Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Neurodivergent Shane Hollander, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Set Before All Stars, Some Humor, Anxious Shane Hollander, Trade Deals, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Mutual Pining, Long-Distance Relationship, Does Not Stay Long-Distance, choosing each other, Same Team Au, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Shane Hollander Transfers to Boston, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, Autistic Shane Hollander, Timeline What Timeline, Feels

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Boston AU, Part 1 of My Autistic Shane Hollander Writings

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-11 Completed: 2026-02-18 Words: 5,106 Chapters: 3/3

Six Days Until Florida

Summary

Shane was freaking out. Coming out to his team DID NOT go well. Instead of talking to his friends, or Rose, he calls Ilya.
And then he follows his advice.

Notes

Hi! This show is taking over my life, so I made this.

Also, I relate to Shane a lot, speaking as someone with ADHD, even though he seems much more autism-coded in the show.

Chapter 1: Six

The level of anxiety Shane held as he stepped into his Montreal apartment was through the roof. In the space he was supposed to feel safe, all he could do was stand there in his living room while his mind ran a thousand miles a minute. The lights were dimmed. He didn’t remember lowering them, but at least the overheads weren’t buzzing.

He couldn’t believe how disastrous the past hour and a half had been. He thought his team would be supportive of him. He thought they were better people than this.

Instead, when he said, “I’m gay,” to his team in the locker room after practice, the room seemed to swallow it whole. A couple of guys froze mid-unlace. Someone dropped a roll of tape. His team met him with silence, sneers, avoidant gazes, and finally nervous laughter as some of them asked if this was a joke (not from Hayden and J.J., though. Never from them). Management pulling him aside on his way out didn’t help things either. 

Jeers and similar comments were made by some of the team, after that, too. And, he doesn’t even want to think about the hostile energy some of them gave off.

There was almost no acceptance from any of them.

Shane’s chest felt tight. 

He finally remembered to breathe and that he had the ability to sit down. Shane kept his listless staring at the middle distance and rested his temple against his fingers. 

Unfortunately, the dark-haired hockey player lasted all of five seconds before he was back on his feet.

He paced once across the living room twice and stopped in front of the windows. The city looked the same as it had that morning, as nothing had shifted.

Like he hadn’t just blown up his own life.

He dragged a hand through his hair and dropped back onto the couch, this time curling forward, elbows on knees. After a second and a deep breath, he leaned back against the couch cushion.

His leg started bouncing, enough to rattle the coffee table. He didn’t notice until his water glass tipped and sloshed.

He grabbed it, stared at the ripple.

He’d done the right thing.

He had done what he felt was right.

So why did it feel like he’d detonated something?

Shane couldn’t help but think of how things would be at the next practice or game. Would they continue to sneer at him? Would they tease or harass him? Would they even talk to him?

Finally, after what felt like hours, Shane bit the bullet and checked his phone.

There were several texts from J.J. and a missed call from Hayden. He didn’t feel like talking to them. Despite them being his friends, they were too close to what had transpired.

The phone felt heavier than it should have. The idea of another conversation right now felt impossible. So, he turned it face down on the table. Shane would answer them later when his brain felt less… loud.

Minutes passed by as he sat there, hood drawn over his eyes. He focused on his practically hammering heartbeat, breathing evenly with his arms wrapped around himself. 

Eventually, it slowed enough that he felt steady and could push the hood back. 

Hollander reached for his phone again.

He thought about calling Rose. He almost did. He probably should, especially since she’s the only other person he’s talked to about being gay. He knew how supportive she would be.

Yet, the one person he wanted to talk to after his self-realization was Ilya Rozanov. So, that’s what he set out to do.

He scrolled through his contacts and clicked on ‘Lily.’ On what might have been the last ring possible before turning into a missed call, Rozanov picked up.

Shane stood as soon as the call connected, unable to stay seated. 

“Hollander?” The Russian said. His voice was neutral, and Shane did not have the brain power to think about why that could be. “Why are you calling me?” He sighed, and his voice softened. “It’s been long time. You- we don’t usually…”

The Canadian resumed his pacing, wandering the length of the living room.

“I, uhm,” he swallowed and rubbed his fingers against his temples. He took in a breath and huffed it out. “I came out to my team. Most of them didn’t take it well.”

“What?” His accent made the ‘w’ almost sound like a ‘v’.

“We had practice today,” Shane explained, trying not to let his voice sound shaky. “And, during the debrief, I told them I was gay. They just- stared at me for a while.”

When he explained everything to Ilya, he didn’t realize he was rambling at a fast pace until he was stopped. 

“Hollander- Hollander,” Ilya said firmly. “Slow down. Breathe, yes?” 

He closed his eyes. Let the sound of Ilya’s voice anchor him. Counted the inhale the way trainers had taught him after a bad hit.

Four in.

Four out.

Then, he admitted, “I- I’m a little scared to go back there.”

“Is understandable.” After a beat, he added, “So, don’t. When is your contract up?”

It was Shane’s turn to be slightly confused. “What are you talking about right now?”

“They do not deserve you. When does your contract end?”

“Not for a few years.”

“So waive no-trade clause.”

Shane actually laughed, short and disbelieving. He dropped back down onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Of course, that would be Ilya’s solution. Burn the whole franchise down.

He pictured it for half a second: skating out in a different jersey, different city, different everything.

Montreal was home. 

Wasn’t it?

He blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Rozanov answered.

“My entire career has been here.”

“I say again. They. Are not. Deserving. Of you.”

Shane sighed and slid down further into the cushions, drawing one knee up to his chest without thinking. “I wish you were here.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. It slipped out, small and honest.

There was no hesitation on the other end.

“I can fly to Montreal.”

The Canadian’s eyes widened. “Wha- no. All Stars is only a week away-“

“Exactly. Too long.”

“Ilya-“ 

“Shane,” Rozanov cut in. 

The dark-haired hockey player stilled. He hadn’t heard the other man say his first name in a long while.

“Is fine,” the Russian continued. 

He protested further. “I do have people here who support me.”

Rozanov gave a hum of agreement, adding, “And none of them are me.”

“You asshole,” Shane chortled.

The Boston Raider chuckled and after a second, asked, “How did, uh, the actress take it? I assume you told her, yes?”

“Rose? Yeah, uh, we broke up.” He was going to stop there and then quickly felt the need to specify, “On good terms. She… helped me figure it out, actually.”

There was a quiet beat.

“Good,” Ilya said. And then again, softer, “Good.” 

Shane couldn’t tell if he was relieved or irritated… or both.

Regardless, the next thing he knew, Rozanov laughed and teased, “I have known for long time, basically since we met. You are last to arrive. I guess she had to give you map, yes?”

“Fuck you,” Hollander immediately replied.

“Later.”

Shane blinked. “You’re not coming.” 

There was a dull thud. The unmistakable sound of a suitcase being pulled from a closet. A zipper. After that, Shane heard shuffling.

So, he shot upright and asked, “Are you- packing, right now?” Shane began to pace again. “No, stop.”

“I will not. In case you change mind.”

”Not happening.”

”We’ll see.”

The Metro player sighed. He rested his elbows against his kitchen island.

Another zipper sounded.

There was a minute or two of the two of them just existing on the phone together while the Russian packed.

Then, Rozanov asked, “Who laughed?”

No teasing. No smug attitude. His words were flat.

Shane’s stomach dropped.

Jesus Christ.

“I’m not telling you that,” Shane said firmly.

“Why not?”

He waved an arm. “I don’t need you to be a guard dog right now.” This is despite the fact that Shane could absolutely imagine Ilya attacking someone for him on and off the ice, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about.

And, depending on the context, it could land him in jail, which wouldn’t be good.

“Hollander,” he huffed. Shane imagined him shaking his head. “Still so boring.”

The Canadian scoffed, and his face scrunched a little. “Am not.”

Time passed silently between them for another moment.

“Listen,” Shane said quietly, staring at the city lights beyond his window. “I need to know I can handle it myself first, but… can we… Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Rozanov said, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Okay,” he replied as he sank onto the floor with his back against the couch, phone still pressed to his ear. “Um, talk to you later, I guess.”

“Bye,” Ilya said softly.

The line clicked dead.

Shane rested the phone on the table and exhaled a sigh of relief.

It dawned on him then that he just came out to Ilya Fucking Rozanov, of all people, and he felt lighter for it. He always imagined telling him would somehow, despite his best efforts, be catastrophic. Explosive. Something that would end them or define them in ways neither is really ready for. 

Instead, it had been simpler - if a little chaotic - and somehow that was bigger.

They had six days before they had to be in Florida. Six days until either of them would be in the same room. There was definitely plenty of time for something to explode in their faces. And, they did need to talk about other things. Shane hoped they would wait until they could say them in person.

For now, however, this was enough.

Chapter 2: Three

Chapter Notes

To everyone who subscribed to this fic, you had the foresight before I did. Congrats, I guess?

Anyways, this one concept is my current rabbit hole and I realized I had the perfect way to continue my fic with it.

Shane had been pacing all afternoon. He was on edge throughout this whole ordeal.

Two days after calling Ilya, he called his Agent, Farah, first. She didn’t ask questions, just wrote down where he wanted to go and where he didn’t. His mom - his manager - however, did ask questions. It ended up turning into a long conversation and a messy coming out that Shane really didn’t wish happened.

Nevertheless, it all came down to this moment. 

Social Media was going crazy about a potential trade deal so close to the All Star Game, which didn’t help his nerves. 

What did help, however, was that his mom had crafted and shared with him short potential statements that could be put out on his behalf about the trade once it goes through. None of them explained the real, homophobic, reason why the trade was happening, only that there was a change in culture and that Shane was looking forward to a new chapter in his career. He got to choose which version he liked best.

His phone had been buzzing all day, but the only person he wanted to hear from right now was Farah.

Finally, at 5:28 pm, she called to tell him the news.

“You- you’re kidding,” Shane replied, mouth hanging open. He pulled the chair at the kitchen table harder than necessary. The scrap against the floor scratched against his ear, but he sat down anyway.

His foot tapped against the floor.

“I know it’s not quite what you expected,” Farah said. “But you’re still on the Northeastern part of the continent, like you wanted.”

Shane sighed, relieved, at the silver lining. 

“It was almost a three-way trade,” she continued. “One of their players stepped away, which freed up the space. Their management practically jumped at the chance to get you, and then Montreal acquired someone from Minneapolis.”

“… huh.” Shane attempted to do mental math and figure out who the other players could be, but that soon felt like too much thinking.

“Anyway, mission accomplished, right?”

“Y-yeah, yeah.” Shane moved to stand and turned to look out the windows. “Mission accomplished.”

He stared at his reflection in the glass, trying to decide whether he had just won something or lost it.

“Your mom will share the statement any minute now,” his agent told him.

Hollander nodded. “Good. Uhm.” He swallowed. “Great.”

“Congratulations, Shane.”

“Thanks.” A small smile escaped his lips. “Bye Farah.”

“Bye.”

The hockey player moved to the couch, laid down, and stared at the ceiling. He left his phone on the coffee table. 

Oh, god.

He was a man who had just been traded to his former team’s division rival. That was a lot to sink in.

He would need to find a Boston apartment and move into it. He would need to get introduced to his new teammates. He would probably need to learn a new position. He would need to do media interviews. He would have to get used to being around Ilya more. 

Yet, somehow, waiting to officially be traded was both the most and least stressful part in all of this. Waiting had meant possibilities. This meant reality.

He deserved to just lay here and treat himself to something. A feel-good movie, maybe?

Unfortunately, Shane only had a few minutes before his phone really started blowing up. He ignored it at first. Then, the vibrations of his cellular device against the wood began to annoy him. 

Notification after notification popped up. Social media. News article alerts. Texts and calls from Hayden, J.J., Rose… and Scott… which made his stomach tighten for reasons he didn’t have the space to think about.

After putting the phone down again, the former Metro player took in a breath, exhaling slowly as he rubbed his temples in an attempt to mentally prepare himself for any kind of conversation here on out.

Then, he sat up and called Ilya.

The Russian picked up on the first ring.

“Hollander?” He greeted, sounding a little out of breath. “What is it?”

Shane tried to keep an even tone. “Have you heard the news yet?”

“No.” The sound of a water bottle opening and then being drunk could be heard. “I have been working out for the past two hours. What news?”

“Well, I took your advice…” he huffed and stood, only to then move around the couch to brace an arm against the sofa’s back. “And as of twenty minutes ago, I have officially been traded.”

“To where?” 

Whether it was excitement or just intrigue in Ilya’s voice, Shane couldn’t discern. Maybe it was anticipatory. Regardless, he bit the bullet and answered.

“To Boston.”

“To- to Boston?” He sounded surprised. “You’re going to be a Raider?”

“Yep. In three days, I will be entering the All Stars Game as a newly minted Boston Raider.”

“Are you joking?”

“No, Ilya, I’m being completely serious.”

“You will be in my city.” Rozanov spoke quickly.

“Yeah.”

“We will see each other. Every. Day.”

“Well, maybe not every day, but-“

Rozanov huffed. Then he laughed. After that, he whooped and shouted about a lot of things in Russian, and then in English about winning the Stanley Cup together and rubbing it in Montreal’s face.

Shane’s brows scrunched. “Ilya, what-“

“This is the greatest outcome!” That was said louder than expected.

“Ilya-“

“What? Is good news!”

“Y-yeah,” Shane bobbed his head in agreement and shifted his weight. This ache in his chest returned. “Yeah, it is.” 

“And why do you sound so… what is word? Unsure?”

Hollander blinked and stood straighter. “It’s just that-“ his hand waved, expelling nervous energy. “Uh…”

“You sound like you lost something.”

“Gee, Rozanov, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have.” He outstretched an arm. “I mean, Montreal has been my home for several years now.”

“Shane,” he said in a serious tone. “Yes, Montreal was home. Now, is not. Their loss.”

The Canadian faltered. “How can you just simplify it like that?”

“This trade, when did it open?”

He began to pace again. “Uh, yesterday-“

“There you go. See? If they can let you go so quickly, then they were not fighting for you.”

Shane huffed and rolled his eyes. “Way to rub salt in the wound.”

There was silence on the other line for a few seconds before Ilya spoke.

“Hollander.” His voice sounded strained. “No, that was not… intention.”

“Then what was?”

Ilya took a few seconds to formulate his words, “If they could not see your worth, is not your failure. Is theirs. You are amazing player. Them uncomfortable because of who you are is… is red flag.”

Shane laughed, despite himself, into his question. “Who taught you what a red flag is?”

“Unimportant, really.” 

They let silence hang around for a moment. Perhaps he could have responded to Ilya’s words, maybe even chirped. Yet, the adrenaline he had at the start of the call was washing away, and some of his earlier thoughts were returning to him.

“Hollander. Are you okay?”

“…This all just happened really fast,” Shane replied, sitting at the kitchen table again. “Faster than I ever thought could happen.”

“Is alright, Shane. You have me, never forget this.”

“Ilya-“ 

“I could still fly to Montreal if you wanted.”

“Lucky me.” He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose at the tone of his voice as soon as that left his lips. 

“Do not do that,” Ilya said softly.

“Do what?” Hollander started to panic again.

“Pretend like I am consolation prize.”

The Canadian blinked a few times. “I- I’m not.”

“Then what?” Rozanov’s voice was gentler then.

His heart twinged. “…It’s just different now. Riskier.”

“You forget, we get to see each other more often. Have believable reasons to be seen together.”

Shane sighed. “We’re also more… exposed. And, I just don’t want to ruin-“

“You think I did not consider this?” Ilya’s voice raised again. “Any of it?” He paused. 

Shane found himself wishing this was a video call.

“I am not careless about you,” Rozanov continued in a more even tone. “I have never been.” 

Hollander shifted in his seat.

“We finally have this chance.” Why did it sound like his voice was breaking? “I would like to see where it goes… with you.”

“You make it sound easy.” Shane hated how small his voice was in that moment.

“Is not easy. Is worth it.”

The Canadian’s mouth hung open for the second time that day. After a moment, he closed it and swallowed.

All the while, it dawned on him that Ilya must have been hurting the same way he had been. Maybe about everything to do with their situation.

So, he asked, “Has it all been killing you too?”

Rozanov’s answer arrived with a shaky “…yes.”

“Then… I’m willing to try.”

Ilya sighed. “Good. I am tired of pretending this is temporary.” 

Shane sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. His throat felt tight.

“I will see you in Florida.”

“Yeah. See you soon.”

When the call ended, the silence in his apartment was louder than it had been before. Except, it was a good silence. Peaceful, like something had settled.

He laughed once, disbelievingly, under his breath and found his way back to the couch. Then he pressed the heel of his palm to his eye.

He wasn’t sure if this was the bravest thing he’d ever done or the stupidest.

But for the first time all day, the ache in his chest didn’t feel like dread.

He let his hand fall from his face and stared at the ceiling again.

Boston didn’t feel like a threat anymore.

It felt like a beginning.

He was excited to see what it would be like, not having to leave and fly away. 

Chapter End Notes

This may or may not technically be how trades work. I just went with a quick somewhat feasible route to kind of move the story along quickly. If that irks you, I apologize.

Chapter 3: After

Chapter Notes

Epilogue time, teehee

Shane stepped into the Raiders’ practice facility feeling partially at ease. 

It has been a week since All Stars and a whirlwind of meetings, the first of which being with Head Coach Desjourneys. Then there was the physical with the Raider’s medical team and a small photo shoot for a social media post. 

After that was the team skate, which is usually optional but Shane decided he couldn’t skip it. That’s when he formally got introduced to most of Ilya's teammates who were all welcoming. The actual practice was fine, the usual drills and scrimmages. He’ll just need to get used to playing on the right wing.

Getting called Hollzy by the team - by anyone, really - was something new to him as well.

Yet, every time he came back to this facility, he felt better and better about this trade. There were still things he was unsure of, but he’d cross those bridges when he came to them.

Today, however, was the day he and Ilya were talking to the media. This would be the first time he’d spoken to sports journalist in two weeks. Shane couldn’t help but feel nervous.

He wasn’t afraid of the questions about hockey. He was afraid of the ones that weren’t.

Regardless, he met up with Ilya who stood outside the media room with the Social Media Manager, Kailey, and the PR Manager, Braeden.

“You both feeling ready?” Braeden asked.

“Yeah,” Shane replied with a shrug.

“Yes,” Ilya responded.

Braeden studied them for a moment. Then, she reached out and touched Hollander’s deltoid.

“Deep breaths, Shane,” she said.

Hollander exhaled a breathy laugh and smiled as he nodded his head. Ilya gave him a reassuring look.

After a small inhale, the new Raider straightened out and declared, “Alright. I’m good.”

A few seconds later, the doors opened, the noise rose a few volumes, and the cameras started flashing.

The room quieted as they took their seats. Ilya on the left side of the table, Shane on the right, one microphone each. Under the table, their feet slid into place, brushed against each other.

Both managers stood off to the side, one among the cameras from her own team, and one standing closer to the table. 

Braeden had curated the reporters in the room and decided the order in which they got to ask questions. That was, in general, part of her job, but Shane found himself thankful she was there anyway.

Once everything settled, the first journalist stood to ask his question.

“Shane,” he started, arms beginning to move. He held a notepad in one hand and kept his pen tucked behind his ear. “It’s been a helluva two weeks for you. Walk us through what you’ve been feeling.”

“It’s been a roller coaster, honestly,” Hollander told them, moving his hands as he talked. “Highs and lows, you know. A lot of reflection. Montreal meant a lot to me. Still does. I was sad to leave it, but I am excited for what’s next.”

In the middle of jotting down notes, he asked, “When did you know getting traded was the right move?”

There was a hint of a smile as he opened his mouth. “I think I knew when I walked into the facility and felt excited instead of unsure,” Hollander told them. “There’s something about the atmosphere here. It just felt right.”

“What specifically about the atmosphere stood out to you?”

“It felt open. Honest. Competitive in a way that pushes you forward instead of wearing you down.”

The reporter muttered a small thank you as he sat down.

Someone from the back cupped his hands around his mouth to ask, “Rozanov, be honest, did you recruit him?” From the tone, it sounded like more of a joke than an actual question.

The room laughed and Ilya answered regardless.

“Eh, no.” The Raiders Captain chuckled and shook his head. “I wish, but no.” 

That earned a few more laughs. Shane smiled despite himself.

Finally, the reporter who was supposed to be next, stood and held out her voice recorder.

“Ilya, did his trade onto your team come as a shock to you?” She asked.

The Russian shrugged. “At first, yes. But, I’m glad for it. I do not know what Montreal was thinking, but we’re better for it.”

The reporter gave no physical reaction when she took in the information.

Then she followed up by saying, “Interesting statement, especially about someone who’s supposed to be your rival. What changed?”

“Nothing changed... much,” Rozanov replied. “I know him for many years. We are perhaps friendlier now, but still competitive, even on same team.” He huffed and his lips curled upward as he briefly turned to look at his new teammate. “But, Hollander is great player, perhaps even second best, so Montreal loss, Boston gain.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth began to curl.

“I think the league and the media just ran with the narrative that rivalry automatically meant hatred,” Hollander added. “But that’s never really been the truth.”

Some of the cameras among the crowd clicked and flashed, creating still images of this moment.

The next journalist shuffled through the pages of a small notebook as he stood, pencil in hand.

“This question is to both of you,” he addressed. “Does it feel weird playing on the same team after all these years? Was there ever a moment besides All Stars where you ever thought this might happen?”

Shane leaned forward, closer to his microphone to give him a few seconds of thought before answering. “Eh, yes and no, if that makes sense.” He rested his arms flat against the table and nodded. “All Stars definitely eased us into it, I think.” His eyes darted about the room. “And there have been a few things to get used to-“ his shoulders rose and quickly fell- “as is true whenever anyone gets traded to a new team, or needs to adjust to a new teammate. But, no,” he shook his head quickly. “I’m not sure I could have ever seen this coming any time soon.”

The man nodded and started to write things down before looking at the other hockey player. “Rozanov, anything to add?”

“Eh, Hollander said it well, except I say maybe it was only…” his brows creased and his lips pursed. “… what is expression? Matter of time?” He threw an arm up, but then waved his hand dismissively as it fell back to his lap. “Anyway, good players find each other.”

The journalist shifted his weight. “That sounds like you’ve thought about this before.”

“I think about winning,” Ilya deflected. “That is all.”

The next reporter started speaking her question before she even finished standing. “Going back to All Stars, the two of you played wonderfully together. Do you expect that to be replicated in every one of your games going forward?”

“We can only hope so,” Shane replied, leaning back in the chair.

“No, I know so,” Ilya declared. “We will crush every other team.”

That got a few light chuckles from the room.

The next question a media person asked was, “The timing of this move has raised eyebrows, Shane. Is this one you saw coming?”

Hollander winced and pursed his lips. He opened his mouth only to close it seconds later. 

“In hindsight,” he began. “I probably should have, but things happen how they may. You focus on the work in front of you.”

Ilya placed a reassuring hand on Hollander’s thigh, and both were thankful for the Boston Raiders branded table cloth draped over the front of the furniture.

“Hollander,” the next journalist addressed as he stood. “You mentioned in your statement to the public that there was a change in culture within the Metros. Do you care to specify?”

Shane took a minute to formulate the answer. “Organizations evolve. Sometimes that evolution lines up with where you’re at in your career, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

The cameras shutters snapped.

“Rozanov,” the next reporter said as he stood, voice recorder in hand. “You’ve been one of the leaders in this room for years. What responsibility do you feel in helping Shane transition?”

Ilya’s answer was simply stated. “He is not rookie. He does not need babysitter. We push each other. That is enough.”

At this time, Braeden stepped forward with her arms out, poised, and declared, “Alright everyone, we have time for one more question.”

One of the reporters from earlier nodded at her and she stepped back. He adjusted the way he sat.

“Hollander, are you ready to face your old team on the ice?” The man inquired.

Out of his periphery, the former Metro could see cameras moving, trying to focus on him more.

Shane blinked a few times. His mouth opened before the words came out. He leaned into the microphone’s space again.

 “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”

Braeden stepped forward again and said, “Thank you for your time, everyone, that will be all.”

As the hockey players left the tables, the paparazzi crowd tried to get more photos of them. Cameras flashed and the people clamored.

Ilya stood between Shane and the crowd as they walked, their bodies close enough for their hands to brush against each other’s.

Hollander’s pulse didn’t settle until they were past the doors. 

When the two of them finally got back to the suburban house Ilya owned, Shane’s anxiety about today’s event still lingered. 

The team skate in the afternoon had taken his mind off of the media room, but his thoughts eventually circled back to it.

If Hollander wore that thousand yard stare, he couldn’t quite tell.

“Shane?” Ilya’s voice brought his mind back to the present. He gave him a concerned expression.

“Did I sound okay?” The Canadian asked, shifting his weight. “In the, uh, conference.”

Rozanov nodded. “You did good.”

Shane exhaled and showed him a brief smile. His boyfriend didn’t look convinced of his assuredness and stepped forward. 

Ilya hooked a finger through his belt loop, pulled him closer, and pressed a kiss to his temple before he pecked him on the lips. 

“You sounded sure.” Rozanov reiterated, as he pulled away. He said it as though it was a fact and not just a comfort. “Now come on, it’s movie night. We should get into something more comfortable.” He tossed his blazer on the hall table.

Shane blinked at him and admonished, “Y-you can’t just throw that wherever.”

Ilya shrugged. “I can. It is my house.”

“It’s our house,” Hollander corrected, stepping closer to him.

The words didn’t register until after he said them.

Hollander froze. A somewhat awkward moment passed between them as he worked out in his head if that was an okay thing to say.

As of yesterday, he was still looking for an apartment. Today, however, he might start believing he won’t actually need one.

Wordlessly, and with a small smile, Ilya picked up the jacket and properly hung it in the closet before approaching him again.

“Yes it is,” he said before pulling Shane further into the house. 

Chapter End Notes

All in all this was a very fun fic to write. I loved writing all the soft moments and I think I did good job with my characterizations.
But I think I need the concept of Shane moving to Boston injected into my veins or something.
And yes, this is the final chapter of this first part.