Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander

Characters:

Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Good Parents David Hollander/Yuna Hollander, Yuna Hollander Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, POV Yuna Hollander, POV Outsider, 2012-2013 NHL Lockout, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Suspecting your kid is in a Situationship, Remix, can be read as a standalone

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of a 'convenient' solution

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-01 Words: 5,053 Chapters: 1/1

i only think in the form of crunching numbers

Summary

“Hollander?” a voice asks from deeper in the flat. It is decidedly not a girl’s voice. “Hollander, what is – oh.”

Yuna looks from her son to the person who has appeared behind his shoulder: Ilya Rozanov, naked except for a towel. Yuna’s eyebrows go back up as she looks from Rozanov back to Shane.

With a sigh that seems to deflate the tension in his body, Shane closes his eyes for a moment, and then finally steps aside. “Okay, maybe it’s best you do come inside.”

---

Yuna and David just mean to surprise their son before the season starts. Except Shane isn’t home alone – and his unexpected visitor turns out to have a problem that is right up Yuna’s alley. What would they have done without her? Probably something stupid, like pretended to get married.

---

Remix of (and i want these words to) make things right . Can be read as a standalone.

Notes

I had this note all written out, like This is not at all what I thought I would be posting next, but, uh. I don’t decide where the muses fall, I guess?, but then the muses showed me up again and made me post for Febuwhump. Yeah. Story of my writer’s life. Since I don't want to wait until I flub a day or February ends, I’m posting twice in a day. Oops.

You don’t need to have read the first part in this series for this to make sense, though it has the same premise as that fic (and veers off somewhere in chapter 1). I had a lot of fun writing from Yuna’s PoV, and I hope you will have fun reading, too!

For GammilyIsMe, whose meme inspired me poking at this concept 💛

Title once again from thnks fr th mmrs

• Inspired by (and i want these words to) make things right by xianvar

“Hm.” Yuna cocks her head and looks from the door to her husband and back again.

“He’s home, isn’t he?” David frowns and rings the doorbell again.

Through the door, they hear the sharp electric buzz of the bell, and then – silence on the other side.

“Training camp starts in five days. There’s no interviews or sponsorships scheduled for now, so… I don’t know where else he would be.” Yuna pauses for a moment. “Except maybe at the Pikes’?”

“Hm.”

Yuna is already pulling out her phone to call their son when there’s finally the heavy tread of steps, and then the door opens.

“Shane,” Yuna says, stepping forward with a smile and her arms open.

Both drop when Shane takes a step back, his whole body tense. He must have been on the exercise bike because he’s flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“Shane?”

Shane’s gaze skitters from her to David and back to her, and his shoulders rise impossibly further before he consciously relaxes them. “Mom. Dad.”

“Shane, is everything alright?”

“What? Uh – yes. I mean –” Shane exhales and swallows, and then meets her eyes the way he so rarely does. “Of course.”

Even without the fact that he’s still very much blocking the door and not inviting them in, Yuna would be able to tell that something is wrong.

She looks at David, but he has that calm smile on his face that means he’s more than content to let her take the lead. “It’s good to see you! Did you have a good flight back?”

Shane shifts from one foot to the other, and finally smiles. He keeps blocking the door. “Yeah. Got in a couple days ago, just… you know, trying to wrap my head around the fact that there will be real hockey again soon.” He laughs, but it tapers off too quickly. His gaze is still rabbit-quick, like he’s being hunted. Like he thinks they will be hunting him.

“Can we come in?” Yuna finally prompts.

To her surprise, Shane only tenses up again. “Actually – it’s, uh. Not… it’s not a good time.”

Yuna feels her eyebrows rise. “Not a good time?”

David touches the small of her back, a feather light touch that isn’t accompanied by words but doesn’t need to be. Right. This is their adult son, and maybe – the thing is, he’s never shown any overt interest in anyone, not after Jessica broke up with him after the draft, and even before that it hadn’t been the way she remembered her first romances going. But he’s still an adult, and maybe… maybe the time in Switzerland did him good. He’s always been a bit of a late-bloomer, after all, in all things that weren’t hockey.

She glances over at David and bites down on her lip so she doesn’t smile. If Shane is this uncomfortable with the situation, they can back off. Wait for him to come to them in his own time, maybe introduce them to the girl he must have over.

Who would have thought?

“Oh, I guess –”

“Hollander?” a voice asks from deeper in the flat. It is decidedly not a girl’s voice. “Hollander, what is – oh.”

Yuna looks from her son to the person who has appeared behind his shoulder. She blinks. The image doesn’t change: Ilya Rozanov appears to be standing in her son’s flat, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls are flat and damp, dripping little rivulets down his body. Yuna’s eyebrows go back up as she looks from Rozanov to Shane.

With a sigh that seems to deflate the tension in his body, Shane closes his eyes for a moment, and then finally steps aside. “Okay, maybe it’s best you do come inside.”

There’s a hushed conversation between Rozanov and their son that Yuna pretends not to listen to –

I need to borrow clothes, Hollander, I didn’t know –

Neither did I, just – they’re in the dresser in my room, just take – whatever, I guess.

– and then Rozanov disappears back up the stairs. For excruciating seconds, silence stretches between them. Yuna doesn’t know what to say. So much for Shane finally finding a nice girl. David inhales, like he will say something, but then exhales, quietly. Shane won’t meet their eyes.

This… is untenable.

“We’re sorry for not calling ahead,” David says just as Yuna opens her mouth. She closes it again, glad she doesn’t have to find out what would have come out.

More silence. “Yeah,” Shane finally says.

“We wanted to surprise you.” Yuna bites her lip, painfully aware of the distance between them and their son. Where is Rozanov now? Is he giving them space? Rifling through Shane’s drawers for blackmail material? Hiding from facing them?

“I guess you did.” A smile cracks across Shane’s lips, small but unmistakable, and Yuna could almost cry with relief. They haven’t fucked up beyond belief with just showing up. Thank god. “It’s just –” Shane stops, and he looks at a point behind Yuna and David with an intensity that tells Yuna they’re no longer alone. Think of the devil…

“Tell them,” Rozanov’s deep, accented voice says after a moment.

“Are you – sure?”

Rozanov huffs half a laugh nand comes back into view. He’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants with the Raiders logo and a shirt that’s too tight across the shoulders, his hair a riotous mess like he’s tried his best – and failed – to dry it. Like this, he looks strangely unthreatening. Nothing like the bothersome menace he’s on the ice. He looks… domestic. Like he is at home in Shane’s condo. Yuna doesn’t want to think about the implications of that, though she braces herself for them all the same. “I would never ask you to lie for me, Hollander.”

Shane snorts, and Yuna has a moment to bristle because – is Rozanov making fun of extorting Shane? Does he have blackmail on him after all? – before Shane sighs. “It’s – fuck, it’s fucked up, is what it is. I can’t believe anyone –”

“Hollander,” Rozanov cuts him off before Shane can spout even more unhelpful sentence fragments. “Not ranting. Fill them in.” Shane’s nostrils flare, and then Rozanov adds, “or you go make – I don’t know, calm tea or whatever else boring Canadians do in situation like this, and I do – that?”

Yuna expects Shane to protest, or to snap back at Rozanov for his usage of boring Canadians, but to her surprise, Shane’s shoulders relax and he smiles. “Fine. If you think you can do a better job…”

“I know,” Rozanov says confidently, and then turns to Yuna and David while Shane actually makes his way into the kitchen. Yuna stares after him in bemusement, and when she glances over at David, he doesn’t look any better. Across from them, Rozanov smiles. It’s a gallingly charming smile, for all that he is very clearly tense as a bowstring. “Hello. Apologies for, uh, meeting. I am Ilya.”

He holds his hand out, steady like he’s waiting for the puck to drop. After a moment, David takes it. “David, hello.”

“Yuna,” Yuna says grudgingly when it’s her turn to shake his hand. His palm is dry and warm, calloused in a very familiar way, and she doesn’t want to be shaking it, or offer him her first name, but it’s not like she really has a choice.

“Nice to meet you.” Rozanov enunciates it carefully, like he’s studied it. He drops her hand, and his fingers find the seam of his sweatpants. After a moment, he uncurls his hand again. Oh. Maybe he is a little out of his depth after all.

Very pointedly, Yuna keeps quiet.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Boston?” David asks, calm and conversational, when Shane slams one of the kitchen cupboards a little too hard.

Rozanov’s gaze flicks over, but he pulls his attention back to Yuna and David quickly; too quickly for Yuna to make sense of whatever is going on between her son and his arch rival who is currently in her son’s home.

“Yes,” he finally says, “except no, according to team I play for during the lockout. Which is why I am here.”

What. “Ilya –” the name slips oddly from Yuna’s tongue, not quite the way he’d pronounced it, which galls because she knows what it’s like to have your name butchered again and again “– maybe you should start from the actual beginning.”

In the kitchen, Shane snorts, which makes Rozanov roll his eyes. “I think maybe we sit down for that.”

It’s odd, to have Ilya Rozanov lead them over to the couch in their own son’s home, but the thought fades into the background when Rozanov launches into his tale. It sounds almost fantastical – conveniently murky contracts and two-faced agents, mafia-like dealings and a sudden flight back to North America – if it weren’t for the heaviness in Rozanov’s voice, the bitter twist to his mouth. His eyes, too, are far-away and almost haunted, and Yuna still doesn’t like him – doesn’t want to like him – but she finds her heart twisting all the same. To be chained to a country you want to leave by an alleged contract error that won’t let him return to the MLH, now that the lockout is over… It should belong in books, but clearly, it does not.

“And your family?” she asks when Rozanov falls silent.

His gaze dips, and his hand comes up to rub at his throat. There was a necklace there, Yuna thinks she remembers from the brief moments of Rozanov, shirtless. “My father is police.” He meets her gaze and smiles. It does not reach his eyes. “My brother, police.”

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps and he drops his gaze again. Yuna exhales, sucks her lips into her mouth, and finally reaches out to pat Ilya’s knee. In one swift motion, he crosses his legs so he’s out of her reach.

In her chest, Yuna’s heart breaks a little more.

Shane carefully balances a pot of tea, a pitcher of water, and four cups on a tray Yuna had insisted he buy –

(What would I ever need that for? Shane had asked, so engrossed in his phone that he’d forgotten to be the polite boy he shows the media, and Yuna had known she shouldn’t find his judgement so endearing, but she’d smiled all the same.

You will be hosting your team, she’d pointed out, because Shane had been given the A early on in his second season and there was little doubt in her mind that he’d get the C sooner rather than later, and it’s always good to be prepared to host.

Shane had rolled his eyes. They’re the boys. They can and will just grab stuff from the kitchen.

Yuna had smiled again. Then consider it decoration. Trust me, it’s one of those items you’ll be glad to have at some point.)

– and places it down on the low couch table. For a moment, he hesitates, eyes flickering between Yuna and David on one sectional and Ilya on the other couch.

Ilya rolls his eyes and pats the seat next to him. “Just sit, Hollander.”

Of course they’re still on a last name basis, even with Ilya having fled here (and why had he come here, in the first place?). Of course they’re still on a last name basis, even though Shane doesn’t argue and instead takes a seat next to Ilya, a careful foot of space between them. Ilya relaxes back into his seat, and he’s probably not even aware of it himself, but he opens his body ever so slightly towards Shane.

When Yuna glances over at David, he also has that look on his face that she knows so well from his Sunday crosswords and other logic puzzles: there’s something here they’re missing, and she doesn’t want to assume, but…

“That all sounds harrowing,” David says as he leans forward to pour himself a cup of tea. The tea splashes softly, first into one cup and then another, and David hands the second cup to Yuna before going on, “but why did you come here?”

Ilya blinks once and purses his lips before his gaze drops away. His hand finds his clavicle, digs into the skin there, before he tugs at what must be the pendant on his necklace. He shrugs. “Is first flight to North America.” He jerks his head dismissively. “And – what else do I do?”

Go to your team, Yuna almost says, though she swallows it at the last moment. It’s probably better to let David lead this conversation; while she already has a handful of options and one probably-workable plan taking shape in her mind, he’s always been the one better equipped to deal with situations like these. More sensitive, some would say, though maybe it’s more accurate that he’s far better at judging the impact his word choice will have. She wishes Shane came more after his father, in that regard.

“And Shane just… happened to be at the airport?” David manages to sound neutral still, though his expression is hard to parse behind the cup he’s bringing to his lips again. That is probably not an accident.

Ilya bites his lips again, and then looks at Shane. Shane isn’t looking at any of them. After too-long a pause, Ilya says, “We are in contact, sometimes. Is… lonely, at top of the league, yes? And… I know he would help me, because it is lonely for him, too, without me to show him who is best.” Ilya smirks, the cocky, flashy grin they know so well, but maybe it’s because they’ve gotten to know him over the past half hour or maybe it’s because he’s not trying so hard – or because he can’t hide it – that the expression cracks like the mask it so clearly is. He looks… young. Young and lost and so very scared, when he hadn’t been scared all throughout the explanation of his current circumstances. Then, he’d mainly looked resigned.

Yuna looks from him to Shane and then at David, the corner of her mouth twitching. David smiles at her, before looking at Ilya again. “That is very commendable, that you wouldn’t leave him hanging out to dry.”

Ilya laughs, before his gaze flits to Shane. This time, Shane does look back, and when Ilya’s eyebrows knit together briefly, Shane frowns back for a second before understanding blooms across his face. He leans closer to Ilya and murmurs, “It deserves praise, that you take pity on me and don’t let me be at the top by myself.” He smiles wryly at his father’s words, though it melts into a genuine expression when Ilya laughs.

“So. What is the plan?” Yuna asks when she deems it safe enough, which is of course enough to wipe any trace of mirth from Ilya’s face. And that’s exactly why she usually lets David take the lead.

Ilya shrugs. “Hope they forget about me?”

Yuna clucks her tongue, leaning forward. “That’s not a plan; you can’t –”

“Mom,” Shane interrupts her. He’s shifted, too, so that he’s turned towards her and David, with Ilya at his back. Half-shielding him from them, unthinking in his protectiveness. They’ve raised him right, their only child.

“What? I’m only saying –”

“Yeah, but – this all happened so quickly, of course he doesn’t have –”

“Which is why he needs to think –”

“We – we haven’t even had lunch yet!”

Oh. It’s a stalling tactic, and they all know it, even though Yuna isn’t entirely certain what Shane is stalling for. Do they have a plan? Is Ilya’s faith misplaced and Shane doesn’t want to help him? Yuna nearly scoffs at herself for even thinking that, because that would be so very much unlike Shane that it would make having a half-naked, freshly-showered Ilya Rozanov in his flat seem like an every-day occurrence.

… Which, maybe it is, now that she’s thinking about it. She stops thinking about it.

“Then it’s a good thing we’ve brought a casserole, right? Let me just put it in the oven. Any allergies?” She looks at Ilya, already getting up to do exactly that while Ilya shakes his head.

“I eat everything.”

Shane snorts, like it’s a topic of contention between them.

“What?” Ilya cries in mock-outrage, and there he is – the flashy Russian kid that he shows the media, except it’s softer up close than it’s ever been on camera. Or maybe it’s softer in here, where he’s clearly comfortable to a degree, even with her and David intruding. “Not everyone can eat weird bird food like you!”

“It’s not bird food,” Shane protests, and that seems like a well-worn argument, which she didn’t know Shane could have with anyone outside of maybe Hayden and Jackie Pike.

She keeps glancing at them as she preps a salad from the ingredients in Shane’s fridge for the side while the casserole is in the oven. The banter is clearly good for them both, but it strikes her how at ease Ilya Rozanov looks, lounging on her son’s couch.

It’s a good look on him. Much better than the tension that had crept into his body when David had focused on him earlier. My father is police, he’d said. Yuna resists the urge to go over to her husband to reassure herself of his unfailing goodness, because the last thing she wants is to give Ilya – and Shane – the impression that it’s Yuna-and-David against Ilya-and-Shane.

Because the longer she looks at the two of them, the more obvious it is that there is an Ilya-and-Shane. She’s always been aware that there’s an Hollander-and-Rozanov, of course; she had done her fair share of capitalising on the rivalry on Shane’s behalf, after all. But it’s not a rivalry that comes to your mind first when fleeing your country. It’s not a rivalry that makes you communicate with a glance or two. It’s not a rivalry that makes you protect the other person from your own parents.

It’s not a rivalry, and Yuna doesn’t know where they went wrong that Shane didn’t feel like he could tell them. Clearly, this has been going on for a while. For how long? They’re still on a last-name basis, but then again, they are hockey players. And Shane was fine with Ilya rifling through his closet to look for clothes (and why doesn’t Ilya have clothes? Did he have to leave them behind in Russia?), knew that a word David had used had tripped Ilya up, is sitting there now and joking with Ilya in a way Yuna wasn’t entirely sure her son was capable of.

It feels traitorous to think so, but it’s relieving. Relieving that he’s found someone to joke with. Relieving that he doesn’t have to carry all this pressure on his own two shoulders, maybe, even if Ilya is playing on his rival team in another country. Relieving that there seems to be someone who gets him – whatever shape their relationship takes.

Because while Yuna has her suspicions, she doesn’t want to pressure Shane into putting a label onto something he probably doesn’t even know himself. She knows her boy, after all, and emotions have never come easy to him.

She pauses with her knife hovering over the cucumber. It isn’t true, that emotions have never come easy to him. They have, and maybe too easily at that. But identifying them? She’s well aware how long it took her to learn the skill for herself, and unlike her, Shane has grown up in locker rooms and gyms and a boarding school full of other teenagers grouped by their excellence at their chosen sport rather than emotional intelligence.

But – he’s not alone. And if whatever he and Ilya Rozanov have has survived the assumptions of rivalry everyone has about them, then it will probably survive whatever else the League – and life – throws at them.

Yuna smiles to herself as she slides the cut up vegetables into the salad bowl, washes her hands, and goes to rejoin her husband on the sectional.

“So, how long have you two been friends?” Yuna asks as she dishes out portions of the casserole.

“You have it wrong,” Ilya says with an impish grin. Next to him, Shane jerks hard enough he nearly drops his plate, though he recovers before anything happens. Yuna pretends she hasn’t seen it. “We are not friends.”

“Oh?”

“Shane Hollander would never have something so basic as friends.”

“Fuck off,” Shane mutters. He must kick Ilya under the table, because Ilya flinches. It doesn’t stop him from smirking. “Of course I have friends. Like Hayden?”

“Oh yes, sorry,” Ilya says, very clearly not sorry at all, “I should say, I am not boring enough to be Shane Hollander’s friend.”

“You’re terrible,” Shane tells him, but he sounds so fond Yuna could cry. “An asshole, that’s what you are.”

“And yet, you like me.”

Shane’s gaze flits to his parents, a flush on his cheeks that brings his freckles out even more. Ilya is still grinning, but his eyes are soft, too. “I don’t like you.”

There’s not a single person at the table who actually believes him.

They make smalltalk over lunch – how the KHL compares to the Swiss National League A that Shane had been playing in during the lockout (night and day, Ilya says. KHL is better. Shane disagrees), how they’re feeling now that MLH hockey is starting up again (excellent), how they’re feeling about the Western Conference (mixed) – and then, once Shane and Ilya have cleared the table and put the dishes away, Yuna clears her throat.

“If we’re all fortified, maybe we could…” She trails off, raising one eyebrow at Shane.

Shane sighs, bracing himself against the kitchen island, before turning to Ilya.

“What is matter, Hollander?” Ilya asks, gaze jumping from Shane to Yuna and back to Shane. “Spit.”

She can’t see Shane’s face, but she’d bet he blushes. Ilya’s smirk is very telling, even if she didn’t know her son.

“Rozanov,” Shane complains, but then he exhales. “Just – I think… my mom could probably help you. If you want that.” He sounds oddly reluctant, though Yuna once again pretends not to notice.

“Help?”

“With – the contract. And, knowing her, also with the… the citizenship thing?” Shane’s voice has dropped low enough it’s hard to make out from where Yuna is standing, but she has a clear view of Ilya’s face and the fragile thing that blooms across it: hope.

“You… you would?” He’s looking at her now, addressing her rather than Shane.

Yuna nods once, briskly. “I have a few connections. And, while I haven’t been practising law in two decades, I still know a lawyer or two. And a few people in the industry. Comes with the job.” She smiles.

“And… you would help me? Me?” He jabs at his chest, right where the Boston logo would sit if he wasn’t wearing Shane’s shirt.

“We would help any friend of Shane’s.” Not that there have been many, but either Ilya already knows or he doesn’t deserve to learn it from her. “And… you are quite different from how you act on the ice.”

This makes Ilya smirk, though it melts into a softer expression after a moment.

“The assholery’s mostly an act,” Shane confirms.

Ilya squawks. “You cannot give my secrets away! This is not fair, Hollander; you do not see me telling your parents you are secretly very funny!”

Shane snorts and then shakes his head. “You know what, Mom? He’s all yours. Dad?”

David looks up from where he’s appeared engrossed in his newspaper for the past couple of minutes, the expression on his face very clearly saying leave me out of it. “Hm?”

“Do you need some help with the crosswords?”

“Always.” David smiles, and that’s enough for Shane to escape to his father’s side, the two of them a familiar picture as they bend over the puzzle section of The New Yorker that David brought along.

“Seems like it’s you and me, Mr. Rozanov.”

Ilya gulps exaggeratedly, before he deflates. “I am very… grateful,” he says, hesitating slightly over the word.

Yuna smiles at him and goes to grab her laptop from her bag. “Don’t thank me yet.” When that makes him blanch, she amends, “Though I do think this should be solved by the time the season starts properly. Or at least well on its way there.”

“I have no doubt,” Ilya tells her and rounds the kitchen island when she motions for him to join her there. “You are Mama Hollander after all.”

The words hit something soft inside her that she didn’t think he would find so quickly, and she’s glad for the pretence of having to enter her password so he can’t see what the easy confidence does to her.

It takes them until early afternoon to gather all the facts and outline a plan, but by the time the sun is setting outside, they have something to go off of.

“Well,” Yuna says and shuts the lid of her laptop, “I think it’s time for us to get our of your hair. I’ll make a few phone calls later, get the ball rolling – you should really consider switching agents, Ilya; I really don’t like you didn’t know you could apply for permanent residency through your team. And think about whether you need a manager or not; it doesn’t have to be me, but I think it would be a good move. Could work the Hollander vs. Rozanov angle a little better, or even shift it from a bitter to a more… friendly rivalry.”

She doesn’t look at Shane directly, but she sees him start out of the corner of her eyes.

The newspaper rustles as David folds it up and hands it back to her to stow in her purse, and then he claps Shane on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

Yuna comes over to join them, pulling Shane into her arms. Ilya takes a look at them and then excuses himself with a half-earthed excuse of needing the bathroom. Contrary to his words, he disappears up the stairs. For the moment, Yuna is content to let him go. Get a moment on their own with her son before saying goodbye to Ilya.

“Thank you for having us. And we’re sorry we didn’t call,” Yuna says when she pulls away.

Shane shrugs a little awkwardly. “It’s probably for the better,” he admits. “I’m… not sure what we would have done otherwise.”

“As long as you didn’t do something crazy like get married for permanent residency…” David chuckles, and it’s only because Yuna still has her hands on Shane’s biceps that she feels him tense. Oh. Oh, Shane.

“Why would we even consider that?” Shane asks with a weak laugh.

When Yuna looks over at David, he’s already looking back, the same resigned amusement in their eyes. Of course the thought had already occurred to the two of them.

“I’d hope that if you ever do get married, you’ll do it for love,” Yuna tells him. “And only if you really want to.”

Shane drops his gaze, shoulder almost up around his ears. Oh, Shane.

“And remember,” David adds, “we love you, okay? And we’re so proud of you. Proud that you helped Ilya, and how you’ve handled this.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Shane protests again.

“You were there for him,” Yuna points out, and pulls him into her arms again. He goes easily, resting his cheek on her head. She can still remember when they did that the other way around. “I may not have expected to say that today, but I’m glad that he has you. That you have each other.”

Shane hugs her a little tighter. “Yeah,” he says, and though she wishes that he would add onto that – that maybe, he’d come out and tell them what’s going on between him and Ilya, it’s already more than she’d expected.

“And – I may be looking into a few joint advertising opportunities, if you give me the go-ahead. I’ll be in touch with him, too, but – if there’s anything you need from me, you can always reach me.”

This time, it’s Shane who pulls back, rolling his eyes a little as she releases him. “I know, Mom. Thanks. And… thanks for helping him.”

“Of course,” Yuna says. “And now, call back your boy so we can say goodbye.”

As predicted, Shane flushes immediately. “He’s not my boy,” he hisses, but he does call out Ilya’s name loud enough it echoes.

A moment later, footsteps clatter down from the loft. “Hollander, what – oh.”

“We didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” Yuna explains.

Ilya stares at her, then at her husband. They both look back evenly.

“Uh –” Ilya hesitates for another moment on the lowest step, before he comes over. He holds out his hand, back ramrod straight, to David. David clasps it, and then pulls Ilya in for a brief and manly half-hug.

When he steps back, Ilya looks more than a little dazed, so Yuna doesn’t even pretend to offer her hand before opening her arms. Ilya looks to Shane like a spooked deer, though when Shane just shrugs with an indulgent smile on his lips, Ilya steels himself and steps into Yuna’s arms.

After two tense seconds, he relaxes and actually hugs her back. “Thank you,” he murmurs into her hair. “I – thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Yuna steps back and carefully doesn’t linger on how red Ilya’s eyes are all of a sudden. “You’ll be hearing from us. And… maybe dinner tomorrow?”

“That sounds good.” Shane smiles. “At least –”

“Dinner tomorrow,” Ilya confirms.

And Yuna knows it’s not like that – that whatever Shane and Ilya are, it’s probably not boyfriends, or at least not at a conscious enough stage to be called that by anyone else – but it still feels like she’s saying goodbye to her boy and his partner, and it may not be what she’d expected of the day, but it feels… good. Inevitable.

Yuna smiles at them again, and then takes David’s hand as they make their way out the door.

Their boy is, indeed in very good hands. And so is Ilya Rozanov, surprising as it may seem.