Chapter Text
Troy couldn’t remember being so fucking happy.
For the longest time, the mere idea of it seemed impossible. And now? Well, now he had the perfect boyfriend, the perfect team, and a version of himself he could actually look at in the mirror.
It was refreshing and, like, exhilarating in a way.
What was even better was that there was now yet another reason to celebrate.
Ilya’s coming out had been simple and very Ilya Rozanov. A simple post across all his platforms that read: I am bisexual. Unfollow me if you’re going to be a bitch about it.
And the hockey world exploded.
Some good. Some bad. The rallying behind Ilya warmed his heart, and honestly? Troy could not be more proud. In fact, he was literally bursting at how incredible it all was. How free Ilya got to be. How brave he was to step into the light like this.
And even though this wasn’t about Troy at all, he couldn’t help but feel like he had maybe shown Ilya that this didn’t have to be so scary. That maybe (just maybe) Troy had been a good influence on someone. The mere thought of it made his heart spin. He’d chase that high for the rest of his life, if he could.
Which is why Troy was outside Ilya’s hotel room in San Francisco (because, of course, that was the game Ilya decided to come out at), holding some of Harris’ family cider and a t-shirt he’d found that read, Why Not Both? in what Harris told him were the official bisexual flag colors. He figured it was a pretty good coming-out present, which was only confirmed when Ilya opened the door and grinned.
“You are a good gift-giver, Barrett,” he said, pulling off his shirt right in the doorway to yank the new one on. It fit perfectly.
“I thought congratulations were in order,” Troy said, lifting the cider. Ilya opened the door to let him inside. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do this! I’m so happy for you, man.”
Troy had briefly worried that this was a spur-of-the-moment thing. That Ilya might regret it all later, but based on how he was floating around the room, it wasn’t.
“It is part of… a plan,” Ilya said, voice almost hyper with excitement. Troy placed the cider on the desk, raising an eyebrow. “My…” Ilya paused, looking uncertain what to say as he touched the chain where his crucifix sat under his shirt. Troy had noticed a flash of something else when he changed, but hadn’t been able to make out what else he had added onto it. “My relationship is coming out this summer,” he said lightly. “We realized if I came out first, people might just…” He waved his hand.
Weird.
“Who is it?”
“That is a surprise, Barrett.”
“No way!” Troy complained. “That’s not fair. Do I know him? He’s got to be famous if you think people could make a connection.” His eyes narrowed. “Is he also in the NHL?”
Ilya rolled his eyes. “You are such a gossip,” he said, and Troy spluttered. “Today is my day. Stop thinking about the men I fuck.”
Oh, whatever. Troy punched his arm before handing him a cider.
“Fine. How’s it feel?” he asked instead. Ilya smiled. “That good, huh?”
“That good,” Ilya agreed, twisting off the top of the cider. “It is…” His fingers tapped against the glass. “Lighter.” His eyes darted down for a moment. “I have struggled this year,” he added quietly. “It is nice to have a win.”
Troy took a slow sip of his own cider. “Struggled?” he asked cautiously.
Some people on the team knew Ilya saw a therapist. Not everyone, but some. Troy didn’t have any insight as to why or what exactly was going on there. This was the first he had heard Ilya say he struggled, though. It made him nervous. Ilya didn’t seem like someone who struggled. Maybe that meant he struggled worse.
And based on the fact he literally named his mental health charity after his mom…
Ilya only took another pull of his drink and shrugged. “Fucking relax, Barrett. I’m fine.”
“I was just-”
“You can never stay on topic, can you? This is about my glory as a bisexual man.” Troy raised his hands in surrender. The answer would probably give him an ungodly amount of anxiety anyway. Ilya nodded approvingly. “Good. Now, come read comments with me to celebrate.”
Ha. Troy avoided social media at literally all costs unless Harris vetted it for him, but he had a feeling Ilya was hoping to get bigots on his posts. If he liked goading people on the ice, Troy could only imagine what he was like to people trying to genuinely offend him.
And sure enough, Ilya smiled at all the warm and welcoming comments as they lay in his hotel bed, hearting some particularly sweet ones before letting a particular feral grin cross his face when the negative ones started poking through.
Fucking embarrassing, someone wrote. What the Hell kind of operation is the NHL even running these days?
“Your boyfriend will not be pleased with the fun I’m about to have,” Ilya mused as he hit reply on his official account and responded with a simple: I fucked your mom and your dad. “Next!” he chirped and continued scrolling.
Raider_1993: Like??? I don’t fucking want to know??? Do whatever you want, i guess, but why does it need to be a thing???
Ilya hummed at that as he replied. Why does you being sad and pathetic need to be a thing? I did not wish to know that. But I do. Very sad. Blocked.
“Harris is going to kill you,” Troy mused, though he knew part of Harris would be absolutely delighted by these responses. “Do that one,” he said, pointing to another comment under Ilya’s post.
It wasn’t much. Just a simple ‘boo,’ but Troy was curious to see what Ilya would do with it.
Ilya Rozanov: You are lost. This is not @MontrealVoyagers' account, Ilya wrote back. Sorry for the confusion.
Fine. This was fun.
LJ-Brutz: This has got to make things weird in the locker room…
That one reminded Troy a bit too much of his father. He wrinkled his nose as Ilya jumped to that one next.
Ilya Rozanov: I am the hottest one there. They stare at me. Perhaps they will now get their dream and have an orgy with me. You are not invited. Goodbye.
And, of course…
Scott Hunter: You’re a pain in the ass, Rozanov, but you did good.
Ilya Rozanov: thank you for paving the way for us a hundred years ago, grandpa <3
“How much longer are you going to do this?” Troy asked, yawning.
“Until my boyfriend yells at me,” Ilya said wisely. “But he is bad at social media, so there is much time.”
MNT9823: This feels attention seeking…
Ilya Rozanov: and yet i am displeased you have given me attention. Blocked.
And finally…
NotPuckingAround: the good news is if you go back to russia, you’ll love prison
Troy scowled. Of all of them, that one felt the nastiest. He glanced over at Ilya, expecting at least something of discomfort to touch his face. Nothing. He just let his fingers fly over the keyboard.
Ilya Rozanov: if i spent the rest of my life in a russian prison i would have still had sex with more women than you
“Nice,” Troy offered, and then shook his head when Ilya decided to go to the hashtags next. The one trending at the moment was #BallsyRozy, which Troy couldn’t decide whether came from supporters or haters. Either way, Harris could come up with something better.
Most of the tagged posts were congratulatory. Ilya liked a couple before pausing at one of the photos someone posted. It was of Ilya and Troy during the Christmas photoshoot that Harris had Troy jump in on with Chiron. Underneath the caption read: Wait a fucking second-
Three million likes. Jesus. Before Troy could even ask, Ilya opened the comments underneath the photo.
CensFiend: WAIT!!! HOLY SHIT - are they for real dating? Is this a thing???
ApplauseForRoz: Dude. I have no idea, but that is a cute photo.
BelieverBeaver: Aw, look at Troy smiling. Idk. It’s giving crush.
ChironsBestie: Just gonna point out that Roz did come out right after Barrett did. Interesting. Very interesting. Maybe they have something to tell us soon?
Ilyaswife69: this is Barrett’s first season with the Cens. And then he comes out? And Roz directly after? I’m sorry, but it feels like A LOT probably happened over the season if you catch my drift.
Joiningtheparade: I don’t go here, but they would be the hottest couple s2g
RoseLandryLover: Already scheduling in three hours to obsess over this.
“Aw, shit,” Ilya muttered.
Out of all the comments they had gone through, this appeared to be the first to actually wipe the smile off of his face. And Troy understood. What the fuck? What kind of leap was that?
“Harris says these things tend to go away in a few days,” Troy offered. Ilya only bit his lip. “I’m sure nobody else thinks that. You’re literally my captain. That would be, like, the biggest no-no in hockey ever.”
For some reason, Ilya gave a choked laugh at that before closing the app on his phone.
“The biggest,” he agreed and patted Troy’s knee. “It is time for you to leave, my lover. We have a game in the morning.”
Troy shoved him again. “Shut up,” he mumbled, rolling out of bed. Ilya only laughed as he took the rest of the cider and put it in his mini fridge because, apparently, that was just his now. Troy supposed he deserved it.
Ilya must have seen Troy’s face because he gave him a look. “You don’t need to drink anymore before games.”
At that, he balked, a little offended.
“That only happened once,” he muttered, face flushing a bit. Ilya’s face softened before giving a nod, waving him away.
Troy thought about throwing his own quip over his shoulder, but froze when he pulled back the hotel door.
A man and a woman stood there, fists raised as if about to knock. Troy stared. They stared. Nobody spoke.
“Uh, hello?” Troy asked, trying to hide his disapproval. He had been in this profession long enough to know rogue reporters when he saw them. His brow raised, trying to communicate through telepathy the obvious unprofessionalism of coming up to a player’s hotel room for what - Troy assumed - was an impromptu interview.
The woman recovered first, clearing her throat as she gave Troy a polite smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We thought this was Ilya Rozanov’s room.”
Shameless.
“No,” Troy said simply. He was sure Ilya wouldn’t want to talk to these people. Their questions were almost certainly going to be focused on his sexuality, and Troy knew he wouldn’t want to walk into that without warning.
The reporters looked at one another - both poised to speak again when a Russian swear came from behind him.
“Why is Hayden Pike speaking to me?!” Ilya called, sounding somewhere between utterly offended and endlessly delighted. “Barrett, are you still here? Look at this!”
…shit.
Before Troy could think of a response, Ilya swung around the corner, phone in hand. His eyes lifted up only to freeze at the strangers looming in the doorway.
A pause.
“Reporters,” Troy finally said awkwardly.
The man waved. “Hi, Mr. Rozanov-” he began, but Ilya only grabbed Troy’s arm to pull him back into the room and then shut the door.
“Roz!” Troy choked. He didn’t like them either, but pissing off the people who somewhat controlled your public image didn’t seem like the right approach.
Ilya had a different philosophy. “Anything you say to them, they print,” he advised, clapping Troy on the shoulder. “They loved quoting me when my English wasn’t very good. Now, I’ve learned. If you are not prepared to speak. Do not speak.”
Fair enough. Troy bit the inside of his cheek. “I guess I’ll just wait until they leave then,” he said, and Ilya gestured him back toward the bed.
“Good. Now, stop being lazy and help me think of replies. Your chirping is no good. This is excellent practice.”
“Hey!” Troy frowned, kicking his shoes back off. “My chirping is fine-”
“No. It is very bad. In Toronto, you were a boring bigot. Here, you are just boring. I will teach you the art.”
Well, Troy couldn’t exactly argue that. Shaking his head, he sat back on the bed to watch Ilya continue harassing everyone.