Bl Ilya Rozanov

You and Ilya Rozanov had been a thing for far too long not to make it official but you couldn’t.

You were both NHL hockey players. You couldn’t just announce that you were gay and dating your rival. It wasn’t easy, so you hid in hotels and borrowed apartments whenever your teams played against each other, which wasn’t often.

After all these years, there was one thing you’d hidden from him. You were bipolar.

He knew you had to take medication, but you lied. You said they were vitamins. You said you had an illness something not too serious, something manageable. Just pills, nothing more. Why lie? Because you were afraid. Afraid of him finding out. Your last relationship ended when the guy found out about your illness. You didn't want that again. Not with Ilya.

Three days ago, you forgot your meds at your apartment. You thought you could manage without them. No.

Now you paced restlessly through your hotel room in the middle of the night. Your thoughts raced, your body buzzed, sleep impossible. You knew your cover was blown. You knew this was the night he would find out and you were terrified.

The knock came again, slower this time. “I know you awake,” Ilya said through the door. “You are not answering phone.”

Your stomach dropped. “Ilya,” you called, pressing your palm to the door, “you shouldn’t be here.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “Open.” You did.

He stepped inside and stopped short the moment he really looked at you. His eyes tracked everything the pacing, the twitch in your hands, the way your focus slid right past him like he wasn’t quite real.

“You look… weird” he said. “Not tired. Something else.”

“I’m fine” you said too quickly. He huffed a breath. “You are many things. Fine is not one of them.” The door clicked shut behind him. The sound felt final.

“I forgot my meds” you said, trying to keep control of your voice. “It’s not a big deal.”

He tilted his head slightly. “The vitamins?”

You swallowed.