Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog

Additional Tags:

Angst, Comfort, Some Humor, Neurodivergent Shane Hollander, Anxious Shane Hollander, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Same Team Au, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, Slightly Clueless Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Team Dynamics, Coming Out, Emotional Healing, Supportive Ilya Rozanov, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Multiple, Victor St-Simon is a gem, Established Relationship, Connor Connors is a chill guy, Autistic Shane Hollander, Fluff, working through trauma, Homophobia, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Feels, Domestic Fluff, Communication, Supportive Shane Hollander, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Emotional Intimacy, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Identity Issues, Vulnerability, Good Friend Svetlana Vetrova, Supportive David Hollander and Yuna Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Therapy, Yearning, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Implied/Referenced Sex

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Boston AU, Part 2 of My Autistic Shane Hollander Writings

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-21 Completed: 2026-06-08 Words: 63,186 Chapters: 31/31

No Longer Bracing

Summary

After becoming a Boston Raider, Shane was still bracing, waiting for something to go wrong.
Eventually, however, he realizes he doesn’t have to.
Ilya has some feelings about it too.

Notes

Uh, yes, hello, dear readers. This may or may not have been the sequel to "Six Days Until Florida" you were looking for.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Heads up: I like the change the show made where Marlow turned into Marleau because he's supposed to be French Canadian. I took it one step further and had him speak my best attempt at Quebecois French. If there are any inconsistencies, please inform me.

Shane will also be speaking some Canadian French, like he did in the show.

You will be able to pick up on what's happening in that conversation through some of the things they say in English.

Oh, and I created a rookie character because the list of known Raiders | Bears characters is kind of small (that I've found anyway).

Several weeks ago, Shane was traded to the Boston Raiders, and he was still waiting for something to explode, ripping through one's carefully built world.

Don’t get him wrong; his life was in a good place. Living with Ilya was loud, warm, sweet, and occasionally ridiculous - everything he could have hoped for. And that light, cozy feeling he felt during his first week among the team hadn’t left. His teammates here were certainly different from most of his former ones - in a good way. More friendly, a bit more rowdy, etc. 

But there were some things in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away. Things Hollander wasn’t sure about. Trust. Belonging. What comes next.

Today was a perfect example of that uneasy waiting.

Practice had finished. Everyone was in the locker room stowing away gear and putting on regular clothes; talking about everything and nothing.

One such conversation was happening between Cliff Marleau and Rozanov. The former had glanced at the latter for a second before deciding to walk up to him.

“Hey, Rozy, everything okay with Jane?” He asked as he leaned against a locker, crossing his arms. “You don’t seem to text her very often anymore.”

“Jane and I are fine,” Ilya answered, putting on a shirt. “But now she is backpacking through wilderness, so no cell service.”

Finished packing, Shane walked over to them with his bag hanging off his shoulders.

“Who’s Jane?” His tone was casual, but his shoulders had gone stiff.

Ilya sent him a pointed look.

“Oh, just some chick from Montreal our boy here constantly blushes about,” Cliff teased.

“Marleau is liar,” Ilya declared, putting something in a backpack. “I do not blush. I am stoic.”

“Sure, sure,” Shane agreed in a sarcastic tone and nod.

“That’s not what I’ve been seeing,” Marleau added.

“I hate you both,” Rozanov said as he finished packing, zipped up his backpack, and started leaving the room. 

“No, you don’t!” Marleau called after him.

Ilya waved him off.

“So,” Hollander continued, shifting his weight. “Montréal, ehh?” He placed his hands on his hips.

“Yep.” Marleau nodded as he turned to face him, switching to Canadian French. “Ils se voyaient tout le temps quand ton ancienne équipe jouait contre nous… genre au Canada, ici aussi. Mais je l’ai jamais vue, moi.”

Shane tilted his head. “Ah ouais? Comment ça?”

Marleau unfolded his arms and shrugged. His hands fell to his sides. 

“On voulait la rencontrer, au moins pour souper,” the French Canadian said. “You know, us guys, et the WAGs - mais ça marchait jamais. You know how it is.”

“That’s too bad,” Shane replied. His fingers tightened instinctively on his bag strap, the rough fabric biting into his palm as a quiet anxiety bubbled beneath his calm exterior. 

The fluorescent lights above them flickered just enough to pull at his nerves. He tried to focus on the sharp, familiar scent of the room.

“You said it.” Cliff sighed and looked away. Then he straightened out as a thought came to him. “En parlant de… t’as-tu une blonde? On pourrait l’ajouter au groupe des WAGs.”

Shane blinked, internally scrambling for a response that didn’t seem like he immediately wanted to bolt.

Then his head moved back and forth as though he was considering the option. “Euh, Ouais. Lily.” He shrugged, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But she’s away on work trips a lot, so she’s not local a ton.”

“Ah, okay.” Cliff nodded.

“Funnily enough, though, elle a déjà habité à Boston.” As soon as he said it, Hollander wondered if that was oversharing. 

Marleau blinked once, then twice. “Vraiment?” He shifted his weight again. “Elle venait à tes games?”

“Quelques-uns, ouais. Surtout pour les matchs de rivalité.” Despite telling himself to relax, Shane felt the familiar tightness coil in his chest. The Canadian then glanced around. “Excuse me.” He walked away in the direction that Ilya went.

Thus, Cliff was left to his own devices. He stood there for a moment longer, taking in what just happened.

A small “hmm,” left his lips.

Then he grabbed his bag and went on with his day. 

The weight of something unspoken lingered in the air.

Shane had caught up to Ilya, and the two were currently on their way out of the practice facility, walking side by side with their backpacks slung over their shoulders. 

“Seriously, Ilya? Backpacking?” He asked as he tried not to pay attention to the knot forming in his stomach.

Rozanov shrugged, answering, “Is believable excuse.”

“No, it’s not.” He denied, trying to bite back a wobbly tone.

“Why, because you do not like dirt?” He nudged him. “What if Jane is adventurous woman?”

“Shut up.” Hollander huffed. And suddenly, he was acutely aware of how annoyed he sounded.

Ilya’s smile faltered. He halted and pulled his partner to a stop. As Shane turned around, a worried expression on his face, Ilya put a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Lyubimyy, relax,” he said. “We will be fine. Cliff is idiot. He cannot solve simple math, let alone conspiracy.”

The dark-haired hockey player adjusted a strap. “You’re underestimating him.”

A head of blond curls tilted. “Am I?”

Shane’s lips pursed as he thought about it and decided not to argue any further.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I’m just… on edge.”

“I know, moy lyubov. I know.” Rozanov said as he wrapped his arms around him. He waited a few seconds before asking, “Would you want to tell the team? Ever?”

The words hung between them longer than they should have, heavy and fragile. Shane finally looked away, his voice barely above a whisper as he removed himself from the hug.

“I- I don’t know.” 

“They are not Montreal,” Ilya pointed out gently.

Hollander’s jaw tightened before he asked, “Do they know about you?” Dread found a home again.

“No.” He shook his head. “I have not told yet.”

The Canadian huffed, exhaled, half relieved, half panicking. “Then how could you be sure?”

“Because I know them. They are good people, Shane.”

“Until they’re not.” 

Rozanov’s brow scrunched, concern flickering in his eyes. “You think they would treat me like that?”

Shane frowned. He struggled to come up with an answer.

Ilya’s face relaxed into a reassuring one. “I know you are tired.” The tiniest curl could be found on his lips. “It is tiring calculating all the time.”

His mouth opened in shock, and even though he knew Ilya meant it goodnaturedly, Shane didn’t know whether or not he should at least play at being offended. 

“I don’t-“ Hollander started to say before being interrupted.

“Yes you do,” the Russian said with a smile. “I can see the gears turning right now.”

Amusement started to show in his eyes, but he deflected. “Fuck off.”

“No, I will not.” Rozanov pulled him back into an embrace. “I will be glued to your side forever and ever.”

Shane chuckled despite himself, and wrapped his own arms around him.

Ilya raised his head, his light blue eyes meeting Shane’s dark brown ones. A soft fondness held in the former contrasted with the harshness Hollander felt inside.

“Is okay, Shane,” he said. “We will only do this when you’re ready. Da?”

His boyfriend nodded.

Ilya glanced down at his lips before leaning forward and giving him a quick, gentle kiss. Then a longer one, slower, more tender and deliberate.

The team’s newest rookie’s voice cut through the moment like a bomb.

“Oh, shit.”

A quick breath hitched in Shane’s throat. He and Rozanov broke apart and turned to find the kid already shrinking into himself and backing away.

Embarrassed, Shane buried his head in his hands, rubbing his temple, saying, “You weren’t supposed to see that.” His pulse thudded in his ears.

“Uhm,” the rookie squeaked. “Sorry, I’ll-“ he pointed behind him. “Forget I saw anything-“

“McKimmie, wait!” Ilya called, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand and wrapping his other arm around him.

Shane feared he would sink to the floor if not for his boyfriend acting as an anchor.

Rozanov made a beckoning motion to the rookie, who reluctantly approached.

“Listen, uh-“ McKimmie hesitated. “I’m not- I don’t care. I’m cool with it. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. My older sister and her wife would kill me if they found out I outed someone without their permission.” His weight shifted. “So, we’re keeping this quiet, right?”

Shane blinked, and his shoulders dropped a fraction. 

Ilya’s grip lightly tightened.

“Yes,” Ilya said carefully. “It is secret.”

“Okay. Yeah. Got it.” McKimmie nodded quickly, hands in his pockets. “Lips are sealed.”

“Good. We’re good here.” He turned towards Shane. 

“… Yeah,” Hollander eventually agreed, looking only slightly less stiff. “Yeah, we are.”

McKimmie looked between them, awkward but not uncomfortable. He then shifted as a thought came to him. 

“You know,” he said. “I think it’s cool that you get to play on the same team after so long. I mean, it must be a relief-“

“McKimmie,” Ilya stated in a serious tone.

“Right. Okay,” he said. “Cool.”

Then, he gave the duo an apologetic little shrug and gestured down the hall.

“Anyway, I’ll, uh, go tape my stick.” He turned and walked away.

Shane only started breathing again once Ilya rubbed small circles on his back, the warmth of Ilya’s touch grounding him.. He blinked, eyes becoming less wide. 

“See?” The Russian said simply as McKimmie disappeared from their view.

He swallowed, processing what just happened. 

“He didn’t look at us differently,” Hollander noted. “... like anything had changed.”

The rookie hadn’t flinched, stared, laughed, recoiled, or acted disgusted. He just… adjusted and went on with his day. He did what Shane wanted and hoped that the Metros would have done. He filed the reaction away in his mind, wondering if the other Raiders would be similar.

“No, he is good kid,” Ilya remarked. His arm slid down to Hollander’s waist. “Let’s go home now, yes?”

“Yeah.” The ghost of a smile returned to Shane’s lips as he leaned into his partner’s touch.

They stepped out of the building to find that the sun hadn’t quite set yet, cutting through the colorful clouds. The breeze was nice, instead of chilling.

The walk to their car didn’t feel like a march toward disaster and more like a tentative step forward. Nothing exploded today, and though it could have gotten close, Shane was thankful it hadn’t.

He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long time, he was ready to find out.

Chapter End Notes

Translation things:

“Ils se voyaient tout le temps quand ton ancienne équipe jouait contre nous… genre au Canada, ici aussi. Mais je l’ai jamais vue, moi.” --> “They saw each other all the time when your former team played against us… like in Canada, too. But I never saw her. ”

“Ah ouais? Comment ça?” --> “Oh, yeah? Why?”

“On voulait la rencontrer, au moins pour souper.” --> “We wanted to meet her, at least, at dinner.”

“mais ça marchait jamais.” —> “but it never worked.”

“En parlant de… t’as-tu une blonde? On pourrait l’ajouter au groupe des WAGs.” --> “Speaking of... do you have a girlfriend? We could add her to the WAGs groupchat.”

“elle a déjà habité à Boston.” —> “she used to live in Boston.”

“Vraiment?" --> “Really?”

“Elle venait à tes games?” --> She came to your games?

“Quelques-uns, ouais. Surtout pour les matchs de rivalité.” --> Some, yeah. Especially rivalry matches.

__

I want this fic to feel like the start of an undoing of Montreal's homophobic reactions and their impacts on Shane as well as Ilya. Hopefully, that is/will be getting achieved.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

It's time...

Anyway, someone here is terrible at math.

Also, St-Simon is implied to have a French background in the books, but I don’t actually know if he speaks French. I can kind of vibe with him not (mostly because I’m biracial and unfortunately can’t speak my grandmother’s language. My dad didn’t teach me. Very sad.)

Victor St-Simon had just finished packing his toiletries away when his phone rang. Walking to his nightstand, he picked up his device and saw that Cliff Marleau was calling him. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. It was early, but some things couldn’t wait.

He answered, voice low but steady, “Cliff? What’s going on, man? It’s early.”

Marleau’s voice came through, a little tight, like he’d been turning this over in his head for a while. “I want to run something by you for a second.”

Victor shifted his weight, knowing this call won’t be a normal one. “Starting a conversation like that never ends well.” He huffed, half amused, half wary. “Shoot.”

“Okay, so, I was talking to Hollzy a few days ago,” the man explained. “And he said he has this girl, Lily, who used to live in Boston and would see her every time we played the Metros. What’s that sound like to you?”

Victor’s brows furrowed.

“Like the opposite of Rozy and his girl?” Victor replied as he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. "What's her name? Jane?"

“Exactement.”

“And… why are we talking about this?” He asked as he turned his bedroom lights off and started heading down the stairs.

“Parce que…” Marleau’s voice lowered, sounding almost hesitant. “I feel like something’s going on, mais je ne peux pas… put a finger on it. Sarah laughed at me when I talked to her about it. Said she knows what’s going on and that I should figure it out for myself.”

Victor bit back a smile, even though his friend couldn’t see him. “Buddy, I’m going to say something, and I need you not to spiral.”

“Ouais…”

“It’s extremely common for professional athletes to date women in cities they frequently travel to.”

“I KNOW that,” Marleau said in a defensive tone. “Je ne suis pas stupide.”

“Debatable.” St-Simon chuckled, grinning widely as he set his luggage down by the door. 

“Victor.” He said in a sharp, challenging tone.

His only choice was to match him. “Cliff.” He huffed. “Listen, if Sarah was able to figure it out, then maybe it’s not as subtle as they think.”

“Something about this is just… off.”

The man blinked a few times as he wandered into his kitchen. “How?”

“Je ne sais pas, just-“

“You know,” he said as he adjusted his hold on his phone. “This is the kind of thing I would expect to hear from a rook, but from you? Man, this is just hilarious. Are you spending too much time on hockey Reddit again?” 

“Ah, ta gueule,” his friend shot back. Cliff’s laugh was light, but he could hear a tension underneath.

Victor laughed at the response as he dug through his pantry for a packet of oatmeal. Once he retrieved it, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and milk from the fridge.

That’s when a thought came to him.

“Wait,” he said. “No one has ever seen either Jane or Lily in public, right?”

“Non. Well… not any Raiders.”

“Right, okay.” Victor poured the milk into a pot as he worked through his thoughts. “I mean, they could have broken up with these girls and then just kept it up to not seem as lonely as they were.”

”Ah, okay. Wait, but both of them? Rozy and Hollzy?”

”No, you’re right.” Victor ground his teeth in thought. Then, his jaw went slack. “What if - and bear with me here because this will sound crazy - their girls aren’t what we think they are? Like, what if the story isn’t real?”

Marleau scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? I have seen Rozy text a ‘Jane’ too often for her not to be real.” He paused. His next words came out quieter. “Why would either of them lie like that?”

The man, who had been stirring the boiling milk and oatmeal mixture for the past thirty seconds, shrugged. 

“I don’t know.” St-Simon said. “Maybe they just made them up to keep people off their backs. I’m just throwing it out there. But anyway, there’s probably a really good explanation for all of this, and we should probably ask them about it before we jump to any conclusions.”

His friend huffed, “…You’re probably right.”

“I know I am, now can you let me cook and eat my oatmeal in peace?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“See you later, Marly.”

“Yeah, bye.”

After the call ended, Victor set his phone down with a sigh. He shook his head and chuckled at the situation. A quiet knot of concern tightened in his chest. Whatever was going on with Shane and Ilya, Victor hoped it was good.

Drivers were hired to take everyone to the stadium. Waiting for them was the Raider team’s bus, set for New York, already loaded with people's gear. Couch Desjourneys had a rule: if the opponent was located in New England or nearby state, they used a bus instead of a plane. Ilya liked to think the coach was just old like that. A good portion of the team was already lined up to board. 

When everyone arrived and loaded onto the bus, leaving their personal luggage for roadies to handle, Ilya was saddened by the fact that Shane wasn’t sitting next to him. Hollander had chosen not to. 

The Canadian had chosen a seat beside St-Simon instead.

Rozanov supposed it made sense. There could have been a moment where they fell asleep on each other, or what have you, and people would start suspecting. He just wished it didn’t have to.

“What’s got you frowning?” Marleau asked as he moved to sit next to him.

“Jane,” he answered automatically.

“Aww, you miss her or something?” Cliff teased.

Ilya shot him a look, and Marleau rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, alright,” he huffed. Then, he shifted in his seat. “Hey, how long have you two been together, anyway?”

“You know the answer to that, Marley,” Ilya told him.

He squinted, as if trying to remind me. “Remind me.”

“For… long time. Very long time. We met in Saskatchewan, actually.”

“That’s where you got drafted from, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, has she gotten to a point in her, uh, backpacking journey where you can reach her?”

Ilya pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not yet, no.” 

“Ah, well,” he clapped a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “Hang in there, man.” 

“So, Shane, I heard you’ve got a girl,” Victor said as he took off his jacket.

“Yeah, Lily,” Hollander replied. “I haven’t seen her in a while, but she usually tries to come to all my games.”

“Ah.” The man nodded. Then, he stood up and put his jacket in the overhead compartment. “Is she coming to this one?”

“Yeah, if her schedule allows.” He shrugged. “I mean. She’s on a flight right now for a business thing in New York, so…”

“Oh, I see.” St-Simon sat back down. After a brief pause, he added, “Let me ask you something, are you serious about her?”

Shane hesitated. “Yeah. I mean, we’re… steady.” He finally took his jacket off and put it in his lap.

Victor nodded. “Steady’s good.”

“Ilya-“ he blinked. “Lily… is a great person. Really smart. Caring. Sweet. Very driven.” He started to smile. “She acts tough, but she’s ridiculously sentimental. She pretends she doesn’t care about small stuff, but she absolutely does. She’ll act like it’s nothing and then remember it six months later. And when I’m super stressed about something, she’ll just sit down with me, no questions asked, and-“ he faltered momentarily. His smile disappeared, and he readjusted his sitting position. “Sorry, I just realized. I’m probably rambling, huh?”

“Eh, it’s alright dude,” Victor shrugged. “But hey,” he nudged the other man’s shoulder. “You must really love her.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I do.” He grinned.

“Happy for you man.” Victor told him. “You sound like you’ve found your person. That’s really lucky.”

“Uhm, thank you?”

St-Simon huffed out a small laugh. “Don’t sweat it, man.”

Shane gave him a curt smile. Victor held his gaze for half a second longer than necessary. Then, the man unlocked his phone, and Shane turned to look at the window.

He rested his chin in his hand and his elbow against the bottom edge of the window, wondering if his teammate caught the small slip - if he had said it too quickly or too naturally. His leg started to bounce.

Victor: 

I have new information.

Cliff: 

On?

Victor:

The Jane and Lily situation.

Cliff: 

Right. Okay. What is it?

Victor: 

Shane just said Ilya instead of Lily when I talked to him about his girl.

Seemed accidental. But remember how, when I proposed the possibility of Lily and Jane not being real…?

Cliff: 

Oh

OH

You don’t think…

Victor: 

Oh, I definitely do.

Cliff: 

Ok, alors 

Lily is Ilya

Victor: 

And, Shane is Jane.

Cliff: 

En fait, that’s obvious now… 

So…

Victor: 

So, what?

Cliff: 

What do we do now?

Victor: 

What do you mean ‘what do we do now’?  We be supportive.

Cliff: 

Oui. 

… How?

Victor: 

By not being weird.

Jesus Christ.

You moron.

Two hours later, the bus pulled into a rest stop. Once the vehicle was parked at a gas pump, almost everyone got to their feet. Some of the players stretched, some got out their wallets, and some immediately walked off the bus.

“Fifteen minutes, guys!” Coach Desjourneys announced as he checked his phone.

A few minutes into the pit stop, Cliff and Victor found Shane and Ilya standing close to one another. They approached.

Victor’s voice was calm but firm as he said, “Hey. You two. Got a minute?”

Ilya and Shane glanced at each other. The latter shrugged. So, the former nodded.

Together, the four of them wandered to a more secluded area of the rest stop parking lot.

Cliff’s eyes flickered between them. “So.” He moved his hands as he spoke. “Jane, and Lily.”

Shane’s stomach dropped. His jaw tightened, muscles clenched. Ilya’s shoulders squared, his stance shifting to subtly place himself between his boyfriend and the others.

“What about them?” Rozanov questioned.

Cliff shifted his weight before ripping off the bandaid and saying, “…We know they’re fake.”

Ilya tensed. There was a flicker of something fierce in his eyes.

Victor stepped forward, hands out in a placating manner as he told them, “Now, you don’t have to tell us anything.”

Cliff nodded, adding quietly, “We just… noticed something… between the two of you.”

Shane’s mind starts to spiral. He started panicking about his slip-up on the bus, about the locker room conversation, about the team turning out to be just like the Metros. 

His face must have given something away, based on the tone of the next words spoken out of their mouths.

“We’re not mad about it.” St-Simon’s gaze and voice were steady and sincere, easily cutting through the tension. “If anything, we don’t care. It’s not really our business. We just want you to know that we’re not blind, and we’re not unsafe.”

Hollander let out a hollow laugh. “Right. And how do we know that for sure?”

“Because we’re not homophobic assholes.”

Marleau nodded, giving a small, reassuring smile. His eyes softened a bit, studying his teammates.

 “Ouais,” he added. “Nothing changes between us.”

Shane exhaled, something in his chest finally easing. Ilya gently rubbed circles into his back. The two shared a quiet, loaded look. Hollander’s head moved minutely. 

Rozanov’s expression was sharpened into something soft, but protective. His arm snaked around his partner’s waist, and he pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Ilya’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at Cliff and Victor.

“We have different reasons for hiding,” Ilya told them. “For me, it is Russia. For Shane… he has been hurt before.”

“But,” Shane finally says. “You’re not wrong.”

Cliff and Victor exchanged a glance, their faces unreadable but their presence steady.

St-Simon's tone softened, almost brotherly. “You know if this ever gets messy, we’d handle it, right?”

Marleau stepped closer, voice firm but warm. “We’ve got your backs.”

Ilya’s gaze flicked between them, voice cool but honest. “We were not asking you to. If someone has problem, they can speak to me directly.”

Cliff shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We weren’t asking you to ask.” He shifted his weight. “Et pour info vous n'avez pas besoin de continuer à être séparés.”

Shane ducked his head, a smile tugging at his mouth.

From the bus, Couch Desjourneys’ voice could be heard announcing, “Five minutes!” 

St-Simon took that as a cue to nudge Marleau to give the boyfriends some space. They headed towards the bus, nodding to Shane and Ilya as they passed.

Rozanov leaned closer to Hollander and muttered, “What did he say?”

The other man’s smile grew as he asked, “You wanna sit with me?”

Ilya grinned.

Chapter End Notes

translation things:
“Parce que...” --> “Because... ”
“... mais je ne peux pas... ” --> “... but I can't...”
“Ouais...” --> “Yeah.”
“Je ne suis stupide.” --> “I'm not stupid.”
“Je ne sais pas,” --> “I don't know,”
“Ah, ta gueule,” --> (basically, shut up)
“Alors” —> “then”
“En fait, ” --> “Actually,"
“Oui” --> “Yes.”
“Et pour info vous n'avez pas besoin de continuer à être séparés” --> “And for your information, you don't have to continue to be separated.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

and now for an angsty heartfelt bonus

The morning a few days after their game against the Admirals felt different.

The smell hit Ilya before he even stepped into the kitchen: a mix of crispy potatoes, onion, garlic, and something slightly… burned. 

He smiled quietly. Ilya had a vague idea of what was going on, but he couldn’t help but be curious and maybe somewhat concerned.

This was not usually something that happened in the morning. It went against routine.

He found Shane standing by the stove, brow furrowed in concentration, flipping a lopsided potato pancake that looked more like a golden, crispy blob than the delicate draniki of Ilya’s memories. Flour dusted Shane’s forearms, and a faint smear of batter clung to the corner of his mouth.

Ilya leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the quiet ritual with fondness and a silent hope that the heaviness he saw on Shane’s face might ease.

 He saw patience, care, and a willingness to cross boundaries. He was thankful all over again that Shane chose to live with him. That Shane, his sunshine, was in his life.

“Solnyshko, you make breakfast?” He asked softly, not wanting to break the fragile magic of the moment.

Shane glanced over, cheeks coloring. “I thought I’d surprise you.” He wiped his hands on the apron he wore, the one that spelt KISS THE COOK across the chest. “You said you missed draniki… so I wanted to try making them.” 

Ilya’s chest tightened. This was for him? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had tried to cook something from his childhood for him. Yet, there was something more, something Shane had yet to say.

Hollander’s voice became tentative, like admitting a secret. “And I wanted to thank you.”

Ilya stepped further into the kitchen. “For what?”

“For…” He inhaled slowly and exhaled quickly. “Not making me do any of this alone. For being such an amazing, supportive person, even when it’s complicated.”

Shane didn’t say anything about the rest stop or the rookie, but Ilya had a feeling this had something to do with that anyway. Regardless, gratitude was not a currency Shane spent lightly. And, Ilya was sure his boyfriend was exaggerating about him being amazing.

Still, Ilya’s heart was caught between tightening and melting. Still, he reached out. Shane met him halfway. Their hands met and their fingers entwined. Rozanov pulled him closer for a quick kiss.

When they broke apart, Rozanov still held Shane’s as he asked, “Will you be eating this as well?”

“I will.”

In a low, affectionate voice, Ilya followed up with, “Shane Hollander breaking his macrobiotic diet, for me? I must be luckiest man in world.”

His boyfriend smiled - a soft, genuine smile - and Ilya wished he could find a way to convince him it was allowed to stay.

“Don’t get used to it.” Shane said as he let go and returned to the stove. His words came out in a somewhat serious tone, but the amusement in his eyes gave away that he was joking. “Besides, I put in too much work not to try it.”

Ilya watched him for a moment, his gaze lingering on the way Shane was so intently focused on his task. 

It was more than just cooking. It was a quiet act of love and trust.

Rozanov moved towards the plate of already-cooked draniki. Then, he picked one up and took a bite. The crispy edges and soft center were imperfect but delicious.

“Is good,” he complimented. “Very good. You try hard. That is what matters. I can tell is made with love.” Continuing to snack on the potato pancake, he wandered towards the fridge and took out the sour cream.

Ilya chuckled, putting the draniki in his mouth before grabbing both items, savoring the taste as well as the moment. He leaned against the fridge’s door to close it before setting the jar on the counter. After another bite, he brought out two plates, feeling the quiet joy of these simple routines. 

When he turned towards his boyfriend, Shane was setting the last remaining draniki aside from the pan. Ilya brushed a stray potato flake from Shane’s sleeve.

He wished protecting him were as simple as brushing something away. And, unfortunately, the weight Shane carried wasn’t something a potato pancake could fix. But the team had started chipping away at it little by little, whether they knew that or not. 

“Next time, Lyubimyy, I show you secret,” Ilya promised quietly, feeling the weight of tradition and love in his words.

Shane laughed, the sound light and easy. “Deal.”

Sitting down together, the world narrowed to this kitchen. To this table. To the quiet between them.

Ilya let himself believe it might stay that way.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Today’s morning skate started out regularly. It probably would have stayed regular for Shane if it wasn’t for Connors.

While everyone was in the locker room gearing to go home, taping up sticks like Shane was, the man was smiling at his phone. 

Theoretically, this is normal.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Hammersmith teased.

There were a few almost juvenile “ooos” from the group.

“Not who you’re thinking,” Connors told him, pocketing his phone. The smile remained on his face. “It’s my cousin. She just sent photos of her progress to one of our family group chats. She started transitioning last year and right now she’s the most comfortable she has ever been in her own skin. She couldn’t be happier. It’s been tough, but honestly, I’m so proud of her. Watching her find her voice, her confidence… it’s inspiring.”

A few of the other guys nodded along, or smiled, as though they shared genuine interest in what Connors was talking about.

“Wow, man,” Hammersmith replied. “That’s great.” Then he put on one of his winning smiles. “Think you could bring her around some time?”

“Why, you wanna pick her up for a date?” There was something akin to a challenge in Connor’s eyes. “Not happening.”

“Oh, come on-“

“I mean,” he shifted. “She’ll come to a game, sure, but she’s bringing her girlfriend along.”

Hammersmith blinked. “Oh, shit. Alright, dude, my bad.”

“Brad Hammersmith,” Ryan lamented. “Thwarted again.”

“Really, Carmichael?” Brad said, turning to him with outstretched arms.

A few of the guys laughed.

Theoretically, this would typically be considered a step outside of normal.

Shane, who had been listening to their conversation, was caught off guard by Connor’s openness. It wasn’t so much about the content of his words, but the ease in which he spoke them.

And, the locker room didn’t erupt. No one scoffed. No one muttered anything under their breath. Nobody shifted uncomfortably. 

It was just… fine. Just another conversation. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. Not in rooms like this.

Shane kept his head down, finishing up his tape work on his stick, and trying not to think about how different they were from the Metros. No snickers. No whispers. Just acceptance. It unsettled him, but in a good way.

There was this dull ache in his chest now, low and persistent, pressing against his ribs. 

“Yo! Shane!”

The call of his name snapped him out of it. He turned to find Connor with his hands out, held together.

“Pass the tape, please?” 

“Sure,” Hollander responded as he tossed it over to him.

Ilya didn’t look at Shane immediately. He didn’t need to. He felt the shift beside him:  the brief stillness, the way Shane’s tape stopped mid-wrap.

Connor’s voice carried easily across the room and everyone reacted as though it was a normal conversation. Because it was. Ilya was proud of his team, really, for not being cruel in this moment. 

Another piece of evidence that his team might not be what Shane feared. 

Things were fine during the afternoon game. Shane was present and active, which one would think should be a good thing. Yet, the man wasn’t entirely talkative throughout most of this match. And then, when they got into the car, Shane continued to stay quiet, almost as though he was only existing in his own head.

once they left the parking lot, Ilya finally tried to figure out if he could fix it.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he noted, his eyes briefly flicking to Shane’s profile as the car glided through the streets.

“Have I?” Shane questioned, eyes fixed on the passing street lights. “Didn’t really notice.”

Ilya shifted closer, the leather seat creaking softly beneath him, as he said, “Shane, solnyshko, talk to me.” His full attention turned to him. “Your beautiful brain is calculating again.”

Shane took a moment to put his thoughts into words as they rounded a corner. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. The tires whispered against the asphalt.

“It’s just-“ he started, then stopped. “It’s different. About Connor's cousin. Not exactly the same story. But…” he swallowed.

The light ahead turned yellow. Shane slowed the car to a full stop by the time they reached the white line.

His voice became soft and low. “I don’t know, I was waiting for something.”

“For what?” Ilya asked.

“For something to go wrong. For jeers, er-“ he made a small, frustrated motion with one hand before putting it back on the wheel. “I don’t know. Something.”

Ilya nodded, understanding the weight behind those words. Silence filled the car for a moment as he waited for his partner to continue.

“And then, they didn’t… react badly,” Shane added, watching the glow of a stoplight shift from red to green ahead. His voice held this equal mix of confusion and hurt. 

“Thankfully, no,” Rozanov agreed. 

“That’s the problem,” Shane continued after a few seconds.

Ilya’s brow furrowed slightly. “Problem?”

Shane let out a short, humorless breath. “Not- not a problem. That’s not what I mean.” He shook his head. “It just… didn’t match.”

“With what you expected?” Ilya offered.

“No.”

The light turned green. Shane pressed on the gas.

“Well,” Rozanov said as he shifted in his seat. “If they did react badly, with Marly, St-Simon and myself, it would be handled. Maybe we rope McKimmie in it too, but he does not need his, er, image corrupted so young.”

The corners of Shane’s lips curled up slightly as he commented, “That’s a little ominous.”

“Maybe,” Ilya shrugged. “But made you smile, so…”

Hollander chuckled and shook his head.“…Don’t do crime for me, please?”

“I make no such promise.”

Shane playfully rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Ilya laughed. The two of them let the warmth of the moment sit for a bit longer before they returned to the original conversation.

“In seriousness though,” the Russian stated. “You are thinking what happened is a little…freeing, yes?”

“Yeah,” Shane exhaled. Then, he frowned. “I want to believe that. I really do. But… I mean, what if this is just a bubble, a moment that won’t last?”

Ilya’s gaze softened as he put a reassuring hand on his boyfriend’s thigh. “You mean you are scared of what happens after?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

The dark-haired man shrugged into a nod. “Exactly, especially since… you know.” He drew in a breath only to exhale it slowly. “And, I got so used to bracing for it, I don’t know what to do when I don’t have to.” He lightly nibbled at the inside of his cheek as he thought about it. “I guess I thought it would always be like that.” Briefly, Shane glanced towards his boyfriend. “How do you do it? Stay so calm and sure?”

Ilya didn’t answer him right away. He smiled faintly. It was ephemeral, but there was no false bravado in it. 

“I don’t always,” he said. “Mostly, I am scared too. Terrified, even.” His lips pursed. “Makes me sad I have beautiful boyfriend, and I don’t get to say so out loud.”

Shane’s smile returned for one small, quiet moment, at being called beautiful, and for his partner implying he would almost brag about him if he could.

But they can’t. They both have to pretend their significant other doesn’t exist.

Shane’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he admitted, “I want us to be able to. More than anything. I don’t want to be afraid all the time.”

“Neither do I.” Ilya’s voice was steady, full of quiet promise. 

A pause settled between them, heavy but comforting. The sound of the turn signal clicking filled the silence. Their car changed lanes.

“But,” Ilya continued. “We are not alone, at least.”

Shane let his fingers loosen, finally allowing himself to lean a little into Ilya’s presence. “No. We’re not.”

The car rolled on. The city lights blurred past the windshield, steady and indifferent. Shane kept driving. 

Chapter End Notes

Wow, I am really not making these chapter lengths consistent, huh? I guess I make up for it in how well I’m able to wrap up a concept. Or maybe I don’t, who knows…

And yes, in my head, Connor’s cousin gave him permission to talk about her to other people. He doesn’t entirely seem like (again, in my head) the kind of person who would do so without express permission.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

It is now time for some light angst and some quiet domestic fluff.

There were no practices, skates, games or any other kind of team activity to do today. Despite this fact, Shane was already out of bed before the sun rose. 

He hadn’t meant to do that. It just happened.

Sleep had simply… stopped happening sometime around four. His brain kept moving anyway, restless and relentless, dragging him out of bed.

The house was quiet in that heavy, predawn way that made every small sound seem louder than it should be. The hum of the refrigerator. The soft whir of the blender when he made his smoothie. The faint clink of the glass when he set it on the counter.

He’d taken exactly three sips.

Now it sat beside him while he stared at the marble island like it might eventually offer him an answer.

His mind was still hung up about that morning skate from a few days ago. Nothing quite like that had happened since. Regardless, hope and fear fought each other in his brain every chance they got.

Shane was a mess. He was sure of that. A relatively neat one, but one that could burst at the seams any moment.

Shane had always been good at preparing for things. Anticipating angles. Reading what people wanted from him. Calculating outcomes before anyone else even realized there was a problem. It was a skill that had carried him through hockey, through interviews, through years of carefully sidestepping questions about his personal life.

Yet, preparation required knowing what you were preparing for. Shane wasn’t quite sure what that was anymore.

His brain kept trying anyway.

He wanted for his hopefulness to win and for there to be some kind of good outcome from all of this. However, that fear that nagged him, telling him that everyone would eventually show their true colors and turn out exactly like the Metros, was stubbornly holding on.

He could deal with that. Probably, right? He’s done it before. Besides, Ilya was here now. He would help him through it. Wouldn’t he? 

Shane’s fingers curled loosely around the edge of the counter, holding on in case the ground beneath him was a frozen lake, ready to crack at a moment’s notice.

Ilya woke to an empty bed and wandered into the kitchen to find Shane sitting at the island. One of his green smoothies sat nearby in a tall glass, but he wasn’t really drinking it.

Instead, Shane was staring, eyes boring into the countertop as he chewed on one of his hoodie drawstrings.

Meanwhile, the smoothie sat there, sad and separating. 

Ilya figured he was calculating again. Of course, he would be at this ungodly hour where the sun wasn’t even up yet.

Wordlessly, the Russian wandered over and folded his arms over Shane’s shoulders while resting his chin on his boyfriend’s hair.

Hollander stilled for only a minute before he leaned into him.

“Everything okay, lyubimyy?” Ilya asked.

“Just thinking,” Shane replied in almost a downbeat tone.

Ilya let his arms fall away and walked around the stool to face him. “I could tell.”

“Fuck you.” Shane swatted at his arm.

“What is it?” Rozanov asked gently, shifting his weight and taking hold of one of Shane’s hands, rubbing circles on his knuckles.

“I, uh-“ his hand pulled free from Ilya’s, immediately starting to gesture as he tried to find the words.

Ilya had a guess, about the same thing that’s been bothering Shane since he got here.

“You’re still thinking about it? About them?” He asked quietly, hands falling to his sides.

“Yeah,” he responded with a shaky breath, avoiding eye contact.

Ilya studied his face for a moment, like he was trying to figure out which direction this conversation was about to go.

“Sorry,” Shane muttered, eyes starting to tear up, betraying him.

Rozanov’s heart ached at seeing this.

“No, hey, none of that, solnyshko,” he hushed, bringing him closer, arms wrapping around his lower back. “Is okay.” He kissed his forehead. “You’re allowed to feel.”

“I know,” Shane huffed, forehead pressing into his partner’s chest. “It’s just… my brain doesn’t stop.” He swallowed. “Keeps trying to run every single outcome. Especially the bad ones.” His grip on the shirt tightened slightly, like he was testing whether the moment would hold.

Ilya stared down at him, something soft and fond settling in his expression. “I could…” his lips pursed. “…help you quiet it down?”

He blinked and twisted to look up at him. “How?”

Ilya kissed his hair. Then, he took hold of his hand again.

“Come here,” Rozanov said softly as he dragged him over to the couch.

He laid down and took Shane with him so that he was half-leaning, half-lying against him. Hollander’s back was against his chest. 

Ilya adjusted them both once, then again, until it felt right. One arm wrapped tightly around his middle with his free hand slipped into Shane’s hair. With slow, steady pressure, Ilya massaged his scalp. 

Shane’s weight settled more fully against him as the tension slowly drained away. He hadn’t realized how shallow his breathing had been until it finally slowed.

Then, Ilya started kissing his hair. It was done gently as occasional touches. Shane let his head tilt slightly, unconsciously making space for it.

Minutes passed without either of them speaking.

The room felt smaller. Softer.

His thoughts were still there, but they weren’t grabbing him anymore. They felt… further away.

Ilya shifted slightly behind him, adjusting his grip again, fingers brushing lightly through Shane’s hair in slow passes.

Shane let out a breath that didn’t feel like part of a sentence.

“…That’s helping,” he admitted quietly, almost reluctantly.

Ilya hummed. “Good. Am very talented boyfriend.”

That earned a faint huff of laughter from Shane. Not much. But real.

“Debatable,” Shane murmured.

Ilya clicked his tongue. “Rude.”

After a while, though, Hollander started to notice Ilya’s hands roam a little further, and his kisses moving to bolder places. He could feel the blush forming on his cheeks.

This wasn’t what Shane expected. 

“Ilya-“ he lightly protested. 

“What?” Ilya asked, entirely too innocent. His mouth brushed just below Shane’s ear. “Am distracting you.” He kissed his neck. “Is working?”

Shane blushed harder, trying not to squirm as he answered, “I think you’re just- changing tactics.”

“Hmm.” Ilya sounded pleased with that assessment. “Progress.”

“Maybe.”

Rozanov chuckled. His hands moved lower.

The next morning, Shane awoke to see sunlight filtering in through their bedroom window.

Somewhere outside, a car door slammed and a dog barked a few times before the street went quiet again.

He glanced around, finding their clothes from last night folded onto the bench at the foot of the bed. Additionally, the blankets must have twisted sometime in the night, seeing as half of them had been dragged down towards that bench. 

When Shane turned, he noticed a weight settled across his torso. Or, more specifically, an arm.

It wrapped around him tighter after he moved his body to face Ilya, hair sticking up in three different directions. The other man buried his face in Shane’s shoulder. 

Hollander huffed a quiet laugh.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he murmured.

“Morning,” Ilya parroted, snuggling closer, if at all possible.

Shane smiled despite himself. “Ilya.”

“Am glued to your side, remember?”

“Oh, so you’re a koala now?” Hollander teased, smile widening.

Ilya made a disgruntled sound and said into his collarbone, “No more talking. Only more sleeps.”

Shane blinked. “That’s not even-“

“You understood, yes?”

“I guess.” He shrugged as much as was allowed.

Ilya sighed dramatically. “Blyad, you kill me, Hollander.”

“Untrue.”

“Lies. Is very true.”

Shane giggled, studying his boyfriend for a moment. Then, he slowly let himself sink back into the pillows. For a moment, he just lay there, letting the weight of Ilya’s arm stay where it was.

His mind was there when he reached for it. But it didn’t rush forward the way it usually did.

Shane exhaled slowly.

“…Okay,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

He let his eyes close again.

And this time, when the thoughts came back, they didn’t feel like something he had to escape from.

Chapter End Notes

They’re so cute your honor

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

A hockey game??? In this fic?? More likely than you think.

Now, do I know anything about the sport? A little; especially after writing this. But I don’t know a whole lot.

Content warning: homophobia, homophobic language (including slurs) and harassment.

FUCK MTL. Except Hayden. He is kind of the only good one, but he needs to get out of there.

Oh, and every minor character Metro player name you may or may not recognize was pulled from the Game Changers Voyageurs/Metros fandom.com page.

The first Boston Raiders vs. Montreal Metros' game was the most anticipated of the regular season in March. The Boston stadium was packed full of spectators, most cheering for Shane more than either team as a whole. 

Montreal and Boston fans alike. Cheering and showcasing signs for one player. 

They didn’t even know why he left the Metros. Not the real reason, at least. It was a dangerously interesting thought to wonder just how many people would still hold up those signs if they knew.

Hollander didn’t quite know how to feel about all of it as he stepped onto the ice and took it all in. He smiled and waved, sure, but that was him slipping on a mask for them.

He felt a hand clap onto his shoulder. Turning his head, he found Rozanov skating right beside him. 

“Ready to kick their asses?” Ilya asked. The man had given the team a very loud and passionate pep talk only a few minutes ago.

Everyone had the fire and energy needed to get this win in the bag. 

“You know I am,” Shane answered before taking his spot on the ice.

Even if Rozanov hadn’t made the speech, Hollander would have been ready. It definitely did help get rid of his nerves  early, though.

A minute later, everyone had gotten into position. When Rozanov won the face-off, the adrenaline took over. He and Hollander rushed into the attacking zone, flanked by Marleau.

The three of them charged forward, passing the puck between them. 

After a few seconds, an opportunity came and Shane didn’t hesitate. The ice opened in front of him for half a second. 

“Hollzy!” Cliff called as he swung his stick.

The pass connected. Hollander now had possession of the puck.

A defender closed in fast.

Shane shifted his weight, cut left, then right. He took a shot at the goal.

The crowd surged.

Unfortunately, the Metros didn’t wait too long to make chirps at Shane. As soon as it was time to reset after the first goal, Comeau leaned close as he passed.

“Boston treating you nice? Bet they don’t know yet.” He said.

Shane promptly responded, “Fuck off,” as he skated back towards his team for the next shift. 

Unfortunately, the words sat wrong in his mouth, not because they weren’t deserved, but because Comeau wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Count your days, faggot!”

He hated it. He wanted to scream, but he kept it inside and channeled it towards the game.

Renaud and Drapeau weren’t any better. One of them made a comment as he gave Shane a late check. The other pushed Shane into the boards for possession of the puck as he said his.

Shane was sure he wasn’t hiding his feelings about either interaction very well by the time they had to reset after the Metros scored.

It was during then that Ilya, Cliff, Victor and Connor all sent him concerned looks. He shook his head, signaling them to let it go. Shane was positive they didn’t, judging by how they played during the next shift.

That is to say, the four of them started to take every opportunity to retaliate. They didn’t have to hear the exchange. Apparently, seeing it was enough.

There were clean hits that rattled bones, perfectly timed checks that sent Metros into the boards, passes that shut down plays before they even started. 

A similar thing happened when the next line rotated onto the ice.

They were sending the Metros a message and Shane’s chest both warmed and ached.

“Hey Holly,” Pike said as he engaged Shane in a skirmish for the puck.

It was the middle of the first period. Hollander had just gotten back onto the ice. Only one goal was scored since he was out, and it was by a Metro. 

“Hey Hayds,” Shane said as he began to play keep-away. “How’re the kids?”

“Missing their uncle. Jackie and I do too.”

“Yeah, I know, bud.” 

“You gonna tell your new buddies to knock it off?”

“I’ll try.” Shane didn’t really mean that, but it didn’t end up mattering anyway as he managed to slip past his friend.

“You think switching teams changes anything?” Laine taunted as he tried to steer Hollander away from the goal. “You’re still a joke no matter the Jersey, pansy.” 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Beaulier added from nearby. “Cocksucker.”

All it took was one small misstep from Shane and they took possession of the puck, passing it to their offensive line. JJ and Hayden were among them.

Luckily for the Raiders, they had one hell of a goalie.

“You okay, man?”

Shane looked to his right and saw Connor standing there with a concerned expression.

Oh, that’s right. The man had moved up into the attacking zone with him.

Hollander shrugged and said, “I’m fine.” He then moved to a position on the ice where he could easily retake possession of the puck.

During the break between the second period and the third, when they were all gulping down Gatorade or water, Shane noticed about ten players congregating. Hollander approached them.

The five original players who started this game were most likely enlisting others who hadn’t gotten a chance to play yet into their plot to incur physical and emotional damage onto Shane’s old team. 

He shook his head.

“Guys, listen,” Shane said. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but you don’t need to.” At their slightly confused and stubborn expressions, the man dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Hollzy, are you kidding?” Connors asked, shifting his weight and leaning against his stick. “After seeing how they talk to you, no fucking way.”

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in and out sharply. “Can we just beat them? Please? Can that be enough?” 

“Shane,” Cliff said pointedly. “Mon ami. Remember what Vic and I said? We’ve got your backs. Et… well, we can’t let what’s been happening slide.”

“Besides, we will win regardless,” Ilya added. “But it would be nice to make it hurt, yes?”

Shane gave him a look. “I told you not to commit crimes for me.”

Ilya shrugged. “And we’re not.”

“You might if you keep going like this.”

“No promises.”

Hollander rolled his eyes and muttered, “Asshole.” Then, he turned towards the possible sub-ins. “I’m serious, McKimmie.”

All the rookie could do was blink and nod but there was some kind of fire behind his eyes that told Shane the kid would not follow his advice.

Shane huffed as he walked back to his belongings.

Jesus Christ.

Ilya was in the penalty box now. He and Comeau had to sit there for five minutes. Shane found himself thankful that the score keeper’s box sat between them. Otherwise, they would still be at each other’s throats. Hell, after their time there ends, Shane wouldn’t be surprised if they went right back to fighting. 

Hollander locked eyes with Rozanov only once during his time there. Ilya was already watching him. Both of their eyes, he was sure, were so filled with emotion. 

Shane passed by and caught the man mouthing the words ‘I’m fine.’ He nodded and played much harder afterwards.

They were halfway through the third period now. The Metros had not only been keeping their defense tighter. They had managed to score some goals. The Raiders were down 2 - 3.

Shane had a shot. There was an open lane and a clean look. 

Then, the rebound slipped away. The crowd groaned.

Shane exhaled hard, skating past the net.

The Metros’ noise crept back in, unwanted and sharp, like it was digging into his skin.

‘They’re wasting their time with you.’

‘No matter what, you’re still a fucking faggot.’

His grip tightened on his stick.

For a second, the noise got to him. 

Then, before he knew it, he heard someone yell, “Hollzy!”

It cut through everything. Clean. Familiar.

Shane turned his head just enough to catch it: Cliff, already in motion, stick down, eyes locked on him. Not questioning. Not doubting. Just there.

Waiting.

Shane inhaled sharply.

The noise didn’t go away, but it dulled as if someone had thrown a blanket over it.

He adjusted his stance, pushing off harder this time as he rejoined the play.

“Shane,” Ilya said as he skated up to him after the Raiders tied up the score. He stopped just an inch away, placing arm around his shoulder. “You alright?”

Shane exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Let’s run that again.”

Rozanov grinned.

Six seconds left.

Shane barely registered who called it - just the number, shouted from somewhere behind him.

Five.

The puck was loose along the boards. A messy play. Bodies colliding, sticks clashing, no clean control.

Four.

Shane pushed in anyway, shouldering past a defender. Someone grabbed at his jersey but missed.

Three.

The puck kicked free. Right to him.

For half a second, everything slowed.

The net. The goalie shifting left. A defender closing in from his right.

Two.

‘You’re such a joke-‘

Shane snapped his stick forward. 

One.

The puck flew. 

Within the last remaining tenths of a second the net moved. The horn blared. The arena erupted. 

Shane didn’t celebrate right away. He didn’t raise his arms or shout. He just stood there for a second, chest heaving, staring at the puck in the back of the net like he didn’t quite believe it was real.

A hat trick.

He just scored a hat trick against his former team within the last remaining tenths of a second.

Boston had won 4 - 3.

Suddenly, he was surrounded by Raiders, all shouts and smiles. They grabbed at his shoulders and his helmet, drowning everything else out. 

Shane gave them a breathless laugh, still not believing he pulled that off.

Yet, underneath all of it, he still wondered who in the crowd would be cheering if they knew.

They entered the locker room keeping up the same enthusiasm as they had on the ice.

“Hat trick, Hollzy!” 

Someone banged on the lockers. Others were laughing, trash-talking the Metros. Their voices were loud and triumphant.

Shane let out a short breath, dropping down onto the bench in front of his stall. He pulled his helmet off, running a hand through his damp hair.

It still didn’t feel real.

Gear hit the floor around him. Teammates moved in and out of his space, clapping him on the shoulder, ruffling his hair, saying things he only half-processed.

He smiled where he needed to, nodded, and said thanks.

He sat there for a moment, this weird feeling settling in his body. His chest started to feel tight. His leg started bouncing. Then, after a minute, he stepped out.

The quiet of the hallway eased his nerves almost immediately. He ducked around the corner, further away from the locker room until he got into the stairwell.

Seconds later, the sound of the door opening reached his ears.

Rozanov’s voice cut through the air. “Hollander, what is going on?” 

He turned and sat down on one of the steps, blinking a few times. He shook his head and shrugged as his lips quivered. He felt the tears start to pool in his eyes. He glanced away.

“Hey,” Ilya said as he immediately went to his boyfriend’s side. “Hey hey hey hey, shh.” He wrapped his arms around him, pressing Shane’s head to his chest. “I know, today was a lot.”

Shane nodded once, lips forming a thin line.

“It shouldn’t have been,” he said.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ilya told him. “Doesn’t matter. I’m proud of you, moya lyubov,” Ilya told him. “You held it together. You did so well.”

Shane shook his head. “No, I didn’t-“ His voice caught. “I-“

“It was one rebound,” he reassured, one hand making small, soothing circles on his back. “Then, you kept playing. You did good.”

Hollander peered up at him. 

“I scored a hat trick,” he said, like that should cancel everything else out.

“Yes. You did.” Rozanov gave him a smile as he lightly adjusted his hold. He wiped away his now spilling tears. “They got under your skin a little, so what? You didn’t let them take this from you. You won. We won.”

“We did,” he said eventually, voice barely above a whisper as he brought up a hand to hold onto his partner’s arm.

“Yes.” Ilya kissed his forehead and carded a hand through his hair. “And we will keep doing it until they get it through their thick skulls what they lost.”

Shane managed a smile as he replied, “Asshole.”

“In defense of you, yes.” 

He kissed Hollander’s forehead again before dipping down to kiss him properly. Afterwards, Ilya rested his chin on top of his hair.  

They stayed like that for another few minutes, soaking up the quiet and the ease of each other’s company, before rejoining their team.

Chapter End Notes

My gay, neurodivergent ass would also be breaking down in the stairwell if this were my situation.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Even more angst and comfort because I said so. And, some moments with the team.

Shane felt… well, he couldn’t quite pin down the exact emotion, but he supposed ‘weird’ would work for now.

He sat on the couch in his favorite hoodie and a blanket surrounding his lap. A partially empty coffee mug stood on the table in front of him. He scrolled through his phone absentmindedly.

Ilya, on the other hand, had eaten breakfast a little while ago and was now gearing up to leave. He hadn’t said much to Shane today beyond his usual loving and teasing remarks. 

Shane could tell that Ilya recognized something was going on with him, but the Russian chose to give him space in that regard.

Well, that was, until he put his shoes on. Afterward, Ilya wandered into the living room with a concerned expression.

“I take it by your inaction, you’re not coming?” He asked.

It was the team’s day off and Connors had invited everyone over to his place for some kind of potluck lunch. Ilya was bringing alcohol and draniki.

Shane pursed his lips and shrugged before saying, “I mean, I guess I could if you really-“

“No, no,” Ilya shot down, taking a few steps closer. “You should take some time. You need it.” He sighed and stared down at him. “You’re…” the man gestured vaguely at him. “Radiating… something. Like you do when you overthink, except this time is whole body.”

Shane averted his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Rozanov stated as he sat down next to him. “It’s okay.” He gave him a gentle smile. “If you want, I could stay too, we could watch movie-“

“But you’re the captain,” Hollander argued, voice barely above a whisper. “You should go.”

“Is not a problem.”

“I know, but, still…”

Shane never quite felt comfortable with Ilya shirking anything related to hockey or moving things in his life around for him. Ilya shouldn’t have to.

Hollander thought back to the last time they had a discussion like this, when Ilya was miles away but offered to visit and be there for him.

All those months ago, Shane had wanted to see if he could handle it himself first. A similar sentiment existed now, despite the comfort Ilya willingly gave him in that stairwell.

Ilya studied him for a moment, noting the seriousness in Shane’s brown eyes. Then, the man exhaled through his nose and leaned closer.

“Okay, solnyshko. You need anything, you tell me and I will come right back,” Rozanov promised as he kissed his forehead. His hand rested reassuringly on Shane’s shoulder as he got up.

“Okay,” Hollander replied, watching him leave.

“I mean it,” Ilya projected from the hallway.

He didn’t respond.

He stayed there well after he heard the door close and the car drive away, brain running a mile a minute.

His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over his phone, but he didn’t scroll.

Instead, he sank deeper into the couch as he thought about the Metro game. He replayed the shifts; the slurs, the hits, the way his new team rallied around him. Boston won. He should be happy about that, right? He should be happy that his new team was so supportive. 

Some part of him was, although maybe relieved was the better word. He was relieved that none of them acted like the Metros had.

Yet, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself anymore. It almost broke him, how he had spent all this time and energy worrying when he didn’t need to. 

Or maybe he still did. Maybe, some of his new teammates’ actions were fake. They could have acted only because they were told to, not because they wanted to or because they cared about Shane.

Oh, god.

He didn’t want that to be the case.

As Ilya went through the entrance of Connor’s house, he was immediately hit with the sounds of pop music playing from a speaker and the smell of different kinds of foods. He took his shoes off before entering the kitchen. 

There, Connors, St-Simon, and Marleau were talking. They paused when they saw their captain.

“Hey, Rozy,” Connor said as he approached and took the vodka from him. His eyes immediately turned towards the large Tupperware of draniki. “Ooh, those look good.”

“Thank you,” Ilya said as he set the food down on the island next to all the other containers.

“Roz, any word on Hollander?” Cliff asked. “He seemed off at practice yesterday.”

“Yeah, some of his passes and shots weren’t connecting,” Victor supplied. “That doesn’t usually happen.”

“He’s okay,” Rozanov replied with a shrug. “He just needs to…” he moved his hand as he tried to remember the word. “Decompress, I think? So, he is not coming.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame him,” Victor stated.

“Fucking Montreal,” Connor huffed, setting the vodka on the counter next to the other beverages before facing his teammates. “Should someone swing by at his place? Remind him he’s not alone?”

Ilya pursed his lips. He almost forgot that Cliff and Victor were the only ones who he and Shane specifically told that they lived together. He’s sure some of the other guys had figured it out on their own, or at least figured that Shane and Ilya lived close enough to carpool to almost every practice and function. The man knew, too, that leaving and entering their car of the day at different times when practices began or ended could only work so many times. He and him didn’t used to. They drove separately for almost everything in the beginning before slowly getting tired of it. Eventually, they’ll probably get tired of their second little charade and appear at things at the same time.

He tried not to think about that too hard.

“If the company is unexpected, he might withdraw further,” Rozanov stated, eyes flickering with concern. “If he wants to talk he will reach out.”

“Got it,” Connor replied, nodding. He then looked towards the living room and frowned. “Hey!” he shouted as he walked into the space. “Don’t mess with my setup.” 

Everyone turned to find Carmichael and Hammersmith inspecting the Wii console Connors had hooked up to his television.

“You still have one of these?” Brad asked as he stood up. 

“Yeah,” Connor answered. “So you better not break it.”

“Relax, dude.”

Ilya was about to join him when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he found Cliff there.

“Hey,” Marleau said, moving his hand to Ilya’s arm. “I know you’re probably really focused on Shane right now, which is good, but don’t forget to take care of yourself too, okay? I know you can get- uh-“

“I don’t get like anything, Marly,” Rozanov lied. He lightly jerked his head to the side. “But, thank you.”

Ilya then turned and wandered into the living room.

Three hours later, the gathering had wound down. Carmichael, Marleau, Hammersmith, and a bunch of other teammates were already gone for one reason or another. 

Now, it was just Connor, Victor, and Ilya. The latter two had offered to help clean up. One of them washed the dishes while the other dried them.

“You know, you guys didn’t have to,” Connor said as he put some beer cans in the recycling bin.

“Eh, it's alright,” Victor replied, looking over his shoulder. “Besides, you’ll owe us later.” He grinned.

“Fuck you too,” he responded, smiling back.

They laughed.

After drying his fifth plate, Ilya picked them up and held them out. “Where do these go?” He asked.

“Uh, in the hanging cabinets over there,” Connor said as he pointed to the small hallway. Tucked away there was a cabinet with counter space, a backsplash, and more cabinets above them.

Ilya moved.

They finished cleaning up in about ten minutes. Connor thanked them again and walked them to the door. Victor was the first one to leave, having not taken off his shoes in the first place. It was a different story for Ilya.

After he got back to his feet, the Russian checked his phone. He nearly frowned when he saw no messages from Shane because it could mean two different things: 1) Shane didn’t feel like he needed anything; and 2) Shane did need something but was too hesitant to ask. He hoped it was the first one.

As he grabbed the door handle, a voice stopped him.

“Hey Ilya,” Connor had said as he leaned against the staircase railing. 

Rozanov turned around and gave his teammate a questioning glance.

“If Shane needs an ear to talk to, tell him I’m there?” The man requested.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rozanov responded, nodding.

The house was too quiet when Ilya stepped inside. Even closing the door felt too loud by contrast. After putting away his shoes and keys, he wandered into the living room only to find that his boyfriend wasn’t there.

“Shane!” He called, glancing every which way as he got deeper into the house.

“In here!” A voice called from the bedroom.

When he got there, he found Shane sitting under their desk with his knees folded and his arms wrapped around his legs. His eyes looked distant. Once Ilya got into his field of vision, his eyes widened and looked at him for only a second before darting around.

“Moya lyubov,” Rozanov said as he knelt onto the floor. “What are you doing down here?”

His mouth opened, then closed, and opened again. “Uh.” He shrugged.

“Can you tell me what you are thinking?” Ilya asked as he shifted closer. “Please?”

Shane huffed out a quiet breath, staring down at the floor. He moved a hand in vague gestures and shook it a little.

“I don’t know where to put it,” he admitted.

“Put what?” Ilya asked gently.

“My energy… My fears.”

“Why?” 

“The game, how,” he swallowed. “How everyone acted. Both teams.”

Ilya pursed his lips. “Your current team is so much better than the old one, remember that.”

Shane huffed out a small laugh, despite himself. 

“And, you don’t have to carry all of this right now.”

Shane shook his head slightly. “Doesn’t feel like I have a choice.”

Ilya’s expression softened.

“You do,” he said quietly. “You just… keep choosing to face it anyway.” He paused. “That takes bravery.”

“I don’t feel brave.”

“You are,” Ilya said as he shuffled close enough to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Facing the Metros took bravery. Going to practices afterward took bravery.”

Shane made a strained noise as he leaned into him.

“Besides,” Ilya continued, weaving his fingers through his partner’s hair. “We have evidence now that you can lean on the Raiders. On us. We will support you.”

“But what if they didn’t mean it?” Shane inquired.

“I know them. They did.”

Shane let out a small, disbelieving laugh and shook his head.

“I’m serious.” Ilya moved his hand lower to rub the other man’s back. “You chose us and we chose you. Not because we had to. Because we wanted to.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Yes, it is, because that’s the truth.”

Shane’s shoulders loosened just slightly.

“Okay,” he said in a bit of a downbeat tone. He didn’t sound fully convinced, but he also didn’t sound like he was fully refusing the notion. 

Ilya held him a little tighter for a moment. 

Eventually, one of them spoke. 

“And you?” Shane asked in a quiet voice as he turned to look at him. “Are you okay?” 

Ilya stilled for a few seconds then automatically replied, “I am fine.”

Shane gave him a sidelong glance. Ilya’s lips pressed into a thin line. He moved one of his hands to caress his partner’s cheek.

“I worry,” Rozanov admitted finally. “About you. About…” He jerked his head lightly from side to side. “…this.”

Hollander’s mouth tightened. He blinked a few times and Ilya could see the tears threatening to form.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Ilya told him, kissing his forehead. “Is okay. Really.” He moved to rub Shane’s back again and changed the subject. “Have you eaten at all today?” 

Hollander hesitated to answer. “No.”

“Well then, I guess we should fix that, yes?” Rozanov said with a smile.

“‘M not very hungry,” Shane said as he pulled away from him.

“I know, but your body does not care if your brain is busy.”

Shane let out a small, tired sound. “You know, if I eat something now, then I’ll have to eat a later dinner.”

He shrugged. “I can wait.”

“Ilya,” his partner said, exasperated.

“Shane,” he mimicked before chuckling as he pulled himself and his other half to their feet. Then, he said in a softer voice, “Come on.”

He led them into the kitchen.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

What’s the saying? One step forward, two steps back? Theoretically?

Also, I looked back on the Fandom list of Boston Bears/Raiders players on the team’s info page and found more guys, yippee.

From the kitchen island, Shane glanced over at Ilya. The man was putting bread into the toaster. His back was fully to him. 

Hollander couldn’t help but wonder if that was by design. 

There was something in Ilya’s eyes this morning when they woke up. They didn’t hold the same brightness that they had days prior. Shane didn’t like it.

He wondered if Ilya was thinking about last night’s conversation just as much as Shane had before going to bed several hours ago.

He also suspected that this wasn’t sudden. The radiance in his expression had probably been leaving him for a while. Perhaps today, Ilya just didn’t have enough energy to mask it.

For a small moment, Shane also wondered if Ilya was experiencing some form of caretaker burnout. Yet, that felt like he was jumping to conclusions. There could just be something more going on that Shane hasn’t seen or thought of before.

Regardless, it worried him.

He swallowed and pushed himself up from the stool. 

Shane crossed the kitchen slowly, stopping just short of the counter. For a second, Shane didn’t say anything. He just put his weight on his hands and leaned against the counter.

His mouth opened before his brain could form a sentence. Shane averted his eyes onto the edge of the toaster like it would give him something to work with. Of course, it didn’t.

“Ilya?” He tried.

Shane received a quiet, questioning hum in response.

“How, uh,” Hollander hesitated. “How are you today?”

Ilya looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “I am fine.”

The toaster dinged and popped out his breakfast, causing Ilya to turn back. He pulled out a plate from the cabinet above and collected the slices. 

“Why?” Rozanov inquired, still facing the counter.

Shane exhaled through his nose and shifted his weight.

“Just… thought I should ask,” Hollander told him.

“I told you last night I was okay,” Ilya stated as he brought the plate to the island and opened the fridge. He pulled out the orange juice and the butter. 

“Actually…” The balls of Shane’s feet spun him around. “You said-“

“I know what I said,” he interjected, pouring the juice into a glass.

Shit. 

Shane rubbed his face for a moment. 

Another beat passed. Ilya reached for a knife, spreading butter onto the toast with steady, practiced movements.

Shane’s fingers tapped lightly against the counter. “I just-” He cut himself off, shaking his head once.

“What?” Ilya deadpanned. He had finally  faced him, sitting down at one of the stools. 

“I want you to know that you don’t have to be so strong for me all of the time,” Hollander stated as he approached. “I can handle some of it. You don’t have to carry everything.”

“You shouldn’t have to, kotik.” He said it with a definitive tone.

“Bullshit.” Shane got closer. “It’s not fair to you.”

There was no change in Ilya’s expression. “Let’s revisit this later, yes? When we don’t have practice to prepare for?”

Shane swallowed, taking in how withdrawn his boyfriend was. He grit his teeth for a second, but chose to let it go.

“Okay,” he said, sighing as he walked toward the fridge to get his own breakfast fixings out.

He knew then that they would be driving separately to the rink today.

They had run through all the drills and scrimmages they could at this point. Coach Desjourneys dismissed them a few minutes ago. Shane lingered near the boards, rolling his shoulders as he debated if he wanted to get out of his gear yet.

Voices mostly filled with laughter carried easily across the ice.

Connor, Brad, and Ryan were gathered near center, talking about something Shane couldn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it had Connor grinning like an idiot.

“…I’m telling you, it was rigged,” Ryan was saying.

“It was not rigged,” Connor shot back. “You just suck at Mario Kart.”

Carmichael gasped, offended. “I do not.”

“You kinda do,” Brad agreed, chuckling.

The other player playfully hit him. “You listen here, you little shit-“

Shane let out a small breath through his nose at that, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He shook his head and pushed off, wanting to do another lap around the rink before heading to the locker room.

“Hey, Hollzy!”

His head snapped to the side.

Connor appeared at his side. His skates skidded as he slowed down. The man was looking right at him, his stick resting against his shoulder.

“You play Mario Kart?” he asked. “We’re thinking of doing a rematch from yesterday sometime. Carmichael keeps talking shit.”

Shane blinked and said, “Oh, uh.” He kicked off from the ice lightly, maintaining his speed. “Not really.”

“That’s fine,” Connor replied with a shrug. “Half of the guys don’t. It’s more about yelling at each other than actually winning.”

Hollander tilted his head in consideration but eventually gave a noncommittal, “I’ll think about it.”

Disappointing, he knew.

Yet, Connors only nodded and replied, “Cool.” He lightly nudged Shane’s arm with his hand. “We’ll text you.” The man then skated towards one of the team benches. 

At the other end of the rink, Ilya stood with his arms crossed and his eyes staring at the middle distance.

“Roz,” Cliff said as he approached, using his hands to catch his momentum against the boards. “You and Hollzy fight or something?” His voice was quiet.

At his friend’s non-answer, he continued. “You’re just… brooding, and Shane seemed a little more tense than usual.”

“I do not brood,” Rozanov told him, giving him a glare.

“Roz,” Marleau chastised, turning so he wasn’t craning his neck.

Ilya frowned and exhaled slowly before reluctantly explaining, “He… noticed I was not myself.”

“It was only a matter of time, mon ami,” Cliff responded as he shrugged. “He’s a very attentive man.”

“I suppose.”

Cliff tilted his head as he studied him. Then, he gently punched his arm. 

“Do me a favor?” He requested. “Explain at least something to him? Otherwise he’ll agonize over it forever.”

“I know, Marly,” Ilya said in an almost defeated tone as he skated away.

As Shane walked through the locker room, he caught sight of a small group gathered around the game schedule pinned to the bulletin board.

“Wait, hold on,” Sebbin said, leaning in closer. “When do we play Montreal again?”

Shane slowed.

“I don’t know,” Dubek replied. “Why?”

“You just wanna deck one in the face, don’t you?” Feller asked.

“Maybe,” Sebbin agreed, easily.

Something in Shane’s chest tightened. He stepped back, just out of view of the doorway.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Feller responded. “Those assholes were straight up harassing him.”

“Yeah, that crossed a line,” Johansson stated. “No one deserves that.”

“Well-,” Sebbin. 

“Sebs,” Dubek warned.

Sebbin outstretched his arms as he explained, “I was only going to say that they deserve it done to them as retaliation.”

Feller sighed as he commented, “Us beating them again probably won’t matter. They’re already not making it to the playoffs from what I’ve seen.” 

“Yeah,” Johansson agreed. “All because they just had to chase Hollzy away.”

“I’m glad he’s here now,” Sebbin stated.

The others all said some form of agreement before leaving.

Shane stayed where he was for a second longer. Something unfamiliar settled in his chest.

When Shane pulled his car into their driveway, he found Ilya’s car already there. A quiet sense of dread filled him as he unloaded his vehicle and stepped inside.

The two of them moved around each other easily enough once they saw one another. Taking their shoes off, placing keys in the bowl, getting water or snacks, or changing clothes. It was the kind of practiced domestic motion that didn’t require thought.

Then, Ilya drifted to the living room. Shane hovered for a second before trailing after him.

Rozanov was on their couch, already scrolling through his phone like this morning didn’t happen at all.

“I’m feeling takeout for later,” he said, not looking up. “Sound good?” 

Hollander frowned. Ilya’s words came out so easily.

“Uh, sure,” Shane replied as he sat down on the other end of the sofa.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your bird food is included in order.”

A small huff of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. “It’s not bird food.”

Shane caught the ghost of a smile appearing on Ilya’s face.

“It kind of is,” his boyfriend lightly argued.

“Shut up.” He retorted, but there was no real heat behind it. 

A moment of silence passed between them. It was the kind that usually felt normal. Today, however, it felt slightly… misaligned, ruined by the events of this morning.

Shane watched his boyfriend for a second longer than necessary. He turned question after question over in his head. How was it so easy for him to slip back into this version of things? How could he just set it down and keep going? Wouldn’t something break open eventually anyway?

Shane looked away.

The urge to say he was sorry for even speaking the issue into existence earlier bubbled in his throat. Shane swallowed it down. It was probably the wrong move, anyway. The action would certainly remind them of the thing one of them was trying to move away from. 

“Shane.” Ilya’s voice brought him out of his train of thought. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”

His eyes widened as he turned towards him. “How did you know I was-“

“Your thoughts are loud, solnyshko.”

The frown set in deeper.

“Lyubov, listen,” Ilya said as he shifted closer to him. “You don’t have to fix anything right now. Just… stay with me. That is enough.”

Shane opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. 

“We are okay,” Rozanov continued. “Not perfect-“

Hollander gave him a pointed look. “Ilya, we’re a mess.”

“Maybe.” He jerked his head from side to side. “But we’re okay.” He placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “I know you meant well earlier, it is just…” he paused, jaw tightening briefly. “…difficult for me to speak about.”

There were so many things that needed to be addressed. In fact, something was on the tip of Shane’s tongue. 

“Ilya, I-“ he stopped himself and huffed. “Never mind.”

Then, Shane’s phone buzzed with a notification. 

Connor:

You down for Mario Kart or nah?

His lips pursed as he looked at the message. Then, he spared a glance at Ilya. His boyfriend, who carried so much, was giving him a questioning expression.

Shane’s thumb moved, but he stopped it.

“I’ll answer him later,” he muttered - more to himself than anything - as he set his device down on the table.

Then, he leaned back into the couch, letting himself settle for now.

 “So,” Shane said. “Where were you thinking of ordering from?” 

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Two chapters back-to-back????
lol, actually, i worked on both for a little while and then I did not sleep.

Anyways, this one's a little lighter.

Team Dinner was at a new Mediterranean place this week. It was only a few blocks away from the arena, so some of them walked instead of driving. 

It was loud in the way restaurants get when too many conversations overlap. Plates and utensils clinked. Jovial conversation flowed. Music from speakers could just barely be heard underneath it all.

Shane sat somewhere in the middle of the table, which felt like the safest place to be. It wasn’t a spot that was tucked away enough to seem like he didn’t want to be there, and it was far enough away from the ends where attention seemed to gather. 

As his team talked around him, Shane let the sounds wash over him without ever really joining in. He’d smile into his glass at some lightly funny comment. He’d nod along, give an eye roll, or head shake. Sometimes, he'd make a small comment, but he wasn't very talkative beyond that.

Shane did not have many options that fit within his diet. But he made it work, ordering a balela salad and falafels. The portions were pretty large, though, so it worked out. 

His team might have teased him for his choice a bit, but it was all in good fun.

Throughout the meal, his eyes found Ilya’s a couple of times. He sat at the end of the table to Shane’s left. He was the opposite of his partner. The man was lively, actively contributing to conversations. However, every now and then, they would have silent check-ins involving glances and minuscule shrugs. 

Shane never gave him a signal to leave early, but he appreciated that Ilya was fully willing to.

When they got home hours later, Shane went to the bedroom straight away. He peeled off his clothing and reached for something he hoped would feel like a soft, comfortable shield. Yet, the fabric of the sweater he picked out was scratchy against his skin. The chunkiness of the knitting didn’t help its case either. 

So, he tugged it off and nearly dropped it before mentally kicking himself a little. He huffed and carefully folded the garment. After that, he just as carefully dropped it onto the floor. Then, Shane rifled through the room for something gentler.

That’s how Ilya found him when he walked in. The man’s eyes caught the discarded garment and moved to pick it up. 

“Is this my sweater?” Ilya questioned.

Shane startled so sharply that he had to reset his breathing before answering. “Oh, uh, yeah. I thought about wearing it. It seemed pretty inviting too, but it doesn’t have a good texture.”

For that response, he was given a sidelong glance. 

“Doesn’t have good texture?” He repeated, brows furrowing. “What does that mean?”

“The wool, it’s like sandpaper,” Shane told him.

Ilya studied the sweater, turning it over in his hands. 

“And it ended up on the floor?” Rozanov asked, giving him a sidelong glance. “Is it banished from the dresser?”

“It's folded,” Shane responded quickly, then found he had to correct himself. “Well, it was.” 

Ilya’s mouth twitched upwards as he crossed the room, closing an open drawer to better access the one below it and placed the clothing inside.

When he stood back up, the Russian paused, studied Shane for a moment longer than necessary (in Shane’s opinion) and moved toward the already open closet. From there, Ilya pulled out a plain, light brown hoodie. It was something he had worn dozens of times. 

“Here,” Ilya said as he handed it over. “This is better, probably.”

Shane took it and rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

“…Yeah,” he said before pulling it on. His shoulders dropped almost immediately.

Ilya watched that happen but didn’t comment on it.

“Thank you,” Shane said as he approached him.

“You’re welcome, solnyshko,” Ilya replied before pecking him on the lips. He then gave him a grin. “You have very high maintenance requirements.”

“Fuck off,” Shane retorted as he shook his head and smiled.

Ilya’s own expression turned into something fonder when he got closer. The two shared a kiss.

Shane stared at his phone as he lounged on the couch. His conversation with Connor sat open on his messaging app, but he didn’t type anything. Not yet, at least. 

He was still trying to figure out what to say, and he felt bad about it.

Connor’s Mario Kart invite was left on read four days ago. There were also two other invites that Shane ignored.

He didn’t even want to think about the invites Cliff and Victor gave him to certain places or events.

Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated them, but he’d always been introverted. And, the combination of everything that’s been happening has been kind of draining. 

Besides, Shane and Ilya got up to plenty of things on their own.

At least he still talked to them when he saw them in person, though. Granted, they spoke mostly about hockey or movie-related topics, but it was something.

They were trying, though.

Shane huffed, sinking deeper into the couch as he tried to focus back on the task at hand. His thumb hovered over the screen. He absentmindedly chewed on the drawstring of Ilya’s hoodie.

Just say something, he thought. Anything.

He tried and tried to type something, but he hated every iteration so much he ended up sitting there frowning. 

What if this was a mistake? What if he said the wrong thing? What if he revealed too much too quickly?

What if Connor was only performing?

Shane shook his head. No, he decided. He couldn’t keep following that path. For his own sanity, that can’t be the answer. 

Besides, the man has done harder things than this. He could handle one conversation over text, right?

“Jesus Christ,” he found himself muttering.

Shane bit the bullet and pressed send.

Shane: 

Hey. Sorry for not responding. Mario Kart some other time, maybe? Also, I haven’t bowled in, like, forever, so idk.

A concert might be fun, though.

Shane sighed, almost immediately regretting suggesting a concert. He rarely ever goes to them just due to the crowds alone. What was he thinking?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t take it back. The man was already replying.

Connor: 

Yeah, for sure man. We’ll find something eventually. Gotta prove to Ilya you’re not boring somehow.

Shane huffed out a laugh despite himself.

Shane:

Haha.

Good luck with that.

Though I don’t think bowling is the way to go. Feels like something he’d deem boring.

Connor:

You’ve got me there.

But I have faith in you.

Well, that was something, at least.

Shane could suggest Boston’s historical museums, or maybe even the Boston Public Garden. He’d been meaning to go to them anyway.

Yet, those probably existed outside the scope of what ‘regular’ hockey players wanted to do. Well, except for maybe the zoo.

Connor:

How are you, btw

Idk how often people have asked you that.

Shane blinked, and his eyes widened a fraction. The question sat there longer than it should have.

Shane:

Oh

Uh

Connor:

Shoot. My bad. I probably shouldn’t have just sprung that on ya 😅

Shane:

No, I mean, I’m fine. 

Doing okay. 

Better than I was two weeks ago.

Having one of the Montreal games behind us kind of helps.

Connor:

I bet.

Glad you’re doing better, at least.

Huh. Shane wasn't quite sure he knew what to do with that. 

 Shane:

You know, I actually wanted to thank you for what you did then.

I’ve been meaning to do so with everyone, really. 

Connor:

You don’t have to do that, you know.

Shane swallowed. His heart beat faster.

Shane:

I don’t know.

Feels weird not to, I guess?

Connor:

Fair.

But seriously, I promise everyone else would say the same. We’re all too happy to put league rivals in their place, especially when they act the way they did towards you. 

That wasn’t about hockey. That was them being shitty people.

Honestly, I don’t know how you dealt with them for so long.

But you’re one of us now, and you don’t have to filter yourself here.

Holy shit.

That felt… specific.

He stared at the message with wide eyes and sat up straighter. 

Okay, he told himself. stay calm.

Shane:

…Okay.

So

Actually, never mind. 

Sorry. I’ve just been in my head lately.

I guess.

Connor:

That’s okay.

Shane scrubbed a hand over his face.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared a few times before he saw the next message.

Connor:

What’s on your mind?

No judgement from me, promise.

Shane pursed his lips. His leg bounced. He took in a breath.

Shane:

A lot of the past months have felt weird. Like not real.

Connor:

I get that. 

It can take a while for certain things to settle.

No pushback? No confusion?

Shane:

It’s just all been a roller coaster.

Connor:

Well then I guess it’s good that roller coasters always have an ending.

Shane:

Yeah, I guess.

You’re right.

Thanks.

Connor:

Of course. 

Hey, I gotta go, but in case it hasn’t sunk in yet, I’m on your side. 

Shane:

Okay. Thanks.

Again.

Connor:

lol. You’re welcome, man 👍

Shane lowered the phone away from his line of sight. He closed his dry mouth and found himself swallowing again. 

Did that really just happen?

Shane reread the messages carefully.

Connor knew. He had to, right? Or maybe he at least suspected?

Some of his words felt intentional enough to hint at it, at least. If that were true, he knew, and that changed nothing about how he acted. Shane exhaled slowly as he absentmindedly fiddled with his phone, turning it over a few times. He told himself he would figure out the hows later. For now, he just wanted this bright feeling to last.

Four of the Boston Raiders, other than Ilya, now knew about him - that he was aware of. Including his boyfriend made five people total.

“Everything okay?” Ilya asked as he sat down next to him.

“Better,” Shane said, turning to face him.

“Oh?” His boyfriend tilted his head.

“I, uh.” His eyes darted around a bit. “Texted to Connor, a bit, finally.”

“Good,” Ilya replied quietly. A small, relieved smile appeared on his face. “Making connections?”

Shane shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“Moya lyubimyy, branching out,” the man mused, hand dramatically posed on his chest.

The sentiment was met with a kick to his shin, but all Ilya did in response was laugh and wrap an arm around Shane’s shoulders, pulling him back into the couch. Shane grabbed the hand attached to it, holding on a little tighter than necessary.

Then, Ilya reached for the remote and opened Hulu.

Beside him, the hopeful part of Shane’s brain was a little louder than the rest, for once. 

Chapter End Notes

Gotta love a good shared space within a home that can double as an emotional anchor point.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

I know, I know. I’m a fiend. I had the day off of work and I used it to make this. I can’t stop thinking about these tragic little lgbtq men.

Anyway, I’m back on my angsty bullshit.

Breakfast started with only Ilya in the kitchen. His other half was still getting ready for the day, no doubt trying on a bunch of different outfits. 

Shane didn’t have to leave until 9:30 am, but he was already planning ahead. 

Ilya, meanwhile, made himself a coffee. He would have made Shane one as well, but the man declined, stating that he and Connor would get coffee at their destination.

Shane had been so anxious when he talked about it last night.

“Faneuil Hall Marketplace?” Ilya asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Shane pace. “It’s a tourist trap.”

“Maybe,” Shane explained, shrugging a little as he moved. “But Connor said he had some fond memories of it growing up, so it might not be too bad.” His hands dropped to his sides but he picked one back up to list things. “Besides, it’s a weekday, which statistically is less full of people. We'll probably go a little early. Like, right when it opens so it’s not, you know, busy-“

“Mmhmm,” Ilya responded, wondering if he should find the rambling cute or concerning.

“And we probably won’t stay long there anyway once it gets to noon.”

“Right.”

Shane stopped, leaning against the desk and  putting his weight on his hand. “But who knows, you know? Some of the shops looked pretty interesting online. There’s supposed to be someone there selling fresh produce. I’ll probably want to get a whole bunch of stuff from them, including persimmons - which-“ he paused, blinking as his gears turned a little. “I haven’t had those in a really long time.”

Hollander’s anxious energy seemed to move from his legs into his voice. It got faster the longer he talked. This was finally concerning, Ilya decided, even though it showed how much his boyfriend wanted this to work.

“Shane-“ Ilya tried, but he was on a roll.

“Some of the actual eatery stands looked cool too. And, I mean, it’s a historical spot, so-“

“Shane,” Ilya said firmly, hand outstretched toward him.

The man stalled, closing his mouth as he fully turned towards him. 

With a sigh, Rozanov got to his feet and approached, asking, “Are you asking me for permission?”

“Ah- no. I’m not,” Shane replied, shifting his weight with his hands awkwardly in his pockets. “I just… I wanted to tell you.”

“Good.” Ilya gently took hold of his hands. “I mean, is nice you want to check in with me, but you are your own person.”

“So…” Shane blinked a few times. His eyes flickered between Ilya’s. “It’s okay?”

That did something sharp and quiet in Ilya’s chest.

“Of course it is, malysh.” He squeezed his hands. “You deserve this.”

Shane gave him a small smile which stayed as Ilya leaned in to kiss him.

The man finally emerged at 9:20 am, dressed in his blue emotional support button up, light khakis, and sneakers. A light darkly colored jacket hung from his fingers.

Ilya was sitting at the table eating a bagel breakfast sandwich with eggs, cheese, and bacon. 

Upon seeing him, Shane’s expression shifted, like the thought had caught up to him mid-stride.

“Are you going to be okay today?” he asked.

Ilya paused just long enough to register it before chewing and swallowing down his food. Then he smiled.

“Of course,” Rozanov said easily. “I will be very productive.” He shrugged. “There is laundry and dishes to be done. Probably some cleaning to do.”

Hollander huffed, replying, “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Ilya said, softer now. “And yes. I will be fine.” He raised his sandwich to his lips and finished it.

Shane searched his face for a second longer than necessary. “I just don’t want you sitting here… worrying.”

“I am very skilled at sitting,” the Russian deflected. “And even more skilled at not worrying.”

“That’s not true.”

“Eh, is partially true,” he corrected. “I will occupy myself.” He continued eating his sandwich.

The Canadian nodded, but his shoulders didn’t fully settle. “Text me if you need anything?” 

Ilya’s expression flickered. He put his food down again. It caught him off guard how readily Shane was willing to be there for him.

Then, he nodded as if nothing was wrong.

“I will be entirely self-sufficient,” he proclaimed. “But I will consider texting you anyway, just to annoy you.”

That got a small smile from Shane’s face. He nodded and turned toward the garage. At the entrance, however, he hesitated with the door half open.

“I’ll be back later,” Shane stated.

“I know,” Ilya replied. “Have fun.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

For a moment, all Ilya did was stand there at his kitchen island. Then, he exhaled through his nose and pushed himself off, rolling his shoulders. 

He moved to the fridge first, grabbing a glass from the nearby cabinet and filling it with water. In just a few large sips, he drank half of it.

His gaze flickered briefly toward the living room. 

He took in a deep breath as he tried to settle into the fact that Shane had just gone out. With Connor.

“Good,” he muttered. “This is good.” He nodded to himself, sharp and decisive.

He grabbed his glass and moved toward the couch, hoping to try and relax with some show. The tv was already set to the HGTV channel from when Shane watched cable tv last. Property Brothers was the current program.

Ilya lasted five minutes before switching to his recordings page and turning on Survivor.

For a while, he kept himself entertained, thinking about how well he would do in the reward challenge the contestants had to do. Then, he became mildly interested in whatever the island drama of the episode was. After that, boredom creeped in.

So, Ilya started scrolling on his phone. He checked Instagram first, moving through his following page, but never actually hitting the like button for anything.

Survivor started to act as background noise.

The glass of water sat on the coffee table, forgotten.

The contestants didn’t even make it to their immunity challenge before Ilya paused the show and turned off the television.

An urge settled in his chest, inspired by the show. He needed to move, Ilya thought. He needed to just get up and be active.

So, he walked into his at home gym.

Once inside, Ilya wrapped his hands and grabbed his boxing gloves, using his teeth to pull the second one on. Then, he stepped up to the long, heavy punching bag. 

Hands up, he didn’t hesitate, exhaling sharply as he threw the first punch. It landed hard, solid, and controlled. The second and third hits followed immediately after. Right jab, left cross, right hook. 

He reset, keeping his footwork loose. Jab, jab, cross, left hook. Right jab, left cross, right uppercut.

The rhythm came quickly as he drilled the combinations a few more times, mixing the order and the moves as he saw fit.

His mind quieted. For a moment, there wasn’t anything else besides movement, impact, and breathing. 

Then, his mind drifted as his body moved on autopilot.

Shane would be fine, he told himself. Connor was a good guy. This was good. Shane needed this. 

His next hit landed a fraction too late. 

Everything would be fine. 

His cross felt off as well.

It would all turn out okay. Wouldn’t it?

When Ilya’s hook landed, it didn’t have as much power as it did the times before. The bag swung minimally.  He huffed and clicked his tongue under his breath. Ilya adjusted his stance and took another deep breath.

Then, he stepped back and went through the motions again.

This time, his thoughts wandered to Montreal. He hated them, he decided long ago. He hated them for making Shane so scared. He hated them for how easily they let him go, how fake their goodbye message was on social media. He hated them for their harassment and ability to make Shane cry in a stairwell. He hated how lasting an impact they’ve had on his boyfriend and on him. He hated them.

The bag swung wildly this time. Ilya caught it awkwardly with his forearm before he shifted so he could hold it properly. The bag took only a few seconds to steady.

Yet, instead of immediately going through his next drill, he stayed there, resting his forehead against the rough texture of the hanging boxing equipment. 

The thought of taking a drag crossed his mind. He hadn’t smoked in a long while. Shane said he would never forgive him if he died due to lung cancer. That had been enough to stop him most days. 

Ilya was protecting Shane from so much already. But if he could, he would protect him from that feeling too.

He huffed out a small, breathy laugh despite himself.

Sveta always did say he cared too much, even if he didn’t fully realize it. According to her, he had this inherent need to protect ‘his’ people.

How could he not?

And yet, Shane potentially will have another person now. Someone else he could lean on. 

Ilya wanted this. He wanted Shane to feel comfortable around their teammates. He wanted things to get to a point where them and Shane would laugh, talk, or hang out.

That didn’t stop the strange, hollow feeling settling somewhere lower in his chest, like he was losing something.

He stood there for only a moment longer. Then, he rubbed his face and straightened out.

“Enough,” he muttered as he worked on taking his gloves off. “Dostatochno.”

He set them neatly on his bench press machine before unwrapping his hands. 

There were other things he could do: food to make, laundry to run, spaces to clean, and messages to answer. There was an entire house to keep in order. 

He could think about everything else later. Or, and more preferably, not at all. He didn’t want to lay down and cry until Shane got home, after all.

Chapter End Notes

Sometimes, being needed is how this man functions and it’s so interesting to think about.

Love when my earlier chapters end up being echoed in my new ones without me realizing until a tiny bit later. It works out anyway. It’s just evolution of the same concept, molding to a change in the situation.

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

Things are simmering

Today, Shane felt important to note, was shaping up to be a good day at practice. Perhaps even a great one. 

It started with skating and line work. Coach Desjourneys wanted them to practice skating backwards. He wanted them to be as fast going backwards as they were going forwards; he especially wanted them to be able to cleanly switch between the two. This was a mandatory once-a-week drill to Desjourneys (sometimes twice a week), and not everyone liked it, especially the rookies, but that was understandable.

Shane, however, did. One might say he was in his element.

“Jesus. Fastest player in the league back at it again,” Connors commented as Shane finished his run by skidding to a stop next to him. 

“I guess,” Hollander huffed.

The team had split into four groups, and he had beaten the other three he was against by a considerable margin.

“Wow, how modest,” the brunet teased.

That earned him a light smack in the arm and a shake of the head. Connor laughed as he moved forward in the line. Shane started skating towards the back.

On his way there, his eyes caught Ilya’s. 

“Almost as good as me,” Rozanov said with a smile.

“Oh, you think you can do better?” Shane asked, giving him a look that was half-challenge and half-flirtation.

“I know so.”

The Canadian laughed. “You can try.”

When he finally got to the end, McKimmie was at the back, waiting for him with a look of awe.

“Dude, how did you do that?” The rookie asked.

Shane smiled and whispered, “Just, watch our footwork. See if you can copy it. You’ll get there.” He nudged the kid’s shoulder as he turned to stand behind him.

Shane kept riding that feeling well into the shooting drills and the 6 vs. 6 scrimmages. And yet, the more practice went on, the more he started to notice something was off with Ilya.

To start, the man had driven here separately. And well, he had managed to hide his emotions pretty well, but there were moments when he thought no one was looking, where he developed this distant look in his eyes. Then, there were times he took a second too long to answer someone. 

There was a specific moment where Ilya stood a little too still during one of the resets, his hockey stick resting loosely against the ice. He snapped out of it when someone called his name and went back to normal as if nothing had happened.

Shane frowned when he saw it. Unfortunately, however, he didn’t have much time to dwell on it. 

“Hey, Hollzy!” Connor said as he skated up to him. “We still on for tomorrow?”

Hollander blinked and echoed, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” his friend smiled. “Brunch, remember?”

“Right.” Shane gave the slightest nod. “Yeah. Totally.” 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It was in the back of his mind, sure, but he hadn’t thought about it until right now.

The man studied him a bit longer than necessary. 

“Cool,” Connor said, but there was a hint of suspicion in his tone. “Please don’t bail.”

Shane laughed and shook his head. “I won’t.”

Connor bumped his shoulder lightly before pushing off, already moving back into the drill. Hollander, meanwhile, lingered a second longer.

His eyes tracked back across the ice. Ilya stood with the others, staring at him. The eye contact only lasted a moment. Rozanov broke off first to turn toward Sebbin and laugh at something he said. 

Shane exhaled through his nose and pushed off to rejoin the play.

The brunch spot for Shane, Connor, Cliff, and Victor was this small place right near the Boston Public Garden. They sat inside, but stuck close to the big front windows. 

Of course, the first thing they talked about was hockey. The playoffs were starting soon, after all, and Shane had helped the Raiders get there. The Metros obviously didn’t make it this year. The Admirals, however, did. Scott, for whatever reason, was playing a much better game this season. That made the Admirals competition to the Raiders. And, there were other teams where it was decided they should at least look out for: San Jose, Seattle, Toronto, Tampa, Chicago, and Minneapolis. 

It took only twenty minutes, however, for them to seek a new topic of conversation.

Shane knew the basics of social interaction: be polite but try to have at least some humor; look attentive even if your brain really doesn’t want you to; answer a question in a way that doesn’t create extra work for people, but try not to overexplain; etc., etc.

And yet, Connors - like Ilya - somehow made it easy for Shane not to fall into that cycle. Victor and Cliff, however? Not so much. They weren’t as easy to read.

“Shane,” Victor said. “You’re, uh, playing better. You feeling better?”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding, trying not to make it sound like he was forcing the words out. “A little.”

“Good. It shows.”

Shane hummed softly, unsure of what to do with that.

Cliff, after taking a sip of his coffee, asked, “Fait que… vivre avec Ilya, ça va-tu encore?”

“Yeah, everything’s good,” Shane replied. “Juste… Ilya, il… oublie ça.”

“No, I get it,” Cliff nodded along. “Mais sois patient avec lui, ok? Dis-lui que la porte est ouverte.” 

“J’ai essaye.”

“C’est bon.”

There was a brief lull as the server dropped off their plates. The clatter of dishes gave Shane something to focus on, something predictable.

Connor picked up his fork almost immediately. 

“Okay. Serious question,” he said, leaning forward. “And, I know, based on what you ordered that you’re currently leaning a particular way, but I gotta ask: do you seriously prefer pancakes over waffles?”

“Yes, dude absolutely,” Victor said without hesitation. “Pancakes are just better.”

“Wrong,” Connor stated. 

Victor frowned. “No, not wrong.”

“It is,” he insisted. “Waffles are structurally superior.”

Cliff pointed his fork at Connor. “Non, non, les pancakes, c’est mieux. More simple,” his shoulders raised in a partial shrug. 

“Exactly!” Victor said.

“You’re both insane,” Connor shot back.

Shane glanced between them, something in his chest loosening slightly, as he cut into his veggie omelette.

“Shane?” Connors asked, turning towards him.

“Uh,” he said as he picked at his food. “Waffles.”

Team Pancakes gave him a look.

“I mean,” Shane continued, shifting. “Connor was right. It is structurally superior. You can fit the berries in the little squares.” He stabbed some of his food and popped it into his mouth. 

“Exactly!” Connor said excitedly. “See? He gets me.”

Cliff made a face. “Traître.”

Shane huffed out a small laugh. “Sorry.”

“Pas grave… même si t’as tort.”

Later, the group wandered around the Boston Public Garden. Shane found himself wishing he'd come sooner. It was beautiful here. There were a multitude of trees and April flowers, vibrantly colored, already blooming in the cool Spring weather. 

“T’vois, I’ve never actually been here before,” Cliff noted, as they walked along the path. Him and St-Simon walked in front while Hollander and Connors walked behind them.

“Really, man?” Victor asked. “Not even with Sarah?”

Marleau shook his head. “Not really, non. But, maybe I should. Tsé, it’s kinda nice.”

St-Simon laughed. “You better. Kate and I loved this place.”

“Vic’s ex,” Connor whispered to Shane.

“Oh,” Hollander replied in a similar volume. His brows furrowed. “Did they-? Was it an amicable split?”

“For the most part, yeah,” he shrugged.

Victor glanced at the blooming tulips to their left and smiled softly. “Kate always loved to sit at this bench by lake up ahead. We’d sit there for hours, talking about everything and nothing.” He shrugged. “It was easy, you know? Before things got complicated.”

Cliff kicked at a pebble, looking thoughtful. “Ça a l'air bien. Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out on those quiet moments. Sarah pis moi- ben… we’re still figuring things out.”

“You know, I don’t think that ever stops,” Shane pitched in. “The figuring things out part.”

“Amen to that,” Connor replied as they walked by a statue.

There was a brief lull as they turned down a path lined with trees just starting to bud.

“I think,” Shane added, quieter now, “it’s just… sometimes it’s easier to deal with when both people are on the same page about it.”

Connor glanced, attentive.

“And when you’re not?” Victor asked.

Shane hesitated. He thought back to the morning when Ilya was cold and distant. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Then you just… try not to make it worse,” he said.

Cliff hummed softly like he understood more than was being said. 

Connor nudged Shane with his elbow as he said, “Or, you give it time. Let people catch up.”

Hollander let out a breath. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

“Hey,” Shane called out, using his feet to take his shoes off.

“In here,” Ilya called from the direction of the living room. 

Hollander approached, slower than usual. The open floor plan allowed him to easily find Ilya stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes. The TV was on, but with low volume.

For a second, Shane just watched him. Then, he stepped closer and leaned over him.

“Hi,” he said with his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hello, solnyshko,” Ilya replied as he moved his arm and blinked up at him. Then, he smiled. “How was your outing?” He moved to sit up. “You did not get murdered, I see. Very promising.”

Shane huffed a small laugh. “Barely.”

That got a real smile out of his partner, though it faded quickly.

“No, it was good,” Hollander said as he sat down. “I had fun.”

“Good,” Rozanov responded. “You deserve it.”

Shane tried not to think about how those words sounded as he kept the conversation going. “Yeah, we just got brunch, walked around and talked.”

“Talked,” Ilya repeated somewhat carefully. “Very social of you.”

He nodded. “Trying something different.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence passed between them.

Shane looked at his boyfriend more closely. 

“You okay?” He asked.

Ilya didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”

Shane leaned back onto the couch, eyes still on him. “You didn’t text me.”

“You told me only do that if I needed something,” Rozanov responded, moving his arms in a partial shrug. “I needed nothing.”

“That’s not-“ Shane stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. “Okay.” He looked away. 

Give it time, he reminded himself.

The words sat heavy in his chest.

“Hey,” he said after a moment. “Next time, you could join us, if you wanted.”

Ilya’s expression flickered. Then, he smiled.

“Maybe,” Rozanov muttered.

It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.

Shane nodded anyway. 

They fell into a quieter silence after that. The TV continued to murmur in the background. Shane let his shoulders just barely touch Ilya’s. The man didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, resting his head against his boyfriend’s arm. 

Shane let it happen. Then, he moved his arm around him and brought him closer. Ilya snuggled against his chest.

Give it time.

Chapter End Notes

Translation things:
“Fait que… vivre avec Ilya, ça va-tu encore?” --> “And... living with Ilya? Everything good still?”
“Ouais, tout est correct. Juste… Ilya, il… oublie ça.” --> "Well, Ilya, he… You know what? Never mind.”
“Mais sois patient avec lui, ok? Dis-lui que la porte est ouverte.“ —> “Just… try to be patient with him, ok? Let him know that the door’s open?”
“J’ai essaye.” --> “I'm trying.”
“C’est bon.” --> “Good.”
“...c’est mieux." --> “... it's better.”
“Traître.” --> traitor
“Pas grave… même si t’as tort.” --> "No problem, even if you're wrong.”
“T'vois...” --> "You know...”
“Tsé” --> filler word, akin to 'like'
“Ça a l'air bien.” --> “seems/sounds good.”
“Sarah pis moi- ben..." --> "Sarah and I- well..."

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

Don’t worry guys, I gently kissed the brick before I threw it at you.

The drive home from the game was quiet, the kind that sat wrong in Shane’s chest.

They lost by one point. Despite how disappointing that felt, he knew that wasn’t the only thing wrong here.

Ilya kept one hand on the wheel. The other rested loosely on the gear shift. His expression was neutral. He kept his eyes forward and his posture relaxed. 

Shane watched him for a second longer than necessary before turning his gaze to the window. He gripped the armrest. 

When they got back inside their house, everything fell into place like they always did. Shoes were taken off, keys were placed in the bowl, bags were put in their cubbies.

Ilya moved into the kitchen without a word, opening the fridge.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, voice easy.

“Uh, yeah,” Shane called as he walked into the space. “A little.”

“Good. We still have leftovers.” He pulled out some of the Tupperwares and placed them on the counter.

They were all from different meals. There was some pasta, a rice bowl, a salad, some pho, and an udon dish. Ilya picked what he wanted from the selection and moved the container towards the microwave. Shane did the same before putting everything else back in the fridge.  

“We’ll get them next time,” Shane said.

Ilya gave him a questioning look, holding his arm up on the cabinet handle.

“Chicago, I mean,” Hollander specified, stance stiff.

The man nodded and grabbed a plate as he said,  “Oh, yes. Yes, they won’t know what hit them.” He then transferred the pasta onto its new home with the fork he intended to use to eat it.

The words were right. The tone, however, was not.

Shane’s fingers tapped lightly against the  counter.

It wasn’t until after dinner that Shane finally got the courage to ask. He couldn’t stand the tension anymore.

Honestly, he was surprised he held out this long. 

“Is everything really okay?” Shane asked as he loaded their plates and silverware into the dishwasher. “It just seems like something-“

“Nothing’s going on lyubov,” Ilya said dismissively as he looked away from him. “We lost. That’s all.”

“No, not all.” The dark haired man closed the appliance’s door, watching his partner carefully. “Ilya, please, it’s killing me to see you like this.” Awkwardly, he approached him.

“I don’t need your pity, malysh,” he said coldly.

“Good, because this isn’t pity, it’s concern.”

The blond swallowed. His blue eyes continued to glance everywhere but his significant other. Tears threatened to fall. Then, he took a deep breath and faced him.

“Sometimes I think I am like my mother,” Ilya told him with a wavering voice.

Shane took a gentle hold of his hands and asked, “Why?”

“I told you before she is dead, yes?” He blinked and a tear cascaded down, only to be wiped away by his solnyshko.

“Yeah, at All-Stars.”

“I did not tell you how she died.”

“No, you didn’t,” Shane agreed, rubbing  soothing little circles on boyfriend’s knuckles. “And you don’t have to. I know your family is-“

“No, I need to say, so you understand.” He held eye contact for a minute, but had to look away in order to keep going. “When I was twelve, Irina, my mother ‘accidentally’ swallowed a whole bottle of pills. She was very sad, but I do not want you to think she was weak.”

“Of course not…” Shane said as he raised both hands to Ilya’s cheeks. He brought his head closer and kissed his forehead. Then, he wrapped his arms around him completely. 

Ilya found a home in the crook of Shane’s neck. Tan fingers wrapped their way into blond curls.

“So, when you say you think you’re like her…” Hollander spoke after a minute. 

“I’m saying I get very sad sometimes,” Ilya admitted, unmoving. “Not… not enough to… do what she did, but…” he huffed out a long breath. “Sometimes, something is wrong with my brain, I think.”

Shane’s hands moved through Rozanov’s hair and around his back.

”I am under so much pressure from hockey, from Russia - although that has lessened a bit since I cut ties - and, this secret we carry.”

Hollander felt pain hearing this, but he ignored it in order to ask a question. “Do you think maybe getting a diagnosis would help? Or at least looking into talking to someone?”

Ilya tilted his head up and questioned, “I am Russian. What do you think?”

He blinked a few times. “I’m just… throwing out suggestions. Getting one certainly helped me, at least to make sense of things. But, I know this is different.”

They stayed as they were for a moment, swaying a little.

“I could cancel my plans with the guys for a week,” Shane offered, staring down at his partner. “We could go back to it just being the two of us.”

Ilya snuggled closer as he said, “But you have put in so much effort to make these friendships, I don’t-“

“Ilya.” Hollander took a step back so he could properly look at him. The hand in his hair moved to his shoulder. “People cancel plans all the time. Things happen.”

“Yes,” Rozanov said as he studied the floor. “But just because I’m sad doesn’t mean you should put your life on hold.”

“I’m not.”

“Besides.” He turned his head as his eyes moved further away. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Shane shifted his weight. “Of course I do.”

“You have other people now.”

“Ilya-“

“Connors, St-Simon, Marly.” He laughed bitterly. “You don’t need me the same way.”

“Well, none of them are you,” Hollander said as he lightly took hold of Ilya’s chin and turned it towards him, holding his attention. “You hear me? They’re not- this isn’t-“ he exhaled sharply. “You’re not replaceable.”

Ilya’s jaw flexed. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

“No.” The words came out firmer this time. “You are twisting it.”

Shane dropped his hand, taking a step back like he’d been burned. Ilya’s expression faltered for a second.

“Then help me understand,” Hollander shot back, frustration present in his voice. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re pulling away and telling me it’s fine.”

“I am fine.”

“No, you’re not!” Shane’s voice cracked on the last word. He dragged his hand through his own hair, pacing for a few steps. “You just told me you think something’s wrong with your brain, Ilya. That’s not fine.”

A sharp silence fell between them. 

Ilya’s expression hardened. “In my life, this is what fine looks like.”

“I… don’t like that,” Shane admitted.

Ilya huffed out a humorless laugh.

“Yes, well,” he said. “I did not ask you to.”

Shane swallowed. Now, it was his turn to look away as he gathered his thoughts. 

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Hollander stated. “I just- I need to know when you’re not okay. Otherwise I’m just guessing all the time and it’s-“ he gestured helplessly. His voice dropped. “It’s exhausting, Ilya.”

That made a twinge of guilt flicker in Rozanov’s eyes. 

“I do not want to be another thing you have to manage,” Ilya said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re not,” Shane said immediately. “You’re my partner.” He closed the gap between them again. “My-“ (boyfriend)

“Sometimes feels like same thing.”

“You said it yourself months ago that what we have isn’t easy, but worth it,” Hollander said as he took hold of his love’s hands again. “Is that still true for you?”

Rozanov stilled. A new well of tears gathered in his eyes. 

“Of course it is, malysh,” he responded.

“So, please, tell me when you’re suffering so I can support you. Okay? I will be there for you, like how you've been there for me. Let me help you.” 

Ilya didn’t answer right away. He didn’t pull away this time either.

“… okay,” he said quietly. “I will try.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. 

The words hung there, fragile and uncertain. 

Shane didn’t respond right away. He just searched Ilya’s face like he was trying to memorize something, or make sure something was still there. 

“Okay,” he echoed, softer.

Ilya shifted his weight, not entirely sure what to do with himself now. 

Then, Shane’s hands gripped onto the front of Ilya’s shirt. He stepped closer, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes shut as they relaxed, breathing the same air.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hollander murmured.

“I know,” Ilya said in equal tone and volume. “I am just… I’m not used to this.”

Something loosened and tightened in Shane’s chest all at once.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.” The man broke contact for a second only to give him a forehead kiss.

The two of them stood in the middle of the kitchen holding each other for a little while. The dishwasher hadn’t even been set to run, but they could get to that later. There was still something important to do.

“Hey,” Shane said gently.

Ilya hummed in question.

“You wanna… just sit for a bit?”

His partner nodded.

They wordlessly moved to the couch and settled in like they almost always had, glued to each other’s side. 

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

Yippee, fluff and feels!

(I’m definitely not posting this at 2:25 am, nope. Nu uh). 👀

Also, in my head, this takes place a handful of days after the previous chapter.

Shane’s alarm woke them up at 5:00 am.

The man blinked awake and groggily reached for his phone to turn it off. Once he did, he turned to find Ilya curling up, almost willing himself to go back to sleep.

Shane couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was almost heartbreaking that he had to ruin it. 

“Ilya,” he said gently as he enveloped him. He kissed his shoulder. “We gotta get up if we want to get to Carlisle in time.”

“The sun isn’t even up yet,” Ilya grumbled.

“Exactly.” He squeezed his partner’s arm. “But it will be in about an hour. If we leave soon, we’ll catch it and it’ll practically be empty. It’ll be beautiful.”

The blond groaned and flipped to lie on his back. “Why did I agree to do this?” He rubbed his eyes.

Shane, now bracing his weight on his elbow against the pillows, smiled down at him. His fist rested against his cheek.

“Because you love me?” He asked.

Ilya gave him a look. “Do I?”

“Get up, you asshole,” Shane replied, smacking him on the arm.

Rozanov broke into a grin as he turned on his side to face his lyubov. “But this is so comfortable.”

“I know, but it’ll be fun.” He leaned closer again and in a softer voice, said, “Come on. I’ll make the coffee.” Shane then pecked Ilya on the temple.

“Thank you, malysh.”

When they arrived at the Great Brook Farm State Park, they were ten minutes early. Only two other cars were waiting with them.

The sky had already started to brighten, but the sun hadn’t peaked through yet.

Ilya huffed and rhetorically asked, “Why did we have to get here so early?”

He knew the reason was because Shane was the kind of anxious person who never wanted to be late for anything. 

“It’s just ten minutes,” Hollander said, rubbing his hands together.

Rozanov cracked the heat up before reaching for his coffee.

“Still feeling up for this?”

“I’m fine, lyubov,” Ilya shrugged as he took a long sip from his thermos mug. “In a good way.” 

Shane nodded, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant yet.

Once the blond set the item back into the cup holder, he shifted in his seat, bringing a leg up and folding his knee. His hands rested by his foot. 

“Never been here before,” he noted, looking around at the greenery. “But I heard there might be some baby farm animals.”

Shane huffed out a small laugh as he smiled. “We can visit them, if you want.”

The corners of Rozanov’s lips twitched up.

They were the second car in. Or at least, they will be. The entry fee was just three dollars.

Shane fumbled around patting his pockets for his wallet. Then, once he found it, he realized he didn’t have any cash on him.

“Shit, I-“ he started.

Ilya was already reaching past him through the window to hand cash to the gate attendant.

“Thank you,” Shane muttered as he put his wallet away. He then accepted the receipt and placed it on the car dashboard.

“No problem, lyubimyy,” he replied.

They drove into the lot.

When they got out of the car, Shane reached the trunk first. He opened it and took out the small, insulated picnic bag. The man left the blanket bag for Ilya to pick up. 

He grabbed it without comment.

Once that was settled, they locked the car and were on their way.

Gravel crunched under their shoes, the sound loud in the early morning quiet. 

Somewhere nearby, the birds called out to each other in short bursts. Shane tried to find them, but had no luck.

Ilya walked beside him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cool air.

The dark-haired man glanced over at him every few steps, hoping he wasn’t being obvious. He only wanted to make sure Ilya continued to be ‘fine in a good way’ without being overbearing like his anxiety asked him to be.

It only took them fifteen minutes to follow the winding path to the pond. 

By then, the sun was halfway there, but that hardly mattered. The colors in the sky stubbornly persisted, adding to the serenity of the water and surrounding trees. Mist hovered low over the plants’ reflections, breaking apart whenever the breeze moved through.

For a second, neither of them said anything. They just stared. Ilya was the first to break the silence.

“Okay,” he said as he set the blanket bag down. “This is very pretty.” He paused. “Perhaps not as pretty as you, though, huh?”

The man carefully unfolded the fabric and laid it down. Glancing up, he found that Shane was still standing there, staring out.

“Are we picnicking or what?” Ilya asked.

Hollander blinked and muttered, “Right.” He sat down next to him, placing the insulated bag of food between them.

The zipper caught briefly before he tugged it open and reached for the brown rice and white rice spicy tuna filled onigiris he made the night before. He handed the white rice one to Ilya. 

Ilya hummed and took a bite, nodding in approval. For a minute, they ate in relative quiet. Then, Ilya set his onigiri down.

“There was a dog in the parking lot,” he said suddenly.

Shane glanced over. “Yeah?”

Rozanov nodded. “Australian Shepherd. Very friendly, I think. He was walking over to the third car, but was called away by his owner.”

“I’m sure it was,” Hollander replied with a mouth full of food, covering his mouth.

Ilya picked his food back up and then added, like it was nothing, “We should get one.”

Shane huffed out a quiet laugh and his eyes widened a little. It was his turn to place his rice ball down on a napkin.

“An Australian Shepherd?” He asked.

He pursed his lips. “Eh, no, no, smaller. Like, er,” he snapped his fingers trying to remember. “The lady dog from animated movie with spaghetti-“

Shane tilted his head in thought. “Lady and the Tramp?”

“Yes,” Ilya pointed at him. “That one.”

Hollander gave a slow nod as he took in the information. “Either way that’s a big commitment.”

Rozanov gave him a look. “So?”

“I mean,” he shrugged and reached for his food. “There are a lot of days where we won’t be home and even then, we might only be home for part of the day.”

“So we take it to doggy daycare or hire dog walker. We have the money.” He blinked and another idea came to him. “Ooo! Or we could take it with us to the rink.”

Shane shook his head, but there was no real resistance in it. “I’ll think about it.”

Ilya’s lips curled upwards.

A small pause settled between them again.

“You know, my mom texted me yesterday,” Shane said between bites. “She and my dad want to visit for my birthday.”

“Oh, okay,” Ilya said, nodding. “If you wanted to hang out with them, then-“

“Ilya,” he cut in gently. “I’ll probably just have dinner with them the night before. I want to spend my birthday with you.”

Rozanov blinked at that. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Silence made another brief appearance as they took some bites of their food.

“And,” Ilya said before swallowing. “Your parents, they know?”

“About me being gay, but not about you,” Shane told him.

“Right.”

Shane brushed crumbs off of his lap. “I had to tell my mom while the trade was happening and I gave her permission to tell dad.”

“And they reacted well?”

“They did,” he said with a nod.

“Would… would you like them to know about you?”

“Uh…”

He shifted, dragging his thumb along the seam of the blanket like he needed something to do with his hands. 

“I don’t-” he started, then stopped. “It’s not that I don’t want them to, I just…” he huffed and took another bite. After finishing it, he went on. “Your parents matter to you.”

Shane didn’t interrupt.

“And I don’t exactly have the best track record with… that kind of thing.” His gaze dropped. “What if I mess it up? What if I’m not what they want for you?”

“I think my parents are more afraid of me ending up alone than me being in love with you.”

“Oh, you’re in love with me?” Ilya teased.

“Maybe,” Shane said seriously. He sighed. 

“Good,” Rozanov replied. “I think maybe I like you too.”

“Oh, really?” Hollander played along. “Just like? Way to make a guy feel special.”

Ilya huffed, nudging his knee lightly against Shane’s. “Don’t push it.”

“I’m just saying,” Shane went on, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I bare my soul and all I get is ‘maybe.’”

“You did not bare your soul,” Ilya shot back.

“I said maybe.”

“Exactly.”

Shane let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

The moment stretched a little.

“I’ll think about it. Your parents,” Ilya said finally. He raised his onigiri to his mouth.  “And for the record.” He took a bite. 

Shane glanced over.

The blond didn’t quite meet his eyes this time. “It’s more than that.”

“Good to know.”

By the time Shane and Ilya had gotten to their feet, the sun had been fully in the sky for at least thirty minutes. 

They carried their belongings as they explored more of the park, coming across dirt paths and flat wooden bridges. 

Eventually, they found the farm animals. 

The cows were out grazing in a large clearing far away from the path. They moved slowly and unbothered.

A few minutes after that, they found the large barn yard where llamas, and goats were roaming around.

The Australian Shepherd and his human were there too. The leashed dog stared intently at the other animals with his face sticking through the fence. He wasn’t growling, though.

His owner glanced over at Ilya and Shane and explained, “He’s never seen llamas before. He’s curious.”

Hollander sent him a polite smile, replying, “Can’t blame him.”

When he returned his attention to Rozanov. The man had knelt down with one knee in the dirt to greet an approaching goat. It nosed at his hand.

“Hi,” Ilya murmured softly.

The goat huffed softly and moved closer. He moved to pet it.

“Made a friend already,” Shane commented as he stepped up beside him.

“Of course I have.” Ilya scratched gently under the goat’s chin. “We understand each other.”

His lyubov gave him a look. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Shane chuckled, watching him as he started speaking Russian to the animal. The dark-haired man couldn’t understand much of it aside from “malysh,” “ty,” and “da.”

He didn’t think it really mattered whether he understood everything at that moment or not. Regardless, this warm feeling settled in his chest. He wondered how long it would take for Ilya to look over and notice his blushing face and (probably) stupid grin. 

He imagined Ilya doing this with their possible dog someday. The thought lingered longer than it should have. 

Shane was, quite simply, fucked. He was in it now, he realized, and somehow, it felt right.

Chapter End Notes

What Ilya actually says in Russian when petting the goat: “Don’t we, little one? You know, you are very cute. Yes, you. You are the one who is cute. Like me. We are very cute together, I’m sure.”

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

The formula, it works!

Anyway, get ready for more feels and comfort.

Shane slowed down even before he fully entered the locker room. He still had most of his gear on, besides his helmet, which he tucked against his ribs. Shane and Ilya had taken a few extra moments of ice time after practice ended and were only just now returning. The man might have actually committed to getting to his locker if the voices that were carrying hadn’t mentioned him and Ilya by name.

“Hollzy and Roz are just close.” That was Oregon’s voice.

“Yeah, friendly off the ice, rivals on the ice, that’s their whole deal now,” Dubek reasoned.

Shane should walk away. He didn’t want to hear this. And yet, he got more curious and paranoid by the second.

That’s when Feller’s voice came in sharply. “Guys, come on. Surely you can at least kind of see it.”

“Maybe?” Cadyn admitted.

“Shane?” Ilya’s quiet voice caught him off guard. He turned to find the man standing next to him. “What are you doing?”

Hollander pulled him so he’d be more out of view from the entry way. At his questioning look, Shane put a finger to his lips.

“Imma need you guys to explain it to me, actually,” Oregon could be heard requesting.

Feller sighed before explaining, “Okay, so, for one, they pretty much carpool everywhere-“

Shane didn’t notice it at first, but his grip tightened slightly around Ilya’s wrist. It was only when Rozanov tried to shift that he blinked and loosened his hold a fraction. Ilya crowded him, resting his forehead against Shane’s temple in an effort to comfort.

Inside, a locker door moved and a bench creaked.

“Not all the time, though-“ Cliff cut in.

“ And, that can be easily excused by the notion that they just live on the same street or something-“ Oregon began to reason, but was cut off.

“And two,” Feller continued. “Ilya hasn’t hosted a single party since Shane got here two months ago.”

“Maybe he’s mellowed out?” McKimmie supplied.

Ilya actually huffed out a small, amused breath at the thought. 

Cadyn reasoned, “Or maybe Shane moved in with him and he hasn’t really felt a need to host parties.” 

Shane’s stomach dropped slightly at how reasonable that sounded out loud. Ilya’s hand wrapped around his free one and squeezed it gently. 

“And three,” Feller concluded. “Have you seen the way they look at each other when they think no one is watching?”

Hollander’s heart hammered in his chest. Ilya’s thumb made soothing motions on his knuckles.

“People,” Victor stated, voice firm and immediate. “You’re forgetting the part where this is any of our business.”

Shane gave a relieved sigh at that. 

No one said anything for a few seconds, and then Sebbin jumped in.

“But you know how closed-off the two of them have been,” he said. “I mean, Shane’s always been a more private person. Hell, I thought he was going to retreat into a shell after the Metro game, despite us defending him, but he seems to have warmed up to at least a few of us. He just needs to know he has people in his corner.”

Shane swallowed. Metro game. That felt like a lifetime ago and also like it was still sitting under his skin.

That’s when Connor spoke up, “He has people in his corner. Just… let him come to you. He will, eventually.”

The room was quiet for a second after that. If it weren’t for the sounds of lockers moving or gear and clothes shifting, time would have stood still for Shane in that moment.

The people let it go after that, moving on to lighter topics. Despite that, Shane still felt on edge.

He became aware of Ilya’s breathing beside him again: controlled and quiet. The man shifted slightly, like he might step forward. Shane pulled him back another fraction.

“Were we really that obvious?” Hollander whispered, only noticing now how tightly he’d been gripping his helmet due to his cramping hand.

Rozanov pursed his lips and shrugged. Then he studied his lyubov’s face and moved his hands to settle on his shoulders.

“Shane,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

“Almost doesn’t feel like it,” he replied.

“I know, lyubov.” That’s when Ilya brought him into a hug. “I know.” They swayed for a few seconds before he broke it and asked, “Ready to head in there?”

Shane swallowed and averted his eyes for a second, but eventually nodded. His boyfriend gave him one last reassuring squeeze before leaving his side and entering the locker room first.

Hollander took in a deep breath and followed a few seconds later.

They only spoke to each other once they got home and had taken a few minutes to decompress.

Through it all, the team’s conversation kept replaying in Shane’s head. He thought about the way they said things, like they were sure. He thought about how on the nose they were. He thought about Marleau and McKimmie deflecting while St-Simon and Connors shot it down.

Ilya was on his way to the couch while Shane hovered near the kitchen, unsure of what he was doing there in the first place. He opened the fridge and paused, staring at no particular food item. Then, he closed the appliance’s doors and turned to wander toward the living room. 

“That was… weird,” he said, finally. “I kind of don’t even really know how to feel about it.”

“They were more observant than we thought,” Ilya supplied, holding out his hand. 

Shane went to him like a moth to a flame, lacing their fingers together as he fell onto the sofa, resting his head against Ilya’s lap. He huffed out a long sigh as he stared up at him.

“Or we were less careful than we should have been,” Hollander stated.

“Both can be true,” Rozanov replied, looking down at him and moving his free hand into Shane’s hair. “But, assuming is not the same as knowing, no matter how sure they sounded.”

“I guess.” His lips pursed. “It’s just… scary.” He took a moment to study Ilya’s blond curls instead of his eyes.

“Yes, overhearing them was quite jarring.” His voice softened. “You handled yourself well.”

Shane smiled at that. “You did too.” He basked in the comfort for a second before something else appeared in his brain. “It’s also…” His eyes found the ceiling as he thought about his words. He laughed. “Pretty tame locker room talk.”

Ilya hummed and smiled as his fingers went to massage a specific part of Shane’s skull. “Yes, but this is good news, right?”

“Maybe,” he said slowly, eyes closed for a moment. During then, he focused more on the fact that the fuzzy feeling in his brain was dissipating. After, his eyes fluttered open as more words came to him to say. “Like… we didn’t even do anything and they’re already half way there.” 

“Filling in the blanks,” his partner agreed. “That is usually how it works,” he said. “People see pattern, then they commit to it very confidently.”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”

A silence settled again, but it wasn’t as tight as before. It was more relaxed. Ilya’s hand kept moving in his hair, steady and unhurried.

“How long do you think they’ve been sitting with it?” Shane asked as he studied his boyfriend’s face.

Rozanov shrugged. “Could be short time, could be long time. Important thing is, so far, they have shown no signs of being like your old team.”

Hollander jerked his head to the side. “That is true. So,” he swallowed. “Does this make it easier or harder to come out to them?”

“What do you think?” Ilya asked, tilting his head.

“I’m asking you.”

He blew air out of his mouth. “Easier, maybe? They seem very open to the idea.”

“I don’t know,” Shane stated in a downbeat tone, eyes darting about the space.

Ilya squeezed his hand. “We do not have to decide today, lyubov.”

“I think I was just…” he blinked a few times as his brain caught up with his mouth.  “…stuck in the waiting of it all - seeing what they were like, looking for it to feel real.”

“And does it?”

“A little,” Shane nodded against his lap. “But not in a bad way.”

“Good,” Ilya said quietly. “We will figure this out.”

Shane smiled again. “Yeah.”

Neither of them moved or spoke for a while after that. Shane let his eyes fall shut again, focusing on Ilya’s breathing and the weight of his hand in his hair. 

After a moment, Ilya shifted, sliding down beside him and wrapping an arm around his middle, pulling him in close. His head rested into the crook of Shane’s neck. The dark-haired man let himself settle into it without a second thought.

The tension from earlier settled into something quieter and less sharp. 

Ilya was right. Everything might just turn out okay.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

Love having an extra day off from work.

fyi, this chapter is technically one long conversation full of feels. It’ll be heavy and then feel like I gave you hot chocolate or something idk.

 

I need to be stopped.

Ilya woke up hours before Shane did. It was the first, and hopefully the only time it would happen.

Well, he’d like to wake up before him so he’d see his sleeping face. However, waking up at this time, when the sun was far from rising? Absolutely not.

He grabbed his earbuds from the entryway cabinet and wandered toward the loveseat in the living room.

Somehow, he stayed there until morning, long enough for Shane to wake up without him and find him there. 

“Ilya?” He asked. “What are you doing over here? Did- is it bad today?”

Rozanov shrugged and replied, “Never let me listen to sad songs before the morning starts.”

“What?” Shane exhaled, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as he knelt down next to him.

“Is very dangerous,” Ilya said in a half-joking, half-serious tone.

“I’m sure,” he agreed in equal cadence. He then reached up and wiped away his tears.

Tears Ilya hadn’t realized he was still shedding.

“What were the songs?” his lyubimyy inquired.

“Eh, you know that dumb werewolf show Connor likes?” Ilya began. “One of the songs was from there. Then, Spotify did that thing where it kept showing me similar ones.”

The combination of Fink, The National, Typhoon, Airborne Toxic Event, Snow Patrol, Of Monsters and Men, and Flagship might actually be lethal, but he’s not going to tell Shane that.

“And…” Hollander’s eyes squinted as they studied him. “You’ve just been sitting here the entire time?”

The songs practically pinned him in place. He mostly just sat there and cried.

“Basically.” He said simply, then pursed his lips. “It helped me think, at first. Then…” Ilya puffed out his cheeks. 

Shane frowned slightly. “Think about what?”

Ilya hesitated just long enough to be noticeable.

“Nothing important,” he said. “Just… things.”

Everything and nothing. 

How happy they were despite the uncertainty. 

How so many things were at stake and fragile, threatened in ways he didn’t like naming. 

How their relationship used to only exist in controlled, hidden environments Ilya could only try to burn the memories into his brain to hold onto them-

“Ilya,” Hollander said pointedly.

Rozanov blinked a few times and took in a breath. 

“Please,” Shane continued as he stood and braced his weight with his hands against the loveseat. “Tell me what’s going on in your head, baby.”

“Baby?” Ilya echoed, a smile growing on his face.

Shane’s expression softened, but he didn’t let the smile distract him.

“Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. Then, his face adopted something more serious. “Now stop trying to dodge me.”

Ilya’s smile lingered for a second, but it softened into something smaller. He looked away and exhaled through his nose.

“I was thinking about how easy it would be to lose this,” he admitted, gesturing between them.

Shane’s expression softened as he said quietly, “Maybe I don’t know everything, but I know I’m here, and that I choose to stay.”

He leaned forward and kissed Ilya’s forehead.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Rozanov told him, eyes flickering back and forth between his lyubov’s.

“I think I do,” he said, climbing into the loveseat beside him. “I know what and how much this means to me.”

Ilya could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks.

He tried not to pay attention to it as he asked, “Really?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, really. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything.”

Ilya stared at him for a long moment. Then his shoulders dropped, just slightly.

This was something he never wanted to lose or part from. Not ever. 

He leaned in and rested his forehead against Shane’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Ilya said quietly.

After a moment, he shifted. He kissed Shane’s chest just above the heart, slow and deliberate. Then his collarbone, then his jaw.

And then he kissed Shane properly, deciding that distance was no longer something he was willing to tolerate.

Hollander was the first to pull back, murmuring, “You should eat something.”

Ilya huffed out a small laugh. “Very romantic.”

“I’m serious.” Hollander, always so caring.

“I know,” he said tenderly. He studied him for another moment and stole a quick kiss before getting to his feet.

Shane followed close behind. 

They made their usual breakfasts, moving about the kitchen in relative silence until they took seats at the island. The two of them were side by side. It was only after they took their first few bites that Shane spoke.

“What led to this?” He asked. “Was it thinking about the league?”

That and more, lyubov.

“Partly,” Ilya admitted with a head jerk to the side. “But…” he took in a spoonful of Cocoa Puffs and ate them to stall. Then, he took in a breath and continued. “It’s more about the chance of something slipping past the team and making its way to Russia.”

The more they got closer to the team, the more the possibility grew in Ilya’s mind until it managed to spill over into this moment. He knew his teammates would keep the secret under wraps pretty well, but the chances are never zero.

Shane let out a quiet, “Oh,” as he lifted his smoothie glass against his lips.

Ilya knew he didn’t mean anything terrible by it, no matter how it sounded. Shane was just taking in the information.

Meanwhile, he stared down into his bowl, dragging the spoon through the cereal even though he wasn’t really looking at it.

“I know maybe that sounds paranoid,” Ilya said, voice quieter now. “But it wouldn’t take much.”

Shane stayed silent.

He swallowed. “They could tear me away from you so easily.” He felt the tears threatening to spill again. “And I don’t even want to think about seeing you hurt in this way.”

“Ilya,” his love said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know it scares you.”

It did, not that Rozanov was ready to admit that fully outright.

“If anything ever happens, we’ll deal with it together.” Shane locked eyes with him. “Okay?” The man’s hand squeezed his deltoid before it dropped.

Shane took another sip of his smoothie. 

Ilya’s heart swelled thinking about how lucky he was to have his solnyshko. “You are too good for me.” He glanced away. “And I am selfish.”

Shane frowned slightly as he put the glass down. “You were worried about me just a few seconds ago.” He leaned closer to him. “That doesn’t sound selfish.”

Something tightened and loosened in Ilya’s chest at the same time. “Shane-“

“Being scared of losing something and hurting someone important isn’t selfish.”

Ilya shook his head as he said, “Wanting a life with you when I can’t promise it’s safe feels selfish. I don’t even have citizenship yet here on this continent.”

Shane blinked and fixed his posture. “You’d… want to naturalize here?”

“Yes, well,” he shrugged lightly and smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “I was thinking Canada would be better, no?”

Hollander’s mouth hung open as the corners of his lips tugged upward. “You’re really thinking that far ahead?”

“For you, yes.” Ilya’s smile stayed even as he returned to his cereal.

Shane kept his eyes on him, though, and his smile faded. Rozanov’s hand tightened around his spoon just a little. 

“Would you,” Hollander started, but paused. “Would you ever go back to Russia then, even just to visit your mother’s grave?” His voice wavered.

“I don’t know,” Ilya said. “Maybe not.” 

The words came out before he could weigh them properly, but he supposed they were apt.

“What does… that mean?” Shane inquired, head tilting.

Ilya hesitated, thumb brushing the edge of his bowl.

“It means…” he began. Then, he frowned. “I have not…” The man lifted a hand and made vague gestures. “… even really thought about returning.” The words almost felt strange in his mouth.

No one there really cared about him anyway, unless they needed something. 

And, he had his mother’s necklace. That was enough for now.

“Besides,” Ilya gave a half smile as he looked at him. “I have everything I need here. Well,” he tilted his head side to side slightly. “Other than a dog.”

Shane huffed, amused. “You really want one that badly?”

“Maybe,” Ilya said nonchalantly.

“Oh my god, you totally do,” Hollander said, expression softening.

Both of them were smiling now.

“Is that such a crime?” Ilya asked lightheartedly. 

“No, but-“

“Are you dog police?”

Shane exhaled through his nose and said pointedly, “Ilya.” His mouth opened before the words formed. “I will… think about it.”

Ilya grinned and crowded him. “That is all I could ask, solnyshko.”

He kissed him then, unhurried and certain.

“You taste like Cocoa Puffs,” Shane said against his lips.

“I should hope so,” he replied. “I’ve been eating it.”

They kiss again, slower this time.

Then, Shane moved away, eyes shining anxiously as he asked, “Did you really mean what you said?” He glanced down at Ilya’s lips. “That you had everything you needed here?” He paused. “Besides the dog?”

Ilya studied him for a moment.

“Yes,” he said as he leaned up to kiss his forehead. When they were eye level again, he smiled. “Now drink your sad smoothie.”

Shane frowned. “It’s not sad.”

“It is starting to separate.”

The man looked down to fact check. “It’s not- oh.” He hesitated, then he faced Ilya again. “Tell me something and I will?”

“What?” Ilya asked, gently.

“Tell me I’m not imagining how serious this is for you.”

Ilya swallowed and took a second to formulate his answer. 

“You are not imagining it,” he said quietly, meeting Shane’s gaze. “It is very serious and you are very important to me.” He paused. “That is why it scares me.”

Ilya would keep reassuring him over and over again if his darling needed it, he realized. 

Shane didn’t answer with words right away. He just nodded and turned towards his breakfast. He picked it up, swirling it in the glass like that would help, before taking large sips. Meanwhile, he slid his free hand over the counter to grasp one of Ilya’s. 

When he finally set the cup down, he looked at him for a moment longer than necessary before speaking.

“Okay,” Shane said quietly. “I just… don’t want you sitting with that alone.”

His thumb brushed over Ilya’s hand where he was holding it.

“Good thing I am not alone then,” Rozanov replied, moving his other hand on top of Shane’s. 

The man’s shoulders eased a fraction, like something in him had finally stopped holding its breath.

Chapter End Notes

Wow, how many times do you think they could tell each other “I love you” without ever actually saying it?

And, yes, the show Connor talked to Ilya about was Teen Wolf and the Fink song was “Looking too Closely”.

After that, the other songs he may or may not have listened to were “Don’t Swallow The Cap” and “Graceless” by The National; “Artificial Light,” “Possible Death,” and “Hunger and Thirst” by Typhoon; “All I ever Wanted,” and “Sometime Around Midnight,” by Airborne Toxic Event; “This Isn’t Everything You Are,” and “Please just take these photos from my hands,” by Snow Patrol; “Slow Life,” and “I Of The Storm” by Of Monsters and Men; and finally “Wagon” and “Gold and Silver” by Flagship.

Don’t make unnecessary journeys and listen to all of these songs after this. You just might cry. (Like me.)
Who said that-?!
lol, actually, do whatever you want. Free will exists.

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

Ow! My heart! It feels mushy in a good way, but it also kinda hurts.

The first part of practice moved in familiar stages: passing drills first, then shooting, and then conditioning that left half the team leaning on their sticks, virtually gasping for air. They didn’t mind it, though. This was necessary if they were going to get a cup this season. 

The team made sure it didn’t just feel like work, however. Some of the older players turned everything into a friendly game, having people compete for the top five spots in different categories. They wanted to know who could hit the cleanest passes, who could bury the most shots, and who could finish a sprint without looking like death. 

The prize for such things was mostly bragging rights and the chance to chirp everyone for the rest of practice. For some of the drills, however, people had to buy the winner coffee or a full meal. 

The losers didn’t walk away empty-handed, either. Instead, they all got friendly pointers on how to improve.

Coach Desjourneys didn’t mind. In fact, he encouraged the notions and pushed the team harder because of them. Yes, this was supposed to be a very important practice, but every practice should also incorporate some form of team building. This wasn’t any different.

Yet, everyone had their limit. Some of them hid their relief more than others when Coach told them it was time for a break.

“Boys,” Carmichael exhaled as he lowered his water bottle from his mouth. “I think coach is trying to kill us today or something.” 

A few of them gave amused huffs.

“No, I think he’s just trying to kill Sebbin specifically,” Dubek joked as he ate a Clif Bar.

Everyone laughed, except Sebbin, who sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. The man had come in last place a good number of the games, after all, contrary to the team’s two star players.

“At least Hollzy and Rozy seem fresh,” Hammersmith stated.

“Yeah, because they enjoy making the rest of us miserable,” Feller sarcastically agreed.

Shane glanced at Ilya, who was already looking at him. They gave each other a small smile, quick and private, but warm enough to settle something in Hollander’s chest before they joined the conversation.

“Well, the playoffs are a very serious business,” he said lightly.

“And, you all make it easy,” Ilya teased with a smirk. 

“You would say that, wouldn’t you,” Brad responded, gesturing towards him. “With your talent, your stupid smirk, and your chiseled jaw line, your icy eyes…”

“Oh, you want to kiss me too, Hammersmith?” Rozanov asked with a wider smile.

“I’d rather save that for my girlfriend, thank you,” he said, stepping back.

“Really?” Ilya feigned surprise. “Didn’t think you had one.”

A few others barked out laughter at this.

“Fuck off,” Hammersmith said as he retreated.

“Is this what you guys do every year?” McKimmie questioned in between sips of his Gatorade. 

“Basically,” Cliff stated, smiling down at him.

“Cool.”

A minute later, there was a knock at one of the walls.

“Five minutes, guys!” came Coach Desjourneys’ voice. 

“Fuck,” Cadyn hissed, frowning at his little ziplock of orange slices he now had less time to consume.

After the break, they cycled through breakout drills and line rotations until every movement felt automatic and read came half a second faster. 

For the next thirty minutes, it was all forechecks, clean exits, and relentless precision. Each repetition sharpened their foundations for the games to come.

And then came the 2-on-1’s. 

The first round of it was Ilya and Shane as attackers against Cliff, the defender. 

Shane went in first.

He crossed the blue line with speed, stick low, eyes already tracking the defenseman’s angle. Ilya was with him a step behind, moving wide but matching pace.

Cliff committed just a second too early, leading Shane to pull the puck inward. He forced the defender to bite, and at the same moment, Ilya drifted into the soft space behind him.

The pass was almost invisible. It looked more like a flick of the wrists to the teammates watching. Regardless, Ilya didn’t hesitate after that.

The shot went cleanly into the net.

Mixed reactions, ranging from groans to whistles, rose from the line behind them. 

“Jesus Christ,” one of them muttered.

Cliff skated backwards with one hand lifted, asking, “What was I supposed to do with that?”

“Pray, probably,” Connors noted.

A few of the guys laughed as Shane and Ilya circled back towards them.

Hollander kept his face neutral, but inside he felt warm. There it was, that familiar rush from working together with the love of his life to accomplish something on the ice.

After everyone had gone, Desjourneys blew his whistle once, skating toward the center of the rink.

“Alright,” he called. “Let’s move on to some scrimmages.”

It only took the man five minutes to arrange everyone into groups. But once that was done, some of the players decided to take issue with it.

“Coach, respectfully,” Sebbin said, taking a small step away from the line of teammates at both of his sides. “You put Rozy and Hollzy in the same scrimmage group, the rest of us are screwed.”

“Seriously,” Cadyn added. “They play like they have one brain.”

“That’s generous,” Feller stated. “I think it’s worse than that.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” Ilya chirped, leaning on his stick.

Shane quietly snickered.

“Our first playoff game is just days away,” Coach told them. “Try.”

A lot of the players sighed. Some of them laughed.

“We’re switching things up next round anyway,” Desjourneys said. “So don’t get too sad.”

Someone gave a small, noncommittal, “Yippee,” and was promptly smacked on the helmet before everyone moved into place.

Practice was now at an end, and Shane was feeling…

Well, he wouldn’t say ‘weird,’ exactly. Saying things were different might be correct, but that also didn’t encompass anything specific. It was different in the sense that these people were not the Metros, but there was a feeling of sameness in how comfortable he felt in this moment.

The only thing he knew for certain was that today was a really good day. 

He needed to say something. He needed to get it out of his body.

It was much safer to pull out his phone and text his boyfriend, however. So, he sent a simple ‘hey’ and glanced up. Ilya looked towards him and almost imperceptibly squinted his eyes.

The man’s response came a few seconds later. 

Ilya: 

Hollander, you are sitting right across from me. 

What is it?

The dark-haired man smiled.

Shane:

 I don’t know about you, but today’s practice felt pretty great. 

Ilya:

Yes. Agreed. 

Shane:

And

Ilya:

…And??

Shane: 

I don’t know.

I think I might be ready 

to tell them, I mean.

I’m still a little scared, though.

 But maybe going into the Playoffs without hiding this from the team would feel good. 

 Or lighter, I guess?

Ilya:

Shane.

He looked up again and saw that Ilya was smiling too.

Ilya: 

You are sure?

Shane:

Just about.

Ilya:

Okay. 

That would feel nice.

I think they would be happy for us.

But I need to make sure of something.

Shane watched his man get up and approach Victor. He pursed his lips as he observed them moving into the currently more private media scrum area of the locker room.

Rozanov opened with, “Hey, St-Simon, need to talk.”

Victor blinked before replying. “Uh, yeah.” He got to his feet. “Sure man, what’s up?”

Ilya jerked his head to the side and the two of them walked to a quiet corner.

“Shane and I were thinking about coming out to the rest of the team,” he said.

Wide-eyed, St-Simon responded, “That’s great.” The smile he briefly developed began to fade. “So then, what do you need me for?”

“After we do this, I am scared it might…” he took a second to find the right words. “… move past the team to the public before we are ready.”

Victor nodded. “And you’d want me to…”

“Keep an eye on them,” Rozanov said, jerking his head back towards the rest of the team.

“Yeah, I get you. I’ll do it.”

“No. You have to promise me,” Ilya insisted.

“Dude- dude, I swear, I will keep them on a tight leash,” Victor stated, raising a hand. “Connor, Cliff and I won’t let anyone treat this carelessly.” He shifted his weight as he took a moment to study his friend and teammate. “So, you’re really doing it?”

“Da.” He gave a slight nod. “Maybe. Soonish.”

The smile returned to St-Simon’s face as he gently nudged the guy’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, man. Both of you.”

“Thank you, Vic.”

“Of course.”

Shane attached himself to Ilya’s side as soon as they were both ready to head out. But it wasn’t until they got into the parking lot that he finally spoke.

“What was that, with Victor?” 

“As I said, just something I wanted to make sure of,” Ilya informed. “Before we decide anything.”

“Got any specifics in there for me?” Shane inquired.

“Vic is going to keep an eye on them. The team.”

“What?” He asked, scrunching his brows a little. “He’d do that?”

Ilya shrugged and told him, “Is not such a big ask.”

“I- I guess.”

The two weaved between two rows of cars before turning slightly to the left. 

“You would rather me not be careful about this?” Ilya asked.

“No, I just-“ Shane hesitated and shook his head. “It’s not that.”

Rozanov looked at him for a second. “Then what is it?”

Hollander’s lips formed a thin line before he opened them to say, “Isn’t it a little unfair to him?”

“Is not just him who would be doing it though. He said he’d enlist Connor and Marly.”

“Still-“

“Shane,” Ilya said as they kept walking. “I just need to know this won’t get away from us. If any of them are uncomfortable with it, they will say.”

That was true. None of them would suffer something like this in silence... probably.

“They are not being punished, Shane,” Ilya added. “They are being trusted.”

Shane wondered, just for a moment, if this man could ever get tired of needing to manage everything. Though he supposed he had no room to talk.

He appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“If you’re sure,” Hollander sighed.

“I am,” Rozanov replied. 

Shane nodded, though the crease between his brows didn’t fully disappear. 

Ilya noticed. He stepped forward and nudged him lightly with his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” The Russian questioned gently.

“I am,” the Canadian stated. “I am, just… absorbing.” 

“We do not have to do anything right away, you know. But when we do, I want it to be safe.”

Shane looked at him for a moment, then let out a breath.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Then they approached the car.

Chapter End Notes

What is this road if not rocky?

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

We are picking up
Like
Thirty minutes after we left off in the last chapter.

As soon as they got home, they didn’t even take off their shoes before Shane took hold of Ilya’s shoulders and spoke.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He made sure to keep eye contact too. “I understand why you did that. I really do.” He had, in fact, been turning it over in his head the entire ride home. “I just- I shouldn’t have projected-“ he blinked. “I don’t really know what I was thinking when I said-“

“You were trying to make things easier for other people,” Ilya said, like it was the easiest thing to explain. 

Shane shifted his weight. “What-?”

“What you said about Vic. Is something you do - have done - often. Especially with the Metros, and I don’t think you even realized…” His lips pursed. He adjusted the collar of Shane’s hoodie before letting his hands fall. 

“Throughout the years,” Ilya continued. “It seemed like you spent so much energy making sure no one is uncomfortable, trying so hard to pander, making sure you are not a disappointment.” He glanced away for a small moment before admitting, “I hate seeing that. I hate that you think you need to.”

Shane frowned. “I guess I can be a bit of a people pleaser at times, but-“

“A bit? Try a lot,” Rozanov stated, but there wasn’t any real bite to it. 

“Hey,” he said in an offended tone.

“You said I need therapy?” Ilya said as he stepped back. “Maybe you do too.”

Shane’s expression shifted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think…” He wandered towards the kitchen. “Part of you already knows.”

“Ilya-“ he huffed, starting to walk after him. Then, he stopped. “I-“ 

Rozanov turned around to face him and declared, “I have watched you interact with other players, with media, with everyone. You smooth things over. You stick to rules even when they make you miserable. I could tell when you were unhappy because you rarely fixed your face.

“And, If you hadn’t run to me and admitted your fears; if you hadn’t called me those months ago after coming out to the Metros, you would have bottled everything up and carried it alone, for the good of that team.” 

Ilya paused but then added softly, “And that scares me.”

Shane stood there, eyes wide and teary, before shakily saying, “I don’t know how to turn it off. I’m not sure I can help it.” There was something else he needed to say, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

The blond wandered back to his side and took hold of his hands. Shane thought he actually might cry when it happened. So, he took a deep breath in and found the courage to ask a question.

“Can you…” Shane averted his eyes as he figured out the exact phrasing. “Do you know what it’s like growing up feeling different in every room?” He shifted his weight. “You think differently, you look differently, so you spend a lot of time learning how to make yourself easier to accept. Eventually, it stops feeling like a choice and more of an instinct.”

Ilya swallowed before stating, “We’ve both had difficult upbringings then.”

“Yeah,” he huffed.

His partner stepped closer, saying quietly, “Shane, you should not have to earn the right to be comfortable.” 

“Maybe not, but that’s what happens.”

He developed this sad expression. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

Shane’s mouth opened before his brain could operate. “I- I guess. I haven’t really noticed.” He paused. “I was more focused on whether or not I needed to hide with this team.”

“And we have so far proven ourselves worthy of your full self, yes?”

Shane gave a small nod. “I do feel safe with you, with them.”

Ilya tilted his head to the side. “So, maybe it really is time to stop hiding, but if we do I need something from you.”

“What is it?” His voice somehow sounded impossibly small.

Ilya squeezed his hands once as he requested, “Do not apologize. Do not  back track or try to make them feel comfortable at your expense.” He inched even closer. “If one of them struggles with this, that belongs with them, not you.” Ilya started rubbing circles on Shane’s knuckles.

“And maybe everything goes fine,” he went on. “But if it doesn’t, we won’t be dealing with it alone. I made sure of that.”

“Okay,” Shane said breathily. He swallowed and with more weight to his voice stated, “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Ilya placed a kiss on his cheek. 

“Can you forgive me? For earlier?”

“Maybe,” he said solemnly. “Yes.”

Hollander exhaled sharply. “You asshole.”

Ilya walked deeper into the house, facing him with his hands up. “Friendly fire.”

“Yeah, I deserve that,” Shane replied as he followed after him.

The next day was a rest day for the team.

Shane, unfortunately, did not feel very rested. He kept pacing the space between the kitchen and the living room. Ilya watched him from the island counter.

“You are thinking loudly again,” he noted.

Shane sighed defeatedly. “Am I really that obvious all the time?”

“A little,” Ilya said with a shrug.

That made Shane stop in his tracks and frown. 

And well, since he was caught, he might as well say what was on his mind.

“I keep thinking about tomorrow,” Hollander admitted after a beat. “Like, what if I just… stand there and forget how to speak.”

Rozanov leaned against the counter top, resting his elbows on its surface.

“Then I will speak,” he offered. “Is no big deal. I could open with our relationship instead of our sexualities.”

Shane shook his head. “No, I- I want to do it the other way.”

“Okay. So, I talk about myself first.”

Hollander took another few paces before it truly set in.

“We’re really doing this,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Ilya answered, getting to his feet. He put reassuring hands on his arms. “It will turn out fine.”

The sun made Ilya’s eyes open before he wanted them to. He squinted towards the blinds and willed them to close. They wouldn’t, of course. He’s not telepathic. And if Shane didn’t look so cute and peaceful in his sleep, he would probably get out of bed to close the blinds himself.

He took in a breath and sighed. Waking up before either of their alarms would go off was starting to become a problem.

At least Shane was there snuggled into him. 

Ilya stayed there, blissfully still, until the familiar beeping from one of their phones made his boyfriend stir.

“Good morning,” he said as Shane stretched.

“Morning,” Hollander repeated as he rubbed his eyes.

With an inhale, the dark-haired man sat up.

“It’s game day,” he realized. 

“Da,” Ilya confirmed as he yawned and made a stretch of his own before lifting up the upper half of his body. He rubbed Shane’s back as he asked, “Are you ready?”

Shane kissed him and replied, “As I’ll ever be.”

Rozanov followed up with a smile and the words, “Our arena awaits.”

Their first playoff game was thankfully on their home turf. Ilya wouldn’t have minded if they had to travel for the game, but there was something even he had to admit was symbolic about the game being held here.

Ilya and Shane arrived first. The captain always arrived first to games, but there was no hiding the anticipation both of them felt waiting for everyone to arrive. 

When they finally did, they entered with their usual chatter: excitement and nerves surrounding the game, their families, their homes, their hobbies.

Before Shane could call everyone’s attention, Ilya shouted, “Everyone! Attention, please! We have things to say!”

They all quieted immediately. A few heads snapped up more quickly than others, but everyone found their captain and second star player standing close together. 

The air seemed to shift the lighter energy from earlier dropped into something sharper.

Shane glanced at Ilya once, then he exhaled.

“I, uh…” he started, and stopped almost immediately.

That alone made a few of them straighten.

He swallowed, thumb brushing against his own palm behind his back. Ilya’s own fingers laced themselves between his.

“Before we get out there…” his voice was shakier than he probably meant it to be. He cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something I wasn’t really sure I’d ever say out loud here.”

Shane’s eyes flickered across the group, catching on faces he trusted.

“I know I haven’t been very forthcoming about the real reason I left the Metros, but I’m willing to tell you now.” He took in a breath. “I left because I came out to them as gay and they couldn’t accept that.” 

Shane scanned the room and found no one whispering, or snickering. If anything, they only seemed to focus harder. McKimmie gave him a reassuring smile.

His jaw tightened for a second before he continued.

“When I was traded here, I was…” he pressed his lips into a thin line. “I was scared you’d all react the same way. That I’d have to go through rejection again. ” He paused. “That I’d become a problem. For the team.” 

Shane’s hand tightened slightly around Ilya’s.

“But that thankfully hasn’t been my experience here.” He found it within himself to smile a little. “Not even close.”

He met the eyes of the crowd again before continuing, “I trust you.”

Rozanov took over from there, stepping forward by half a pace. 

“That is also why Shane and I feel comfortable now in telling you this.” His voice was steady in a way that cut through the room cleanly. “We are together and have been for a while.”

A few of them blinked like they understood the words individually but were still assembling their meaning.

“And to clear up any confusion about me and my reputation: Yes, I am bisexual, but very committed to Shane.”

He kept his gaze straightforward as his words became more firm.

“This stays here,” Ilya stated. “Between us. You do not share it or speculate about it with anyone who isn’t in this room. If there is an issue with that, you come to us. Directly.”

Shane looked at him for a half second. Something warm and simultaneously unsteady flickered through his expression. Then, he took the same half-step Ilya did. 

“If any of you are worried this changes how we function,” Hollander stated. “It doesn’t. We’re here to play hockey. That’s it.”

Their team was silent for a minute more, processing the information.

Cadyn broke the silence first with, “Okay… wow.”

Someone behind him let out a slow whistle like they were exhaling tension.

“Wait, like, together-together?” Dubek inquired.

That received a small laugh.

“Yes,” Ilya answered. “Together-together.”

“And the carpools,” Kohn began, but was interjected by Shane.

“Please, don’t.” He said it quick enough that it earned him a few laughs as well.

“Okay, not gonna lie,” Johansson spoke up. “I thought this was already common knowledge and I was just being polite about it.”

Hollander nodded to him. “I appreciate that.”

“Thank you for telling us Shane, Cap,” Connor stated. “I’m glad we could be this safe place for you.”

“Yeah, we’ve got your backs,” Feller added. “No matter what.”

“Wait,” Hammersmith said as he raised his hand. “Question. What about Jane and Lily?” 

Cliff and Victor shared an amused look.

“They were cover names,” Shane explained. “For each other. Jane for me and Lily for him.”

“Huh. How did we not put that together?” Carmichael wondered out loud. “That sounds so obvious now.”

“That’s what we said when Cliff and I found out,” Victor informed, lightly laughing to himself.

“What?! You knew?!” Cadyn questioned, turning towards them.

“They could be quite, eh, obvious,” Cliff stated.

“Marleau, you didn’t figure out shit, I had to walk you through it,” Victor chirped.

Before Cliff could retort, Oregon was asking another question.

“Hold on. This has been going on for years then?” 

Ilya shrugged, answering, “More or less.”

“Wow, we were thinking it started around the All Star game,” Feller informed. “Or something. But…”

“I mean, there were bumps in the road, but we’ve at least been interested in each other since around the draft,” Shane told him.

“That’s so long,” Dubek muttered.

“Maybe,” Hollander acknowledged. “But I’m really glad to have found him when I did.”

“As am I,” Ilya agreed.

Shane dipped his head and smiled, hoping the people wouldn’t see him blush. Ilya nudged him a little, adopting a smug expression, which caused the former to laugh and shake him off.

That was the moment when Coach Desjourneys decided to stop being a wallflower and make his presence known. He walked toward the center of the room, up to the couple.

“Shane, Ilya,” he addressed. “I’m happy for you both, really. Theriault is an idiot for letting you slip by him and I will forever hold it over his head.” 

Hollander blinked. “Th- thank you, Coach. That means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” the man said before he turned toward the rest of the team. “Now what do you all say about playing some hockey!”

The room broke into cheers and scattered laughter, the tension finally giving way. Shane let out a breath, relieved. When he sat down beside Ilya, their knees bumped lightly beneath the benches. The hardest part of the day was over. The easiest was about to begin and they were ready. 

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

Did I sleep? Yes. Yes I did. But did I sleep well? Debatable.

Shane is me and I am Shane.

Anyway, no need to visit the HBO drive through. We have Cottage at home. I guess. Sort of.

After showering and changing into pajamas, Ilya found Shane laying on the couch with his head against the armrest, reading some boring history book. He had his glasses on. 

Wordlessly, Ilya settled on top of him, threading his legs between Shane’s, resting his face against his love’s chest, and wrapping his arms around his middle, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Shane adjusted immediately, making space without hesitation. One hand dropped to Ilya’s curls, fingers working through them. 

The last few days had wrung something out of both of them. Between the emotional weight of finally telling the team and the overtime battle against Toronto, exhaustion sat heavy in Ilya’s bones. He wanted to be nowhere else other than right here in this moment. 

Neither of them spoke.

The two lovebirds stayed how they were well into the next hour, getting deeper into the evening. 

The book eventually slipped into an awkward angle on Shane’s chest. Neither of them moved to fix it until Hollander couldn’t read it anymore. He set the item on top of the cushions before wrapping his now free hand around Ilya. 

Finally, Ilya asked, “Can we stay here forever?” His voice was slightly muffled as he said it into his love’s shirt.

“What if you starve?” Shane asked in a slightly amused tone.

“Will not starve. Have you.”

Hollander quirked an eyebrow. “How does that make sense?”

“You give me life.”

Shane blinked and tried to hide a smile. 

“Ilya Rozanov, are you a vampire?” He joked.

“Hmm… Yesss.” Ilya hid a smile of his own as he kissed his chest.

His lyubimyy laughed. 

“I guess we could stay here a little longer,” he said after a second of silence.

“Good,” Ilya replied as he snuggled closer, wrapping himself tighter around Shane.

“You really needed this, huh?”

Rozanov nodded against him.

For breakfast, Shane made them plates of eggs. For Ilya, he made a side of toast and for himself, he made brown rice. He also poured them glasses of coffee and orange juice. The man even set the table, making sure to place salt, pepper, paprika, and soy sauce in the middle.

They ate in comfortable silence for a long moment before Shane thought to ask something. It had been lurking in his mind since it was uttered not even 24 hours ago. Ilya said it with conviction and care and it wouldn’t leave Shane’s brain.

“When you said committed, yesterday…” he opened, moving around the rice with a fork. “What did you mean?”

Ilya briefly looked up from his toast and shrugged. He took a bite of his food and ate it before giving him a follow up question.

“What do you think I meant?”

“I don’t know,” Shane admitted, lips pressing together in thought. “I mean, I have an idea, I just want to hear you say it.”

Ilya shifted in his seat. “It means I, er…” he put his toast topped with seasoned eggs down. “Used to have this problem… where I would be with many women, and they could be very, very sexy-“

Shane wasn’t sure he was doing a good job of keeping a neutral expression when he wanted to interject. “Ilya-“

The man didn’t let him, however.

“But I was always wishing those women were you,” he said.

Shane’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

Ilya gave a small shrug, like saying these things wasn’t a big deal. 

“And now you are here, with me,” Rozanov continued. “So, why would I go looking for anyone else?” 

Shane stared at him, unsure what to do with the sudden warmth spreading through him. His face softened. 

He settled for responding with, “That’s… a really nice thing to say.”

“Oh, I see,” Ilya said as he leaned back in his chair. “I make big declaration and all you have are small words?” 

It was a joke, he knew.

Still, Shane gave him something that was halfway between a smile and glare. “It’s not like that, you ass. I’m…” his eyes wandered over the table before returning. 

He could feel the tears start to take hold.

Fuck.

Why was he drawing blanks now of all times?

“Words are hard and I’m trying not to let the overwhelm win,” he informed, swallowing nothing.

And Ilya simply just smiled and said, “Take your time.” He reached over and took hold of Shane’s free hand.

The dark-haired man inhaled and let out: “You’re really important to me, you know that?” 

His boyfriend squeezed his hand. “I know.”

“And when you say things like that I can’t think straight.”

Ilya’s thumb brushed over Shane’s knuckles encouragingly.

“But I think-“ he blinked. “No, I know, that I feel safer with you than I have with anyone else.” He forced a smile. “You’re my emotional center.”

It was Ilya’s turn to stare now. He took a moment to absorb the words and soon recovered.

“Good,” the blond replied. “That means I must be doing something right.” His fingers left Shane’s and went to his cheek. “And I will continue to do so for as long as you’ll let me.”

“I think we’ll be here for a while then,” Shane answered with a bright smile.

Rozanov’s eyes flitted between Hollander’s. Something in his expression turned into wonder, and before Shane knew it, the man was on his feet and encroaching into his space. He cleared their plates and cups out of the way as he peppered him with kisses all across his face. The man even took extra care to kiss the spilling tears away.

“Ilya-“ Shane began to say, but was immediately attacked on the mouth. 

Rozanov’s hands flew to his sides and picked him up onto the table.

“Ilya, the food,” Shane lightly protested between kisses.

“We can reheat them later,” his boyfriend said before moving to his neck.

“Moya lyubimyy,” Ilya said as rested his chin on Shane’s shoulder. “You cooked. Let me help.”

Hollander continued to rinse off the cups. 

“You load the dishwasher wrong,” he said.

“Impossible.”

“You put things wherever they fit.”

“That is usually how dishwashers work,” Ilya said as he wrapped his arms around him.

“No, it isn’t.” He declared, setting the cups down in the sink and moved on to the plates. 

Shane Hollander had a very specific way of loading the dishwasher. Everything had its own spot.

“So, tell me where to put them.” He kissed him behind his ear.

“Okay.”

They ended up on the couch sitting side by side watching Survivor. They were late into the season as far as they could tell. There weren’t many contestants left and those celebrating from winning the reward challenge were fewer still.

“Do you think you’d do well if you competed on this show?” Shane asked, arms crossed over his chest.

On the screen, the contestants hunted around the island for an immunity idol.

Ilya, who sat there practically sunken into the cushion, didn’t hesitate in answering, “I would certainly dominate the challenges. You would too.”

Shane hummed and noted, “You’d probably do better on the social aspect.”

“Eh, is not untrue,” Ilya said as he thought about it. “Though, you have charm.” He looked over and smiled. “And, you’re pretty, too.”

Shane blinked. “I… have charm?”

He wasn’t so sure that he did.

“Yes,” the man said seriously as he sat up and waved around his hand. “Is… the understated kind, like, uh, not expected, but pleasant. Quietly attractive, not demanding of attention, has a kind of, eh, ease.”

Hollander gave him a look which lasted a little longer than necessary. 

“I guess,” he said slowly. Then he added, “But you have that loud confidence you pair with your charm that either gets people interested or put off by you.”

Ilya raised a brow as he fully turned his torso toward him.

Shane continued, more certain now. “And then everyone would discover your secretly caring nature and find it endearing. Which would confuse you because you probably pretend you didn’t mean to show it in the first place.”

Rozanov developed an open-mouthed smirk. “You find me endearing?” 

“Maybe,” the dark-haired man shrugged.

Ilya sighed and stared lovingly into his eyes.

“You notice too much,” he admitted.

Shane smiled. “Only when it matters.”

Ilya put the car in park and turned towards his boyfriend. 

“Shall we?” He asked.

Shane, meanwhile, was boring a hole into the dashboard. So, Ilya reached out and wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck.

“It will be fine, promise.” He said, flashing a smile.

Shane took a big breath in and exhaled it, saying, “Okay.” He rubbed his eyes and moved away from Ilya’s grasp.

“Okay,” he repeated, opening the car door.

Ilya watched him for a second before doing the same. Once outside the car, he walked around it to catch his beloved.

“Wait,” he said, bringing his arms around him. “Gimme kiss.” He puckered his lips.

Shane huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes but kissed him anyway. Ilya deepened it before pulling away. He lightly touched the dark-haired man’s cheek.

“Okay, now we go in,” he said.

Entering the locker room, Shane was the lightest he had ever felt. The weight he had been carrying for so long was no longer with him. 

The room sounded the same as always: gear clattered into the stalls; laughter bounced through the room; voices carried loudly. 

Victor chirped at Connor. Cadyn was saying something ridiculous loud enough for half the room to hear. McKimmie sat by his cubbie eating a snack. 

And when they saw Shane, they waved or greeted him with a “hey!”

It was all so ordinary.

When Shane had a moment to himself, he started putting on his gear. The corners of his lips curled up. He glanced toward Ilya and his smile grew.

Ilya noticed and faced him, asking, “What?”

“Nothing,” Hollander said too quickly. Then, he immediately corrected it. “… it’s just normal.”

Ilya nodded only once. 

“Yes.” He said it so simply, like it was the best thing in the world.

Nothing had changed, and somehow, that changed everything.

Chapter End Notes

Very corny last line, I know. Kind of couldn’t resist.

Once again, how many times can they say ‘I love you’ without actually saying it? I kind of want to lovingly strangle them, but I have something kind of sweet for them planned.

Chapter 19

Chapter Notes

Svetlana is making an appearance…

Also, this whole time, I’ve been shifting between partner and boyfriend as the two boys describe each other… well… not anymore…

Fortunately for the Boston Raiders, they had so far won every single playoff game. Unfortunately for them, Coach Desjourneys did not let up on them at practice this morning. And, it ran long - way longer than it was supposed to. 

So, when Rozanov and Hollander got home, they immediately collapsed onto the couch, arms wrapped around each other. They laid there for a while, eventually turning the tv on, but not really paying attention to anything happening on screen.

About an hour and a half later was when they heard the doorbell. The duo shared a confused expression.

“We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?” Shane questioned.

“No, we were not,” Ilya replied.

The doorbell rang two more times, causing Rozanov to sigh.

“I’ll get it,” he huffed as he got to his feet.

Ilya opened the door and blinked a few times. “Sveta? What are you doing here?”

“Ilyusha,” she said, like it was obvious, already stepping forward. “I told you I would be back in town, didn’t I?”

She did. That didn’t make this particular visit any less unexpected, however.

“I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider us surprised,” he relinquished, then immediately kicked himself internally for not saying ‘me.’

“Us?” Her face brightened. “Is he here?” 

“Is ‘who’ here?” Ilya questioned flatly, keeping his hands in his pockets.

Svetlana just pushed past him as she began glancing around the entryway to see if she could find who she was looking for.

“Your Jane,” she answered. “I want to meet him. You’ve kept him hidden from me for so long.”

He followed after her. “Sveta-“

Hollander was already rounding the corner, aiming for the bedroom. He froze when he saw her.

“Shane Hollander?!” Was her response.

Shane’s stomach dropped. He had no idea how he should read the surprise in her voice. The man glanced toward his partner, unsure of what to do, but Ilya, unhelpfully, shrugged.

So, Shane settled for the awkward and stiff, “Uh, hi.”

“Shane Hollander is your Jane?” Svetlana asked with wide eyes as she swiveled to face her longtime friend. “Or is he out of the house and you just happen to have Hollander over?” The woman tilted her head up and began to smile.

Before Ilya could utter a word, she continued, “How did you manage to pull the best player in the league?”

“I- I’m not the-“ Shane tried to interject, but was shot down.

“Yes you are,” both Ilya and Svetlana argued.

Hollander blinked a few times. The weird feeling in his stomach didn’t fully dissipate, but it didn’t grow either.

Rozanov walked closer to Vetrova, saying, “I was persistent.” He shrugged. The corners of his mouth lifted. “And he has terrible taste.”

“Wow,” Shane projected sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Svetlana laughed. “Okay, and the real reason?”

“I got lucky,” Ilya said in a softer tone. 

“I think I’m the lucky one, really,” Shane told them as he approached. 

“Is not true,” the blond stated as he crowded his boyfriend and snaked his arms around his waist.

“It’s very true,” he argued, taking a step back. Ilya went with him and Shane’s hands found their way to his lower back.

“No.”

Svetlana watched them with a smile. It almost made her sad to make her request. 

“I hate to ruin the moment,” she said with her hands gathered in front of her. “But would either of you like to grab coffee or lunch with me? I’d like to catch up with my friend and get to know his…” her lips pursed as she made vague gestures with her hands. “Partner? Boyfriend? Whichever?”

Shane’s eyes widened a fraction. “Uh, yeah.” His hands dropped to his sides as Ilya’s hold lightened. “Either works, I guess. And…” he glanced at Ilya who shrugged. “Going out would be nice.”

Her smile grew. “Okay, perfect.” 

“We’ll just get changed,” Shane told her as he pulled Ilya along.

When the two of them were alone, the blond immediately checked in.

“Do you actually want to go out?” He asked, taking his Under Armor shirt off and grabbing a T-shirt from the dresser. “We can say no.”

“Yeah,” Shane replied with a shrug as he moved toward the closet. “I mean, I should at least try to get along with your other friends, right?” He retrieved his familiar blue button up from the hangers.

“Is not just that,” Ilya said more quietly.

Shane glanced up.

Rozanov watched him for a second before explaining, “You are allowed to say no if it feels like too much.”

Hollander’s shoulders eased slightly. A small smile briefly graced his lips as he changed out of his Nike shirt and into the button up.

“It wasn’t too much,” he said. “Just… different.”

“Different how?”

“I wasn’t expecting…” he started but wanted to rephrase. “I don’t know what I was expecting, exactly, but…”

Ilya hummed and gave a nod. “Toss me my jeans?”

Shane grabbed the pair from the rack and threw it at him. The man caught it with one hand.

“I told you long time ago she knew about me, yes?” The blond inquired, stripping himself of his sweatpants.

“Yeah,” Hollander confirmed, grabbing his khakis. “I just…” he frowned. “I guess it’ll take me a while before I’m used to such… radical acceptance.”

“It only feels radical because you are not used to it,” Ilya told him, now with jeans on. He crossed the room to grab a belt.

For a brief moment, Shane wondered if he liked the sound of boyfriend more than partner.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. 

They ended up at the cozy shop ten minutes away. It was one of those cafes that doubled as a little bookstore. The barista counter was at the front with the seating surrounding various shelves.

It didn’t take long for them to order. Ilya got himself a soda with one of the messiest looking chicken sandwiches, Svetlana bought an iced vanilla latte with a neater turkey sandwich, and Shane chose to go for a hibiscus tea and a quinoa salad.

They chose a four-seater table in the back corner of the space, eating their food for the next several minutes of being here. Once Svetlana was a quarter of the way through her sandwich, though, she started the conversation.

“So,” she opened after taking a sip of her coffee. She held the cup in her hands over the table for a second. “The playoffs seem to be going well so far. You’re practically the dream team.”

“It’s been good,” Shane said, shrugging. “We’ve had a lot of great games. Hopefully we can keep that momentum going.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

“Shane and I could probably win the cup all by ourselves if we wanted to,” Ilya said, leaning back in his chair. His own sandwich sat on its plate mostly eaten. The man’s eyes briefly flickered toward Shane before returning to Svetlana.

She chuckled and lightly admonished, “That’s not very humble of you.” The woman then picked up her sandwich and started eating it.

“Is true,” Ilya said simply.

“I do kind of miss playing against him, though,” Hollander admitted, facing Vetrova and hiding a smile behind his mug as he took a sip.

“Oh, do you?” Rozanov asked, that challenging open-mouthed grin settling on his face.

He gave him a look. “Key words: kind of.”

“But I bet you still find ways to compete with each other, right?” Svetlana guessed.

“Oh, definitely,” Shane said. “We still have a scoring race going on-“

“Which I am winning-“ Ilya declared.

Hollander straightened his posture. “I’m only one point behind. I’m catching up.”

“Sure you will.”

“You will eat your words, Rozanov,” Shane promised with a smile.

Before either of them could continue this playful argument, one of the other guests of the store walked up to them. He looked young, maybe the age of a teenager, and he wore a Raiders Hollander jersey.

“Excuse me,” the teen said, holding his phone out. “Sorry to interrupt, but could I get a picture with you, Mr. Hollander?” 

Shane blinked, but then stood, replying, “Sure.”

“Hey, what about with me? Best player in the league?” Ilya asked with his arms out.

Hollander quirked a brow at him.

“Uh-” the kid started to say.

“Ignore him, he’s obnoxious,” Shane told him.

Rozanov made an offended gasp. “How dare.” 

The teen laughed awkwardly, saying, “Sorry, I just- Hollander’s my favorite player.”

Ilya sighed dramatically and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fine,” he said. “Take picture with your favorite.”

Shane rolled his eyes but smiled as he stepped beside the kid. The teenager held his phone up and snapped the photo. His smile grew as he looked over the result.

The other two at the table shared a brief glance. Svetlana’s eyes were full of a teasing sort of fondness while Ilya’s held a quieter kind.

“Thank you, so much,” the kid said as he started to turn around. “Good luck with the rest of the playoffs!”

“Thanks,” Shane called after him. 

He then smiled at the interaction after sitting down.

“Unbelievable,” Ilya muttered with his arms crossed, still acting as if this was a serious issue.

“I know, your spotlight’s disappearing,” Svetlana joked.

“Yes, very sad.”

Shane huffed out a laugh as he picked up his fork and ate more of his salad.

Then, he asked, “So, Svetlana, how long are you in Boston?”

“Oh, just as long as this new job pans out,” she answered after taking a bite of her food. “I hope it will. I’ll be working with the Raider’s staff as an analyst. So you might be seeing a little more of me, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Ilya said.

Shane - despite his shock - followed his lead, adding, “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The woman had actually started to grow on him.

She observed the two of them for another second before asking in a quieter tone, “And how are you both? Really?”

Shane glanced at Ilya before answering first. “Honestly? Better than I expected to be.”

“He worries less now,” the blond informed.

The dark-haired man huffed lightly. “I really don’t.”

“No, you do,” he said, leaning forward and uncrossing his arms. “You’ve been sleeping better.”

“He’s lighter, too,” Shane told Svetlana. “Less… guarded.”

Ilya jerked his head lightly to the side. “I have my days still, but… he makes them better.”

Okay, Shane was really starting to like the sound of Ilya being his boyfriend.

The brunette smiled softly.

“Good,” she said. “That’s all I wanted to know. I’m glad he isn’t alone.”

They finished their food and left shortly after that.

When they got back to the house, the three of them lingered in the doorway. Svetlana adjusted the strap of her purse while Shane leaned against the wall and Ilya stood beside him, bodies nearly touching, with his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” Shane said with a smile. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Shane,” she replied warmly. “Thank you for letting me crash your afternoon.” Svetlana then glanced between the two of them. “You look good together, like you take care of each other. That’s getting hard to find.”

“Thank you, Sveta,” Ilya said, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend.

Her expression softened and turned a little devious. “You know, Shane,” she said as she looked toward him. “He was obsessed with you basically since the get-go.”

Shane grinned as he looked up at Ilya, asking, “Oh, really?”

Rozanov glanced down, gave a smile and a half shrug. “Maybe…”

Svetlana ignored him.

“He talked about you constantly,” she continued. “Every game, every interview, every ridiculous thing you did on the ice.” She smiled wider. “I knew something was happening before he did.”

Shane laughed softly, looking at his person like he was seeing something precious.

“Well,” he said, “Good, because that’s how it was for me too.” 

He leaned closer into him and Rozanov’s arm tightened around him.

“Ah, vy takoy milyy,” Sveta gushed, smiling wide. She adjusted her bag again and turned. “Well, I’ll leave you both alone now.” She lifted a hand to wave goodbye as she wandered toward her car. “Don’t be strangers!”

“Poka, Sveta!” Ilya called after her.

“Schastlivo!” She responded in equal volume.

The blond chuckled before he headed inside. Shane followed close behind. 

“Hey, Ilya,” he said once the door was closed. The dark-haired man grabbed hold of his hand.

“Yes?” He replied with a fond expression, squeezing Shane’s hand once.

“I think I like the sound of boyfriend.”

“Moy lyubimyy,” he muttered, closing the distance for a kiss. “Be my boyfriend?” He kissed him again.

“Always.”

Chapter End Notes

Translation thingys:

“Ah, vy takoy milyy,” —> “you are so cute” maybe, probably.

Poka is like ‘bye’, essentially.

Schastlivo is kind of like ‘good luck/be happy’

 

Anyway, I definitely did not work on this while at, well, work. No, no, no… (lies).

Chapter 20

Chapter Notes

So, um
I’m half way through the Long Game

My hand slipped and made this rollercoaster.

Ilya was in his house and so was his mother. She looked the same as he often tried to remember her: not aging a day or looking like death.

She was smiling.

In his joy, he felt like he was twelve again. He was a twelve year old boy dragging his sweet mother along so she could meet this really cute boy that he liked.

Except, the longer he did, the more aged he felt and the more she slowed down.

Shane was just in the other room. They could make it, couldn’t they?

With a gasp, Ilya woke up. He could feel the tear stains around his eyes. The man immediately reached for his boyfriend, who still slept soundly next to him. He molded himself against his side, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Shane began to stir. He blinked a few times and glanced around.

“Ilya?” He asked groggily.

“Is nothing,” Ilya told him. “Go back to sleep.”

It was still dark out, after all.

The blond’s breathing became shaky as he pressed his face harder into Shane’s shirt, trying not to think about what occurred in his sleep. He swallowed down what could have been a sob. He was surely staining the clothing with his tears now.

“What’s going on, baby?” Shane muttered.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” Ilya requested. 

He felt a hand settle on his cheek.

“Okay,” his boyfriend said before kissing his forehead.

Ilya didn’t go back to sleep. He couldn’t. He just lied there and pretended he was. The man could tell that Shane hadn’t fallen back asleep either. His breathing never evened out to that slow pace sleep often brought. 

When the sun finally did rise, Shane kissed him on the forehead again. He soothingly moved his thumb on Ilya’s arm as he got out from under it.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” he said, kissing his temple. “Come out when you’re ready.” He looked at Ilya’s inaction for a moment and added, “Unless you’d rather I come back here.”

He sounded so gentle.

Ilya’s mouth quivered as he willed it to open, but it struggled. His throat felt tight.

He hated it.

“Come back,” he forced out eventually. His voice sounded so strained.

“Of course, baby,” was Shane’s response.

A few minutes later, Shane returned with two mugs, moving quickly but quietly as he set Ilya’s on his nightstand. Once his love was back in bed, the Russian reached for the drink and settled it by his center.

They sat there and drank their coffee for a while. Then, Ilya sat up to match Shane’s height. He felt brave.

“I dreamed of my mother,” he said, moving his hand down his lyubimyy’s wrist and lacing their fingers together. “I was trying to introduce her to you. Woke up before I could.” He huffed, puffing his cheeks out a little.

Shane gave him a soft, sad smile. It probably relieved him that he didn’t have to coax it out to know the answer.

“I’m sorry you went through that, baby,” he told Ilya, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“She would have liked you,” Rozanov responded.

“I wish I could have met her.”

“And I wish you’d have gotten the chance to.” Ilya smiled finally, briefly. “I miss her. More than I care to admit.”

Shane squeezed his hand. 

“You’re allowed to miss her out loud,” he said.

Rozanov looked down at their laced fingers. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, and especially not in soft, straightforward words like the notion was obvious. He wasn’t sure what to do with the relief he now felt.

He didn’t used to be allowed this, especially when living under his father’s control - a man who wanted no mention of her when she passed.

This would take some getting used to.

“Ilya,” Shane said gently, causing the man in question to look back up at him. “Where did you go?”

The Russian frowned and pursed his lips.

“Nowhere,” he replied simply. “I just… I don’t know where to put it. I don’t know how to-“

“You don’t have to,” Hollander interjected, separating their hands so he could cup his cheek. “It doesn’t need to be figured out right now. Whatever comes next, I’ll be right here with you.” He pecked Ilya’s temple before leaning down to capture his lips.

Ilya kissed back and leaned his forehead against the other’s.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

“Yes, you do,” Shane responded, kissing him again.

Later that evening, after the two of them came home from another playoff game won; after they had made dinner and gone through their routines, found Ilya sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning his weight over his boyfriend’s chair.

Ilya hesitated, then turned the screen just enough for Shane to see.

A list of therapists filled the page.

“Looking,” he said simply. “For someone who speaks Russian.”

Shane’s chest tightened. “Do you want help?”

Ilya nodded once. “Stay with me?”

“You know I will,” he said with a smile.

The man sat down in the chair next to him, shoulder to shoulder. They looked through the options carefully.

It took a few hours, but they managed to narrow the list down to three different people, two women and one man. All of them listed their Russian language level as fluent. Only one of them had a Russian name, however. 

Ilya wasn’t going to decide anything today, but at least the avenues were open.

And now, Shane stood outside, on the back porch. He looked up at the sky, wondering how much of the lights were stars vs satellites and planes.

“Alright,” he sighed. “This feels really silly, but I hope you’re listening, Irina.”

Shane stood quietly for a moment longer. Now that he started, he wasn’t quite sure how to continue. 

He let out a breath.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” the dark-haired man admitted, keeping his hands clasped together in front of him. “I’ve never talked to someone like this before. But, I’m going to try, okay?”

He swallowed and then went on.

“I don’t know you, and I won’t pretend to. But I know he misses you, and I know he carries it with him more than he lets on.”

He paused, shifting his weight.

“And I think you would be proud of him.” He sounded a little more certain now. “Not just because of his hockey, but because of who he is. He puts on a tough exterior, but he’s one of the most caring people I have ever met. I don’t know if you’ve been watching over him lately, but he’s really helped me and loved me in ways I didn’t think were possible.

“He calls me solnyshko sometimes, but I think he’s my sunshine too.” Shane could feel the tears start to prickle, but he pressed on. “And I just- I want to take care of him too. I want to give him something back.”

He exhaled.

“But, uh, anyway, I just wanted you to know how great he is.”

Ilya had finished putting his computer away and was just looking for his boyfriend when he overheard it. 

“… I don’t know if you’ve been watching over him lately, but...”

Ilya followed the sound to the sliding door leading out to the porch, which was left cracked open.

He listened to Shane speak. The things he said made him smile. Then the man started talking about paying him back and he knew he had to approach right then.

The dark-haired man finished speaking as Ilya stepped out. He didn’t waste any time.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said.

Shane blinked and inhaled, taking a step back as he faced him. 

“You, uh, you heard that?” He asked.

“Yes,” the blond confirmed as he moved to  only being inches away from him. “Some. Tail end.”

“Okay,” Shane said shakily. “Well…” He didn’t move. He just looked at him, eyes still glassy from his one-sided conversation. “I wasn’t saying it like a debt.”

“You were.”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

“You were thinking like it did.”

Shane’s face scrunched. His eyes moved to study the floor. 

“I don’t know how else to say it, sometimes,” he said. “Or show it.”

“How did you mean it then?” Ilya questioned.

Shane’s mouth opened and then closed. A second later, he tried again.

“I love you, and I want to take care of you,” he said. 

“Shane…” Ilya started, voice tender.

“I-“ Shane glanced away. “I mean-“

Ilya didn’t let him finish. He surged forward hungrily, kissing him with fervor. It didn’t take long for Shane to do the same.

When they parted, Ilya breathily admitted, “I love you too.”

Hollander blinked, eyes wide. He attached himself to his boyfriend, pressing his palms against his chest and digging his face into the man’s neck.

“Holy shit,” he said. “I love you so much.”

Rozanov’s hands found their way into his hair and around his back. They swayed for a moment.

“Who were you talking to?” Ilya questioned. He had an idea, but he wouldn’t mind hearing it out loud.

“Your mom,” Shane said with a smile.

“Really?” The corners of his lips tugged upward as well.

Hollander pulled back just enough to look at him. “I just wanted to tell her something. Is that weird?”

Ilya shook his head. “No, no, it’s uh, it is really sweet. Perhaps the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Then he laughed. “I can’t believe you introduced yourself to my dead mother before ever saying ‘I love you’ to me.”

Shane’s mouth hung open. “In my defense, I wasn’t planning on you hearing any of that.” 

“Oh, but I’m glad I did. Very glad.” He brought him closer. “Ya tebya obozhayu.” He said between kisses. “Ya ne mogu bez tyebya zhit.” 

“I’m looking those up later,” Shane told him when they pulled apart. 

“Good luck finding them,” Ilya said with a wry expression.

He playfully hit his shoulder. “Get back inside, you dork. It’s cold.”

“Only if you come with me.”

Ilya took hold of his hand and tugged him along. And yet, when they reached the door, he stopped.

“Hey,” He said softly.

His boyfriend gave him his undivided attention. 

Ilya’s thumb brushed over Shane’s knuckles as he said, “Thank you, for loving me like this.”

Hollander’s expression softened immediately. “Thank you, for returning it.”

Then, Ilya let them both inside and closed the door.

Chapter End Notes

“Ya tebya obozhayu” —> “I adore you.”

“Ya ne mogu bez tyebya zhit.” —> “I can’t live without you.”

—

I’m not crying, you are. (jk, I did tear up while writing this).

—

I feel in my bones that a big part of both of their love languages is through actions / acts of service and I just
gkjhfasdkf
Y’know?

Chapter 21

Chapter Notes

There is fluff, but there is also angst.

“How do you say it in Russian again?” Shane asked. He rested his head in his hand. His elbow dug into the pillow.

The sun had barely risen and the two of them were only wearing sheets.

Ilya smiled, glancing down at him as he rested his forehead against the headboard. “Ya… tebya… lyublyu.”

“Ya tebya lublu,” Shane attempted.

Shane blamed any ounce of failure on the early hour of the day.

“Almost there,” he said, chuckling. His eyes wandered over the constellation of freckles across his boyfriend’s face. “How do you say it in French?”

“J’t’aime.”

Ilya repeated the phrase with, basically, amazing pronunciation, but Shane grinned.

“Almost,” he parroted.

“What?” Rozanov’s brows shot up. “No! Is lie.” He playfully hit his shoulder. “My pronouncement was perfect.”

“Pronunciation,” Shane corrected gently.

“Whatever.” He leaned down to meet him. “You are ridiculous, moy lyubov.”

“No, you.”

They shared a kiss which quickly deepened enough for Ilya to maneuver himself on top of Shane. 

Four hours later, they were at the Wegman’s to pick out ingredients for tonight’s dinner. They already had rice, soy sauce, and a bunch of different hot sauces (courtesy of Ilya, of course). Yet, the two of them still needed a whole bunch of other things necessary for some poke bowls.

After getting the cart, Shane made his way toward the produce. Ilya followed a half-step behind. 

They stopped at the avocados first and Hollander very carefully checked a few that he picked up before gently placing them in the cart. His face scrunched up as he focused in a way Ilya found too cute, like a kitten.

“Ilya,” Shane said, grabbing his attention. “Did you hear me?” 

The look Rozanov gave him said everything he needed to know.

“Could you get some carrots please?” he requested.

“Eh, sure,” Ilya said while nodding, trying to play it cool. “How many?” 

“Four, maybe?” Shane shrugged.

“As you wish,” he joked, giving a slight bow before moving.

Shane chuckled and sighed. The two of them had watched The Princess Bride the night before. 

After grabbing the scallions and edamame, they gravitated toward the meat section. 

“Which fish did you want to get again?” Ilya inquired. “Salmon or tuna?”

“Salmon,” Shane told him.

“Right, okay.” He walked up to the butcher. “Two pounds of salmon please.”

“You got it,” the butcher replied, getting to work on that right away.

Meanwhile, Shane definitely wasn’t admiring how toned his boyfriend’s muscles looked in his arms…

A few minutes later, they turned into the Asian aisle. It was very easy to find and grab Kewpie Mayo. The bottles stood out with their red and white cross-cross pattern and little mascot. Next, on Shane’s list was ponzu, and sesame oil, which he felt Ilya could have helped him look for if he wasn’t immediately side tracked.

“Shane!” Ilya held up a package of Pocky with a smile.

Shane chuckled and shrugged. “Sure. You could get them, I won’t mind.”

“Would you eat them too?”

Hollander gave him a look. “You know they’re not part of my diet.”

“But your birthday is soon,” he partially whined. That was his ‘subtle’ hint for his boyfriend to ‘live a little.’

“Maybe,” Shane conceded. “Maybe.”

Ilya chucked  two packages of the snack into their cart, as well as Lychee and White Peach Calpico drinks. Shane playfully rolled his eyes. 

On their way to the register, two similarly dressed girls in tank tops and jeans came up to them, asking, “Excuse me, are you Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander?”

“Why yes,” Ilya told them with a smile. “Yes we are.”

“Would it be okay if we asked for a picture?” one of them asked.

“Of course,” Shane said as he and Ilya got into position.

She smiled as she opened her camera app and raised her phone. 

“It’s so cool seeing you guys hanging out off the ice,” her friend said. 

They posed, making peace signs with their fingers as the picture was taken.

Ilya glanced over at Shane before grinning. “Yes, he lost a bet, so now he has to help me shop.”

Shane gave him a look. “That is not what happened.”

Rozanov matched his energy and replied, “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Constantly.”

The girls laughed. 

“Good luck with the playoffs!” One of them said as they walked away, studying the photo they just took.

Ilya reached for the cart absentmindedly. 

“You called me a liar in public,” he lightly complained.

Shane smirked. “You were lying.”

“Still rude.”

That earned him a nudge.

“You survived,” Hollander murmured.

“Barely,” Rozanov huffed. 

He paid for the groceries while his boyfriend bagged their items, putting the fish and produce in their insulated bag and everything else in a paper one.

The Boston Public Garden was quiet today. 

It was a spur of the moment decision to come here, really, and completely out of their way, but the weather seemed nice enough to go. And yes, maybe their groceries were still in the car, but they wouldn’t be there too long.

The plants were as vibrant and lively as ever. Butterflies and bees were all over them. 

They walked side by side at an easy pace. One of Shane’s hands had been tucked into the pocket of his hoodie while the other one hung at his side. Every now and then, his free hand would brush against Ilya’s.

He thought about holding it, about lacing their fingers together in public. It was strange, and perhaps a little silly. Despite calling each other boyfriend and telling each other they loved one another, they couldn’t do this. At least, not around people who weren’t their friends and teammates. Not yet, anyway. Not without potentially outing themselves to the general public before they were ready.

“This is nice,” Ilya commented.

Shane hummed in question as he tuned back in. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “It is.”

They followed the path in easy silence, passing by a statue, but not taking the time to look at it.

“You know, Victor used to take his girlfriend here all the time,” Hollander noted.

“Oh, did he?” Rozanov inquired, not sounding entirely interested.

“Yeah, it was kind of their spot.”

Ilya gave a noncommittal hum. Then, he took in a deep breath and sighed.

“I emailed one of them yesterday,” he told him. “The therapists.”

“Oh?” Shane blinked. “Who’d you choose?”

“The woman in Brookline.” She was also the one with the Russian name.

“Did she respond?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, putting his hands in his pants pockets. “I have an appointment next Thursday.”

“How do you feel about it?” Shane asked as his free hand joined the other in his hoodie.

Ilya pursed his lips in thought for a moment before admitting, “I don’t know. Will be something I have never done before.”

“You don’t have to know yet. This is a big step.”

Ilya smiled, but it didn’t last long. “I do not know what may happen once I start talking.”

“Probably nothing bad,” the dark-haired man told his boyfriend. “Maybe it’ll just hurt for a while.”

The blond huffed out a laugh. “That is not exactly comforting.”

“Sorry.”

“How would you know anyway? You haven’t gone to therapy.” He grinned and leaned closer. “Unless you would like to join me?”

He gave a soft amused sound but said, “Eh, I don’t know.” The man shrugged. His smile melted away. “I mean, the last time I talked to anyone about things going on in my brain, it was around the time of my autism diagnosis, which was years ago when I was, like, ten. So…”

“Oh, and now you’re too good for it?” Ilya teased.

“No, I just- If the topic was anything surrounding my feelings, instead of what was going on otherwise, I never quite knew what to say. Couldn’t get the words out.” He huffed and turned toward his boyfriend. “It might be easier with someone whose whole job is helping you find the words, though.”

“Maybe,” Rozanov said solemnly.

“I’m proud of you.” Shane told him. “For committing to it.”

They let the breeze and the birds make all the noise for a moment, until they eventually found the small lake, and the bench in front of it. 

For a little while, the two sat down and stared at the water.

Finally, Ilya broke the silence by saying, “Okay. We should come here more often.”

“You like it?” Shane asked, his smile returning.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Then, we will.”

They slid their feet so their shoes are touching. It was the closest thing to hand-holding they could allow themselves.

It wasn’t enough, but it almost felt like a promise.

Chapter End Notes

Pro: you somewhat figure out how to be together in public without being obvious
Con: you can’t hold his hand or act in ways that read anything other than platonic.
Sigh.

Anyway, I definitely don’t relate to Shane’s vulnerability at the end here… (lies).

And yes, I have added a chapter cap, but that may or may not also be a lie. It just depends on how I can wrap things up.

Chapter 22

Chapter Notes

My brain: Mr Gatsby? It's seven O'clock in the morning-
Me: Today's the DAY!

Anyway, enjoy David and Yuna Hollander visiting their son.

Shane checked his phone and smiled. 

“Okay,” he said, shifting his weight. “My parents have boarded their plane.”

He glanced up to find Ilya nodding with a decidedly neutral expression. The two of them stood in and around the kitchen, breakfast having recently been finished. The dishes were all squared away, as were the seasonings. The couple was mostly just lingering at this point.

“Good,” the blond replied noncommittally. 

Shane frowned slightly when he studied his boyfriend’s face more. “It’s not too late to back out,” he said as he approached him. “I could just see them at the game tonight. They’ll understand.”

“No, I,” Ilya sighed. “I want to meet them. I- just-“ he made vague gestures with his hand, motioning to himself. “Nerves. I guess.” He grabbed onto his hands.

“Ilya Rozanov getting nervous?” The dark-haired man teased. His smile became more doting as he brushed his thumb over the man’s knuckles. “They’re going to love you.”

“Okay,” Ilya accepted, nodding, gently and swinging their joined hands a little. 

“I promise.”

“I know.”

Yuna and David Hollander, sensibly, landed at the Boston international airport three hours before the game. They had a little more than enough time to go through customs, secure their rental car, check into their hotel, and relax for a little while before heading to the arena.

It was packed. This game was the last one of the second round in the playoffs, where Boston had home ice advantage, and it was the fourth game of seven against Minneapolis. Boston had already won three. They only needed to win this game in order to move on. There were high expectations.

The parents had Shane’s designated stadium seats on their tickets, but before they headed in, they wanted to see their son. So, they texted him and stood outside the locker room, waiting for Shane to appear.

When their son finally did, they spotted streamers, balloons, and parts of a banner decorating the locker room. And Shane had this almost toothy grin on his face.

Yuna immediately pulled him into a hug, saying, “Happy early birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, mom,” he said before letting go of her.

David clapped him on the shoulder.

“Looks like the team went all out,” he told his son.

“Yeah,” Shane said as he glanced back at all the decorations and smiled. “They got a little carried away.”

“They must really like you, then,” Yuna stated. 

Her son’s smile grew as he scratched the back of his neck. “I guess.”

Yuna filed the reaction away in her brain before telling him, “Alright, well, we won’t keep you. Good luck.”

“Yeah, good luck, son,” David added.

“Thanks,” Shane replied, watching them walk back toward the main area.

The score was 5 - 3, with the Raiders taking the lead in the last period. Now, all they had to do was secure it, which they only had ten minutes to do. Despite that, however, Yuna found herself paying less attention to the game itself and more attention to the ways Shane and Ilya moved around each other. 

She had watched them all season, of course. Everyone talked about their chemistry, about how instinctive their plays were. 

Yet, in person, it looked different. More… intense.

David waited until they were in the rental car before finally speaking of the proverbial elephant in the room, or, well, car.

“So,” he said as he drove the car out of the parking lot. “Am I imagining things?”

Yuna glanced over at him and replied carefully, “No, I don’t think so. They looked so… in tune.”

David exhaled through his nose as he slowed the car to a stop at the light. “You think there’s something going on?”

She hesitated but eventually said, “I think there might be. I can think of two different scenarios, but I’m not sure either are quite right.”

He hummed in thought before pressing on the gas again, getting closer and closer to Shane’s house. 

While Ilya was cooking a Fettuccine Alfredo with chicken, Shane was in the middle of setting the table. The placemats were there, as were a pitcher of water, a bottle of Chardonnay, napkins, and table seasonings such as salt, pepper, red pepper flakes and parmesan. The next things on his list to get out were the silverware, glasses, and wine.

Before he got the chance to do any of that, however, the doorbell rang. 

“I’ll get it,” Shane said as he immediately wandered toward the door.

He opened it and found his parents standing there. Their faces brightened as soon as they saw him. They greeted each other with ‘hi’s and hugs deeper than the ones before.

“Great game, honey,” his mom said into the hug.

“Thank you,” Shane replied before stepping back and moving to hug his dad. “I’m glad you guys could finally make it to one here.”

Yuna smiled and handed him a small black box with a ribbon tied around it. “This is for you,” she said. “We wanted to give you something for your house.”

He accepted it and wasted no time opening his present. Inside the box was a pack of Anatomy of Hockey coasters. There were illustrations of things like skates, pucks, sticks, different uniform parts, and even a rink, with arrows and explanations surrounding them.

Shane chuckled and said, “Oh, these are adorable.” He then thanked them again. 

Ilya would get a kick out of these, he knew.

“Would, uh, would you guys like to sit?” he asked as he gestured toward the living room. 

He glanced away. His heart was starting to hammer. 

“Oh, sure,” Yuna replied as she and her husband followed their son.

“Well,” David said as he looked around. “This is a nice place you got here.”

“Thank you,” Shane said as they sat down on the couch. He set the coasters on the coffee table in front of them. “But it’s not technically mine. I mean, I put my name on the deed but, uh-“

That’s when Ilya chose to make his entrance. He was dressed much differently than Shane, but still looked nice behind the apron saying KISS THE COOK on the front.

“Is my house, actually,” Rozanov stated simply.

In their shock, the Hollander parents only blinked at him. He shifted awkwardly.

“Uh, yes. Hi, hello. I am probably not who you were expecting.”

Shane got to his feet and moved to stand beside him, saying, “Mom, dad, this is Ilya, Rozanov - but you already knew that. And, uh, he’s my boyfriend.”

Ilya placed a reassuring hand on the small of his back.

“Your boyfriend?” both elder Hollanders repeated. 

“Yes,” Shane answered. A lump settled in his throat.

“Shane and I have been together a long time,” Ilya took over, moving his arm to squeeze his side reassuringly. “Well,” he shrugged. “Maybe not as boyfriends the whole way, but we love each other very much.”

“Ilya’s actually the reason I chose to move to Boston,” Shane informed them, bringing an arm of his own around his boyfriend.

David developed this small smile on his face before he asked, “You uprooted your life for love?”

His son nodded but then got caught up in the details. “Well, I got uprooted from extenuating circumstances, but I chose to move here for love.”

Yuna gave a relieved sigh.

“You know,” she said. “For a minute there, I thought that maybe you were in love with your new straight best friend.”

Ilya laughed while Shane blanched.

“You what??” The dark-haired man questioned.

“Well, I just mean that we didn’t have all the facts yet,” his mother told him. “You keep your love life very hidden, even when it was with Rose or Jess. And then I see the two of you on the ice: how you move around and with one another. I’m not sure what else I could have thought, but I’m glad I understand it now.”

Before Shane had the chance to respond, Ilya gently squeezed him again and leaned closer. 

“I need to check on dinner. Will you be okay?” He muttered.

“Yeah,” Shane replied with a nod. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

Ilya gave him an unsure expression, but went anyway.

“So,” David said as he cleared his throat. “Rozanov said you’ve been together for a long time, but exactly how long is that?”

“Ilya,” Shane corrected before moving on to the question. “Uh…” Then, he faced the kitchen and projected. “Hey, does around the draft sound right? For when we started seeing each other?”

“Probably,” Ilya replied in equal volume. “Yes.”

“Before either of you even started your careers?” Yuna inquired.

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged. “But we became official three days before All Stars.”

David nodded along. “And… the rivalry?”

“Greatly exaggerated!” Ilya called from the kitchen.

The older Hollander man raised his brows, “You pretended to hate each other?”

“Publicly,” his son said simply. “And it worked, maybe a little too well.”

“Which is why you publicly became friends two weeks after the trade?” David guessed.

“Yeah.”

“And what about fully stepping out of the closet?” Yuna inquired. “Do the two of you plan on doing that any time soon?”

Shane swallowed. “Uh, you know, we haven’t exactly talked about that, but I think for now, our friends, family, and teammates are enough.”

His mother looked as though she might say something in response, but she didn’t get the chance to.

“Okay, dinner is ready!” Ilya shouted. “Come grab plates and utensils!”

A small “oh” came from Yuna before she and David got to their feet. Together, the three Hollanders ventured into the kitchen.

Rozanov had already set out plates for them. Shane instinctively opened the silverware drawer first, grabbing a fork and a spoon and leaving it open for others to take from. Then, he opened the fridge and took out a ginger ale. As everyone served themselves food, Ilya took the apron off before fixing himself a plate last.

“Well, this looks lovely,” David commented as he took his own seat.

Shane took four regular glasses as well as three wine glasses from the cabinet and set them down, setting one of the former aside for his drink of choice.

David took the first bite and immediately made his impressed state known. Yuna quickly followed suit.

“Thank you,” Ilya replied as he and his boyfriend took their seats. “It was Shane’s idea to make it.”

“Of course it was,” the mom said lovingly. Then, she asked, “Do you guys cook often?”

“I’d say so,” Shane responded, nodding a little. “I mean, we do get takeout as well, but it’s happened a few times where we make too much and have leftovers for the rest of the week.”

“We?” Ilya asked playfully. “Who is this ‘we’ you speak of? I make perfect amount, always.”

“Okay, well, sometimes, it’s nice to have extra, so we don’t have to cook every night,” he said.

“Yes,” his boyfriend allowed. “This is true.”

Yuna watched them carefully, but Shane could tell she was biting back amusement. 

Then, she asked, “And how is living together otherwise?”

“This man,” Ilya said, gesturing towards his boyfriend, “has reorganized most of my closets and cabinets.”

“Sounds like him,” David commented with love.

Shane chose to look playfully offended at both of them.

He defended his actions by stating, “They make more sense this way.”

“Sure they do,” Rozanov teased. His eyes, however, said he was telling the truth.

“No, it’s been good,” Shane said, gravitating back to the main subject at hand. “He’s helped me deal with switching teams and, uh, everything that came with it. Just…” he took a bite of his food and swallowed. “Made things feel more stable.”

“Was the least I could do,” Ilya told them, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork. “And, for the record, he does the same thing for me.”

The younger couple smiled at each other.

“Well, that’s very good to hear,” David told them, sounding relieved.

The moment passed in comfort and ease. The air seemed less tense than before.

“So, Ilya,” Momma Hollander began. “How did you get into hockey?”

“My mother,” he said easily. He then took a bite of the food before saying anything else. Any information he divulged about this further was going to sting. “It was something the two of us could share. I, of course, ended up being really good at it and wanted to pursue it professionally to honor her.”

Details were left out, but it got the point across.

Still, his words made Yuna smile.

“She must be proud of you,” she said before raising her fork full of pasta.

Ilya’s mouth formed a thin line as he nodded. “Probably, though I would not know, she passed long before my father did.”

Wide-eyed, she covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“It’s okay,” he said a little too quickly. “You didn’t know.” 

Under the table, Shane’s foot nudged his. 

What followed was a brief, awkward moment of silence as the four of them continued eating and drinking.

When it started to stretch a little too long, Ilya cleared his throat.

“But Shane, what, you were practically born a hockey player, hm?” he asked.

The man in question rolled his eyes, smiled and said, “Yeah, I guess. Dad played and mom’s just… really invested in the sport.”

Yuna gave her son a look as she picked up her glass of Chardonnay.

Meanwhile, his boyfriend’s brows raised as he turned to David. “You used to play?”

“Oh, not for anywhere you’ve heard of,” the man said, waving his free hand dismissively. “It was during college when I attended McGill. That’s a university in Montreal.”

“Ah,” Ilya replied, nodding with a slight grin. “Still, is not an easy sport.”

“No,” David agreed, obtaining a smile of his own. He leaned forward. “But, you know, when Shane was about nine-“

“Oh, no,” Shane said, already deflating.

“-there was this one time when he corrected his coach mid-practice-“

“Dad,” the son said pointedly. 

Ilya smirked into his fork, as he ate more of his pasta.

David continued, “The coach told the team to run a drill a certain way and Shane stopped him, saying that wasn’t how it worked.”

“In front of everyone,” Yuna added.

Ilya laughed while her son huffed and shook his head, choosing to focus back on the food. 

“Then he explained the drill back to the coach,” his father said. 

“I had to do laps after that,” Shane informed.

“Oh, poor you,” Ilya partially teased, reaching over to caress his cheek briefly. 

“I know,” he played along, leaning into his touch.

“So, you’ve been like this your whole life then?” Ilya inquired, moving his hand down to nudge his shoulder.

“I’m consistent,” Shane declared, shrugging.

He nodded and tilted his head side-to-side. “Stubborn.”

“Efficient.”

“Anyway,” David cut in. “When practice that day was over, you know what the coach said to us?”

“What?” Ilya inquired, turning to face him.

“He said that Shane was too good not to place him in a higher league despite his age.”

Shane blinked then raised his brows and jerked his head to the side. “Oh, yeah.”

Ilya huffed out a small laugh at his boyfriend’s reaction. Then, he noticed how empty Shane’s glass was. 

He stood and wordlessly got another ginger ale for him.

“Thanks,” his boyfriend muttered.

“Of course,” he replied in equal volume as he sat back down.

Yuna watched the exchange. Something warm settled into her expression. She glanced toward her husband, who was already looking at her with something similar in his eyes. 

The two lovebirds now lounged on the couch, long after Shane’s parents had left. Their bodies were laid there side by side with their arms wrapped around each other. Clean up had already been taken care of, as well as properly taking out and displaying their new hockey-themed coasters around the house. 

Shane leaned his head against Ilya’s chest.

“You’re a good boyfriend,” he muttered.

The man chuckled and kissed his hair before joking, “I think so too.”

“Asshole,” Shane huffed, sitting up slightly to turn and look at him.

“You love me.” It was said in an almost taunting manner.

“Yeah, I do,” he agreed, leaning in to steal a kiss. 

“I love you too,” Ilya replied against his lips. Then, between kisses, he said, “My beautiful, amazing boyfriend, with very cool parents who gave us a silly, silly gift.”

It was Shane’s turn to laugh softly as he leaned away. “I think they liked you.”

“Da, me too. I hope.”

“No, they did.”

“Good. I like them too.” He smirked. “I will become their new favorite son in no time.”

“Ilya-” Shane began to say but was cut off by his boyfriend surging forward to claim his lips again. He melted into it, shifting a hand to rest over Ilya’s heart.

Chapter End Notes

Also, I lied about the chapter cap. It needs more room.

Chapter 23

Chapter Notes

Mostly fluff with a little bit of angst on the side.

 

Also, I’ve never been to the Harvard Natural History Museum, but I do work and volunteer in museums of my city.

Today, as promised all those weeks ago, Shane was going to spend his special day with his boyfriend. He was grateful it was a day off for them as well, so they could really take their time.

He was also grateful that their teammates chose to surprise him yesterday instead of today.

The sun had risen an hour ago, and Shane had only just gotten up. He would have stayed in bed if not for the fact that he woke up without Ilya being there.

Venturing out to the rest of the house, however, quickly gave him his answer. From the kitchen, he heard the familiar sizzling of a pan on a stove.

Entering the space, he found Ilya there, making pancakes. The man turned and smiled widely when he saw him. 

“Happy actual birthday, lyubov,” Ilya said as he approached, kissing his neck. Then, against his skin, he stated, “Am making protein pancakes.”

“I see that,” Shane said with a smile of his own. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” his boyfriend told him, shifting to pepper Shane’s cheeks with way more kisses than necessary.

“What are you doing?” He asked, giggling.

“Giving attention to every little constellation on your face,” Rozanov replied, continuing to peck at his skin.

Constellations? On his face?

Oh!

“My freckles aren’t that special,” Shane told him.

Ilya stopped and raised his head to meet Shane’s eyes. “Mmm, yes they are.” He captured his lips.

The dark-haired man briefly pulled away and blurted out, “Then, I wish I could kiss your eyes.”

“So romantic,” Ilya muttered, moving in to kiss him again.

He was, unfortunately, stopped by Shane.

“Don’t let the pancakes burn, please?” Hollander requested.

“As you wish,” the man quoted before letting go of him and returning to the stove.

Breakfast continued without much fanfare, aside from Shane’s phone lighting up with message after message from various people giving him well wishes.

But when they finished, Ilya refused to let Shane do the dishes. He also refused to let Shane get up from the table as he disappeared into the hallway.

Hollander didn’t have to wait long, however, because a minute later, he returned with a gift. It was rectangular shaped, but it almost looked too thin to be a box.

“This is for you,” Ilya said as he set it down in front of him.

Shane wasted no time in opening it without trouble, immediately seeing something encased in a picture frame. The frame was nice, too: wooden, with a dark varnish. The back had a kick stand as well as hooks for nails. The front revealed a candid photograph of Shane and Ilya. They were in their Raiders gear standing in a locker room smiling at each other. Some of their teammates who were sitting or standing nearby had been mostly cropped out but Shane could see parts of an arm, a knee, and someone holding a skate.

“When was this taken?” Shane inquired.

“No idea,” Ilya told him. “I just know that McKimmie is really good at sneakily taking photos of people. He has everyone just in a folder on his phone.”

Hollander huffed out a laugh. “What? Really?”

“Is very impressive, actually. You should ask him to show you sometime.”

“I’ll bet.” He looked down at the picture again before staring into his boyfriend’s eyes. “Where do you want to put it?”

“Is your birthday.” Ilya shrugged. “You choose.”

Shane’s smile grew into more of a smirk as he took the framed picture and put it in the living room on one of the mini side tables.

When they got into the car, Shane was told not to pay attention to the navigation streaming from Ilya’s phone into their vehicle’s systems. He had to look out his passenger window or the windshield. He could not duck his head to check the little screen. 

It was either this or wear a blindfold and Shane absolutely did not want to do the second option.

The notion made for a good challenge, anyway, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t look at things on his own device.

The destination, apparently, was only 16 minutes away, however, so he didn’t need to do this for long. 

He did take note, however, when the car took the exit for Cambridge and then for Harvard. Then, Ilya took out a printed visitor parking pass receipt listing the Harvard Natural History Museum as the intended reason for their stay.

“No way,” Shane said, smiling widely, staring at the paper.

They hadn’t even made it past the gate into the parking garage yet.

“Yes way,” Ilya replied after they were let through.

They started with Earth & Planetary Sciences before moving on to Climate Change.

Shane read every plaque, every box of text mounted on the wall and on the glass cases. He leaned in close sometimes, squinting slightly. His lips moved just a fraction as he processed the information.

Ilya couldn’t help but wonder if he got this trait from his father, not that it mattered. The Russian trailed behind him all the same with his hands in his pockets. He, at first, pretended to be casual about it.

However, they were in a very public place and he was, in fact, Ilya Rozanov. 

“You’re doing that thing again,” he said to Shane as they wandered through the hall between gallery rooms. 

“Oh, yeah? What?” Shane asked, moving toward the next exhibit.

“Forgetting I exist.”

That got his attention. He stopped and turned, giving him a terse expression. Then, he acted like he was studying him before raising his eyebrows.

“You’re still here?” Shane jokingly asked with a smile.

“Unfortunately,” Ilya replied, mockingly solemn. The tiniest parts of the corners of his mouth twitched up. 

Hollander tilted his head. “You could leave.” 

“I could,” he agreed, not moving. “But then I would be extra bored. Here, I am less bored.”

“I’ll take you somewhere exciting then,” Shane told him.

“Please.”

The man took him to the Cenozoic Mammals Fossils.

“And… I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” Shane asked.

He had been rambling on about mammoths for a little while now. Currently he was talking about how some mammoth skulls were once mistaken by people as cyclops skulls, which Ilya could understand. If they didn’t know about the animal, how would people have assumed the giant hole in the front was for a trunk? Ilya did not understand most of the what came before this topic, however. 

Yet, it made him happy, watching Shane talk about something excitedly. He looked super cute, too, with this easy smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as he gestured about with his hands.

The only other times Ilya had seen him like this was with hockey and real estate. It was a very strange mix of special interests, he thought.

“No,” Ilya said immediately. “You are not.”

Shane hesitated and then asked in a quieter tone, “You sure?”

“Yes.” Rozanov stepped closer, just enough that their shoulders almost brushed. “I like when you talk.”

Hollander studied him a moment longer before continuing.

In one of the galleries with larger displays and fewer people, Shane slowed again, and it wasn’t because of any dioramas or glass cases. 

“What?” Ilya asked.

Shane didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nodded slightly toward something off to the side. Ilya’s eyes wandered in the intended direction and caught two men leaning into each other with their fingers laced together. One of them said something which made the other laugh loudly and bring him closer.

“Do you think that’ll ever be us?” Shane asked quietly as he turned to walk in the opposite direction. His tone held a heavy sort of thoughtfulness to it.

Ilya pursed his lips and took a long stride forward. Their arms brushed together as they walked in pace with one another.

“It already is, just… in the open,” he told Shane.

Hollander swallowed. 

Then, slowly, he shifted his hand just enough that their fingers pressed together for a brief second. 

“Okay,” he said.

The shop for the museum was only a little bit smaller than Shane expected, but at least it wasn’t packed.

Gondola shelves were lined with books, notebooks, coloring books, figurines, mugs, puzzles, little plastic replicas of displays, etc. etc. Spinning racks held magnets, postcards, stickers, jewelry, and pins. Finally, the walls were lined with hooks hanging tote bags, shirts, scarves, hats, and hoodies.

Shane was inspecting the magnets when Ilya walked up to him holding two objects in his hands.

“What do you think?” He asked, holding up two mugs with the Museum logo and Cenozoic animals printed onto them.

Shane couldn’t help the small smile from reaching his lips.

“That’s a good design,” he told his boyfriend. “We should get them.”

“I say so too,” Ilya agreed. Then, his eyes wandered toward the magnets. “Which one were you thinking?” He bent down to get a closer look.

Shane blinked. “Oh, we don’t have to-“ 

“Did you want one?”

“Where would we even put it?”

Ilya shrugged. “Carmichael and his girlfriend have magnets on their fridge from every place they’ve visited. Could be fun to have.”

Hollander tilted his head.

“Wouldn’t that ruin the look of our kitchen?” He asked, brows furrowing.

Rozanov stood up straight as he took in a breath. “Is one magnet.” He huffed out a laugh. “Besides, we already put your silly hockey coasters all over the place.”

That was true.

However…

“I think I’d rather get one of the tote bags,” Shane told him, looking over his shoulder at the bag with the mammoth skeleton on it.

“Okay,” Ilya said, nodding.

He didn’t follow Shane toward the bag right away, and it was only once they were at the register that Hollander realized why.

After putting the mugs in their new tote, the cashier also placed a dinosaur  magnet inside. 

He gave his boyfriend a look.

“Is for me,” he muttered before paying. 

Shane chuckled and shook his head. 

At home, they quickly got to work putting things away. The tote went with the other bags in the entryway closet. The mugs went into the kitchen cabinet and the magnet was placed just above the fridge handle.

As Ilya stared at the new look of the fridge, Shane stepped closer to him and bumped his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For today.”

“Of course, lyubov,” Ilya replied, bringing an arm around him. Then, he looked at him. “Was a very good date, yes?” 

Shane huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, it was.” 

He was then kissed on the cheek.

“Happy birthday,” Ilya said again.

Shane’s gaze flickered back to the magnet for a second before he leaned into his boyfriend’s side.

Chapter End Notes

I just adore these two.

I also just think that Shane only has a passive interest in history. David is the history buff of the Hollanders. But Shane will absolutely just be sat if you stick him in front of any kind of long video about history, especially if it’s hockey history, or a building’s/town’s history but that kind of goes without saying. And he will go down rabbit holes.

Chapter 24

Chapter Notes

Good morning! I may have kidnapped both Dr. Galina Molchalina and Anya from Ottawa…

Key words: may have

“So, Ilya,” Dr. Galina Molchalina stated after the two of them had sat down across from each other in her home office. “In your intake form, you said you have days where you feel extremely sad, empty, or worried. Where did you want to start?”

“Am not… entirely sure,” Ilya answered, shifting the way he sat in the chair.

“That’s okay,” she said easily. “Is there one that’s been more pressing lately?”

They had introduced themselves only a few minutes beforehand. Apparently (though not unexpectedly), she knew who he was even before he contacted her. Being a Russian herself and living in Boston, of course she had heard of the celebrity hockey player.

He’s not sure if he would have preferred that she didn’t.

“I’ve been very happy for the past few weeks, actually,” Ilya said, hands loosely clasped. “But most recently, out of those three, I would say sad.”

He told her about his dream about his mother and that she had died when he was younger.

At first his voice stayed even. Then, somewhere between ‘depression’ and ‘suicide’ his hands separated without him noticing, palms turning slightly upward.

He told her about finding her at 12 years old. 

Galina didn’t interrupt yet. Her pen moved for a minute, then stopped.

He told her about how his father didn’t grieve nor allowed his sons to, because of the shame their mother had brought their family with her death.

That was when he looked away for the first time, eyes fixing briefly on a point just above her shoulder. 

She had questions to ask and observations to interrupt with, of course. 

“That sounds like a very specific image.” 

“That must have been difficult for you, so young.”

“It sounds like he was very hard on you. Is that accurate?”

“I want to pause you for a second. When you say ‘shame’ what did that look like?” 

Ilya knew what she was doing with that last one. Dr. Galina probably already understood what it could have looked like. And yet, she probably wanted to hear it in his words. 

Still, he answered everything she said as best as he could in the moment, sometimes moving his hands as he did so. He often switched to Russian without thinking, relieved to not have to translate his thoughts before speaking them to her. She wrote more steadily as they furthered their conversation.

Then, she asked him something that was both hard and yet also easy for him to explain. “And this dream, was there something specific in your life that could have caused it?”

Ilya told her that the person he loved the most was and had been integrating into his life. He would have loved it if the best piece of his childhood was still alive to meet the best piece of his adulthood. 

“But, of course,” Ilya huffed, one hand clenching into a fist on top of his knee. “That could never happen.”

“And when you woke up?” Dr. Molchalina prompted.

“I was so, very thankful that my boyfriend was there,” he said, gaze briefly dropping to his hand. “Instead of miles away where he used to be.”

She had given the smallest microexpression of a smile when he said the word boyfriend, but it was there nonetheless. And, judging by the fact that she was a therapist, as well as the fact that a framed photo of her and another woman engaged in a kiss existed in her office, he suspected he could be safe with her.

Then, she said, “Unprocessed grief could be an unfortunately powerful thing, and it’s great that you have him to support you. Who else could have been there for you if he was ‘back where he used to be?’”

Ilya tilted his head minimally as he considered his answer. “Eh, my friend Svetlana, my teammate Cliff, and probably also Victor.”

She nodded and hummed before asking, “Is it far, where your boyfriend used to live?”

“Maybe five hour drive, or an hour-thirty minute flight?” he said somewhat offhandedly.

“Did you make that flight often?” 

His lips pursed and he shook his head.

“Only when I had games there,” Rozanov told her. Then, after a pause, he added, “It’s better for us both that he’s here. We missed each other terribly. Was killing us we couldn’t be together all the time.”

“When you say it was ‘killing you,’” his therapist said, still looking at the page. “What did that look like for you in day-to-day life?”

Ilya blinked. He leaned back slightly, then forward again as if neither position felt correct.

“It is… difficult to explain,” he told her.

“We can take it slowly,” she said.

“This was before we became official, really. We knew, deep down, that we wanted more, but… Blyad,” sighed, raising his hands and running them through his hair.  “With our careers busy as they were… we couldn’t be.”

Galina wrote. 

He continued. “Then his worst moment happened.” One hand dropped to his side while the other cradled it against the back of the chair. His elbow rested at the top of it. “The first time he called, he was so scared. I wanted to fly to him immediately, but he didn’t want me to go because we would see each other in a week, anyway.”

Her pen moved across her pages.

“He also knew he wanted to see if he could stand on his own two feet. I let him.” He swallowed.

“Was that…” she started as her writing paused. She looked up at him. “…difficult for you?” She asked. “Letting him?”

“I…” he leaned forward to move his arm and rubbed his face before sitting deeper into the chair. “Am the kind of person who likes being needed, I think.” He said it carefully, like he wasn’t entirely sure of himself.

“And because he explicitly told you he wanted to handle this alone…” Molchalina led.

“I mean…” the man shrugged, arms outstretching a little. “I wanted to go anyway, but I didn’t want to disrespect him.”

“He may have still needed you,” Galina told him. “Just… not in the same capacity you figured.”

Rozanov pursed his lips and sniffed. “Yes, probably.” It was stated a little too quickly. He then fixed his posture. “Anyway, I got some pretty exciting news a few days later, so it worked out.”

The therapist nodded. “What news?”

“He said he accepted a job offer here in Boston.” Ilya’s smile came back. “I was, eh, over the moon, as people say.”

His smile didn’t stay for long, however. 

“It has been… an adjustment, for him, to say the least. He was so…” he glanced away for a moment as he thought of the words. “… anxious when he first arrived. Stressed nearly all the time. It’s lessened now, but..” he sighed.

“You can’t help but worry?” She guessed.

“Yes. Exactly.” He gave a momentary tight lipped smile. “And if something were to happen… and I’m not there...” He didn’t like how shaky his voice got all of a sudden. “I do not like that.”

Dr. Molchalina nodded slowly. She did not respond immediately, instead jotting something down in her notebook.

The silence stretched a little longer than Ilya expected. He shifted slightly in his seat.

“Has he ever said anything similar to you since?” The therapist asked, looking up from her notebook. “Or done something that made you think you weren’t needed?”

Ilya frowned when he told her about how Shane was slowly becoming friends with his teammates, going out with them, even - which he and Shane rarely did at the time.

“And did you say anything about it?” Galina asked.

He chuckled, “He actually asked me about it. He notices things, but might not say anything until it boils over.”

“Okay. And then?”

 Ilya’s eyes darted away briefly. “We fought, but then he reassured me of things.”

She gave another, encouraging nod. “Those being?”

“That I was still needed,” Rozanov answered, more quietly now. “And that my teammates could never replace me to him.”

“That must have been good to hear.”

“It was, yes.” He paused. “But that did not fix the feeling right away.”

“That’s perfectly okay,” she said. “Feelings don’t usually resolve all at once.”

“No,” he agreed quietly.

“Earlier you said you’ve been very happy lately. Is that tied to your boyfriend?”

He nodded, brightening a little as he sat forward again. “Yes. One thousand times, yes.”

“In what ways?” She smiled.

He exhaled softly. “He has made more space for me. We communicate better now. We go out more. It is…” he blinked, searching for the best word to describe it. “Easier.”

“What changed?”

“We started saying things sooner, before they became problems. We moved forward, too.” He lifted a hand as he listed things. “Came out to the team. To friends. His family. We even, uh, started discussing the future.”

She gave a thoughtful hum and started writing things down again.

“Big steps,” she commented.

“Steps that have made us more comfortable. Mostly.”

“And those are meaningful changes,” Galina began gently. “Yet, the worry hasn’t disappeared?”

He pursed his lips and moved his head as he considered her words.

“It is in the back of my mind sometimes,” he said eventually. “But… when things are calm. When he is okay. I do not always know where I fit.” He huffed out a small laugh. “And if he were here now, he would remind me it’s with him.”

“And do you believe that?” She asked. 

“I do,” he replied after a moment.

“And is that enough?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. His brows knit together. He was trying to reach a thought he couldn’t quite grasp. It made him frown again.

“Remember,” Dr. Galina said calmly. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. We can pick this back up at a later date.”

He blinked a few times. Then, after a few seconds, he breathed for the first time in a while and said, “Yes, that would probably be best.”

“Then that’s what will happen.”

The two of them stood and shook hands for the second time that hour. Then, on his way out, she told him they could hammer out the details for their next session later, which he appreciated.

He felt drained in both a good and a bad way, which settled oddly in his chest. Still, he knew he would like to return again.

He was nearly home. He had made it past the highway exit to his neighborhood. He was blocks away.

His mind was quieter then, but not empty.

And that’s when he saw it.

There was a big sign on a telephone pole advertising a dog that needed to be rehomed. A closer inspection revealed that this was an emergency situation.

He didn’t hesitate, driving his car exactly one block more to get to his new destination.

When he got there and knocked on the occupant’s door, a stressed-looking woman appeared. 

“I, er, saw the sign,” he said, gesturing in the direction he came from.

“Come in, please,” she said in a relieved tone as she opened the door further. She explained quickly and apologetically that some ‘asshole’ had just ‘dropped the poor thing off’ on the corner and abandoned her. The woman also explained that due to her being a single mom of three with a tight work schedule, she didn’t think she could take care of the dog.

The puppy in question was this somewhat small Australian shepherd with brown grey and white splotches on her coat. She didn’t bark or retreat when she saw them, as if she was waiting.

“I have no idea if she’s still growing or malnourished,” the woman continued. “But here she is.”

Ilya knelt down to greet her and the dog hesitantly approached. 

“Hi sweet girl,” he said as he reached to pet her.

She sniffed his hand and let him. As he gave head scratches, her body seemed to wiggle. And, if her tail wasn’t docked, he’d imagine it would be wagging like a wind mill.

“I can take her,” he said after a moment. It didn’t feel like a decision he had to think through.

Shane heard the door and looked up from the couch, not that he could clearly see the doorway from where he was. But, he knew who it was all the same.

“How did the session go?” He asked, setting his book down and readjusting the way he sat on the couch to something less pretzel-looking.

“Good,” Ilya said in equal volume.

Before Shane could respond, however, a soft bark echoed through the entryway. He froze. About three seconds later, the clacking of paws against their hardwood floor. 

A small Australian Shepherd rounded the corner. It looked around excitedly, sniffing nearly everything in sight. 

Shane blinked, eyes widening a fraction.

“Di-“ he cleared his throat. “Did you get a dog?” 

“Yes,” Ilya said simply as he padded into the room. 

Said animal trotted closer to Ilya, looking up at him and barking again. Her body wiggled as the man smiled down at her.

“Yes, I know,” he said, sitting down to put her. “You will be living here.”

Shane gawked and asked, “She what?” Then, he looked back at his boyfriend. “We talked about this.”

“I know,” Ilya replied, not looking at him. His hands were scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Ah, you’re so cute. Yes, you are.” He started using that voice most people reserved for babies.

“This is a high energy breed.”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

“I thought you wanted a cavalier or something.”

“Was not my choice.” He softly smoothed her fur. “This one needed a home.”

Shane exhaled through his nose. He thought they’d have more time to decide this. He thought they might put more research and thought into this. Then, he frowned and got up from the couch. 

“What’s the situation, exactly?” He asked as he walked up to them.

“She was abandoned,” Ilya told him. “Neighbor took her in and put up a sign. I stopped by.”

Shane’s expression softened, hearing that. He sat down next to them, legs crossed.

“Okay,” Hollander said softly. 

The dog turned toward him and approached.

“Hi,” Shane greeted, hesitantly holding out his hand, wondering if this would be okay.

The dog leaned into his hand before he could really decide. She crowded his space, trying to get into his lap. He let out a small laugh as he continued petting her. 

“You know this means we need to go to, like, a Pet Co or something, today,” he said. “And the vet, sometime soon.”

“Yes, I know,” Ilya said, watching them with a small smile.

“Do you have a name for her yet?”

“I was thinking, Anya.”

The dark-haired man made a small noise of approval as he smiled. 

“Hi, Anya,” he cooed.

Shane stayed where he was a moment longer, hand still resting on the dog’s head as she settled heavier into his space, like she had already decided she belonged there. 

Ilya scooched closer, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend. He settled his chin on Shane’s shoulder.

“I know it’s sudden,” the blond told him. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Shane answered.

“Yes,” Ilya sighed as he snuggled closer, patting Anya’s head. “We will.” 

Chapter End Notes

Idealizations sometimes don’t happen, but life always does.

Chapter 25

Chapter Notes

This is the final time I will be writing about a hockey game for this series y’all.

Also, I have now been informed that due to Boston and New York being in the same conference, they can’t play each other in the finals, but they do here so ssshhhh. Suspension of disbelief if you please.

The Boston Raiders media team loved Anya. She was surprisingly very good for them when they put a Rozanov jersey on her for a photo shoot, and while she didn’t always keep still, they managed to capture a lot of great candid moments between her and Ilya.

Rozanov had been bringing her around for the past few practices. Weeks ago, they did try leaving her at home, but her little whine and pout was enough for Ilya to cave. 

The other players adored her as well. Shane and Ilya introduced her to them slowly so as to not overwhelm her. It took a little while for her to warm up to everyone, but pretty soon she was practically the unofficial team dog.

Which, as it turned out, came at the perfect time. 

The weeks leading up to the finals became a blur of practices, games, travel, and media obligations. They felt endless and yet too fast all at once. Through most of it, Anya’s presence became a constant as she padded through halls, curled up next to exhausted players, and occasionally demanded attention at moments of high tension.

No one seemed to mind.

The only times Anya wasn’t there with them was during the first half of the seven games between the Raiders and the Admirals. Her dads and the team had to leave Anya behind at a doggy hotel during that stretch. 

On top of winning, and racking up more points, she was the motivation for the hockey boyfriends to return home quickly.

Now, it was the seventh game of their match. The teams were tied three to three. Whatever had gotten into Scott Hunter this year, it was causing a thorn in the Raiders’ sides.

Ilya met Hunter at the center. They leaned down, sticks primed to move.

“Ready to lose?” Rozanov questioned, giving the older hockey player one of his smirks.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Scott replied, with a challenging smirk of his own.

Ilya mocked a small pout. “Too bad you are dinosaur, then. Can’t keep up.” 

Scott huffed out a laugh and responded,  Tell that to the scoreboards.” He leaned closer. “At least I don’t need help from the best player in the league.”

The smirk on Rozanov’s face began to almost turn into a sneer as the puck was dropped. And, with a simple flick of his wrist, Ilya won the face off.

By the time the first period was over, both teams had scored a goal, and both were hard earned points won from long periods of keep away and getting in other player’s faces. 

The Raiders had to thank Marleau and St. Simon on one line and Feller and Dubek on another for their part in that.

Still, the game was far from over, and the locker room was buzzing over the break.

“Fucking Vaughn keeps cheating high,” Oregon said, pointing at the board.

“Yeah, because Johansson keeps letting him,” Sebbin shot back.

“Oh, fuck off,” Johansson replied without heat.

Across the room, Ilya tossed a water bottle at his boyfriend. Shane caught it without really looking.

“Jesus Christ,” Connors said, witnessing the moment. “Is there anything you freaks can’t do?” 

Rozanov shrugged, saying, “We can find out later, after we kick New York’s ass so hard they go home crying.”

“That’s the spirit, cap!” Hammersmith called from his cubby.

Two slots over, one of the younger players stared into the floor with a slightly distant expression.

“You getting nervous, rook?” Marleau asked, lightly bumping shoulders.

“Maybe,” McKimmie said, blinking as he lifted his head. He then remembered he had a ziplock bag full of orange slices in his hand and dug one out. “A little.”

“Good,” Cliff said with a smile “Means you still have survival instincts.”

“Not that he’ll need it,” Carmichael noted smugly, standing near them. “I have a feeling that we’ve got this in the bag.”

“You better not be jinxing us right now,” Victor chided.

“Dude, relax,” Ryan said, putting his hands up in light surrender.

“Hey, Scott,” Shane said as he came in and blocked the Admiral captain’s path.

“Hey, Rook,” the man said warmly. 

He tried to maneuver around Hollander, but the ‘best player in the league’ stuck to him like glue, not allowing him to pass into the other side of the rink.

“Couldn’t have chosen to play for us?” Scott asked.

“Nope,” Shane said with a smile as he finally stole the puck out from under him.

“You and Roz must really like each other, then,” Hunter said as he became the chaser. 

For a brief, awful second, Shane’s brain moved faster than the game around him. His eyes had widened as he wondered about the implications of Scott’s words. 

Did he know? Were he and Ilya being obvious again, in some way?

Somehow, he found it within himself to eventually reply, “Eh, he’s tolerable.”

Then, he pushed past him and found an opening, scoring the Raider’s second goal.

By the time the final period ended, the score was tied 3-3. This, of course, meant that another twenty minutes had been added to the clock for overtime.

It was Carter Vaughn’s fault, really, not letting Rozanov get within an inch of the Admiral’s defense zone.

When the whistle called, Shane could tell how exhausted Ilya was without him having to say anything. His shoulders moved up and down in a steadying rhythm and his eyes bore into the ice.

Shane’s own legs felt heavy in a way he usually associated with practices at the start of the season. Every movement hurt a little. Every breath tasted faintly metallic.

Regardless, he skated over and tapped his stick once against Ilya’s. His boyfriend looked at him then with a silent thank you as they headed towards the center of the rink. 

Eighteen gruesome minutes later, the arena erupted so loudly Shane couldn’t hear his own gasp.

One second, the puck was loose. The next, the red light flashed behind the goalie.

The Raiders’ bench had exploded.

Just like that, they were up by a point and only a minute was left on the clock.

Shane felt the tension start to leave his body. Turning behind him, he found a small circle of teammates forming. Even their goalie had come out of his net.

The player they were surrounding? McKimmie. 

“What happened?” Hollander asked Connors as they skated toward the gathering.

Connor explained that it was McKimmie who had taken the puck when it drifted, found an opening, and took the shot. It slid past everyone at a high speed. 

“He’s taking after you, dude,” Connor finished as they reached their half of the rink.

Shane couldn’t help but smile as he moved to congratulate McKimmie as the game ended.

The Keeper of the Cup brought the massive trophy to center ice and shook Ilya’s hand. The media got multiple photos of this moment. 

Then, it was only after the Keeper was close to the wall that Ilya lifted the trophy above his head with a triumphant shout. His teammates rallied around him, crowding and cheering.

Shane appeared right at his side, an arm wrapping around him. Their foreheads touched for just a second before separating, due to the cameras. Ilya wanted to kiss him right here, in front of everyone, but the timing wasn’t right.

So instead, he handed Shane the cup. A genuine smile graced Hollander’s lips as he held it up and skated around. 

When he returned, he put the cup down and the families of the Raiders were allowed onto the ice. A mix of WAGs, little kids, brothers, sisters, and parents entered the rink. 

“Congratulations, honey,” Yuna said as she hugged her son. David followed closely behind her.

Ilya might have been envious if Svetlana hadn’t surprised him with a tap in his shoulder.

The locker room was a mess of champagne and sweaty players, but no one cared.

They had just won the Stanley Cup. Shane Hollander had just helped them win their second Cup in four years.

And for the first time all night, surrounded only by teammates, Ilya and Shane didn’t feel any pressure to keep their distance.

Shane barely had time to laugh before Ilya grabbed hold of him and kissed him hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs. 

The locker room thundered immediately with the cheers from their peers.

“About fucking time!” someone shouted. Helmets knocked together somewhere nearby.

Shane laughed against Ilya’s mouth before he went in for another kiss, bringing his arms around Ilya’s neck.

But the moment didn’t last forever.

Eventually, someone from media relations poked their head into the room and reminded them they still had interviews to do.

The music in Shane and Ilya’s house was loud. It was a rather eclectic mix the team had thrown together into a shared Spotify playlist. There were so many different types of songs with differing rhythms and beats that Shane had taken it upon himself to organize the dang thing. There was flow to it now, so god forbid anyone put it on shuffle. 

Currently, the song on the speakers was Thinking About Your Love by Shipworth & Turner.

Connors had challenged a few people to stay absolutely still and not dance to it while trying to goad them into doing so. The contestants so far were doing a good job, but the man could tell from their facial expressions that it was hard for them.

In the kitchen, people stood around the island, alcohol glasses in hand, talking about whatever came to mind. Shane and Ilya were there too, arms wrapped around each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Anya was sticking close, begging for the food that sat on the counter tops she could barely see.

Out in front, Cliff and Ryan had set up a ping pong table. Victor and Brad sat on the sidelines cheering and booing both players.

Hours into the party, it took nearly ten minutes for Ilya to realize that Shane was no longer in the house. He had searched through the living room, the foyer, the kitchen, but his boyfriend wasn’t among the sea of teammates.

Ilya finally found Shane on the back porch. Still holding his small glass of vodka, he opened the sliding door with one hand.

Hollander didn’t react. He just kept his gaze forward. 

“You okay,” Ilya asked as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend from behind.

Shane instinctively grabbed hold, brushing his thumb against Rozanov’s forearm.

The muffled sound of laughter and music carried through the glass behind them, softer out here beneath the cool night air.

“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s just a lot of people.”

“I could kick them out early,” Ilya suggested, kissing his shoulder.

“No, it’s okay,” Shane told him. “I just,” he paused as he let out a breath. “… need a few minutes and then I’ll be good.”

“Okay.” Ilya rested his chin on the spot he kissed. “Want me to stay with you?”

“Sure.” 

In response, Rozanov’s arms shifted and Hollander’s hold on them became loose. One arm dropped while the other snaked around Shane’s waist as the man stood shoulder to shoulder with him.

They stared out at their backyard where some of the kids were running around with Anya.

“It’s a happy overwhelm this time, I promise,” Shane told him.

“Of course, moy lyubov,” Ilya replied simply.

Hollander then turned his head so he could whisper in his ear, “Happy early birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you, solnyshko,” he responded in equal volume. His hold tightened.

Shane exhaled a long breath before admitting, “You know, I was almost expecting something bad to happen tonight.”

Ilya rubbed soothingly at Shane’s lower back.

“But it didn’t,” he reminded him.

“You’re right,” Shane sighed. “It didn’t.” 

Then, unexpectedly to Ilya, the man giggled. Rozanov let himself smile, hearing the sound. It was only for a brief moment, however, before he hummed in question.

“Anya’s trying to herd them, I think. That can’t be good.”

Ilya looked at the kids more closely, noting how close they stuck together. They were also still smiling and laughing, so they probably didn’t know what was going on as the dog ran around the bunch.

“I will stop her before she nips at their heels,” Ilya said as he reluctantly left Shane’s side and called Anya to him.

Hollander watched on fondly.

Chapter 26

Chapter Notes

Fluff and angst, the holy combo.

Also, I kind of love that Shane and Ilya’s birthdays are only a month apart (give or take a few days)

Ilya woke up to the feeling of something strange, followed by a bark. Opening his eyes, he found Anya standing over him and licking his face.

“Anya, lapochka,” he said, lightly pushing her away as he sat up. “What are you doing?” 

He then saw the bright blue sky outside the bedroom window.

“Ah,” he noted as he rubbed his eyes with one hand. The other was busy petting her. “Sweet girl, have you gone out yet?”

“Anya!” Came Shane’s voice from the hallway. He entered the bedroom with a towel in his hands and huffed. 

Ilya liked how good he looked in the Under Armour clothes he stole from him.

“You’re getting the bed all dirty,” Hollander told the dog.

Rozanov glanced down and sure enough her muddy paw prints were all over.

“Shane, is fine,” Ilya told him as he stretched. “Like we don’t get this thing dirty ourselves so often.”

“Yeah, but this is different,” his boyfriend told him, sitting close to them and moving to wipe down Anya’s paws.

“You could have woken me to go out with you,” he said.

“Yeah, but it’s your special day. You deserved to sleep in after the past few weeks.” Shane folded the towel and bent down to let it onto the floor before shifting and leaning closer until he was inches away from Ilya’s face. In between kisses, he added, “Especially… after leading us… to winning the cup.”

Ilya hummed and replied, “Well I had the best hockey player and boyfriend by my side.” 

He would have trapped Shane with his legs and flipped them over.

He was absolutely going to.

But then, Anya made an indignant noise and the men separated, amused expressions on their faces.

“Anya,” Shane lightly admonished, but couldn’t bite back the laugh.

She made another complaint.

“Okay, okay,” Ilya said, sitting up. Then, he turned to his boyfriend and asked, “Has she been fed yet?”

“No,” Shane answered. “I think she was too excited to see you.”

“Ah, papa’s girl through and through.” He patted her head as he got to his feet. “Shall we?”

“Yeah.” Hollander wrapped his arms around him as they walked. “Happy birthday.” He kissed him lightly on the neck.

Anya followed closely behind.

Ilya’s birthday happened only two days after the Stanley Cup win. 

The plan was to host a barbecue at their house. Originally, they were going to keep it lowkey. Yet, the house filled up faster than they expected.

Connor, Cadyn, Brad, and Ryan had insisted on coming over early to set up decorations they had. They even brought over a little birthday hat for Anya to wear. The little girl tolerated it all of four seconds before she raised a front paw to push it off.

Ilya had laughed at his teammates for that. It came out without much conscious thought.

Cliff and Victor arrived shortly after and took over the kitchen and the grill outside. The birthday guy couldn’t be the one cooking after all. Soon, the smells of grilled vegetables, ribs, sautéed fish, and a salad vinaigrette saturated the air.

Then, it wasn’t long until the house and the yard got noisier. The voices of Ilya and Shane’s, friends, teammates, and their WAGs filled the space. 

Most of them sat in the backyard around the existing patio and with a few extra chairs and tables brought out. All the presents they had brought sat forgotten in the living room.

Anya tried her best to suss out the weak link and beg them for food. With almost everyone, she rested her little head in their laps and blinked her pleading eyes at them. She was only successful with Connor, Sebbin, and McKimmie, however.

Ilya saw them give her their food, but he didn’t comment on it. His baby girl could have a few treats, after all.

Instead, he focused on the fact that his people were here.

At one point, Cliff, Ryan, Dubek, Feller, Brad and Ilya made a three-on three soccer scrimmage, using little orange cones from the garage as goal posts. 

“Okay, how are we doing this?” Dubek asked as he put the soccer ball on the ground. “Best three out of five?” He rested a foot on top of the ball and put his hands on his hips.

Cliff shrugged, saying, “Sounds good to me.” 

The others nodded.

Marleau looked to Ilya. “Birthday boy?” 

Rozanov nodded. “No, is good. We will smoke you in no time,” He said with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Just because it’s your birthday, Roz,” Carmichael stated as he stretched. “That doesn’t mean we’ll go easy on you.” 

Brad kicked lightly at the grass below him and jested, “Soccer’s a totally different sport than what we’re used to. We’d understand if you couldn’t keep up. You could get lucky, though.”

Ilya laughed and repeated, “Lucky? We will see.”

For a while, there was only movement: Grass flattened under shoes; players pushed each other around; the ball rolled this way and that.

By the time the last match ended in a burst of shouting and someone collapsing onto the grass, Ilya was breathing harder than he expected and smiling without thinking about it.

It all felt too easy, which made him suspicious, but only for a second.

“Guess I didn’t need luck, then,” Rozanov said breathlessly as he sat down.

“Fuck you, man,” Brad responded, lying on the ground.

“No, sorry, I’m taken,” Ilya joked.

Someone chuckled at that, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he turned to look for Shane.

The man was supposed to be camped out with his and Ilya’s drinks, food and chairs. Yet, Shane’s chair was empty and their food and drinks were unattended. He had slipped away again.

So, he sighed and said, “I need to go check on something.”

He didn’t waste much time waiting to hear their reactions. He just wanted to find his lyubov.

Shane, of course, was inside, cleaning up the kitchen when he didn’t actually have to.

Today was the happiest Ilya genuinely looked in a while. Shane sometimes wasn’t good at interpreting emotions and body language, but he felt like he could tell when Ilya was faking being happy. 

Today, thankfully, did not seem to be one of those days.

Maybe it was the fact that the therapy was helping. Maybe it was the party. Maybe it was because he was still riding the high of winning the championship. It could be all of those things mixed together or even a secret fourth thing.

Either way, he was grateful seeing Ilya so relaxed.

Shane just wished he could be right there with him. He wished he could feel like all this good could last.

“Shanezhka,” came Ilya’s voice from behind him. He wrapped his arms around him. “We need to stop meeting like this.”

Shane smiled, despite himself. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said as he continued to wipe down the counters while being partially restrained. “Some… complicated emotions just invited themselves into my head.”

“Tell them to go away so you can come back outside,” Ilya said, giving him a squeeze.

“I’m trying.”

“Good.” His hold became tighter as he kissed Shane’s hair. “I could give you some assistance?”

“It’s your day, Ilya,” he said solemnly. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

He could feel Ilya frown against his skin. “Does not stop me from doing so. You should try to relax.”

“I know.” He kept moving the sponge against the granite.

“We can sit here for one song? Or a few? Then I go back out with you?” The suggestions were made against his skin.

Now, it was Shane’s turn to frown. 

It would be easy, but he didn’t want to dampen things more than he already had.

So, he made his decision by saying, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

It took a second, but his boyfriend eventually let go.

“Will hold you to this,” Ilya told him before he went back out there.

Standing there alone, Shane took in a few deep, slow breaths, and closed his eyes, applying a small amount of grounding pressure to his wrist by squeezing it.

After several seconds, he put the sponge down and wandered back outside.

When Ilya walked outside, all he wanted to do was march right back in. Screw the party and the guests they were hosting. The love of his life was struggling.

And yet, Shane asked for a minute. He should respect that. He should go back to his teammates: people who loved and accepted both of them; people who wouldn’t bat an eye if Ilya wanted to hold, kiss, or look at Shane the way they do their wives. 

Walking up to the seats he and Shane had left, McKimmie, Connor, and Cadyn were still there, talking about the Guardians of the Galaxy movie that came out last month.

Anya stared up at them, hoping for barbecue.

Ilya sat down and his dog immediately placed her head in his lap. He gave her some head scratches and she leaned away, lightly barking at him. Then, she glanced over at the plates of ribs and corn on the cob.

It didn’t take much for him to give in by saying, “Maybe you get one more piece of rib, but only after we are finished, da?”

“She has her own food, you know,” Shane said as he rejoined them. “And too much heavily seasoned things might not be good for her stomach.”

“But, lyubov,” Ilya said. “She looks so sad.”

“Her dinner’s in, like, an hour.”

“One treat wouldn’t hurt.”

Shane sighed and playfully rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He said it almost like he wasn’t happy about it, but there was a much lighter layer underneath.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya muttered, reaching for his hand.

“J’taime,” Shane responded in equal volume as he did the same.

That’s when Brad walked to the center of the backyard with his arms out, holding two ping pong balls and some red plastic solo cups.

“Who wants to play some beer pong?” He asked loudly. Many of the team cheered and whopped.

With a smile, Ilya turned to Shane, who shrugged. So, Rozanov stood, extending a hand for Hollander to take. They wandered over to where Feller and Dubek were wheeling out the ping pong table.

That night, despite the excitement of the day and what they got up to after everyone had left, Shane was having a hard time falling asleep.

He turned over to face his boyfriend who looked just about ready to pass out. 

“Hey,” Shane said gently, resting the side of his face in his hand against the pillow. 

“Mm?” Was all Ilya said as he shifted awake, opening his eyes.

“Do you think therapy’s really helping you?” He asked.

“For now, it is, yes,” Ilya replied. He then sat up a bit, bracing his weight against his elbow and looking down at him. “Why?”

“Just thinking.”

“All you do is think, moy lyubov,” he said as he cupped his cheek. 

“I know,” Shane replied, frowning a little. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Ilya moved his arm and fell back onto the bed completely. 

“Would you… go see someone?” He guessed.

“Maybe,” Shane responded. “I don’t know yet.”

“Would be good for you, probably,” Ilya said as he snuggled closer. Then, he closed his eyes and sighed. “But stop thinking now. Sleep only.”

“I will,” his boyfriend told him. “Sorry if I ruined your party.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, solnyshko,” he said as he kissed him on the cheek. “I promise.”

when Shane didn’t immediately respond, he continued, “I’m serious, lyubov.”

“Okay,” Hollander eventually allowed himself to say. “Was it a good birthday though?”

“Yes. Wonderful. Now sleep, malysh.”

Hearing that, Shane finally relaxed against him.

Chapter End Notes

Also, yes, I increased the cap again. This is what happens when you’re a gardening kind of writer and not an architect. I promise there’s a plan. I just really want to take the time and care this story deserves.

And, please, Shanebug, go to therapy.

Chapter 27

Chapter Notes

This is…

My longest chapter here yet????

Also, don’t worry guys. I gently placed the brick in front of you this time.

Also also, Anya was placed in her doggy hotel the day before this chapter begins. That’s why she’s not present.

Shane was making breakfast when he heard his phone ping with a notification. He turned the stove heat down and raised his device to his face.

Mom: Have you seen this?

Right after that text was a link to Scott Hunter’s Instagram.

Shane’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t been on that app for weeks.

When he clicked on the link, he saw a photo carousel of Scott embracing, holding hands with, kissing and even just sitting near another man. They’re smiling in these photos.

They looked so genuinely happy it made a knot form in Shane’s stomach.

Then, he read the post’s text.

“While I did not bring home a cup for New York this season, and I am bummed about that, I could also not be happier. 

Kip, you have been my rock, my world, for the past several years of my life. I love you in ways too profound for this app.

My only regret is not kissing you on the ice.”

Shane’s mouth hung open as he reread the passage and looked at the photos again. His eyes were wide. His heart hammered in his chest. 

Shane blinked and he took in a breath, giving air to lungs that had been holding on for the past few seconds. He made his way to the bedroom, but then doubled back to turn the stove off.

When he finally did make it upstairs, his boyfriend was rubbing his eyes and stretching. Anya laid near him with her head on one of his legs.

“Ilya,” Shane said breathlessly as he practically hopped back onto the sheets.

“What? What is it?” Rozanov asked, giving him a look.

Shane shoved his phone in Ilya’s face and the man took it from him. Hollander watched as his boyfriend’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open.

“Shane,” Ilya said, voice wavering.

“I know,” he replied in a register barely above a whisper. Tears were threatening to fall.

His boyfriend grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him down, locking him in an embrace. They kissed like they needed each other to breathe; like they could taste the promises of the future on each other’s tongues. And when they finally separated, they touched their foreheads together.

“One day,” Shane muttered.

When Ilya would be safe. When both of them would be ready to face the world together.

“One day,” Ilya repeated.

They laid there for only a few more minutes before they absolutely had to get up.

The two of them had to be on a plane in three hours. Worse than that, they were going to be in Vegas in just under six hours after that.

So, they swallowed up everything they wanted to say and bottled it within them as they left. 

The concierge looked apologetic when she handed them the keys. The duo gave her tight-lipped smiles, but they were giddy on the inside.

Their rooms, thankfully, were right next to each other. They were the kind that were joined by a single door in the middle of their rooms that either could open.

The two of them jokingly opened up their separate rooms, but as soon as their doors into the hall were closed, Ilya rushed into Shane’s space.

When they kissed, it was only with the intention of closeness. It was slow and lazy. All Shane wanted to do was crawl inside and make a home in Ilya’s ribs. 

He imagined his boyfriend wanted something similar.

The welcoming party was held in the hotel’s event space. There were bars set up in the corners and waiters walking around with food. Nominees, their partners, some coaches, as well as MLH leadership and officials were attending. It was a three hour event. 

Shane wanted to scream. He wanted to hide away. Both he and Ilya were contractually obligated to be there, however, as nominees themselves. Ilya stuck close to him for the most part, but eventually left his side to get them drinks. 

While he was gone, Shane parked himself at one of the tables, keeping his head down.

That’s when he heard things being set down next to him. When Hollander looked up, he saw a woman taking out a make up mirror and lip gloss.

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she looked at him. “I can move.”

But, Shane simply shrugged and said, “Oh, you’re fine.”

The woman smiled a little at this and continued fixing her make up. Then, she blinked and looked at him again.

“Oh, my god, you’re Shane Hollander,” she acknowledged, eyes wide. “Sorry again. I don’t know how I didn’t notice-“

“Really, it’s fine,” he told her, shaking his head a little. 

“You played an amazing rest of your season, by the way. I don’t know what Montreal was thinking, giving you away like that.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is what it is.”  

“There you are, Kaylee. She’s not bothering you too much, I hope,” a new voice said as he walked up to them, putting an arm around the woman.

She smiled at his movement, saying, “Hi, baby.”

He gave her a similar look and muttered, “hi.”

Shane realized she must be his WAG.

He also recognized the man as a hockey player for San Jose (Mason… something? Maybe?), nominated for the James Norris Memorial Trophy. He leaned lightly over the table and smelled faintly of cologne and champagne.

“No,” Shane stated. “Not at all.”

The conversation lulled for only a second before it switched topics.

“And, what is a guy like you doing here all by himself?” Mason asked. 

Kill him now, Shane thought.

“A guy like me?” He asked. 

“Oh, you know,” the defenseman said with a flippant hand. “One of the big leagues.”

Right, because everyone who’s ‘at the top’ is the same. 

“Did you come here with anyone at least?” 

Shane shrugged. “No, not really. Just a teammate.”

“That’s right,” the man said, nodding slowly. “I did see Rozanov in the crowd somewhere.” He paused. “You know, I always thought the whole ‘rivalry’ thing was a bit overblown. It’s good that you both got to squash that a little.”

“Yeah, it is,” Shane agreed.

“And these things are always easier when you’re with someone, anyway,” the defenseman continued. “My first one of these, I came alone and spent half the night hiding near the bar.”

“You were terrified,” Kaylee laughed.

“I was twenty-two and intimidated,” Mason defended. “Everybody here looked so famous.”

Shane smiled politely, though something uncomfortable twisted in his chest.

“Now?” The defenseman continued. “It’s actually fun. Makes these things less exhausting.”

Shane huffed out a small laugh at this.

Meanwhile, as Ilya approached the open bar, he couldn’t help but overhear a conversation from his peers.

“Can you believe him?” A defenseman from Colorado inquired. “Right before the awards?”

“Yeah, Scott is not the type to do things half way, man,” a winger from Pittsburgh responded.

“Could you imagine, though?” Minneapolis’ goalie asked. “Holding onto something like that your entire career until now? That’s almost 10 years and the guy hasn’t even retired yet.”

Ilya’s heart stung at that. He tried not to pay them any mind as he got himself a vodka, and Shane a ginger ale. Yet, the universe had other plans.

“Hey, Roz?” the Colorado defenseman addressed, having finally noticed him. “Isn’t this insane?”

The bartender handed him the beverages he ordered and Ilya shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said as he turned to meet the other hockey players. “But is none of our business. He’s gay, so what? That dinosaur almost gave me, eh, what is the expression? A run for my money?” He lightly waved one of his hands dismissively and huffed, “Anyway.”

Ilya pushed past them then, weaving through the crowd to get back to Shane.

When he got there, he found him talking to one of the defensemen from San Jose and a woman who was probably his WAG.

He walked up to them and placed the ginger ale on the table. 

“Here you go,” Ilya said. “Boring drink for boring Canadian.”

Shane gave him a thankful expression as he reached to open it. Ilya took a sip of his vodka.

“There he is,” the defenseman said as he turned to Ilya. “We were just talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Rozanov commented into his glass.

Shane’s fingers brushed briefly against the side of Ilya’s hand beneath the table before pulling away.

Inwardly, he sighed.

This was already turning out to be a long three hours.

That night, Shane found himself scrolling through his socials. He was more than a little paranoid that there was a negative reaction to Scott’s coming out. 

And, he was right. Hashtags like “NotMyCaptain,” and “KeepSexualityOutOfHockey,” were being used by every homophobic asshole claiming to be a fan of the sport. What was worse, was that the League’s official, accounts weren’t giving any sort of comment at all. No matter how many times he refreshed the pages, there was just silence on the subject.

However, there was also some good. Scratch that, a lot of good. Every New York Admirals team account, as well as individual players, had voiced support for their captain. Many people who hadn’t previously been interested in hockey were talking about it, calling out the league’s homophobia. A lot of young, queer athletes were showing their support and sharing their own queerness.

And then, there was something else entirely.

Ilya, who had been sitting beside him, and frowning, smiling, cursing, or laughing, at everything he saw on the internet, lightly called Shane’s name just before sending him links to two particular posts. 

Hollander clicked on them to find this:

Retired players, Eric Bennett from the Admirals, and Ryan Price from the Guardians had made similar posts to Scott within the past hours. Bennett had some photos of himself with a guy named Kyle while Price was depicted dancing with, embracing, and kissing musician Fabian Salah.

A small, startled, “Oh,” escaped his lips as he looked through them.

“Is amazing, yes?” his boyfriend asked. Then, he mused, “Fabian Salah. Did not think he had it in him.”

Shane found it within himself to chuckle and shake his head at this. Then, he started looking through all the comments on those posts. 

“Would you want to do something like this?” Ilya inquired, putting his phone down. “When we eventually do this.”

When, he said. Not if. 

The word scrambled his brain. Realistically, he knew it would probably happen like this. They’d make some big announcement and people will react how they will.

And yet….

Coming out to the rest of the world. The entire world?

Right now, that was the most daunting concept he had ever considered.

“Maybe, yeah,” he said absentmindedly as his eyes bore holes into the sheets. 

A few… seconds? Minutes?... later, Hollander felt a hand rest itself on his shoulder.

“You are radiating anxiety again, malysh,” his boyfriend informed him, sitting up and leaning closer.

Shane’s eyes widened a fraction as they focused back in on the situation at hand. “Hmm?” He briefly caught a glimpse of Ilya’s concerned face. “Oh, sorry, it’s just… it almost doesn’t feel real, you know?”

“I know,” Ilya said softly, raising a hand to rub his back. He leaned forward and placed a gentle, comforting kiss on his shoulder. “Will you be okay tomorrow? We don’t have to stay at after party long.”

“Will you?” Shane inquired. “Be okay, I mean.”

“Mm, yes, I think so,” Rozanov stated as he kissed his boyfriend’s shoulder again. “And then we will come right back up here and forget everything else exists.”

“Yeah…” Hollander exhaled.

The actual award ceremony, aside from the red carpet beforehand, wasn’t entirely long. There was definitely more socializing and hanging around a crowd than Shane was equipped for, especially after the past 24 hours, but they’ve been through this many times before.

What was one more?

Shane and Ilya were nominated for a few different awards each this year, but, they were about five trophies and several minutes into the program before either of them won anything.

“…And the winner of this year’s Conn Smythe Trophy is… Ilya Rozanov.”

Ilya Rozanov was, according to the Professional Hockey Writers’ Association, the most valuable player for his team in the playoffs.

Shane looked at his boyfriend and smiled. The urge to kiss him instead was so strong, but he held himself back. 

Ilya had a smile of his own. He discreetly squeezed Shane’s hand and mouthed, “Love you,” before getting up and walking to the stage.

Ilya’s speech at the podium started with his usual quips and chirps, earning laughs, before getting more sincere. He thanked his coach, his team, and the fans before taking a small pause.

Afterwards, he said words that made Shane’s chest tighten.

“And, I would like to thank my rival turned teammate Shane Hollander. Even though we are no longer facing off against each other, he still pushed me to be the best hockey player I could be. I would not be standing here otherwise.”

And Shane hung onto every word. Everyone else would simply dismiss these as sports rhetoric, but Hollander felt the underlying love within them.

There was more Ilya wanted to say on the subject. So much more. And, maybe he could have. It was slow, but he could see it: the league and its surrounding culture had begun to change. 

Then, he thought about how unfair it would be to Shane. After all, they hadn’t discussed doing something like that. 

So, Ilya ended it there and walked back to his seat, hearing everyone clap. 

Then, four awards later, Shane was announced as the winner of the Art Ross trophy: an annual award given to the player who leads the league in scoring points at the end of the regular season.

Hollander felt Ilya squeeze his knee beneath the table. He gave the man a look he hoped would convey everything he wanted to say. Then, he stood on unsteady legs and made his way to the podium.

True to their words, Shane and Ilya did not stay in the after party for long. They were there for forty minutes tops before retreating to one of their rooms and no longer keeping their hands away from each other.

Now, they were tangled together beneath the sheets, cuddled up against the pillows. Shane’s head rested against Ilya’s chest. His tan arm reached across to wrap itself around his boyfriend’s torso. Pale fingers weaved through dark, thick, hair. 

They lay there content, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort.

Then, Shane released a small, thoughtful, “huh.”

“What is it, lyubov?” Ilya asked, looking down at him fondly.

“I was thinking how different it’d be right now if I didn’t sign with the Raiders.”

Ilya pursed his lips and hummed before remarking, “A very tragic thing.”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “Maybe I could have gone to Ottawa.”

The blond huffed, amused. “But they’re terrible.”

“But I could probably still lead them to the cup,” Hollander stated.

“Oh, would you?” Ilya teased. “In just one season?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe not one, but certainly in a few.”

“Mm, Certainly,” Rozanov repeated as he kissed Shane’s temple. Then, he moved his hand from Hollander’s hair to cup his cheek. “Or maybe you get traded to Vancouver and I have no choice but to follow you, so far away.”

“Oh, yeah?” Shane asked, looking up at him with a grin.

“Da,” he said, shifting so he could rest his chin in his palm and get a better angle of his solnyshko’a face. “And then, after very long, successful career together we would marry and retire in Squamish with what you would call too many dogs.”

Hollander’s smile grew wider. “What, like four?”

Smirking, Rozanov shook his head. “No, more.”

That got a real laugh from him, as well as a light smack. “You wish. What about cats, huh? What if I want those instead?”

“Then I am married to Shane equivalent of crazy cat lady,” Ilya mused. “Might not be so bad.”

Shane gave him a look. “I’d only want, like, two.”

His boyfriend hummed. “You say this, and then you’d just get more and more.”

“I think you’re confusing hypothetical me with a very real you who wants me to allow more dogs in the house.”

“What if Anya is lonely?” Ilya asked, in a serious tone as he shifted again to get closer. “She should have siblings, one, at least.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

Hollander’s smile returned. “I do.” 

Shane lifted his head and Ilya met him halfway in a chaste kiss. The blond stroked his thumb lightly against Shane’s cheek. He kissed him again before settling against him, resting his head in the crook of Shane’s neck.

After a few minutes, Ilya suggested, “We could get married here.”

“What?” Hollander’s face contorted in confusion as he separated from him.

“I’m serious,” Ilya said, bracing an elbow against the pillows to sit up. “We go downstairs, find Elvis impersonator. Problem solved.”

Shane shook his head. “No, not problem solved. We’d have to-“ he blinked as he thought about it. “-find one of those churches with the big signs. And, people would see us. There are tons of people out and about in Vegas at night. Someone could just…” he moved a hand to emphasize his next words. “…snap a picture of us and it’d be in the tabloids by morning.”

“Okay,” Rozanov said gently as he took hold of Shane’s hands. “Okay.” His thumb moved to soothe his knuckles. “If you’re really worried about it, then we won’t go. But…” he tilted his head and gave a small, reassuring smile. “I do want to marry you.”

Shane’s mouth hung open for a second. The corners slowly curled into a smile of his own.

“I want that too,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Their flight back to Boston was thankfully later in the morning than the flight out. However, that didn’t change the fact that Ilya fell asleep on Shane’s shoulder within minutes after they reached cruising altitude.

Shane didn’t mind, however, watching clouds outside the windows for a long time before intertwining their fingers beneath the blanket draped over their laps.

He did mind the queasy thoughts his brain supplied, telling him that this newfound hope he had for a future wouldn’t last. He told himself over and over that it could, that it was possible, that he didn’t need this kind of negative  mindset anymore. 

And he hoped he was right.

Chapter 28

Chapter Notes

Yippee Shanya finally made it into the office.

Shane arrived early for this appointment. He was early and dressed in his usual comfort clothes: the blue button up and khaki pants. He stood stiffly in the waiting room outside the office. And when the therapist finally came out, the man was warm, friendly, and inviting.

Of course he was, Shane thought. He probably needed to be.

The stiffness in his posture continued as they sat down and Hollander almost wondered how long the man would notice.

As it turned out, it wasn’t long.

“You seem tense,” Dr. Toby Frome noted as he sat down. “Are you comfortable telling me why?”

“I don’t think I’ll be good at this,” Shane admitted. His thumbnail scraped lightly against the seam of his pants. 

“At what?” 

“This.” Hollander gestured back and forth between them. “Talking about…” his shoulders raised in a slight shrug. “… things…” he shifted, leaning an elbow against the armrest of the couch. “But I also don’t think I can keep doing what I’ve been doing.”

Toby inclined his head at this information. “What have you been doing?”

Shane shook his head as he explained, “I don’t know, just thinking through everything and not really telling people, uh… bottling things up, I guess.” He didn’t sound very sure.

“Internalizing it all?” The therapist guessed.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Sure.”

The therapist nodded. “Is the talking part something you want to work on?” 

“Maybe.” Shane shifted again, sitting up straighter and gathering his hands in his lap. “I mean, I am a good speaker. I usually know what to say to the public, but…”

“When it’s a private, or perhaps intimate interaction, it’s different?”

“It can be. Depending on the topic.”

“Okay. We can definitely work on that.” Dr. Frome said as he checked his notes. “You were very thorough with your intake form.”

Hollander’s eyes squinted and his brows furrowed. “Is- is that-“

“It’s good,” he said with a hand out. “Trust me. It is.” The hand retreated back to the notebook. “It’s clear you’ve put a lot of care into this.”

“Yeah, uh…” Shane blinked a few times and started twiddling his thumbs. Then, he cleared his throat. “My…with everything that’s happened recently, I, uh…” he waved his hand about as he thought of the words. “I can’t keep waiting until things get bad again before I deal with them. And with my boyfriend working on his own problems, me doing the same was the least I could do.”

“Everything that’s happened?” Toby parroted, making an encouraging expression.

Shane blinked, realizing there wasn’t entirely a simple way to explain any of this. He glanced away for a moment, wondering how much he wanted to talk about.

Then, he asked, “Do you follow hockey at all?”

The brunette man half frowned and half pursed his lips. “Can’t say that I do. All I really know is what’s going on with Scott Hunter and that, uh,” he gestured toward him. “You used to play for a Canadian team, is that right?”

“Yeah,” Shane huffed. “Montreal.” He said the city’s name almost wistfully, and he wished that he hadn’t. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” the therapist commented in a neutral tone, already writing things down in his notebook.

Hollander crossed his arms and said in a way that almost felt like PR speech, “It… wasn’t a good departure.”

Dr. Frome nodded and patiently waited for him to continue. Except, Shane found that he couldn’t. At least, not right away. His throat felt tight and every complicated emotion he’d ever felt about the subject started flooding in. Then, he looked Frome’s way and widened his eyes, feeling guilty that he hadn’t said anything for what felt like the past five minutes.

“Take your time,” the therapist said, and Shane found himself grateful for that.

He started by talking about Rose and how dating her made him realize that he was gay. Shane waited for the discomfort he’d learned to anticipate, when he shared this, but it never came. So, he kept going, telling him about coming out to the Metros and their negative reactions, and about calling his situationship-at-the-time. 

“And somewhat recently,” Shane added, tilting his head as he thought about the timeline. “Er, weeks ago, really.” The man moved one of his hands up to scratch an itch on his cheek before letting both arms fall to his sides. “He told me something about that day that I knew I did, but never actually addressed for myself.”

“Which is?” Dr. Frome prompted.

Shane’s lips formed a thin line and he leaned forward before he spoke. “Ilya- he…” Hollander flexed his hand for a moment as his eyes briefly darted to the ceiling. “…has said that I make things easier for other people.” He shrugged, looking towards Dr. Frome again. “I pander, make others comfortable before me. He was… very concerned about it, really. Um…”

The therapist nodded and then waited for him to continue.

“And the reason I gave,” Shane continued cautiously. “Was that, I had to. Growing up as a person of color on the spectrum was not, uh, entirely easy, to say the least; especially when the world doesn’t entirely accept you. Some of that’s, um, on the forms, I think.”

“They are,” Dr. Frome said with a slow nod as he checked his notes again. “It seems like you learned a particular way to survive socially.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in Shane’s chest. He huffed and looked away.

Then, he told him, “Sounds dramatic when you say it like that.”

The therapist chuckled. “I suppose it would. But this is your normal?”

Shane nodded unhurriedly, not sure where the man was going with this. His brows squinted and his eyes found their way into his lap as he tried to silently figure it out.

“Even when it hurts you.” 

That made him look up. He wanted to answer, but a few things stood in his way. His mouth felt dry when he opened it again, his chest felt heavier, and his brain a little foggier.

The ticking wall clock suddenly felt too loud.

Dr. Frome didn’t interrupt the silence right away. But when he did, he said Shane’s name first, and the hockey player’s eyes focused back on him.

Then, the therapist said carefully, “I don’t think accommodating others is automatically unhealthy. The concern is whether you know where you begin or end in those situations. Whether you can comfortably set boundaries.”

The hockey player’s jaw set, but he found it within himself to nod again. 

Dr. Frome wrote something else down in his notebook.

“Okay,” Toby exhaled, putting the pen down and gathering his hands in his lap. “How’s it going with your new team?”

“Well,” Shane said as he crossed his legs. “Not many people know this, especially not the greater public, so you definitely wouldn’t have heard, but… My boyfriend, Ilya, is Ilya Rozanov, the captain of my team.”

Understanding dawned on the therapist’s face. An “Uh huh,” left his mouth with a smile as he wrote that down. 

“And, uh,” Hollander crossed his arms again. “He’s really helped me see how welcoming the Raiders are. I was very on edge, I guess. When I first got here.” He nodded to himself and jerked his head to the side almost as a shrug. “Still am, sometimes. But, they’re good people. We came out to them the day of the first playoff game.”

“A bold choice,” Dr. Frome said, brows lifting slightly.

“Ilya and I wanted to move into the final parts of our season without having to hide from some of the closest people to us.”

“Understandable,” he said, leaning forward and moving an arm in a noncommittal gesture. “And well, here you are with another… Stanley Cup under your belt, right? How does that feel?”

“Good, uh…” the smallest smile crept up his lips as he sat up straighter and unfolded his arms. “Winning the championship is always an amazing feeling.” He clasped his hands together. “This year, I guess it was a little… extra sweet?”

Dr. Toby gave him an encouraging look. “In what ways?”

“Well, the Metros didn’t even make it into the playoffs, so, I guess I got my, uh,” he lifted his fingers briefly to do air quotes. “‘Revenge.’ And it’s actually been really nice playing on the same team as Ilya.”

“I’ll bet.”

Shane kept his smile for a few seconds before it dissolved into something more comfortably neutral. Meanwhile, Dr. Frome was checking his notes again.

“Now,” the therapist began. “Scott Hunter’s coming out. Has that affected you all? I mean, it seems like it’s a pretty big deal. As far as I could tell, there weren’t any other out players.”

Shane swallowed and nodded silently before beginning to explain, “Um, no, you’re right. There aren’t. And, uh, I mean…” the ghost of a smile reappeared. “It gives me hope, I guess, for the future, and for the world of hockey, but it also… it scares me, in a way. I don’t know what to do with the feeling that things are possible now. And, I don’t trust all this good to last. I don’t- I can’t even relax.”

“Because of everything that’s happened to you?”

Shane shrugged. “I haven’t really been able to relax since before All Stars. And, even when I somehow manage to, it never lasts.”

Dr. Frome nodded slowly. “You’ve been hypervigilant for so long you don’t know how not to be?”

The hockey player blinked. His fingers tightened together in his lap.

“That,” Shane muttered with a huff. “…pretty much sums everything up.”

“Well, playing a sport that’s historically dominated by white, neurotypical, heteronormativity can’t make things easy.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It really doesn’t. I have to have this near-perfect image, and I have to work twice as hard as everyone else just to make people believe I belong there.”

“And that puts you under quite a lot of stress, I imagine.”

“More than that, it feels like,” Shane said with a reluctant nod.

The therapist wrote that down and stared at his notes for a second.

“And this level of control, while necessary for the time being, it can be exhausting?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Shane confirmed quietly, fidgeting with his fingers again. “But it’s not as though it’s constant - not anymore. I mean, it’s easy to just be myself around Ilya and it’s getting easier with the team.”

“What is it about those people, those environments that makes it easier?”

“Now that I’m closer to them, more comfortable…” he squeezed the space in his hand between his palm and his thumb. “I feel less pressure to perform, but…” his lips pursed and he huffed through his nose. “What if…” he paused. “Like with the people-pleasing stuff, I can’t turn it off all the way? What if I don’t actually know how to be any different?”

“You don’t have to turn it off all at once,” Dr. Frome informed. “Most learned responses don’t work that way. But what you can do is take a pause, forgive yourself, and try to replace it with something positive. Think of the good in the situation. Take up space without apologizing for it. Let yourself exist in moments without shrinking first.” 

“That… sounds like a lot,” Shane told him.

He held out a hand. “You don’t have to do all of those things right away. You can just start with one-“ he turned the hand over so the palm faced upward and started raising it-“ and then work your way up.” Dr. Frome paused, letting himself readjust as his arm went back to his lap. “How does that sound?”

“Okay, I guess.”  Hollander still sounded unsure. “Weird.”

“It’ll take some time to get used to, to be sure.”

Shane found himself nodding as he once again tried to do mental math on the subject. Then, for the final time during the session, his lips curled upwards as a different thought came to him.

“You know,” he remarked. “I didn’t think I would talk this much.”

Dr. Frome inclined his head and smiled, asking “In a good or bad way?”

“Good, probably.” His shoulders lifted, unsure.

“Glad to hear it.”

The session ended soon after that.

When Shane got home, he immediately went to his boyfriend and hugged him. It was done slightly awkwardly, as the man was sitting on the couch and all Shane could do was practically dive into him, settling his head in his lap, and plopping the rest of his body onto the other cushions. 

Ilya didn’t move right away, but when he did, it was to reciprocate the action. One hand went to Shane’s back while the other moved through his hair.

“Lyubimyy,” he said. “Is this a sign that it went well or no?”

Didn’t this man know how complex first sessions could be?

“I just want cuddles,” the dark haired man informed the blond before requesting, “Can we talk about it later? My brain feels weird.”

It was fuzzy in a way he recognized was familiar after a high volume of interactions through interviews and photo shoots, and yet, it also felt… more.

Somehow, it was more emotionally draining when there was no real script that existed for honesty. 

There was some hesitation, but eventually, Ilya replied, “Sure, sweetheart.”

The sound of the rarely used pet name delighted him. It distracted his brain for all of a half a second before everything else rushed back in. He squeezed his boyfriend tighter in appreciation. 

Anya barked before hopping onto the couch and squeezing in beside them.

“Hi, girl,” Shane greeted tiredly.

The dark-haired man felt her tongue lick his skin. He didn’t move away.

They stayed that way for the next several minutes. 

“J’taime, Ilya,” he muttered into Ilya’s clothes.

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, Shanya,” the man replied.

Chapter 29

Chapter Notes

Not me giving you guys another long chapter.

Anyways-

This one is just full of softness, and logistics.

Shane and Ilya had gotten lazy about getting out of bed today. The sun shone through their windows, but the two of them were not budging.

Sure, they got up earlier to grab coffee, let Anya out into the yard and feed her. But then the duo got right back into bed, taking their coffee with them. 

It wasn’t until Anya gave them a talking-to that they got to their feet again and changed into something more athletic. She was not done for the day, and she wanted it known.

Ilya was quick to grab her harness, leash, and a ball. Meanwhile, Shane retrieved their running shoes. 

Together, the three of them ran to their neighborhood park. It was teeming with activity today on account of the nice weather. Kids were out with their parents and pets. Picnics and summer sports practices were being held. There was even a little field hockey scrimmage going on between kids ranging from twelve to fifteen.

As soon as Ilya unclipped their dog from her harness and got out the ball, Anya was yards away, waiting for him to throw the small yellow object. When he did, she kept her head angled up as she chased after it.

Shane stood close by with his hands on his hips, observing everything, feeling some kind of brightness in his chest. 

Anya soon returned with her ball and dropped it at her papa’s feet. Ilya leaned down to pick it up, but then turned towards Shane.

“You want to throw one?” He asked.

Hollander stared at it a little skeptically at first. Then he huffed out an amused breath and smiled to himself.

“Sure,” the dark-haired man said as he approached, taking the ball from his hands. “You ready girl?” He asked Anya.

She barked and started backing away, only sprinting when Shane had let the ball fly out of his fingers.

The Aussie shepherd got to it fairly quickly, but right as she was going to return to her humans, a second, smaller ball landed a few feet away from her. And really, what could she do other than dip down and try to fit that into her mouth too?

The only problem, however, was that the ball belonged to the scrimmaging teenagers. 

Anya was now laying down as she attempted to complete her task while one of the older boys had approached her. Then, he gently crouched beside her like he was trying to do this in the politest way possible. 

“I’ll get her,” Ilya huffed as he jogged out to the scene.

Shane watched as his boyfriend reached them and knelt down with his hand out. It took a few tries, but eventually, the man was able to retrieve the little white ball from his fur baby. 

Then, the two humans stood. The teenager had to look up at him. That’s when something must have shifted, because their body language looked much more relaxed. 

And, just when Shane hoped Ilya would step away, the kid was dragging him, and thus Anya with him towards his friends.

Hollander had to laugh and shake his head at this, but it wasn’t long before he found himself walking over to them. When he got there, it was just as expected: chaotic. 

They were all gathered around him and interrupting each other.

“How fast is your slapshot, like, actually?” One of the younger ones asked.

“Can you beat Hollander in a race?” Another one asked.

“Did you really break that Metro guy’s nose?” The youngest-looking one inquired.

“I did not,” Ilya defended. Beside him, Anya sat, staring up at the yellow ball in his hand.

“He literally did,” the first one informed him. “The commentators said so.”

“Okay,” Rozanov allowed, moving his hands almost to surrender. “Maybe I did,” then he gestured to them. “But don’t believe everything they say, okay?”

“Why not?” 

Ilya was about to answer the little blond boy when a different one approached him.

“Can we get a picture?” He asked excitedly.

“Dude, don’t be weird!” One of the older ones said, pulling the younger one back. They had the same type of messy brown hair. 

“I’m not being weird!” 

“Maybe not, but he’s in the middle of a conversation.”

“Sorry.” The younger one looked down at the grass dejectedly.

Watching them, it dawned on Shane how good the man was with kids. Attentive, fun, but still giving advice? Yeah, Ilya would be a great dad, or coach, or mentor.

Though, of course, while Shane’s just standing there and observing them, that’s when one of the older, darker-haired ones finally noticed that he had walked up to them. 

He whisper-yelled to another, “Oh, my god, dude. Dude, look!”

“Holy shit.” The brunet beside him exhaled.

One of the kids smacked another’s arm as he said, “Dude, that’s Shane Hollander.”

“I know who Shane Hollander is!” The smacked individual responded. 

Shane huffed out a quiet laugh and said, “Hi.”

And somehow, before he even realized what was happening, he was being pulled into the conversation too.

Shane looked over to Ilya, but the man was already laughing.

Several hours later, they were already in bed. It was well past midnight. One would think that Shane Hollander would be fast asleep by now, but no. Every now and then, he feels the bed shift and hears the sheets move.

So, after a while, Ilya finally asked, “Shanya? You’ve been shifting around since we got into bed. What’s going on, moy lyubov?”

“I’ve been thinking-“ Shane started to reply.

“Dangerous this time of night,” he quipped, groping to find and brush his fingers against his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Ilya,” he said pointedly.

“Shane,” Ilya said in equal tone.

“I love you.”

Rozanov blinked a few times, eyes widening. Why was he starting with this?

“I- I love you too, solnyshko,” Ilya replied in a way that was confident, if a little confused. “What were you thinking?”

“What if we did some kind of soft launch?”

“A what?” Ilya’s face scrunched. He heard him, and knew what it meant, but the thought of it coming from Shane’s mouth was going to take a little getting used to. 

Shane huffed out a laugh and shifted closer. “Like, announcing us. Coming out, to the public, slowly. After we’re married, of course.”

Rozanov stared at him and then deadpan parroted, “Of course.”

Hollander blinked.

“I mean, we already kind of started doing that, getting people used to the idea that we could be friends, that we hang out sometimes, and we did one of the harder parts too - like meeting each other’s family and being open with the team. Now, all that’s left is to make inconspicuous posts as if we hang out a lot, because we do.”

Ilya furrowed his brows and mouthed the unfamiliar four-syllable word. 

“Something that doesn’t stand out,” Shane defined.

Oh, okay. He understood now. Ilya sent him a thankful smile. Then, he noticed how intently his boyfriend was looking at him, for any kind of reaction to his idea.

God, his Shane was really cute when he rambled, especially when he’s passionate about the subject and wants input.

“Okay then, Einstein,” Ilya said. “You have master plan?”

“I- I guess.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if I’d call it that, but-“

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“Plan,” he prompted.

“Right.” Hollander rolled away from him and turned the lamp on his bedside table on.

Ilya squinted at the sudden presence of light, finding himself thankful that it wasn’t too strong. Then, Hollander twisted his body back to its original state: on his back, but slightly facing the blond.

“So,” Shane began, holding out his hand like he was going to move it around as he spoke while also wanting it to be held. “We get married.”

“Right,” Rozanov agreed, holding the man’s hand.

As predicted, he waved it about while still being connected to him, saying, “I sponsor a permanent residency for you and eventually your citizenship in Canada.”

“Okay.” Ilya nodded, smiling a little. Of course, his lyubov would be even cuter like this.

“I want us to be as safe as possible before we do anything else publicly.”

“Makes sense.” His smile grew wider.

“And, while we wait for that all to happen, because it’s a pretty lengthy process-“ his shoulders dropped as he thought of something. “Actually, we could start this before we get married too, now that I think about it, but anyway-“ he waved their hands dismissively.

Then, he paused, but only for a second, to really look at Ilya and smile, turning his body more onto his side. Their joined hands settled between them.

“We could make something,” Shane continued. “Like, a foundation. A) because it’ll give us even more reason to be around each other without raising suspicion; B) because creating something meaningful with you sounds really fucking nice; and C) because it’ll give us something to do when we retire.”

Ilya inclined his head from the pillow. “And what would it be for?”

Shane developed this shy look that he had sometimes; usually when he wanted something but didn’t quite know how to ask for it.

“I was thinking we could run hockey camps for kids, and all the money would go to organizations aiding in mental health, neurodivergent, and LGBTQ issues.”

If at all possible, Ilya’s smile grew even wider, ear to ear. “Yeah?” He wondered if this had anything to do with the park kids this morning. It probably did, all things considered.

“Yeah.”

“This is a beautiful idea, solnyshko.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” He leaned in and kissed him a few times while adding, “You… and your beautiful brain… will help make the world better, malysh.”

Shane giggled, smiled, and he might have given in to this showing of love, but he had more to say. So, he put a hand on his boyfriend’s chest and lightly pushed him away.

“I haven’t even finished telling you everything yet,” Shane informed him.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “Please, continue.”

“Okay, after our marriage and the foundation is underway, we post about things, but start small at first.”

Ilya pursed his lips. “Like how?”

“I don’t know, we post more about doing things together, like the foundation, or even just day to day things. At first like we’re just really good friends, and then maybe making it a little more obvious.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And then after you pass your citizenship test, we come out.” 

Ilya loved his boyfriend, but he could see something Shane couldn’t - or at least wasn’t bringing up. And, Rozanov had an idea as to why, but making sure wouldn’t hurt.

“Why not just… hard launch after everything is finalized?” He asked.

Shane averted his eyes for a few seconds as he thought of his answer.

“I think,” he stated. “In the long run, that would just make me more anxious. Like it’s a huge deadline. With us doing the soft launch, we do it in a way that feels more controlled.” Then, he started searching his eyes. “Do you not-“

Ilya hummed and said, “It’s a good plan, very good. I like it.” He leaned in to give him another kiss. Afterwards, he pressed his forehead against his boyfriend’s. 

“What brought this on, moy lyubimyy?” Ilya  questioned.

“Oh, uh, just, you know… is it moving too fast to say that I really want you to be my person, and I don’t want there to be any chance of you getting ripped away from me?”

Ilya laughed softly, saying, “Mm, no.” He reached with his free hand to caress Shane’s cheek. “We are already considering marriage, dorogoy.”

Shane’s mouth hung open. “Considering?” The man let go of his hand and then started moving away from him. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“Moy lyubimyy, wait, I’m sorry,” Rozanov pleaded, following him to the other side of the bed. And when the man finally captured and nuzzled against him, he said, “I think maybe it feels fast because we have spent so long being idiots, losing time, until Florida.” 

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “And now that we’re here…”

“Da. Can’t wait.”

Something wavered in Hollander’s expression before he ducked his head and the man’s forehead hit Ilya’s skin.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he said.

“No, Shane,” Ilya cooed, reaching to gently hold his chin and tilt his head up. “No sorries. We are both at fault, but we are fixing it, yes?”

“Yeah.”

They shared another sweet kiss before settling back against each other.

The two of them lay there for a few minutes, nestled against each other, letting time pass. Ilya knew that both of them were too awake right now to fall back asleep.

Across the room, Anya had sat up in her dog bed, sensing that her people were awake. When she and Ilya locked eyes, she started walking towards them. The pitter patter of her paws broke the silence of the room. 

Anya then made the tiniest little whine, asking to come up and join them.

Ilya looked to Shane, who surprisingly shrugged. Hollander didn’t usually like having her on the bed. Tonight, however, he felt differently.

“Come up,” Rozanov said to his dog.

She happily did, settling across their feet.

One more glance to Shane found the man smiling. 

The next day, it wasn’t until well into the afternoon when the subject was brought up again. The happy couple was in the living room. They had turned the television on to catch up on the last few episodes of this season of Survivor. 

And, when the first commercial break came, Shane took the opportunity to get themselves some snacks. He returned with chips and baby carrots and was relieved to see that the commercials were still running.

“Okay so,” Shane said, sitting down and placing their food on the table in front of them. “Adding onto last night, in order for this to work, we need to figure out where your place of permanent residency is going to be and you need to live there for a certain amount of time.”

“Right,” Ilya said, leaning forward to untie the rubber band from his chip bag. He also turned the TV’s volume down.

Anya appeared nearby, ready for food to drop to the ground.

“I’d be with you during those times, of course,” Shane continued, reaching for a carrot. “And, I still have my house in Montreal that we could use. That’s my primary residence in Montreal, so it’d be easy to just keep living there.”

“Okay.” Rozanov nodded along. “Let’s do that then.”

“But, I also have this property outside of Ottawa,” Shane went on. “And I wouldn’t mind fully moving into it and selling the Montreal house if I’m going to spend most of my time throughout the years here in Boston, anyway.”

The fact that this man was completely willing to restructure his life around permanence again made Ilya smile. Though, of course, Shane was probably also thinking about emotional logistics.

“Less things for you to manage?” The blond guessed.

“Something like that,” his boyfriend replied.

“And the, ah, Ottawa one. That’s your cottage, right?” He grinned. “Where you do yoga and be boring?” 

Shane blinked as he sputtered out, “How do you- What-“ It took a second, but he calmed down just enough to ask, “You watched that documentary?”

Ilya outstretched his arms as if to silently ask ‘can you blame me?’

Outwardly, though, he said, “I needed help sleeping, so…”

“Oh, right, sure,” Shane said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Would you sell the Ottawa place if we chose Montreal?” Ilya asked as he grabbed another chip to eat.

“Eh, not really,” he said without much thought. “It’d make a nice vacation home.”

“Oh, so you have favorite?”

“I-“ Shane said quickly like he was going to protest. Then, he thought about it. “…don’t think so??”

“Alright,” Rozanov said as he watched him. “Which would we pick, then?”

Hollander blinked. “Hmm? Oh.” He shrugged. “Whichever you want, I mean, it’ll be-“

“Is there one you’d prefer me to take?”

“Not really. They both have their pros and cons, I guess, but…” he trailed off.

Ilya leaned back and wrapped an arm around Shane’s shoulders. 

“I will go where you want me to be,” he told his boyfriend. “I will not mind. Though…” the blond jerked his head to the side. “…maybe I would prefer to not run into Hayden Pike at the grocery store.”

Shane laughed and felt the need to point out, “He wouldn’t even be in the same neighborhood.”

“No, but what about the big supermarkets?” He brought up, but then thought of something. A wolfish grin appeared on his face as he sat up. “Ooo! Or what about all the other Metro assholes?” He used his free hand to gesture to himself. “What if I see one and can’t resist the urge to punch him?”

“I’m fairly certain none of them live in my neighborhood,” Hollander informed him, trying to hide the smile creeping up his lips. “It’s one of the quieter ones.”

“Right.” Rozanov nodded. Next, he turned toward him fully and nudged his boyfriend. “And, what about your condo where you are Mr. Landlord?”

“I was thinking of selling it too, actually.” It was said in a completely serious tone.

Ilya immediately developed a fake pout. “But we have so many memories from there.”

“I literally only bought it to have a secret place where we could hook up,” Shane said with a pointed look. “I don’t know if I’d want to spend some of the rest of my life there with you, especially since we’re an actual couple now.” 

“Oh, okay, then…” he pursed his lips and sat back again, considering the options. “Maybe Ottawa.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked, a stupid smile plastering itself on his face. “Well, we don’t have to decide right away. We could do, like, a trial period?”

“A trial period?” Ilya asked with a raised brow.

“You know,” he gave a partial shrug. “Spend time at all of the properties. See how we feel.”

Ilya hummed. It did sound nice.

“Yes, okay,” he said. “I like this.”

“Good, me too,” Shane said before kissing him.

It was only when they separated that they realized Survivor was back on. Quickly, Ilya took the remote and rewound to make sure they didn’t miss anything. 

It was only forty seconds, thankfully.

The two of them reached for their snacks as the contestants of the show wandered into their next challenge. Shane’s freehand found Ilya’s and laced their fingers together. 

They were contestants in their own game of Survivor, Shane figured. They just had different stakes and challenges.

But right now, they were winning.

Chapter End Notes

They’re just so precious your honor

But also, Shane, this is the most elaborate way you could have asked this man to the cottage, haha.

Chapter 30

Chapter Notes

omg, it's been almost two weeks?? smh. My bad guys.

Uh, so anyway, have fun in Montreal, I guess.

They had six weeks before Ilya had to be in Boston to help with the Raider’s rookie training camp. Rozanov wouldn’t have minded more, but Shane was insistent he be there at least some of the time, for the team.

And who was Ilya to say no, really?

For that time, though, they decided to plan some last-minute road trips. The duo would have flown, but they didn’t like the idea of Anya flying in the cargo hold (even if the designated area for her would be temperature-controlled and pressurized). 

They got into Shane’s Montreal home by noon and planned to stay here for three weeks.

It was the first property he ever bought with his MLH money.

Looking at it now, and knowing who his boyfriend is, who he was, Ilya found himself both expecting and not expecting this: a single-story modern house with sections of white stucco, light brown bricks, moderately dark wooden siding, black accents around the windows, and dark, slanted roofs.

“My Shane, so modest,” Ilya commented with a smile as he got out of the car.

Of course, this man would be relatively frugal with something like this.

“Shut up,” his boyfriend said lovingly as he locked the vehicle. 

The front yard was decent, too. Fence, green grass, bushes, and some flowers. Anya seemed excited, her body wiggling wagging as she sniffed and explored.

“The, uh, gardeners come biweekly,” Shane explained offhandedly as they approached the door. He set his bag down to retrieve his keys from his pocket.

Inside was what could be described as millennial minimalist. White walls with not a ton of art. The only color came from the rugs and the furniture. Almost exactly like how Shane’s condo was styled, except warmer and more lived-in.

Hollander immediately left for the kitchen and made a sigh of relief when he opened the fridge. 

“Just making sure,” he said when he noticed Ilya’s head poking in from the hallway. “Groceries made it.”

The blond nodded. 

“That’s great,” he said with a smile. Then, he leaned against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. “Want to give me a house tour now?”

Shane huffed and rolled his eyes. “If you insist.”

The man grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

Unfortunately for Shane, they didn’t even make it past the living room before Ilya stopped in front of the cabinet topped with several small framed photos, most of which had simple black frames.

He picked the one depicting him and his dad with skates on, outside, surrounded by ice and snow. 

“Lyubimyy, how old were you in this?” Ilya asked with a fond grin. “You look tiny.”

The dark-haired man frowned and moved to stand beside him.

“I wasn’t that small, for my age,” Shane defended. “I was, like, five.” He shifted his weight and developed a small smile. “That was one of the first times dad took me skating.”

Ilya gave him a look. “He did not take you to a rink?”

“Oh, he did.” The man nodded, adopting a fond expression. “He just also took me out there. It’s a huge thing in Ottawa. The Rideau Canal’s probably the most popular spot for it. It was fun.”

“I can imagine,” Ilya replied, marveling at how the smile had grown into something bigger.

“Now, come on, did you want the tour or not?” Shane asked as he practically yanked his boyfriend along.

The rest of the house had comfortable furniture, art that didn’t entirely look like Shane’s taste, an office with awkwardly shelved trophies (fewer than Ilya expected to see), and a guest room that was barely ever slept in, with its bathroom a few feet away. 

And then, there was the backyard. It was pretty sizable. Not too large, but not small either. There was a small patio with seating and a fire pit and tons of grass, surrounded by a taller, more wooden fence compared to what faced the street.

Anya loved this too.

After showing him all of that, Shane finally brought him into the master bedroom. They took maybe two steps into the room before he stopped right in front of Ilya and faced him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this room is off limits to the guests,” Shane told him, trying to bite back his smile.

“Oh, that’s disappointing,” Ilya played along. “This is the best room.”

“We will do our best to accommodate you, and-“ Shane did not get to finish, as he was pushed onto the bed. He nearly laughed. “Sir, I’m just a bellboy you can’t treat the staff like this.”

Ilya climbed on top of him and replied, “I think I know how the staff likes to be treated after all these years.” He grabbed his wrists and dipped down to kiss his neck.

The neighborhood looked nice enough. Houses similar to Shane’s lined the streets. 

Anya had plenty of grass to walk on. She practically stopped every thirty seconds to inspect something, so the journey was slow going. 

Other people were out, too, tending to their gardens, having a walk of their own, reading, or talking with others. They were friendly, too.

Many of them recognized Shane, but not a whole lot of them mentioned hockey. 

Those who did said something along the lines of “Great season, Hollander!” Or, “Wow, you and Rozanov really are friends!”

Greetings like them were far outnumbered, however, with hellos like this:

“Shane! Long time no see!” Called a woman from across the street. She had her hair pulled back into a bun under a sun hat, and she wore long rubber gloves. 

Ilya only saw them when she stood up and wiped them against her apron before coming closer to her fence.

Then, she rattled off something in French that the Russian didn’t quite catch. 

“Hey, Valerie!” Shane responded, before also switching to French.

Rozanov caught his own name, as well as the words friend, and English being said.

“Oh, okay, I see,” she said. Then, she smirked. “Have you had enough of Boston yet?” It was asked in a joking tone.

It was then that Ilya realized her house looked vastly different from the ones surrounding hers. Smaller and older.

“Eh, not quite!” Shane said with a smile and a shrug.

“Oh, you will eventually,” Valerie confidently claimed. Then, she looked toward his boyfriend. “And, it’s Ilya, right? How are you liking Montreal so far?”

The man in question shrugged and answered, “Is okay. Am not used to liking this city, with hockey and everything. Though, maybe it will grow on me.”

“I’m sure it will.”

Next to them, Anya started to walk the farthest she could while still on the leash.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Valerie decided. “It’ll be evening soon, and I know you boys must eat a lot. I bet she’s hungry!”

Shane huffed out a small chuckle and shook his head.

“Sure, Valerie. Au revoir!” He said with a wave and started walking again. 

Ilya followed, giving slack to Anya’s leash.

“Au revoir!” She replied as she stepped back from her fence and went back to her garden.

“Valerie’s practically the oldest person here,” Shane informed Ilya, in a lower-toned voice. “Knows everyone. She’s pretty sweet.”

“Ah,” Ilya replied.

It wasn’t long before they rounded the corner and turned back toward the house.

The drive to McGill’s downtown Montreal campus wasn’t too bad, especially since the house was only twenty minutes away.

Once there, Shane took Ilya and Anya all around the campus, telling them where his dad’s dorm was, or where he spent the most time studying. Eventually, they ended up on a bench in one of the larger fields with coffees in their hands.

Anya sat in front of them with her usual pleading look, asking for a taste and dodging their hands whenever they moved to pet her.

“You came here often then?” Ilya asked ten minutes into sitting there.

“Sometimes,” Shane answered, nodding. He took a sip of his coffee before explaining, “Dad used to bring me here, and then, after I first got drafted, I came here a lot. When I was stressed, after a game. I always liked it here.”

Ilya studied his face for a moment before asking the follow-up, “Do you think you might have studied here if you hadn’t pursued hockey?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” his boyfriend said with a shrug. “Still would have played hockey for the school, though.”

“Ah,” Ilya said as his head inclined briefly. “Right, continue the Hollander Legacy.” He then took another sip.

Shane gave an amused huff and a shake of his head.

When Rozanov lowered the cup into his lap, he took a second to glance around.

“Is nice,” he commented. “Pretty.”

“Yeah,” Hollander agreed.

“What would you have studied?”

“What?” Shane huffed, not expecting the question.

“Come on.” Ilya lightly bumped their shoulders together. “Humor me, please.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” His face scrunched as he thought about it. “It’d probably still have something to do with sports. Like, uh, sports science or physical therapist, maybe?” He gave a little shrug as he lifted his cup to his mouth. “Probably return to Ottawa afterwards.”

“Mm.”

“What about you then?” Shane asked before taking another sip.

“Eh, I don’t know,” Ilya said, lips pursing. “I think, probably not…” he moved his free hand flippantly. “What is word? Humanities?” The man shook his head. “Weird word, by the way.”

“Okay, then what?”

“Engineering?”

Shane’s brows raised. “Really?”

“No.” Ilya replied immediately, with a chuckle. “No, eh… probably something that would disappoint my father, which is most things, but maybe I’d choose what could lead to social work or something.”

“I can see that,” his boyfriend said with a soft smile curling up.

It was a bright, sunny day in Montreal, and Shane thought he would drink some lemonade on his front porch. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t. The sweet drink had been on his Avoid list for his diet, after all.

But it was the off-season. He could have this if he wanted it, right?

After taking a sip, he set it down on the step beside him and stared out into the street. 

He couldn’t believe how much he missed afternoons like this.

Suddenly, the pitter-patter of Anya’s paws reached his ears before he could see her, and even then, it was her ball that rolled out of the house first. Anya chased after it, trying to catch her toy as it bounced down the stairs, only to resort to getting in front of it. She stopped the ball with her mouth and laid down to start chewing on it. 

Next, she let go and nudged it in Shane’s direction before standing and giving him a bark.

Hollander chuckled. “You want me to throw it, girl? Okay. Hang on.” 

The man got to his feet. It only took a few strides to reach the dog and pick up her toy. He acted as though he was going to toss it behind him, which Anya bought for all of three seconds. 

Shane smiled and muttered, “Clever,” before lightly throwing it at the fence in front of him.

She followed it and watched it bounce off the wooden surface before moving to catch it.

“Anya?” Ilya called from inside. A few seconds later, he approached the porch and opened the door wider. He made a small “ah” when he spotted their dog. 

“Having fun?” He asked as he walked up to Shane, holding his own glass of lemonade.

“Yeah,” Shane replied.

Out on the sidewalk, a little kid gasped and turned to her adult, asking, “Dad! Look. Can I go say hi?” 

“We can ask, sweetie,” her dad informed. He, his daughter, and their chocolate lab approached the front gate. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Shane said with an awkward little wave. 

“Can my daughter meet your dog?”

Shane turned to look at Ilya, who shrugged and nodded, so Hollander opened up the gate for them. 

“I’m Marc,” the dad said, shaking Shane’s hand. “This is Emmeline and this guy is moose.”

“Shane,” he introduced himself, then he jerked his head toward the porch. “That’s Ilya over there.”

Emmeline immediately ran up to Anya. Ilya strode closer, intent on supervising.

“Remember, be gentle, honey,” Marc called from his spot. “We, uh, we’re new to the neighborhood. Not a ton of people have pets.”

“Well, you certainly came to the right house,” Shane replied, smiling at how Ilya and Emmeline were talking while petting Anya. “But we’re not here for long.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

The hockey player shrugged. “Yeah, we’re just visiting for a bit.”

“Work?”

“Something like that.”

Marc nodded. “Fair enough. We moved in six months ago ourselves.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “First house. Still feels weird saying that. But Em’s been super happy, especially with her new school.”

“That’s always good.”

“Yeah.”

“This was my first place,” Shane said, gesturing to the property. “But we spend most of our time in Boston and I’m going to drag Ilya to Ottawa eventually-“

“Oh, no way.” Marc’s face brightened. “I loved Ottawa. It’s a great area.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” he said, finally gaining a smile of his own.

The two of them then proceeded to animatedly talk about the city for the next five minutes before getting interrupted.

“Anya, wait,” Ilya said as the Australian shepherd bounded toward the chocolate lab.

She and Moose sniffed one another’s faces briefly. Then, Anya play bowed. The two barked at each other, and soon, Moose did the same as her. 

“Okay, boy, hang on,” Marc said as he unleashed his dog. 

As soon as he was free, the dogs began chasing after each other, much to Emeline’s delight.

They have so far only stayed two weeks in Montreal.

In that time, they’ve cooked several meals together, gone to see some of the sights Montreal had to offer, gotten to know a few of the other neighbors, and taken Anya around every block of the neighborhood.

They even went out to a few restaurants.

And, they somehow had yet to encounter a single Metros player. Well, aside from Hayden and JJ, who were sworn to secrecy. 

Plus Ilya could feel that something was off, despite how happy and comfortable Shane looked. 

It was just-

How should he put this…? 

“You like it here,” Ilya said one day at the dinner table. “You are comfortable.”

Shane nodded. “I do. I am. How do you like it?”

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “This neighborhood is nice. The house is nice. Everything works. I could fit myself into it, probably. Though…”

The Canadian’s brows furrowed as he inclined his head. “What?”

“Every time I look at this house, I see nineteen-year-old Shane proving he could make it.”

Shane stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I do not see forty-year-old Shane and I, deciding things like what to do about our child getting in detention for fighting, or doing boring things like taxes.”

Hollander frowned. “That… is a problem.”

“And, I mean, even if you are comfortable here, you still don’t quite look settled either.”

The confusion on his boyfriend’s face increased. He blinked a few times, darting his eyes around as he thought about the words before landing on their joined hands. 

“…What do you mean?” Shane inquired, finally looking up at him.

“I mean…” Ilya's lips pursed as he thought about exactly how to continue this conversation. “It feels as though you are just maintaining something good. And, I’m hoping this cottage of yours gives us something better.”

“Better?”

An odd feeling settled in his chest, like Ilya was somehow right, even though there were a lot of things going for it. 

This Montreal house was a milestone marker. It’s familiar, and respectable. It made sense on paper. He put a lot of work into this property. It could be accommodating.

“I- we can make this work,” Shane said.

“I know,” Ilya replied easily with a slight nod.

“Then, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem.”

“A- how?”

In that moment, Shane found himself looking at the art on the wall and the furniture of the space. He thought about every hastily decided detail that made this into a hockey player’s home. A home before the thought of a family even existed.

Shane also discovered that he couldn’t quite imagine a family being here, either.

“Because while you may like it here,” Ilya stated. “Every time you talk about Ottawa, like you did with Marc, or the cottage, your face changes. You sound more excited. It’s very clear what you prefer.” He watched the gears in his boyfriend’s head turn as he waited for a response.

“I’ll always have a soft spot for the area I grew up in,” Shane reasoned. “And, the same is true for the place I earned.”

“And, no matter what either of us choose, I go where you go.”

“The cottage kind of more of a retreat than anything.” Shane shrugged. “My hide away. That’s probably why I’m attached to it so much.”

“Okay.”

Now, it was Shane’s turn to give him a look. “Okay?”

“Then, maybe we should go hide away a little early.”

“That…” Hollander said as he thought about it. “… does sound nice.”

Ilya smiled. “Good.”

Silence settled between them for a moment as they let the moment pass, quietly eating or taking one last look at their surroundings for the night.

Then, Shane said, “Let’s leave Friday.”

Two days.

Ilya could do that.

“Sounds good to me,” he replied.

Chapter End Notes

teehee, as you may have already guessed by now. I lied (I wrote a TON). There is one more chapter.

Chapter 31

Chapter Notes

Huge thank you to everyone for your love and support! You are all greatly appreciated. Here it is, the final chapter and the longest chapter.

Have fun in Ottawa and at the cottage.

Also, yes, I know the cottage is technically supposed to be located somewhere in Lanaudière, but I changed it for the story and so the locations would make logistical sense to my brain.
Anyway-

It took two hours to reach Ottawa. And, since they got here earlier than expected, they would have to grab the things needed for the cottage themselves. Neither of them really minded, however. 

It gave them a reason to explore the city before getting to their destination. This was something Shane wanted to do anyway, and Ilya quietly marveled at how relaxed his body became already.

And, lucky them, they arrived at 11:00 am. Just in time for lunch.

They found a spot (which was somehow next to a tourist shop that sold shirts with Shane’s face on it). They got outdoor seating and a bowl of water for Anya. Yet, the only thing that confused Rozanov was Shane’s choice of meal.

“Shane, you are willingly eating this?” Ilya asked as he stared at the mess of fries, cheese curds, and gravy.

His boyfriend glanced down at it. “Poutine?”

The man nodded. 

Shane merely shrugged and said, “It’s cheat day.”

This man never had cheat days. In fact, there were several other restaurants Ilya thought Shane would take him to before they went to this small place.

“This is food for you?” Ilya questioned, giving him an incredulous look. “Are you in crisis?”

“Like you haven’t eaten anything equally as gross-looking,” the dark-haired man retorted as he lowered his head to take a bite.

“Oh, so you admit it.”

Shane covered his mouth with his hand and swallowed before talking. “Ilya, I get to show the city I grew up in to the man I want to build a life with. And, I haven’t had one of these in a long time. This is a really happy point in my life. I can have fatty comfort food.”

Rozanov’s first instinct was to blink at him. Then, a smile crept up his lips. This was a rare and precious sight.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “You can.” He then lifted a finger and stole a fry.

Beside them, Anya barked, sitting ever so politely to try and get her own portion of poutine.

There was almost another hour and a half of driving time, heading into Petite-Nation to get to the cottage after grabbing groceries. 

Realistically, Ilya knew this would be the case. He did. He was prepared for it. 

He also had to admit that it was a little absurd.

As they got out of the car, Ilya let Anya out of the backseat and took their luggage to the entrance steps first before getting to the groceries in the trunk. 

He met Shane there and said, “Solnyshko, I love you, but you’re crazy if you think we can survive driving two hours each way just to pick up groceries that aren’t from that little market in the village we saw.”

“That was not two hours,” Shane told him. “And, I mean, we don’t have to go all the way down to Ottawa. I just wanted to show you the city. We could really just go into Gatineau. Or Saint André-Avellin.”

Ilya blinked at him. “Uh huh.”

Nearby, Anya excitedly sniffed around, choosing to wander toward the lake. Then, she caught a scent of some animal and chased it up a tree.

“It is a bit of a commitment to get back into Ottawa, though,” his boyfriend relented, grabbing a few of the bags. “Not terrible, but not necessarily great.”

“Beautiful area, here, though,” Ilya stated as they began to put everything on the porch. “I can see why you like it.”

After setting those first bags down, however, Rozanov decided to take in the building.

“And, why do you call it a cottage?” Ilya asked, turning toward Shane as he approached with more items. “This is nothing like one. Is rich-Canadian-speak?”

Shane laughs. “Maybe.”

Rozanov just shook his head as he went to get his dog’s things.

Then, Anya barked, and the two humans shared a look.

Ilya called her name as he walked toward her, and Shane moved to unlock the front door. 

The inside of the cottage was amazing, too. There were a lot more rooms, for multiple different guests he could have at any point. Each one still had Shane’s taste in furniture, but there was something more personal about what hung on the walls. There were less objects overall, but the majority of them were more curated framed photographs, and less art.

“This is definitely already better,” Ilya commented lightly, eyes catching the big black and white cityscape. “Is this Ottawa?”

It felt less like a decoration and more like something that had been chosen because his boyfriend genuinely wanted to look at it.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” Shane answered as he walked past him into the kitchen.

Ilya followed soon after, ready to help.

“Okay,” he said, leaning over the kitchen island. “Where does everything go?”

His boyfriend smiled. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Ten minutes later, however, Anya’s dog bed (which was actually slightly too big for her) was being debated over. 

“Shane, if we want it to be in the living room, this is the only place it would fit,” Ilya told him, standing near the corner.

“But then we have less area to walk through,” Hollander reasoned. “And, one of the sliding doors to the outside is blocked.”

“Oh no,” he sarcastically stated. “We must make space for our fur-child.”

“Asshole.”

“Shane, if we put it in the open space between the living room and the dining table, she will be too far.”

Anya seemed to have no opinions about the subject, however, as she lay down on the couch with a blanket under her, like she was trained to be. She huffed before refocusing on the toy bone in her paws. Shane glanced her way for a second.

“Okay,” he said. “We can just put it in the bedroom and then have her be on blankets until we buy other ones that can better fit the space.”

Ilya blinked as he thought about it for a second. “Yes, okay, fine.” Then, he shifted his weight and grinned. “Which one is your bedroom again? You might have to show me… give another private tour…” 

“Oh my god,” Shane responded, rolling his eyes with the slightest hint of upward curled lips.

Then, he took Ilya’s hand and led him up the small staircase.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?” Ilya asked as he sidestroked through the water.

“I’m fine here,” Shane told him, hugging his knees against his chest, sitting on the dock. 

The water was cold, after all.

The blond chuckled and started treading water as he commented, “You really are like a cat.”

Hollander's face scrunched. “What?”

With a smug expression, he said, “When you are angry you make cute mad little kitten face-“

“Ilya,” Shane tried to interject with a pointed look.

“You are shy like a cat sometimes, too-“

“No, I’m not.”

“And you won’t get in the water.”

Shane huffed, but smiled. “I’m autistic, leave me alone.”

This caused the Russian to laugh, which in turn led Shane to unfold himself, dip down, and splash him. 

Later that night, Shane lit the fire pit in their backyard. He had moved the chairs closer together so that Ilya’s head could be in his lap. They interwove their fingers with their free hands resting on some part of the other’s body; Ilya’s on Shane’s knee, and Shane’s in Ilya’s hair.

“So, we just sit here and look at it?” Rozanov questioned.

“Yes,” Hollander answered. “We just sit here and look at it.”

And they did, for a few minutes of comfortable silence. Then, Ilya turned so he could look up at his boyfriend.

“You should change your verbiage for this place,” he suggested. “Is definitely not a cottage, more like a modern castle.”

Shane looked down at him and smiled, but denied, “No it is not.”

“It kind of is, yes.” Ilya nodded. “You are more relaxed here. This is your stronghold.”

“Strongholds and castles are different.”

“Castles are fortresses, yes?” He asked with squinting eyes, trying to understand. “And so are strongholds?”

“Okay, technically, that is true,” Shane said, moving his head from side to side. “But, castle implies noble residence and stronghold implies military presence.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Of course you would know this.” He readjusted how his body lay across Shane’s lap. “Urgh, just like you to turn this into a boring history lesson. Ruined my plans.”

“Oh, yeah, what were those?” His boyfriend asked with unimpressed eyes.

Ilya gave one of his flirty smirks, but it died as soon as they heard the call of one particular waterbird.

In fact, he had sat up and nearly jumped out of his skin, looking around for danger as he asked, “What the fuck was that?”

Shane found it hard to bite back the smile that was forming. “A loon?”

“A what?” His boyfriend asked, looking at him, confused.

“A loon,” he repeated, laughing as he studied his face. “It’s a bird.” 

“Sounds like a fucking wolf.”

“It’s really not.”

The bird called again, having Ilya’s head on a swivel.

“You’re so scared,” Shane noted with a mix of amusement and concern.

Ilya’s eyes found his again. 

“What kind of a bird makes a noise like that?” He asked.

“A loon,” Hollander insisted. Then, he smirked unabashedly. “A fucking wolf?”

“Whatever. Stupid Canadian wolf-bird,” Ilya stated, shaking his head.

Shane simply smirked and cupped his hands around his mouth before making a loon sound of his own.

“Oh, so now you speak bird, too.”

“Fluent,” he teased.

“Can’t believe this,” Rozanov huffed.

“You love me,” Shane said, gently nudging him.

“Unfortunately, maybe,” Ilya said, regaining his smile.

The trail that Shane wanted to take them on was ten kilometers down the road. The parking for it was small, and their car was the only one there.

No one else was around. Not tourists, not fans. It was just the woods and the people he actually wanted to spend time with.

The path they were going to take was five kilometers, with an incline, though there were paths from other trails that were interconnected.

And the best, and somehow possibly worst, part was that Anya could be out with them unleashed. She trotted ahead of them, just exploring or getting distracted with an animal that was too quick for her. However, she always came back to her humans, or she waited for them.

Still, though, she was often the first of their group to make it around the bends. Second was Shane, and he would call out things like: 

“Oh, watch out, that rock is loose.”

“Mind the root.”

“Don’t step on the dragon fly on the ground, please.”

Ilya followed every direction. He found it endearing that his boyfriend was so attentive to his surroundings, but it wasn’t until he mentioned another bird that Ilya felt the urge to tease.

“Oh! That sounded like a woodpecker,” his boyfriend informed.

“Should I add birds to your list of special interests?” He asked.

“I’m not that interested in them,” Shane said, briefly looking back at him. “Just because I know what certain birds sound like doesn’t mean I know everything about them.”

“It’s still too much knowledge surrounding birds,” Ilya told him with a certain ease to his tone.

“Fuck you,” Hollander laughed. “No it isn’t. Besides, I just tend to notice things.”

“I know, lyubimyy.” 

There must have been something in his tone, however, because Shane glanced back at him again. 

“What?” He asked.

Ilya shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Ilya-“

“I just think it’s cute.”

Hollander opened his mouth again like he was going to retort, but then his cheeks turned a shade of red, and he returned his focus to what lay ahead.

Ilya softly chuckled at this.

Anya suddenly barreled back towards them from another venture out around them. She slowed her movements as she ran around Ilya, then she made a noise that sounded like a complaint.

“Anya, we can’t all have boundless energy like you, I’m sorry,” the blond told her. 

She made another sound before bounding out again.

“Shane, I think she’s entered her rebellious phase,” he said.

“Already?” Shane jokingly asked.

“I know.” Ilya put a hand on his chest. “She’s only two.”

In front of him, Shane shook his head.

They had come back to Ottawa so that Shane could take Ilya to one of his favorite restaurants, but arrived early.

So, they decided to drive around the city again. From their car, Hollander pointed out various places he used to hang out in all the time, especially the canal. 

“We could put the foundation here in Ottawa, actually,” Shane suggested as they moved past an office building with a lease sign hanging from it. “That would be good on paper and just all around convenient, for the cottage.”

“True,” Ilya nodded, staring out at the buildings through his passenger side window. “Or, we could get a house here.”

“That would still mean that we’re managing three properties, though.”

Ilya’s house in Boston, Shane’s cottage, and the hypothetical Ottawa house. It was starting to sound better than the two aforementioned buildings and Shane’s Montreal house. However, that was still putting more on their plates than only having two of them, which Shane was beginning to think could actually be the plan.

“Both of us are rich, Shane,” Ilya felt the need to point out.

“I know,” he drew out.

“And it would be nice to start fresh with a new house so we could truly make it both of ours.”

“Yeah…” the answer came out quieter than he intended. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Rounding the corner, they entered a more residential side of the city and quickly met a red light. Across from them, an open house sign stood outside of a two-story home.

“Want to go in?” Ilya asked, inclining his chin toward the sign.

“Right now?” Shane questioned. “We don’t have the time. I mean, our reservation is in 20 minutes.”

“You don’t want to look?”

“I didn’t say that. We can come back another time, maybe.”

A honk sounded behind them, and Shane realized that the light was green.

“Right,” he said as he stepped on the gas pedal.

Beside him, Ilya smiled softly.

That other time ended up being next week, in the afternoon. The visit took maybe forty minutes as they inspected the home.

Afterwards, they found themselves debating it on their way to the car.

“That space is too big for an office,” Rozanov decided. “It should be a guest room.”

“There are already two guest rooms in the house, Ilya,” Shane pointed out.

“Well, yes, sure.” He said with a shrug. “But one could be for Sveta, another can be for your parents and the third one can be for whoever. Maybe it could be Anya’s room.”

“Right,” Shane said sarcastically and nodding slowly. “Because a dog needs that much space all to herself and won’t whine herself to sleep every time we close our bedroom door on her.” He huffed, amused. “Also, my parent’s house is literally ten minutes away. They don’t need the room.”

“What would you even fill the office with?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be an office,” Shane informed as they exited the front yard. “It could be, like, a shared trophy room, or something.”

Ilya’s chin inclined. “That is a good idea, I like it very much, but wouldn’t you rather have a home office for the foundation?”

“We can still have both, it just requires one less guest room.”

“That still leaves us with an office that’s too big.”

“So, we put a couch in it, or something, I don’t know.”

“No way, is that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?” Came the loud voice of Zane Boodram. “Out together in public no less?”

Shane and Ilya turned to find the Ottawa Centaurs player walking perpendicular to them, along with his wife and children. One of the kids was on a tricycle, riding slowly in front of their parents, while the other bounced a ball in their hands.

“Yes, hello to you, Bood, Mrs. Bood and little Boodlings,” Ilya projected politely. 

Shane just gave a nod, but inwardly, he brightened at how his boyfriend addressed the kids.

“Who’s that?” The girl asked from her trike as they got closer to the Boston Raiders. 

“Dad just said, dummy,” the boy told her, opening his palm and waiting for the ball to fall back into it.

“Milo, don’t be mean to your sister,” Zane scolded.

“They play against your dad sometimes, sweetie,” Cassie, the wife, stated, looking down at her daughter. “And, the three of them played the All Stars Game together on the same team.” Then, the woman turned toward Shane and Ilya. “She probably doesn’t recognize you two without your gear.”

“That’s alright,” Shane told her.

He preferred that, actually.

“So, what brings you guys around?” Zane inquired. His gaze moved from them to his daughter as she maneuvered her trike so she could pedal around the empty street for a minute.

“Be careful, honey,” Cassie said as she stepped away from the group to watch her. 

Meanwhile, the other kid just refocused on bouncing his ball.

“Oh, just showing Ilya the city,” Shane said.

“Never got the chance to see it when playing games here,” Ilya added.

“Right, so you check out an open house?” Boodram inquired in that slow way that signified confusion.

“Eh, you know Shane, boring, likes architecture-“ Ilya started, but was interrupted by his boyfriend.

“You literally asked me if we could spend vacation time to stop and take a look,” Hollander informed. 

“Details, shmetails…” Rozanov said, waving his hand dismissively. 

Boodram smiled, but then it quickly disappeared as he gestured toward the blond and asked, “Wait, Roz. Aren’t you usually in Russia this time of year?”

“Not anymore, no,” Rozanov stated. 

“Oh,” was all the man said on the subject before he moved on to something else. “Well, I bet it ticks him off seeing all the merch some of the stores have of you, huh, Holly?”

Shane smirked. “Oh, yeah. Totally.”

“You don’t even play for a Canadian team anymore,” Ilya commented.

Boodram laughed, saying, “He’s got you there.” Then, he shifted his weight and leaned down to grab the bouncing ball that was two seconds away from hopping into the nearby yard. “What made you want to go in there anyways?”

Milo muttered a small, “Thanks, dad,” and was met with a pat on the back.

“I was thinking maybe I won't retire in Boston after I am old dinosaur like Hunter and his attachment to New York,” Ilya said. “I love my city, but some things are worth moving for.”

The words hit Shane like a ton of bricks, but he remained quiet.

“Yeah, I get that.” Zane nodded. “Looking for it in the heart of your friendly rival’s territory is crazy work though.”

“Former rival,” the blond lightly corrected. 

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, you both probably have somewhere to be.” He turned to look behind him and projected, “Come on, guys, it’s time to head back.”

“Okay,” both of Zane’s and Cassie’s children said.

“Bye,” Shane and Ilya said as they finally crossed the street, unlocked their car and climbed inside.

When they returned later that day, Shane knew he probably looked distant. After all, there was a lot that had recently made a home in his mind. He was thankful that Ilya volunteered to take Anya for her walk, and when he heard the two of them again, he was sitting at the dock, staring out at the lake. 

Over the past several days, he found himself imagining things he usually didn’t - or felt like he couldn’t. A future with Ilya felt boundless in ways he might have thought impossible. 

Ilya basically told Zane Boodram that he would settle down here after hockey was over. He would retire in a place that he and Shane made their own. 

It was so easy to picture. The images were becoming clearer and clearer in his head each day. And, really, Shane wanted that so badly it surprised him. He wanted all the firsts that come with making a home with someone from the start, not just moving into one or the other’s lives. 

“You have that thinking face again,” Ilya notified, after sitting down next to him and poking his cheek. He didn’t even hear his boyfriend approach. He heard Anya’s familiar pitter-patter, however.

“I was just…” Shane trailed off, turning to look at him as he made a dismissive hand movement. “You’re right about getting a house in Ottawa, probably. It’s cheaper than Montreal too.” He had, of course, legitimately thought of this. Here, though, it was all part of their banter.

“Of course you would think of that,” the blond sighed, hanging his head for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze lifted again. “Why am I right?”

Shane swallowed before answering, “For a multitude of reasons, but mainly…” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I can see it.”

Ilya waited for him to continue.

“I can see us there. Maybe not so much in that particular house, but in Ottawa.” Something in his voice wavered, but he pressed on. “We’d wake up and walk Anya in time to make breakfast for when the kids got out of bed. One of us would take them to school while the other headed to Foundation HQ for boring but necessary meetings, and on the weekends, we’d come here.” He smiled. “Or we’d go to our kids’ practices, or games, or recitals. You’d be the loudest parent there.” Shane chuckled.

“Our children would be so embarrassed,” Ilya mused.  

Shane laughed, but continued. “You’d hate dropping them off for their day of preschool, but love taking photos of their first days of elementary school. We’d plant flowers in the gardens, and scold Anya when she’d trample them. I’d nag at you to get started on taxes.”

“Cruel.”

“And maybe twenty years from now we’d still be arguing about the same stupid shit…”

Ilya hummed and stated, “I can see also.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The silence stretched as they let the words sink in. 

Then, Ilya offhandedly mentioned, “I have also been thinking.” 

“Of?” Shane asked, tilting his head.

“We should get married here.” 

Hollander blinked a few times and exhaled, asking, “What?” 

“Marry me here,” Rozanov reiterated. “Is great venue, very spacious, cost effective. We could do it after next season, after winning the Raiders another cup, of course…”

Shane stared at him. “Uh huh.”

“Lyubimyy,” Ilya continued, shifting to face him more properly. “You were the most comfortable I’ve ever seen you in Ottawa, and here. You are less afraid to be you. These places mean so much to you, of course I would want them in my life.” His voice softened. “For the rest of my life, I want you as my husband. I want to be with every part of you. I want to stop wasting time and start making up for all those years. You are the most important person in my life, Shane. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Will you marry me?”

For a second, Shane was speechless. His chest felt painfully tight. Then, his face scrunched. 

Then, he said, “We don’t even have rings yet.” 

“We will get some later,” Ilya reasoned. “Right now, all I know is that you are my home, Shane.”

Shane leaned closer and whispered, “I love you. Yes. Of course, I’ll marry you here.”

“I love you too.”

They shared a kiss, soft and sweet at first. It quickly grew into something deeper and consuming. 

“One year,” Shane said as he parted for air.

“One year,” Ilya agreed.

They stuck to that promise like glue.

And when Svetlana sent Anya down the aisle with a tiny basket containing their rings, when Farah Jalali had them recite vows in front of their friends, family, and teammates, when they placed the rings on each other’s fingers and sealed it with a kiss, they were finally married. 

Their teammates cheered a little too loudly. Shane’s parents were openly crying. Rose and Svetlana were equally threatening as they approached them.

It rained on them just after they started cutting the cake, but that didn’t really bother them. And as they all headed inside, Shane and Ilya shared this secret, soft smile.

They couldn’t wait to spend the rest of their lives together.

Chapter End Notes

It is now 11:00 pm Pacific Time. So, good night, and farewell.