander. I will stay with you.” Somewhere in Shane’s mind he was aware that he had stopped breathing. “You can, like you say, keep an eye on me.” Rozanov winked. Shane felt his cheeks fill with heat. Again. He had a feeling he’d come to regret this.