#russsianrozanov

he can't remember the last time he'd actually taken a puck to any of his body parts before. injuries were common in their sport -- whether it was pucks or actual fighting, and going up against toronto and those guys had it out for him since the kent situation happened. it was strange, though, having the rest of the team there to back him -- and for wiebe to actually give a shit and want him to get some actual medical attention. he's fine. he knows he's fine. maybe a few bruised ribs, but that was about it. what he is surprised to see, is ilya sitting in his hotel room waiting for him. plump lips part to protest, his hand clutching at his ribcage. it hurt to breathe -- and god knows they shouldn't be...fucking while he's injured. there's an incredible amount of softness in his gaze that troy wasn't expecting. maybe even...concern? his blue eyes flick up to meet ilya's, lips pressing together as if he truly thinks about it before he nods, moving to settle in his bed. "what -- are you going to do that's supposed to help? it's just a few bruised rubs from when dallas checked me into the boards. i'll be okay."