Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

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

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Hayden Pike, Svetlana Vetrova, Rose Landry, Jackie Pike, Hayden Pike's Children

Additional Tags:

shane can see ghosts, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Canon Rewrite, References to Depression, Irina Rozanova Haunts the Narrative, Russia, Internalized Homophobia

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Ghost Irina AU

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-08 Updated: 2026-10-14 Words: 80,462 Chapters: 9/12

Oh love, oh loverboy

Summary

It was new, knowing he was cohabitating with his mother. They couldn't speak, not truly, and he couldn't feel her touch barring occasional cold spots, but there was a weight in the air just knowing she was there. Growing pains, Ilya thought softly.

or

Shane and Ilya struggle to be together while juggling his dead ghost mother's unfinished business, the mental illness Ilya swears he doesn't have, homophobia Shane promises he's not a victim of, and Russia which seems unwilling to let them go.

Notes

To start, thank you everyone who left so many wonderful comments on the last work, they really reinvigorated my love for writing and is the reason this story even exists! These last few weeks have been rough, but I am still working my way though comments and leaving responses so thank you for your patience. Also special shout out for ThoughtaThought who commented on literally every chapter of so many of my stories that I had to physically lie down.

I have a rough outline for this story but do expect some changes from the book! I have lot of the scenes already written (airplane; if you know, you know) but it will take me some time until I'm happy with the order of everything so sorry in advance for the sporadic updates. I also was not a fan of the year long jump at the start of TLG so this picks up right where the show leaves off and will take some build up. In good news, we will be getting Ilya's POV, so hopefully that makes up for it!

Title comes from Queen's Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy which I felt fit perfectly!
Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1

Ilya learned the phrase “growing pains” in the two weeks he spent trailing Yuna and felt it was painfully applicable the moment his plane touched down in Boston after the perfect summer at the cottage.

It was still his city, familiar streets and traffic and people, but Ilya saw it through new eyes as his ride pulled up to his house. The thick cadence of the voices, the way even the words seemed rougher in a Boston accent. His house was the same, the same crunch of the paved driveway, the same click of his locks. It was empty, cavernous with the sound of his rattling keys, and yet also somehow fresh with the thought that he wasn't alone, not really.

“I can turn the TV on?” Ilya said softly in Russian and he felt a cold brush against his arm which he took to be agreement.

It was new, knowing he was cohabitating with his mother. They couldn't speak, not truly, and he couldn't feel her touch barring occasional cold spots, but there was a weight in the air just knowing she was there. Growing pains, he thought softly.

He turned on one of the renovation shows she'd grown to like at the cottage. He couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “Shane has infected you.”

For a moment, he could hear the ghost of her laughter. He'd forgotten the sound of it, the shape, but Shane had described it in detail one night after two glasses of wine had sent him to bed tipsy.

“Like a fog horn and gasp had a baby.” Shane had said and then spent ten minutes showing Ilya what a fog horn was and laughing so hard at the videos that he swore he'd pee his pants. Ilya had somehow found it so endearing he worried he'd give himself heart palpitations.

Ilya went to unpack and it was a trial in self-control. Everything smelt like Shane's Earth-safe powder detergent and he sniffed each article of clothing before carefully folding them up in a drawer, knowing he'd probably jerk off into one of them later. Know-thy-self and all that jazz.

He made dinner, stir-fry, and plated a helping for himself and a small bowl for his mother. He felt the faintest brush of air along his shoulder and had to turn to hide the way it had his stomach clench up not at all related to his hunger. It might have just been the air conditioning, he wasn’t sure and the lack of knowing was disquieting. He'd never cooked for his mom before her death and now–

“Shane never had the good stuff.” Ilya said to the air. “I use MSG.”

There was no response and Ilya forced himself to be alright with that.

The first day back at practice was–fine. It was fine. The new kids were fine, the plays were fine, the veteran players were fine. The yelling was familiar and so was the misplaced confidence in the older players finally called up from the minors and the newbies who felt like they had to show off.

Sitting on his bench with his laces half untied, Ilya could only think about calling Shane later tonight, of seeing him with his glasses on a soft mattress and under a blanket.

“Hey, Roz!” Marley called across the locker room. “You coming with us to Rough's after practice? We need to introduce these boys to what it means to be a Boston Boy.”

“If I wanted water in my beer, I’d go to the beach.” Ilya huffed. “I have plans.”

Marley smirked, leaning into his arm. “And that would have nothing to do with your back?”

Ilya glanced up at him, saw the sharp smile and felt the energy shift in the air like blood in the water with sharks. The only mirror was across the room and Ilya hissed out a curse as he marched over and turned to see what the fuck Marley had been talking about and froze.

Along the wings of his shoulder blades were deep scratches, another few lines right along the back of his hips and one nasty scrap on the back of his thigh. Shane must have left them after a final round the night before they'd had to leave, when he'd gripped Ilya tight with all the strength of a hockey player. It had been hot. Now it felt like something private was being ripped out into the open.

The jeering began in earnest when he got back to his bench and yanked over his bag to find his compression shirt.

“Come on, Roz, already getting your dick wet?” Richards, a defenseman, called over the clamor. “Save some for the rest of us!”

“Helps when you have all your teeth.” Ilya tried to laugh it off but it landed poorly, not as light as he normally played it, and he could tell a few of the guys noticed. Marley definitely did.

“Whatever, forget her, so you coming out with us?” Ozzy asked.

“No, I have plans.” Ilya repeated and ignored the jeering getting louder.

He’d noticed, of course, that when the boys went anywhere which wasn’t the sports bar down the road, no one invited their girls. Wives in the club was a bad look for the other guys. It hadn’t bothered him as much as it should have except now he had Shane waiting for him and his mother–

Sitting in the dark viewing room with last year's tape playing, the hum of voices lapping over him, he thought about what his mother must have seen, if she’d followed him to those clubs, watched as Ilya let them pull girls into dark corners while their wives blew up their phones wondering when they’d get home to tuck in their kids.

When Ilya was six, he’d helped his mother with the laundry. He learned how to get blood out of her cotton dresses and waxy lipstick off his father’s collars.

It had been different before the cottage, Ilya hadn't known how present she’d been. The way Shane spoke to her, it was bright and bubbly, like the mother he remembered from his earliest years, when his aunt had still lived nearby and his grandparents invited them out to their dacha for weeks at a time while his father had to stay behind in Moscow. They’d been bright spots in his childhood, and Ilya hadn’t realized how much the ending of her story had tainted all the other memories that came before that day.

In that dark room, Ilya somehow knew even without the cold touch that his mother was nearby. She stayed, even when he slept around and crashed out and blew up. She stayed.

When he'd abandoned his father and slept with Alexei's first girlfriend to piss him off and kicked Shane out literally with his pants down. She stayed.

The video was background noise. He was torn between a bursting love and a rolling boil of self-disgust.

That pendulum of emotion seemed to carry him through the rest of the day, through a pushy physical therapist he wondered if he’d made a pass at because she touched him more than she’d needed to, and through another round of passing on the guys. Instead he had his phone out the moment he got into the car.

“Hey!” Shane picked up on the first ring, like he’d been waiting, and Ilya took a breath, a deep one, like he’d been holding his breath all day and only just realized it.

“Hi.” Ilya said and swore there was the faintest brush of fingers along his mouth. Ilya hadn’t even realized he’d started smiling, and that thought alone made the smile grow. “What are you doing?”

“Prepping my pasta.” Shane explained, and Ilya leaned his head back against the headrest and just listened.

Two weeks passed and Ilya was left wondering how he’d gone months between seeing Shane before because now it was verging into torture. They’d had a few games, all pre-season and all went well. Growing pains, he said again, both one the ice and in the routine he was building out with Shane. Calls in the morning, facetimes at night, and Ilya had made the wonderful discovery that he could overnight things to Shane and that had been a treat he’d gotten to enjoy during more than one of their calls.

Their first game against each other was–magnetic. It was like every time Shane's skates touched the ice, Ilya could feel it like pounding drums. It was also somehow a rush, pushing himself faster, meaner, swiping out and watching Shane's eyes flash in pure competition.

It was close, Boston taking it 3-2, but Shane would make Ilya pay for every one of his two goals that night in his bed. They'd driven separately and while Ilya had been locking up for the night and alarming the security system, he'd listened as Shane chattered in the next room. Ilya had the wonderful thought that Shane seemed to have missed her just as much as he'd missed Ilya.

Yet when he'd come around the wall, Shane had been leaning in, a frown between his brow and a guilty look when he spotted Ilya. Like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What?” Ilya asked when what he really wanted to do was demand he tell him what exactly she'd said.

“You stopped going out with your team?”

Ilya blinked. “A bit. They like to party.”

“You like to party.” Shane countered.

I like distractions, Ilya could have said. It was the truth. Instead he brushed it off, “Haven't felt like it. Have a hot piece of ass waiting for me at home.”

That got a laugh out of Shane.

“She's watching some Russian movie.” Shane explained after he leaned in to kiss Ilya, then saying, “Irina also mentioned she would be leaving for a few weeks, something about a trip.”

Ilya paused his hand’s involuntary path to the small of Shane's back. “Trip?”

“I don’t know, she liked Paris, and there was that week in Montreal.” Shane shrugged. “She never really got to travel before.”

“I traveled!” Ilya defended.

“Yeah, night clubs and the inside of rinks is not actually traveling.” Shane huffed and then something sparked behind his eyes. “We should travel. Somewhere no one knows us. Have you ever been to Japan?”

Ilya was still stuck on the strange pulling in his stomach at the thought of his mother being gone for three weeks. She had actually gone to Paris when Ilya had decided to extend his own time at the cottage but that had been a set deadline. He knew where she was and with who and had been able to distract himself with Shane's wonderful tits when he grew too worried. Shane was talking more, about flights and what their summers looked like, and yet Ilya was shuffling through a painful flash of grief he’d thought he’d buried a long time ago.

For all intents and purposes, his mother had died over a decade and a half ago. But in a very real, new sense, he’d only lost part of her. The idea that she might want to leave him again–

“Ilya?”

Ilya jerked back in and tried a smile. It felt strange on his lips and Shane saw.

“It doesn't have to be Japan.” Then, overcorrecting, “It was a stupid idea, there’d be too much risk–”

“No!” Ilya said sharply. “No, I want to go places with you. I want to hold your hand in the sun and have people know we love each other.”

“Oh.” Shane said and then smiled, the large one which made his whole face seem younger. It was Ilya’s favorite. “Ok, then, yeah, I’ll look into it.”

The three weeks he knew his mother was gone were, uncomfortably, the same as the last ten years had been.

He made a single serving of food, caught himself when he wanted to talk to the air, and jumped every time the AC clicked on and he gave himself goosebumps.

Games were–fine. He missed a few easy goals, fumbled a handful of assists he should have made, but that was between his coach and Shane, who’d apparently followed the team’s occasional livestreams to watch them practice.

Ilya brushed them off, growing pains, a new team dynamic he was still fitting into. But it was, Ilya could admit once they dove into the season proper, a lie. Maybe it was that he was more aware of the jokes and snide little comments made in the locker rooms and the itch to always reach out for his phone, so that someone else could tell him he wasn’t ‘too sensitive’ like his father had always accused.

“Your mom’s here.” Shane opened with one night into November as they talked over the phone. Shane was playing a home game and Ilya was on a roadie stuck in New Jersey. Ilya stopped stirring his fish and rice his nutritionist had set out in the hotel dining room for them into a slop to look at his phone. “Like she just showed up here, said she hitched a ride at the airport?”

Ilya hadn’t known. His gaze was locked on the screen where Shane's, Jane's, contact picture flashed: a sunset at the cottage. He’d known his mother was at his house before they’d left. He’d left his tv on for no one, he realized faintly. All he got out was “Oh.”

“She said she was going a bit stir-crazy and needed to go on a trip.” Shane explained and Ilya was glad they were on a voice call because Ilya knew Shane would have wanted to talk about their emotions if he’d been able to see Ilya’s face. “We play together in, like, a week, she can join you then.”

Ilya hummed. He didn’t wholly understand it, but he knew from Shane that sometimes ghosts could jump around, but only close to something living they’d attached themselves to. Ilya had, stupidly, assumed he'd be able to tell the difference between having his mother and not.

Shane seemed a bit uninterested in all the logistics of seeing ghosts which was very unlike him. What was very like Shane was then spending the whole night consumed with talk about the Foundation when all Ilya could think of was his fucking television playing to an empty living room.

“What are you talking around?” Ilya finally cornered him after the second round of discussions about what sort of tax form they should pick. Shane was avoiding something and it took a bit longer for Ilya to notice but it was hard to miss after the words ‘CRA backlogs’ came up for the third time.

“Nothing!” Shane said, and the silence was telling and a light enough pressure that Shane folded like a tower of cards. “I found this little house. It’s right outside this town, Bethel.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.” Shane’s voice dropped a bit and it made the air feel more intimate. “It’s right between Boston and Montreal, tiny, and the house is set way back from the road. I talked to the owner, he lives in Virginia, and said we could rent it for a few months because his busy season is during the summer.”

Ilya pushed his plate away from himself to focus wholly on the conversation. A grin he could confidently call shit-eating even if he couldn’t see himself was most definitely on his face. “Shane Hollander, are you trying to get me alone?”

“We have that long break at the start of December, I was thinking I’ll convince my parents to take a trip and take your mom with them, and then we have four whole days alone in a cabin in the woods.” Shane said breathlessly and Ilya was warming up to the idea.

“Alone in the woods, creepy cabin…you will kill me?” Ilya said with a smile and Shane’s husky laugh alone nearly got him hard in his shitty hotel room over poorly poached salmon and overcooked rice.

“Maybe.” Shane said. “You know what they call orgasms in French?”

Ilya did know, had scored with plenty of women who’d whispered a similar enough pick up line, but with Shane, it felt new and illicit. “What do they call orgasms in French?”

He let Shane’s warm voice roll over him and distract from all the noise which had seemed to be buzzing inside his skull.

a cold November faded into a mild December and while he got some light ribbing about not enjoying the unprecedented four days off and missing their optional training, he was not the only player skipping. He was the one who didn’t have kids to cart along to grandparent’s houses or wasn't hosting celebrations because the end of December was a mess for hockey players.

“Montreal Jane?” Marley questioned and Ilya winked at him. He’d gone out with them the weekend before to get them off his back when he announced he'd be out of their seasonal bar crawl. It usually involved most of the team, and included a group chat that by the end of the night worked as a live stream document of who went off where to do what. Looking at last year’s, Ilya had felt vaguely sick.

His mother had been there, watched him cycle through women at the clubs they’d ended up at. The things he said, while not the worst of the group...he nearly threw up just thinking about his mother reading them over his shoulder, let alone hearing him say them.

His whole life in Boston seemed tainted now. Starting over had never seemed so appealing.

By the time he was on the road, in his boring black Jaguar because Shane said no to anything brighter, Ilya wanted nothing more than to see Shane without a screen between them. The drive was not too long, he spent more time then he’d liked trying to navigate the complicated back roads and swore not to tell Shane that he’d wished for a car that could better handle mud.

The house was just that, a house. It was covered in wooden shingles and, as so many of Shane’s purchases were, had a back wall of only windows which overlooked a sluggish river dotted with snow covered sandbanks. Shane was already here and Ilya felt a flash of affection at the smoke curling lazily up from the chimney. Shane had built them a fire.

“Are you naked yet?” Ilya yelled. “I want to see your cock–”

“Your mother's here!” Shane yelled. He was bent over the fire, tragically with all his clothes on, and his face a bright red.

“Ah.” Ilya said and tried not to let the rush of disappointment show. Then it was followed by a curdling grief, of not being able to even appreciate the miracle that was his mother in any form he could have her. “That's…good.”

“She didn't want to go with my parents.” Shane explained and then glared over at the empty air of the couch. “You could have found something to do in Toronto!”

The weekend was not bad, any time with the people he loved and never imagined he would be allowed to love again couldn't be bad, but it wasn't what he'd wanted from the weekend. If the longing look Shane shot him over the blanket he'd tucked himself under was any indication, he understood completely.

It was only in the shower with the water covering their voices and knowing his mother would rather die again then follow them into the bedroom, let alone the bathroom, did he feel comfortable enough to speak.

“I was looking forward to a weekend alone with you.”

“Me too.” Shane leaned in and kissed a mole on his pec Ilya had never noticed. “I think she's lonely. She's been quieter than normal.”

“Let's not talk about my mother with your hand near my dick.” Ilya muttered.

With a sly look no one would ever believe Shane Hollander capable of, the man's hand trailed over Ilya's hip to grab at his ass.

When they finally dried off, they were wrinkled and Ilya delighted in teaching Shane the Russian word for raisin. They cuddled for a while, Shane being really forgiving of the wet spots their hair made on the pillowcases he'd brought from home.

“Do you want to come home for Christmas?”

Ilya looked up from where he'd been playing with Shane's fingertips. “What?”

“Christmas. My parents always celebrate.” He smiled, soft and tender. “If you wanted to come.”

“Yes.” Ilya said immediately, and then to save face, “But not real Christmas. Russian Christmas is true Christmas–”

“Yeah, yeah, we can celebrate in January too.” Shane huffed and buried his head into Ilya's neck. “You're just like your mother sometimes."

Ilya was inordinately glad that Shane couldn't see his face because he couldn't control the way the words hit him. They were light and playful, completely unlike the way his father had wielded them, but he felt them cut the soft part of him left exposed after her death all the same.

On the drive home, Ilya wanted to talk, to say something to whatever remained of his mother that Shane had told him was sitting in his car with him. He had a wild, uncontrolled thought that he could just swerve into oncoming traffic and maybe see her again. It was so abrupt that he nearly had to pull off to the side of the road and hyperventilate. Instead he did as he always did. He plastered a smile on his face and spoke about Shane and hockey and the team. About nothing and everything.

Christmas was better. Yuna and David had warmed up to him and any lingering discomfort was broken when the Hollander clan realized they could play charades with two teams and he and David absolutely demolished Yuna and Shane. It had been sweet to see the way they got so worked up and it had given David something to wink at him for over their heads. He felt like one of those characters in the American sitcoms he and Alexei used to buy from sketchy vendors when he was a kid.

The food was good and Yuna even let him help clean up this time. They promised to fly down to Ilya’s to celebrate in January and Ilya's stomach fizzed like a soda.

“Can you ask my mother for her pryaniki recipe?” Ilya asked that night as he and Shane lay sprawled out on the couch not long after his parents went to bed. They both had to get up early for their flights, Ilya to New York and Shane to Minnesota, so he enjoyed the warmth while he could. “I want to make it for you.”

“Irina says the ingredients here are shit.” Shane murmured. His face was smooshed into Ilya's chest.

“Still.” Ilya insisted and Shane tilted his head. He wondered about his mother's cadence, what language she used, how often Shane unknowingly censored her. He could ask, Shane would try and tell him, but it felt so overly complicated and the last thing Ilya wanted to be was high maintenance.

“What did you think about the Foundation proposal?” Shane asked sleepily.

“Was good.” Ilya answered honestly. “Your mom is…dedicated.”

Shane laughed and it shook both their chests. Ilya liked it. “Sure, let's go with that.”

Yuna had laid out so many pieces of paper that needed to be signed that at one point he just had her point to lines and took her word for it. Shane did it too and he was plastered on billboards from Montreal to New York and in commercials that aired in a hundred countries. It would be fine.

“Do you think it's too soon?” Shane asked and Ilya perked up. Any trace of drowsiness was gone from Shane's voice.

“You wanted it soon, yes?”

“Irina wanted it soon. Said it meant we could be together more.” Shane admitted and Ilya smiled and glanced over to where Shane had looked an hour before when he was explaining what Letterkenny was. The chair was empty.

“I like being with you more.” Ilya said.

“I do too.” Shane said softly. “So I guess it's good then. This soon, I mean.”

After All-Stars but before the playoffs began in earnest. It would allow people to see them still as rivals but also working together in their off time, what little of it they would have. Yuna had a schedule of meetings and photoshoots she had planned for the summer and even a few days she'd penciled in fake paparazzi photos to get people talking. Efficient, she'd called it. Terrifyingly so, Ilya thought.

The string of away games ate up most of his free time and by the time January 7th crept closer, Ilya had bought out nearly all the ingredients for his pryaniki at every Russian supermarket in Boston, even if their ginger was sub-par at best. The cast offs had been a big hit in the locker room and in the break room and for all the gear keepers, until finally his coach had told him to keep them at home or he’d make sure to amp up the workouts to help them burn off the sugar.

The Hollanders descended onto his house with a sort of organization which he almost found unsettling. They were, as he should have expected with a son like Shane, early. David and Yuna lingered in the entry way for a few moments, a bit awkward at first and seemingly trying very hard not to be, but Yuna found her feet in his kitchen.

“Did a bakery blow up in here?” She demanded. She was leaning onto his marble island, hand uncomfortably close to a puddle of spilled milk. “Come on, David, let's get cleaning.”

“Oh, no!” Ilya tried, throwing his body between them. His mother would come back to life and kill him if he allowed guests to clean his house.

Yet, they were like little thieves, he’d turn to deal with one and the other would somehow have gathered all his torn wrappers and then he’d turn again and David had armed himself with his bleach and a rag he’d found somehow.

He was exhausted enough that when Shane opened the door, he collapsed into his boyfriend’s arms. “You’re lucky my mother has no body. Your parents do too much.”

Ilya was trying out jokes. So far Shane had laughed at them, but he knew he had a habit of pushing boundaries.

“My parents leave in three days.” Shane countered and Ilya smiled but the thought stuck in his throat, a knot he couldn’t quite swallow.

He put out the fancy ceramic plates he’d bought and it felt nice to host instead of letting the Hollanders serve him. They ate all the food and complimented the chef and Yuna smiled at him when he remembered the fancy brand of wine she liked. David’s preferred brand of vodka Ilya had already had and when he slipped into the butler’s pantry to pull it out of the fridge, he turned and was surprised to see David following him with their glasses.

“I was going to bring it to you.” Ilya poured David’s glass first, his father’s etiquette flashing behind his eyes.

“No need, son.” David said softly.

Ilya felt a ripple down his spine. He didn’t know if it was because of his mother or if the words just did that now. David said them often and they had struck Ilya each time. Still, he could see the quick glance David shot over his shoulder and Ilya had the wild thought that he was finally getting the nice Canadian version of the Shovel Talk.

“Listen, Ilya…” David started and there was a chill in the middle of his back, bright and grounding and he knew without a doubt, it was her. She was here with him, and Ilya felt the strangest urge to cry. David looked back his way. “I wanted to thank you.”

Ilya blinked, surprise cutting through the big emotions he was trying desperately not to show on his face. “What?”

“Yuna and I always worried about Shane. And with his gift, it was always such a struggle for him. He was always so…isolated. Even from us.” David said and he was leaning in now, the pantry becoming an intimate warm bubble. David reached a hand out and it was strong where it gripped his bicep. He'd been a hockey player, Ilya remembered faintly as David kept talking. “Then we learned he wasn’t really alone at all. Both you and your mother, well, I’m just thankful.”

It was easy, Ilya wanted to say, but it wasn’t wholly true. It had been so unbelievably hard to get to the action of love, but the thoughts, those had been there long before. Ilya never really had a chance. Ilya wondered if it was the same for his mother. If she had been struck by how lovable Shane Hollander was too.

“He makes it easy.” He settled on. It was the truth. Ilya could do anything if he knew Shane would be there on the other side.

“Yeah, he does.” David said and then, “But I also want you to know you can come to me if you need something. I love the pair, but Yuna and Shane can get so deep in their own heads that other people can sort of disappear.”

Yuna got that way over Christmas when she’d sat him down and laid out an honest to god Powerpoint about possible brand collaborations she could get him if he had any interest. Shane got that way on the ice, the sharp cutting demands he made of his players that could rub some people the wrong way if he ever gave a wrong call, which he didn't do.

“Thank you.” Ilya nodded and then offered David his newly filled glass.

The Hollander’s had not exchanged gifts really, they were so practical that the gifts had ended up being clothes for Shane, a new puzzle for David, a new Japanese pen set for Yuna, and a set of pajamas Ilya hadn’t understood the importance of until Christmas morning when he’d come down the stairs to the other three matching him.

It was, to date, one of the sweetest memories he'd made in years, made sweeter when Shane had leaned over the kitchen island and laughed, “Your mom’s wearing them too. We all match!”

So when he had made the announcement that he would be returning the favor during his New Year’s, he had expected arguing. What he had forgotten to figure in was that to be a Hollander meant being competitive because Yuna had walked in with her hands full of wrapped boxes and David had hauled in extra bags with familiar logos overflowing with rich white tissue paper.

“Yuna stalked your profiles for ideas.” David commented while his wife was pulling out neatly wrapped packages and placing them in front of the respective person. They were all covered in distinct wrapping paper; Ilya’s had little loons all over it and he smiled. He lifted his phone up to get a photo and thought about posting it. No one could pin point shit about wrapping paper and it would be nice to have something he could actually post, tangible proof that he had someone who loved him enough to wrap up a gift for him to open.

Ilya caught Shane’s laugh that he did a piss poor job trying to hide. “Why are you laughing, your paper has clowns all over it!”

“I don’t have many Christmas options!” Yuna defended.

“No, it’s not–” Shane laughed again and it was bright and beautiful. “When you open mine, then it’ll make sense.”

Ilya got Yuna the second novel to the one he’d seen her start during Christmas. For David, Ilya had convinced Yuna to let him pay for her husband’s yearly New Yorker subscription. And for Shane, a signed Bears jersey with the name ROZANOV emblazoned on the back. They’d all smiled and he’d gotten a few pats on the back and even a wink from Shane’s mother. He was only slightly glad that he went with Shane’s idea for understated gifts even if he still thought his own idea was good, that being to give the whole Hollander clan new sports cars.

Ilya got a monogramed watch from David and Yuna, one of those that you could dive with and told you it was expensive from the weight alone. It helped that it was just a touch gaudy, being both gold and black. His colors even if he would be giving them up come May. He loved it.

Finally, Shane pushed the gift he got for Ilya across the rug.

Ilya huffed and picked up the box Shane had pointed at. He shook it dramatically and the whole Hollander clan laughed even though he wasn’t being that funny. He ripped the paper and turned it so he could see the image on the front.

“It’s a polaroid camera.” Shane cut in, leaning over Ilya. He pointed out certain buttons and the back of the packaging where the features were listed but Ilya wasn’t looking at them, his eyes were stuck on Shane. His boyfriend smiled, blushing but not hesitating. “Irina pointed out we don’t have any photos together and we can’t keep them on our phones, but I figure…”

Shane didn’t have to say anything else.

“Did she tell you?” Ilya asked later that night. Yuna and David had tried to clean up but Ilya had put his foot down, as much as one could with Yuna Hollander, and they'd gone reluctantly to bed and left Shane and Ilya meandering around the house cleaning up by the delicate glow of the Christmas lights.

“Tell me what?” Shane asked. He was wrapping up Ilya’s cookies. He’d had two, a big win in Ilya’s book.

“About the photos.”

Ilya kept his back to Shane. Just the thought of his mother telling Shane about them, the half dozen photos he stashed away in his phone under the label ‘Boring’ that he’d only opened late at night to just look at.

“Ilya,” Shane said and he felt a hand on his shoulder turn him. Shane’s face was open and soft, brow furrowed. “What photos?”

“Never mind.” Ilya tried to brush it off. His mom hadn’t said anything. She’d seen him cry over those photos and hadn’t said a thing.

“No, Ilya.” Shane huffed. “What photos? What are you talking about?”

Shane turned like he might march down the hallway where he’d sent the other Hollanders and he’d set up Ilya's mother’s room. Ilya sighed and closed his eyes, rolling his neck and deciding how stupid it would be to just show him. Shane already knew how pathetic he was. How much farther could he fall in his eyes?

His fingers felt clunky flicking through his folders down to the singular little box with six photos. He opened it and handed it over. He saw the way Shane’s shoulders slumped, that whatever he’d thought the photos might be, they weren't the selfies from that disastrous night in Vegas nearly five years ago.

“You…you kept these?”

“Of course.” Ilya said softly. He hadn’t realized he’d crossed his arms over his chest defensively until Shane tried to hug him and he had to pry himself open again. If felt like a flaying in a way, peeling back armor and skin for Shane to poke at.

Shane didn’t say anything, and clicked away from the photos so quickly that he almost felt his heart physically crack, until Shane huffed sharply. “Don’t look over my shoulder! You’re so nosey.”

Ilya realized who exactly he was talking to and it seemed to bloom a rush of warmth behind his ribs. “Don’t call my mother nosey.”

“When she reads over your shoulder, then we can talk.” He huffed and then said sharply in Russian, “If you don’t read over his shoulder, why read over mine?”

Then Shane blushed and Ilya had to ask, “What did she say?”

“That you send things she doesn't want to read.” Shane muttered. “Also that she sometimes wishes she never learned English.”

Ilya laughed and took back his phone, glancing down at the black screen and knowing the shape of the photos without even looking.

Then, like a real couple, like the other players who had partners, Shane followed Ilya to his bedroom. He turned off lights as he went, they brushed their teeth in the twin sinks Ilya had always thought were stupid until right that moment. He waited at the foot of the bed so that he could watch as Shane went through his night routine. Ilya could only name a few of the products but his boyfriend had explained them all the first night they’d spent together in Ilya’s Boston house back in September.

Then they curled up in bed, like a real couple because they were a real couple, and Ilya buried his face into Shane’s neck. It was easy to sleep after that.

The next morning was more chaotic than the first had been. Yuna ran the schedule with the efficiency of the U.S. Navy and refused to waste time for silly things like a morning lie-in. David and Yuna had commandeered his kitchen for lunch and both he and Shane sat on the couch watching two other teams playing and trying to set up Ilya’s camera.

“Put it in here.” Shane pointed and then seemed liable to grab the thing out of Ilya’s hands if he didn’t move quick enough.

“It’s in.” Ilya raised it up and pointed it at Shane before clicking the button.

The machine gave a loud click and then a grinding sound that sounded vaguely familiar to the old cameras he’d seen his mother use a few times when he was young. It spat out a black image and he shook it wildly.

“You know that doesn't actually speed up the development.” Shane huffed and leaned back against the couch.

“Hey Ya! Song wouldn’t lie to me.” Ilya gasped dramatically and when Shane raised an eyebrow, Ilya sighed. “Uncultured. I need to introduce you to more music. Pull up your music app.”

They were halfway through making a new playlist when Ilya bothered to check his photo. Shane was flicking through Ilya’s lists and searching up any of the songs whose album covers he liked which was both endearing and aggravating. Ilya looked at it for a long while, the blurry haze of Shane’s face, captured with this perfect little wrinkle between his brow and the faintest hint of a smile.

“Come here, I want to take more photos.” Ilya threw himself into Shane’s lap and Shane squawked, but grabbed him, steadied him, and let him move the camera around until clicking the button. It was a horrible photo, half of their bodies out of frame, but Ilya tucked it into his pocket anyways. Yuna and David got their photo taken, and the lunch they'd made him. Shane got another, leaning over the couch and talking to one of his decorative chairs where his mother apparently sat. Nothing appeared in the photo, no orb or light, but there was an energy Photo-Shane gave it, like you could hear the conversation if you leaned in close enough. He burned through his first roll of film within the hour.

When he finally had to say goodbye, it was hard. He sent them home with platters of cookies and he almost regretted letting them clean up. The house felt too sterile without the clutter from cooking and leftover wrapping paper. The decorations were out of place, stupid looking now that there was no one left to admire them.

Yet he kept up a smile, chattered as he plucked off the ornaments and tossed them haphazardly into a large storage bin he'd bought for the occasion. The tree was tossed out the back door to be left at the curb and in less than two hours his house was back to normal.

“Goodnight.” He said to the air and it was only when he was in his room behind a door he knew his mother wouldn't enter did he allow himself to breathe.

It was stuttering and painful, pulled out of his chest. It was only when he was emptying his pockets to toss his sweatpants into his laundry did he realize he'd shoved all the Polaroids in there.

Carefully, he laid them all out on his bedspread. Shane's parents smiling at the camera, leaning onto Ilya's table to both be in the photo. Shane and Yuna on the couch, both of them having tucked their feet under them the same way. Shane leaning over the chair. The soup Yuna had made that Ilya couldn't pronounce and David's side salad with Ilya's favorite croutons sprinkled on top. All the Hollanders around his tree, organizing their luggage to avoid baggage fees.

The final one was blurry and off-center but it was clearly them. Ilya with his head leaning into Shane's collarbone, Shane's face angled down, not looking at the camera but at Ilya. His mouth was tilted up, caught at the beginning hint of a smile.

Ilya had a single frantic thought that if he posted it to Instagram right then, he could keep Shane next to him. He'd lose everything else, but–

Ilya opened the side table to the right of the bed, Shane's side when he stayed over, and tucked them under other photographs he never looked at during the daytime.

Then he shut the drawer.

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Ottawa had become a strange battle ground the last four months. It had seemed so easy when Shane had recommended it in their bed in the cottage. In the light of day and the pressure of the season, Shane had reconsidered many, many times.

Ilya hadn't.

Not wanting to fight tonight of all nights, Shane just sighed to show his displeasure.

Chapter Notes

Sorry this has taken *checks watch* sixteen billion years. We're creeping through this first year!

Thank you for all the lovely comments, you're fueling my creativity. I also don't have a Twitter, but people mentioned people promoting it there, so thanks so much!!

Shane felt his foot tapping under the table.

“Clam down, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm.” Irina huffed.

“Where did you even learn that word?” He asked but stopped tapping. “And this is, like, a big deal!”

“You will sit next to Ilya, not have him take you on the ice, how big deal?”

“Gross, Irina!” Shane tried to keep his facial expressions in check but Irina, like her son, was an overachiever in the field of making Shane break.

“You will have nice conversation and then other people will say ‘oh look at two handsome friendly players being good sports’ and everyone wins.” Irina laid it out simply like she always did. “No one is jumping to you two loving each other and if they do, they are hiding it themselves.”

Shane's head snapped over to her sharply. “You know…”

“Yes!” Irina said with bite, like he'd insulted her powers of observation. “But I learned lots from my shows, we don't out people!”

It was almost funny the way those words sounded coming out with her thick Slavic accent. Still, Shane smiled a bit and looked around. The bar was filling with players there for All-Stars and Shane wondered who Irina thought might be like Shane.

Dallas Kent and his cronies were in the back corner, already rowdy and calling for the bartender who was cleaning an already clean glass and looking like she'd wanted to be anywhere else. Not them, not Smith or Danvers who both had been taken off all NLH socials after they made disparaging comments about about the MeToo movement a few years back. Not Troy Barret who seemed to be hovering at the bar with the same look on his face as the bartender.

Not one Ottawa player had made it to All-Stars and Shane felt something sharp jab him in his stomach.

“Come here often?”

Shane looked up, up, up and had to do everything in his power to stop the smile that instinctively wanted to spend across his mouth. Instead he gave a sharp, “Fuck off, Rozanov.”

“So cruel, Hollander. Worried about your chances this year without me on your team?” Ilya flagged the waitress down who looked much more excited to talk to them rather than the back table.

“You wish. Who got that final goal again?”

They bantered back and forth and he felt all the eyes slowly turning to watch them. It was horrifying and dangerous and–somehow vaguely hot. Ilya had spent the four day long break knowing his mother was on a different continent, and thus utilizing their private time railing Shane against every one of his apartment's windows. Shane had, at this point, almost grown used to the idea of performing to a fake audience.

But this audience was very real and thinking things he was trying very hard not to think about himself.

Irina was watching them and he caught her smile flicker a bit and the drop into a frown when Ilya threw out another unsubtle double entendre. Then she groaned and muttered “gross” which helped Shane feel a bit vindicated.

Ilya didn't stay long, just enough to establish the image they were building. As friends. So they could be friendly.

“Was that Rozanov?” Scott Hunter slid up next to him and Shane gave him a glance and then a long look.

Hunter looked–good. Trimmed beard, neat eyebrows, but the real change was the way he held himself. Gone were those slouched shoulders Shane hadn't realized Scott had always worn until the weight had been lifted. There were smile lines around his lips Shane had never noticed before.

“Speak, bunny!” Irina hissed and Shane realized he'd just been staring at him.

“I just thought, you know what, nevermind, sorry–” Scott's smile dimmed a bit and he seemed to retreat back into himself a bit, protective and familiar. Shane grabbed him by his arm to stop him.

“No! Sorry, I just–” Shane tried to be brave. “You look good, Hunter.”

“Oh, thanks.” He said and that smile was back, the small honest one. “I just wanted to say, I appreciated the email.”

Shane blushed. The email hadn't said much, just a general statement about how brave he was, how Shane was–Shane was an ally. That had been the word he'd used and it felt as wrong then as it did now with Scott looking at him with admiration.

I'm like you, Shane had the wild urge to say, I'm gay and in love with a man I want to kiss when we win a cup too!

He didn't say that, he just nodded and let Scott circle the conversation back to hockey generalities like how the rookies were looking, who might be put on waivers, who was showing promise in the minors.

“And how’s Rose Landry?” Scott tossed out randomly.

“Uh, good?” Shane answered. “I had a break after a shoot in LA and we went out for lunch about a month ago.”

“Cool.” Scott muttered and Shane wondered if he wanted something. Some of the guys wanted her number or to get an invite to the celebrity parties they assumed Shane attended. “So…you're–good?”

“Um, yeah?” Shane felt off balance and not quite realizing what he was saying until he'd said it already. “And how is your boyfriend?”

Scott looked both delighted to talk about said boyfriend and also a little nervous. He looked around like he expected someone to jump out at him. “Good, good! Kip's good.”

“Good.” Shane said dumbly.

“This is painful.” Irina glanced between them, face full of judgement.

“I better circulate.” Shane eventually said, his tried and true method of getting out of a conversation.

Scott waved him away and Shane watched a few people whisper behind their hands before the Admirals goalie meandered over and clapped Scott on his shoulder. It wasn't until he was already down the hall that he realized who exactly was missing.

“Where were his parents?”

Shane stopped and glanced back through the bar's windows but it was just Scott, alone.

“Oh, I hadn't…” Irina stared at him. “They were so faint during his speech in June, I didn't think anything about it.”

“They moved on.” Shane said, voice soft with disbelief.

Nearly ten years of playing Hunter and not once had his parents done much more than trail him with those ghostly looks of uncertainty and pride. They loved their son, and Shane wondered when exactly they'd crossed over. Had it been the moment Scott came out? Or one of those mundane days that Shane saw on Scott's Instagram with the man he loved?

Shane's eyes tore away from the empty spot next to Scott and landed instead on Irina. She caught it, even when he tried to look away.

“I'm not going anywhere, bunny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Shane muttered, but his heart was still beating fast even as he forced his feet to move along the hallway and back into the hotel.

Usually Shane loved All-Stars. No one could say shit about him when he routinely out performed the same guys those all white podcasts claimed were somehow anywhere close to him. He'd brushed it off for years, but recently it had gotten worse.

Locus of control, his mom always said, focus on what you can change.

Ilya did well too, antagonizing a few of the older players who knew what to expect. The actual game was fun too, a chance for Shane to show off why his team could move a puck with a controlled entry while most dumped and chased.

Still, it ended in 2-1 for Ilya's team due to a better goalie which Shane knew would be very annoying to hear all night.

Shane had bought the room this time and they spent most of the night on the couch before slowly drifting to the king mattress. Ilya wanted to try the hot tub but Shane would have rather rubbed his ass raw on the ugly carpet than get his privates anywhere close to a hot tub used by other people.

It was, a bit embarrassingly, mostly kissing. Long, deep ones that left their chins wet and their chests rubbing together as they panted. By the time they finished, it didn't matter that Ilya had poured himself two fingers of vodka and Shane had a ginger ale, their saliva tasted the same. It was a strange thought, hot though. When Shane whispered it between them, Ilya honest to god growled and that was hot too.

More than that, though, was the lull that came after. There was no rush to get dressed or claim the first shower. They could leisurely clean up, flop back on the side of the bed with no wet spot and Shane could pet whatever lovely part of Ilya he could reach. Ilya, his boyfriend.

“What are you smiling about?” Ilya asked, fingers running over his ribs.

“You.” Shane murmured into Ilya’s ribs. “How did you know I was smiling?”

“I can feel it.”

Shane smiled wider, biting him just to feel Ilya’s fingers dig in. Maybe he’d leave a bruise that would last them until they saw each other in a week to announce the Foundation.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Ilya asked and Shane looked up at him. His face was serious again, his eyes looking out the window. “Vegas. You were ticklish then too.”

Shane couldn’t help the way his breath caught. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“I’m sorry for not understanding you then.” Ilya said, ignoring Shane trying to sit up and find a shirt or something else to cover himself up. He felt uncomfortably exposed.

“I brought up something really personal and we were not…there. I understand.” Shane wanted to not talk about this. He had a wild thought about pretending Irina was in the room but both he and Ilya knew she’d followed a few of the wives to a tv show watch party. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

“I hurt you. Is not fine.” Ilya placed emphasis on that word.

“I’m–” Shane cut himself off before he could say fine. Ilya looked like he had just proved his point and that annoyed Shane. “Ilya, I’ve been through worse. At least you didn’t throw anything at me.”

“People threw things at you for seeing ghosts?” Ilya demanded and Shane wished he’d just kept his fucking mouth shut.

“Sure, maybe more for being Asian more than the ghosts, but I’ve told people things they don’t want to hear. It comes with the territory.” Shane shrugged. “You can’t tell me people are throwing their arms open to all Russians.”

Ilya didn’t say anything but there was a furrow in his brow that Shane reached out and instinctively rubbed at until it smoothed. Ilya said softly, “Sure. Sorry.”

“I just want to cuddle with my boyfriend.” Shane asked and Ilya flopped back and opened his arms, laughing when Shane flipped them and pulled Ilya’s face into his neck. He settled there and Shane pushed down the fear that the conversation still hung around them, as real as any ghost.

~~~

“Stop fidgeting, both of you.” Irina huffed. “Children, I swear.”

“The collar is too tight.” Shane defended. Ilya stood next to him, hiding his smile behind his hand. “Shut up.”

“Don't be angry, this is a miracle your mother made happen.”

Shane grunted but Ilya wasn't wrong. His mother had fast tracked documents which Shane had planned to take months, got together a board in record time, and put together a list of people to schmooze at the various meetings and dinners to donate. The result was that Ilya was yanking at Shane's bow tie and retying it for him in late February when Shane had planned for the Foundation reveal to come in the off season.

“Maybe we're moving this too fast.” Shane whispered. His mom was on the stage opening for them, laying out action plans and outreach objectives displayed on stylish cue cards.

“Too fast? Shane, it's been ten years.” Ilya muttered back, flicking the newly tied bow tie, thankfully looser.

“No, not us!” Shane shoved him slightly. “This! I mean, the Foundation.”

Ilya smiled slyly and Shane had to push down the urge not to shove him off the stage.

“Will be fine. More eyes when I sign with Ottawa.”

Shane went still next to him.

Ottawa had become a strange battle ground the last four months. It had seemed so easy when Shane had recommended it in their bed in the cottage. In the light of day and the pressure of the season, Shane had reconsidered many, many times.

Ilya hadn't.

Not wanting to fight tonight of all nights, Shane just sighed to show his displeasure.

“Please welcome, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander!” His mom introduced and Shane ignored that Ilya had convinced her to put his name first.

The lights were too bright but dimmed when he stepped out, the small gathering of sports reporters and other correspondents watched like vultures, cameras out, recorders shoved between lenses to pick up the slightest mistake. It felt a lot like Shane imagined being in a fishbowl would.

“Thank you.” Shane started. “We're here to talk about something close to both of us.”

Shane went on a bit longer about mental health and felt Ilya become one solid line of tension next to him as it got closer to his part.

“This Foundation is named after my mother.” Ilya said softly and Shane could almost see the news hounds perk up at that. Ilya had always been closed-lipped about his life and they all knew it. Shane hated them in that moment, and for the way Irina seemed to be picking at her nails as Ilya went on, then worrying something in her hands. “I lost her when I was twelve. It was…devastating. With this Foundation, we hope to help people like my mother, who felt she had no where else to turn.”

That line had been agreed upon in Shane's parent's kitchen. It sounded polished and personal without forcing Ilya to dive too deeply into what was obviously one of the worst events to ever happen to him.

The press hounded them for soundbites, most sticking to safe questions, a few biting at the soft underbelly Ilya had revealed.

“I believe we've said we won't be answering any more questions about this.” Shane cut in when another person, a young woman from some online publication, asked about the circumstances around Irina's death.

Irina herself seemed torn between flattery and despair if Shane had to guess. She'd liked all the stories their board had shared of people winning their battle with mental health but also seemed ready to try and throw incorporeal hands at the nearest cameraman. As the night went on, she kept touching a wooden bracelet around her wrist.

Finally, they were bustled off to some back room and let the press formulate whatever sensationalist slop they wanted. Shane tried not to hate on them too much, he'd loved watching player interviews when he was a kid, but it seemed to him with a smile plastered across his face, that they all wanted Shane Hollander the athlete, the star. More than that, they wanted to see Shane Hollander fail, flop, trip. He refused to give that to them even as Shane felt inadequate in his own fucking shadow.

They had a small gathering of potential donors, a few representatives from some of his sponsors, some rich bigwigs his father knew somehow, and a handful of retired athletes known for liking to plaster their name over charities for the right amount of money. Irina seemed charmed by an old dead man whose face was sagging on one side and yet led her through a wild tango through the other guests. After the third blonde millionaire’s wife shivered and audibly gasped, Ilya turned to him. “Is she sprinting through them?”

“She’s dancing.” Shane said softly and then forced his face back into the cool, reserved expression when the photographer they’d hired for posed ‘candids’ looked their way with his camera.

“Ah, she always had two left feet father always used to say.” Ilya seemed unsure of every word as it was coming out of his mouth. “How’s she now?”

“Charming Samuel Beckett’s dead grandfather.”

Ilya’s nose scrunched up. “Is he the computer guy?”

“Land developer guy.” Shane corrected.

“Too many guys.” Ilya hummed.

By the time his mother pulled them out of the gathering, which felt like it edged closer to a mob or the revelry before a witch burning, Shane wanted nothing more than to collapse on a bed.

He got his wish, but it came at the expense of having to hug goodbye in an airport bathroom stall to avoid the people who had been trying to covertly take pictures of them. The apartment when he got back to it was painfully empty and without Irina to shoo away any loud neighbors, he caught himself waking up through the night, expecting the noise to be Ilya and then disappointed when it was instead a man in his living room whose face was slack and all he could do was groan in pain.

They talked nearly every night though, about everything, even boring things, and that was nice.

“Let me guess, is a book about hockey.” Ilya was sprawled across his couch, a clear indication to keep things PG. Shane shoved his book and the incriminating cover out of frame.

“Maybe not.”

“Sure. Show me cover.” Ilya demanded. “Is there hockey on cover?”

There was. Shane changed the topic. “Ottawa is already out of playoff contention and it’s not even April yet.”

“I’m not changing my mind.” Ilya huffed and then, because he knew Shane was also avoiding it and Ilya was, Shane could admit it even when he loved him, an asshole. “Have you decided when you will come out?”

“Ugh! You’re as bad as your mother!” Shane huffed. Ilya liked that phrase, his face got all soft and his mouth instinctively curled up into a small smile Shane had only even seen directed at him. “It’s not a good time. I’m thinking about after playoffs. Another Cup win would be nice.”

“Well then I will have to throw the game because that is the only way Montreal would win.”

“Shut up, you want to count Cups? You’re one behind.” Shane, because he could never leave well enough alone, “And with Ottawa, you’ll stay at one.”

Ilya’s smile dimmed a bit. “Easy to win Cup with good team, harder to win Cup with bad team.”

“You’ll win a Cup with the Centaurs? The team who has never won a Cup, hasn’t been to the playoffs in over a decade, the team you once told me–” Shane put on his thickest Russian accent. “‘Pee-wee hockey team could beat.’”

“I changed my mind. I contain multitudes.” Ilya huffed. “I read that on Pinterest."

“It’s from a poem.” Shane laughed. “Why were you on Pinterest?”

“Shut up, Shane.” Ilya muttered and that made Shane laugh harder. He’d just ask Irina the next time he saw her and Ilya must have known that because he shouted out “Mama, don’t tell Shane about my Pinterest! There, now you’ll never know.”

“Yeah, you’re a steel trap.” Shane muttered but just the conversation seemed to lighten him up. Shane found himself smiling stupidly at Ilya and his heart gave a shutter when Ilya looked back. Quietly, Shane whispered, “Your mom is going to make fun of us if we just sit here staring at each other.”

“Let her.” Ilya smiled and suddenly Ottawa seemed less like a bad idea if it meant being able to have Ilya closer to him.

Playoffs started heating up and any extra brainpower was diverted to hockey. He felt like a robot who just drank and ate and played hockey and watched people play hockey to talk about how he could play better hockey. More than once he and Ilya fell asleep with the Facetime still open between them. It was endearing and if he wasn’t running on fumes by May, he might have liked to try morning phone sex. As it was, they got to make their breakfast together and that was nice too.

Not that it mattered. Mitty took a puck to the chin and there was only so far a team could make it without their best goalie and Shane ended his season what would turn out to be three games before Ilya, a fact he lorded for him before he inevitably fell asleep.

“You should fly down and see him.” His mom offered over lunch. He’d driven down to Ottawa after clearing out his locker and they ate at the small Japanese restaurant they always went to after a loss. From the time the neighbour kid called him a chink and tripped him during his first Youth League playoff to every failed Cup run, they ended up there. Shane got the miso soup and ignored the sodium content. He even had some of his mother’s sushi and tempura which she pretended not to notice.

“You think that’s not going to attract attention?” Shane bit on his chopstick and thought miserably about ordering a ramune he knew they had for kids.

“Honey, if you want to play the business partners angle, I’m game, but you said you wanted to appear friendly. Friends can watch other friends play.” She sipped at the sake Shane had been surprised to see her order. “Take Hayden if you don’t want to go alone.”

“Sure and tell him what? ‘Hey, Hayds, we’ve been friends for almost seven years and I’m your kids’ godparent but do you want to come down and meet the boyfriend I’ve been hiding from you?’” Fuck the ramune, Shane wished he’d ordered sake too.

His mom looked at him with that expression she had, exactly like when he was a kid acting out. He felt young in the booth across from her. “You’re being dramatic because you’re worried. Focus on what you can control. What you can control is this: what do you want to do?”

Shane thought about it. “I want to go to Boston. Maybe not a game, but I want to be there.”

“That we can control.” She waved for a waiter to bring another cup. “Do you want an aisle or a window seat?”

So Shane flew out, to New York first to take photos for some electrolyte drink promotion his mother got him, and then to Boston. He rented a car and hauled his bags up onto Ilya’s porch. He thought Ilya had sent the code but knocked anyway.

“Bunny!”

Irina popped out of the door and seemed excited to see him. Maybe as excited as Shane was to see her. “Irina! I missed you.”

She huffed a bit like when she didn’t believe him, but she was smiling. “You say that to all the ghosts whose sons you love.”

“Ha ha.” Shane snarked. “Do you know the code to this door?”

Irina smirked. “1842.”

Shane clicked it in and the handle gave a buzz before unlocking. They chatted as Shane made his way inside and opened Ilya’s fridge to see what food he had on hand. This late in a playoff run it was mostly straight ground beef and protein powder, but Shane knew Ilya would appreciate an actual meal when he got home from the home game, win or lose. Seeing Toronto this year, Shane expected victory sex.

Irina watched him order groceries from his app and then puttered around after him as he threw a load of laundry in the machine and pulled out clean sheets. Ilya had a cleaning service who had to be buzzed in so that there was no chance they’d walk into something they shouldn't and they came sporadically enough that the hour it took to clean up was just enough time for his ingredients to be left on the stoop. Shane had watched the young kid trek back to his car and drive off before he felt comfortable popping out from the kitchen to go get them.

He had all the ingredients prepped by the time the game was starting. Irina was in her chair, feet tucked up under her and rubbing her fingers over her wooden bracelet again.

Boston was in surprisingly good form, no major injuries, but it seemed like Toronto was trying their hardest to change that. Their defenders were throwing more nasty hits than Shane expected and the refs were being unreasonably forgiving in the penalties.

“Come on!” Shane called at the tv. “Two for tripping? Where the fuck was the trip, when he shoulder-checked him?”

“They’re worse this year.” Irina noted.

“They gave the C to Dallas Kent. Fucking asshole who seems to breed fucking assholes.” Shane hissed and at Irina’s shocked laugh, he felt like he had to defend himself. “He said some nasty shit to one of the servers at the last Awards Ceremony.”

Shane glanced back at her and found her smiling, but her fingers worked over the wooden beads with the same meditative focus Shane gave the grip of his stick. She caught his eyes and without a thought, it vanished. “So, tell me what this Dallas Cunt said.”

“What was that? The bracelet?” Shane ignored her attempt to change the subject, interested in the game but also a little worried. Irina was not one to hide things and that frantic way she jumped was a little too dismissive.

“It’s a–” She waved her hand. “I don’t know English word. Chotki.”

Shane flipped through his Russian but couldn’t think of what that was. When she sighed and moved her hand, he could finally see it clearly. It was polished wood, maybe shiny from repeated fingers rubbing them, and most tellingly, a small carved cross was covered by her palm. “Oh, like prayer beads?”

“Da, yes. Chotki.” She wouldn’t look at him but she was still talking so Shane felt it was a win. “Was my mother’s first.”

“Where is it now, does Ilya have it?” Shane thought it was strangely pretty and meditative to watch her hands move through the practiced motions even if she wasn't actually counting anything.

“No, no. Gregori put it in my casket.” She said softly, her lip tucked into her teeth.

“You were buried with it.” Shane thought it was sad to think so beautiful a thing be forgotten in a grave somewhere, and that Ilya already had so few things of his mother’s that to know another one was lost to him was heartbreaking. Yet, Irina smiled a touch, without humor but not unhappily.

“In a way.”

Shane wanted to ask more, but Irina cleared her throat and tossed out some weak chirp on whatever player was on the screen and Shane knew it was her way of ending the conversation.

They won off two assists from Ilya and a really stellar goal from Marlow and by the time he rolled in around nine, the food was kept warm on the stove and he was able to greet his boyfriend with a kiss at the garage door. It was domestic, Ilya making himself a plate and then collapsing next to Shane on the couch, leaning in to rest his head on Shane’s bicep before falling asleep halfway through a movie he picked out.

“Let's get some sleep, baby.” Shane murmured, and cherished each little curse and the sticky way Ilya followed him to the bathroom and then to the bed.

Barring a few prior engagements and a long weekend with the Pike kids, Shane stayed at Ilya’s house. It was quiet, there were nearly zero ghosts of any kind, and it helped to have Irina to calm him down every time he panicked about the awards this year which seemed to sneak up on them after the two weeks they’d managed to snag before all their obligations caught up to them. It also meant that for almost a month, he didnt have to look at all the shitty responses to the Foundation. Playoffs had been a great distraction and he hadn't wanted to hear everyones takes. His team had been bad enough, he was nearly dreading the awards, doubly so when it was in Vegas again.

Neither of them was up for any awards this year, and that was almost a comforting thought. Shane had been knocked out too early to keep up his points and Ilya had spent most of his ice time the last few games in the sin bin. That said, they were asked to host a segment and something jumped in his stomach at the thought of the last time, of Vegas’ heat and the sticky way it had crept into the room and down his spine. The smell of cleaning product in that elevator–

“You look like you might vibrate out of your skin.” Irina hummed as Shane sat in the back of his cab. Ilya was in a different cab a few miles back because they couldn’t be spotted leaving together even if they were flying together.

Shane looked up to the driver and put his phone up to his ear to pretend he was getting a call. “Hello? Oh, yeah, almost at the airport. I’m a bit nervous because so many things could go wrong.”

“People will see new friends! Is a good thing!” Irina huffed.

Shane glared at her but she was reapplying her lipgloss. All he really wanted was to go back to Ilya’s house where he’d been able to play pretend at being a normal couple who cooked meals and slept together and scrolled through their feed and giggled and then swapped phones to get their partner to laugh too.

Instead he'd been bundled up and shoved onto a plane to Las Vegas. His only saving grace was that Ilya had upgraded them to First Class, the fancy one with the heated seats and leg room. It also allowed for some privacy with large pods and priority boarding through a private lounge.

“Better than Business class.” Ilya said smugly. Shane elbowed him.

“You know you'll have to give this up if you sign with Ottawa.” Shane muttered. “They have to charter their planes. It'll be like flying during the stone age and they don't even give you little bags of peanuts.”

“Then I will enjoy my leg room now.” Ilya hummed and then kicked his thighs out so much that they knocked against Shane's. Ilya's arms smacked against him too and if they were in a place with doors, there would have been fingers digging into Ilya's ribs to get him to move. Instead, he just leaned in to whisper:

“I'll get your mom.”

“You don't play fair.” Ilya muttered but folded his arms back in enough that Shane could move his body again.

When they both eventually rolled into the underground parking garage, there was already a crowd of people around the entrance, most with cameras he hoped couldn't catch anything through the tinted windows. They'd gotten caught leaving the airport around the same time and someone must have leaked what car one of them was riding in because most of the people were also shouting variations on their names. A few even shouted out Irina's.

When they both finally made it to the doors, it was to a parade of flashes and personal questions. Alone in the elevator to the ground floor, Shane finally felt comfortable enough to speak again.

“This was a bad idea. Why didn't we wait until summer when we could just hide at the cottage?”

“Because we are going to listen to your mother and network.” Ilya didn't reach out and take his hand, but his voice was soft enough that Shane knew that was exactly what he wanted to do. “Expensive hockey classes only work with fancy hockey players teaching.”

Shane nodded. “But maybe your mom was wrong. Maybe they won't believe it.”

Ilya shot him a withering glance and Shane grunted and pushed down his instinctive response to nuzzle his face into Ilya's neck.

Shane and Irina had a list, numbered and rattled with sub-points about the fictionalized version of their friendship. A soft-launch, she'd called it, and both he and Ilya had been cycling through it at the opening fundraiser. By now it should have made its way into circulation.

“We got friendly during last year's All-Stars. I reached out about wanting a better image, you and your mother help me set up the Foundation.” Ilya hit the high points succinctly, counting them out on his fingers. “We met up a few times during the season and I came to visit over the summer, like many, many other players do.”

That had not been something Shane had wanted to admit to the public, but Irina had walked him off the ledge with eight words.

“You want him at your cottage this summer?”

Yes, unequivocally, so they admit to a friendship that would cover if they ever slipped up. If someone got a pap shot of Ilya in Ottawa or Shane in Boston, they were just two friends hanging out.

“What if they–” Shane stuttered out.

“What if they find that dick pic I sent?” Ilya cut him off. “Or that video of you with your mouth open?”

“Ilya!” Shane hissed, even though Irina just rolled her eyes. He both hoped she didn't know how badly his nerves were buzzing and wanted her to speak up with something that could calm him down.

“Shane!” Ilya hissed back. “Things we can control, yes?”

He had him there. Shane opened his mouth, shut it, and then groaned. “Fine.”

The elevator car had been quiet when they'd gotten out but any quiet he might have hoped for the moment they entered the lobby was a foregone conclusion.

Six different players swarmed them, clapping them on the shoulders and demanding to know details. Shane didn't say anything, looking around frantically for some excuse to leave.

Ilya brushed them off, shook hands and chirped relentlessly. Then he clapped his hands over Shane's shoulders, probably trying to play up their rivalry, and all it did was feel like his brain was bouncing around in his skull until it was the consistency of pudding.

Shane said something, no one laughed, and he made a break for the bank of elevators.

“Hollander!”

Shane tried not to groan, but turned and plastered on a smile as Scott Hunter jogged up to him. He was smiling, but there was a tension to his shoulders and Shane could just spot the gaggle of men whose bodies curled closed around the space the other player must have just vacated.

“Hunter.” Shane said and realized it came out too harsh. Instead he tried, “Scott.”

Shane's nose scrunched up but Hunter laughed.

“Kid, as long as you ain't calling me a slur, we're good.”

It was said offhand, a joke, but both of them seemed to feel the weight of it because they waited for the elevator in silence.

When the doors eventually opened, they stepped in and just as they began to close, a large calloused hand grabbed it and Ilya stepped in, panting just slightly.

“Did you run over here?” Shane couldn't help but laugh.

“I had to get my keycard.” Ilya flashed it and Shane realized he hadn't even checked in. “Hunter.”

“Rozanov.” Scott said but there was something in his eyes, a question to his smile. “Heard about your Foundation. Lots of people talking about you two making nice.”

“What can I say, I am very kind to strays.” Ilya fanned himself. “Your boyfriend must be too, to be dating you.”

Shane's shoulders rose to his ears. He wanted to yell for Irina who hadn't followed her son or pry open the doors to get away from this conversation. To compare Scott and his boyfriend to Ilya and Shane–

“Glad to see you haven't changed much.” Scott muttered but he didn't seem mad; actually, he seemed to relax. “And Kip likes me just fine.”

“What's not to like? You're rich and old and will probably die soon and leave him lots of money.”

“How's your love life, Rozanov?” Scott tossed out instead of answering. “Got a model or two stashed away upstairs?”

“Oh no, I am a taken man now, honest!” Shane nearly choked on his spit as Ilya gave a little two fingered salute.

“Would love to meet the person who locked down Ilya Rozanov.” He said, but he wasn't looking at Shane. Shane knew that because he was definitely looking at Scott, worried that he'd figured something out.

“Sure, sure, how about this summer when you come and help us train little kids to be less bad at hockey?”

“Summer…?” This managed to throw Scott off. “What?”

“The Irina Foundation. We need teachers. I think you'd be good.” And then because Ilya couldn't leave well enough alone, “And you will want to pass on whatever meager skill you have before you are too old to hold a stick anymore.”

“Like you weren't favoring your left side those last two games. And the Admirals got closer to the Cup this year than the Bears!” Scott laughed defensively, but then his smile dimmed a bit, transitioning back into a more polite version you might expect to see on TV. “But I promised to spend the summer with my boyfriend.”

“Bring him along.”

Shane blinked when they both turned to look at him and Shane realized he was the one who'd spoken. He opened his mouth to say–something–but before he could blurt out something worse like not that I'm gay or anything! Scott responded.

“Sure.” Scott said and then seemed surprised. “I mean–yeah, sure. Send me the dates. You have my number.”

“Yeah, cool.” Shane said and then they all looked at the elevator door and realized they'd missed their floor because it opened on the lobby so they had to make the mortifying ride back up with a family from Denver whose dead grandmother liked to sing Ukrainian hymns to the two unhearing screaming toddlers.

When they eventually got to their floor, Shane could only be thankful the leashed kids were distracting the parents and Scott had gotten off the floor before because he shoved Ilya into the room and then slid to his knees in a very unsexy way.

“He knows something!” Shane moaned.

“Why do you have Scott Hunter's number?” Ilya asked.

“That's what you're worried about now? I basically outed myself in a Vegas elevator but me having another player's number is what you're focusing on?” Shane stood and realized about halfway up that that might have been Ilya's plan all along, Operation Get Shane's Mind on Literally Anything Else. Looking at it like that, it was almost endearing, so Shane huffed out a half-serious, “You're the most jealous man I know.”

“You know other men?” Ilya asked, dead-pan and it made Shane laugh so hard, he snorted.

Mostly they just peeled out of their suits, lounged around on the pillow top mattress, got their hands around each other's dicks for a while, and talked about what they wanted to do during the three weeks before the camps started. Ilya was of the mind that they should just fuck until their bodies gave out and maybe buy another jet ski. Shane wanted to go on a digital bird tour the Canada Tourist Board just came out with.

Then they talked about the mattress, about the springyness, about how it compared to the cottage and what they should get for the house in Ottawa.

“They have a new social media manager.” Ilya muttered.

“What? Who?” Shane asked, lightly tugging at Ilya's hair to get him to look up from where he was scrolling on his phone. He could spot the flash of the distinctively ugly colors of the Centaurs’ social media page. “How can you tell?”

“I can see faces in these pictures now, not blurs.” Ilya said. “Good, now my hockey skill and beautiful face will draw crowds.”

“Your humility too.” Shane muttered.

“Hum–what is this?” Ilya demanded and it made Shane laugh.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know that one.” Shane flicked through his brain. “I don’t know the Russian word for it. Niceness? Humble, you know?”

“I humble you all the time.” Ilya seemed proud of that so Shane yanked on his hair and settled against his boyfriend to try and take a nap before they'd be needed for rehearsal.

Mostly the night was fine. Too many people tried to ask him about the Foundation but he and Irina had trained for this. It was a lot of “We connected through our agents after last All-Stars” and “Hated the guy but at least his money is going to more than just sports cars.”

And the people ate it up. They laughed and placed their sharp nailed hands on his shoulder and rested arms over his chairs. They laughed because they didn't know the depth of Ilya's love, his care. Of how cars were a tangible thing that his brother couldn't ask to be shipped overseas to fuel the family who'd never seemed to care about him.

Just when Shane was contemplating flipping the table and running for the roof, Irina drifted coolly into the room wearing a deep blue dress with a plunging neckline and no back. He hid his smile behind his glass of water.

She was not the only ghost in the room, more than one player had a parent or grandparent hovering around them. One had a child, maybe a sibling from the striped knit sweater and chunky 70's overalls he wore, and Shane forced his eyes to stick to Irina instead.

“Pardon me.” Shane stood and let the group's voices rush over him without actually listening. Irina spotted him coming over and only smiled a bit when he pulled out his phone to pretend to be taking a call. “You look lovely, did the other half of your dress go missing?”

“It's all the rage in Paris!” She murmured, her voice falling into a nasally attempt at French.

“Where did you end up today?” He asked softly, leaning back against the velvet curtains.

“Went to a show with this couple from New York, and then followed one of the player's wives around. She's fucking their masseuse by the way, and then I wondered the hallways a bit until that baby player over there walked me up here.” She gave a spin. “I'm fashionably late!”

"Aren't we popular.”

Shane turned to face Ilya who was in turn watching the whole room watch them poorly concealed over shoulders and through curtains of hair. Ilya flashed him his sharkiest grin and in Russian asked, “Should we kiss? Really give them something to gawk at?”

“I think they're expecting a fight.” Shane hummed and tried to tune out the hum of conversations. He swore he could almost feel the number of times his name was whispered compiling into a weight over his shoulders. Ilya noticed, he always seemed to notice now, and turned his back so that they were able to speak without people seeing their lips or looking at their faces.

“Two more hours.” Ilya whispered and from the way his hand twitched, Shane could almost feel the imagined press of those strong fingers to the nape of his neck. Instinctively, his body went loose at the thought alone. Ilya smiled again and Shane glared.

“Fuck off.”

“Is that what that was?” Ilya asked as Shane kept his glare on, even if it was hard to do when a smile kept wanting to take its place, and marched back to his seat next to some defenseman and his touchy girlfriend. They were escorted back after about an hour to prepare for the award and even standing there in the wings with Ilya at his back, he had a shuttering rush of deja vu.

“You have a hickey.” Shane said and pointed his chin at Ilya's neck.

Ilya looked at him with furrowed brows and then down as if he could see what Shane was gesturing to. There was no one around besides a few set assistants a few feet away, but they were too busy pressing buttons and talking into the headsets to notice them. Irina was in the audience. So they were alone.

“Were you with someone?” Shane tried again, feeling stupid, but also the rush like when he caught a good edge around the edge of the boards.

Ilya caught on, Shane knew it the moment he caught the way Ilya's pupils dilated, eating all the hazel. Then there was the sly smile.

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

Their names were called and there were no more photos to be taken, just a few jokes about them putting aside their differences that people laughed politely at until they read the name on the card.

Shane couldn't even remember the poor kid's name. All thoughts in his head when he was directed off the stage were where exactly a bathroom was, the number of steps it took, the sound the door made when it opened, and the wonderful slap of dress shoes that followed Shane, the hands which grabbed at his chin before he could even turn around fully.

It wasn't the same building, same bathroom, they weren't even the same people, but there was something in his chest which unlatched at the sound of the door locking and the scuffing of their shoes as they moved like one body to the sink.

The kissing was getting more difficult because they were smiling.

“Gross!”

Shane jumped and instinctively shoved Ilya back, eyes flashing over to the corner where a young dancer, slit throat dripping blood down the front of her white feathered necklace which transitioned into a halter.

“What do you see?” Ilya asked and Shane wanted to forget the woman who couldn't have been more than twenty but she was watching them now with interest.

Shane spent the next ten minutes explaining Celia's, because that was the dancer's name, life story to Ilya while they ignored the way their boners were dying a slow, painful death.

“I guess what I'm asking is if you would like, call someone. Tell them where I'm buried?” She asked, leaning in to Shane. Ilya was at his side and Shane could feel the weight of his eyes.

“I–I…Yeah, I can do that.” Shane said haltingly. He had done this a few times, mostly when the ghosts tried to trail him home, but Celia was so young and her voice was broken with deep, aching gasp as her throat spewed ghostly blood down her stomach to pool at her feet. Then she gave a gasp and it was gone, Celia continuing to talk as if it had never happened so Shane did too. “I can call the police and leave a tip, but I'm not sure how seriously they'll take it.”

“The police?” Ilya questioned. “Have you done this before?”

Celia gave another hacking, bloody gasp Shane had to ignore when he looked over at his boyfriend. “A few times. I'll look up the number and call from a payphone.”

Celia cried then, trying to thank him and reaching out like she wanted to touch his fingers. The party was winding down when they eventually snuck out of the bathroom and made their way down an empty stairwell to the Strip. It was muggy, especially in their dress clothes, but Shane found himself a payphone, made the call with quarters Ilya had dug out of his wallet, and tried to put on the flattest accent possible as he gave his information to a tired dispatcher who kept asking for his name.

Ilya laughed at the accent but was tellingly quiet as he invented a story, about a girlfriend who said she saw something and about a missing girl named Celia. Shane hung up more exhausted than he'd felt in years but with small smile for Ilya who leaned attractively against the pole even when his foot was propped about a foot away from a puddle of what was probably vomit.

“You could have gone back to the room.” Shane offered. “You don't need to see all this.”

Ilya stopped and Shane nearly tripped over his dress shoes turning to look back at him. His boyfriend was staring at Shane incredulously.

“What?” Shane felt a bit exposed out on the road, even if the people cycling past them were too drunk and in their own world to even notice them.

“You don't have to do this alone.” Ilya finally settled on. “You do so much for me, why not think I would be there for you?”

I don't do anything, Shane wanted to say but Ilya looked like he might argue and the last thing he wanted to do was bring more attention to them.

Instead they meandered their way through the venue with casual peeks around corners and ducking into side rooms when they spotted someone they knew. It felt almost fun at times, and during a particular jump behind a truly ridiculous fern, he couldn't quite hold back his giggles which set Ilya off too.

They separated by the bank of elevators, Ilya going on ahead of him while Shane made his way up to the main desk where a young girl typed away at a computer and flashed him a bright smile when he walked up.

By the time Shane had grabbed his key card to a room he had no intention of using and stopped to talk to a few people he knew would gossip enough to give him an alibi, he took the stairs to the tenth floor. He didn't want to be stuck in an elevator in Vegas alone, not tonight.

Ilya was in the shower, Shane could hear the water, but the door was open and Shane knew he'd meant it as an invitation.

All Ilyas were wonderful, but a wet and willing Ilya was definitely towards the top of the list.

Shane knew Ilya had lube because they had packed together. He thought about initiating but his hands felt like cinderblocks and even moving his feet was like he was encased in cement. Ilya took it in stride and scrubbed Shane's hair instead.

They slept together in a king-sized bed, kissed goodnight and good morning. It was so starkly different from all those years ago that he felt like it had marked him in some way, or maybe smoothed out an ache he hadn't known he'd been carrying.

They flew separately, which felt to Shane like missing a limb. It had only been a month, but he'd gotten used to the pressure of a shoulder next to him, had turned in his seat a few times to whisper to a body that was not there. Irina didn't help, if anything her relentless jokes about it made it that much harder to ignore.

“You are like conjoined twins.” She muttered. “Or little babies who link arms and waddle around together.”

“Yes, thanks for your input.” Shane sighed.

It wasn't even that long of a break. Ilya was in Boston for a few weeks and then they had a month alone at the cottage before the first camps. He'd planned it all out with his mom, the camps were going to be perfect. And then Ilya would give up a team with Cup prospects for one who hadn't touched the playoffs in a decade, all to be closer to Shane. But it would be perfect, to be only two hours away instead of six. Shane could come out in the fall and it would be better–no, perfect because he would workshop exactly what he needed to say to make it palatable to his team. It would all be perfect.

It had to be, he thought, watching the world fall away under the wing of his plane, because Shane wasn't sure he could live with himself if it wasn't.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for such a warm reception on Chapter 1, it was really, really sweet! Hopefully this lives up to expectations and if you have any ideas or thoughts, feel free to leave them below, I'm trying to respond to as many comments as possible but have a backlog (what a wonderful problem to have!)

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Thank you all for the kind words and encouragement, and especially the predictions (a few of them absolutely correct!!).

I actually cut this chapter in half because it was getting to long and I felt bad for the long wait as it is so hopefully with the break I'm on I can polish the second half up before Monday.

Also WE HAVE FANART!!!! Pirru was kind enough to draw THIS MASTERPIECE and I love it so much that I cried a little!

Have a good weekend!

Ilya tried not to let his displeasure show on his face, but Shane was not making it easy.

His boyfriend (!!!) ignored his eyes and went back to stirring something over the stove. Ilya had been folding pasta dough to run through the fancy machine Shane had bought and any excitement about their first time cooking together at the cottage that summer was undercut by the mounting realization that Shane was hiding something.

“What is it?” Ilya demanded.
 
“Nothing.” He said, too quickly, and flinched when he realized he gave himself away. Peeking over his shoulder, Shane muttered, “I was going to tell you before, during our phone calls, but we always got so carried away…”

That was mostly Ilya's fault, so sue him, Shane always wore his glasses to bed! Like that was a crime, to want to have phone sex with your boyfriend! Ilya raised an eyebrow and Shane folded like the dough Ilya was kneading.

“So I invited Rose–”

Ilya made a choking sound.

“No, it's fine, she won't tell anyone!” He said quickly, as if that was the problem Ilya was having. “I just want you two to meet and she also said–I mean…she mentioned she could–”

“Spit it out, Shane, you'll choke.” Ilya said a bit harsher than he'd wanted to.

“She's traveling to Vancouver for a movie premiere and Irina wanted to go with her, so we could be alone for a few weeks. Just us.”

“Just us.” Ilya repeated softly.

It was one of the things he loved most about Shane, that he understood there were times Ilya's silence could remain silence. For his part, Ilya let the thought wash over him. Being alone with his boyfriend but only because his mother would be thousands of miles away with his, only in his own mind and never within Shane's earshot, mortal enemy. 

“That was nice of her to offer.” Ilya settled on, even if it came out sulkily. 

“I'm gay, Ilya!” Shane repeated. “And Irina seemed excited so when she comes back in, don't make her feel bad.”

Ilya hadn't even known she'd left the room. “Feel bad?”

“I had to convince her we'd have plenty to do while she was gone.” Shane turned back to the stove so Ilya couldn't meet his eyes. “She hates leaving you.”

It was incredibly unhealthy, Ilya would bet, but it made something in his gut squirm knowing it. He liked knowing she was near, that he hadn't forced her away even after years of feeding the worst hungers in himself.

Maybe he could handle Rose. Maybe.

“Is she as pretty in real life? She can't be, right?” Ilya asked the air that night during his private conversation with his mom. It was mostly just him talking and waiting for a cold touch. Most of his questions were rhetorical anyways. A little nastily, he hissed, “Rose Landry.”

He threw himself rather dramatically onto the grass. It felt good to let it out a bit and Shane had no time or appreciation for how terrible Rose Landry was. A threat wearing expensive moisturizer and walking around in thousand dollar shoes.

In the three days before she arrived, Ilya tried his damnedest to pretend everything was fine. They took their new jet ski out and when they weren't racing, Ilya made it his mission to fling the tail end around so quickly that Shane went flying into the water.

They also fucked quietly and it was fun only because they knew it was temporary. It felt like it used to, sneaking in and out of hotel rooms. There was even a day of role-playing which involved shoving Shane's head into a pillow and it seemed to do something for Shane because when Ilya pulled his head up to wipe his face, Shane's skin was blotchy with tears but his mouth was split in a smile so large it left him panting.

It wasn't enough to distract from the ticking time bomb.

“You'll be fine!” Shane promised. “You can come with if you want, I wouldn't mind the company.”

“Mama is coming, you'll have company.” Ilya responded, flicking the remote around on his chest and staring, uncomprehendingly, at the tv screen.

Shane shuffled a bit, still smiling but fidgeting with his hands. “Alright. See you in a few hours.”

Ilya wished he'd gone with the moment he heard the tires crunch on the gravel. Instead he was alone, stuck with his swirling thoughts and the twisting, oily suffocation that was his jealousy.

Even knowing there was no one there, he spoke quietly like he did to his mother, to the air. “I know they are just friends.”

No one answered and Ilya felt stupid and then angry at his stupidity. He had an abrupt wish that he had a dog so that talking to himself was not so stupid looking.

To this imagined dog he huffed, “Shane loves me, wants to make a life with me, not her. But–”

But, but, but. But what if he remembered how difficult Ilya could be? How hard their life together would become? What if his mother told him all the terrible things Ilya had done in those early years?

Four long hours yawned in front of him. 

Ilya was on his feet before he'd thought about it, tearing through their fridge to find anything they had already stored on the shelves. Ilya spotted the pale green Tupperware with faded purple flowers on the counter where they'd tossed the low-fat cookies they'd made a few days ago. Shane had said his mother had liked them, had even sent Shane back with that very bowl to fill up and return. They'd been eating on them the last few days, but it was a good enough excuse to make the trek through the woods.

When the path spat him out at the back of Shane's parent's cabin, Ilya paused and had the instinctive urge to turn around and mope alone. It was stupid, and Ilya's finger clutched the bowl close until he could feel the outline of it pressing painfully against his stomach.

“Ilya?”

He turned and spotted Yuna leaning out the kitchen window, wiping her hands on a dish towel like a mother in those old prairie movies.

“I brought you–” Ilya looked down at the Tupperware. “Food.”

David popped his head out beside her. “Well, we always need food. Why don't you come in?”

Yuna smiled, her expression a bit false. Ilya knew because she'd passed on that same smile to her son. Still, David was opening the back door and waving him up so Ilya went.

“Haven't seen much of you recently.” David opened with.

Because I've been too busy fucking your son, Ilya wanted to say. But he was a new man now, a better Ilya, so he went with, “We've been busy.”

“What did you bring us?” Yuna took the tub from his limp fingers. “We loved that salad you brought last time.”

Yuna opened the lid and Ilya felt his stomach drop when there was only a single small cookie left. “Ah…”

David threw his head back and laughed, the kind of laugh that rattled a body, and it sent Yuna off and then Ilya when his body remembered that there was nothing to be frightened of here.

“Shane must have been more nervous than he said.” Ilya explained. “I thought there were more.”

“No problem, son.” David clapped him on the shoulder. “We'd be happy if you just brought yourself.”

Ilya had a flash of envy. It wasn't an emotion he allowed himself to feel often, yet David Hollander was the type of man Ilya always wished he had been born to. Even-keeled, his mother might have said.

“I just broke out a new one, wanna join?” David eventually said once they'd split the cookie to Ilya's mortification. 

“One what?” Ilya asked. 

“Puzzle.”

Ilya had never once put together a puzzle.

“Sure.” Ilya said.

Ilya had also never once seen his parents choose to be near each other, even in the earliest, happiest of his memories. Yuna and David by contrast seemed to circle the house as if tied by an invisible string. Yuna drifted in and out of the room, having a repeat game on the tv in the living room and in the kitchen he could hear like a bad echo. It meant she could watch whatever she was cooking and then drift out to lean against the couch with a hand on her husband's shoulder.

David was focused on the puzzle but he'd had moments when Ilya had watched him blink as if he'd remembered something and looked around with confusion until he spotted his wife through the arched doorway or her hand landed on his arm.

It was enough to make something curl sickeningly in his stomach. If he were to name it, he'd guess it was greed. He wanted that, badly, with the type of hunger they wrote cautionary tales about.

Ilya eventually had to stretch and was twitchy enough that he slipped out the dining room door and out onto the deck. The latch gave a quiet click right as he noticed Yuna tucked up next to the garage and they locked eyes just as Ilya caught the familiar smell and the undeniable curl of smoke she tried to wave away.

“Shit!” Yuna stubbed the cigarette out and then shot him a look. “You can't tell Shane, he thinks I quit.”

“Me too.” Ilya muttered and that got a laugh out of her. “I think my mama snitches on me, he always knows.”

Yuna was still smiling, but it was a bit more wistful now. Her finger tapped like it was instinctively flicking off ash. 

“Must be keeping quiet about me.” Yuna said softly.

“My mother was never one to judge other mothers.” Ilya said and hoped it was true.

“Maybe she should.” Yuna said, then flinched. “Forget I said that.”

“It's okay.” Ilya said.

“No, it's not. It's not your job to make me feel better about something I know isn't fair.” She said sharply and then groaned. “Oh, fuck it.”

She pulled out her carton and with a smooth motion, popped out another cigarette. She waved it in his direction.

“You joining me?”

Ilya did. Her little Bic lighter struggled against the wind so Ilya pulled out his heavy metal lighter that could be refilled. It had been a gift from his father when he'd turned sixteen and was one of the only things he could stand to touch after his death. Yuna's lighter told him that she didn't often do this and the nearly full carton with the old rolling paper nearly falling to pieces proved it. 

“Are you alright?” Ilya asked and when she glared at him he raised his arms in surrender.

“I'm fine.” She said. “What about you? I know this can't be easy for you, all this change in the last year and then learning about your mother.”

Yuna unraveled a bit the moment Ilya was no longer looking at her. Instead it seemed like she'd suddenly remembered his whole life story and had turned to face him, focused in like a bloodhound on a scent. He abruptly realized he'd never been properly alone with either of Shane's parents, at least not after they knew their secret and without Shane in the room over.

“It will be good, to be closer to Shane.”

“And us.” Yuna said quickly, with the same confidence as Shane on the ice. “Still, Ottawa.”

She said it like it was a curse and Ilya laughed.

“Will be alright. Hockey already gave me Shane. That is enough.” Ilya said it unthinkingly but Yuna looked at him like he'd said something profound. 

“Your mother raised a good son, Ilya.” Yuna said. “I'm sure she's proud.”

“Sure, maybe.” Ilya muttered and then shifted when Yuna leaned down so that he couldn't avoid her eyes. “Forget I said that.”

“No, I don't think I will.” Yuna huffed and Ilya had never seen more of his boyfriend in another person than in the stubborn edge of his mother's jaw. “Is that why you trekked out this way? You feel like, what? You're letting her down by playing for Ottawa?”

“What? No!” Ilya knew his mother never cared all that much for hockey. She liked it in the abstract, that her son was exceptional in something that should make his life easier.

“So, then what?" Yuna pushed and Ilya knew sprinting off into the forest wouldn't do anything but prolong Yuna from hunting him down, yet the tree line looked suddenly appealing. “Ilya, then what is it?”

“Shane is the better son is all.” Ilya said in a single, long rush of breath. It felt sacrilegious and petty and he wished frantically to force the words back into his mouth. “What I mean is–”

“I know, I know.” Yuna stubbed out her cigarette as if gearing up for something and Ilya realized they hadn't taken more than a handful of drags before he did the same.

“I'm not–not mad, or something.” Ilya felt the need to clarify. “It is good they have each other, I'm happy they have each other. I'm happy.”

He said it twice, unsure who exactly he was trying to convince. Not Yuna who was watching him with this calculating look in her eyes and her bottom lip caught tight between her teeth, like she was thinking of saying something and holding it back. Ilya didn't say anything because he worried if he opened his mouth, something would come out that would destroy this fragile peace he wanted between them.

Because Ilya wanted this, the puzzles and the walking path a quarter mile between loved ones, and the little green Tupperware with faded purple flowers bouncing between their houses.

“I was jealous of her, you know.” Yuna said quietly. Ilya shot her a look, making sure he understood her words exactly. Yuna gave a rueful smile. “I know, right? Jealous of a mother who couldn't talk to her son, how horrible. But I was. Am.” 

Ilya didn't say anything because suddenly it wasn't Shane he saw in Yuna, but himself.

"I'm happy that Shane had someone who he felt comfortable talking to. I'm happy that she made him feel safe enough to go after things that mean a lot to him." Yuna was talking to the trees now, words moving quicker and quicker until she was rushing through them. "I'm happy that Irina could see that my son was struggling. I'm happy that he was never really alone, that he had someone."

"You just wish that someone was you." Ilya said softly.

Yuna shot him a glare but it was the soft kind. "I'm Shane's mother, Ilya, of course I wanted to be there for him." Then softer, "Like you wished she was there for you, the way she could be for Shane. I just want you to know you're not alone in this. That your feelings are just as valid as theirs."

"I know."

"I don't think you do." Yuna pushed. "It's a messy situation and you're handling it really, really well. Don't beat yourself up over something you can't control. We can figure it out. I'll make a list."

Ilya laughed at that and nodded. It felt strange to hear such a clear offer of support. Sure his friends from Boston had offered it a few times, mostly through inviting him out for beer, and Shane had always listened, and there was his mother, but Yuna's support was different. There was no reason to offer it, for one thing, and for another, Yuna didn't strike him as the type of person to say something for the sake of someone's feelings.

"I'd like that." Ilya eventually said and Yuna smiled before herding him inside after tucking their cigarette butts into her coat and shooing him into the living room to distract David while she threw them away.

Unfortunately, David actually distracted Ilya and by the time he looked up from the puzzle and a stimulating discussion on local wildlife, it was to three missed calls from Shane and Yuna popping her head around the hallway to shout, "Shane's worried you've drowned."

Yuna thrust her phone out and Ilya took it. "Hello, Shane."

"Where are you?"

"With your parents." Ilya answered. "Makes sense since this is your mama's phone."

"I was worried!" Shane hissed. "I get home and you're gone, no note, nothing, and then you don't pick up your phone!"

"We're doing a puzzle." Ilya hummed. "When you come over, will you bring my camera. I want a picture of it."

"Why would I come over?" Shane asked and he could hear the faint sound of talking on the other side, Rose Landry no doubt. Shane came back with, "I thought we'd have dinner here."

"You mom is making me something called katsu." Ilya pleaded and hoped it still worked through the phone. His usual tactics of leveraging his body were probably not appropriate in front of Shane's parents.

"I can't eat katsu, we have the camps in a few weeks and training starts up right after that, I don't want to slip." Shane argued. "Why can't we just eat the food we have here?"

There was something muttered through the phone, a hushed conversation, and then Shane made a little grumble. The connection buzzed, like they were moving and then a clear, high voice cut in. "We'll be over as soon as I drop my bags if they'll have us."

Rose Landry wanted to meet Shane's parents. Ilya re-thought his plans and almost caved before David leaned in. "The more the merrier!"

The twenty minutes it took Shane and his ex-girlfriend to trek through the woods were some of the longest of his life. He kept looking up to the door like it would burst open. In his mind, even knowing it was stupid and that Shane loved him, he had this nightmare that Yuna and David would meet perfect movie star Rose Landry and somehow convince Shane that she was the right choice for him. Not complicated, high maintenance Ilya Rozanov.

"Hello?"

She's prettier in person, Ilya realized glumly as Rose and Shane stepped into the dining room. Ilya stood up and went to Shane. That wasn't even a choice, his body just sort of did that now. Shane's did too, opening before Ilya had reached him, an arm resting along Ilya's back without a thought. And in his hands, Ilya's camera. Ilya kissed Shane's temple.

"Sorry for worrying you." Ilya whispered as Rose was introducing herself to David and Yuna.

"I'm sorry for snapping." Shane said back, leaning his head down onto Ilya's shoulder just for a moment. "It was a long drive."

Ilya wanted to ask about the clear story behind those words, but Shane had already slipped out of his arms to hug his parents and then they were called into the kitchen to help prep for dinner. Not Rose, because according to David she was a guest, but Ilya was. Because Ilya was not a guest in their home, he was a part of it like the photos on the walls and the frayed blankets on the couch. The thought seemed to warm him as he washed the rice before clicking the buttons on the same brand of fancy rice cooker he'd only just learned to use in Shane's cottage.

David did all the frying, apparently on account of how Yuna gets distracted with other tasks and lets it burn while Shane had no frame of reference about what to look for in meat cooked in boiling oil. Rose was pleasant and accommodating, taking a glass of wine from Yuna and making polite conversation about a new film of hers, something about a biopic. Ilya got a few good photos, David over the stove, Shane sticking his tongue out while making a salad, Yuna blowing a kiss when she spotted his camera. He, begrudgingly, also took a photo of Rose leaning on Shane's shoulder but only because Shane had this soft, surprised little smile on his face that Ilya needed to capture on film.

By the time they got to desert, Ilya had already clocked that while Shane had been, infuriatingly, correct and Ilya could see Rose was a nice person not set on trying to sleep with him again, they hadn't realized what it would feel like to be on the outside for a whole week.

Even that night as they were doing dishes and then again on their walk home, both of them moved like little puppets pulled by the same string. They'd look together at a place and talk to his mother with an uncanny half-seen conversation.

The morning after dinner Ilya made them omelets and nearly flipped one onto the floor when Rose laughed loudly from the couch. Shane chirped from his seat at the island and neither noticed that Ilya hadn't heard the joke.

"So…" Rose tossed out as Ilya built up the fire pit for smores. Ilya tossed a look over his shoulder at Shane, chatting over the sink as he did dishes. "This might be a good time to talk."

"What do you want to talk about?" Ilya tried not to give anything away but he couldn't meet her eye.

"Maybe something Irina wants you to know but didn't feel she could tell Shane?" Rose said softly. "She wanted to know why you were avoiding her, hiding in your room, not talking to your team. But she knew telling Shane that would be paramount to dropping a bomb in your relationship."

Ilya couldn't speak, his heart was pounding so hard behind his ribs it felt like it might beat out of his chest. He had never once wanted to talk to a person less. Rose seemed to get that because she threw her hands up and stood. "Don't shoot the messenger! She worries about you and about how Shane has me and her and his parents and how you haven't even told your team you're leaving yet."

"I will tell them before I sign. Happy?"

Rose sighed. "I don't have a horse in this race. But I love Shane—" Ilya bristled. "—And Shane loves you, meaning if I have to ferry messages across the great divide so you both can get your heads out of your asses and talk about your feelings, I'll do it. I'll complain the whole time, but I'll do it."

She stood and, in a kinder gesture than his sour mood deserved, placed a soft hand on his shoulder before going inside. Without a word, he knew he was actually alone, but not for long.

The fire danced merrily under the grate, flashing bright oranges and yellows. He followed them with his eyes, and before he'd realized, he'd fallen asleep.

When woke back up, it was with his head pillowed on Shane's thighs. There was a whispered conversation over his head and it took a few minutes for his brain to come back online enough to translate the English.

"—Irina won't tell me."

"Maybe you don't need to know." Rose shot back. He couldn't see her from his vantage point, but he did feel someone move down by his feet. "Ilya is allowed to have his own secrets. You have secrets from him!"

Ilya's stomach dropped and he forced himself into an unnatural stillness as he waited for Shane's response. In the quiet breathes before, Ilya's mind spiraled into the darkest conclusions: Shane would leave him, he and Rose had actually fallen in love, he could never love someone on a shitty team like Ottawa.

Instead, Shane huffed. "Yeah, but I've been working on telling him all about them! I told him about the sweatshirt."

The sweatshirt. The first massive fight they had when Shane had pitched a fit whenever Ilya had worn a particular sweatshirt. His boyfriend had refused to cuddle with him and Ilya had thought he was being dramatic. It had escalated into a shouting match until Shane had hissed something at his mother who had apparently tried to intervene before explaining the texture was so scratchy that it nearly made him sick.

Easy fix, Ilya had set the sweatshirt on fire in the fire pit.

"And I told him about my misgivings with Ottawa." Shane defended. There were gentle hands in Ilya's hair. Even when Shane's voice grew tighter, more like a cornered animal in tone, his hands never pulled, just smoothed. "He's so stubborn."

"He's a grown man who can make his own choices."

"Irina won't tell me if he's okay in Boston." Shane grouched.

"So, like a normal couple then." Rose pointed out. Then, as if she was trying to be sly, "Has Ilya told anyone about you two?"

"What? No, that'd be too dangerous!" Shane's fingers dug deep, not painful, but a panicked reaction he must have felt bad for because then there was the delicate pressure of a kiss on the spot.

"He needs a support system." Rose started and then said sharply to the air, "No! I know you want to protect your son, but Ilya seems about as likely to toss himself to the wolves than to save himself because I think he has some misguided belief that's what Shane wants."

"I don't want that." Shane said and Ilya loved him so immensely in that moment it nearly choked him. "I want him happy."

"Good, because Ilya hasn't taken a breath in about two minutes." Rose kicked his foot. "Anything you want to say for yourself?"

"I don't like you." Ilya hissed through a cracked eyelid. This time Shane did pull his hair but jokes on him, Ilya thought it was hot now.

"I'll get over it." Rose took a sip from her glass. "Tell your mom to stop yelling at me, I'm right!"

"You want to tell someone about us?" Shane asked and from Ilya's perspective, Shane looked more beautiful than ever. The flames caught in his cheekbones, made his eyes inky pools.

 "No." He hesitated. "I don't think so." Then, Ilya said instead, "I want you to be happy."

"I'll be happy if you're happy." Shane said and then looked up, frowning at something his mother must have said. "Irina says you should tell Sveta. Said you haven't talked to her in months and brushed her off before that."

"Snitch." He said with no bite. "I only wanted to talk about you."

"Aw." Rose cut in and then grimaced when they looked over at her. "Me and Irina are going to talk outfits for LA." Then as they got to the door, "Yeah, I know it's Irina and I, you grammar Nazi. I miss when you didn't speak English—"

Then the door shut and they were alone. Neither of them spoke but Shane's arms seemed to chinch tighter the longer they went without speaking. Finally, to save his lungs, Ilya opened his mouth.

"I don't want to ruin this."

"Svetlana has kept your secret for years." Shane said but it was more for himself than Ilya. "She could be trusted, like Rose is."

"She already knows Jane is a man." Ilya muttered and before Shane could panic spiral, "She told me after my father died. If she wanted to out me, she would have done it years ago."

Nothing else was said but Shane seemed to finish his mental gymnastics right around the time the fire died out without anyone to feed it.

"You should invite Svetlana to the camps."

"I should do what?" Ilya nearly jumped up from Shane's lap.

For all he still said about disliking Rose, and there was a small insecure part of him still clawing at the truth that Shane might find him too much, he mostly accepted that they were friends. Shane, by contrast, had this look which bordered on homicidal every time Sveta was brought up.

Ilya was partially responsible for this as Shane had never lorded it over Ilya that he might turn around and marry Rose.

"Why the camps?" Ilya eventually asked.

"Well, the kids could learn stats and things from her. You said she was smart." Shane offered but it did look like it was coming out of clenched teeth. "And then she could come out to the dinner."

"What dinner?" Ilya asked and Shane went still, the kind of still that meant he was trying to figure out a response without it being noticed. Unfortunately for him and fortunately for Ilya, Shane had no poker face.

"Nothing, just a dinner after the camps wrap up."

"Okay. Regular dinner." Ilya checked.

"Yeah, regular dinner." Shane wouldn't look at him.

Ilya smiled, pressing a kiss to his chin.

"Okay, whatever you say." Ilya whispered so that his breath would brush Shane's pulse point. Looking over his shoulder, he muttered. "Without the fire, we're alone in the dark…"

"We're not fucking on the patio furniture." Shane huffed.

They didn't fuck on the patio furniture, but Ilya did turn around to suck Shane off and Shane reciprocated by shoving a hand down Ilya's pants to hump against while he pulled his hair.

Ilya counted that as a win for him.

Rose flew out with his mother a few days later and this time Ilya did ride with. At least she had better taste in music than Shane and when he brought this up, they had a spirited discussion on the best songs of the 2010s that Shane couldn't hope to keep up with.

When they dropped them off, Ilya expected to feel something disentangle from him, but all he got was a chill to his cheek Shane promised was a kiss and then nothing.

Shane must have sensed his melancholy thoughts because he was on his knees before the front door was shut. It was messy and quick, more frantic than loving, not that Shane seemed to care with a cock in his mouth and a hand in his hair.

They made dinner and brought the lube out to the living room, rubbed off on each other, cleaned up with a hand towel before cuddling in front of some house hunters spin-off. It should have been the end of a perfect day, yet Ilya couldn't help but be haunted, not literally in this case, by his mother's words.

"What're you thinking so hard about?" Shane, playing the role of a cushion, kissed Ilya's hair and ran a soft hand down Ilya's cheek. "Is this about Ottawa?"

"No, Shane, not everything is about Ottawa." Ilya muttered but he didn't help his case by sounding annoyed. "Strange being alone like this."

"I guess it is." Shane looked around too, as if just realizing how empty and quiet the cottage was.

"You know…" Ilya turned around so he was spread over Shane. "We can be as loud as we want now."

Shane smiled.

Ilya went to go clean their old sheets and toss the wet ones into the dryer so when they finished in an hour, they could have clean, warm sheets to wrap up in. Shane had hopped into shower to clean himself out and Ilya appreciated the routine of it, how domestic is was. The few men he'd slept with had mostly done the so-called 'dirty work' themselves. Hookups were known for many things, loving, domestic, thorough prep was not any of them. Relationships though, they were.

Ilya got out the flavored lube and when Shane finally came out still damp and smelling of his sandalwood body wash, Ilya jumped him.

He pushed Shane back quickly, so fast that Shane's knees caught on the bed and sent them sprawling. Ilya's fingers didn't waste time, sliding down Shane's abs, the sharp lines of his hipbones, the silky smoothness of his cock, stopping only when they found Shane open and slightly wet from whatever light fingering he'd done to himself in the shower.

"Your fingers are bigger." Shane said nonsensically but that always did something to Ilya, the way Shane got after a couple orgasms or when he felt truly comfortable. He just—said things, things his pleasure-sober brain would never allow to slip out. Ilya savored each of them.

"How many do you want?" Ilya asked, more to just to split Shane's focus and force him to get that little scrunched up brow Ilya found adorable as he oscillated between pleasure and answering the question.

"All of them."

Ilya's head tilted up and Shane was already looking at him with his eyes wide, surprised he'd said it but also not taking it back. "Shane…"

"It's like you said, we have all week." Shane said softly, seductive and slow. "And we can be as loud as we want."

Ilya had done many things an average person would politely call wild, impolitely call deviant, but fisting had always been a hard no. Mostly because the pool of willing participants was already small considering most of his hookups were women picked up from clubs and a majority of them were fucks which took no more than thirty minutes. Even the ones he took his time with were more for repeat performances than debuting new acts.

Shane's face was shifting from pink to red and he yanked his hands out from where they'd been pinned under Ilya's body to cover his face. "Fuck, forget I said anything, that's such a stupid idea."

"Can you even…?" Ilya asked and Shane peeked out between his fingers in an action which looked too sweet for a man with his dick out asking to put a hand up his ass. "You did your research?"

Shane always did his research. Ilya usually trusted it. They'd found a wonderful brand of flavored lube which donated to wildlife charities that way and Ilya had tried to convince Shane they should try for a sponsorship from them with how quickly they burned through a bottle. So when Shane nodded, Ilya knew that Shane had been planning this.

"Sitting on our couch, talking with your friend, and searching up dirty sex acts on your phone?" Ilya leaned down to bite at Shane's chest. "Naughty."

"I just want…I figure it's something you've never—" Shane cut himself off. "That we could try."

Ilya pushed himself up off Shane to better see his face. "Shane, if you don't want to…"

"I want to!" Shane huffed and had that tensed jaw he got on the ice.

"Why?" Ilya forced, even when half of him wanted to let Shane just use him however he saw fit. But he wanted Shane happy, and Shane said he wanted Ilya happy, and knowing why Shane wanted this so badly would lend itself to both those goals. That was why he pressed, "Why, Shane?"

"I just don't want you to get bored." Shane bit out and Ilya couldn't help but feel his arms failing him until he collapsed onto Shane. "Ilya!"

Shane didn't say anything else, he just laid there and stroked Ilya's hair and let the silence linger. He'd never done that when they were younger, Shane always had the instinctive need to be liked and in his little Hollander mind, that meant always asking questions. Shane let silences linger now because they knew the other wouldn't walk out. So Ilya gathered his thoughts and then turned so he could see Shane's face.

"I could fuck you missionary six million times and do you know what I would want to do next?" Ilya asked.

"Fuck me six million—"

"Fuck you six million and one times, yes." Ilya finished and felt something clench in his chest when Shane laughed. Still, it felt important to say it clearly. Shane loved being concise and Ilya loved Shane. "Every time with you is like—like building a house. We poured the foundation. That was very fun, but you used too many teeth—"

Shane pinched his side and Ilya yelped and smacked his boyfriend's abs which had Shane jumping and snarking, "You ran off before the concrete set."

"I didn't apricate foundations then, I do now." Ilya kissed Shane's collarbone. "And then we set the post things, and put up the walls." Ilya turned to check Shane's face. "That was us fucking for the first time, just so you're following."

"Yeah, Ilya, I get the metaphor." Shane huffed. "And so what, what happens when we finish the house? Every room you've been in is familiar. Boring."

"You know I like boring." Ilya reminded him and then shrugged. "A then we add a wing with lots of kinky sex dungeons. You started that wing back in 2015 when we started breath play."

"What's breath play?" Shane asked. Ilya looked up at him with a smile.

"When I choke you a bit." Ilya asked. "Did you not know that?"

"I didn't think it had a name." Shane huffed defensively. "And I do want to try…that…not just because you hadn't said anything about it. I want to be spontaneous sometimes."

Ilya pushed down the immediate response which was to ask him if planning out and then executing a plan on how to get your boyfriend's fist up your ass was at all spontaneous, but it felt mean spirited so Ilya kept his mouth shut.

Shane huffed and they looked down to their dicks which had gone slightly soft during the extended metaphor Ilya had taken them on. He could fix that.

"Where is the lube?" Ilya whispered, slipping over each of Shane's ribs as he lowered himself to his knees and opened Shane's legs. "I think we should frame out one of those rooms."

~~~

The week 'alone' was—different. Shane was more present, less likely to go off on some conversational tangent brought about by his mother and Ilya found that change both exciting and strangely disappointing. Maybe Shane did too, because there were moments when he looked to his side like he expected someone to be there.

During one of his moods brought on by a half started conversation, Ilya stepped out to call Sveta. Like the loyal friend he never deserved, she answered on the third ring.

"Here I was wondering if you'd died." She opened with, her Russian making the words sound somehow sharper. Ilya deserved that.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Six months, Ilya, since I've seen you. It's not the longest we've been but its damn close. Are you alright?"

"I'm with Jane." Ilya said softly. Sveta would know exactly what he meant by that. "For about a year now."

Her quiet and a touch smug, "I knew it—" was cut of by her loud scream of "—a year?! Ilya!"

"I was going to tell you!" Ilya offered up as a poor excuse. "Things have gotten complicated and I was working through some things."

Understatement. It wasn't even Shane that had him hesitating, mostly it was his mother. Sveta was too protective, if he said Shane saw his dead mom, Sveta would assume the worst.

"You're happy?" She asked. Ilya loved her so intently in that moment it made his heart hurt.

"Yes." Ilya said and then they both seemed to realize they were too sentimental because they cleared their throats and started talking shit about hockey. That went on for a while, lessened the pressure until he felt good enough to ask, "Shane wants you to come down for the camps in July."

"You told Shane Hollander about me?"

For a moment Ilya was confused by his native tongue. He'd had a half-baked hope that Sveta already knew, but around her more than anyone he'd kept his affection for Shane capped. She always saw too much, all the gooey insides of him he wanted to remain buried. Apparently he'd done too good a job.

"Ah, yes. Your second favorite player." Was all he got out with a weak laugh. Even without seeing his face, Sveta caught the tension.

"Favorite player, Ilya, and Jane will be there?"

"Yes, he wants to meet you." A bit of an over-exaggeration, but Shane loved him and had brought her up again after dinner last night. He'd looked like he was handling something he hated the texture of, like he was worried it would stick to him, but he was also determined when he decided on a course of action. Shane had become a general marching off to a war he was preparing to lose, but did so because, in his own words, "If she's important to you, then she's important to me."

"Does Hollander know about Jane?" Sveta asked and Ilya wanted desperately to tell her but knew over the phone would only lead to a screaming match in Russian that he didn't want Shane to overhear. He was lucky he'd picked a call and not a face time. His expression alone would have given him away.

"Sort of." Ilya took a few steps down towards the shore and then onto the dock, sitting so that he could dip his feet in the water. "I wanted to tell you. But there was…extenuating circumstances."

"What circumstances?" She demanded.

My secret boyfriend can talk to my dead mother, Ilya thought. Sveta would flip, and he thought about not telling her. Then he remembered Rose and the way it had felt, during those nights when Rose leaned over to clue him in on whatever conversation he was missing, and he wanted that. He wanted a full table of friends to pour drinks for and whisper jokes to. It was a new want, tender like the embryonic leaves of budding plants. Ilya had the faint worry that by handling them, his touch alone would smother the possibility.

"It's crazy." Ilya settled on, softly adding, "Like your dacha crazy."

Sveta went quiet, probably wondering what her family's summer home had to do with anything, but then she huffed out, "Your boyfriend is a ghost?"

"No." Ilya said honestly, smirking back up the hill where he spotted Shane standing on the porch, watching him but giving him space so as not to overhear. "Just a crazy story."

"Isn't it always with us." Sveta huffed. "Fine, one week, I'm not blowing any noses or changing diapers, and this man of yours had better be at least as hot as Shane Hollander."

"They're on skates, Sveta, they don't need diapers." Ilya murmured, and then promised, "And he's hotter actually."

"I'll be the judge of that." She said quietly, her voice softer when she next spoke. "It'll be good to see you,  Ilyukha."

"You too, Svetochka." Ilya said tenderly.

Shane waited a few beats after Ilya hung up before he made his way down the lawn. "Care for company?"

"Yours?" Ilya replied in Russian, the language still stuck in his throat. "Always."

Shane sat down and leaned his head onto Ilya's shoulder, letting their feet brush under the cool water. He let himself enjoy this because he knew there was another call he had to make after. But it was before now, so he leaned down and waited for Shane to turn up his head to kiss him instead.

Chapter End Notes

Next time: The first camps for the Irina Foundation!

Would also love to hear the predictions on who Ilya has to call :)
Thanks for reading and for so many amazing comments!

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

This was suppose to be in Chapter 3 but it got away from me! I know I mentioned Monday so ignore rhat I'm dropping this on Tuesday night...

Also we are officially off the rails now so know we are sailing into Canon Divergence territory FYI!

The relaxation of the cottage was replaced with chaos the moment they stepped foot in Ottawa. Technically it was six miles outside of Ottawa on the highway when Yuna called them to report the shipment of pads was sitting at customs and had apparently been stabbed in an attempted search so she had to go get that sorted. They hadn't even gotten to drop their things off at Shane's parent's house for more than ten minutes before they were speeding across town to the rink they'd rented to get everything open before kids started showing up.

"You know, if you'd let me buy a house here…" Ilya complained as they tossed their shit onto Shane's parent's garage floor. "We could have come down early, had sleepy morning sex, not be rushing a two hour drive…"

"You're not even sure if you're signing with Ottawa yet, it could be a waste." Shane argued.

"No, you're not sure if I'm signing with Ottawa." Ilya argued back. "I decided a year ago."

"Ilya."

"Shane."

Neither spoke on the drive, Ilya behind the wheel and Shane in the passenger seat talking with someone from customs in rapid French which shouldn't have been getting him hard, but Ilya knew himself well enough not to expect the impossible.

The first day was only a few hours not even on the ice. It was mostly drills on the carpet with the littles and to get a sense for what they could feasibly do with a collection of toddlers and teens on the same ice. Ilya pulled into an empty parking space and nearly cried when he saw the side door being held open by David, two coffees in his hands that he held out to them when they walked up.

"Shane, your black coffee, Ilya, whatever iced seasonal monstrosity the barista recommended." David laughed.

"You are a saint David Hollander." Ilya took a swig and swore the sugar did more to wake him up than the caffeine. "Do you want a new car? A statue in your honor?"

"I'll settle for a hug and getting you to Yuna before we all get yelled at." David laughed again and Ilya was glad the man had tucked is face down into his son's neck first because Ilya could feel his face flutter a bit at how casual he was with it. A hug for thinking of Ilya, of how tired he'd be and what exactly he'd like to drink. Because he cared. "Bring it in, kiddo."

Ilya went quietly, trying to remember hugging etiquette and when he needed to back up and where the fuck to put his hands—

Then it was over and David turned to direct them to where Yuna had been setting up printed banners and what had to be a photo station. Ilya could feel his own camera in his bag burning a hole against his hip and wanted to snap a few photos. The Ottawa rink opened up before him, smelling of chemicals and possibiliy.

Ilya took a moment to breathe and thought about how it might be to call this rink home. Boston had become so familiar that when they walked along a cat walk and looked down on to the ice, Ilya had the faintest stirrings of unease. Then Shane's arm brushed his and he looked over to take in his boyfriend's freckles, and Ilya knew any ice would be worth it and wished desperately that they could hold hands even as they dove into the thick of it.

Yuna was in the center directing people with signs and boxes and nearly glowed when she spotted them. "There they are!" The Yuna from the cottage had vanished and before him was a flawless business woman directing people like a drill sergeant who gave them all a kiss on the cheek and then spotted something over their shoulder that had her yelling, "Those don't go out, those are for Wednesday, put them in the storage room!"

Ilya watched her march off to deal with something and felt a rush of guilt and worry. "We could bring someone else in. Yuna should not have to deal with all of this by herself."

"My wife lives for this sort of thing, Ilya, let her have her fun." David smiled. He did that a lot. "Besides, this is just set up, it'll be your jobs once the kids come in."

Shane made a little panicked noise and Ilya's hand settled at the small of his back to calm him before either of them realized. His boyfriend jerked back like he was burned and Ilya realized more than one person was watching them as they worked.

"Sorry." Ilya said softly. "Habit."

Shane just tried to smile, but it came out tight, and Ilya looked around him to pretend that Shane keeping a solid three feet between them as they made their way to the locker room didn't hurt a bit.

Day one was letting the parents meet them, sign any waivers and paperwork, and a few hours where they checked that the kids had the right equipment and directed them to Yuna if they didn't. By noon, Ilya's hand was cramping from signing anything and everything put in front of him and posing for more photos than he remembered taking in years. Though, the photos were with kids who wanted him to do fun things like pick them up and lift them on his biceps so it wasn't too bad. More than one wanted him to do a face off with them and he'd make funny faces at them until they were giggling those little kid belly laughs that made your own stomach hurt just hearing them.

Still, by the time the catered lunch was handed out, Ilya ate on the floor and it was the best chicken wrap he'd ever had. The kids were all shuffled out still jittery with energy and the knowledge they'd be on the ice tomorrow.

"I've had games which were more restful than this." Ilya said to David who had joined him on the floor, mostly to avoid the controlled chaos that had happened to the table where Yuna and Shane were somehow eating and talking and signing things all at once.

"That's kids for you." David laughed and Ilya liked that too.

The camps, at least this first iteration, was only four days, mostly to test their stamina and see how many mire hands they'd need for next year, and started in reality the next morning when Scott Hunter and a man Ilya had only seen through a screen walked in to the room Yuna had called a break room but was actually someone's stolen office.

"This the right room?"

"No, only best hockey players in here." Ilya pointed out the door. "Dinosaurs for the children is down the hall."

"Glad you haven't changed, Rozanov." Hunter smiled, but it wasn't tense. It was overly polite, especially when he stuck out his hands to talk to Yuna and David. While he was doing that, Ilya kicked his chair back so that he could see the man tucked along the door with his hands clenched in his jeans and looking like he might make a run for it.

"Ah, Kip, yes?" Ilya called and it seemed like the man stopped breathing. Ilya could feel Shane's shoe step on his foot, warningly. "You are too young and handsome to be with such a boring old man! Tell me it's because he's dying soon and you want his money."

"Shut up, Roz." Hunter huffed but was smiling and that seemed to calm Kip down enough that he stepped into the room.

"You must be Rozanov." Kip held out his hand. "I've only heard terrible things."

"I try." Ilya shrugged and shook his hand. "Come sit, we're talking about the sleep over."

Hunter froze. "What sleep over?"

The Thursday night sleepover that Ilya loved more now that he knew Hunter hated the idea of it, was Ilya's idea and which he'd tried to be talked out and had failed. The hour before kids started pouring in was mostly just Yuna walking the pair around the rink. Ilya followed them, partly to annoy Hunter but also to see the locker rooms and tap on the empty name plates, imaging his there somewhere. They got onto the ice right at nine and from then on, the first day was an absolutely a disaster.

A little boy busted his nose, another started swinging his stick to defend his new friend's honor and when Ilya went to break it up, the kid who'd been using a bucket to skate fell flat on her face. Shane had some of the older kids and that was the most fun to watch because nearly all of them seemed to want to be him or be with him and the longing sighs echoed through the rink every time he pulled off his helmet or pulled up his shirt to wipe sweat off his face. Ilya would know, because Ilya joined them.

Hunter got the middles, not too young but not too old, and Ilya hated that he seemed to have them in neat rows, practicing weaving between cones within twenty minutes. There were scattered volenteers around but the photographers were focused mostly on Hunter, Ilya, and Shane, not that he could blame them. When Ilya skated over to grab his water bottle, he spotted Kip leaning against the bench watching his boyfriend on the ice. Ilya almost turned around when he spotted the sly smile the man wore when Ilya got close.

"He's good with kids." Ilya offered like bait to a shark, hoping it would leave him alone. "You tell him I say this, I will deny."

"You're a big softie under there, Rozanov." Kip offered.

"Call me Ilya." He offered and Kip nodded and then bit his lip, eyes flashing to where Ilya knew Shane was on the ice.

"So, you and Shane are friends now, huh?"

It was a trap, like those cartoon ones that are just a big dark hole that you hovered over just long enough that you knew you were going to fall. Ilya opened his mouth to bullshit something when one of the volunteers clacked their way down the stairs and waved at him.

"Mr. Rozanov?" The kid called. "There's someone in the lobby, said you invited them?"

"Yes, yes, thank you, I'm coming!" He gave a what can you do expression to Kip who watched him with an expression which conveyed he knew exactly why Ilya was running. To punish him, Ilya tossed over his shoulder, "Watch the toddlers. Especially that one, he bites."

"What? No, wait!" Kip yelped but Ilya had already rounded the corner and shuffled as fast as he could on his skates. He did have to stop and untie them in the hallways so as not to ruin the carpet.

In the lobby he expected to see Sveta leaning coolly on a desk, charming whatever unfortunate soul had the misfortune of working today, but instead he was blindsided when a hand grabbed him by the collar of his jersey and he was shoved back against the wall.

Instinctively, Ilya's hands came up to protect his face and ready for a punch of his own, but the wind was knocked out of him when he got a good look at the man who held him. "Marley?"

"Surprised to see me?" Cliff hissed. "That's what you get when you call me, say 'hey Marls I'm throwing away my career and never coming back to Boston and also I'm going to fucking block you—"

"I didn't block you." Ilya tried but Marley just fisted his other hand into Ilya's jersey and shook him so hard that his teeth chattered.

"What do you call ignoring all of my calls and texts?" He demanded. "All season you were weird and I didn't say anything because I thought maybe it was family shit, but then you finally call to tell me you decided to move to Ottawa? What the fuck Roz?"

"What does it matter?" Ilya tried but it came out weak. Ilya hadn't thought about actually facing Marley before the paperwork was signed and he was blindsided.

"What does it matter? Are you fucking kidding me?" Marley was drawing attention and Ilya tried to wave off one of the volunteers who looked like she might be calling the cops. Marley was still holding him, and Ilya couldn't meet his eyes even as Marley glared directly at him. "I know we're not touchy-feely but fuck, Ilya, I thought we were friends!"

The last word was spit and it landed like a slur. Ilya had the strangest impulse to cry.

"We are."

"Are we?" Marley demanded. "You dip out on our bar crawls, fine we're not twenty two anymore, you say shit to the guys, fine they do get a bit nasty, but leaving Boston? What happened?"

"Nothing. It's not about Boston." Ilya hissed right around the time he remembered that he hated being pressed up agasint something with no where to go. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Really? Because it sure feels like it!" Marley was red in the face. "Did they not pay you enough? Not put your name on enough posters and signs?"

"Go fuck yourself, Marley." Ilya hissed and he forced his voice low and mean. "Jealous that you could never compare? Maybe I do this for you, now you're the best scorer on team."

Marley flinched now and Ilya wished he felt good about it but instead it just made his stomach churn. Still, it didn't work because Marley had know Ilya for too long, and his face was more confused than hurt. "What aren't you telling me? This is about Jane, right? It has to be—"

Marley went sprawling and for a minute Ilya was confused until he realized that there was a familiar dark head of hair on top of his teammate and he reacted instinctively, pulling Shane up off Marley even as his boyfriend spat curses in three languages at him. "Shane! It's alright, we're just talking!"

He looked around and saw only two people in the lobby, a man wearing an Ottawa jacket decorated with pins and watching with an open mouth and a young girl, a sibling of one of the kids Ilya thought, and more worryingly, holding her phone pointed right at them.

Just as he started to panic, the man turned and talked to her, the girl clutching her phone and then eventually handing it over and the man, strangely, gave him a thumbs up right as Shane gave an abortive jerk in his arms and Ilya realized the pair were still arguing, not realizing they could have been the leading story for a slow hockey week.

"Both of you shut up!" He hissed. "Come on."

Both of them huffed but followed him just around the corner before it looked like they were at each other's throats again. "This has nothing to do with you, Hollander."

"Sure, and you were attacking him because you're such good friends?" Shane demanded.

"Still pissy about that hit, huh?" Marley scoffed and Ilya even a year later wasn't quite over the way Shane had dropped on the ice last year and didn't even allow Shane to joke about it so he cut in.

"We were just done talking."

"The fuck we were!" Marley huffed. "We've know each other for eight years, Roz, you've met my mom, you think I'm going to let you throw away your whole fucking career? For some bitch who abondoned you once? Cuz this has Jane written all over it!"

Before Ilya could stop him, Shane gasped out, "Jane?"

Marley turned and his expression was annoyance and confusion. "How do you know about—did you tell him about Jane? Does he know her?"

"Marley…" Ilya didn't know what to say. That was bad because that meant that Shane filled in the space with franticly whispered Russian.

"Can you trust him?" Shane demanded. "What if he tells your team?"

Did he trust Cliff? That was the question. He was a good friend, got drunk with him when Ilya was feeling like shit, always played his wing-man, picked him up from whatever shitty bar he ended up face down in front of, but they never really talked about anything too deep; shot the shit and partied, sure, but most of it was surface level at best. Marley laughed at all the jokes, Ilya thought with a clentch in his stomach. Still, Ilya helped him through every inevitable break-up after the newest blonde model he'd started dating learned that Marley sober made promises Marley drunk had trouble keeping.

But when Ilya had snapped at Roberts about his homophobic comments, Marley had backed him up. It had meant something at the time.

"Can we have a minute?" Ilya whispered and Shane jerked his head around at him, face pale. "Just a minute."

Shane looked between them, mouth open and then closed and then open again like he was going to say something but couldn't.

"Fine." Shane bit out and Ilya could see Marley's chest puff out a bit, settling him the farther Shane got until he disappeared around the corner.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner." Ilya granted. "I thought it wouldn't matter. Would be cleaner this way."

"Cleaner? You're my best friend, how the fuck is that cleaner?" Marley looked honestly heart-broken and it stuck something in him. He supposed not counting Shane or Sveta, Marley was his best friend. A friend who knew next to nothing real about him.

"I wanted to." Ilya admitted. "But is not only my secret to keep. And with Russia—"

"What does Russia have to do with moving to Ottawa?" Marley demanded and there was a slight twitch in his jaw.

It always came up when Ilya talked about Russia, because before Ilya's first real check had landed in his bank account, He'd not had a car nor understood how to use the busses let alone feel confident with the sign names to get to his immigration hearings so he'd asked Marley to drop him off down the road. That hadn't worked and so they had sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs for three hours on a Saturday before being called back to a shoe box office that smelt of mold and Marley got to see first hand the complexities of the US immigration systems.

It hadn't lasted, Ilya had hired some fancy law firm the next year to handle all of that and just send him things with little sticky notes where he needed to sign before his brother could come sniffing around for more money. Still, it stuck with Cliff Ilya knew because he was the only one on the team who'd offered, every year for the last eight years, for Ilya to say with him over the summer.

"Are they trying to deport you or something? Is this like one of those Green Card Marriages?" Marley asked and then, as if joking but with a tone which was too serious to brush off, "Fuck, Roz, I'll marry you if it means we can keep you and win another Cup."

"Is not for Green Card." Ilya offered.

"But there is a marriage?" Marley picked up on the unspoken words quicker than Ilya would have liked. He was always so much smarter than people gave him credit for.

"I hope so, yes."

"So why not Boston?" Marley pushed.

"Because he is from Ottawa."

There, it was out, and Ilya realized that the strange swooping in his gut wasn't fear but excitement. He'd never really got to come out to anyone barring Shane who probably had a good enough idea after eight years of putting his dick in his mouth. It was a rush.

"He lives in—Ottawa?" Marley seemed to work through the sentence word by word.

"I'm Bisexual, Marley." Ilya said sharply. It was out there. The first time he'd said those words aloud and they seemed to stumble off his tongue and land like a stone between them.

"Oh." Marley blinked a few times and then huffed in confusion. "Well, yeah, I knew that!"

Ilya went still and glared at Marley. Marley glared back. "What do you mean, you knew?"

"Man, you came out to me like, years ago?" He waved his arm like he was drawing up a date. "When we got pissed after the Cup and I came back to yours and you leaned in and—"

Marley cut himself off but Ilya leaned in, listening, so he huffed and in a really bad Russian accent:

"You said, 'if you were prettier, Marls, I'd kiss you' and then something about liking both." He explained, his face getting red and maybe Ilya's was too at this point. The whole hallways felt warm and not just because he was still in his full gear. Marley somehow looked contrite standing there, rocking back and forth. "We didn't, like, talk about it after, but like, I figured that was what you wanted so I was like—cool! I'm progressive and shit! And we'd just won the Cup so I was all, fuck it, you know?"

Ilya gaped a bit and Marley was clearly trying to look as unbothered as possible but was undercut by how he was fidgeting like a little kid in church.

The awkward tension was somehow worse than any slur thrown at him on the ice. Ilya knew how to handle hate, he was unprepared for just how to juggle awkwardness.

Marley was breathing heavy like he'd run a marathon, pointing and then opening his mouth and then shutting it again. "So."

"So." Ilya echoed. His chest hurt like a ballon was expanding behind his ribs and with any breath they might crack. It was only when he realized Marley hadn't left, hadn't so much as thought of leaving that Ilya realized what he was feeling was hope.

"This is so fucking stupid." Ilya hissed in Russian. "Now you know. I have boyfriend. I'm going to Ottawa to be closer to him. Good?"

Marley's face scrunched up like it did when he took a cheap shot and then the lime chaser. Ilya thinks they talked more, Marley resolutely fading back into his jock persona he put on when he was uncomfortable, but Ilya's heart was pounding agasint his breastbone.

Ilya only realized he was crying when there was a cold brush agasint his cheek and he jerked around to subtly wipe at them.

Unfortunately, Marley noticed and any passive agressive conversation Ilya had been missing had halted as his friend watched him with too much pity for Ilya to handle.

Ilya cleared his throat. "We're having a dinner for all the coaches on Thursday." Marley looked at him without comprehension. Ilya laid it out like he was talking to a toddler. "You could join us."

Marley shot him a look and Ilya shrugged his shoulders and then got irrationally angry when he realized his eyes were probably red and he had a stuffed up nose.

"Yeah, sure." Marley huffed and then turned toward the doors and then turned back and stuttered out, "see you then" as more a question than a statement, then to Ilya a harsh "Answer your fucking phone next time!"

Ilya stood there for a few quiet moments, waiting for something to happen. Maybe the doors blowing off the hinges and Russian spies repelling down from the rafters to arrest him. But nothing happened.

The hallway was quiet, the faint sounds of happy, yelling children drifted up from the ice, and it was only when he felt the softest brush agasint his hand did Ilya realize that Shane had returned.

"Your mom said that went well."

"When did my mother get here?" He demanded but he'd known the moment he felt the faint cold pressure on his cheek.

"Rose is here. Said it was to throw her star power behind the Foundation but I think your mom might have convinced her we'll burn the building down if she wasnt here." Shane was staring at him like a puzzle, picking away at each little crack and Ilya gave into the instinct to pave over the holes.

"There's still time." Ilya sniffed and felt shivers ripple down his arms. He felt like a live wire, like if he touched anything it would peel off skin. To many loving eyes on him and no locked door to hide behind. Yet Shane's hand was soft in his, gentle.

"You came out to someone." Shane took a stuttering breath. Ilya couldnt tell if Shane thought that was a good thing or not. Probably not from the frown he wore. "That was good?"

Shane wanted reassurance, and now that Ilya was looking he noticed that his boyfriend was nearly shaking, eyes caught on something in the distance and biting his lip so hard that he'd peeled off skin.

Ilya turned Shane to face him. "Marley is an asshole, but he is a good asshole. He won't tell."

"What about—"

"No, no spiraling. We handle it as it comes." Ilya cut Shane off. "Now let's go make sure kids haven't found matches."

Ilya felt wrong footed the rest of the day and it seemed Shane did too. That night in Yuna and David's spare room, tired and close to passing out after a shower, Ilya listened, shadowed in the doorway, as Shane had a one sided conversation with his mama about his fears in the kitchen. Ilya could just hear it over the hum of the fan and he had to push down the strange hole in his gut that Shane didn't turn around and talk to him.

Marley called Wednesday and they talked about nothing. Worn arguments about old rookies and missed passes from seasons ago, familiar talking points they could map out in their sleep or while drunk.

Rose's appearance was a big hit, most of the kids seeming more taken with her than Shane and Ilya after days of running drills. Mostly Ilya disliked her for stealing Shane away for lunch and only forgiving her when he came back without that hunch in his shoulders and with that clenched jaw that told Ilya he'd made some decision.

Ilya watched from the ice as Shane made a little train of children, only three under six, and he let himself stop waiting for the axe over his neck to drop.

It would or it wouldn't.

When Thursday rolled around he was pulled so tight that he'd completely forgotten that Sveta had promised to come until another security guard, maybe the same kid who now shook anytime they got close to Ilya, escorted her down to the ice.

"I came early. I heard Rose Landry is here." Sveta said, leaning over the boards and offering him a kiss on each cheek.

Shane watched from across the ice, swarmed with little hands and looking so cute holding a child on his hip that Ilya was weighing the merits of seeing if his boyfriend knew the Russian words for breeding kink.

Ilya had his hand half raised when a kid, one of the volunteers who had cried when Shane had shaked his hand, called Ilya over.

"The toilets exploded."

Ilya picked through that sentence like he'd forgotten how to speak English. "Repeat that."

"The toilets near the locker rooms…exploded." The kid was misty eyed.

"Ok." Ilya looked around. "I can…look at it."

It looked exactly how Ilya imagined an exploded toilet looked, a geyser of water spewing out a crack in the porcelain of one of the urinals. Both he and the boy looked at it, their feet getting wet as it appeared the drain was clogging, and he eventually just called Yuna, at a loss for anything else to do.

"The toilet exploded."

"What?" She demanded.

Ilya repeated himself. Yuna went silent and then he could hear her talking to someone on the other end and then a quick, "Ilya, baby, I'll call you right back," before it clicked into the dial tone.

Ilya leaned down towards the kid. "She'll call me back."

It took, Ilya is later told as he sat beside Sveta who made a big show of covering her nose, three calls to find someone to come shut off the water and another six to locate the handyman in charge of rink maintenance to show up, plant his hands on his hips, and declare "Yup! Definitely busted."

By this point all of the students had heard about the blown toilet and the man had an enraptured audience as he started removing bolts and swinging around a very large wrench.

Ilya had won more awards than most people could ever hope for and he found the childish enthusiasm both incredibly endearing and also a little disheartening. Why break bones and work until he bleeds if all kids wanted was to see a grown man grunt and lift toilets?

"We should change professions." Ilya muttered and that got the first smile out of Shane all day.

The final night of camp had been canceled and Yuna had begged off joining the dinner with all their vollenteers to plan out refunds for the problem and, according to David, spend at least three hours on the phone with the rink managers and contractors to make sure it didn't happen next year. Not that the kids seemed to mind if the cheers and high-fives they handed out were any indication. Ilya got lots of hugs and he felt like he was finally getting the hang of them.

Shane seemed ready to crawl out of his skin the longer they tried to rest in his childhood room and eventually Ilya sent him off with his headphones and his Reeboks to let off some steam.

Still, by the time they walked into the nice Italian place Shane had booked for the volunteers, his boyfriend seemed like he might vibrate out of his shoes.

"Is just dinner."

"Filled with people who know too much about us." Shane huffed and tugged at his shirt collar. "No, Irina, I'm not overreacting, I'm just reacting."

Ilya didn't tell him that his mama was right, but he did make a face she hoped she caught so she'd know he agreed.

There was a back table reserved for them a little ways away from the the party room where the other volenteers were shuffling around and socializing. Ilya held the door and then realized that was something you did for a romantic partner, not a business one and let it fall, nearly hitting Shane in the face.

"Hey!" Rose called from down the table. She wore straight legged jeans and a baggy black sweater which made her look effortless and chic and Ilya hated it. More worryingly, Sveta had come early and sat beside her in a slinky pale gold dress. Next to her was Marley, looking uncomfortable and unsure in his chair.

"Hey, man." Marley stood and then seemed not to know if they would still bro hug. Ilya did it anyways, and he could feel Marley relax a bit when Ilya's hand clapped his shoulder.

It was incredibly awkward. Shane kept flashing glances towards the back corner of the room and Rose did the head tilt-head scratch combo she did when she was pretending not to hear a ghost, so Ilya knew his mama had a lot to say.

Ilya tried to break the tension more than once, mostly with hockey, but it always fizzled out. Eventually it was the drinks which did it, allowing Sveta to mention a bar in New York she'd been meaning to try and that had Rose chiming in considering she'd been. Marley got dragged in because apparently he was into brewing. Ilya hadn't known.

Even sitting quietly next to him, Ilya knew with a bone deep certainty that Shane was somehow still spiraling. As the night had gone on, Ilya had relaxed, the coming out had unlocked something in him and being surrounded by people who knew something real about him left a crack he couldn't quite glue closed.

When Ilya was ten his father had gotten invited to a fancy performance of some Shakespeare play, Ilya couldn't be fucked to remember which one but he knew it was a tragedy. It had been in English and his had still been abhorrent at the time so he'd spent most of the performance in his mother's lap, letting her explain it whatever she understood.

"Why doesn't he do anything about it?" Ilya had asked and he'd remembered the way his mother had breathed out, heavy and smelling faintly of cigarettes.

"Maybe because it's a tragedy." She'd murmered. "The whole world's fallen down so what's left to do but yell?"

Ilya felt like that actor now, hunched over in all black, waiting for whatever was coming to happen already. Nothing to stop or plan for, just survive. Or not.

Eventually Sveta had stood. "I'm going to powder my nose. Ilya is going to help me."

Marley looked at him with wide eyes and Ilya just shot him a had wave as he stood up to follow her. He'd put it off for as long as he could.

In a show of tact he hadn't been sure she'd had, Sveta waited until they were in the empty bathroom to turn on him with her hands crossed over her chest.

"So."

"So." Ilya shot back and it looked like Sveta might hit him. "I'm sorry. I should have called you. I shouldn't have shut you out."

"Damn right." She huffed. "I've been worried, you idiot!"

"No need." He said. "I'm fine."

"You're morbid today." Sveta murmered. "And its not because of a toilet, Ilya."

"I told Marley about me."

Sveta shot his a look, not sharp but considering. "How'd he take it?"

"Good. I think." Ilya sighed. "Said I told him after we won the Cup."

"You sure were drunk enough for it." She sighed too. "And don't think you can get out of the Jane conversation with those sad, wet eyes of yours."

"All eyes are wet." Ilya countered.

She just watched him until he looked away and she claimed victory. "So he's here."

"Yes." It wasn't that he didn't want to say it. He wanted nothing more, but he knew there was a line he was stepping over and he felt like the balancing act he'd started had begun to tumble. "It's Shane."

Sveta bit her lip, folding over and groaning. "I was hoping it wasnt."

"What?" Ilya demanded. "You acted like you didn't know!"

"I suspected!" She defended herself, voice a whispered yell. "You watched too many of those boring interviews not to be something. I just thought maybe it was a one-sided thing!"

"One-sided? Me?" Ilya was almost insulted and Sveta's face, seemingly without her control, tugged up into a smile.

"Don't make me laugh, I'm mad at you!" She hissed. "Shane Hollander? Really? Why not a simple American boy?"

"When do I like things easy?" Ilya asked and Sveta groaned again. Ilya was smiling, but his throat felt tight and constricted when he forced out, "are you mad?"

Sveta listed her head. "At you? No."

She looked at him then, the deep look she got when watching hockey or breaking down a mark to know how best to get them to buy a car. It was not a look she often gave him and he hated it. She saw too much.

"You wouldn't hide this from me." She said. "There's more you're not telling me."

"Ah…" Ilya looked away and tried to think of the best way to spin it and then, realizing there was no good way to make it dound good, just blurted out, "I'm moving to Ottawa."

"The town?" She asked and then her face dropped. "No, the team?"

"Yes."

"Did he ask you to do this?" Sveta demanded. "Listen, if he's pressuring you—"

"He doesn't want me to do it. I want to." He assured her but it didn't seem to do much. If anything, she seemed to have more misgivings now. He tried a different tactic. "He is great. I love him."

That did soften her a bit. Her brows loosened and her pinched mouth curled faintly up into the smallest smile. "I'm happy for you. You deserve the world."

Ilya smiled at that even when Sveta smacked him on the arm. "What was that for?"

"For telling me Shane Hollander is hotter than Shane Hollander." She hit him again, lightly. "And for moving to fucking Ottawa. Fuck. Not even I'm pretty enough to pull of that ugly fucking logo."

"My Shane is hotter than fomous boring hockey player Shane Hollander." Ilya defended and rubbed his arm. "Do you want proof? I took photos when he was sleeping."

"Love makes you creepy." She murrmered but did lean over his shoulder to look at his phone screen. Her breath on his neck was grounding and familiar, and while hers was warm, there was a faint chill along the other side and he had a memory of showing off a drawing when he was young, his mama on one side and Sveta on the other. He swallowed to keep down the knot in his throat as he swiped through his locked folders on his phone.

When they returned to the table, Rose and Shane had gone and Marley looked like he was considering making an Irish goodbye.

"Next year you should come coach with us." Ilya threw out without thinking. To put him at ease after the sincerity, Ilya tagged on, "Kids bad at hockey also need people to look up to."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you Roz." Marley laughed and smiled. "I'll see if I can fit it into my busy schedule. Then again, I think we're going to have lots of time because neither of us will be making it to the playoffs."

Marley held up his glass and Ilya couldn't hold back his flinch. Sveta shot him a look. "Wouldn't have mattered. Montreal is going to win this year. I see it."

"How do you know that?" Marley demanded.

"I'm physic." She joked and Ilya had a disorienting moment when he wondered if that was a thing too. He wished Shane would come back from whatever spiritual talk he was having with Rose and his mama.

Rose and Shane slipped back in after another round of drinks had been brought in along with pizza. Ilya had struck up a conversation between the girls about a new film he'd seen and it was only when he glanced over to include Shane in on it did he notice that his boyfriend was nearly three feet away and the single slice of margarita pizza he'd taken from the tray hadn't been touched baring him picking at the crust until he had a pile of crumbs on his plate.

"Shane and I will grab next round of drinks to thank you for coming." Ilya offered and he got waved off. Marley had migrated down and ended up between Rose and Sveta, a position it seemed like he was enjoying and seemed excited to be left alone in.

"We shouldn't be seen alone too often, people will talk." Shane said softly as they were left waiting at the end of the bar for their drinks. Suddenly he bit out, "Yes they will!"

"Share with the class?" It was one of Ilya's new favorite questions.

"Nothing, it's just…" Shane had kept a distance between them and looked torn between stepping closer or speaking louder. He settled on just saying, "I'll tell you later."

"No, tell me now." Ilya argued.

He'd had a good night. Sveta was on his side, his defender like when they were kids. Marley would stay in his life, he wouldn't lose that part of himself that he'd made in Boston, not completely. He'd had three drinks and all three of the people at the table knew Ilya was spoken for. That Ilya was loved.

So it was a thorn in his paw, the edge Shane had all night. It tainted his joy and made him feel constantly off tempo, like he was going down stairs and missed a step.

"It's just—"

"Hello?"

Ilya turned, ready to bite the head of whichever unfortunate fan made the mistake of trying to get an autograph right then, but stopped when he saw the familiar jean jacket with a small army of pins along the lapel.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interupt, I just wanted to tell you I got the girl to delete the video." The man's hands fluttered around him as he talked. "Not to tell you what to do, but she'll still totally post a story about it, so maybe get ahead of it with some tweets or maybe an Instagram post so the world knows you all didn't kill each other."

"You work for the Centaurs?" Ilya demanded and the man seemed surprised to be recognized.

"Uh, yeah, I'm their assistant social media manager. Harris. Harris Drover." He stuck out his hand and then seemed to yank it back, but not before Ilya reached out and took it, giving it a firm shake.

"Hello, Harris Drover I am Ilya Rozanov, this is Shane Hollander. I am a big fan of your work." He said and Harris seemed to blush which Ilya couldn't help but find a bit gratifying. "You can actually see faces in photos now. Very impressive upgade."

"Yeah, the last guy was using a camera older than I am." Harris tossed out and while the star-struck look hadn't quite faded from his expression, he handled it better than many others had. "Anyways, I'll leave you to it, just wanted to let you know."

"That's nice of you, thanks." Shane rushed out. "It was...a misunderstanding. I really don't make a habit of, like, jumping people."

That made Harris laugh. Ilya liked him for that, the way his laugh was so clearly with Shane, noticeable enough that Shane's shoulders unclentched bit from where they had hidden near his ears when he'd spotted Harris' pins.

Rainbows and unicorns, a fist and one which just said RESIST, they'd been all Shane had been looking at and Ilya almost wondered how Shane hadn't been accused of being homophobic before now.

"I like your pins." Ilya offered. "How is the team about that?"

Harris was clearly thrown by the question, his eyebrows hiding in the wispy bangs that had slid down his forehead, but he shot a look between them that Ilya felt was more knowing than he'd prefer. It was similar to Kip's, that expression which said am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? Whatever he saw, Harris answered.

"They were rough at the start but we got a few good guys in before playoffs last year, not that we could do anything with them." They hadn't made it close. Ilya refused to evaluate what that made him feel. "Got a new goalie who really loosened the guys up. Plus the coach was thinking about retiring and the owners are already looking for a replacement so the culture there is about as solid as their second line."

Shane laughed. "Their second line sucks."

Instead of mocking him, Harris just laughed at his joke too. Ilya marked that down as a point for Ottawa, for hiring a man like Harris who didn't seem to revel in trying to get one over on The Shane Hollander. Montreal had negative several hundred points.

"Listen, I should get back, but…" Harris smiled at them both. "It was nice talking to you."

"You too!" Shane said, only slightly using his patented Hollander Press Smile which was a win for someone new.

"See you soon!" Ilya called mostly to see Harris do a double take and then keep walking. He thought about seeing Harris' face in a week's time when he'd have to come in to take photos of Ilya's signing.

"We should get back, they're probably wondering where we are." Shane pushed off the bar, picking up the drinks that had been delivered some time during their talk and had been sweating onto the bartop.

"They can wait." Ilya pressed on his arm to get him to lower the glasses and Shane froze up like a startled deer. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong--its just that…you know how I mentioned taking a vacation?"

"Japan, yes." Ilya had been looking forward to it in the nebulous future. He also wasn't sure why this had Shane so wound up. "Do you not want to go?"

"I do!" Shane looked around and Ilya abandoned their drinks and pushed away from the bar. He made a big show of grabbing his lighter from his pocket. He didn't have any cigarettes, not if he wanted kisses from Shane, and considering he always wanted kisses from Shane, he had to mime smoking and then slip down one of the employee only hallways until he found the back door propped open with what he only  realized was a bucket of pickles when he got close enough to smell it.

With a huge private party happening inside, the alley was empty but Shane still hadn't unclentched his jaw.

"Shane?" Ilya reached out and laid a hand on Shane's throat, rubbing at his chin until the muscle loosened and his boyfriend's mouth dropped open in a sigh. "Just tell me."

Ilya was worried now. The last time Shane had been this worked up, he'd been trying to tell Ilya about his ghost mother. Ilya was half worried Shane had some new power, maybe reading minds, and Ilya's heartbeat sped up.

"Your mother, she asked me to take her somewhere. She wants us all to go together."

That didn't sound bad at all. A family vacation, Japan in summer, maybe with Yuna and David too, all of them eating those pretty deserts he saw on the internet. Ilya felt himself relax.

Maybe it was like his father had accused, that the decadent West had made him soft, or maybe that was all Shane and his parent's doing, building up Ilya's ability to feel safe, not to be constantly braced for a gut punch. Ilya had already let out his breath in a whoosh when Shane finished.

"She wants to go back to Russia."

Chapter End Notes

Next time, Shane's third Cup run and Ilya's first year with the Centaurs! And a few coming outs and a decision about Russia.

Honesty time, I have so many scenes in Russia already written but would love some info from people who have really been to Moscow about sights locals would visit because my Googling is only giving me so much!

Thank you for reading and leaving such wonderful comments, you're all spectacular!!

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

To start, I'm seeing more Hayden slander in the fandom and while I'm a proud proponent of laissez-faire fandom, Hayden is a good friend in this story, even if he's not perfect!

I also want to thank people for waiting, I had a vet scare which really freaked me out but my girl's on the mend so we're so back!

Please note that I'm also playing with the timeline so expect that there might be a bit of wonkyness even though I'm trying my best to get it to roughly fit Canon!

Thank you for reading!

Ilya signed with Ottawa on a Monday.

Shane wasn't there but his mother was. Irina was too. He'd had them recount the whole day from memory when they'd gotten home because Ilya underplayed it and his mom focused on all the wrong things.

"That boy, Harris, was kind." She listed out points on her fingers that Shane wrote out on his notebook. "There was a few other players too who seemed receptive. The coach goes in the No category."

Shane wrote out the name Coach Danvers in neat letters and wished the planning could lessen the knot his stomach had wormed its way into. Ilya had seemed chipper when he'd signed, even as Shane watched the live stream explode when they realized it was real.

It was Shane's idea and all he could think of when Ilya pen hit the paper was of his boyfriend's eventual disappointment.

Shane had actually had been pretty popular when he was in middle school, being quiet and in hockey would do that, but he never had many friends. Then the scouts started showing up and when it was clear who exactly they'd come for, the friendly excitement died and the resentment had time to fester. It was easy when you felt wronged.

In the month before pre-season when Ilya and Shane spent most of their time in Montreal at the apartment or in his parents house while they went house hunting, Shane couldn't help but think through every contingency with mounting worry.

Mostly, it was the nightmares. Shane dreamed of all sorts of improbably situations that he stressed over until he woke himself up, but lately they'd gotten worse. Most of them were of himself on the ice, losing his edges, falling, missing every shot until he somehow knew they missed the playoffs and the Cup and were back where they'd been ten years ago when he'd gotten drafted.

If it were him, Shane had realized, on a losing team with no hope of playoffs any time soon, he understood how that could turn to resentment. Because it had when Shane was freshly seventeen and watched Ilya Rozanov walk up and accept the first draft pick. Shane and envy had become intimately acquainted that year.

"You're thinking too loud."

Shane rolled over so that he could bury his face into Ilya's chest. They'd spent most of the morning clicking open door locks and peeking into empty rooms trying to imagine making a life in one of them.

"Sorry." Shane said softly, letting his face rest right against Ilya's sternum.

"No sorry. What are you worried about now?" He asked and before Shane could do more than open his mouth, Ilya's fingers tightened in Shane's hair. "If this is about Ottawa again, I will smother you in my chest."

"What a way to go." Shane murmured in Russian and knew Ilya heard him when the body under him started vibrating with laughter.

Ilya had been doing it more but Shane couldn't trust it, not with the way Irina had been treating her son like a skittish cat she was worried would take off if touched wrong.

He'd been worryingly cheerful after the camps, and Shane almost felt more anxious because even if Ilya's coming out had gone swimmingly, Shane's would be a whole different beast. Not that Ilya seemed to understand that.

It had been another of their not-fights. That and Russia. He seemed unwilling to even consider Shane going to Russia, even when it was his own mother doing the asking. Irina had Shane promise to wear him down.

"I just want to do this right." Shane whispered.

"Is life. Hard to do it wrong."

Shane propped his head up so that Ilya could see his smile. "When did you become a poet?"

"When I'm allowed to look at art every morning when I wake up to the moment I fall asleep." He whispered, husky and warm. Shane felt his mouth drop open and a laugh slip out. "You like?"

"Come down here and see." Shane countered and let himself relax for the first time all day.

Or second time, really. He bit his lip and Ilya raised an eyebrow. "What is that expression?"

"I liked the house, the one on the cul-de-sac."

Ilya sneered. "Stupid word. Nice house." He looked down tenderly at Shane. "Why do you like it?"

There were no ghosts upstairs, for one. There was something in the basement, a shade which moaned in a corner but the whole tour it had just sat there and cried, not moving and never taking a recognizable shape. It was in a storage room anyways, Shane reasoned, and laundry was on the main floor so a basement ghost was preferable to the screeching woman at the first place and the man dripping water onto the laminate floor at the second, hands wrapped tightly around a toaster. Not that Shane could really explain all that, so he settled for:

"Big windows out back, lots of natural light. You like hosting so you would use that big dining room and the bedroom would be big enough for a king sized bed." Shane explained and then, because he and Irina had been discussing it and he'd lost, Shane sighed and said, "The fenced in backyard would also be useful."

Ilya went still and even in the low-light Shane could see the artificial white of Ilya's fake teeth shine. "I could get a dog?"

"We could get a dog." Shane clarified. "Irina and I scouted a few rescues which have good records and they'd need to be friendly and old enough to go to daycare when we're out of town."

"How dare you think we'll board our child!" Ilya huffed. "We will hire nanny like rich people do."

"A dog nanny?" Shane huffed but he was smiling too.

"Yes." Ilya clutched at Shane as he was sort of smothered between his boyfriend's tits. Shane didn't mind it and bit at him to let him up. "I'll call Mara tomorrow."

Mara was the no-nonsense real estate agent who hadn't asked questions about why her client wanted back doors, privacy fences, and driveways half a mile back from the road.

"I could call my decorator." Shane offered.

"No, will be our home." Ilya huffed. "I can decorate."

"Putting a sports car in the living room is not decorating." Shane clarified.

"I sold them all, so you'll have to settle for a couch."

Shane couldn't mourn them, Ilya already drove like a maniac, let alone with a car that topped out at over two hundred miles per hour.

Shane, unable to let go of something even knowing they were having a good moment, couldn't help but ask, "have you thought any more about Russia?"

"No." Ilya said sharply. "I won't go back and you won't go either."

"You need closure." Shane didn't know exactly what that meant but Irina had said it would help Ilya and Shane both trusted Irina and loved Ilya so he parroted it back. Ilya seemed to know that because he had that look, the smirk without humor like he was making fun of you in his head in some way so hilarious you couldn't even comprehend it. "I'm serious."

"Is a boring place." Ilya scoffed.

"I love boring places and so do you." Shane pushed. "Irina seemed set on this, on you both needing to say goodbye."

"Not me, her." Ilya said coldly and Shane was a bit started by how dismissive his voice was. "She wants you to talk to Alexei but he doesn't deserve it."

Quietly, knowing he was infringing a bit into a space he didn't quite belong in, he said, "I don't think you get to decide if she forgives him."

Ilya stood up abruptly and the rush of cold air sent goosebumps down his arm. Shane barely got his boyfriend's name out before Ilya was shoving his feet into his shoes. "I'm going for a run."

After the door closed, Shane rolled over into the warm spot Ilya left behind. His childhood bed was too small for two grown men but it also meant an excuse to sleep piled on top of each other. It also meant when Shane buried his head into the pillow, it smelt of Ilya's cologne and Shane's body wash and he added a wet spot to it when he forced his eyes so tightly shut that stars burst behind his eyelids.

Sleep didn't come and Shane was sure it would only be another dream of him out on the ice, alone. Instead he got up, tossed on a shirt and some shorts and went to hunt down Irina to add more notes to his notebook.

Ilya came back an hour later, laid his head down on Shane's shoulder, and talked instead about what color to paint their walls. Any discussion topics felt like possible bombs. Even hockey was a mine field Ilya avoided because Shane couldn't help but let his worry smother any love he felt for the game or the team. But they made it work because soon they would be back to seeing each other in passing and that knowledge seemed to smooth over any rough edges either of them were feeling.

When the pre-season started, he felt the countdown of his own rising up and suffocating any spare thoughts he had.

"Hayden will be fine." Irina promised. "Boy looks at your butt too often not to love you little bit."

"We're friends." Shane griped as he pulled at his collar. "Is this blue too bright?"

"Is sky blue, how bright could it be?" She demanded.

It was just practice the day before their third pre-season game, the lowest of low stakes if something horrible happened and Hayden somehow turned nearly eight years of friendship into an on-fire garbage can.

Irina said she was staying with him for moral support, but Shane figured it was also because Ilya had been too chipper in the last few weeks. She said he was fine, that he was happy in Ottawa, but Shane had noticed her slipping away often, looking off into the distance more. She was lying to him.

Rose hadn't meant to let it slip that she'd asked Irina about Svetlana and Ottawa. Rose couldn't have known that he'd also asked Irina about it, that she had brushed away his concerns, said she hadn't heard a thing.

It hit him in the soft space behind his sternum and he'd been pressing on that bruise for a few weeks now. More when Irina was staying with Ilya and he was alone with his thoughts.

It was the Svetlana of it all. Ilya had mentioned she was looking for a new job and had been put forth by Harris when an opening in the marketing department opened up. Shane had only wanted to know if she was willing to leave a six figure job for one which had her working out of a basement office.

Irina had lied to him and Shane didn't know what to do with that.

"Head in the game, bro?" Hayden slapped him on the back and Shane shoved down a flinch.

"You know it."

The pre-season match up had them playing Toronto and then Ottawa and then down to Boston for the first true game of the season. Before Ottawa, he'd decided, but that was before his cortisol levels skyrocketed before the first puck drop and Irina was a hundred miles away.

"You're freaking out." Hayden slid up to him with a spray of ice. "It's Toronto, chill."

"It's not about the game." Shane muttered and his best friend's eyebrows shot up. "Could we talk tonight?"

"Yeah, man, of course." Hayden offered.

The smallest of knots untangled in him and while he wasn't at his best, his team was.

They had something to prove and it showed. There was something in the air, a flow he felt on the ice, when everyone was exactly where they needed to be. He passed up a few good shot attempts but his wingers more than made up for it and Shane got himself two assists.

The locker room after was jovial. Players made plans to grab a drink at a local bar and waved him off before he could even turn them down.

Their room when Shane got back to it was painfully dull and also way too loud. There was a ghost in a 1970s uniform in the hallway who had, for some fucking reason, conjured up a vacuum which seemed to scream, the air con was blasting the moment he walked in the door, and Hayden had gotten out of media duty and had turned on some action movie on the flat screen. The band in his chest constricted again.

"Hey, man. What did you want to talk about?"

Shane opened his mouth and then closed it. He thought about lying, about pushing it off again, but he'd promised Ilya and he wanted to keep that promise.

"Do you remember the night you met Jackie and she had that sorority friend with her?" Shane blurted out.

"The night I met the love of my life, yeah, I think I remember it." Hayden huffed. "And, yeah, Candace, blonde, seemed really into you."

"And I said she wasn't my type." Shane gestured meaningful, hoping Hayden would be smart enough to extrapolate. Hayden couldn't know that Cadance had been followed around by her high school boyfriend who'd killed himself, but he might be able to guess about him not liking women.

"What, blondes?" Hayden asked. He'd turned fully towards Shane now, clicking off the tv and then standing to turn off the air conditioner too. Shane felt a flash of love in him for Hayden. "Hate to break it to you, but most blondes aren't even blonde, Shane."

"No, not blondes." Shane said softly and then gathered all his courage into a little ball. A voice that sounded like Irina's reminded him he was brave. "Women."

"Women?" Hayden repeated, face all scrunched up in confusion which then broke open into surprise. "Oh. Women. Really?"

"Yes, really." Shane pushed but it was almost funny to watch Hayden look around like he expected people to jump out of the closest and declare it was all a joke. When they didn't happen, Hayden just nodded once and then stood up.

Shane had a half a second to worry if he was about to be punched when arms wrapped around him and he was yanked against Hayden's chest.

"I'm here, man. I like…um, support you or whatever." He murmured self-consciously, then more confident. "I'm your winger, you're my center. I'll always back your play."

Shane knew he was crying, he could feel the tears on his cheeks, but he also couldn't stop them. Hayden looked close to panicking but held it together enough to sit them both down. He knew they were coming, but he was still sort of blind sided when the questions started.

"How long have you known?" Hayden asked. Shane rubbed his hands down his slacks. Fuck, he wished he'd waited to get out of his suit for this.

"A while." Shane offered but Hayden, for all his blindness, wasn't stupid. There was a reason his salary was the third highest on the team and it was because while Shane could make the plays fast, Hayden was never far behind.

"There's someone, right?" Hayden asked, then raised his hands up in defense. "You can tell me to fuck off, but the Lily thing makes way more sense now."

"You knew Lily was a guy?" Shane demanded.

"No, but now I do!" He laughed a bit and Shane let that final knot untangle. Hayden didn't mock him or yell or hit. He laughed, more importantly, he laughed the same way he always did, with the sparkle in his eye that Shane knew meant Hayden wanted him in on the joke. "You love fiercely, Shane, if you were dating some girl you would have shown her off before now."

"It's…complicated."

"I'm sure it is, but I'm here. Jackie will be too, if you want to tell her." Hayden's smile dimmed a bit. "You wanting to tell the team?"

"I have to, don't I?" Shane rubbed at the webbing of his palm. He hadn't had the urge to pick since he was a kid and he pushed down the need now. "And…I was hoping you'd tell Jackie?"

"You don't have to do jack shit." Hayden said and then, "I don't know a whole lot about, like, coming out, but that seminar before Pride Night said I shouldn't do that."

"Well a gay man is saying it's fine." Shane argued and then froze for a moment. He'd said it. Out loud. To someone living and not related and/or sleeping with him. It was like stepping off a cliff, free falling.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Hayden nodded and then, "Hey, man, don't you want to get out of that suit?"

Shane looked up at him and smiled.

That was a high he rode the rest of the roadie and all the way back to their first home game when he asked for a meeting with the head office, his mother, and his publicist. Farah set the pace, laying out contract requirements about player privacy Shane hadn't even know was in the fine print.

Shane knew he wasn't the best at reading people, but the rush he'd gotten when Hayden had looked him in the eye and all but said I accept all of you was starkly missing in the cold meeting room. The coaches and trainers wore varying masks. Most seemed bored, Shane thought, and wondered why that bothered him. It should have been the best response, he told himself, they see me, not my sexuality.

He couldn't quite convince himself and it seemed his mother and Irina weren't fooled either. Both were glaring at the room as a whole and that alone told him this whole thing might have been a terrible, terrible mistake.

"This will, of course have no bearing on his contract. We are a welcoming team and Shane's continued work with us hopefully shows we can continue working towards more diversity in hockey." A perky lawyer said and then add, "of all kinds!"

Shane wished the chair would swallow him whole. No one seemed to be looking at him, most were looking to his mother and he felt uncomfortably like a kid called to the principle's office except he called the meeting that would get him suspended.

"—of course." One of them, an older man with jowls, hissed. "We have another real shot at the Cup this year and the last thing these boys need is a distraction."

"To start, these are not boys, they're grown men. And I'll also remind you that the only reason you have those two banners in your rafters right now is because of my son." His mother shot back, cool and calm, which was good because Shane's face was flaming. "You do look good this year, and it's because Shane is in a better mental state that he'll get you another one. This year even. But not when so much of himself needs to be hidden. We already agreed to no public statement—"

His mom went on but his swimming vision was blocked by Irina. She had perched on the table and leaned down so all he could see was her.

"This will get better." She promised and Shane gave the slightest nod but even as he did it, he knew she was wrong.

Shane knew these men and he was proven right when, only two days later before a home game against New York, he walked into a locker room where every eye landed on him the moment his shoes hit the cement.

"What's wrong?" He asked, but no one said anything and he knew.

Someone had let something slip, enough that they shrugged their shoulders and started up the conversations again, but Shane noticed the way the towels remained around waists and could feel the weight of eyes on the back of his neck.

He kept his vision locked on the small mirror in the back of his locker. The reflection looked unfamiliar, distorted, and his eyes were horrifically shiny. He rubbed at his face to cover it and then pulled on his layers mechanically. One sock and boot and then the other. Tight lacing, neat orderly lines. Then his stick, leaving out the toe and heel, twenty wraps exactly. Then the handle, the little bump and then exactly twelve wraps, exactly the length of his gloves plus two inches. Rough up with the edge of a puck to reduce the stickiness and then his hand pulled the permanent marker from his locker.

It was second nature to write his mother's name. He'd been doing it since he started playing in peewee. It had been on all the sticks he'd taken to the finals and then playoffs. On the other side was a newer addition, Irina's name in Cyrillic. She'd said his handwriting was almost as bad as his accent but Shane figured it was the thought that mattered. And he'd need that tonight.

They played good. It had almost surprised Shane that by and large, the eyes and the sly little smiles a few of them wore vanished the moment they stepped out onto the ice. It was a welcome relief to know that at least nothing had changed out here.

"Hey, Rook." Hunter, Scott ever since the camps, skated up and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "What's up with your third line?"

"We're friends, Hunter, but I never betray my team." Shane smiled. Still, he knew what Scott had spotted, the three forwards distinctly separate from the rest of the team, huddled together and laughing.

Theriault called from the stands for them to fall back in line and they did, but Shane had the nauseating memory of elementary bullies being forced to come over and apologize while still making faces at him behind the teacher's back.

They were good, but New York was better. They exploited holes Shane couldn't get the men to fill and took full advantage of the third line who seemed to be everywhere but where they were needed.

It wasn't a poor showing, Shane got a point and an assist, but there had been a particular shot he'd thought he'd had that Hunter had intercepted and Shane had spent the next shift angling to get it back before the period ended. Without the goal, no overtime, and the buzzer sounded.

The two assistant coaches clapped him on the back and sent them into the showers. Before media, before everyone petered off, Shane raised a hand and it was second nature to break down the game, the highs and the lows. It was natural after so many years and innumerable games, but a handful of players, Comeau and Drapeau and his ilk, including the whole third line, were talking in a huddle. Shane felt a bit like a teacher, clearing his throat.

"Something you want to say?" Shane asked. It was the wrong thing to say.

"Ah, yeah, there's a rumor going around about you Cap, care to comment?" Comeau held out his fist like he was a member of the media. People laughed but Shane felt the sweat at his nape chill.

He'd wanted to wait, had told Irina to be with Ottawa when Buffalo inevitably destroyed them. There was a gaping hole he felt was missing under his rib, sharp and empty as the team looked to him, some clueless others all too knowing.

"I talked with the coaching staff and head office." He started with. Shane wanted them to know he'd gotten approval, he'd done it right. "I'm gay."

Shane didn't let it hang there, he felt pushed to add, "It's never affected my playing, I'm just as dedicated to this team now as I was when we won those first two Cups and I will be that same guy when we get that third this year."

That did the trick, most of the guys stood and clapped him on the back but Shane was pointedly aware of the ones who didn't. Or worse, the ones who seemed to take the whole thing as a massive joke.

Comeau slapped him on the shoulder. "Good on ya, man. Just don't stare at my ass!"

It might have been a joke, but it was a tasteless one and Shane didn't laugh and neither did most of the guys. Instead Shane watched as a few men grabbed at their towels like they were pearls in church.

"I've never done that. You know that." Shane frowned.

"I'm just joking, man. Don't get your panties in a twist." Then he laughed again. "Sorry, didn't mean it like that."

Drapeau opened his mouth to say something but Hayden jumped in and cut him off. "Commie, you are not pretty enough to be Shane's type."

That got the tension to break and conversations split off from there but Shane was also very aware that more than a few players sat in their stalls, idly checking their phones and shooting him tentative glances but never meeting his eye.

He only realized why when he stepped into the showers and half the guys stepped out.

Shane thought, strangely, of Roger Nguyen again, the only other Asian kid in peewee hockey who ate his snacks at the end of the bench because the packaging wasn't in English. Shane's mom had packed French biscuits and no one had said a thing.

He was the wrong packaging now, Shane thought faintly. Or maybe he'd always had the wrong packaging but people were just now starting to notice.

"You alright, bud?"

Shane blinked his eyes up into the stream of water to hide the way he knew he was crying. No one could see that.

"Fine." He forced out.

"Hey, why don't you come back to our house, have a night with Jackie and the twins?"

Shane looked at Hayden and thought again of how lucky he got when it came to best friends.

"Yeah, sounds good."

It was more than good. The twins didn't care about what he looked like or who he slept with, they cared that Shane could lift them up on his back and if he could make good sound effects for their games. Even when that got overwhelming, Jackie just handed Arthur over and told him to sit.

Arthur wasn't really a baby anymore, he was nearly a toddler and yet he was also completely unlike his sisters. He sat quietly in Shane's lap watching a documentary on bugs they couldn't even hear. Instead he just sucked his thumb and when a new bug appeared on the screen he pulled his thumb free to then point frantically at the screen, always looking up to check that Shane could see it too.

There was also a new spirit in the house he spotted, a faint flicker of light that hung around Jackie and Hayden that Shane couldn't name but which seemed pale and weak. It pulsed softly when the girls reached up at their parents and fluttered like a heartbeat when someone brushed through it and Shane felt like crying for some reason as he watched it dance between bodies like fingers through smoke.

Ilya texted not long after. They had a long game and Shane had almost dreaded their call because he knew Ilya would be able to read it on his face.

"You know, I have lots of friends."

Shane jerked his head up, slapping his phone down. Jackie watched this all with a cool smile. The spirit was tangled up in her hair. "Ah, friends?"

"I just needed to know your type." She offered and then slid down into a chair with a sly smile. "Unless there is something else. Or someone."

"Did Hayden say something?" Shane demanded.

"No, your worried little phone flip did. But, wait, did Hayden know?" She huffed. "And didn't tell me?"

"I… I—its not like that, he's—" Shane was grabbing at words. "He's not out yet. Can't come out."

"Can't or won't?" She asked.

"Can't. It could invalidate his visa." Plenty of people had visas, Shane reasoned and Shane figured it worked because Jackie didn't jump up and declare to the whole room that Shane was banging Ilya Rozanov.

"Oh." She said softly. "And you're sure…"

"Sure, what?" Shane looked up from where Arthur had fallen into a doze on his lap. Jackie was picking at her hem and Shane knew nothing good came from a worried Jackie. "Jackie?"

"It's just...we worry you might be taken advantage of." She said and then seemed to understand her words and grimaced. "Not like—fuck, I just mean that we want to make sure you're happy."

"Swear jar." Shane pointed and Jackie huffed but he felt a little laugh bubble up in his gut for the first time all day. "No, Jackie, I'm not being used for a visa and he makes plenty of money so I'm not a sugar daddy either."

"You'd be fabulous at it, but I will say I'm happy to hear that." She nodded like she'd accomplished her goal and then leveraged herself up and used the momentum to press a wet kiss to Shane's head. "Don't complain, we love you and those guys are asses. Don't let them get to you."

Shane didn't have time to defend his team before Jackie lifted Arthur up into her arms and started up the stairs. The pale spirit bobbed behind them, weaker now, fainter.

He begged off a FaceTime that night with Ilya and ignored the way it forced a pit to settle in his gut.

It took three weeks but eventually there was a break, three days between two home games, and Shane knew that he was going to skip the optional skate in the middle there to drive to Ottawa. It would be tight, but Ilya was there for a home game the last two days.

It also meant that when his key turned the lock, Irina looked up from the couch where the tv was left on some show full of housewives.

"Bunny!" She yelled and while she couldn't hug, she had started hovering her hands over his cheeks just so he could feel the chill. When she did it today, he knew he was giving himself away because she whispered, "what happened?"

Shane tried to explain it as best he could. It wasn't bad, he reasoned to her. They accepted it, joked about it, Shane was just being overly sensitive. When he said it like that, it made sense. "They just need time."

"Your parents didn't need time." She argued. She had her chotki again, spinning it around and around. "Hayden didn't need time. They just accepted you."

"Most of them do." Shane explained. "I'm still the same me I was before and when they see that, it'll be fine." It had to. It would.

Irina didn't say anything but she did drop the conversation in favor of explaining all the beef between the various women on screen.

Ilya burst in sometime near midnight, a little tipsy because he was pink-cheeked and excited from the moment he spotted Shane's car.

"Shane!"

He loved the way Ilya said his name. It sounded so alive coming from his mouth, so tender and loving. He hoped he could capture a fraction of that passion. "Ilya!"

He must have done something right because he soon had a handful of Russian and got to listen to Ilya explain where the team had gone out to, the way they had sung karaoke, and Shane felt his stomach clench at the thought of celebrating after a loss.

"Did you eat anything?" Ilya eventually asked when he pulled himself up to make a late dinner of whatever leftovers he had in his fridge.

"Yes." Shane lied. He wasn't hungry and he knew anything Ilya made would be worse for him than not eating.

"How was the team?" Ilya asked from the kitchen and Shane refused to turn. If Ilya saw his face—

"Fine. We can feel it this year." That was the truth. For all the quiet silences that followed him entering or leaving a room, on the ice they moved the same.

"The Cup?" Ilya asked. "Boston looks good this year too. Marley tells me they picked up Cosgrove from Dallas."

"Cosgrove is no you." Shane said and then flinched, but Ilya was smiling as he threw a long leg over the back of the couch to sit down next to Shane. His dinner was some kind of jambalaya and the sausage smelled so good that Shane could feel his saliva pool in his mouth.

"That is true." Ilya hummed and then gestured to the screen. "What are we watching?"

"Irina was just explaining to me about how Catherine has been flirting with Margaret's husband." Shane explained.

"The balding man with neck beard?" Ilya clarified. "Beautiful women want him?"

Shane shrugged and when Irina cut in, Shane was happy to translate because it meant he didn't have to think anymore. He was just a set of ears and a mouth and neither of those things needed to think, just do.

Hands ran through his hair and Shane blinked back into reality. Ilya was mostly sober now, Shane could tell from the worried furrow in his brow.

"You said there was optional skate this week. Are you driving back tonight?"

"No, I'm going to skip it." Shane watched the TV instead of looking at his boyfriend. His eyes followed the flash of sequins and fringe. "I just wanted to see you."

"You didn't call that night." Ilya didn't take the bait and Shane bit his lip. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to complain." Not when Ottawa had lost 5-2 that night. How could he complain when they were at the bottom of the standing and Montreal was set up for strong playoff contention right out of the gate? Ilya knew, maybe Shane had every expression on his face because Ilya leaned his head down into Shane's lap.

"Complain. Please, I hate them still, will be cathartic for me." Ilya shut his eyes. "Or talk to your mama, or mine. I know what these men say behind doors. I worry for you."

Shane opened his mouth and then shut it. Like this, head in his lap and curls frizzy from the post-game shower and without any product, Ilya looked so young. "I wish we could just exist, together. Like those princesses locked up in towers."

"Am I the dragon?" Ilya peeked open an eyelid.

"No, you're the castle and I live inside you."

He'd meant it sweetly but Irina made a gagging sound and Ilya shot him a sly look Shane covered with his hand.

Ilya licked said palm and then they were wrestling on the couch as Irina yelped and made a dash for her chair so as not to be rolled through.

They ended in a sprawl, Shane over Ilya's chest.

"They get so twitchy in the showers." Shane whispered. "Like they expect me to be peeking or something."

"They are all ugly, why would they think anything so stupid?"

Shane didn't have an answer and let the flashing light of women pointing and arguing on the screen lull him to sleep.

~~~

December came quickly. Shane made the drive down to Ottawa more often. It made sense with Ilya and his parents, and Irina was there most often, but he could tell his team seemed to have drawn their own conclusions about where he went.

The showers had nearly returned to normal. Theriault had run them ragged with bag skates until they were all too tired to do more than shove their faces into the shower heads and then climb out of the locker room on heavy feet. That had quieted the talk for a while and it was nice to walk in and have them complaining about something that wasn't him.

The layer of snow was also very nice as Christmas decorations started going up. Shane drove down after practice on a Sunday night and Ilya had piles of Christmas decorations in perfectly labeled tubs. They did have to pull them from storage and the basement ghost seemed to have realized someone had moved in because it watched them from the floor, like something crouched or a puddle of goo, but it was easy to ignore all things considered. He recognized the decorations from last Christmas, or New Years he supposed, and there was something truly lovely about decorating a home.

Shane's apartment had, at some point, become a simple extension of his body: a tool to be utilized. He slept there, blended up his smoothies there, warmed up his proportioned meals there, dealt with the screaming and wailing ghosts there. But this house was not that.

Ilya had gone with more wood tones, and Shane watched as Ilya tried to drape boughs of greenery over his fireplace.

Shane was in charge of the ornaments because they had to be spaced a certain way and Ilya didn't understand that and had been relegated to literally anything else. Irina made herself a cup of what he thought was suppose to be coffee but knowing her might also have been spiked eggnog. Even if she couldn't drink it, she seemed to savor the imagined warmth. She also hadn't stopped smiling since Shane had arrived.

"Like this?"

Shane looked up and nodded. The pine made everything smell clean and fresh and Ilya had somehow managed to perfectly center the bough so that is draped elegantly down to the ground. Shane smiled. "Perfect."

Without thinking, Shane reached out to brace the ladder for Ilya as he stepped down. His boyfriend's hand caught Shane's jaw and he looked up, watching as Ilya bent down to kiss him.

Shane whispered against Ilya's lips, "Get off the ladder before you fall."

"You say the sexiest things to me." Ilya hummed but did as he was told.

The lights really were lovely, soft and warm and Shane wished they could have kept them up longer than just a month. He and Ilya started on dinner, talking about games they watched, chirping a few players, and complaining about teammates. Ilya always started it, made it seem alright to give voice to the smallest gripes he wouldn't share with anyone he thought would tell another soul. Now he had two of them and they both were in the kitchen as he roasted vegetables.

His parents came over for Christmas proper. They shared gifts, ate good food, and sat lazing about on the couch. The only distraction was his mom and Ilya's conversation which he couldn't quite help but listen in on.

"He is very good, maybe great if he could be more sure of himself." Ilya smirked. "A little slow, but I will teach him."

His mom hummed. Luca Haas had been a familiar character in their late night calls and hockey discussions. Shane didn't say anything, just sat up took plates to the kitchen so that he couldn't overhear the conversation anymore.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Irina." Shane shrugged because it was nothing, he knew that. Still, when he glanced over at her, she had a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. "Really, I'm just…" He looked into the living room to make sure no one was coming before he admitted, "slightly jealous."

Irina smiled wide, the delighted one which pulled at their cheeks and Shane regretted saying anything. "Bunny! Over Baby Luca?"

"I get it, I've had rookies, it's just like, he the way he talks about him…" Shane didn't exactly know how to put it into words. The emotion itself was so messy and complicated it mostly just felt like a sucking mouth in his chest if he thought about it too long. He settled for, "It's like how he talks about me."

Irina opened her mouth and Shane was already waving it off.

"I know!" He whispered frantically. "Ilya would never, it's a stupid fear! I'll get over it."

"I was going to say, you should tell him." She countered. "And feelings are not something you can control like you do your diet. Don't think I didn't see you with that damn app of yours."

Shane hadn't known she'd seen that.

"It's Christmas, you don't need to take notes." She waved her hand. "And Haas is nice boy who would faint if Ilya breathed on him. Also you are both very gross in love."

Shane bit his lip but it was mostly to keep down a watery smile. "Thanks, Irina."

"Always." She promised and turned to leave but made sure to shoot him a stern look. "Remember about my Christmas gift!"

As if Shane could forget.

That night, as Shane rubbed his skincare into his face, he couldn't help but also watch Ilya spread out across their massive mattress. He was all golden limbs and Shane hated to ruin how lax he looked, but it was Irina's only gift.

"About Russia…"

"No, Shane! Not on Christmas!" Ilya moaned into his pillow.

"Irina asked again and seeing as I can't just buy her expensive sweaters like you do for my mom, you get a difficult conversation instead." Shane tried to keep his tone light. "She seems set on this."

"Why?" He asked but it was farther than Ilya had let the conversation go in months.

Shane stumbled a bit for the talking points they'd made. "Well, for one, we both thought it would be good for you to say goodbye to Russia."

"I said goodbye." He argued and then flexed, probably to convince Shane to drop this conversation. Shane remained firm but also across the room so as not to give into temptation.

"No, you left. That's different." He argued back. "I want you to show me Russia because what if we're outed tomorrow and you never get to go back? Can you honestly tell me you'd be satisfied with your last time there being for your father's funeral?"

Ilya said nothing and Shane couldn't hold himself back anymore. He climbed up the bed, plastering himself to Ilya and turning his head so that he could hear Ilya's heartbeat. He lightly tapped the rhythm out on Ilya's chest.

"You want to see Russia?"

Shane's head shot up. Ilya's eyes were on the ceiling where Shane had allowed Ilya to install a mirror. Shane rolled off and they met each other's eyes through the mirror.

"I want to see where you grew up, where you skated." Shane said softly. "I've never even seen your baby pictures."

Ilya laughed but it sounded painful and wet. "I'm not sure they exist, baby."

"They do, Irina promised." Shane tackled this the same way he would any play, laying down where everyone was and where he knew they'd go, and where exactly he needed to be to get that puck to the back of the net. "I want to walk down those streets and see where a young Ilya played. We're going to go to your rink and you're going to show me where your team trophies from the youth leagues are kept. Maybe we'll go to the zoo Irina told me about, or the space museum, or to a home game so I can cheer for your favorite childhood team because you're helping mine make it to playoffs. We're going to eat all the food we can and write down recipes so we can cook them together in our house. Do you understand?"

Shane hadn't realized he'd moved but now he was looking down at Ilya, locking eyes with him like they did before a face-off. Ilya's eyes were wide. "Ottawa is your favorite team?"

Shane blanched. "What?"

"You said Ottawa was your favorite team." Ilya smiled now, hands grabbing at Shane's waist. "You wanted me to play on your favorite team?"

"How else would they make it to playoffs?" Shane argued but that just made Ilya laugh, throwing his head back like he'd learned something delightful.

"Does your mother know?" Ilya demanded. "That you root for worst team in league even before I make them just above mediocre?"

"Big word." Shane diverted and then smiled too, leaning in to whisper, "You know I have a jersey at my parents. They took me to a few games when I was young. I loved the stupid logo and I loved Dupine."

"The goalie?!" Ilya smothered his laughter into Shane's chest. "He was missing teeth!"

"Looking back, I think it was a crush." Shane granted and knew he was blushing. "He just always stopped to talk to us and I thought that was nice."

"I bet you did." Ilya dug his hands into Shane's waist and Shane dug his knee into the bend of Ilya's hip, warningly, but they were both smiling. Ilya let his hands flop onto the pillows under his head in defeat. His smile dimmed a bit, but was still there when he said softly, "Russia, then?"

Shane blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, but please stop conspiring with my mama."

"Well, no deal then." Shane rolled over again and knew Ilya would follow him even before his back hit the mattress. "July, then?"

"Alright, Shane. July." Ilya murmured into his shoulder. "Russia."

Shane half expected Ilya to change his mind, but instead it seemed like since the decision had been made, he stuck to it.

January faded into February and grinding out points to hold onto their standing. The playoffs loomed, familiar and promising, that same energy as two times before, when the synergy was smooth enough that the whole team played like a well-oiled machine. Smooth transitions between lines, a solid, grinding defense and a quick, strong set of forwards.

Part of Shane, the part that could remember the stats of nearly every player that stepped foot on the ice in the last twenty years, knew that part of that had to be that Drapeau was out on Injury Reserve and Mitty had taken over. Shane would take the lesser goal save percentage over a goalie who often chirped the other team and then expected his teammates to take his hits.

It seemed like the team liked it too, because they had a run of wins, three of which were shut-outs.

Theriault seemed set on bringing Drapeau back in, but Desjardins seemed set on the opposite. With the head coaches disagreeing, Shane knew it would only be a matter of time until they asked his opinion and he dreaded having to make that call because he knew what he'd say.

"Hollander." Theriault called and Shane nodded and stepped off the ice and barely had time to cap his blades before he was forced to jog to keep up with his coach.

The whole staff was in the meeting room waiting for him. McCann and St.Pierre were at a white board, writing out plays but stopped when he stepped into the room. "Hollander."

"This about Pat?" Shane cut to the quick and McCann and Desjardins both smiled but Theriault frowned.

"Drapeau got cleared last night, I want him back in. Unless you have something from the player's side?"

Shane knew Theriault meant it as a rhetorical question. He seemed to like Shane because Shane knew when not to offer up an opinion unlike a few of their Assistant Captains.

But niceness didn't win you Stanley Cups.

"Patrice Drapeau is a strong goalie with an impressive goal save percentage but that means nothing if he keeps forcing us into penalty kills." Shane laid it out neatly, with only the slightest flash of vicious pleasure. "Washington got that power play and beat us into the ice with it and they'll do it again in the playoffs. Mitty is good, better every game, and with Laine, Roy, and Renaud playing defense, we can keep most of the pucks away."

"Is that so?" Theriault said like he expected Shane to admit he'd said the whole thing as a joke. When no one laughed, he shot a glare towards the other three coaches. "We'll talk about this."

Shane was shooed out of the room and walked right into their PR director. He watched as Marcel nodded and scurried down the hall towards the offices. Shane felt something swooping in his gut, wondering what exactly he'd heard.

Not that he could give much thought to anything other than hockey when playoffs started in earnest. Everything was hockey, his every thought, every waking moment dedicated to plays and stats and positions. He dreamed of it, his hands twitching like they'd be gripping a stick. Shane knew this because Ilya had come up to Montreal after Ottawa had been knocked out before the playoffs had even began.

Because of Ilya, they had more points this season then in the past decade, but one player a good team does not make. Haas had made a good showing, and Ilya had said them acquiring Wyatt Hayes had snagged them more than one win, but it hadn't been enough to scrape them into the playoffs.

Maybe other players went home and laid down in their WAG's lap and relaxed but Shane and Ilya just watched tape, laid out plays, brought out sticks and practiced moves until their arms ached. If that didn't work, they just worked out until their muscles turned to jelly and they couldn't do anything more than collapse into the bed to sleep. It felt almost like they were both on a playoff run together and it did something to him to hear Ilya lay out just how Shane had to move to snipe the Tampa Bay's goalie who always dropped to his knees early and never expected a wrap-around.

Irina had made it a month before she'd abandoned them to what she'd claimed was "puck psychosis" and announced on a warm morning in May that she was going to LA and to call Rose when they either lost or were lifting the Cup.

So then they were alone, really and truly alone, baring a few ghosts which drifted in with the wind. Now listen, Shane knew all about the superstition of sex during playoffs. But, he reasoned, if there was one good thing about being gay was that maybe that superstition only applied to straight people. That was the reasoning he gave when his own self control snapped mid-May and he jumped Ilya when he got home.

They both had scratchy beards that left a satisfying burn as they kissed and both were so pent up that they took advantage of an empty apartment to fuck over nearly every surface with special presence for things Shane could sit on to avoid aggravating his knee which had stopped a puck the night before.

When Ilya's hand gripped his hip, sliding down to his thigh to lift their hips together, he pressed directly on a bruise and Shane couldn't help the fractured moan he let out. He didn't even have time to feel embarrassed about it before Ilya was groaning and spitting into his hand to rub themselves off together. It was dirtier than they normally were, but it had been weeks and Shane had missed this.

It was a slow grind, Ilya's rough palm on their dicks, the softness of Ilya's cock against his, and the sudden thought that that hand, the hand on him now rubbing them both quick and hard, had lifted the Stanley Cup—

Shane came and Ilya cursed, back bowing into an arch as his breath sent goosebumps along his skin from the rush of warm then cold air with each inhale.

"What was in that pretty head of yours?"

"Your hands." Shane tried to say but it came out more like a whimper.

"Just that?" Ilya pushed and Shane almost demanded to know how he'd noticed. Instead he rolled his hips until Ilya hissed in overstimulation. Ilya was always so sensitive after he came and Shane liked to ride it a bit more. He only stopped when his boyfriend's hands gripped his hips and shoved them down against the leather of their couch. "Enough."

"Those hands lifted the Cup." Shane said. "That's what I was thinking about."

Ilya's eyebrows bunched and then released before his mouth latched onto Shane's neck and he could feel his boyfriend's growl rattle through both their throats.

After that, Shane figured Irina might have been a bit right about the psychosis.

Still, he'd do it again. A million times if it meant he could feel the cool press of metal against his lips, feel the heft of the Cup over his head even when his arms burned with fatigue. Somehow, it felt different this time.

The whole run had. There had been games, the third on home ice that they'd needed to win, when he'd felt alone on the ice. Hayden had been pulled from the power play, the second line defense had been brought up, and if Shane hadn't been up until two the night before watching tape with Ilya, he would not have known how many fake outs to use to nail the top shelf when the goalie thought it was a slider. No assist, no confusion around the goal, just Shane and the goalie, staring each other down. It had been a beautiful goal and nabbed them a win which meant one more game and they'd take the Cup, and he'd done it alone because he'd been left out to dry.

Podcasts had noticed it, commentators, even fans had yelled over the glass about how Shane had taken more hits in the last six games than whole seasons combined. It shouldn't have mattered, but maybe it was the pressure or the frustration about how it was only his name being mentioned in the ads being run for tickets or how Marcel had loudly announced how many Hollander jerseys were being sold, more than the next three players combined.

"They're leaving you out to dry." His mother hissed over the phone the night before Game One when Shane had really only called to ask what their shared Netflix password was because his dad changed it every month. "You're dragging them to the finals and don't even pretend that Berkes didn't do that trip on purpose."

"That's what I said!" Ilya called form the kitchen where he'd taken up residence as Shane's live-in cook. He made it hard to say no to cheat days when your chef often cooked shirtless. Shane sighed and wished not for the first time that Irina was back from LA and could defend Shane's choices. She would hate it, complain, but she was sometimes the only one who treated him like the adult he was.

"He tripped. It happens to the best of us."

"In the third period when you're up three and opposing team just sent back best forward?" Ilya demanded. "I don't think so."

Shane bit back his remark about him not knowing anything about it considering he hadn't even made it into the playoffs, but Shane knew that was just him snapping because he was upset.

In the end, it didn't matter. San Francisco put up a fight, smashed him into the boards, gave him a black eye, nearly broke his nose with a high stick that made Shane smile only because it put them on a power play. A beautiful goal by Taylor kept them two ahead and Mitty turned himself into a brick wall, and Shane's snipe shot with ten minutes left in the game cinched it for them.

The bell sounded glorious, the streamers and the yelling, the sound of hands banging on glass as familiar as it was wonderful. Hayden and J.J. jumped him, hands shaking him until he felt his vision spin, Mitty was near him, clapping him on the back, but—

But Drapeau and Comeau were celebrating by the boards, surrounded by their group. Stedlund and Gagnon, Renaud whose baby he watched during his wife's second birth and Roy who he'd driven home from the club at three in the morning when Shane's was the only number he could remember. And Taylor, only on the team two years and smiling under Comeau's arm, who had looked at Shane with stars in his eyes his rookie year, and not once in the past six months. He'd been billeted with Comeau, Shane thought faintly.

Baby showers and birthday parties, and quiet favors he'd liked to do because it wasn't something loud and flashy but showed he cared. And standing there at center ice, surrounded by strangers, all Shane really wanted was his mom.

"Irina?" He said quietly but he knew she wasn't here. She was with Ilya at the apartment because even if the world had started to believed they could stand each other, everyone had concluded Ilya cheering on Montreal would be too unbelievable. He shouldn't be alone. Shane had agreed to it. His mom was here somewhere, his dad too. They'd find him after the scrum and the press, wrap him in a towel and touch him gently like the had the last two times.

"Shane!"

Rose was on the ice. Rose, his friend who was in the middle of shooting a high-budget film who had distinctly told him she wouldn't be available until September. Rose, who was followed by his parents, his parents who hadn't come out onto the ice after a victory in years because Shane told them not to. It had felt too embarrassing at the time and by the time he'd changed his mind it felt childish to tell than that.

Arms were around his shoulders and while Shane knew he stunk, Rose didn't say a thing about it, just leaned in and whispered. "I couldn't leave you out here all by your lonesome!"

The headache of her skipping press to be here was tomorrows problem, and today Shane hugged her, lifted her off her feet and swung her around until his parents made it over to him and he could hug them too.

The locker room was wild. Someone had brought in beers and the smell of bread-y hops mixed with their sweat was making Shane nauseous even as he tried to smile through it. Taylor was on Drapeau's shoulders, head back as Koch, standing on the bench, poured the can into his mouth. The coaches were celebrating too, popping champagne and Marcel was talking in rapid French about what tweet to post. Andropov, a massive defender who Shane had befriended partly as a way to practice more Russian, was on the phone with family. Shane knew this because his aged father was beside him, telling him how proud he was, how much he loved him. Shane felt his throat grow thick with tears and felt suddenly grateful that this was the one time he could cry in this locker room and not be mocked for it. It was manly to cry about something like this, Shane learned.

Without thinking about it, without taking his eyes off Andropov who was rubbing at his eyes, Shane's phone was in his hands and he waited for Ilya to pick up.

"Shane?"

His voice was tight and quiet and somehow exactly what Shane needed to hear. "Hey baby," Shane said softly, smiling. "Have you heard? We won."

"Yeah, I think I saw something about that." Ilya said dismissively and Shane laughed. Andropov's family had face timed him and he was showing them the celebrations. They cheered and everyone cheered back.

Shane could never do that.

"I love you." He said instead, aware that some of the men had looked over at him, but Shane was focused on Andropov's dead father who was crying now, hands covering his mouth and revealing the pockmarked skin, inflamed from ivs. Cancer, Shane would guess. "I wouldn't be here without you."

"You would always be at the top, Shane. Always." Ilya said. "Go enjoy your party with your team, you've earned it."

"What's the point of being at the top if you're alone?" Shane said suddenly. "One drink and then I'm driving to you."

"Shane—"

"See you tonight." Shane said and then gathered up his courage to give an obnoxious kiss sound like he'd seen some of the guys do, and waited until Ilya huffed out a laugh and agreed before hanging up.

"Capitane, you having a celebration tonight?" J.J. laughed, clapped him on the shoulder and then to the whole room. "Lets go celebrate!"

The next few hours were wild. There was press and more press and a final time for the press, and a ceremony where the press took photos and then Marcel pulled him aside for what he assured Shane was online posts but was just press in another form. He shook hands and hugged more people than he was comfortable with, talked quickly with the commissioner who's first wife hovered around him with half her head caved in from the car accident which killed her.

Eventually near one in the morning they poured out of the rink and onto the street. People yelled at them, they yelled back, and Shane felt again like they were one living breathing organism instead of individuals. The rush of endorphins when they crawled into a bar and the whole place erupted, the game playing on replay on their big screens. Everything felt possible then.

Shane kept to his one drink maximum until they got to the third bar which according to Google, had a special license to serve until six am. By four, apparently everyone and their mother bought them a round and Shane drank mostly to avoid probing questions about who he called and where he was planning on going that night. Some were well meaning, Hayden and J.J., but others were asked with smirks, like Roy and Renaud. The saving grace was Drapeau and Comeau were too focused on the women who'd taken up residence at the table than with Shane's love life.

Hayden eventually stood and took the brunt of the booing, bowing like it was a pleasure, telling people to look at his lovely children if they complained, and yanking Shane up with him. "Come on, Cap, you're driving me home!"

The whole party booed then, but like an animal hacking up a hairball, split apart and released them. Shane followed Hayden to the door, looking back a few times at the swelling mass of drunken men and felt something in his spine loosen for the first time since he'd heard Ilya's voice.

"You had less to drink than me, why do I need to drive you?" Shane asked, not annoyed, just unsure. Hayden shot him a smile and jabbed him in his sore ribs.

"Shit, sorry!" He huffed and then when they shoved themselves out onto the street, laughed loud into the night air. "You got to get home to see your guy and this way, they can blame me and not you for dipping early."

Shane thought of Irina's comments and laughed before saying, "Hayden, I could kiss you!"

Hayden's head snaped around to him, mouth open and then closing, then opening again until he let out a strangled, "No, well, I just…I'm getting you an Uber."

Shane handed over his phone and heard Hayden make a sound as he unlocked it and clicked into the ride share app. Shane let him, watching the streetlight down the road where a man stood in a neat suit holding a briefcase. A car came up the hill quickly and the man stepped out into the headlights. Shane had jerked forward before he'd realized—the man exploded into a burst of smoke, reforming on the sidewalk and checking his watch and looking out over the road for more headlights.

"Shane? You okay, buddy?" Hayden handed back his phone. "I got you a ride. Figure you can get your car later. Some guy you got there."

Shane tore his eyes away from the ghost stepping off the curb again and looked down at the messages Ilya had sent, the first at midnight saying congratulations, then another around one after their call, and by three they had grown more sultry. The final was a picture, upside down. Shane turned his phone as Hayden coughed right as Shane realized it was taken upside down because Ilya had to shove his arm over his shoulder to get both his ass and the Hollander jersey he was wearing into the frame.

"I have to get home." Shane said suddenly.

"Gross, man." Hayden said, and then flinched. "But like, in a supportive way." He grimaced again. "We need to meet this dude, is what I mean. If you love him."

Shane looked up at his best friend. He'd meant to tell him earlier, had added it to his list but it had always seemed far away.

"I'd like that." Shane surprised himself by saying, mostly because it was true.

"Good. Maybe after the awards?" Hayden asked.

"I'm going to Russia." Shane said without thinking. "Maybe after that?"

"Sure—what? Russia?" Hayden turned to face him fully and Shane was suddenly very aware of all of the drinks he'd had. He tried to hold Hayden's eyes but he kept blinking and the ghost man jumped out in front of a bus again, making his head spin. "Shane, why are you going to Russia, you're gay!"

"I know that!" Shane huffed. "I'm—Rozanov is coming with."

Shane shut his mouth and groaned into his hands. Hayden's mouth made a flapping noise as he looked at the Uber pulling up and then back to Shane. "What? Rozanov? Shane!"

The ghost jumped out in front of Shane's Uber driver and Shane rolled his neck to avoid looking at Hayden or the pale wisps of the ghost not yet reformed back on the sidewalk. The stars seemed to spin like in those long time lapses, impossible both because he was stationary and also because he was in the middle of a city dripping with light pollution. Still, he imagined them up there, circling him, until he thought again Ilya in his shitty apartment with its ghosts.

"I'll bring him to dinner." Shane said suddenly, cut off what Shane just realized was a conversation when Hayden just looked at him. "My boyfriend. I'll bring him to dinner."

"Yeah, man, good." Hayden said quietly, bringing him in for a hug. "Whatever makes you happy. Happier, whatever."

Shane nodded and slid into the backseat of the car and despite the swaying of the car, he couldn't quite stop his mind from spinning like the imagined stars. He was happy when he lifted the Cup. When he was baking with his mother. In the kitchen with Ilya, playing with Hayden and his kids, talking with Irina and Rose, they all made him happy.

For the first time Shane wondered if being happy was enough and looked out the window at the flashing buildings which broadened out to smears of lights and colors as they drove. He felt like he missed something. He was happy Shane thought, but he didn't even know what happier looked like for himself. It felt greedy and a little too much like Icarus and his wax wings. Happier was the sun, gleaming and bright and dangerous. But so, so appealing, hanging just out of reach.

Shane leaned his head against the window and allowed himself to imagine.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter is Russia so bring your tissues, vodka, and mommy issues.

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary

It was when the plane landed and the door opened that something his stomach seemed to both clench and release. The air was different, maybe, or maybe it was the way the world seemed to shift as the signs and the music and the talking was all in Russian.

It wasn't like flipping a switch, it was more like waves. For a few minutes as he was explaining his and Shane's business relationship to a bored looking attendant, he could feel the shape of the words in English before they slid out in Russian. Disorienting and upsetting, the way he felt almost like an outsider in his own fucking county.

Chapter Notes

Hey everyone, guess who got struck by the AO3 curse? End of the school year on top of an accident in the family on top of a natural disaster on top of loosing a pet really put a damper on my mood to write, so I want to thank everyone for leaving kind comments and not getting frustrated with me. It really was appreciated and now I'm back! I have a lot of partial chapters written for my other WIPs and most of Shane's POV of this chapter done so hopefully the next chapter will come a bit quicker.

This chapter also has, unsurprisingly, a lot of Russia in it, so if there is any mistakes please (nicely!) let me know. I did do research but couldn't always get the answers I wanted and if you don't know already, Russia is pretty big so the answer is not always clear cut. One final thing, I am planning on doing an edit of Mama's Boy when it comes to the Russian translations so if there is anyone who's a native speaker, please let me know if you'd be down for telling me what might need fixed (besides the final line in Chapter One, I KNOW about last name gender conventions but I didn't think Shane would, please, I'm begging you, I KNOW 🤣!)

As always, please let me know anything you'd like to see or if there is anything that stuck out to you. I love seeing what lines really resonate with people because they're never the ones I expect!

Much love and happy reading!

Ilya knows what the cue card said before he ever opened it. He swore he could feel Shane's name on it, the shape of the letters through the thick card stock paper.

It had been worth the shitty jokes some underpaid comedy writer had forced him to say, the mocking smiles he'd had to endure, all to stand in front of all those hockey players at the award ceremony and call out Shane's name.

The Conn Smythe was not an unfamiliar award to Ilya, he'd nabbed it once himself, but it was a rarer addition to his awards case than one given to a top scorer and no one could accuse him of sportsmanship.

So it was easy to say the lines and take the laughs, all if it meant getting to shake Shane's hand over the podium and see Shane smile at him, eyes a touch watery, and know they would go to the same room tonight, that even if that trophy didn't have his name on it, it would sit right next to one which did in a trophy room they shared.

It was worth it.

Ilya stepped back and let Shane start his prepared speech. He knew every beat, had let Shane practice it at him for hours after their plane had landed, and had even told him when to pause for planned laugher.

Then Shane's body stopped for a second, a little hitch in his voice, and the pandering to a team who didn't deserve him tapered off.

"And I'd like to thank Ilya Rozanov, who without his dedication, the Irina Foundation would have never found its footing. This award is wonderful, but the difference we make through donations and volunteers goes beyond it. Please consider donating. Thank you!"

It was too polished to be Shane, meaning someone helped him write it and Ilya had a worrying suspicion of who that someone was. Hopefully his mama, but she'd been a jet setter for the first half of the summer, Ilya thought because she was running away from her own choice to return home, but he worried instead that it might have been Rose.

There'd been a suspiciously long call a few weeks ago that Ilya could keenly remember, but he'd assumed it was ghost things, not speech changes.

Still, it unsettled something in him to have his own name come out of Shane's mouth in a room full of people. Not as an insult or a joke, but honest praise.

Ilya said something to wrap up the segment, but he couldn't be fucked to remember what exactly that was. Instead he rushed off the stage and had to push down his urge to corner Shane near the closest door with a lock.

As if seeing this, Shane stopped in the middle of a busy hallway. "Did you like the speech? Rose and Irina helped me with it."

"Of course they did." Ilya hummed and Shane rocked back on his heels. "Don't be so proud of yourself."

"I think you were blushing there."

"Russians do not blush."

"Bullshit." Shane muttered in Russian.

"Who taught you dirty words, Hollander?" Ilya demanded.

"Some asshole." Shane was smiling, talking to Ilya in a busy hallway, not checking the surroundings or flashing looks around for people with cameras catching a shot of something they shouldn't.

They couldn't go up together so Shane went up first and Ilya was forced to mingle. He lasted six of the agreed upon ten minutes before he made a break for it and no one stopped him.

It was a lovely night and their room had a lovely view both out the window and spread across the Egyptian cotton sheets.

Still, it wasn't able to fully block out the lingering reminder of their flight only a few days later.

The days seemed to fly by and the hours leading up to the airport were slow as molasses. It was nice to watch the meticulous way Shane packed for a trip. He placed more underwear in his bag than there were days on the trip and when Ilya asked if he planned to shit himself fourteen times, Shane just kicked him out of the bedroom.

Ilya didn't have much to pack. A few silk shirt he'd always brought with him for clubs but felt weird to leave without, worn jeans, cheap shirts. Anything that wouldn't draw a comment from his family.

Then remembered that wasn't why he was going and packed some of his designer track pants.

The flight itself was mostly a blur of noises and sounds. A few were perfect: Shane in the large seat next to him, face buried in a book of Russian slang and carefully sounding out each syllable until a glance to his side had him nodding and moving on. Ilya smiled only because both the book and his mother were old compared to the slang he knew was used now. Still, he didn't have the heart to stop him.

"That can't be what that means." Shane huffed and turned away from where he must have been talking with his mama and pointed to his book. "Does this really mean…?"

"I don't know Shane, this book was published before I was born."

Shane huffed. "Oh fuck! Irina, I'll sound like an idiot—"

his boyfriend's face scrunched up, face twisted in pain and the smoothed out as he began to chat again.

"What was that?" Ilya demanded.

"What?"

"That face. Your nose was all—" Ilya emulated him and Shane's confusion lingered.

"Nothing, just a man screaming. Heart attack I think, or maybe a part of this plane was used after an accident. I can't always tell. " Shane explained and then went back to chatting with his mama.

Ilya was left with the prickling knowledge that there was a whole other world Shane was privy to and how to him it was standard. How Shane hadn't lost his mind yet was beyond him.

It was when the plane landed and the door opened that something his stomach seemed to both clench and release. The air was different, maybe, or maybe it was the way the world seemed to shift as the signs and the music and the talking was all in Russian.

It wasn't like flipping a switch, it was more like waves. For a few minutes as he was explaining his and Shane's business relationship to a bored looking attendant, he could feel the shape of the words in English before they slid out in Russian. Disorienting and upsetting, the way he felt almost like an outsider in his own fucking county.

More than one person recognized them but Shane had planned for that. Not really, more like both Yuna and his mama had convinced him that it was good to tell people who he was and why he was there so that they could spread the rumor instead of a fake, PR sounding post. The young girls and set of teenage boys all seemed to buy it. A few of the older fans didn't seem to understand but Ilya figured from their bricks for phones, anything they posted wouldn't gain much traction.

"This is crazy!" Shane's eyes hadn't settled on any one thing since they stepped off the plane.

"You've been to Europe before."

"Yeah, where they spoke English or French." Shane was getting looks, but Ilya didn't know if it was because of his use of English or his status as a celebrity, or simply how he looked or who he was with. "I'm only getting like every third word. And I can barely read the signs!"

"Ah, finally something Shane Hollander can not do." Ilya pointed at a sign. "That is for the bathrooms."

"Thank you, the clear pictures were no help." Shane huffed as they slid out of the last checkpoint and into the muggy summer air.

Around them Moscow came alive. There were cars zipping past and people with the comforting flow of uninterested faces. Smiling had been a learned response in Boston, all of America really, and somehow it felt more honest as not the taxi driver or doorman smiled as they helped get them to Svetlana's apartment.

Shane leaned forward and politely asked the driver about one of the large Stalin-era statues out the window and the driver flashed him a raised eyebrow. Ilya muttered back, "Canadian" and then let the man, in brisk, clipped phrases, explain.

Shane listened but Ilya could tell it was with half an ear. His whole body was a single live wire, shaking and zinging as they drove. His eyes never settled on one thing, popping from one spot to another to another, hand going a mile a minute on his knee.

"Are you alright?" Ilya asked in English.

Shane flashed him a false smile. "Of course."

Ilya dropped it, Shane was not one to be vulnerable in front of an audience. By the time they pulled up in front of the building, Shane had stretched out the hem of his shirt from tugging at it and his bottom lip was bright red from his teeth. The driver pulled their bags from the trunk and Ilya slapped a bill in his hands and with a shared nod, they parted. Ilya had missed the clean simplicity of his homeland.

"Will you tell me what's wrong now?" Ilya asked on the elevator and Shane just shook his head and kept his eyes on the numbers as they climbed towards the penthouse.

When Ilya opened the door with a key he knew the hiding place for, Shane walked in behind him and then stopped when two brown heads popped up from the couch.

"Ilushka!" Sveta yelled and threw herself over the back of the couch and into his arms. Ilya knew the contours of her body almost as well as he knew his own, and her arms were strong as they locked around him. "Hi, Shane."

"Hello, Svetlana, thank you for letting us stay with you."

"Polite boy." Sveta said, pleased. "Come in, come in!" Then, "this is our friend Sasha."

Shane nodded politely and in his cute accented Russian, "Glad to meet you."

"Ah, at last, another with an accent!" Sasha stood, or more like poured himself off the cushions, and wandered over with the easy grace of a prowling jungle cat. Ilya watched Sasha watch him before his eyes drifted coolly over to Shane. "I live in France for ten years and now all anyone can say is how my accent changed."

Shane opened his mouth and said something in French. It had always been hot to watch Shane flip between his languages, more so when Sasha gave a delighted yelp, the real one that meant he was actually surprised.

"Ah, a man after my own heart!" Sasha threw an arm over Shane's shoulder and gave him a little shake. Ilya wanted to pry his fingers off Shane's bicep. "Where have you been hiding him, Ilya?"

"We need to unpack." Ilya said instead and Shane folded into himself to slip out of Sasha's hold.

"It was nice to meet you." Shane, ever the Canadian, muttered behind them as they marched up the stairs to Sveta's guest rooms. She had two and while they had decided to at least make it look like both were occupied, Ilya pulled Shane into the first one before his boyfriend could get into his own head and try and sleep separately.

"They seem nice." Shane said. "I'm glad you had friends that would have your back around here."

Ilya didn't say anything, instead he unpacked his bag for something to do. Ilya never did this in hotels and Shane must have known that because suddenly he was in front of him, eyeing the folded pile of shirt with the unwavering look of a terrier locked on a ball. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Is not really important." Ilya wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation in a room not too far away from them. He didn't want to give Sasha the satisfaction of thinking he'd caused a rift. Then Shane turned, looking intently at the air and then back to him with even more furrowed brows.

"Why is your mom trying to brush over this?" Shane demanded. "Just tell me."

"You first." Ilya turned it back on him. "In the car, your hands were shaking."

"I asked you first." Shane said snarkily.

"I asked you second." Ilya shot back and Shane rolled his eyes. Giving in, Ilya said delicately, "Sasha was my coach's son."

Shane face went through three clear steps. The first confusion, then understanding, then a final look that Ilya could only think was processing. The head tilt was back, eyes looking into the middle distance as his beautiful brain wound itself into knots.

"Nothing has happened in years, not since before Sochi." Ilya explained quickly. Shane's eyes locked on his, he knew how rarely Ilya brought up that winter and could name the times on one hand.

Shane opened his mouth to say something then whipped his head around so quickly Ilya was surprised it didn't give a pop, mouth open and then snapping back to him with a gasping demand, "Drugs, Ilya?"

For a single crystalline moment, Ilya wanted to throw himself out a window rather than dredge up all of this with Shane. Let alone in front of his mama who apparently had been there for all the lowest of his lows.

"I—" Ilya was at a loss for words and felt absurdly like crying. "After mama, I got into partying. There were older people who could get you things and I—"

Ilya thought about switching to Russian, maybe the words would be easier to get out then, but it also felt too personal, too intimate, and liked the distance English afforded him. It also meant he could think more intently on the words to use and not the way Shane's face twitched up in anger.

Ilya knew Shane thought himself a kind and generous person, and by and large he was, but Shane also had a judgmental streak a mile wide and Ilya had been on the wrong side of it more times than he cared to admit. This one, though, felt particularly tender.

Shane didn't say anything, his face all scrunched up in uncertainty, clearly split between looking at his mama who was clearly talking to him and to look Ilya in the eye when he demanded an explanation. Ilya didn't know which was worse, knowing he'd let Shane down or that his mama had been there for every one of those degrading nights when Ilya plied himself with anything to get out of his own head.

"Are you…clean, now?" Shane ground out. He wasn't looking at Ilya, but at the buttons on his shirt. Without thinking, he reached out and lifted Shane face so that their eyes could meet.

"I have not touched a drug in years. Not since we won the Cup."

"You did drugs with the Cup!" Shane demanded and that managed to get a laugh out of Ilya, even as Shane's face went blurry through his tears.

Leave it to Shane to be more insulted that his boyfriend had defiled the Stanley Cup than that he'd been a purveyor of drugs in his youth.

Strong hands landed on either side of his jaw, gentle fingers rubbing at the soft skin under his eyes, wiping away the tears.

"I—I didn't mean…" Shane leaned in. "I'm sorry, Ilya. You were just a kid. It's okay."

It wasn't. But it felt nice to have Shane's hands on his face, holding him up. He leaned his whole head down into Shane's palm and felt like purring when he just held it. Shane was strong enough to hold them both up.

"Many players have drug problems." Ilya said softly.

He'd seen more than his fair share. Boys coming in at eighteen with a million dollar contract and a team to impress. The stress on veterans to push out another year, keep up their stats, just needing another couple months, then a couple more after that. People like Ilya, who liked to get out of their heads for ten fucking minutes.

"I don't think I've ever seen one?" Shane questioned and Ilya tried not to let his voice sound cutting.

"Davis from the Nomads? Saunders out of Vegas. Kent always seems chipper at his parties and all the girls in his photos have white marks on their stomachs or chests." Ilya led him alone, watching the realization creep into his eyes. "That rookie of yours—Gregs on your third line? Never wonder why he gets so twitchy by the third period?"

"No." Shane said but his face was pale. Ilya wanted to stop, but Shane's hands were still on his face, he hadn't stepped away. Ilya let his head fall onto Shane's shoulder. "If everyone was doing it…" Shane trailed off but Ilya knew how the question would end. Why did Ilya stop?

I got something to live for would sound corny but wasn't necessarily untrue. Maybe something closer to I had someone I didn't want to disappoint.

Shane didn't look disappointed now, he just looked sad.

"I'm sorry." Ilya whispered.

"I can't lose you." Shane said back and Ilya was confused now.

"What?"

"Do you know how many people die from an overdose every day?" Shane asked. Ilya didn't but he figured Shane did. "Hundreds. Thousands by suicide, millions from random fucking accidents. So many people unfulfilled, angry, grieving, lost. And I see them all, Ilya." Shane's voice was sharp, that tone he got as a captain giving orders. "You can't end up like them. You can't."

Shane didn't frame it as a question.

"Is that what you were seeing?" Ilya considered.

"I hate European cities, did I ever tell you that?" Shane cut in. "The countryside was fine but I fucking hated Paris, the food was too rich and everything was small and made of cold stone. But it's also so fucking old."

Ilya didn't know where he was going, just satisfied to feel hands wrap around his neck and tug at the tight curls along his scalp.

"I should have known Moscow would be the same. So many wars and things in one singular place do that, make a location just flooded with ghosts." Shane jerked his chin towards the window. "Lots of soldiers, you can tell by their helmets. Lots of girls who avoid them. So many kids. Fuck, Ilya, and so many that couldn't move, just stare at me out of skeletal, starving faces—"

Shane shook himself and Ilya realized that the history of his home town had always been in the past. He'd never had to confront it the way Shane had to.

"Is too much?"

"No, I can handle it. Just a lot of misery in this city."

Ilya smirked at that. On that they could agree.

Both cleaned themselves up, Ilya letting Shane come at him with a mineral oil makeup wipe and trying not to show how much the pampering appealed to him. Based on Shane's soft smile, he was not subtle enough.

Sveta had not said a thing about the slight shine to his face and shifted over so that he could sit down next to her. Sasha was on the lounge chair, eyeing Shane the way one would a canapés tray.

Sveta had them lay out their itinerary which Yuna had organized. Shane seemed most excited for the short training day where local teams were being bussed in to Ilya's local ring for a meet-and-greet to promote the Irina Foundation. Some palms had to be greased but Ilya had done worse things for worse reasons than to make Shane smile. Ilya had been looking forward to nothing but going home and maybe seeing Sveta again.

She and Shane got on like a house on fire and Ilya stepped out onto Sveta's balcony when they got a little too into a discussion about the playoffs and her thoughts on how sloppy she found everyone on his team but him. Sasha followed, leaning onto the banister and lighting a cigarette. He offered one to Ilya who waved it off and then playfully blew the fist drag of smoke into his face.

"Has he domesticated the great Russian bear, then?" Sasha teased but he notably didn't lean into Ilya's space.

Sasha looked objectively good, neatly combed hair and clothes steamed until there was not a single wrinkle in his silk shirt, but there was a weight to his shoulders and bags under his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Sasha smiled, the real one which pulled up his cheek and showed off his slightly crooked teeth he hated people seeing. "Teddy bear more like."

Ilya raised and eyebrow and Sasha gave a massive sigh. "Got a call from papa, all about your return home, how I need to learn responsibility, step up and come home. You really make things incontinent, Ilushka." Sasha hummed and turned so his back was to the railing. "If you weren't so pretty to look at, I might get annoyed."

"Haven't you heard, I'm domesticated now?" Ilya tilted his head, subtly pointing to Shane's back who was passionately arguing his second line hadn't nearly sabotaged their chance at the Cup in game two.

"I see that." Sasha's smirk was back, but it was weaker, more performative than earnest. "Why'd you come back? I never thought you'd step foot in this place after your dad."

"Apparently I have to say goodbye."

"What a Western idea."

Ilya laughed and nodded. "That is what I said but—"

"But what?" Sasha asked.

Ilya couldn't say that his dead mother told him to do this, that it was the only true gift he had left to give her. Instead he said, "I have to say goodbye to mama."

Sasha understood that better than most. His mom left too, it was just the country and not the mortal plane and she did it because her husband was not rich enough and the Spaniard she met on vacation in Paris was.

"How is your mama?" Ilya asked, not sure they were still this type of friend but maybe being in Canada for a while had rubbed off on him.

Sasha looked at him like he expected a punchline and seemed confused when he couldn't find it. "Fine. Happier, I think, not that she calls. My half-sister just turned six."

Ilya nodded and wished he'd said yes to the cigarette. Sasha looked around a bit uncertain too. "So…how's hockey?"

"You want to talk about hockey?" Ilya asked incredulously.

"I want to not talk about my mom leaving, so sure, hockey."

"Are you talking about hockey?" Sveta popped her head out and then Shane followed and it seemed to Sasha's dismay they were back to discussing the playoffs.

Still, the atmosphere was not as tense as he was expecting and there was even a slight camaraderie to the conversation even if Shane planted himself firmly between Sasha and Ilya, an act which seemed to amuse Sasha and turn Ilya on a little.

Someone, maybe Ilya, probably Sveta, got out the bottle of vodka and poured shots. Now that she knew they weren't needed until noon tomorrow, is was a night down memory road. She poured and told stories about them as kids and Shane seemed to suck them up like a sponge.

Someone, probably Sasha the Traitor, pulled out his phone and a collection of old Polaroids he'd squirreled away before he'd left the country. Shane seemed enamored with them, swapping numbers to share them even when Ilya tried to steal his phone.

"We're out of vodka, Ilya go get some." Sveta called as she shuffled cards. Her words were slurring and Shane, tipsy, had swayed forward and watched her lips to distinguish her garbled Russian.

"Why me?"

"You're rich." Sveta and Sasha said together and so Ilya stood and gave Shane a look he missed. Sveta didn't.

"We'll take good care of your boy, promise!" Sveta started dishing out cards. "Shanya, let's teach you how to play Durak."

"Isn't that—"

The door closed behind him as Ilya stomped down the stairs and he laughed, imagining Shane tackling the game with the same drive he did hockey. The roads around Sveta's apartment were familiar, as was the gentle brush of cold air along his arm. The chatter was familiar, the unique bland of spices in the food stalls, even the conversations. Ilya could have been walking this road ten years ago, a foot shorter and still unsure about the weight he was carrying.

For a moment, Ilya closed his eyes and pictured what Shane might have seen under those streetlights. He should have asked what she was wearing. Shane had started describing them at his mama's behest and so Ilya imagined her like he'd been told she'd looked, hair loose and in a springy sundress because the weather was nice. The familiar buzz of alcohol had his head spinning and he wanted to look to his side and see her, young like in his memories or older, like she'd have been if she'd lived. He was unsure which would be more painful.

There was a liquor store down the street abutting a club which had young people spilling out onto the sidewalk in various stages of undress. Girls hung heels over their fingers and men had balled up their jackets under arms, hands pulling friends towards them and up off the ground. Ilya stepped around them and right as he passed the door, it swung open and he could see into the heart of the club.

He'd been there before, a familiar haunt for Sveta and him when he'd driven into the city proper to stay the night with her. The bar ran along side the whole club and the pounding bass of familiar Russian metal songs rolled out as one of the girls propped the door open to fix her dress.

There were pictures they'd taken the first time he and Sveta and Sasha had gone into a club; Ilya had absolutely looked fourteen, but they'd let him in and taken a cursory glance at his fake id and poured him the shots he'd asked for. He'd been a kid but the girls had either not cared or been too drunk to notice. He'd liked the attention, Ilya remembered that, the first soft hands on his that weren't Sveta's in years.

Club rat, that was what he'd been called in those first few years in Boston when he went out nearly every night. He'd liked the name, felt it deep into the night when his shirt stuck to his back and there were people on every side, pressing in, grounding him.

For a moment, Ilya watched the whole club move, hands going up when the song called for it and then, like a wave, they dropped and Ilya saw a flash of himself at fourteen standing in the middle of then all, watching him.

A decade and a half between them. Something in his stomach rolled like the gyrating bodies, feeling too much like the need to vomit.

The girl wondered off and the door slammed closed and Ilya was alone on the street. He was breathing heavy.

The faintest chill trickled up from his fingertips and Ilya let out a stuttering breath and turned towards the little bodega to grab the cheapest bottle of vodka he could find.

~~~

Shane knew something had happened, even when Ilya tried to play it off. It was only as they were brushing their teeth and he was mourning their double vanity back in Ottawa did he see how dark the bags under his eyes were. It was no wonder Shane looked worried.

His boyfriend laid a delicate hand on Ilya's shoulder, just over where his new tattoo was still healing, the leftover ink and skin flaking off in dark, sticky lines.

"I'm not blowing you after I've brushed my teeth." Shane warned but it was weak. Ilya was going to push his luck when Shane rinsed and asked, "What happened when you were out?"

"Did mama say something?" Ilya asked.

"Was there something to say?" That was Shane's new phrase and Ilya was growing to fucking hate it.

"No." Ilya said and at the worry Ilya could almost feel taking over Shane's face, he gave, "Stopped outside a club I used to go to. Thought about what mama might have seen when I was young."

"She didn't say anything when you came back." Shane offered but he couldn't know about young Ilya, needy Ilya, who'd latched onto people and then left them. Who'd taken things into his mouth and under his tongue to feel anything other than empty.

"Was nothing." Ilya shrugged and Shane, loving, caring Shane, believed him.

~~~

Ilya knew objectively that he was fairly popular in Russia. Hockey was a long standing tradition in his country and even overseas, his face was plastered across storefronts and on products he had no idea he endorsed.

"Yuna would have a field day." Ilya muttered in English when Shane was trying to chat with a street vendor whose sign proclaimed that Ilya ate there every day while he was training but the proprietor didn't look twice at Ilya when he ordered.

Shane found it hilarious.

Ilya liked watching Shane crouch down along the sidewalk with the sticky, saucy mess of shashlik or a sweet or savory blini when he was "being bad." That Shane took so well to Russian cuisine was not surprising so much as it was pleasing to Ilya and the walk to the rink was meandering on one of the few times he could remember taking time to enjoy what exactly his city looked like.

"How do you think they lifted that statue up there?" Shane asked and, "Wow, look at how they installed those windows."

It was endlessly charming and still not enough to press down the building horror of his home rink rising up in front of him.

He'd been back before of course, but never with this much fanfare, not since the Olympics. Still, there was press standing outside, all from government approved publications with the TASS reporter out front. Next to him, Shane had reverted back into a talking automaton, smiling and waving and crouching down for photos. Ilya was doing the same but he kept a keen eye on his boyfriend, watched as the girls who wanted to be with him and the boys who wanted to be him, and maybe the inverse as well, all stare with stars in their eyes.

It only got worse when Shane opened his stupidly perfect mouth and his adorably accented Russian slipped out. Then the squealing started, and the rapid-fire questions that he was juggling, polite distant smile still plastered on his face.

Ilya hadn't realized he might be disappointed to share that accent with the world, but as his cheerful Russian greeting was recorded, he found he was.

The kids inside were in a nice neat line that nearly vibrated as Shane and Ilya passed by, handing out pre-signed trading cards and fist bumps. They only had a handful of hours on the ice, but they tried to make the most of it and Ilya found it really only made him more excited for the camps.

Shane seemed overwhelmed within minutes. He nodded a lot, but his vision kept skittering along the boards with that distracted way he never had on the ice. Ilya was distracted by the men at each door, watching with cold distant eyes for—something. Anything. Ilya pushed down the same fear he'd felt all those years ago when he'd yelled at on of the young players on Team Russia's roster and one of the cool-eyed men had harshly informed him he was a minister's son and to watch his tone.

In the privacy of his own mind, unable to even voice the joke to Shane or even Sveta who might understand it, Ilya wondered how the propaganda machine would spin this visit after his—

Defection, he supposed. The word felt heavy even trapped in his skull.

"Hollander?" Ilya called out and people turned to watch their interaction. "Should we give them a show?"

Shane smirked and set off a racing competition that Ilya clenched maybe in part due to how he knew the ice better here. There were newer, nicer rinks in the richer parts of the city, but this had been his home for years and Ilya had found himself on this ice.

After a million photos and his hand cramping, they finally were released by their Russian handlers around six and Ilya only felt slightly bad about leaving when the kids gave a massive, collective goodbye which almost rattled the rafters.

"Did mama distract you?" Ilya asked after they'd been bundled up in a car and shuttled to a local restaurant to pick up their dinner.

"What?" Shane glanced over at him.

"You kept looking at the boards. I figured mama was making faces again."

"No." Shane said calmly. "That's an old rink. It must have been used as an air raid shelter during the war, or maybe a triage hospital."

Ilya let that thought settle in and his stomach clenched painfully. It had been, Ilya thought, there were photos of nurses in stark, utilitarian uniforms in the old foyer behind dusty trophies. Ilya had never bothered to actually read the little plaques.

Now it was at the forefront of his mind in the days that followed. They walked the squares with sun glasses and ball caps, Shane getting a few looks, some appreciative and others derogatory when he instinctively flipped his around like an American jock. Each cathedral he thought about the holy relics, wondered if Shane saw gilded floating heads or if the shattered finger bones of St. Nicolas would dance around when seen through Shane's eyes. Every church yard brought up thoughts of just how many dead his city was built on.

When he took a rather unenthused Shane to the Cosmonaut Museum, he was both dismayed and endeared to find Shane more interested in the building than the contents.

"Ilya, this is paper mache, if I wanted to see this, I'd rock up to an elementary school." Shane hissed and Ilya covered his smile with his hand. He really loved when Shane turned bitchy.

He stopped near one of the back rooms, hidden partially around the corner and Ilya opened his mouth to say—something, but Shane already knew because his mama knew too.

"Was this the room?" Shane asked softly. Of course his mama had told him.

"Yes."

"We should go in." It was phrased as a statement but sounded like a question.

"Yes."

Ilya pushed through the curtain and the little mockups of the animals seemed smaller now that he was fully grown. When he'd been a kid, they had seemed so heroic and large, and then there she was—little Laika.

"She looked more real when I was a kid." Ilya defended but Shane just nodded, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, a tell for when he wanted to reach out for Ilya.

"She looks brave."

Ilya nodded. The little diorama they mocked up did make her look brave, posed like the proud propaganda posters they used to be able to peel off old walls. But she was so small and Ilya felt the same then as he had at nine when his father had brought them out on a rare family trip.

Ilya had liked the animals, had stayed beside his mama as she read out their names. Alexei had trailed their father, glancing behind him every few minutes like he expected them to disappear around a space shuttle.

He could remember her hands, how they rubbed frantically at his cheeks when she'd told him Laika was a hero because Laika had died.

Ilya wailed and it was the first time his father had laid a hand on him. Yelling had been common but until his father's hand slapped across his cheek, Ilya hadn't know parents could hurt their children with more than words.

"You will not make a scene here, Ilya!" His father had had hissed.

Always worried about his image, his father.

"Look here."

Ilya turned and blinked quickly, pushing back the tears in favor of seeing where Shane was pointing. It was two more dogs, a pair.

"They brought them back." Shane's finger tapped the placard. "Belka and Strelka. They were strays too."

Ilya found that fitting. There were cameras here, and maybe microphones too, so Ilya could do nothing but stare at Shane with as much love as he could hope to beam out. Shane looked back, face so expressive Ilya felt warm just from the weight of it.

"Wanna get out of here?" Ilya asked finally.

"Thought you'd never ask."

They spent time in small shops and restaurants, ordering food for Shane to try and rate but that got boring when his taste buds seemed to only like the blandest of foods. That he also disliked the texture of sour cream didn't help matters and earned him more than a few side-eyes from the kitchens. They picked up carved Dymkovo whistles for the Pike children, an Orenburg lace shawl for Jackie, two Gzhel pots for the Hollanders Ilya had to stop Shane from buying from a scam stand instead of a more reputable shop, and a chotki Shane bartered with the stall owner to buy with such a cutting tone Ilya had to remind himself not to chub up in public.

Sveta had offered to take him clubbing and Shane had encouraged him to go, but Ilya thought again of his younger self and sent her out with Sasha who had a flight back to Paris in the morning. Instead they spent their second to last night tucked together in Sveta's guest bedroom with the blinds closed and their bodies pressed as close as they could get. They talked, about what they'd seen and where they had left to visit and eventually Shane circled back around to the topic Ilya had been hoping his boyfriend would let go.

"You haven't gone yet."

"Why do I need to?" Ilya asked. "She's still here."

Shane didn't say anything to it, but Ilya could hear the response Shane would have given: but she's also still dead.

But the last thing Ilya wanted to do was visit his mother's grave. The thought alone had him flinching away and he had little interest in examining why. Maybe because it seemed like his mama and Shane were dead set on it and Ilya wanted to be stubborn.

"I'll go tomorrow." Ilya offered.

"You said that today and we just got lunch and you took a million photos of birds."

"And stray cats and those two dogs." Ilya reminded him.

"And stray cats and two dogs, how could I forget." Shane allowed. "So, about her grave—"

Ilya gave a dramatic sigh that had Shane smacking his chest with the back of his hand. "Fuck off."

"Tomorrow." Ilya said again, this time serious. Shane could somehow tell the difference because his harsh little expression softened out and his chocolate eyes melted into the warm gooey puddles Ilya could stare at for hours. "I promise.

When tomorrow came, Ilya thought about trying to get out of it, but Shane had that tense jaw which told him that Ilya could either walk there on his own two feet or Shane would drag him there.

The car ride to the cemetery was quiet and blessedly short. The walk was familiar, and he noticed with a touch of sadness that the path he'd worn from the gravel walkway to the headstone had filled over with new grass.

There were no flowers on her grave, but there was a candle that looked to have been lit recently. Carefully, Ilya pulled out the ten lilies he'd gotten wrapped. He crouched but didn't kneel, looking around with little idea of what exactly he was suppose to do.

Because his mama wasn't here. Not only metaphorically but also in a metaphysical sense too.

"She's going to come with me." Shane had said softly that morning.

"With…you?" Ilya had turned. "I should wait?"

"No, no. She wants you to go."

"To see her headstone. Alone." Ilya clarified and Shane nodded.

He hadn't thought about how strange it would be to sit there and look at the stone and know whatever remained of his mother wasn't buried there, but following his boyfriend around Sveta's apartment talking about whatever it was they talked about when Ilya wasn't in earshot but which he knew was mostly about him.

Still, looking over his shoulder and then back at the etched Cyrillic lettering of his mother's name, there was a deep, aching, familiar pain under his ribs.

"Hi mama." Ilya whispered and knew she wasn't there, but he felt the need to say them anyways.

There was a small waterproof frame on the stone that someone, probably one of his great aunts who'd stopped coming into Moscow when his mama died, had put up. He'd forgotten how young she was. She'd been a mother for four years when she was Ilya's age. That thought rattled around in his brain for a beat too long. It felt safe here, where there were no solemn faced men watching, no tracking once he stepped outside of the car to a place he was expected anyways, and no state-ran phone to record his words.

"I met a boy." He stuttered out, unsure of what exactly he was doing but it felt right, telling the version of his mother that he had loved and lost about the life he'd taken for himself. "His name is Shane. I love him."

Each word was quiet and heavy, and Ilya shoved his face into his knees when he realized he was crying.

The version of his mother buried here was gone. She'd been gone for over a decade, and Ilya had to let that version of her go. He couldn't keep carrying the grief, it felt like it might suffocate him. His mama laughed now, watched movies and went on trips, dated French ghosts. He hadn't left her behind or abandoned her, she wasn't still in that house that closed in around her until it swallowed her whole.

She wasn't here.

Ilya stood and gently fixed the flowers in the small mounted pot, softly brushing the petals of the lilies his mother had always loved, and then made his way along the down turned grass and out of the cemetery.

The florist was happy to see him again, seemed a bit startled when Ilya asked how much money would need to be put down for a ten year delivery of monthly lilies and then seemed to notice how red Ilya's eyes were and rang him up for a small fortune.

Ilya didn't know what would happen when they inevitably came out or were outed. Maybe this kind shop owner would sneer and refuse to deliver the bundle of lilies to the grave of a traitorous invert's mother. Or maybe he would take the time each month to bundle them up in brown paper and twine, brush away the leaves, and keep the stone company for a beat before moving on. But Ilya couldn't control that so instead the tapped his card and nodded and then left.

The air was warming up and by the time Ilya opened the door to Sveta's apartment, he'd already had to strip out of his jacket. The large mirror over the console table in the small entrance way caught the flash of his new ink and he touched the loon carefully.

He thought of Shane poking at it, rubbing scentless lotion onto the skin even after it had healed. Ilya had already been told he wasn't allowed in the lake that summer even though the tattoo artist had said it was fine at this point.

"Should I get another tattoo?"

Silence greeted him and he peeked around the divider into the empty living room. There was no noise from upstairs or even from the pipes that, even in a building this new and fancy, still rattled when the water pressure started kicking in. "Shane?"

"He went out. I thought with you." Sveta called from the loungers on the balcony.

"He left?" Ilya looked around, half worried that he'd run off, but that didn't make any sense.

"Tore out of here not to long after you." She was smoking and Ilya couldn't help but miss the lax restrictions on weed in Canada. He reached out his fingers and Sveta, with the most infinitesimal hesitation, passed it to him, but not without chiding, "Thought you quit."

"Thought you were less nosy."

"You thought wrong."

Ilya huffed and let out a long line of smoke. "Long day."

"You know…" Sveta started and Ilya knew no good could come from this. "I walked past your room last night. I thought I heard Shane say your mother's name."

Ilya hadn't successfully kept a secret from Sveta for more than ten minutes since he was twelve and it seemed that streak wouldn't be broken today because she sat up and shot him a sharp look. "He talks to your mother?"

"Ah—" Ilya, known for his sharp tongue, felt chastised. "Yes."

"Was that a question or statement?"

"Whatever gets you off my back?" Ilya shot back when Sveta glared at him. "We both talk to her."

That did it. Sveta's shoulder's loosened and the stubborn tilt to her head vanished and left behind was the little girl who'd lost the only woman in her life since her own mother left. Ilya pushed her over and sat down, looking out onto the familiar peeks of brutalist buildings and arched red roofs. "Do you not talk to her?"

"Sometimes." Sveta allowed.

Ilya wondered if his mother had ever been there for them. They had been close when Ilya was young and while Sveta's father had not been happy about it, not when he'd been hoping she'd bond with his new wife, he'd never banned his daughter from coming over to dinner or out to the shops with them. Speaking of, Ilya whispered conspiratorially, "Do you remember when we stole those medovik from that shop?"

"I thought your mother would throw us into the lake." Sveta laughed. "I'd forgotten about that."

Ilya wanted to tell her that his mama hadn't actually been mad, she'd paid the man before they'd left but hadn't wanted to ruin their fun. When Shane had recounted the story, Ilya had felt strangely distant from the memory, like it had been happening to a different kid.

The door handle rattled and Ilya watched Shane slip in, jumping a bit as he spotted them. "Hey."

"Where did you go?" Ilya asked, keeping his voice soft and neutral.

Shane's eyes cut to Svetlana and Ilya knew it hadn't been Shane who wanted to go out.

Sveta dropped it like the angel she was, offering to grab them dinner. "It'll take me forty minutes. Clear whatever this is up in that time."

The door sounded especially loud when it closed behind her.

"Did you see him?" Ilya asked, voice tight. His whole body felt tight, even his vocal cords.

"He's her son." Shane said softly, head titled in a way that gave away where his mama was.

"Yes, what a good son he was." Ilya hissed and then the exhaustion seemed to seep out of him, choke him. Made him want to cry. "Used to laugh with papa about how often she cried."

"He was just a kid, Ilya." Shane said softly. "You were just a kid too."

Ilya very much didn't want to talk to Shane about his brother. He'd been happy to never think of Alexei again.

"Irina said he used to make you dinner then leave it outside your door. You thought it was your mom but it was him." Shane said and Ilya felt the urge to walk out like Shane had all those years ago. It felt too close here with the little tapouchkie on the stand where Shane had instinctively kicked off his shoes and slid on the slippers because Ilya had the same brand at his home and Shane had even bought a matching set for his apartment in Montreal. "He's a piece of shit, no Irina, I won't say that, he is! But if—when you lose Russia, I want to give you any connection to it I can. And if that's a dead beat brother, then fine!"

Ilya was biting his cheek so hard that he could feel the soft skin break under his teeth. His whole mouth was flooded with the copper tang of blood.

Shane had taken a breath but didn't seem inclined to stop any time soon. "I talked to him for Irina and for a future you if you ever wanted a relationship with him or your niece. If you don't, fine, but…I want you to make that choice, not have that choice made for you."

His boyfriend was unrepentant, standing straight backed with a stubborn little flex to his jaw that Ilya wanted to rub against and watch unclench.

"Say something, Ilya. Please." Shane pleaded.

Ilya tried but he didn't know what he even wanted to say. What words in either of the languages he knew could be enough to explain the complicated weaves of pain and loss and love that made up his heart?

That he'd eaten the poorly made borscht and never known that his mama might have been too weak to get out of bed to make it and that his asshole of a brother had done it instead, leaving it on a tray outside his room. Ilya almost hated him more for that. His hatred was pure, love only muddled things.

"I wish things were simple." Ilya eventually said. "Us and Russia and hockey."

"I do too." Shane whispered back. His hand jerked up like it wanted to rub away Ilya's tears.

"Lets go to bed?"

Shane nodded and it was easy to allow the routine of it to wipe away the almost-fight which fizzled out the moment he got Shane into his arms.

Their final day dawned with a grittiness to his eyes and a dry mouth, maybe from crying. Shane didn't say anything, just ran a cotton pad over the bridge of his nose and along his chin, the smell of mineral oil strong under his nose. Ilya didn't have much of a set routine for skin, only his hair, and it had felt nice to be folded into Shane's.

As if hesitating to say anything, Shane avoided Ilya's eyes. "What is it?"

"Irina wants to go to the apartment."

Ilya had known she would. Ever since Shane had been promised Ilya's baby pictures, Shane had been on her side. Ilya would have rather taken a puck to the groin without a cup than step foot in that place again.

"I forgot to grab the photos while I was there. I'll just go tomorrow by myself." Shane said apologetically. "How many properties does your family own?"

"Mr. Real Estate. Do my property holdings get you hard? I have a nice place in Boston, maybe I could show you?" Ilya muttered and it got a smile out of Shane. "Three, maybe. My father's estate outside of town. We moved there after my mother's death, big promotion to show off, just when his health started failing. It was easier to hide the doctors coming and going. There is my apartment I gave to Alexei, and then there is the apartment my grandfather left to my father. We lived there until I was twelve."

"I think your sister-in-law lives in your old apartment." Shane explained as he pulled out his jade roller. "Your brother lives in your old apartment, then. Why not a new place?"

They had been something approaching happy when Ilya was young, when his parents each had their own lives to retreat back into, but to think of his brother stuck in that small apartment with it's squat ceilings and ancient wiring that flickered when too many things were plugged in was unbelievable. Then again, it had been the only thing their father had given to him in the will. Maybe that was it.

"Good for her." Ilya hummed, finally allowing himself to think about the pale specter his sister-in-law had faded into in his head, leaning his face out so that Shane could get a few passes along Ilya's neck. "Think she would leave him for a nicer place? Asking for a friend."

"I don't know her." Shane huffed, missing the joke in such an endearing way that Ilya risked pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's check even knowing exactly how Shane would respond. "Ilya! I have product on!"

His mouth tasted of expensive serum. He didn't lick his lips, letting the slight burst of citrus tingle along his tongue as he dressed and ate breakfast and avoided Sveta's eyes when she saw they hadn't touched the food she's left in the fridge for them the night before.

The drive was horrifically short and the door didn't even have the courtesy of sticking. Shane had seemed worried when Ilya had stepped out with him. growing more concerned the closer they got to the door and even stood before the familiar numbers looking at Ilya like he expected him to dart back to the car. They'd left their phones with Sveta, unsure of if he could be tracked with them and with an abundance of caution anywhere that wasn't Sveta's apartment or on their government approved travel plans.

"You don't have to come in." Shane pushed but Ilya just reached up to the loose brick where they had always kept the spare key.

"It's smaller than I thought." Shane explained after his mama had given them the all clear to open the door.

"Not exactly a cottage?" Ilya asked and Shane smacked his stomach with the back of his knuckles. "Seemed bigger when I was young."

"She says they're over here." Shane picked his way over the dust covered carpet to the door he knew was there but couldn't look at. Alexei hadn't changed much, and that alone made a lump stick in his throat. The tv had been replaced, but the solid wooden stand was the same, the same dents and scratches. In the display case the rose fabric held their crowns his incredibly devout grand mother had made. Two photos, one of his mama in her long gown, and one of her and his papa on the steps of their church. Neither was smiling. Between the frames and covered in a fine dust was their glass, expensive crystal broken in only three places.

"What's that?"

Ilya nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned and saw Shane peaking over his shoulder at the case with interest. Ilya rubbed his nose and pointed at the plastic case holding the shards. "Is tradition. Couple breaks a glass. More pieces, more happiness."

"There's only three pieces." Shane pointed out.

"Good observation. Must be those keen hockey eyes."

Shane glanced over his shoulder. "I need to keep looking. Do you want to help?"

"No." Ilya muttered and when Shane dipped into that room, the only room that was untouched by the alcohol bottles and spills by high druggies, Ilya turned away and started at the sharp crystal. Without thinking, he hissed a quiet, "Gorko."

Instead of looking at that horribly familiar doorway, he walked over to the ratty couch and it's yellowed cushions. One had needlepoint embroidery, maybe done by one of his aunts. It had a little bunny on it, and Ilya picked at the dusty thread as he heard Shane in his mama's room. His hands clenched around the pillow, echoing clicking of a door nob nearly a decade ago. The sound of a key. The hinges were silent. No, maybe they made some noises when the door slid open and saw—

"Did you find them?" Ilya demanded.

Shane said something but Ilya's chest felt constricted to the point that all he could see were the wonky curtains his mama had paid a local woman to sew when his papa had demanded new ones. "Something befitting my new position" he'd said. His mama couldn't sew, or not well, or maybe she did it to spite him. Ilya could ask. She was there right now. In a way.

"Ilya?"

Ilya was outside then, hands braced on the railing and looking down into the sticky gray square pock marked by manicured bushes and cultivated trees and a few barren spits of dirt. Hands were on him then and Ilya shook them off, hissing sharply in Russian, "not here."

Shane listened. They stood side by side, watching the sky grow steadily more overcast until the air was sticky with moisture.

"Do you want to see what I found?"

Ilya looked at him then. In his hands was an old yellowed shoe box. Inside was scattered beads, a few small medals, and many folded photographs.

With the care of an anthropologist clearing away a new dig, Ilya unfolded the topmost photo, breath catching at the sight of his mother, younger than he was now, holding a baby Alexei on her hip. Her face was full, cheeks ruddy and a smile on her face. The background was his aunt's dacha. Older photos were sprinkled throughout, his mother in a pale outfit, arms raised at center ice. Another of his aunt kneeling beside a heavily pregnant Irina. She was thin now. Himself as a baby, known in part due to his name written in neat Cyrillic on the back. Lots of Ilya.

The medals were marked with participation for Alexei, a small winner trophy for Ilya from his first hockey game at seven, and three with his mama's name under an embossed image of a figure skater. All for first place. Beside them were more photos, held down under what he thought might be his grandmother's wedding ring and a shiny rock he realized was a glossy hunk of amber.

Ilya, Six years old with his face pressed up against the glass of the local rink. Eight and in his first true hockey uniform, smiling with a missing front tooth he'd lost when Alexei had shoved him into a table. The missing tooth rattling around under it. Ten and sullen, his father gone more and more often, unfinished homework spread around his small body. Nothing after that.

His mama was a ghost in her own photos, hovering like an ectoplasm along the edges in the form of smudged fingers and soft reflections in mirrors. Ilya picked up one, Alexei and Ilya in their Sunday best and both wearing frowns as his mother made them pose next to each other. It must have been close to Christmas because in the mirror near the door was draped in string lights and showed the pale yellow halo of his mother's hair behind the blocky black box of her camera.

"Ilya."

He looked and his stomach dropped. Carefully, he took the photo Shane offered carefully.

It was at some sort of shoot, maybe a graduation or for one of her competitions, because she looked so young.

"She's beautiful." Ilya whispered.

"She looks just like you." Shane said and Ilya finally pulled his eyes from his mama's face to see the soft way Shane was looking at the photo too.

These photos were not for Shane. Shane could look at his mama any time he wished. These photos were for Ilya. He took out his trophy, one of his mother's, his baby tooth, the ring and the amber, and any of the photos with him and his mother before tossing the rest back into the entryway and closing the door.

"You're not taking it?" Shane questioned.

"No." He said, because saying she wouldn't want me too would have been too painful. More than that, it wasn't even for Alexei now. It was for the older brother who made him borscht, left the same brand of candles on her grave that she'd filled the house with when she was cleaning, and who kept nothing in his parent's wedding cabinet dusted but the picture of his mama. He left the memories for him.

Ilya turned to walk down the steps but did get out a stilted, "Thank you."

Shane glanced up at him and asked. "Did you not want to go back in?"

"No." Ilya said firmly. It was the truth. So was— "I want to go home now."

"Okay. Sveta mentioned a shop near her apartment—"

"No, Shane." Ilya couldn't hold his hand and seemed in that moment to feel like the biggest tragedy. "I'm ready to go home."

Ilya could see Shane realizing what exactly he meant and his lips tilted up in that private little smile he reserved just for Ilya.

"Then let's go home."

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading and if you're feeling up to it, drop a comment, I love hearing from everyone and I swear I'll be better at responding now!

Chapter 7

Chapter Summary

"I want to see him."

Shane sighed and pulled out his phone to pretend to take a call. "Ilya didn't—"

"Ilya is my son, but so is Alexei." She leaned in front of him. "I need to speak to him."

Chapter Notes

Yes, I know this is six months late, it has been a very weird last six months, if that helps anything!

I did actually have the first half of this chapter written already, I knew I wanted Irina in Russia and she had to talk to her son so this was actually the FIRST thing I wrote for this story, if you can believe it. I am also pretty proud of it, so there's that! This chapter does also deal with a lot of internalized homophobia from Shane, so it's tagged, just an FYI! I have the rest of the story actually planned out too, so hopefully updates won't be as sporadic as they have been.

Thank you to the people who left such kind, lovely comments asking for more of this universe! I took love Irina and I promise to finish this story!

Shane had thought he understood the difficulty of a language barrier. He'd only learned French after his first few years of school and had pushed his way through Irina's Russian crash course which was mostly just yelling at him until he understood her. None of that compared to being dropped into a country where you fundamentally could not keep up with everyone around you.

At the airport, in the taxis, at the small shops, everyone looked at him with a little furrow in their brow as he worked through his Russian vocabulary to get his point across. A few women at the nice Cafe they frequented seemed charmed by his accent and complemented his learning their language, but it also opened up a whole other can of worms that he hadn't expected.

"No, no, not from Mongolia." He said for the third time that day to the nice man wrapping up a scarf that Irina had insisted he buy for Rose.

"Not many from Japan speak Russian." Irina defended. She wore an identical version of the scarf he'd just purchased in a chic little knot around her throat.

"I'm Canadian and I'd prefer they not assume." Shane huffed but smiled when she came back to give him his change. "I do like how they don't expect small talk."

"See, Mr. Brightside!" Irina dodged another ghost, a soldier with half his face gone. Shane had seem more than his fair share of ghosts in Canada, but the concentration in some cities always annoyed him. Cities at the center of wars even more so.

"What are you skirting around?" Shane asked softly, not trying to draw more attention to him than he already had. "You keep avoiding it."

"I want to see him."

Shane sighed and pulled out his phone to pretend to take a call. "Ilya didn't—"

"Ilya is my son, but so is Alexei." She leaned in front of him. "I need to speak to him."

Shane didn't have anything to say to that.

Irina gave him the directions, directed them down streets and then into a parking lot filled with an eclectic mix of cars and smaller bikes and scooters. The apartments themselves were a boxy grey block of brick buildings snuggled between other equally boxy grey buildings. Some had little lights or folding chairs on concrete balconies, a few little banners for local sporting teams and Shane even saw a singular pendant for what looked like it might be the Bears.

“This way?” Shane clarified but Irina was looking up at a particular balcony where a white plastic chair sat. Even from the pavement, Shane could see the semi-circle of cigarettes which littered the ground directly below it. 

He took the stairs one at a time, trying both to think through what he was going to say and not wanting to think about a thing until he was forced to. He bit his lip and then it was too late and the door was in front of him. Irina was a cold line of air where she hovered behind him. Shane forced down the sick feeling in his stomach and knocked.

For a long moment, Shane was torn between dread and disappointment. He wanted no one to answer and also wanted to do this, for Irina if nothing else. All of this was circling his head when the door swung open.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ilya’s brother demanded in tense Russian.

Shane’s mouth opened but he didn’t exactly know what to say. Alexei didn’t look like him, was the thing. Somehow Shane had assumed the man would look like Irina, like Ilya, but he didn’t. He had a stronger, broader jaw, darker hair which fell over his forehead in greasy lank clumps instead of curls. The eyes though, those were the same.

“Uhm, my name is Shane.” He said in his stilted Russian. “I was hoping to talk to you?”

Alexei looked at him for a long moment and Shane could pinpoint the moment he recognized him. It was a hardening of his mouth and a coldness which looked wrong in those familiar eyes.

“What the fuck do you want?” He asked and then seemed to realize just how weird this was because he peeked out the door like he expected a camera crew or something. “How did you…?”

“Ilya doesn't know I’m here.” Shane said quickly, but just saying Ilya’s name was the wrong thing to do the way Alexei’s nose flared and he looked like he might start swinging, so Shane just blurred out the first thing he could think of: “It’s about your mother!”

For the first time in the short interaction, Alexei looked disarmed. It made him look younger, more afraid. Shane sighed.

“Please, let me in, let me say this, and then I can leave.” Shane racked his brain for the word. “Promise.”

Alexei didn’t say anything but he did step aside. Shane finally felt able to look over at Irina and found her haunted. She was pale and her cheeks looked hollowed, giving her face a skeletal look, and in her hands, she rolled the chotki around in her hands. She’d done that more since they’d been in Russia.

When he stepped into the apartment, it felt like walking through a haze of smoke. It had sunk into the wallpaper and with the yellow curtains, everything had a grimy appearance. Shane tried not to let his thoughts show on his face but Ilya had always said he was rather obvious and it seemed like Alexei caught one of his grimaces because he sneered, reaching for a discarded bottle of vodka.

The label was familiar and Shane had the discomforting realization that he and Ilya had the same taste in liquor. He wondered if their father drank it too.

“Your Russian is shit.” Alexei hissed, drawing out his syllables like Shane was an idiot. 

Shane couldn't help but snap back in English. “We could have this conversation in English if you think you could keep up.”

“Fuck you.” Alexei hissed in heavily accented English before muttering in Russian, “You here to threaten me? My faggot little brother sends his puck bunny to slap my wrist?”

Shane flinched at the word and Alexei saw it. He smiled and it was sharp and mean. Shane cut him off before he could dig his fingers into anymore bruises.

“I have a message from your mother.”

Alexei swallowed the heavy two finger pour and then paused like he didn’t understand Shane’s Russian. Then, when he realized Shane meant what he said, his face folded up in anger. “You mention my mother?”

“Shane…” Irina said softly and it was so pained and broken, so unlike any version of her that he’d seen before. She looked small.

“In your bedroom, in your nightstand, you have her chotki.” Shane said quietly. He’d looked through his new travel dictionary to make sure all of the words were right. “You grabbed it at the funeral when your brother got into a fight with your father.”

Alexei’s face was stuck in a twisted expression somewhere between horror and anger, like he didn’t know where to put it. “How did you…”

Shane, even having done this once, felt ill-equipped to do better this second time so he just said it. “This will sound crazy, but I can hear her.”

“Ha!” Alexei said sharply and then laughed again until it seemed to be ripped out of him, painful and long. “Too many pucks to the head? They make you stupid?”

“Oh, Alyósha…” Irina said softly. She was on the couch, looking at her son with tears in her eyes that she made no attempt to wipe away.

“I can tell you more.” Shane said but it was edging more into a threat than he thought Irina would want. “Maybe about your marriage? Or Liza?”

Liza was not the name of his wife but, according to Irina, the woman Alexei had kept an apartment for in the city proper. Well, Ilya paid to keep an apartment for, but Shane was feeling kind enough not to say that.

Alexei’s rage was back, this time it seemed to glow in him, a banked fire. The man’s hands clenched the way some hockey players’ did, itching for something to hit. Shane had the faint thought that Alexei might have played at some point. Probably quit when Ilya had proven to be so much better than him.

“Shane, don’t rile him up.” Irina said, but it was a quiet, pained thing, frightened of her own son, and that annoyed him more.

“She asked me to fly thousands of miles to tell you this because she loves you, the least you can do is listen.” Shane pushed. Alexei had not shaken off his anger but was trying to hide it behind a pathetic looking smirk. But most importantly, he hadn’t told Shane to stop. Shane looked over at where Irina was sitting. “She wanted to apologize. For that last night she yelled at you.”

Alexei’s smile wavered and Shane felt the faintest flicker of empathy.

“You were just doing what your father asked. She shouldn’t have said those things to you.” Shane tried to soften his voice but he didn’t even know what Irina had said but was wondering if she was just too nice a person because Alexei’s face grew more distant and cold the longer Shane spoke. “And…the picnic. You were only sixteen. You couldn’t know what she meant to do.”

“She hadn’t said she loved me in months before that.” Alexei said suddenly. “I should have known right then.”

Shane couldn’t reply to that and Irina was crying silently, her sobs muffled by the hand she’d shoved over her mouth.

“You were just a kid.” Shane said again, then, unbidden and thinking only by the haunted look Ilya got when his father was mentioned even in passing, Shane felt his voice grow soft and actually tender. “Your father–”

“You don’t know shit.” Alexei hissed and any crack in his facade was patched over. Instead, a mean man stood in front of Shane, finger pointed aggressively at him. “Fucking queer comes into my house and thinks he knows my family?”

“I know Irina, and I know Ilya. I know your dad was a piece of shit.” Shane said and Irina was standing now, eyes red and mouth dropped open in fear. It didn’t even slow him down. “I know you grew up to be just like him.”

Alexei tried to grab him by the lapels but Shane routinely threw around men with fifty pounds of muscle on the guy and it was simple to shove his arms down and then shove his hand into the soft skin above his collarbone. He choked a bit and Irina was calling out to him but Shane wasn’t listening. He was going to make Alexei listen. He gave the man a shake.

“You don’t touch me.” Shane said sharply. “I’m doing this as a favor for her. And you. She loves you. Deserve it.”

Shane shoved him back and Alexei stumbled, knocking over his side table and sending the bottle of vodka tumbling onto the floor. It didn’t break, just made pathetic little glug-glug-glug sounds as it spilled out onto the rug.

Alexei hissed and marched deeper into the apartment. For a minute Shane worried about weapons, frantically wondering how easy it was to get a gun in Russia or if he could get to one of those ugly throw pillows if Alexei pulled a knife on him, but then the man returned. His face was flushed red, his hair flopping down into his eyes and clutched in his hands was the chotki.

Shane felt the warm wood as it was shoved into his chest.

“This was what you wanted, yes?” Alexei demanded. “Ilya told you I have it and he wants it back? So you pull this shit?”

Shane looked down at the chotki. It was worn smooth in his palm, the little cross wonky on one side and the stain fading on the first few beads as if someone started the prayers but never finished them.

“Sure.” Shane said, because that was what Alexei wanted to believe.

“You got what you came for. Get the fuck out of my house.” Alexei demanded and when Shane hesitated, he screamed. “Get the fuck out!”

Shane went. The door clicked closed behind him and something hit the back of it. It sounded like the bottle of vodka from the crunch of glass.

Irina was by the railing, standing there letting the wind pick up her hair. Her hands fell limply by her sides and even from this distance, he could hear her crying. Shane didn’t know what to say, knew he shouldn’t have let his temper get to him, but he was an asshole. 

Shane sighed and walked up behind her. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.” Shane admitted slowly, fingers rubbing the divots between the beads. It was calming, he realized. “I know he’s your son.”

“He was sweet once.”

Shane couldn’t see it but then again, he knew Ilya. He smiled and that seemed to be the wrong thing to do too because the brave face she’d plastered on crumbled and her mouth tore open in an involuntary cry. Shane tried to comfort her without looking crazy to any weirdos or nosy neighbors, so he just followed her as she stumbled back to the brick wall and slid down to bury her face into her knees. 

“We never should have come.” Irina said softly, voice thick with tears. Her eyes were locked on the chotki when she gritted out, “I never should have left.”

Irina took in a deep, stuttering breath and then let her head hit the stone behind her.

“We should leave.” She finally said, defeated.

Shane’s finger was stuck on that fifth bead, worn smooth. “In a minute.”

Irina looked at him fully for the first time since she’d seen her son’s apartment. He could tell she wanted to ask but then they could both hear the sound of crunching glass and the frantic yanking of a handle.

Alexei tore out of the apartment and to the railing, looking down towards the parking lot and then turning to run before he saw Shane curled up along the wall. He went still. His eyes were red too, shaking and breathing heavily. Without a word, Shane held out the chotki.

Slowly, like he was afraid of it being a trick, Alexei reached out. Right before he touched it, he jerked back like he was frightened Shane might bite him, and then grabbed the beads and yanked it protectively to his chest. Alexei looked down at it, fingers flicking through each bead as if checking if Shane had damaged it in the five minutes he’d held it.

It was only when his thumb ran over the little cross, brushing along the worn edge meditatively, did he look up and seem to see Shane fully. With a bitterness to his frown and a sharp glare, he sank down a few feet away from Shane. Neither said a thing and Irina was silent too.

“Tell me about her.” Alexei said quietly. “Her…her laugh. Is it still…?”

“Mostly snorts? Yeah.” Shane said and for the first time Shane saw Ilya in his brother’s smile. Irina’s smile, made with their little cupid bow lips. “She–”

Shane didn’t know what he should say and what Alexei would be willing to hear but when he risked a glance over, the man looked to be hanging off his every word while trying desperately to look like he didn’t care if Shane didn’t say another thing.

So he talked about her, the mannerisms. It was stilted, there were too many specific words that there was no translation for and Alexei grew angry when Shane couldn’t remember the phrases. But he stayed and he listened. By order of Irina, he translated a childhood. 

Shane asked about the little park she’d always taken him too (gone now, a new set of apartments had gone up in their place), the little shop where she bought them treats after practices (run by the eldest daughter of the old owners, their son died last fall), and the public rink where she’d taught both her sons to skate (still open but not so much to the public anymore). For his part, Shane learned more than he’d ever really cared to about one Alexei Rozanov.

He’d taken hockey lessons since he was six, but quit when he turned eighteen and it became clear that the coach only kept him around because it meant he’d have Ilya too, who at only fourteen had already surpassed most boys his age. That was more subtext Shane picked up; Irina swore he was good, Alexei shrugged her off. What was not subtext was his anger at his brother and the accusations he whispered with tears in his eyes. Alexei was middling at school, at sports, and when he’d walked in on his brother fucking his girlfriend, it must have just proven to Alexei that he was mediocre at that too. If Shane was not deeply in love with him and understanding of his flaws, he’d maybe hate Ilya a little too for that.

Most annoyingly, Shane realized Alexei was just a man. Bitter and cruel and broken, but only thirty. He had a daughter he talked about to Irina, one he seemed to love and the pained pull at his lips told Shane he didn’t see her as much as he’d wished to. Alexei had photos of her in his wallet, six of them in the little flip out accordion sleeves. A little pale potato, then a baby in swaddling, and then a child in his arms, then a little girl with a bow in her hair, then her in a little tutu, another with her in thick goalie pads, then the final one, the one he pointed to with pride.

“Look mama, she picked this herself.” He said and showed it to Shane who leaned back so Irina could see the little blonde girl on a tiered platform, a smile so wide it showed off her missing front tooth. The background was a rink, the little girl’s costume was familiar, white with a touch of black at the hips. “She only got third place, but I think she was the best by far.”

Alexei took it back not long after, looking at it for a long minute. Shane felt a growing sense of pity undercut by the same anger. He had the ability to love, just not the want to. That felt worse somehow.

Still.

Shane sighed. “I have to go soon, Ilya’s expecting me back.”

“But–” Alexei said and then his face grew shadowed and he blinked and gone was the little boy trying to talk to his mother again, replaced by the man who seemed determined the world had found fault in him. “Fine.”

Shane nodded but Irina hadn’t moved from her spot even as Alexei stood and seemed set on pretending that all this never happened. It was for her that he said it, that in the lull between sentences, Shane had decided what he was going to do and it was not for Alexei.

“You could come to Canada.” Shane said matter-of-factly. “Eventually Ilya and I will retire and once that happens…”

Shane didn’t have to say any more about that.

“Well, we won’t be able to come back here. But if you wanted to talk to her...anyway, I’ll leave you my number.” Shane didn’t want to mention that Irina had mostly clung to Ilya in death, that she had made the conscious decision to leave Alexei behind and was doing it again to have a better life with them. It wouldn’t help anything and Shane, even better understanding Ilya’s brother, didn’t really make him like Alexei any more.

Still, he wrote out his number and handed it over and then slowly made his way down the steps. He waited near the car until Irina came down almost twenty minutes later. Her eyes were red and she was shaking a bit, but her shoulders were less down turned and it looked almost as if a weight had been lifted. Softly, Shane nodded towards the car. “Let's go home.”

~~~

The rest of the trip moved quickly, Shane wanting nothing more than to get away from everyone and just be able to hold his boyfriend's hand without worrying about the Russian Intelligence State. He got his wish when they landed in an empty VIP lounge in Copenhagen. It didn't last, but it was nice while he had it.

Ilya was quiet for the flights, and Shane could see Irina was just as worried as Shane was when Ilya crashed the moment they got to his house. Shane had been too wired, unpacking their clothes and doing a load of laundry, defrosting chicken because their fridge was empty and opening Ilya's phone using his slack face to order groceries from his app.

"Mother hen." Irina accused as he unloaded the haul an hour later.

"I just want to make this easier on him." Shane lined up the cans of Coke in a neat row. "Russia was difficult for him."

"You too."

"You three," Shane huffed. "Difficult all around, lets stop ranking how hard we all had it."

Irina huffed but there was a smile on her face so Shane let it go.

She also went out which Shane found weird, he'd expected her to cling a bit harder to her son when they'd gotten home. Shane wasn't complaining, they hadn't fucked in nearly a week, not counting rushed hand jobs in the showers, but Ilya had been a live wire in Russia, unwilling to do things over their clothes and only in the dark. Part of him had felt like a Mormon stuck to hand-stuff and no lights on.

So when Ilya meandered his way down the steps and heard the washing machine humming and smelt the dinner cooking on the stove, Shane was more than happy to be rewarded by his boyfriend falling to his knees in thanks. Dinner was literally and figuratively shoved to the back burner as they reacquainted themselves with Ilya's bed.

They had a week at the cottage before the Irina Foundation camps started up and it seemed to fly by the way any stolen time with Ilya seemed to.

By the time they drove back into Ottawa, Ilya was mostly back to his chipper self, though he hadn't once asked about what Shane or Irina had said to his brother and Irina had told Shane not to bring it up. In the handful of days they set aside for set-up, Ilya seemed dead set on getting Shane friendly with all of the new coaches he'd recruited. The handful they'd gotten last year hadn't been enough for the expansion they'd done for their second annual camps. Shane nodded and shook hands with everyone, plastering on a smile and pretending like he wasn't worn just a bit thin.

He'd had weeks alone with Ilya last year, enough that by the time they rolled in, Shane could function semi-normally in the space around, but never touching, his boyfriend.

Now it was like some exquisite torture, watching him move on the ice, direct children and shrug off the remaining heaviness that Shane hadn't realized he'd been carrying until their plane reached cruising altitude.

All he'd gotten on the subject was a soft, "It was good." when his mom asked about it but Ilya had smiled truly, the one that looks just slightly painful on his lips.

Now, though, Shane would take old world dead ghosts by the boat-full instead of this. Unfortunately, Irina read his tension differently.

"He can have friends." Irina chided and Shane rolled his shoulders.

"I know he can have friends." Shane hissed. "I let you talk me into telling most of them about us!"

It was unfair, but Shane hadn't exactly been feeling fair recently. It felt like he should have had more time to sit with Ilya, to drink him in, and now he was left parched. Codependent his mother had said, but Shane didn't like that word so he just figured it was love because he knew Ilya felt the same.

"Wrap dress, three o'clock." Irina warned right as the reporter his mom had called saddled up next to him along the boards and explained some of the basic questions she would be asking.

They were not all that hard, only made difficult by Irina's comments wanting to make him laugh, it was why he was so surprised when a puck smashed into the glass near their head.

"What the—heck?" Shane demanded, catching himself at the last minute as every little head shot his way.

"What a shot on this kid!" Ilya's hands clamped down on the shoulder of one of the teens at his side who looked like he might melt onto the ice. "MLH material for sure!"

"Only person on the ice has a shot that strong and, sorry Miles, but it's not him."

Ilya smiled slyly. "So you think my arm is strong?"

Shane turned back to the interviewer. "Where were we?"

Almost by magic, all of the longing and aching to be alone seemed to be replaced with annoyance that lasted right up until Ilya shuffled into the office (storage room they moved a desk into because it had a lock).

"Kitten."

"Don't kitten me!" Shane huffed, but he knew he melted like butter when Ilya's hands crept up under his shirt and their bodies, still damp with their last shower, stuck in places even through their clothes.

"Don't be mad, I just didn't like that she had her hands on you." Ilya murmured into his hair. His boyfriend's hips pressed forward and forced Shane's hips against the low desk. "You were smiling."

"I can't smile at people anymore?" Shane said, more to rile Ilya up than end the building tension that was more sexual than actually a fight.

"Not with your big smile, with all your teeth. That's mine."

Shane hadn't known he'd smiled like that. The gummy smile he'd had as a kid had been one of the first things he'd trained himself out of when people started coming around for interviews and his face started being broadcast on the news. "Your mom made me laugh, blame her."

Ilya groaned and leaned back. "Yes, talking about my mother, very hot. Boner gone. You killed it. Murderer."

"Well if it's dead, then we could talk about what exactly we need to say to Farah." Shane would have rather dropped to his knees but needs must.

"She knows." Ilya argued and he wore the same expression as his mother had when she'd argued the same point not a handful of hours before. "We go to Russia together. Last skype meeting, she kept looking at the bookshelf. Do I look like I read biography of Willie O'Ree?"

"You should, it's a fantastic book." Shane leaned back and locked his thighs around Ilya's hips. "Well, we also need to talk about what exactly we're saying for the documentary crew."

"One day shots on ice. Sweaty room for six questions, they edit into one hour fluff piece for the off season." Ilya's hand drifted down between their bodies and cupped Shane's cock. It really shouldn't have been doing it for him, but there was something about the domesticity of it, the blending of work and their lives that always sent a little tingle down his spine. "I say you are boring but rich, you say I am asshole and also best player in league. Easy peezy."

"Oh, you're the best player?" Shane opened his mouth, the words already slipping off his tongue before he caught himself and instead leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend. Saying that his team was looking down the barrel of another loosing season was not helpful.

Ilya allowed himself to be distracted.

The door handle rattled and Shane pulled away quickly, putting himself across the room to stare down into an empty file while Ilya went to open the door. Price stood in the doorway,face scrunched up and looking around the room like he expected to find a discarded lube bottle sitting around somewhere.

Ilya had said Price has suspicions, had been since last year, but he'd never gotten proof, not with Irina huffing around as a chatty warning system. This year she was elsewhere, ghost friends Shane thought, so they'd relied on locked doors and the weight of their years long rivalry to protect them.

Not that Price seemed to buy it. Still, he seemed ready to drop it when all the coaches honed in on the fact there was a meeting being held and seemed to pop up one at a time until the small room was swimming in professional hockey players.

It had been disorienting to see them all shuffle in and walk directly over to Ilya, Shane hadn't even know Ilya had talked to these people and yet here were Max Riley and Leah Campbell slapping him on the back and chatting with him about people whose names Shane had never even heard of. Ryan Price and Wyatt Hayes both treated him like buddies on the ice and brothers off of it, bumping shoulders, snapping towels in the locker room with the energy of puppies nipping at each other. It lacked the sharp undertone Shane had come to expect from the action, and Shane knew both JJ and Hayden felt the same because they all flinched when Hayes had snapped the damp towel the first time near Ilya.

The meeting was mostly just talking, Scott Hunter, sans his boyfriend this summer, offering up his bar for anyone coming down with him to New York and Shane watched both Hayden and JJ smile but notably not say anything. Their silence felt heavy and he was so focused on their expressions that he hadn't felt Ilya slide into the chair next to him until a hand touched his knee and he jumped.

Without thinking, Shane shifted away and raised a questioning eyebrow. In quiet Russian, even knowing no one in the room spoke it but them two, Ilya whispered, "Ryan wants to go out tonight."

"Oh." Shane said. Ilya took it as a question.

"He wants us to meet his boyfriend."

Something struck Shane in the fleshy part behind his ribs. It suddenly felt like every eye in the room was turned on him and he could feel his breath coming a bit quicker. "Did you tell him…?"

"No. But he knows about me. He guessed about you, then about us." Ilya explained with the tone of one describing the weather, maybe to keep prying ears from their private conversation. Not that it really mattered, not when Shane felt suddenly that something was wrong with him, the way he was sitting maybe which gave him away. His team knew, and he knew a few must have leaked it to other teams, but it felt wrong somehow for Price to know without Shane telling him.

Ilya was not looking at him, but Shane could tell even from his poor vantage point that Ilya was begging with his sad eyes and pouty mouth. "Alright."

"Fuck, yes Shane! Somewhere low-key." Ilya promised, not able to keep the excitement out of his voice.

One of them picked a sports bar with random sports memorabilia covering every inch of the walls and that would have been fine if it wasn't also a gay sports bar. Shane stared at framed jerseys and old wooden bats, idly thinking of the fire code to avoid all the crop tops floating by right about the time Ryan and his boyfriend entered and crossed the room to sit with them.

Shane couldn't take his eyes off Fabian.

He wore tight pants that sat low on his hips, a shirt that shimmered sheer when he moved, and his fingers flashed when he moved, heavy with mixed metal rings. A long pendent necklace sat between his pecs, drawing Shane's eyes down to the hairless chest.

"And this is my…Shane."

He jerked back into his body and he was thankful for his media training because it meant his body moved for him, plastering on a smile and throwing out a hand to shake. Fabian smiled too, but it was with a cocked head and the faintest hesitation at offering up his own hand. Shane had the sudden and horrific worry that gay men had some way of greeting each other that he didn't know about.

They moved to a circular booth and Shane wished he was on the outside and not next to Fabian.

Honestly, Shane thought around the time their waiter made his way over with sticky menus and a practiced customer service grin, it wasn't even attraction. Maybe if it was, that would have been easier for Shane to stomach, but it wasn't.

The twisting feeling was too many emotions to name all churning into a pile of eels every time he tried to grasp one. He missed Irina and suddenly all the time she spent away from them now felt intolerable.

"And for you?" Shane looked up at the waiter and then panicked when he realized he hadn't looked over the menu before they got here. Ilya opened his mouth like he would list off all the options he might pick because he did that sometimes and normally Shane found it sweet, but it felt painfully revealing in front of a crowd.

"A cobb salad, please. No avocado or bacon and can I get no ranch and the red wine dressing on the side?"

"Salad? Hollander, live a little!" Ilya bumped their shoulders. "What about pizza?"

"I like my salad."

He would. Salads were predictable and well within his control even as if felt like the night was not.

Ilya and Fabian moved the conversation. Shane felt like he just got his bearings and then they were off onto another conversation. It always impressed Shane in moments like these just how fluent Ilya was. Shane knew Russian, would consider himself rather fluent, but Ilya welded English with a cleverness and wit that Shane could never really achieve in either his second let alone his third language. He was so enamored that he hadn't realized he was being watched until:

"Holly, I think you're drooling." Ryan laughed lightly and Shane thought it was friendly, but it felt strange for someone to look at him and see his love.

"Let them flirt, it's hot." Fabian bit at his straw with a smile and a wink at them that had Ilya laughing. Shane tried to laugh, but it got stuck somewhere in his throat.

The conversation drifted on, but Shane was stuck there, looking around to avoid meeting eyes and coming to the truly horrible realization that he hated this and knew he shouldn't. This was exactly what Irina had told him to do, put himself out there, meet other people like him, that it would make him feel better. But it didn't. It made him feel worse.

Shane let his eyes drift over to Fabian and he had the impossibly cruel thought that it was men like him that made Shane, when he was sixteen and stupid, truly believe he couldn't be gay because he wasn't anything like them.

Shane took a long drink of his lemon water and then blurted out, "I like your hair!"

It was too loud even for the bar which was slowly filling up. Still, Fabian smiled. "Thanks! I like your glasses."

Shane touched the frames self-consciously even as Ilya complimented them. The table laughed and Shane's smile was a beat behind the punchline. That was the whole night; Shane always a bit behind, stepping off a step too late.

"It's really amazing about this charity! I sometimes do shows for this children's center, it's really rewarding." Fabian leaned his head and Shane had a disorienting rush of wanting his hair to be cut, to see if he could get it to lay the way Fabian's did across his forehead. Then he wondered if his longer hair had been what Price had clocked as gay about him and simultaneously wanted to cut it all off.

"You should come to his next show this Friday!" Price jumped in and Shane had to push down his instinctive response to when anyone invited him somewhere last minute, which for him was less than a week out, and that was to say no.

"I already have tickets." Ilya cut him off and Shane's mouth was still hanging open when their food arrived and he could shove a warm salad into his mouth to avoid berating his boyfriend in front of the only other gay guys Shane had ever met. He didn't know if that was too gouache or something in their circles.

"So what sort of venue is it in? Like a club or…" Shane tried and Ilya, a little meanly, laughed.

"He means he wants to know if it's a gay club." Ilya pulled a piece of pizza towards him, words as drawn out as the frankly insane cheese pull. Shane could feel himself blushing. God, he looked stupid in front of the gays.

"No, that's—not!" Shane tried to defend himself but Fabian just smiled, mouth a little tighter as it moved between them.

"It's just a bar-club thing, but honey, it'll be gay by the time I'm done with it." He took a seductive sip along the rim of his mojito that one of his fans had sent from the bar and that alone did get a laugh out of Shane.

As the conversation moved on, he thought more about the show as a date and allowed himself to feel the faintest rush of heat at the thought of Ilya getting online to buy them tickets for a date, like the kind regular couples go to. Slowly, he reached out and let his hand trace the vein on his boyfriend's hand which was resting on his leg. He wanted to pull it over to his lap, but they were in public and Fabian had already been recognized and the thought of being outed in the background of someone else's video was mortifying.

"So do you like, both play for Montreal?" Fabian asked over a wonderfully charred margarita pizza. Shane felt his salad become an unappealing masticated blob in his mouth, sticking behind his teeth and needing to be washed down with his water. It was almost enough to stop the startled laugh from coming out of his mouth.

"Ah, no." Ilya took the question, puffing his chest up. "I am an Ottawa Centaur, Shane plays for stinky Montreal."

"Well this stink won another Cup, so…" Shane laughed but had no interest in thinking about that Cup run when he was trying to have fun.

"So like, the distance is why you're not wanting to come out?" Fabian asked and then made a yelp when Price must have stepped on his foot because he called out, "What? I was just asking!"

"It's complicated." Ilya wiped his hands down.

"It's just that we've sort of been pitted as enemies since we were drafted so if we came out…it would just blow up our lives, you know?"

Fabian didn't seem to know but he nodded and took another bite of pizza. Conversation drifted to the best pizza they'd ever had and Ilya swore on a small Italian shop he'd dropped into on a three hour layover and the story of the Google translate fail had them all laughing.

"You mind if I steal you? Don't want to wait in the bathroom line alone." Fabian asked and Shane felt a shiver race down his spine that, for once, had nothing to do with ghosts.

They weaved their way through the now packed bar, people turning to watch them pass, some tossing them obvious ups and downs that had Shane's face pink by the time Fabian opened the bathroom door and closed it before Shane realized it was a single stall. "Ah—"

"Listen, this is like really weird, and tell me if this is too much, but you got a really crazy fucking aura." Fabian cut in with and Shane's mouth dropped open. The other man took this as a chance to keep talking. "Like you look at Ilya and its all pinks and yellows and then you look away and its blue and red, which are never good colors together."

"Those are Montreal colors," Shane said stupidly.

"Well, I just mean that blue is usually sadness, fear, depression, and like a little bit is normal, like Ilya's—"

Shane's eyes snapped on Fabian's face. "What is in Ilya's aura?"

Fabian's worried look had melted into confusion. Someone banged on the door and yelled at them to hurry up. "You're like handling this really well."

"I can see ghosts."

Fabian blinked slowly. "Oh. Ghosts. Sure."

"What did you see in Ilya's aura?" Shane asked again. He didn't want to piss off 50% of the gay guys he knew, 33% if he counted Miles but he was in a poly relationship with a lesbian now so Shane wasn't sure to count him, but he really needed to know.

"So we're just blowing past the ghost thing?" Fabian asked and then when Shane glared harder, he just nodded. "Yeah sure, alright, yeah. Sometimes he gets these streaks of deep blue. Usually this indicates a lingering sadness, depression, some sort of mental anguish—" He saw Shane's face crack open and was speaking quickly. "But like being sad is normal! Unlike seeing ghosts! Which we breezed right past…"

"I see them sometimes. None except the guy at the bar."

"What guy?" Fabian turned like he could see through the walls. The banging started up again.

"Some frat boy with a caved in head, I don't know." Shane hadn't been paying much attention to him and his legion of imagined shots he kept downing. "Ilya is sad?"

"Babe, I just wanted to check on you." Fabian reached out but didn't touch him which Shane found he was happy for. "If this whole gay thing is too much, I promise you don't have to come Friday, I won't be upset."

"Ilya will be." Shane said softly. Irina would too, though he was loathe to say more. He already had to share Ilya with the world, he'd rather die than share Irina too.

"Well, then talk with him." Fabian said and then turned around to yank the door open and yell at whoever was banging on the door.

Eventually they made their way back to the table and Shane couldn't meet his boyfriends eyes, instead all he could think was about deep, inky blue.

That night, Shane was so excited to see Irina on their couch that Ilya didn't even need to ask, he just laughed and called, "Hi, mama!"

"Bunny, what's wrong?" Irina was dressed up tonight, which wasn't rare but was for a night in. Shane shook his head and stared at the tv without taking anything in.

Ilya puttered around in the kitchen, came and smacked a loud kiss on Shane's forehead and then an air kiss to the rough approximation of where his mother sat. It was sweet and made something in Shane go warm, more so when he hummed out a soft, "Don't stay up too late you two."

"Whose the mother here?" Irina huffed but smiled when Shane translated. When his boyfriend cleared the stairs, Shane leaned in and whispered because the words felt like they had to be said quietly.

"Is Ilya depressed?"

Shane hadn't realized he'd been hoping desperately for the answer to that question to be no until Irina's prolonged silence made it clear that was not the answer he was getting. Any levity curdled in his stomach and his face felt tight, his eyes damp.

"He…struggles sometimes. It is a difficult situation."

Shane had always been difficult. It was that same issue that had him dreading the new season with a morose worry he hadn't felt since his rookie year when literally everything was new and he had no frame of reference for how to cope. Here he was again, three Stanley Cups under his belt, and still just that scared kid worried about being the odd one out.

"I'm difficult?"

"That's not what I said. Listen." Irina chided. "He misses you. Being apart and in secret is difficult. And when you're not here, our communication is so stilted it can be…"

"Difficult?" Shane offered and she sighed and went back to explaining the show Shane couldn't care less about.

Maybe that was why he cornered Price and confirmed that they would be going to Fabian's concert and maybe also to demand he tell him the dress code and also maybe any other good things to know like what parking was like.

Still, Friday morning he was late, at least by his standards, because he wanted to have his outfit picked out for that night and everything in his closet in Ottawa was boring or stolen from Ilya.

"I can't wear silk."

"Too gay for gay party?" Irina pointed down at her magazine and Shane came and flipped it to the next page for her.

"I'm not like—I'm gay but not…" Shane didn't finish his thought, it felt mean even unfinished. "I just want to get this right."

That was the crux of it. He knew how to do good hockey. He was improving at the whole boyfriends thing, and while the team hadn't invited him out to as many activities as they had in years past, Shane was still a good captain.

Being gay had all of these rules he didn't know and people who were exceptionally good at judgy looks. He picked up another shirt. "Why not just a white t-shirt?"

"Gay men will pick on you." Irina didn't look up. "No shirt."

"I have to wear a shirt!"

Irina shrugged as if to say what do you want me to do about it?

The stress of the end of camp, the looming pressures of another year where another repeat Cup would be expected, and the gaping unknown of so many other parts of his life had him more irritable than he should have been. Maybe that was why he opened is stupid mouth.

"I just don't get why he wants us doing all of this?" Shane picked through their laundry. "I thought we were on the same page with this but Ilya's been…I don't know, fixated on this. Us, going out."

"No one wishes to be loved in the dark." Irina said softly and Shane looked over to watch her tug idly at a curl. She looked as distracted as Shane felt. When she realized he hadn't spoken, she looked over at him and straightened up. "I just mean…Ilya loves loudly. He wants to share your love with the world."

Shane was already shaking his head. "We agreed to wait."

"You wanted to wait and Ilya agreed." Irina said sharply and Shane was so startled he dropped the pair of socks he'd been holding.

Throat tight, Shane huffed, "How would you know, you're never here."

It felt horrible that his comment landed as cruelty on her as hers had on him. She flinched and then nodded, standing and slipping through a wall. Shane wished he'd never opened his stupid fucking mouth.

~~~

Ilya was excited and wearing this pale pink shirt which was tight in all the right places and had Shane literally choking on his own spit in the locker room they had stolen to change in.

"Did they not have it in your size?" Shane laughed and Ilya looked him up and down.

"All the better to flex for you." Ilya did just that and Shane laughed. "You know what this place reminds me of?"

Shane looked around the rather standard looking locker room. "Hockey?"

"Yes, Shane, hockey, and also that first time when you got so hard for me." Ilya murmured, reaching out and cupping Shane's slowly filling dick. His hand was warm, his broad palm making Shane feel small in his grasp. He let out a soft, embarrassing gasp. "So needy, on your knees in minutes."

"You went down on me first." Shane countered, arching his back to get his crotch closer to the steady pressure. Ilya let him, rolling two fingers right behind his sensitive balls until Shane was gasping.

"Longer too. You were so…reactive." Ilya whispered, their lips touching in the faintest brush of a kiss.

"Reactive." Shane had to say, the word sounded almost sinful out of Ilya's mouth and maybe it was the way Shane was pressing himself forward, or just the way Shane was looking at him, but Ilya's free hand grabbed Shane's chin to keep his face forward and deepen their kiss.

Shane hoped it was his eyes, he hoped that he could look at Ilya like Fabian had at Price, Price had at Fabian, like the whole world could be burning but none of that mattered when the man you loved was looking back at you.

"We'll be late." Shane broke the kiss to say.

"Gay people are always late."

"Really?" Shane asked and felt inordinately glad when Ilya just laughed. He was already so bad at this whole thing, knowing there was some other part he was also failing at would have been a hit to the pride he was trying to build.

They were late, but that didn't matter, the opening act was still on stage, some techno punk group whose lyrics Shane wasn't sure he was annoyed or happy to not understand. Ilya was acting weird though. He kept looking back at Shane as they made their way through the club, like he expected he might turn and find his boyfriend missing. It was more than a little hot and Shane turned his head away so that Ilya couldn't see him bite his lip, thinking about when they'd get home.

Ilya called out to Price and they did the bro-hug embrace Shane had gotten good at too. There were a few other people, all who were introduced as Fabian's friends/hangers-on and Price's expression when saying their names was obvious enough that even Shane picked up on who to be nice to and who to ignore. Ilya was circling the collection of three circular tables like a spun top, stringing people behind him like pied piper. Ilya had always been magnetic and drawn people to him and Shane couldn't even feel jealous because he was just as susceptible.

Mine, Shane thought with a smile, fuck the world when I have him.

"Having fun?" Ilya asked when he brought back drinks. His was neon pink and Shane's looked to be a fancy sparkling water that made Shane smile. "Club is good, low-key."

It was low key and also for some reason filled with young ghosts who stuck to the people around them like they were worried their ghostly feet might be stepped on. A chill shivered down his spine every time he moved along the dance floor and he accidentally slid through a pale spirit trailing behind a drunk kid wearing a mesh shirt.

"You're not having fun." Ilya was dancing, at least that was what Shane assumed the little gyrations were suppose to be. It was so hot, watching Ilya in a silky shirt and pants a size too small rolling his hips in familiar movements he could feel his body instinctively follow. Shane wanted to enjoy it, but all he could think of was the white of brain matter under the strobe lights and how a young girl was jumping to the electric violin, her loose bowels making wet slapping sounds each time they smacked the ground. There were others too, overdoses Shane would guess from the vomit stains and glassy eyes.

"I am!" Shane promised.

When Fabian eventually came on the stage, Price stood and clapped so loud and for so long that people turned around to stare at them. Ilya laughed and his hand instinctively landed on Shane's back. He moved away, and saw the way Ilya's smile dropped and his arms moved to hang limply at his sides while people looked at the six-five man wolf whistling in front of them.

When the music started, Shane followed the pack to the edge of the dance floor where it seemed like partners were being decided through looks alone. One guy came their way until Ilya leaned down to ask Shane something so he swerved towards another man down the bar.

The largest part of Shane just wanted to listen to the music, to make eyes at his boyfriend for an hour and then go home and get fucked into the bed. They hadn't had the time or energy to do anything more strenuous in over a week, since the cottage, and Shane felt parched. Still, there were too many eyes, faint groans of death, and Ilya's hands wondered more than they should have for when they were in public.

He thought about chiding Ilya, but his boyfriend wasn't looking his way anymore, eyes on the stage with a type of focus he had to feign. Ilya never stopped moving and now he stood there in that stupidly hot pink shirt and it was dark. Shane had promised Ilya loving in the dark before they could have sunshine, and no one was looking.

"Ilya!" Shane said over the music and Ilya, who had started doing little bounces in place to the music, turned his head towards Shane only to be surprised when he was kissed.

It was slow, messy, and it deepened right around when Ilya's whole body turned and Shane got to appreciate just how tight Ilya's pants were. For a minute, Shane forgot they were in public, that phones would be aimed in his direction, that he had a life outside of this man.

It came back, of course, but it was quieter when Ilya stepped back and then belt out the chorus to the song, bouncing around until his hair smacked against his cheeks, holding out his hands until Shane bounced a bit too, and they were just two normal people in the crowd.

They made it to their car, one of Ilya's expensive ones he had traded his sports cars in for which had a spacious back seat and windows so tinted they were illegal in some provinces. Not that Shane was complaining, not when the whole parking garage Shane had found was empty by the time the concert had ended and they'd said goodbye to no less than sixty people twice. Ilya had told him to just walk out and then laughed when Shane had shot him a scandalized look.

Still, it worked for them because Shane was not ready to drive home yet, that was why, so wired he almost felt drunk, he opened the back door and gestured for Ilya to climb inside. He did with a sly smile, patting his lap obnoxiously as Shane slid in beside him, putting up the dog patterned sun visor Shane thought his dad got Ilya for his last birthday to block out the light and then they were alone in the back seat. Not even the street lights penetrated the cab, Shane throwing his legs over Ilya's hips and then just leaning his head down so their breaths intermingled.

"Please tell me you brought lube." Shane pleaded. He'd cleaned himself extra well in the shower before they'd left and it had been with the idea of them making it to an actual bed, but Shane felt the strangest urge that he had to prove himself tonight.

"For my needy baby? Always." Ilya, with a feat of strength that had his heart beating a bit faster, lifted Shane with his thighs to open up his wallet and pull out two packets of lube and a condom. It felt illicit and Shane had to kiss Ilya then.

They were smiling between them as Ilya's fingers trailed down Shane's tailbone, as Ilya opened him and found him looser than he should have been for a week. They both knew it would be a rushed and messy fuck.

"Good?" Shane demanded when Ilya's fingers had slid out of him and Ilya was busy lining himself up. He asked again when the question hung in the air too long. "I'm good?"

"The best, Shane, fuck—"

Shane nodded, let his head flop back between his shoulders as he built up a rough rhythm that had the shiny leather seats squeaking and the whole car rocking. The roof was too short to lean back so that Ilya's cock hit his prostate the way it always did, so instead he curled forward, mouthing at the mark he was making along the bottom of Ilya's jaw. He wanted one of his own.

With a tug of his curls and without breaking his stride, Shane directed Ilya's mouth to his neck and his boyfriend started working on a matching mark. Less diligent, Shane thought happily, because he had to keep stopping to look down between them where Shane had started rubbing his leaking cock against Ilya's abs, and letting his head drop back against the head rest to moan out broken off Russian curses.

The thought of someone walking up all those stairs to the second to last layer of the parking garage and seeing the moment of the car...they'd know, know that Shane was good, good enough to catch Ilya Rozanov's eye, good enough to keep him. That maybe he wasn't good at being gay, but he was good at this, he could do this—

"Baby, come on…" Shane had to kiss him then, the rhythm stuttering as Shane kept grinding until he came and Ilya gave a few abortive thrusts, riding out Shane's twitching afterglow until he jerked and then dropped back, limp in two sense of the word, against the custom died brown leather. "Fuck."

Ilya smiled without opening his eyes. "I think we just did."

Ilya drove home and they both poured themselves into bed after a quick shower that Ilya always called a "whore's bath" when they were both boneless from cumming and sort of smacked each other with body wash in the hopes of being clean enough to sleep soon.

He was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow. Something woke him hours or maybe only minutes later, the empty bed maybe, or the distant whisper of voices. Shane propped himself up on his elbow, reaching for his glasses right as Ilya slid back into the room.

"What's wrong?" Shane demanded, head still fuzzy from sleep. "Why was your mom mad?"

"How would I know?" Ilya bit out and Shane hadn't even processed the words let alone the sharp tone before Ilya was crawling in beside him. "It's alright, Shane. Go to sleep."

Shane had a faint thought that he ought to push, but it had been a good night and he was tired and Ilya was a warm weight on his chest so before he could ask more, he was asleep again.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for your patience and thank you so much to all the people who left kudos and commented, you're the reason I still write! Thank you!! ❤️

Chapter 8

Chapter Summary

Ilya was likable, he knew that on an objective level, but he questioned it the moment they pulled into the driveway of some McMansion in the suburbs of Montreal.

"We could still run for the car." Ilya offered his boyfriend who looked like he was vibrating so hard he might shimmy his pants off his shapely hips.

"Be nice." Shane said with the same tone he'd used on the toddlers during their camp. Then the door opened and the Shane Hollander patented smile was plastered across his face and he called out a cheery and clearly false, "Jackie! Good to see you!"

Chapter Notes

Hello and welcome back with a slightly more timely chapter! We're diving into the meat and potatoes of the story and would you believe it, I had to up the chapter count.

Some housekeeping: I did want to take a moment and talk about the Pikes. I did Dinner with Hayden a little differently in this chapter and as you can probably imagine from the way I write about these characters, I love a complex, imperfect character. That's what Hayden and Jackie are, but they learn! So please no hate and know I love them both! I also wanted to drop in some comments on Russia. I know a lot of people were annoyed with Irina and Shane for making Ilya go back to Russia, but when I was writing out my draft, I actually planned it as cathartic for Ilya especially. Maybe it's just the sad queer in me that was born and raised in the center of bumfuck nowhere in the Midwest, but where you're raised can do some damage and still be a tender ache. I wanted Ilya to see Russia as something he can keep with him, more than just a part of his past he has to leave behind to be with Shane. This does not mean I support a genocidal state government, but remarking on the difficulty of distancing yourself from the culture you were raised under. I truly believe that if the last time Ilya sees Russia is with the veil of his father's death, he'd regret it, especially after they're outed. I guess this is just my plea to be kind to Shane and Irina, they're trying their best!

I'm off my soapbox! Please enjoy the chapter and if you feel so inclined, drop a comment, I've loved reading them and they helped me push through a writing slump.

Ilya was likable, he knew that on an objective level, but he questioned it the moment they pulled into the driveway of some McMansion in the suburbs of Montreal.

"We could still run for the car." Ilya offered his boyfriend who looked like he was vibrating so hard he might shimmy his pants off his shapely hips.

"Be nice." Shane said with the same tone he'd used on the toddlers during their camp. Then the door opened and the Shane Hollander patented smile was plastered across his face and he called out a cheery and clearly false, "Jackie! Good to see you!"

"You too." Pike's wife said with a strained smile, her eyes focusing on Shane and then flashing over to him and then back to Shane like she was unsure how to welcome someone into her home. The detritus of children was everywhere. There were bottles along the kitchen counter, as long as his arm, burp rags and what Ilya assumed were regular rags were pilled up in a mound near a door he thought might have been a laundry, and more toys than a store were scattered across nearly every available space. "I'm so sorry about the mess, Hayden's been gone driving down to get my mom and I swore I'd get this place cleaned…"

Pike's wife seemed a bit shaken and any annoyance faded the longer he watched her look around, frazzled, picking up things and trying to pile them into a neater arrangement of clutter. He thought faintly of his own mother. Maybe Shane did as well, because he was moving before Ilya realized.

"Why didn't you tell me about Darla? Is she alright?" Shane asked, rolling up his sleeves and tossing a look back at Ilya. "Will you go upstairs and grab one of the big rainbow totes out of the twin's room? Third door on the right?"

"I'm Jackie, by the way!" She called and Ilya smiled fully for the first time that night.

"Ilya, Shane's boyfriend."

The words seemed to shock Shane and Jackie together, and then she smiled and gave a little nod when he gestured to the stairs.

The house was too fucking big and he realized once he turned the corner that the doorways were widely spaced and he didn't know if Shane meant his right or Ilya's. He opened the first door and two curly heads of hair popped up from behind purple cushions that looked like the start of some sort of fort.

"I am looking for rainbow basket for toys." Ilya opened the door a bit and then crouched down so he wasn't as tall. "Do you princesses have that in your castle?"

"It's a fort. We're going to war." One of the little girls said solemnly.

"Ah." Ilya hummed. "Of course. Warriors like yourselves."

"Warrior cats." The other clarified.

"Is there any other kind?"

The girls giggled and all sense of stranger danger vanished, the two waving him in and then groaning when his broad shoulders couldn't fit through their toddler sized door which was just a blanket tossed over a cushion and the bed. He was laying out how they could go steal bar stools to give their fort more height to defend against whoever the fuck the ThunderClan was about the time that he heard throat clearing and leaned his head out of the fort to see Shane and Jackie leaning in the doorway.

"We found the basket. It seems like you were busy." Shane was smiling, something had seemed more difficult lately as the pre-season wound down the season proper began. His team had been harsher on him, Ilya was sure, but he always defended them whenever Shane complained.

"We have to make sure TigerFang is defeated."

"TigerClaw!" One of the girls yelled and Ilya nodded sagely.

"Well, the ThunderClan can wait until after dinner, your dad just texted, he's almost home and grandma's with him." Jackie explained and only Ilya caught the way Shane's whole body went tight.

"What's wrong?" Ilya demanded when it was just them in the hall and Jackie seemed to be wrangling the twins and another child into the bathroom to wash their hands.

"Darla, Jackie's mom, she's really nice." The but was almost palpable. At Ilya's raised eyebrow, Shane groaned. "Her husband follows her around and like, says some of the nastiest shit to her, I'm talking like really horrid things. I'm already worried about you and Hayden and now this…"

"He was abusive?" Ilya keeps and eye on the door while also trying to hold Shane's gaze.

"He was." Shane said slowly. "Until she pushed his wheelchair down the stairs. With him in it."

Ilya blinked. Then blinked again.

"We are having dinner with Hayden's murderous mother-in-law."

Shane groaned. "She's a really lovely lady!"

"Besides the one murder."

"Yes, Ilya, besides the one murder." Shane seemed almost defensive now. "It was nearly thirty years ago now and he's the only one, I checked! Who is it hurting now?"

Ilya realized that Shane hadn't told anyone. He sat across from a murderer and called her a 'really lovely lady' instead of calling the cops. Working over the emotions that brought up in him, Ilya realized it was a bit…appealing. For years Ilya had viewed Shane though the same lens as the rest of the world, this perfect, idealized hockey player whose only traits were playing hockey and being Canadian and yet Shane was so much more. Ilya hadn't known that more meant a more flexible morality than he'd thought, but Shane was full of complexities that Ilya loved to unearth, like an archeologist on a dig.

"It's not like—" Shane was still defending himself and Ilya stopped him with a kiss.

"You say she is a nice lady, she's a nice lady."

Shane nodded and then smiled softly and kissed him again, only laughing when the girls exited the bathroom, spotted them, and made exaggerated gagging sounds.

Something hit his knees and he looked down to realize it was a tiny body. The little boy, Arthur if Jackie's little yell was any indication, wasn't hugging him, but pushing at his thighs. Ilya didn't understand until Shane knelt.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Shane asked and Arthur turned and threw himself into Shane's arms, glaring over his shoulder at Ilya as his boyfriend carried him down the hall and into the kitchen.

By the time that Hayden showed up with a plump older woman in tow, Ilya was hated by exactly 2/5th of the Pike household which did not bode well for him.

Darla did seem to be a lovely lady, but her leg was in a boot and her shoulder a sling. Even so, she tried to get up to shake Ilya's hand and hug Shane. His boyfriend's face was a bit tight, especially when conversation circled around to her fall and she offhandedly said, "I've had worse! Horace was always a heavy drinker."

Maybe it was how his twins seemed enamored with Ilya, or that his lap was the only one open for the baby, but even Pike seemed bordering on nice to him. Suspicious, shooting him tight looks and glowers around Shane's head, but he didn't say anything inflammatory. His mother-in-law probably had something to do with it too, she didn't seem to understand what exactly they all did considering she'd never even been to a hockey game. Jackie looked tired by the time they were plating their dinner and exhausted by the time they gathered up all their dishes.

"Rozanov."

Ilya turned, holding the youngest Pike who'd sat quietly in his lap for most of the night and yet whose name he never got and felt bad asking for after too long at the dinner table. He was almost excited to get a shovel talk. Pike frowned.

"Don't smile. And give me my kid!" He held out his hands and Ilya turned away.

"Go make another one." Ilya hissed. "Or pick up one of the ten others running around here."

"Shut up! You're such an asshole!" Hayden whispered the last word and when Ilya raised his eyebrow, the man groaned. "I swear, if this is some fucked up way to bring Shane down to your level, I will kill you, I mean it. He's too good for you."

Ilya kept smiling, but suddenly the kid felt almost too heavy in his hands. Maybe because it was the truth and he hated it. Shane was too good for him. Didn't mean he needed people letting Shane know that.

"Very scary from a man who doesn't know how to use birth control."

"Fuck you, man, give me my toddler."

"Swear jar!" Shane demanded from around the corner and Ilya smiled as he handed over the little girl right as she let out an unholy sound and her pull-up ballooned like an inflated tire. Hayden groaned again and Ilya took it as his chance to escape.

They spent half an hour cleaning up the kitchen, Ilya working out how to use their futuristic dishwasher with more settings than his phone, and then another hour wrangling the kids to bed because it seemed like the twins wanted Ilya to read them a chapter of Warrior Cats which worked out because Arthur had thrown a fit when Shane hadn't helped him brush his teeth.

"Sorry if that was too much." Shane said softly once they poured themselves into their car and then sat their for a moment to reorient themselves.

"No, was good. I like them." And that was the truth. Still, "Except for Pike, but that feeling is mutual."

Shane didn't laugh and instead just seemed focused on checking both their seatbelts and then pulling back out onto the road.

The second dinner wasn't much better except Ilya had had the brilliant thought to bring alcohol and the parents had sent the kids to some playdate thing they apparently all hosted once a month to take one for the team. Ilya assumed that meant one family dealt with hyperactive hockey children for a night for the sweet, sweet promise of a night to fuck without worrying about little ears, or worse, butting in.

In payment for taking up their fuck-time, Ilya poured Jackie another glass. Maybe also to piss off Pike who watched him like he might try to ravish his wife on their squeaky wicker porch furniture, like his own beloved boyfriend wasn't pink in the face from half a Moscow Mule Ilya had made him and much more appealing. Besides, Ilya thought rudely, they didn't need any more children.

Mostly Pike and Shane talked about hockey and people they knew which invariably meant people Ilya knew, and Pike seemed more annoyed when Ilya butted in with his own thoughts and sent a slightly tipsy Shane into hysterics that had both Pikes shooting him startled looks. Ilya, for his part, worried that the Pikes were somehow more boring than Shane if this was the first time they'd seen him laugh this hard. He hadn't even done that cute little snort thing Ilya loved.

"I just love when people I love love each other." Shane said softly after Ilya realized he'd somehow gotten a second drink. Two drink Shane was a rare treat. Maybe because it was a long weekend for them both, a rarity, or just that he and Pike had kept their snark to a minimum, but Ilya stood and sat next to his boyfriend. He placed his arm over his shoulder, leaned down and pressed a kiss to his hair like he'd seen stupid Pike do an hour before and been desperately wanting to do since.

When he finally looked up from the little spiral of hair at the crown of Shane's head, he realized both Pike's were watching him and it wasn't with that tender look the Hollander's had, it felt…tense. Uncomfortable.

Ilya shifted away a bit, Shane grumbling mid-story and letting Ilya's arm go but shifting over and leaning back so his body rested against Ilya's chest. Jackie seemed to shrug it off first, focusing back on Shane's face and the diatribe he was on about some obscure player he'd been reading about and wanted to discuss. Maybe the drinks helped too, and Ilya was glad that he missed the subtle way his friends seemed to find them something to gawk at. Pike must have caught his glare then, or maybe he felt the chill in the air, but he jerked a bit and made a half-hearted comment about filling up already full glasses and escaped to the kitchen.

No part of being with Shane had made him feel as slimy as sitting there did and maybe it was the rage that had him standing and asking Jackie where the bathroom was. He knew, but maybe it would give him enough time for what he knew was a bad idea but couldn't quite stop himself from doing.

Hayden Pike was hunched over the ugly brown marble island taking deep breaths and groaning faintly. Pathetic, he'd only had half a dozen beers.

"You will never look at Shane like that again."

Pike jerked up and his eyes were panicked and then squinty in anger. "The fuck? Did you follow me in here to threaten me?"

"Yes." Ilya said honestly. "If you every look at Shane like that again, I will break your hands."

He didn't think he would, but he was so angry and maybe a little tipsy and he'd been having dreams of his father recently. Dark, twisted things where he saw his papa through fun-house mirrors and speakers where all of his words were slurred like he was at the end. He woke up in a sweat recently, calling out names to people he hoped couldn't hear.

"Like what?" Pike demanded.

Ilya sneered. "Disgust."

"I'm not—! It was'nt…" Pike slurred a bit and then bit his tongue and rubbed his forehead. "We love Shane."

"What is it then?" Ilya demanded and then thought about it really, broke it down the way he would a play. Where had their eyes been, what might have—then it clicked. "Ah, I see."

"You don't see shit." Pike hissed.

"What did you think?" Ilya leaned in, words mean and voice biting, "Shane would bring home little twink for your wife to gossip with and you and Shane could sit side by side together in your little man cave?"

"I don't…fucking have a man cave," Pike huffed and then tried to gather together the braincells to argue but apparently was lacking.

Because that was what it was, Ilya thought. Hayden Pike had assumed when Shane told him he was gay that he would be a certain kind of gay, the acceptable, easy to understand to a straight man type of gay. He would have a waifish boyfriend who wore makeup or dresses and liked to sip chardonnay and gossip with the girls while Shane sat with the guys and talked shop. Then Ilya had walked in and Pike hadn't understood it.

Maybe, Ilya hated himself a bit when the thought drifted up, Hayden Pike was trying to unpack the feeling of thinking about his best buddy Hollander as the metaphorical and entirely nonexistent girl in the relationship.

The thought made something sick swirl in his stomach and any twisted pleasure he got from the night had drained out of him. He turned and peeked his head outside. Jackie had moved over and was laughing with Shane now, maybe having overcome the slightest hiccup in her own mind quicker than her husband or maybe only better at hiding it.

"Shane, baby, I'm not feeling well." Ilya said softly to his boyfriend and couldn't hold back a smile when all of that Hollander attention swung to him and there were hands on his face, a palm over his forehead.

"You're not hot." He said. "Did you drink too much?"

"Something wasn't agreeing with me." Ilya said and couldn't help but let his eyes dart over to where Jackie sat. Even in the dying firelight, he thought he saw her blush and look away. Good.

Shane demanded that they clean up their mess so they did the dishes in front of two increasingly panicked Pikes shooting worried looks between themselves. Ilya didn't say anything, not when Hayden and Jackie gave Shane long, lingering hugs like they were worried Ilya had the power to get Shane to drop them as friends.

Bravely, Jackie stopped Ilya with a hand to his arm and when he turned, she wrapped her arms around his shoulder so that her whisper was easier for him to hear. "Thank you for loving him."

Her eyes were wet when they pulled away and Ilya nodded quickly so Shane wouldn't see. Her place in his internal rankings jumped up many spots.

It was only when they got back to Shane's place and the lights were on and his boyfriend made a sweet call of "Mama Irina!" did he let himself unwind fully. He gave his own greeting to the air and let the inane chatter roll over him, adding his own thoughts when Shane turned to look at him wonderingly and he realized there had been a question directed at him which had gone unheard because only one of them could hear it asked.

Once Shane had been put to bed, Ilya slipped out from under the covers and slipped out onto one of the balconies for a smoke. His mama hadn't snitched on him yet, but Ilya thought that was mostly because Shane had the nose of a fucking bloodhound and figured it out before he needed told.

"Hello, mama." He said quietly and the Russian felt a touch strange on his tongue when looking out on this view.

He'd done this a few times since they'd returned from Russia. Once to yell at her, another to thank her, a final night after the nightmare with his father. Once he'd sat in silence, unsure if his goosebumps were her or just an early fall chill. The unknown killed him and before he could say anything else, he stubbed out his cigarette and went back inside to slide in next to the warm body of his boyfriend.

Practice had started up again but pre-season was always a slightly looser schedule which he and Shane took advantage of, making that two hour drive every few days between them.

Ilya had gotten called in by the GM to meet the new head coach in August and while he was excited, he left a squirming boyfriend at home and had the biggest wish to end the little meet and greet quickly. It wasn't that he was exactly sad to see the old coach go, but he'd been more of a placeholder, and Coach Trent had coached that way too.

Brandon Wiebe was a different beast who asked more questions than most rookies, seemed interested in Ilya's thoughts, and had that same sharp look he often saw over face-offs, that calculating gaze of someone picking you apart.

The meeting which Ilya had penciled in for thirty minutes had been dragged out to nearly two hours and he sent up a mournful prayer to whatever sex god listening that Shane wouldn't kill him when he eventually got home.

"Rozanov?"

Ilya turned and walked over to where Wiebe looked out over the ice.

"So how are we actually looking this year?"

"I am paid to play, not—" Ilya caught Wiebe's sly smile and groaned. "We have all of the pieces. Bood is solid on defense for the first line, Hazy has a great save percentage, top ten of last year, and I can score goals, but…"

"You can't be a whole team." Wiebe finished. "So we need depth."

"Maybe whole new team." Ilya mused. "And a new logo?"

"Yeah, how would a horse even put on skates?"

Ilya laughed a bit. "Ask Wyatt, Hayes, he has ideas."

Wiebe nodded like he might actually do that and Ilya had something burn warm in his stomach which felt dangerously like hope. Almost thinking better of it and then throwing caution to the wind as he was like to do, Ilya offered, "The team is having an informal gathering. You should come, meet the family."

"Is that what you all are?" Wiebe asked, honestly. He was watching Ilya again with those sharp eyes.

"Yes. Was Detroit not?" Ilya asked and if his coach was surprised he knew about the teams he played for, he didn't show it. After all, how could he know about the boyfriend waiting for Ilya at home with an eidetic memory and love for anything relating to hockey?

"Not quite." Wiebe laughed but it was cool and a touch sharp. Ilya wanted to know what that meant but he wasn't exactly the best one to ask about leaving a team poorly. There were a few players in Boston who still wouldn't talk to him. "I'll swing by."

Ilya nodded, considered his job as captain complete, and went home to rail his boyfriend.

The heads up through their text chain went well and Wiebe seemed happy enough to be passed along in Bood's backyard as he was introduced to all of the members of the team. More than a few Ilya would prefer dropped down to the ALH but he wasn't the coach and instead spent the time hyping up the handful of players he did feel could lead to something other than perpetually empty rafters.

Wiebe must have picked up on this because he shot Ilya a sideways look when he'd turned the conversation, masterfully if Ilya could say so, back towards one of Bood's plays last season. Still, Ilya also spent time with Luca who'd gone home for the summer and seemed to introduce himself with all the confidence of a leaf in a strong breeze.

"He plays better than he converses." Ilya promised and was rewarded with an elbow to his ribs.

Then Harris arrived with cider and a long speech about how it was from last season and couldn't go home with him. Wiebe dropped out not long after and a few of the other, younger, less settled players dipped to hit up some club, but the core team stayed and Ilya found himself sprawled back in deep conversation with Wyatt and his wife for almost an hour. That might also have been helped along by someone pulling out a joint.

"Is this weird for teams?" Luca asked suddenly and Ilya realized the kid had been sitting next to him and talking to Cassie, Bood's wife who sat at the high top table. "Do other teams not do this? Coach seemed unsure."

"Don't ask me, I've been a Centaur my whole career." Bood pointed a finger at Ilya and Wyatt. "What say you boys, this weird?"

"Hell yeah, most teams are like six different cliques all shoved into one locker room." Wyatt leaned his head back onto his wife's shoulder. "Toronto was the fucking worst."

"Boston was good, but it was a divided team, old and young." Ilya's mouth felt fuzzy and he missed Shane. Even the idea of laying his head down on Shane's strong thighs was sending his head spinning. "Young would go party, old would make it three hours and then complain and go home to families they resented and wives they cheated on."

"Damn, Roz!" Bood, earning the Daddy allegations Ilya had seen circulating online, plucked the pre-roll from his fingers and passed it to Wyatt.

"They were good guys. Mostly." Ilya thought again of the Cup win, of the pressure of people all around him, of looking around and feeling a strange juxtaposition as he was both within and without, surrounded on all sides and somehow also impossibly alone. Before he could let the weed make him all dreary, he turned to look back at Luca. "No, rookie, most teams are not as nice as this. Enjoy it."

"Jesus, you're morbid today, Rozy," Lisa said softly, too keen. "You know you haven't even told us about Russia."

Ilya loved the wives of his teammates on most days, all too smart and so uncaring of the drama and prestige that he'd come to expect from most WAGs in Boston, but he strongly disliked Lisa right about now.

"Was fun, had Hollander try borscht, let little Russian kids skate circles around him." Ilya wished for something to hold, a blunt or cigarette. He could have one, Shane was in Montreal and his mom, if she was at home, couldn't smell.

"Damn, I would have given you my first born to film Shane Hollander trying to teach little kids who don't know what he's saying." Harris laughed and took another long drink.

"Shane knows Russian."

Ilya's head fell back when he realized that his stupid weed-brain had said two wrong things in a row and the whole team jumped on it.

"Of fucking course he does!" Bood laughed and Ilya had a flush of love for this team so strong that it felt like it was visible on his face. Bood said it so earnestly, buying into the image of Shane Hollander with a tenderness and the others echoed. "probably picked it up in a week during training, right Rozy?"

"No, two days." Ilya hummed with his eyes closed. "Osmosis."

"What the fuck do you know about osmosis?" Wyatt demanded and Luca laughed so hard he spat cider across the couch and that set everyone else off.

As if coming from some other mouth, Ilya muttered, "Was good. Russia."

"Yeah?" Lisa asked, leaning down so that her husband could press a smoky kiss to his lips.

"To see my homeland through someone else's eyes. Was nice." Ilya thought about Shane's face in the light of a Moscow summer, his flushed cheeks matching the colored roofs and historic facades. So much of his city had been tainted, Ilya realized, by his brother and father, the death of his parents and the expectations of relatives he'd never even met. To show Shane had been, cleansing in a way. He hadn't allowed himself to think it, let alone say it, but the weed made his brain all sticky. "I'll miss it. Was glad I went."

"You can always go next year, hey, maybe take us all on a tour too?" Wyatt joked and Ilya smiled but he hoped the melancholy tilt was brushed under the rug of his high.

He let the topic of Russia fade away as the conversation organically moved along towards the new season and the upgrades to Bood and Cassie's house, the farmer's market Harris' family was promoting, and whatever the fuck was happening with Toronto.

It would have to be enough, Ilya thought, to keep the two versions of Ilya separate even as he felt the creeping want to pull open his chest and let his love spill out. God, Ilya swore he would stick to alcohol.

~~~

During the first week of October after Shane had made the drive down to Ottawa and Ilya was throwing together something small for dinner after they had a large and late lunch at his parent's house, his boyfriend sat and listened to him with the little furrow in his brow which told Ilya he was only half listening.

"And then the apple orchard was attacked by aliens which really ruined the party because Harris had to pull out his hatchet and go after them." Ilya kept speaking. "Bood knows karate which helped, but Wyatt used his superpowers too—"

"What are you talking about?" Shane demanded and Ilya smiled.

"Was seeing how long it would take you." Ilya brought his wrist up to his face to look at an imaginary watch. "A little too long, Hollander."

"Sorry, I have a lot on my mind." Shane was looking at Ilya's wrist now too, before he looked up and blurted out, "How many men have you been with?"

Ilya looked up from his eggs towards his boyfriend. "This week? Well I think you could answer that question—"

"You know what I mean, Ilya." Shane wasn't looking at him and the tv was off, a clear sign that his mama wasn't home. Maybe that was why Shane had chosen now to ambush Ilya. "You've just never told me."

"Why?" Ilya turned back to dinner, though it was at no risk of burning with how much he was stirring it. "What are you hoping it will be?"

"Forget it, I don't care anymore. Nevermind."

Ilya was very much not inclined to do that. "Yeah, you are so chill about it too."

"Fuck off." Shane said and then, "I just mean, there was Sasha, right? He was your first?"

"Man? Yes." Ilya flipped his eggs and sighed overwrought and wistfully. "Best too."

"Asshole."

"You know who had a great one—"

Shane slid off of the chair and moved around to open the fridge and blocked his face from Ilya's view. His words rose up over the door. "Was I the second?"

"Best asshole?"

The door slammed shut and he was faced with a flushed boyfriend that had nothing to do with the cold and instead of the little tiff Ilya expected, Shane turned and he listened to the shoe rack tremble as Shane pulled out his shoes. Ilya dropped his spatula and moved immediately to the door. "Where are you going?"

"I should be heading home. We have practice tomorrow."

Yes, Ilya knew, at noon, because they were going to sleep in on their king sized bed. "Shane."

"I told you my number!" Shane huffed, but he'd dropped his shoes.

"Your number is easier to remember, I can count it on my fingers—" Ilya jumped down onto the tile when Shane looked like he might just walk out the door. "Yes, Shane you were the second."

"And after me?"

Ilya didn't allow any part of him to shift. "Is there a correct answer?"

Something deflated in Shane like a ruptured balloon. He folded himself into Ilya's chest. "No. Nevermind. I'll get over it."

Ilya had no idea what it was and that frightened him just a bit. Shane was, especially since they'd started dating, very open about his own thoughts and feelings. It was refreshing and Ilya hadn't realized how often he'd relied on it until he was faced with the idea that Shane might be hiding his emotions. That was Ilya's job, he thought faintly.

"Can you do another season of this?"

Ilya's hand which had been pressing into the tight line of Shane's neck flinched just slightly. "Of what?"

"Hiding."

Without thinking, Ilya pressed his lips to Shane's hair. He smelt of Ilya's body wash and faintly of his cologne. Weather because he was standing beside Ilya when he applied it, or from the way they couldn't seem to pass each other without rubbing along the other's side, both ideas were lovely to imagine.

"Are they giving you trouble?"

"A little. It's fine, I'll handle it." Shane looked up and took Ilya's face between his hands and pressed a soft kiss to Ilya's lips.

"Could just quit hockey because you're not very good." Ilya murmured when Shane squished Ilya's cheeks together and slurred his words. "Just text them you quit."

"I'm not quitting over text."

"Smart." Ilya made obnoxious kissing sounds. "More an email type of thing."

"I should pack." Shane let go of him but his eyes were soft again, whatever had been eating at him pushed down or relegated to another of Shane's many back burners which seemed to always be broiling away in his brain.

Ilya let him go and then spent longer than he needed to putting Shane's shoes back into the little slot where they belonged.

The first game back was, fun in that Ilya liked playing good hockey and horrible in that the test of the team did not know how to play good hockey.

"Interesting choice." Wiebe said aloud as one of their centers on the third line stumbled over their own skates. Ilya was used enough to it not to flinch.

"Lots of those around here." Ilya murmured as he readied himself to launch onto the ice at the line change.

They lost. Not badly, but maybe that made it worse. There had been some time in the second when Dillon, his winger, had actually got with the program and they'd gotten some momentum behind them, but it had fizzled out not long into the third and was killed when a scrum in front of Hazy resulted in a loose puck the other team could capitalize on.

"Monk's tonight?" Bood asked and most of the team agreed. Ilya thought again of the conversation at the bonfire, of how it was rare for a team to be this close. Maybe it was the castoff nature of the players, the ones no one seemed to want. Broken ones like Boyle who was back on the ice but who'd been favoring his right leg after tearing something last season. Like Wiebe who Ilya had heard was passed over on four other coaching positions before Ottawa took him. Broken ones like Ilya.

"Maybe next time." Ilya tossed his jersey into his cubby and then grabbed it and hung it up because a voice that sounded like Shane told him it was more polite for the poor saps who had to come in and do all the laundry.

Bood was too polite to tell him that he'd said next time last time and the time before that too. He went out, but it was only when Shane was not in town, or busy at night, or when his mother wasn't at his house which was rare. She'd been sticking closer to Ottawa recently and Ilya didn't know why and had little interest in finding out by using his boyfriend as a ghostly wakie-talke. They hadn't talked in a while, Ilya realized.

"You know, I used to party for days straight." Ilya told the air. He didn't know if his mother was home but he'd left the tv on just in case and found he preferred to imagine he was talking to her because talking in his head wasn't working out, he was stuck in there too. Ilya swung his spoon around, careful not to spill the soup he was making. It was one of his mother's recipes that Shane had carefully written out and the weather was getting a bit colder and Ilya wanted to be warm. He stirred again. "Once I got so drunk I woke up in a helicopter. Not for rescue, just got fun!"

He could almost imagine his mother's raised eyebrow.

"I was cool. I once spent a hundred thousand dollars in one weekend." He didn't mention that one of the largest expenses had been the trashed hotel room at ten-thousand dollars a night and the half a kilo of coke he'd apparently bought. God, he hoped mama hadn't been in there for that.

Ilya looked down at his soup and so viscerally missed his mother that his phone was in his hands before he realized it. Yuna picked up on the third ring.

"What's wrong, Ilya?"

Always the planner, Ilya thought. "I made too much soup, have you eaten yet?"

David got the door when Ilya frog marched up the steps and over the threshold with his massive ceramic pot. They both made appreciative sounds when he ladled out their portions and paired it with a French baguette that they had sitting around. It was salty and rich and perfect, made more so because there were now more voices to drowned out his own.

"Want to play Yahtzee?" Yuna asked after they'd cleared their plates. David had demanded to wash them because Ilya had cooked.

"Yuna, you hate playing Yahtzee with Ilya, he always wins." David reminded her.

"This time will be different."

It was not different, Ilya trounced them.

"Ah, the sweet smell of victory, it has been a while." He waved his score sheet around and then realized what exactly he'd said when Yuna paused in her shuffling. "Is nothing."

"You know…" Yuna started which was never a good thing to hear from Yuna Hollander. "I do have some proposals I've been wanting to run past you. I know you didn't want anything distracting you last year, but I may have put out some feelers and found some interested car companies who'd love to have a reformed rake on their billboards."

"…rake?" Ilya whispered, trying to figure out the connotation and not having Shane here to define it for him.

"Yuna's been reading too many romance novels." David peeked around the kitchen divider. "She means you have a new reputation and it was, what? The good European one?"

"David, all the good cars are European!" Ilya hissed and David's laugh echoed out from the kitchen. He turned back to Yuna. "Please tell me it was Porsche, Yuna, if you love me…"

Shane's mother kept shuffling the clearly already shuffled cards but a smile turned up at the corner of her mouth and Ilya let out a weird groan of triumph or excitement because he'd sold off most of his collection except his orange Porsche and the idea of spending a day just driving cool cars was exactly what the doctor ordered.

"Yuna, you are a beautiful, wonderful woman. Have I told you how much I love you—?"

"Alright." David clamped a hand down on his shoulder. "Just promise us when that when you roll up next summer in a purple car that costs more than our house that you go explain to the neighbors about the noise."

Ilya laughed and the darkness he hadn't even noticed creeping up into his chest drew back. What worried him was that he hadn't even noticed it in the first place, not until it was peeled back like a sheet and Ilya remembered how he'd felt at the cottage, when he was in bed with Shane, warmed by the knowledge that they had nowhere to go or anyone to meet in the morning.

Not wanting to bring down the mood, Ilya cut the cards and dealt them each another hand.

He "accidentally" defrosted four extra chicken breasts the night after when Shane was in Boston and his tv remained off and he couldn't be alone with his thoughts any longer. He'd just resolved to call up with some excuse when his phone flashed with an unfamiliar number with a Montreal area code.

Hey, Ilya, it's Jackie! I know it's late notice but I'm in Ottawa for Arthur's doctor's appointment and was hoping to talk to you if you have time—

It went on with the same platitudes Canadians always used about not feeling bad if he was busy and yadda yadda yadda. Ilya had never longed for Russia more than in that moment because it would have been simpler, just a warning she would be arriving soon. Still, Ilya clicked into the text bar and then did nothing. Did he want to talk to her?

Ilya sent a thumbs up and then realized she probably also needed his address so he sent that too. As he grilled up a baked potato, he tossed in a second and third and then pulled the bundle of asparagus out of the fridge. By the time Shane finished with this roadie, they would have gone bad anyway, Ilya thought and it tightened something in his gut.

Jackie Pike rang the doorbell at a respectable time with little Arthur glaring daggers at Ilya from behind her legs. He waved but he swore the kid hissed when his mom wasn't looking. Jackie for her part, made agreeable sounds as she kicked off her shoes and followed Ilya in.

"Oh, wow! You really cook!"

Ilya tried not to feel offended as she looked over his dinner spread with wide eyes. Arthur yanked on her shirt and she nodded softly, some mom power allowing her to answer an unasked question which Ilya found begrudgingly impressive.

"No, baby, we'll grab something on the ride home. I know you're tired." Jackie dropped to her knees, back to Ilya and that more than anything endeared her to him. She wanted to talk to Ilya, but comforting her son came first. The twist in the guts was back.

"What do you want, I'll make you a plate." Ilya was already opening cabinets when Jackie tried to politely decline, but she caved when Arthur kept giving her shirt frantic little tugs when he saw Ilya layering food on his own plate.

When he pulled down another for herself, she refused with more vehemence, and Ilya ignored her as he placed a whole chicken breast and a large potato on her plate. She gave him a soft smile. "Thank you."

"The twins?" He asked when both Pikes followed him like ducklings into his sunken living room and onto the couch. The pre-game coverage had started, and Ilya looked away as one of the commenters called the game "an easy win."

"With their grandma." Jackie sat on the couch and Arthur sat beside her, seemingly excited to eat kneeling in front of the tv. "I can't remember the last time I sat on a couch that wasn't covered in crumbs or stains."

Ilya smiled a bit and then tucked into his food. Arthur was a weird kid, carefully dividing up his plate into quadrants and making sure he only took a bite of one quadrant before moving to another. He watched this and Jackie said softly, "I wanted to apologize about last time."

"It's fine."

"It's really not." Jackie huffed and then more moved her food around her plate rather than eat it. "I just hadn't really thought of who Shane would end up with. I knew he'd pick someone amazing, because he's Shane, but I had to sort of…" She paused and took a bite, Ilya assumed so she could have a moment while she chewed. "I guess I had to process losing this future I'd just assumed we'd have. And that wasn't fair to you or to him."

Ilya looked down to where Arthur sat, but his eyes were locked on the screen and he realized with a flare of warmth, that Shane was on the screen doing a pre-game presser. The boy pointed and then looked back to make sure they were both looking. "Uncle Shane!"

"Yeah, baby, uncle Shane." Jackie smiled and reached out to pet his head. The boy shrugged it off, but Jackie didn't seem annoyed, she just laid her hand near to him instead.

"He loves you both. Your family."

Jackie bit her lip and watched the game start. "You know I put him in our Christmas card? My senile great aunt asked up when we adopted."

"You did not lose anything." Ilya said instead. "He is still Shane. It's just how you see him that changed."

Any mirth dried up and Jackie nodded softly. "Just figured I should say it."

Ilya would give her that, not many would. Most would turn away and pretend they were never in the wrong. Maybe that was why he gave her the opening. "They look good tonight."

"Shane's been a harsh taskmaster trying to wring them into shape." She said and then, "Is it weird, seeing Boston play? Can I ask that?"

"Is good." He said. "For me, not the team, the team I am on now is very bad."

Jackie laughed and it transformed her whole face and for a moment, he could see how the stories he'd heard had been true, about how Jackie Sullivan had been so beautiful she'd knocked Hayden Pike off his bar stool.

"Do you regret it?" She asked, earnest in her tone.

"No."

A lie. Not often, but occasionally when he was alone, he thought about how everything used to be, not easier, but simpler. The world had binary lines of life and death and all of his problems could be solved by a heavy two fingers of vodka in some swanky club and a pretty woman throwing herself onto his lap who wanted to take him home. Every aspect of his life was better now, Ilya knew, but there was the faintest wish that things could just be that simple again.

Maybe some part of this showed on his face because Jackie nodded and Ilya felt the need to defend himself against things he hadn't even said. "I love Shane—"

"I was going to school for photography." Jackie offered. "Hayden keeps pushing me to get another camera, go to classes, offers to watch the kids when I mention there's an exhibition I want to go see." Ilya didn't see the connection in his statement and hers until, with a frantic look at where Arthur's eyes were locked on to where Shane and Pike dominated his old team, she'd made sure he wasn't listening. "I love being a mom, I could never regret them, but…"

Their unspoken comments hung heavy in the air.

Ilya wanted to ask. He wanted to demand to know how that felt, to love the small child and also know they uprooted any sense of personhood. Especially for a woman like Jackie, who'd given up a career and spent at least part of the year as a single parent, he needed to know because she'd made it look natural, the way his mother had, and if she thought—

"I have ice cream." Ilya offered. "Figure you might not want vodka."

"Oh, no. The carbs I've eaten today are more than I planned for." At Ilya's enraged look, she rubbed at her eyes and let out a choked sounding laugh. "Hayden says I look hot in my pjs with vomit on my shoulder, I just feel like I have to, you know, make an effort. Amber's almost two and I still have her baby weight."

"Ah," Ilya hummed. "Straight couples are weird."

"Okay, fine, get me the fucking ice cream." Jackie held out her hand but she was smiling again and Ilya stood to do just that.

He was pulling out three spoons when Jackie's voice rung out. "Did Shane just wink at the camera?"

Ilya hauled ass to get around the corner, throwing the tub and spoons towards Jackie right as his boyfriend made a run for the net. It was a neat slip and dive around the defenders, putting on the speed as he roared in close. The goalie fell to his knees, preparing to pray that he could stop one of Shane's, admittedly amazing though Ilya would never say that to his face, backhand shots. It was the slightest movement, Ilya saw it happen before the goalie did because he could pin point the moment that Shane dropped the puck and made the false shot, because it forced said goalie to shove himself so deep into one corner of his crease that the sudden forehand shot breezed right over his should, because Ilya knew what it felt like, because it was Ilya's fucking move.

"That's my fucking move!" Ilya turned to Arthur and the boy nodded sagely.

"Swear jar."

Ilya huffed. "Bill me." Then he turned to grill Jackie who had gotten the tub open and pulled the blanket down from his couch and seemed to be enjoying the sight more than she should. "Did you know?"

"That Shane perfected another fancy hockey move? No, that's just another Tuesday."

"Not any fancy hockey move, that's the Rozanov!"

Arthur climbed up next to his mother and opened his mouth like a baby bird and Ilya watched her smile softly, scooping a spoonful with lots of little Oreo bits before making little train sounds as she moved it towards his mouth. It was remarkably tender and impossible to turn away from.

When Jackie eventually forced a tired Arthur over her shoulder and gave Ilya a hug which seemed to linger a bit longer, Ilya walked them out to their car. "Hopefully there will be many paparazzi and there will be many stories about our torrid love affair."

"Great, add it to the collection." She slowly lowered Arthur into his car seat. "The ones saying Shane is Arthur's father are all pretty old by now."

"They said that?"

"Oh yeah, it was a joke in the locker room for a while." Jackie brushed it off but from the way she avoided his eyes as she re-checked straps she'd already adjusted gave her away.

"I'm glad you texted."

She turned then and hugged him again."Thank you for answering."

Ilya waved them off and then went back in to clean the plates he'd stolen from Jackie when she'd offered to clean them. It was in the middle of that repetitive chore he'd actually grown to like the longer it was his chore at the cottage, that Shane's name flashed over his screen and Ilya opened it with the back of one of his knuckles.

"You little shit."

Shane's laugh poured out of the speaker. "Did you like it?"

"The wink was a bit much."

"I think I should get something for perfecting your move." Shane cut in, the request for a video call coming through. The sultry tone dropped a bit when he saw Ilya wasn't in bed like he usually was at this time of night. "Did you have a party."

"Jackie stopped by."

The sultry tone was obliterated and Ilya mourned it as Shane perked up. "Arthur's diagnosis consultation was today. Hayden couldn't shut up about having to miss it but this was the first slot they had available."

"Please don't mention Pike when my dick is half hard."

"Just half, huh?"

Ilya dried his hands and picked up his phone, intentionally letting the camera drift down to where his sweatpants hung just the slightest bit snug at the crotch.

"Irina said she's out of town this weekend."

Ilya groaned. "No. No dick imprints for you when you mention my mama."

"I just wanted to warn you!"

Ilya grumbled a bit more as he set up the tripod Shane had bought for the both. Ilya had picked out the colors, orange for him, purple for Shane. By now, it was old hat to get the perfect angle and then scoot back onto the bed so that his body filled up the whole little rectangle in the corner. Shane hummed appreciatively.

"Okey, I'm at your mercy, Hollander. What do you want as a reward?"

Shane bit his lip and Ilya found it so charming because there was no guile behind it. Unbidden, Ilya said, "I miss you."

"I miss you too." Shane's smile was soft, his hair still damp when his face got closer to the screen, like he wanted to take in every line of Ilya's body. "Take your dick out and get hard while I watch."

Ilya threw his head back in a laugh but did as he was told, slowly pushing down his sweatpants and then taking himself in hand, bringing up a leg to get a better angle he knew Shane would appreciate.

"I wish you were here." Ilya said and bit back anything else. Shane couldn't control his schedule any more than Ilya could. Ilya sped up his hand. "Touch yourself." Like the wooden boy brought to like, Shane jumped like he'd forgotten he had hands or a cock. Ilya smiled again, the sharp half smile he knew Shane loved. "Did you need me to give you more directions?"

"Fuck off, you're beautiful and I got distracted." Shane had set his own phone up like Ilya had taught him, optimal body to screen ratio, and Ilya bit out before he could stop it.

"Tell me."

Shane did. "God, your fucking shoulders, your back when you lift. Your thighs." Ilya felt his cock jump and somehow Shane must have too because he laughed a choked off, breathless little thing. "Figures that would do it for you."

"You didn't see anything." Ilya argued, because even their jerking off had an edge of competition. "Maybe you should look again, this time with your glasses—"

"And help you get off? Not fucking likely." Shane huffed, little catches in his chest he sometimes got when he was about to cum. "I started late."

"But according to your game tonight, you're a quick shot." Shane hunched over to laugh and Ilya smiled too, listening to the way the speakers transferred the sound. "Is only fair, I haven't jerked off in days."

"What?"

Ilya looked up and realized Shane had slowed slightly, and he tried to keep the levity along with his boner. "I've been busy. Please jerk off, I want to cum together. Послушайся меня."

"Я буду. Я буду." Shane whimpered and something glitched in Ilya's brain until his vision narrowed down to Shane's freckled cheeks, just visible through the poorly pixelated screen. Shane was just slightly quicker, his moan setting off Ilya who dropped back against his pillows and let his legs flop open, letting the strings of cum to shine on his stomach.

"You were fast, Hollander."

Shane groaned, less sexy now and more annoyed but the playful annoyed Ilya loved, and huffed in a thick Russian accent: "I am Ilya Rozanov and I take forever to cum."

"Now he complains." Ilya tried to shoot a glare at the screen, but his smile broke the illusion. "Is that what I sound like to you? No wonder you cum so fast. I am very sexy."

"I need to take another shower." Shane groaned and then turned and with a worryingly serious face, "I love you, Ilya. So much."

"I know." Ilya said, startled. "I love you so much too."

"I just need you to know that." Shane said and those words stuck in Ilya's head as he cleaned himself up and watched Shane go through his multi-step skincare routine while Ilya did his curls and used the under-eye masks Shane had bought him.

When he finally crawled back into bed, they both blinked sleepily at the other and Ilya felt the enormous gap rising up between them. It was Shane who broke the silence. "Ten days."

"Ten days." Ilya echoed.

Neither of them pressed the end button, just sat there in the dark listening to the other breathe and it was only in the morning when he woke up did he realize the room felt too silent, not because Shane had hung up but because his phone had died.

Chapter End Notes

if you feel so inclined, drop a comment, I love to hear all of the lines which resonate with people and read every single one!!

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Now back to our regularly scheduled ghost content! I'm really happy with how this chapter came out so please let me know what you think and as always, thank you so much to the people reading and leaving the most wonderful comments!

"Irina says the sun is getting to her and she's going back with you tomorrow." Rose hummed through the facetime call. She was painting her toenails a garish shade of purple as Shane finished his stretches. The St. Louis hotel didn't have a whole lot of room to move so Shane had to push the desk out of the way.

"Is she there right now?"

Rose paused painting, her eyebrow raising just slightly. "No, why?"

"No reason." Shane said and then when he rose again with his stomach pressed to the floor, it spilled out of him. "Things have been weird."

"Ghost weird or team weird?"

"Both?" Shane tried valiantly to keep his posture, even as his arms shook just slightly. "Irina's been gone so often, never telling me where she's going or when she's coming back. I know Ilya's confused by it. I caught him talking to himself in the kitchen and his mom hadn't been there in almost three days."

"Maybe it's a good thing? He was all she had for almost a decade."

"It's not fair to Ilya." Shane pushed and then gave up, cutting his cool down short and flexing out his hamstrings for something to do that wasn't looking at Rose. "Maybe not for Irina either."

"Don't think I'm letting the team thing go. They worse this year? I thought you said pre-season was going well?"

"It is. Mostly." Shane pressed his forehead down towards his knee, tucking his other foot against his thigh. "These new rookies are making it a bit weird."

"How?"

Shane didn't know how he could explain without the compounding pressures from playoffs and the practice energy of the pre-season games, how the fissures in the locker room that he'd felt forming last season had seemed to crack open the more games played. Could he tell Rose that Drapeau and Comeau had pulled him aside and in a tone of polite condescension, informed him that the rookies hadn't wanted to shower with him? That members of his team watched him with weary eyes when they were anywhere but the ice? That at the first team barbecue, Gagnon had cracked a joke that Shane might prefer to go in and sit with the WAGs? That Renard and Roy had laughed, both men forgetting that he'd been a best man at their weddings, held their children, ignored the incriminating messages of them cheating on their wives?

"I refused to do hazing. It was like the first thing I think I actually stuck to my guns on when I was first made captain." Shane explained. "And then I come in on Thursday and Laine's rookie has a bleached buzzcut."

"Did you put a stop to it?" Rose had abandoned her polish.

"I tried. Half the team said I was too soft and all the rookies were too scared to stick up for themselves and kept saying it was fine."

"You'll get it figured out." Rose promised. "You're a good captain."

Shane knew that on some level, but it had wavered just slightly at the almost noxious air in the locker room recently. Through the thin, hotel wall, he could hear pacing. Shane hoped was just Hayden watching an ill-advised scary movie and not some spirit he'd have to deal with all night.

That question was answered when there was a slightly frantic knock at his door a handful of minutes later.

"I'll call you back later, Rose." He hummed and stood. "Thank you. Love you."

"Always. Love you too."

Shane allowed himself a second to just look at is reflection in the dark screen before he stood and opened the door to Hayden standing there, slightly panicked and smiling exactly like his daughters when they got into something they shouldn't have. Just like them, Shane would probably fold from that look alone. "Watched a movie you shouldn't have?"

"Miitka said it was a comedy!"

Shane opened his door and Hayden sulked in and to the couch, gesturing to the moved furniture. "Love what you've done with the place."

Shane didn't say anything, just rolled up his mat as Hayden made himself comfortable on Shane's couch. He fixed the desk and packed away all of his toiletries so he'd know were to find them tonight and when he looked over to see what Hayden had settled on, he realized his best friend was watching him with his eyebrows all bunched and looking like he was biting his cheek.

"Hayd?" Shane glanced up at the screen. "Did something happen on Sex Island?"

"No, man, I just mean…" Hayden looked back at the screen and then back to Shane. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, Hayd, I know." Shane laughed a bit and watched two drunk twenty some things made out on a beach somewhere. "Everything alright?"

As if thinking, Hayden opened is mouth, then closed it and then groaned before blurting out, "You can never tell him this, but I think Roznaov was right about something."

"Don't tell him this either, but he usually is." Shane leaned back and was slightly worried by how shaken Hayden appeared to be by this conversation. "Seriously, Hayd, what's wrong?"

"I researched gay people."

Shane blinked at him and then, "Um, thank….you?"

Hayden's head snapped around in horror. "No, like, I want to be a good ally. Fuck I'm so bad at this."

"What's this?"

"Telling you that I'll support whatever you do, man." Hayden said with great feeling, like he was imparting something profound and not an emotion they'd shared before. Hell, they'd cried together in the back booth of a club after their first Cup win.

"Yeah, Hayden, I know that."

Hayden didn't seem mollified, if anything he seemed more distressed and watched the screen like he was worried that Hannah P, Brandi, and a dental hygienist named Cherry were all in mortal danger and not just kissing questionable men.

"Rozanov said something to me." Hayden said suddenly, not looking at Shane but also not seeming to watch the show either. "And I got mad. Like apocalyptic, man. And then me and Jackie sat down and talked for like three hours."

"About what?" The way Hayden's eyes flashed quickly over to him and then away gave away the answer to that question. "Me?"

"Naw, man, me." Then, horribly, Shane realized Hayden was crying. Shane shot bolt upright and Hayden panicked too, waving him away. "No, dude, it's not like—"

"Are you sick? Is it Jackie?" Shane demanded, "The kids? What did he say?"

"No!" Hayden yelled, sharply. "I'm a shit friend who should have supported you more when you came out to me. Shouted at those fuckers when they said that shit in the locker room. Fuck, even the kids, I mean I said shit about Jade painting Arthur's nail. He's four."

Shane didn't know what nail polish had to do with him, but Shane could start to see the outline of the problem that seemed to be eating away at his best friend and felt faintly sick. It was another problem he hadn't even seen, bubbling away under his nose.

"You're a great friend, Hayden. Always have been."

"No, I haven't, you just need to have higher expectations." Hayden countered. "But I'm getting better. Like, I'm on Reddit now, got like a book and shit. I'm like a fucking road scholar."

"Rhodes, it's like named after…" Shane saw Hayden's mixed expression of laughter and disbelief. "Never mind."

"Who's it named after, buddy?" Hayden had collapsed like a balloon with all it's helium released, just smiling as he looked over at Shane.

"I think some rich miner or something, Cecil Rhodes?"

"Good to know." Hayden said and then laughed. "God, fuck, I had note cards."

"What?"

"Yeah," Hayden laughed thickly. "Dude I was so worried about this."

"What, telling me that my best friend is my best friend?"

Hayden looked him dead on. "No, that I support you and Rozanov." Shane fell silent and in one of those rare bursts of emotional intelligence he'd seen him pull out with his children, Hayden said softly, "You picked him, he's good with my kids, and Jackie likes him. One of those would be enough with anyone else, all three means that I was wrong, I misjudged him and I shouldn't have been so rude when you tried to introduce us."

Quietly, Shane murmured, "Are you on drugs? Is this like, a trip?"

"Fuck off." Hayden smiled, but didn't waver. It was earnestness which struck Shane most. "I mean it. I love you, man, and if you love him, then he's more than welcome in our home."

Shane had to look away now, the screen changed to a fucking hemorrhoid commercial that was so jarring that Shane burst out laughing and then Hayden got set off and it got to the point that they had tears in their eyes and Couillard who'd got the room to the other side started banging on the walls.

"You can be really eloquent when you want to be." Shane eventually got out.

"It's an upgrade for parenthood, man." Hayden had slid down the couch, looser and seemingly actually interested in whatever Danny and Hannah B. were talking about in skimpy swimsuits. "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"You think?" Shane said without thinking.

"Sure. You'll be a great dad."

"Rozanov too?" Shane said, partly because it did elicit a groan from Hayden which was much more familiar territory.

"Sure, he's good with kids." Then just as quickly, "Don't tell him that."

Shane smiled. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

The game the next day was—fine. It was fine. Their third line was a bit weak after some shuffling and a trade he'd not agreed with, but they won and the fans had cheered and he'd only got the slightest ribbing for going out with Rose afterwards.

"Fuck off." Hayden said sharply to a group that was hunched together around a stall. Shane hadn't heard what they'd said and they dispersed after Hayden had yelled, but now the energy was tense until enough people had slipped out and Shane went to shower.

Rose was as stunning as usual. Irina was perched on the railing next to her, fashionable in fall colors and a suede, wide brimmed hat that drooped fashionably over her immaculately curled hair. He kissed Rose's cheek and then smiled at Irina.

"Nice hat."

"I think it's chic."

"That what we're getting you too, a big hat?" Rose pointed to the door of an expensive luxury boutique.

"No, just like, nice clothes." Shane picked at his button down and slacks. They were tailored but Irina, when he'd been able to see her, always kissed his cheek and sighed as she did now and said the exact same thing each time:

"What are you wearing?"

The day was mostly being a doll for Irina and Rose who had him dip in and out of the changing room in increasingly sheer tops and tighter and tighter pants. Eventually he'd had to resort to jumping to get a pair over his hips and called it quits there.

"That's quite nice." Irina spun around him, her hat gone but replaced with a silky looking shawl which Shane thought looked like something his own mom would wear. "Do you like the color?"

"It's pretty…purple? Shane tried. "Is purple my color?"

"In this tone, yes. You're a deep winter, baby, you can pull off things that would made a soft autumn like myself weep." Rose explained, throwing an almost garish red silk shirt over his shoulder as the stylist nodded, somehow honestly excited with whatever Shane put on.

Irina lounged back onto a settee. "Rose says I'm a warm spring."

"What would Ilya be?" Shane asked, partly to distract them as he pulled at the crotch of the pants which had begun to crawl up the crease of his thigh.

Unanimously and at the same time, "Warm autumn."

"Good to know." Shane failed and then waddled his way back into the changing room.

It was only after they settled back into an upscale poke restaurant after all of Rose's other options were vetoed for not being on his meal plan that he felt like they were alone enough that he could talk to Irina directly.

"We've missed you in Ottawa."

Irina had been looking out the window at the birds and when she looked back at them, she had to clear her throat first and then scratched her nose, the same tell her son had. "I've been busy."

"I know, it's just that Ilya misses you." Shane did too, but he wanted to focus on Ilya right now. It was a more manageable goal and Shane was goal oriented at the moment.

"I miss him too." She hurled it out like Shane's statement had been an accusation. Maybe it had seemed that way because she stood with a huff, "I'm going to talk to the car accident out there."

There was a woman wearing a bloody dress standing in the intersection rolling over cars and smacking wetly into the concrete only to vanish and do it all over again when the light changed. Shane sighed and Rose picked at her bowl, finally deigning to raise her eyes when it seemed she'd judged Irina to have left.

"That went well."

"Rose…"

Rose took a large bite, chewed, and then swallowed. "I just mean—I don't know what I mean. That just sounded bad."

"She's hiding something." Shane said. "I don't know what it is or why she won't just tell me!"

"She wants to have her own secrets, she doesn't need to tell you everything going on in her life. Unlife, whatever." Rose said sharply, still avoiding his eyes.

"I know that, but she's just up and vanishing on her son." Maybe there was also the faint worry that Ilya had been—distant, recently. Not emotionally, not sexually, but there were moments that Shane saw now where Ilya would be next to him and the look in his eyes made Shane feel like his boyfriend was a million miles away. Fabian's words swam up in his brain, tentacles curling around their every interaction until it felt like Shane would pop.

Not that Shane could tell Rose any of this. It felt wrong for him to know it, invasive in a way, and the thought of telling anyone else, to telling Ilya that he knew something he was so clearly trying to hide, it made Shane nauseous. It was the night in Vegas all over again, exposed in a hallway for knowing something he shouldn't. The poke bowl in front of him became suddenly whole unappealing, the bits of fish in his teeth feeling slimy and he took a long drink to clean out his mouth.

Rose seemed annoyed when he looked back up. "She's a person, Shane, with thoughts and feelings of her own. Maybe she's lonely and doesn't want you to be all up in her business. Maybe she just wants this one thing for herself because everyone else gets all the other parts of her. Did you ever think of that?"

"Uh…" Shane gaped. "Is she…dating someone?"

Rose's face dropped and she looked like she wanted to smack her face into her bowl and maybe smother herself. "Don't listen to me."

"So she's seeing someone. She's, what, on ghost tinder?" Shane demanded, looking down to where both the ghosts were crouched on the sidewalk. Irina, maybe not focusing on how she looked, wore her white nightgown and the wind caught up in her loose hair. Then, as if his brain finally worked its way through all of the words, he shot a glance back at Rose. "Is this even about Irina?"

Rose groaned and kept her face covered by her hands.

"Are you alright?" Shane asked and desperately wished he could stop asking his friends this. He was so deep in his own emotional struggles he really didn't feel emotionally equipped to deal with everyone else's too. Still, he reached across the table and took Rose's hand. "Was that why you asked me to come down, you wanted to talk to someone?"

"More like I needed a distraction and also I missed you and also Irina wants to go home and was using me as some weird emotional scapegoat so I needed you to emotionally blackmail her with your adorable pout." Rose rushed out in a single breath. "There it it."

Shane shook his face out of whatever expression he wore that was absolutely not a pout.

"You're lonely?" Shane asked quietly.

"Only sometimes. You help, Irina too. Miles when he's in town. My family when they call." Rose pushed her bowl away and instead took up her straw for something to do. "I love this job, but it feels like everyone is fake, Shane. It gets exhausting. And that I'm a little weird on set doesn't make me a whole lot of friends."

Shane understood that intimately. His team knows he's jumpy in Denver's locker room but not that there was a worker who'd hung himself from the shower pipes and would moan as his feet swung against his teammate's shoulders. He imagined movie lots had the same number of ghost as any other location.

"I'm here for you. Always." Shane said it as a promise because it was. Rose bit her lip and nodded.

"God, look at us two drama queens. "She rubbed at her waterline. "This mascara is ninety dollars, fuck. Tell me about lover boy."

"He's good." Shane sucked at his teeth, swearing he could still feel the fish between his teeth. "His team is struggling."

"I meant like, how's the relationship, baby, not how's his hockey." Rose took a big sip and seemed happy to be off the topic of her nonexistent love life. Maybe that was why Shane allowed her to dig into his very existent love life.

"He's—" Shane paused and Rose, as she did so much else, caught it. "He's has a rough few months. Russia was a lot for him and I think the summer was…I don't know. Not as restful. This year felt different than last year."

"Better or worse?" Rose asked, pulling his uneaten bowl over to her. He felt grateful it wasn't going to waste.

"Worse." He said honestly. With a gesture, she shoved the small side salad his way that she hadn't even touched. "Irina needed to go back. I think Ilya did too, but it lingered, I guess. I keep waiting for some shoe to drop."

"Sounds emotionally healthy." Rose muttered through a large bite. He'd never seen a person so famous eat so messily.

"He got a Ducatti bike, Rose, that's like the stereotypical cry for help from middle aged men!" He took a bite and wished he could pour the creamy sauce over it but settled for the light vinaigrette. "I worry every time he takes it out, they're fucking called donor cycles, for fucks sake!"

"Shane, you and I both know death is not relegated only to reckless people, it happens all the time." She took another bite. "Death is everywhere, all the time. Death is mundane."

Shane's eyes drifted down to where Irina and the woman had stood and Irina was in some massive ballgown, spinning for the car crash victim who tried her own hand, creating a long red dress which she spun in too. He wondered what her name was, if she was a mother too, or wife or daughter. If there were people out there who mourned her every time they drove past an intersection a million walked over without a thought to the tragedy that had happened and continued to happen there every few minutes.

Shane felt heavy all of the sudden, tired, and wanted to see Ilya's face, smell his aftershave and cologne, feel the faintest rasp of stubble on his cheek and neck.

"I miss my boyfriend."

Rose chewed meditatively. "Damn, I want a boyfriend too. Maybe a sexy bookshop owner. No, flower shop!"

"If I find any sexy flower/bookshop owners, I'll send them your way."

"Don't you dare, my luck they'd be gay and wanting you instead." Rose huffed and that yanked Shane out of his spiral and back to where Rose was watching him with a sly smile.

"Anyone else to keep an eye out for? What about a barista, or a baker? I feel like I've seen that movie."

"Oh, a baker! I love bread."

"I miss bread." Shane bemoaned and powered through the side salad almost as if to spite it for not being packed with gluten.

"Is this diet of yours working? Do you like, feel better or perform better?" Rose picked at her bowl. "When I had to bulk up for X-Force I fucking hated it, every sip of those protein drinks made me want to hurl."

"I like it. Maybe the discipline of it?" He didn't have to look up to see her quirked up eyebrow or smile. "It's not a sex thing."

"I was thinking it was more a 'we should discuss it in therapy' type of thing, but it also does sound like a sex thing." Rose laughed then. "Go on, tell me all about your discipline."

"I hate you."

"That another kink of yours?" Rose was having too much fun with this and even Shane couldn't stop the way his smile seemed to be pulled up.

"It's not a sex thing, I just like having rigid rules that I can follow and then seeing those rules rewarded." Shane said and then groaned when he realized what he'd said. Rose's whole face was bright with job. "Don't—"

"Rigid, you say?" Rose whispered, delightedly. "Being rewarded, you say?"

"Ok, fuck off, my mother-in-law is back." Shane muttered when Irina drifted over to them, eyeing them suspiciously when she sat.

"What did I miss?"

Rose burst out laughing so loud other patrons turned to look and Shane wanted simultaneously to melt into the chair and also laugh along with her, as loud and unrestrained as he wanted.

~~~

By the time the game had finished and they were bussed back to the hotel, the whole team were more zombies than people. Shane sent off a few goodnight text messages, along with the same messages from Irina, before he showered for a second time and crawled under scratchy hotel sheets.

He woke up before his alarm and laid in bed for a few minutes. There were no ghosts in this room, not even this hall as far as he could tell, and he luxuriated in it before pulling his phone off the charger and immediately dialing Ilya.

When his boyfriend picked up the facetime, Shane felt like someone had taken a stick to his stomach because Ilya was so beautiful that it seemed to stun him for a minute. He was on the back porch, wrapped up in a chunky thick knit sweater that looked fashionable and yet also casual, and his hair fell in just the most perfect ringlets around his face. And his smile—

"Shane? Did I lose you?"

Shane blushed slightly. "No, I'm here. You're beautiful."

Ilya's hand, which had reached out of frame to bring a cup to his mouth, paused just slightly before the smile grew more, his white teeth almost flashing in the afternoon sun. "You say things like this when I can't touch you. Rude."

Shane smiled, and just the sight of Ilya, lounging and comfortable, untangled something in Shane which had grown so tight he hadn't realized it might have been suffocating. "Four more days."

"Not really any time before the game, yes?" Ilya raised the cup again and Shane had to smile at the stupid yellow arched logo.

"No. We'll just miss each other." Shane said softly. "Are you drinking a milkshake?"

"Yes, did exceptionally well at practice." Ilya said and then, as if he'd been lit up from the inside, his smile impossibly widened. "The team has a new mascot!"

"Good, how could you even put skates on a horse?"

"No, Shane, Harris got a puppy, Chiron." Ilya's fingers types over the screen and Shane watched a small boxy photo flash on the screen. He clicked into it as Ilya talked about how good a boy the dog was, about his little paws, and that puppy breath that Ilya said he wished he could bottle up.

The photo was probably on the social media page and Shane mourned that this version of Ilya was out there for everyone. He was on the floor of the locker room, legs sprawled and lap full of a little blur of black fur that was thrusting itself up towards Ilya's face, a task made easy because Ilya was leaning down to make it easier for them.

"Cute." He pushed out, but his thoughts were back with Hayden. Ilya would be a great father, kind and funny, playful and forgiving. He'd dress up for Halloween and sing carols at Christmas, he'd love attending recitals and would always have a fully charged phone to capture the moment. "Hey, baby?"

"Yes?"

"Can you go grab the camera?" He asked softly, tucking the blankets up around his neck when Ilya shot him a sultry look. "Can you take a selfie of yourself like that? I want to keep this moment."

Ilya's smile wavered for a second, tilting down at the corners before it softened into something more earnest and he nodded, taking Shane with him to the bedroom and pulling the Polaroid camera from the shelf before making his way back to his chair.

When Ilya sat, he did so with a little grunt. Shane wondered if he knew he did that now, if he realized it was the exact sound Shane's father made. Heat flamed behind his breastbone as Ilya raised the Polaroid camera and clicked the button. It made the same unholy grinding noise and the picture developed in the sun.

For that singular moment, Shane let his worries subside because in a morning this perfect, there was no need to worry. He didn't need Fabian to tell him Ilya's aura now, Shane could see it clearly now through the screen as he spoke.

It was golden.

~~~

"You come here often?"

The ref made some sharp noise and Ilya raised his hand in acquiescence but Shane was still smiling. "It's a face-off, Rozanov. I'll teach you how hockey works later."

"If that's what you want to do, later."

Ilya snapped the puck back to Dillon, his shit right-winger who did manage to get the puck into play, something Shane noted to have his guys look over when they were dissecting tape. He most assuredly was not allowing himself to think of later.

Ilya was good, quick and keeping all his team on their toes. First to score, Shane and Hayden tied it up in the second period and he was rewarded with a full body slam which rattled his teeth and had his cock chub up in his cup when Ilya's breath fanned out onto his face.

By the start of the third, Shane's joy at playing against Ilya was muted by his annoyance with his team. Maybe because it was Ottawa, but his defense was holey, letting in attempts that if they had someone worse in the net would have been goals. When he pointed this out, all he got was a laugh and a nod that felt too condescending to be trusted.

"Jesus dude, you need to tell Rozanov to get a handle on his heart eyes." Hayden was glancing over at the Centaurs who were readying for another face-off in their zone after fucking Comeau got them an icing call.

"What?"

"You know," Hayden jerked his head towards where Ilya was looking over that them. "heart eyes."

For a minute, Shane worried he'd had a heart attack because his heartbeat seemed irregular and painful. Ilya was looking at him—Hayden was dramatic, but there was love there. Shane had a wild feeling half fear, half elation that anyone could see them. They had to know. How could they see them look like that and not know?

Shane looked away and then prepared his expression for the face-off. This was immediately undermined when Ilya leaned down and huffed, "Сердитый котёнок" before racing away with the puck.

They got it back when Dillon fumbled with it and Shane snaked it out form between his legs and heard the satisfying sound of frustrated curses fade as he poured on the speed and watched Wyatt Hayes brace for impact. That was also satisfying, almost smelling the fear goalies poured out when it was just him and them, that was why he slid around the net, shooting directly to JJ who'd planted himself in front of the net directly opposite from where Hayes had thrown himself to stop Shane from scoring on a wrap-around.

Ilya was quick too, that was what Shane thought when the puck left JJ's stick and smacked directly into Ilya's knee and he went down onto the ice.

For a minute Shane was sure something was buzzing, then he realized that it was his own ears ringing, growing louder and louder the longer Ilya didn't stand, didn't brush it off and flip off the crowd that booed him.

He was moving forward without thinking, a ref's striped back blocking his view. "Rozanov, you need a doctor?"

He needed a doctor, Shane was a second from calling for one himself, his head turned when he realized there was another body standing at center ice.

Irina was as pale as milk, eyes locked on where her son knelt, talking with his goalie and the ref, brushing off their hands. Her hair was unbound and wild, tangled, and her white dress blended in with the ice so she looked every inch like the ghost she was. Shane knew Ilya must have stood because there was scattered applause and because Irina's face broke open and she cried, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

He watched Ilya stand, roll his ankle and nod, waving a hand at the half-hearted cheers which only grew louder at his dismissal of them. Ilya had always loved an playing for an audience but they loved him back too.

"Are you alright?"

"Might not be kneeling for a few days." Ilya hummed thoughtfully and Shane felt a flash of love at how Ilya never wanted anyone to worry.

"Change of plans then."

Ilya smiled and slid his way over to the bench. The remaining time boiled down and Montreal took it in a match that was much too close for Shane's liking, not that he would ever say that to Ilya.

Irina stopped him on the march back to the locker room, biting her nail and holding her cross in her other fingers. When she spotted him, she followed, slowing when he did so that they had a buffer of space to talk. "He's alright, it'll bruise but they have the best trainers—"

"He needs his mama." Irina said sharply. "We will cook him dinner, then maybe a nice relaxing movie…"

Shane stopped dead in the hallway, waving the others on because he wasn't sure how he could come back from them overhear him arguing with a wall about wanting—needing—to be alone so that his boyfriend could fuck him. Well, maybe with the knee they'd have to get creative, but dammit, he hadn't touched Ilya in weeks and it felt like something might actually break if he were forced to be in the same room but unable to fall to his knees. It might kill him, thought Shane dramatically.

"He's not flying home with his team tomorrow, so why don't you take the night and…um…" Shane trailed off and realized that unless it was Rose, he sort of assumed Irina found her own form of entertainment. Then, unprompted and in the worst location possible, "Rose said you were seeing someone."

Irina opened her mouth, closed it and then huffed out a laugh but she also physically turned her body away, a sure sign she was lying. What surprised Shane most was how bad at it she was. "What are you doing?"

"Me? Dating! Propos—propose-tros. Fuck!" Irina huffed and waved at him.

"Preposterous." Then, "Where the fuck did you learn that word?"

"I've been watching Miss Marple." Irina said softly, a touch defensive when Shane looked at her blankly. A touch sly, she hissed out an affectionate and cutting, "My little Luddite."

"Jesus Christ." Shane rolled his eyes and checked that the hallways was still clear. Coach would be coming soon, he'd seen his name on the media board and he hadn't even gotten his skates off. "I just mean, if you wanted to…I don't know. Bring them around?"

Both of them made matching grimaces. "Oh, bunny…"

"Man, I don't know, I just feel like you've been gone a lot and if it was because you…I mean if you want to keep this thing a secret, I get that, of course I get that, it's just…" Shane shrugged. "You don't have a whole lot to lose and if they make you happy, then I'll be happy."

"I'm not dating anyone.." She said, her cold fingers curling around his chin, her mouth tight but her eyes misty, curled up with crows feet when she smiled at him. "But if I was…I would think about it."

"Hollander, what the fuck are you doing?"

Shane jerked around and made a few excused his coach didn't bother to listen to as he marched inside and pulled off his skates, grateful that most guys had finished showering so that was one less thing to worry about.

~~~

The apartment was empty, Irina apparently on the hunt for which restaurant to order from tomorrow, so Shane got home to an empty and quiet apartment and thought about all of the things he could do, like a load of laundry, make a quick dinner, watch some tape, and instead went immediately into the bedroom to find his butt plug. His prep was quick and efficient, down to a science when he knew his time with Ilya was limited, and when he left the bathroom to a still empty apartment, he got a little pissed.

"Stuck in traffic?" Shane huffed aloud, laying back to take off the pressure from his ass and instead rubbed his feet methodically along the smooth silk sheets, letting the tension drag out and racket up the pressure he felt churning in his stomach. When the door opened, it was almost too much, and his breath rushed out in a whoosh when Ilya pushed his way in, shirt already over his shoulders and pants half unbuttoned. When he spotted Shane, he paused, tripped over his pant legs, and then laughed in that smooth, sexy way Shane loved.

"Impatient slut." Ilya murmured affectionately.

"Take your pants off." Shane said instead of answering an obvious fucking statement.

Shane tried never to compare himself to what Ilya had before, comparison being a thief and all that jazz, but there was something about watching Ilya walk on his knees to the center of the bed, spread Shane's thighs, gently pull the plug out so that he could slide smoothly in that just really did something for Shane. He was yielding, available.

It had been weeks since they last fucked, days since their last facetime, and maybe that contributed to the almost manic way they came together, with loud slaps of skin, and Shane letting out increasingly debouched sounds he couldn't hold back, not when Ilya kept shifting his hold to hammer against Shane's prostate.

With a yank, Ilya threw one of Shane's large thighs over his shoulder, Shane's stomach pouched out where it was nearly folded in half, his cock so close to Ilya's mouth, he could feel the heavy pants rushing out in time with Ilya's thrusts. "Fuck, Ilya—baby…Fuck!"

"So needy." Ilya grunted out, eyes locked on Shane's cock, watching it drip onto Shane's abs with the same intensity he would a puck on the ice. "Needy little cock slut."

He said it so tenderly, in both English and then in Russian, thrusts growing harder, their breathing getting rougher, their stamina after so long apart fraying at the seems. "Please, please, I—I'm good. I was good."

"You didn't come? Not since last time? Four days?" Of course Ilya would know the last time they fucked, maybe down to the hour, and the smile he got now was equally as hot but because it was just the faintest bit cruel. "Of course, good boy like you, saved it all for me."

That was all Shane could handle and with him bent up like he was, he felt the lightning fission of cumming followed immediately by the warm wet splatter of cum across his neck and chin, a bit landed over his eyebrow and Shane made a noise of annoyance, which seemed to do it for Ilya who Shane felt pull himself free right before Shane felt the same warm wetness cover his chest.

He made it maybe ten seconds before he groaned and Ilya was already standing to get a wash cloth to clean off his face.

Sex was fantastic, but Shane always savored these moments most, when Ilya gently rubbed a washcloth over Shane's brow, along the arch of his nose, murmuring sweet endearments about his freckles. Maybe he also loved it because of what came after: Ilya tossing the damp cloth into their shared laundry hamper before pulling up their shared comforter in their shared bed so they could wake up in the morning side-by-side, together.

Yeah, Shane thought as Ilya curled his head up under Shane's chin, it was probably that.

The next day was relaxing in the same way a good long workout was relaxing because Shane spend the whole morning as a walking translator. Irina had so much to say and Ilya had so much to say back and Shane could be lying if there wasn't some small part of him that did love being able to do this, to let these two people talk about inane things over takeout Irina had meticulously chosen and which Ilya loved.

"No she did not!" Ilya demanded.

"She did!" Irina confirmed.

Shane smiled and nodded. "She did."

"But she seems so nice in all the interviews!" Ilya pointed to where he'd put on one of the new X-Force movies, a reboot where Rose had a cameo Ilya swore he would skip. The focus of their gossip session was one of the new leads, a woman playing a mutant with a power Shane thought was mostly just her standing around pointing at things that moved with bad CGI.

"I thought so too!" Irina pointed at the screen. "So I go to her trailer and she's screaming at her make-up girl and demanding oat milk lattes and then throwing them at production assistants!"

Shane translated in exactness. Ilya gasped excitedly. Shane also found a sort of sick thrill at knowing something he shouldn't in a way that wasn't the looming truth he'd not wanted to think about during such a perfect day.

"You will be on tv soon too." Irina made a little gesture to get Shane's attention. "Fancy documentary. Big deal!"

"She's talking about the documentary." Shane said and then leaned over to drag Ilya's hand into his lap. "What did you say about me?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Ilya said softly, but there was a tension there. "And mama, don't tell him!"

"She hasn't said a thing!" Shane looked over at her, accusatory. "What did he say?" She mimed a lock and then key being throwing. "What did you say?"

"Your home address." Ilya said. "Your personal phone number. Your mother's maiden name."

"Ilya."

"The name of your first pet. Maybe snuck credit card number in there too."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Come on! I said nice things about you!"

Ilya perked up. "What things?"

"Password to your garage." Shane smiled and elbowed him. If Irina weren't on the chair, he would have startled wrestling Ilya as very clear foreplay, so instead he settled for a rib jab that Ilya immediately repeated. "I just wish you'd tell me."

"Why?" Ilya said sharply and both he and Irina shot him twin looks of confusion because all playfulness was gone. "Was boring. Hollander is a good hockey player. We are friends. I put up with him, ha ha ha. I kept to your script, only said boring things your teammates would say about you, nothing that I wished I could say. Okay, Hollander?"

And yes, maybe Shane had been pushing because he'd wanted to know what to expect from his teammates when it came out and Shane said nice things about a man he was suppose to hate. There would be the ribbing and the mocking and the underhanded comments about how Shane must want to suck his dick followed by the much more overt comments that sucking his dick was the only way Shane could have gotten Ilya to like him enough to to the interviews in the first place. Jokes, they'd say, laughing at his expense, it's a fucking joke, Hollander. You love taking but not jokes?

Not quite like anything his teammates would have said then.

"I wish I could say more too."

Ilya looked at him and for a minute Shane was back out on that balcony at twenty and Ilya was across form him with the expression which Shane knew intimately: he'd missed something. But then he blinked and Ilya was smiling slightly again, looking back at the screen. "Maybe also mentioned your mom being hot. Might want to get in front of that."

Shane let it go, wondered how well he could lie to Irina about needing more food or something so they could lie back down in their bed where everything always felt easier and the world made sense again, right before his phone started ringing.

"Don't answer it." Ilya groaned and then saw the caller ID. "Really don't answer it."

"Hi, Hayden."

"Shit dude, Jackie broke her ankle so we need to go to the hospital."

Shane sat upright. "What? Is she alright?"

"I'm fine!" Jackie's tinny voice rang out over the speakers. "It's not even that bad!"

"Your ankle's at a right angle, Jaks!" Hayden hissed and then, "Listen, I hate to ask, I know you're like…making up for lost time of whatever—"

"Gross, Hayden." Shane and Jackie said at the same time.

"I just mean I know Shane's busy so I hate to ask, but could you like watch the kids for a few hours while I drive her to the hospital?"

"Can Ilya come?" Shane asked when Ilya perked up, and anything which made Ilya happy made Shane want to do it.

"Yes, bring your boyfriend, indoctrinate my kids." Hayden said and then after what sounded like a slap to the arm, Hayden choked out, "I meant for liking the Centaurs, not like, the gay thing!"

"I multitask." Ilya said loudly and then went to change with a pep in his step which had any residual tightness release.

Shane felt even better when they got to the house and Irina went to sunbathe in the backyard despite it being a chill fall day while Shane and Ilya were shoved into the twins room and told to fend for themselves.

Hayden, in a mark of very pointed maturity and maybe to get one up on Ilya, walked over with his youngest and planted her firmly in his lap. "Amber, sit with Uncle Ilya."

Hayden said it intentionally, shooting a look over his shoulder where Shane was helping Jackie gather all her health cards like he was looking for their approval. Jackie groaned and Shane gave a confused thumbs up. Not that it mattered, Ilya was looking down at the kid with a soft expression and then when he realized they were looking at him, he huffed like being called uncle meant nothing. "Amber, yes, that is her name which I knew, I, your Uncle Ilya."

"Jesus Christ." Hayden huffed.

It was almost sweet how much the Pike children loved their parents, how they seemed genuinely heartbroken over the idea of not seeing them for a handful of hours. That only lasted about ten minutes when they realized they had a new jungle gym to climb all over and subjects to test their experiments on. The Pikes had a more robust playroom than most daycares and Ilya was being treated by Dr. Jade while Shane ate all of the plastic concoctions that Amber put in front of him.

"Really, Shane? Gluten? What would your nutritionist say?" Ilya hummed from the floor as Shane pretended to eat a fake sandwich comprised of a single plastic tomato.

Amber needed to be put down for a nap not long after and when he finally pulled his arm out of Amber's baby death-grip, it was to a fight building in the living room while Ilya sat on the floor with a bottle of purple nail polish.

"No! I'm next!" Jade looked honestly distressed. "Boys don't get their nails painted!"

"Yeah, huh!" Arthur, always a quiet kid, flashed his nails and yelled, "Daddy said I could!"

Shane realized there was little flecks of chipped green polish on Arthur's hands, his favorite color, and Shane thought about Hayden sitting on that hotel couch again. "Can I see, Arthur?"

The kid marched over and stuck out his fingers for Shane to look over, sticking his tongue out at his sister over his shoulder. Something burned in his throat and when he went to sit down next to Ilya who had convinced Ruby it was alright because he was a boy and he wanted to paint his nails, he dug through the little nail kit and saw all the new colors, yellows and oranges, blues and the completely full green.

"Jade, could you grab me the glitter?" Ilya asked and the twins raced up the stairs to get some. "Shane?"

"They're new. Ruby and Jade only wear pink and purple. They bought new colors for…" Shane didn't say Arthur because it wasn't actually just for Arthur and it had something heavy sitting in his gut and making his eyes burn. Yet he was smiling, he could feel it.

When the twins raced back down the steps, they seemed ecstatic at the idea of adding more glitter to their already glittery nails. Ilya had just finished his own left hand when one of the girls leaned over and blew all over his finger, spit splattering across his boyfriend's knuckles. "Give it here, you need a steady hand for your right."

Shane pulled the brush out and kept his hand steady as he layered the blue polish on the shapely nails. Was it weird to find even his boyfriend's nails attractive? There were like Ilya, cracked and dry in places from their gloves, strong, pale in places from repeated taping, and rough along the edges where callouses formed.

Even when Shane came to terms with being gay, there had been internal lines he'd drawn and one of them he hadn't even realized he'd had was writing off any attraction to the 'feminine.' It had been a hasty decision, Shane realized a bit shamefully, because Ilya with nail polish was hot, but that wasn't hard, Ilya made most things hot. He could wear one of those maid outfits all the guys talked about getting their girls to wear and still be the peak of masculinity. There was an idea Shane had and then had to immediately bury so as not to drag Ilya to a side room and abandon his babysitting duties.

"Uncle Shane?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Shane asked, but his mind was on Ilya's strong fingers, at the place where Ilya would wear a ring when they got married. The right hand like they did in Russia, a gold band to march his mother's necklace, maybe something in Cyrillic along the inside that Ilya could touch and know he was loved. His mind was jumbled up in that thought, painting with the proof of his best friend's acceptance, maybe that was why he was so fucking blindsided by a toddler.

"Are you married?"

"What?" Shane yelped and forced his hand not to smear the pant over Ilya's cuticles. "Ah, no."

Jade looked at Ilya. "Are you his husband?"

"That's the same question." Shane said and then, "We're not married."

"Are you going to get married?" Jude pushed. "Because my friend Kelly's sister got married and she got to be flower girl and I want to too."

"Oh." Shane looked over at Ilya who seemed almost as blindsided as Shane but unlike Shane, he kept his head and said, "Maybe some day."

"Do you not love each other?" Ruby demanded, leaning her sparkling hands over the table with the voice of a natural gossip. "Cuz my friend Georgia said her parents are divorcing because they don't love each other anymore."

"No, we love each other." Shane confirmed and then realized he just outed them to two talkative toddlers. At least he knew Arthur would keep his secrets. Ilya was watching him with a soft expression, and Shane couldn't really get a read on him as Shane leaned in to stage whisper which always drew the girls in close. "But, it has to be a secret. You can't tell Kelly or Georgia or anyone because it would be bad for us."

"But you want to get married?" Arthur asked quietly.

Shane looked over at Ilya who smiled, the real one which showed off his slightly crooked grin and they were both nodding softly, not taking their gaze of the other. It was impossibly tender.

"Then get married here!" Ruby yelled, breaking the moment. "Then I can be a flower girl!"

"I want to be flower girl too!" Arthur demanded.

"You're a boy!" Jade yelled back. "And I want to be the flower girl!"

"What do you say, Hollander?" Ilya stood and held out his hand, polish out, to drag Shane up. "Wanna get hitched?"

~~~
"You coming inside?" Shane asked the pale shape of Irina who sat poolside even as the child-safety trap remained firmly in place and the sky was firmly overcast.

"I heard the yelling, everything alright?"

Shane glanced back where Ruby and Jade were tearing apart their house in search of guests. "I think I'm marrying your son."

Irina shot him a look. "Think?"

Shane gestured to the inside where a trunk had been opened and princess dresses and other costumes were being dragged out for perusal. Irina laughed and the coldness in the air which seemed to have chilled her seemed to be shrugged off and she was all golden again.

"Did you want to…?" Shane didn't know exactly what he was going to say and was saved when Irina just nodded her head vigorously.

"But what's a girl to wear?" Irina laughed.

"What did she say?" Ilya asked immediately when Shane slipped back into the house and they were given accessories to put on.

"It's her son's wedding, of course she's coming. She just needs to pick an outfit to fit the theme." Shane waved his hand at the mess of the Pike's living room. "I mean we're in such distinguished company."

"Good turn-out though." Ilya remarked at the army of stuffed animals and the three young kids all jockeying for title of flower person, a role Shane had created to stop the fighting. Amber had been woken up by all the noise and preparation and had climbed her way down the stairs on her diaper before curling up in one of the large dragon stuffed animals and going back to sleep.

"Wedding of the century." Shane said. "Who'd miss this?"

Ilya winked at him, a talent considering he was using his eyebrows to keep a flower headband up on his head and not across his eyes. Ruby had given him a bright red bow tie which had to have come from a costume and Shane yanked at the cape he'd been give and which was nearly choking him. At least his top hat stayed on his head.

Irina entered then, dress a beautiful yellow, almost a sun dress but long and pretty. She sat down among all of the guests beside the sleeping Amber. Shane pointed his head in her direction and Ilya looked, his face sharp as he clearly bit his cheek and looked up. The almost tears made Shane's throat tighten up too.

"Alright, I'm the deficient!" Ruby yelled and stood, marching past them.

"I wanna be deficient!" Jade yelled back.

"You're the flower person!" Ruby pointed to the basket with the most flower adjacent things they had found which had been a bundle of celery from the fridge. "I'm deficient!"

"Officiant." Shane gently corrected, eyes already burning.

"Sure." Ruby ignored and then clapped together all the attention she could. "This is the wedding of Shane Hollander and Ilya…"

"Rozanov." Ilya cleared his throat and then provided.

"Ros-noff" Ruby said. "Uncle Shane, don't laugh!"

"Sorry, it's just such a beautiful day." Shane said and felt stupid when he was choked up. Not that Ilya was any better.

"Uncle Shane, do you promise to love Ilya and be married forever?" Ruby asked, taking her job seriously, even as her sister and brother argued who got to throw the celery and who got to press the music button their keyboard. Irina was there, Shane could see her in his peripherals, and he thought she might have been crying too. And yet it was perfect because Ilya was across from him, backlit by the setting sun and smiling, taking Shane's hands and looking at him with those fucking heart eyes.

"I do."

Ilya's fingers clenched in his hands and Shane clenched back.

"Uncle Ilya do you love Shane and want to be married forever?" Ruby flipped her book like she was reading from it, ignoring it was a picture book about pumpkins and was upside down. But Shane knew that only in the abstract, because most of his attention was on Ilya's face which had looked over to where his mother sat, clutching her necklace, and without Shane saying a word, Ilya reached up and clutched it too.

"I do." Ilya said to Shane. "In this life and the next."

Shane broke then, crying rather embarrassingly in front of kids who rushed up to hug his legs and do all of the kind things their parents had taught them to when someone was upset. Shane laughed thickly. "I'm alright, I'm good. What's next Ruby?"

"The rings!" She said judiciously, gesturing to her two awake siblings. "Flower people!"

Both ran back to their seats and began throwing whole stalks of celery from the basket they both were tugging on which was such a funny sight it made a new wave of tears roll down his cheeks. Ilya reached out and rubbed his thumb over the wet streaks with such tenderness that the only thing Shane could do was press his head into the hand.

When the flower people who were doing an exceptional job, Ilya made sure to tell them, made their way to the end of the isle they held out the two plastic rings, pink and purple, and Shane and Ilya exchanged them.

"Now pronounce you husbands!" Jade laughed and before Ruby could strangle her sister for stealing her thunder, Arthur saved them all.

"Say the kissing thing, Rubs!"

"Oh, yeah!" She bounced as Shane tried to put the ring on Ilya's finger but was only able to get it on the end of his pinkie. His own ring got a bit farther, but not by much. "You should kiss now!"

It was soft, chaste, and yet was so impossibly intimate that when he opened his eyes and saw Ilya leaning forward to rest their foreheads together, Shane felt like the rest of the world could fall away and he wouldn't notice, not with this man in front of him.

"You going to make an honest man out of me, Mr. Hollander?" Ilya whispered as the room cheered and the rest of the celery was tossed up and Amber woke up and added her crying to the joyful noise.

"Not in the least, Mr. Rozanov." Shane hissed back. "Because tonight is our honeymoon."

Ilya's smile when Shane looked up was delighted and Shane had to kiss him again, and reveled how, unlike in every nightmare he'd ever had, when he and Ilya kissed here it garnered only riotous applause.

Chapter End Notes

Credit to the people who clocked Irina might be out and about with a date and bonus points to anyone who might be able to guess just who she might be out seeing ;)
Thank you so much for reading and to the people who take the time to comment, I appreciate you so much!