Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Rose Landry, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Texting, Missed Connection, two sided yearning, mentioned Homophobia, Photo Shoots, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Interviews, Flirting, fix it? no mess it up, secret friendship, Angst, happy ending in the other part of the series, happy ending implied, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, no beta we die like Montreal's chances at winning the cup

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Curious (it's what you make of me) // timeslip au

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-17 Words: 6,263 Chapters: 1/1

Extra, extra, read all about it (Shane's in his feelings and he can't get out of it)

Summary

In March 2019 Shane Hollander is blissfully okay. His best friend is the best beard he could ever imagine, his career is at an all time high and he’s getting his own book, or well shared book, about his rivalry with Rozanov. Still, something gnaws at his soul when he has to do a final interview and photoshoot with Rozanov and finds out his professional interest may have a more personal edge to it after all.

Ilya Rozanov is the perfect, second, son. He moved abroad for a high paying job and sends home money all the time, he has a slew of hot women at his side at all times and his team treats him like family. But he is a lover boy at heart and is it too much to ask for someone to come home to? Apparently, yes because his heart is set on him and the more Ilya hunts for the opposite, the more he yearns for not just a place but a person to call home.

Notes

A study of AU Shane and Ilya because I got stuck writing part two of time slip. (Which is for the most part plotted)

Title from Earrings by Malcolm Todd

The couch pillows laid wrong in the background of Shane’s facetime call with Rose. The urge to say something built at the back of his throat but he swallowed the words down with water. “When’s your next shoot day?” 

He fiddled with his earbuds and checked that nobody was paying attention to them. They weren’t. There were two or three other people this far back in the studio space but everyone else was focused on the other model for the day. 

Ilya Rozanov. 

If Shane stood up straight he could just look past the crowd to see the glistening, water-misted, golden-skinned body of his athletic rival. But Shane didn’t stand up straight. He didn’t look at Ilya Rozanov because looking at Ilya Rozanov tended to tug at some odd part of him that he firmly tried to avoid thinking about. 

Especially around other people. That first shoot they did together was proof of how quickly things could turn awkward if Shane spent too much time looking at Ilya Rozanov. 

Fuck his name echoed around Shane’s head.

“Not for another week but I might have to miss some of your games. They want to do reshoots for the X-Squad.” Rose opened the doors to the patio and she sat down on the steps with a huff. “The old men brigade insisted that the kissing scenes weren’t good enough.” 

Shane frowned at his phone. “You can always throw the ‘my boyfriend is a scary hockey player’ card. I don’t mind.”

“I can’t afford to be difficult. Not when they’re already sending me more and more scripts for ‘mom of teen’.” 

“You’re like twenty-seven.” Someone shifts and Shane looks up just as the crowd around Rozanov laughs at one of his jokes. His curls are pushed back and there’s a trail of hair below his belly button that trails into his gear. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Rose smiled at Shane through the screen. “I know he’s hot but all the signs point towards him being painfully straight.”

Again a flash of a young Rozanov under the shower flashed through Shane’s brain. He had thought that Rozanov looked like a man at that moment. He’d been wrong. Almost painfully so because the man on the other side of the room. 

Shane needed to get out of here before he popped a boner like a teen. He murmured an excuse to one of the aids and made for a side door. 

The sun burned his eyes and he squinted in the bright light. “I don’t think so. I know that he is infuriating and that I want to shut the door on his feet so he can tank the Bears play-off chances.”

Rose giggled and the sun in their backyard made her glow. “No you don’t. You always remind me that hockey would be boring if you couldn’t play against him.” 

Shane frowned and stopped looking at his screen. The only thing in sight was concrete. Concrete sidewalks, concrete buildings, concrete numbers depicting where he was. 

A nightmare. That was it really. 

He’d tried to avoid Rozanov as much as he could after those first meetings. Junior league, the draft, the gym, that first shoot and the shower afterwards– Rozanov had never slipped up. He could tell anyone he wanted that Shan Hollander, NHL top scorer, got hard staring at his ass in the showers and Shane’s contracts would’ve been voided. No team would want him anymore. Not if the talk at Montreal was anything to go off of. 

But, he hadn’t. Rozanov had never mentioned Shane’s boner. He’d looked surprised when he saw it, had smirked after with a quip about him being hot enough to turn a straight guy, and then he’d left. They’d gotten dressed and Rozanov just didn’t mention it.

Or well, he’d chirped Shane from time to time. Told him he was allowed to stare because who could refuse his face. Had made jokes about Shane’s weak backhand, that wasn’t weak at all, thank you very much. He’d stayed safe though. And when Shane was done being angry and infuriated and fed up with his behavior it always dawned on him that Rozanov had been almost nice. 

If Shane thought about it hard enough he could almost think that Rozanov was flirting with him. 

He wasn’t. Shane may not have gone to college but he wasn’t dumb. Rozanov got pictured with women more often than Shane shaved his face.

“There may be some truth to the rivalry,” he said to Rose. “But mostly because those other guys are boring.”

“And less hot,” Rose said and Shane looked back in time to see her resting her head on her knees. “You can admit that to me. It won’t hurt you to look at someone.”

“I mean, there’s Vaughn, but he’s actually dating your co-star.” Shane smiled softly at her.

Rose guffawed. “I sometimes forget how funny you are. How do you not have a stunning boyfriend already?” 

He knew why and so did she. It wasn’t a prison of his own creation but Shane kept Rose locked up with him anyways. She deserved to be free and date cute people when she came across them. Not worry about how to explain away her live-in boyfriend that didn’t make him the vitriol of the locker room with a cheating girlfriend. 

It didn’t matter how many times Shane told them that they weren’t official.

The sun beat down on their silence and the door behind him opened to show an aid. “Mister Hollander? They want some shots with both of you.” 

Shane sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll be right in. Talk to you later?”

“Text me when you get out and we can catch up on that reality show of yours over facetime.”

He rolled his eyes and started his walk back into the studio. “It’s a documentary.”

“Sure, babe. ‘The real lives of Russian wives’ is on par with your fave zebra show.” 

“I’m hanging up.”

“Love you.”

“Me too.” The call ended and Shane put his phone back with his stuff before he walked to the cameras. It was gearing up to be a long day and trying to focus on pulling the correct facial expressions was not going to help him. 

***

“Shane, can you give us any expression?” The director asked as he looked at the small side screen. “Anger, taunting, a smile? Right now I can’t even tell whether you’re going to fall asleep or if you’re thinking about dinner.” 

“Sorry.” Shane shook his head and rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t thinking about dinner. In fact he was trying very hard not to think about anything at all. If anyone asked, which nobody ever would, he’d say his distraction was Rose’s fault. She planted the thought about Rozanov in Shane’s head. A hot Rozanov, a handsome one. One bent over in front of him with burning hazel eyes as he stared Shane down.

Disregarding their half naked state, it wasn’t supposed to feel much different from a normal game. Of course it would be colder, they’d be wearing skates instead of slides and Shane’s head wouldn’t be swimming with Rose’s words. 

“I know he’s hot but all the signs point towards him being painfully straight.”

It was stupid, Shane knew that. 

“You can admit that he’s hot.”

And he was. His tawny curls were pushed back and a smirk lingered at the edges of his lips like he was gearing up to throw the chirp to end all chirps. 

He wanted to ki– punch him. Shane wanted to punch him. Hard. Against all those slightly off-white, replaced teeth because Orr-forbid that Ilya Rozanov didn’t look absolutely gorgeous all the time. 

He needed to stop thinking about this. Scratch that. Shane needed to stop staring at Rozanov. 

No, he didn’t. It was his job to stare at him right now. To stare him down. Look angry. Don’t get distracted by the mole on his cheek or the curve of his cheekbones or the crinkle at the corner of his eyes because he smiled all the time. At everyone. Shane wasn’t special. 

A bunch of people saw his half naked body all the time. Shane was fairly certain that Rozanov was currently dating Svetlana Vetrova, Bears nepo baby, and that she was somewhere in the room, and that they had an open relationship because Rozanov got photographed kissing two different women last week. 

Rozanov would never kiss him. It had been a fleeting thought drowned out by the panic that first time they showered together. Only, actually. Shane made sure to shower at different times when they were teamed up at All Stars.

“That’s the same blank face.” 

Rozanov smirked where he was bent over in front of him. “What? No new sorry from Golden Canadian?”

He thought now was a good time to taunt Shane? In the middle of a shoot? Surrounded by people who could hear his asshole remarks? Shane wanted to smack his shin with the stick.

Also, that was a shameful excuse for a chirp that he’d spent so long thinking about. It was… safe.

“Fuck off,” Shane said. It wasn’t a good retort but it encapsulated his feelings quite nicely. “Don’t make me regret saying yes to this book.”

That smirk widened into a crooked smile and Shane could feel heat crawl up his neck to his face. Why, oh, why was he into this? 

“You would not say no to mama. What did Marly call her? The Boogy lady of Montreal?” 

Shane scoffed out a laugh. “Marlow did not come up with that.” 

“No, Marly is stupid but you did not comment on name.” Rozanov winked at him. “Your mama is boogy lady? Like babayaga?”

“My mom is nice.” Shane tried to frown at him but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Rozanov hummed. “Ah, yes, is that where you get your nice from? Is, what do you call it, genetic?” 

“You’re an asshole.” He was grinning now. Incapable of stopping no matter how hard he tried to bite on the inside of his cheek. 

“You have such a shit face-off face, Hollander. Need to be more mean. Here, I teach you.” Rozanov tried to touch Shane’s face but he quickly swatted the hand away with a frown.

“Don’t do that.”

“But it worked, no?” 

The shutter went off. There was a moment of respite where Shane and Rozanov simply stared at each other. Fake frowning and trying to ward off their smiles like they were once more giggling rookies.

The thought slipped from Shane’s lips without his permission. “This reminds me of our first shoot.”

Something flashed across Rozanov’s face that Shane couldn’t name. The silence lingered too long. Wrongly stuck between them.

“Sorry, I didn’t– don’t–”

“There is mister Canada. Mamayaga will be proud of you.” Rozanov checked with the photographer that they were done. “Too bad you are still scared of people seeing you.”

“Everyone here sees me.” 

Rozanov tilted his head and his lips pressed together. You know that’s not what I mean. He stood up straight and rolled his shoulders against the ache of holding their positions for so long. 

Face to face with his bellybutton, the trail of hair, so close– Shane felt his face color and quickly got up. Whatever. Rozanov was an asshole anyways. 

***

Ilya knew he shouldn’t do this. It was dangerous and stupid and he’d survived so long suppressing the urge that it had been second nature. 

But second nature had nothing against the first, against the bone deep knowledge that doing this was fun and doing this with him was even better. Safe or as safe as flirting with another man could ever be for a Russian with only a work visa and a whole lot of dollars to his name.

He took the bottle of water from Svetlana’s hands and took a long sip. “Thank you, light of my life.” 

She raised both eyebrows at him. “I’m not your assistant.”

“And yet you are here.” Ilya grabbed one of the towels and wiped the condensation from his face. He didn’t understand why they needed those pictures. Boring men who read sport biographies didn’t care about how hot the players were. They just wanted to know how much players hated each other. 

The problem was that Ilya did not hate him. Not even a little. He was cute with a constellation of freckles spanning from one ear, over the bridge of his nose, to the other. Once he had dreamed of smoothing his thumb over the stars. Okay, maybe a million times but it didn’t matter as long as he didn’t act on it. 

That was the law, right? Do not engage in or promote the behavior. Keep to yourself. Live a good life with a pretty woman and make lots of babies and keep your family safe. Fulfil your duty. 

Apparently his duty right now was to look like one of those shirtless book covers in the supermarket. As long as it made money. As long as his niece in Russia would live a better life than he had. 

“The car show is tomorrow. It made sense to fly in early.” She tweaked his hair and slid soft fingers down his cheek.

Ilya loved her. He adored her. There was nobody like her.

It would never be enough. Not for either of them. She deserved someone who could love her the right way. The proper way. 

Her phone buzzed and she checked it. She sniffed once, twice and pocketed it. “Assholes made a mistake about how much space we’re getting. I need to yell some sense into them.”

Ilya didn’t bother correcting her. Sveta didn’t make mistakes. He kissed her cheek and wished her luck before watching her walk away. The door had closed behind her before he thought about moving. 

Snacks, food, anything to get his mind off of the old country. He couldn’t call it home. Not when he had his house in Boston. A place where he could have his friends over and let the rookies pick out terrible American kid’s movies that “Rozy really had to watch”. 

It didn’t matter that the house was quiet when they went home. That the string of women never stayed for more than a night. There were worse things in the world than three empty bedrooms and a singular toothbrush in his bathroom.

He grabbed a banana, followed by two donuts. Frosting smeared across his upper lip and he barely bit back a moan as he threw his head back. 

Ilya’s eyes opened on the man standing at the other end of the table. His ears were slowly turning red even as he frowned and Ilya had the juvenile impulse to walk over and bite them. “You like donuts, no?” 

His face got almost impossibly more red. A beautiful blush that highlighted all the different specks. Ilya could look. Nobody was paying attention to them yet. It was safe to look at him. 

“I’d tell you about performance diets but I think I’ll let the cholesterol take you out in time for play offs.” He smiled softly and Ilya felt a crack open slightly above his midriff. 

“I can beat your team skating on one leg. With arm tied behind back. They all suck.” Not for the least because Ilya had heard their ‘chirps’ on the ice. For some of them the homophobic insults weren’t even thinly veiled. They were plain homophobic. Not even Scott Hunter kissing his boyfriend after winning the cup could fix that kind of thing. 

Life wasn’t an American kid’s movie. The kiss did not save the day. 

He shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest. He had wonderful pecks. Dusky nipples and the tiniest bit of hair. If Ilya got closer he might even find a lost freckle. 

“Last I checked, my team has more cups than yours.” 

Ilya huffed and waved a hand through the air. “Is not team effort. Is because you’re good. Different things.”

“Can you stop insulting my team? This is the best we’ve looked in ages.” He glared at Ilya and picked at the skin of his orange. The scent wafted between them and Ilya couldn’t wait for him to take a bit just so he could lick the taste from his mouth. A stupid thought. A life ruining wish. “And I don’t play every shift.” 

Ah, yes, a two-way conversation. He needed to fix this. Stop staring at his lips, Ilyusha. “You could, mister Ice Time.”

Ilya winked for good measure. There, that’s his persona firmly in place. Annoying and so very European.

But he didn’t react like all the other hockey players would. Like the straight players would react. Ilya watched his breath visibly hitch, his hands stalled on the orange and he licked his lips. 

Blyat. This day would be the end of Ilya. Cause of death: pretty, freckled man.

But he didn’t die, or kiss the man, and when the pa called them for the interview they left the food behind and went.

***

There was no time for a book launch party. Not when they both made the play offs. When they played those games against each other. It was the best possible day for the book to launch. Their first play off game against each other in a couple years. 

The games were fun. The chirps about the half naked book cover less so. “I am sorry your bare chest does not sell books, Carmichael, but no need to be jealous.” 

A dirty towel was thrown at his head and Ilya caught it before spinning it and snapping it at the offender. “Don’t be upset with me,” he started his speech. “Be upset with Montreal! Their captain looks all fluffy and nice on cover but will try to run you over. You will not be run over. We will win this run. We will show them that we are the better team, the better franchise! Fuck their ugly colors! The future is black and gold! The future is ours!”

The team cheered around him.

“Fuck Montreal! Fuck their colors and their play off run! We win this in four games or you all owe me bottle of good vodka per person!” 

The team laughed and yelled back at him. Marly found him in the crowd as they started to leave the locker room. “We got this.” 

“I do. Keep up.” Ilya smirked at his best friend and smacked his ass as he followed the rest of their team out of the locker room. 

Home. Perhaps. A group of people that liked him, this version of him, and wanted to be around him and he wanted to be around them. Home.  Maybe.

***

Ilya had a private hotel room for the play off run. As captain he deserved it, even if he still sometimes had to share with rookies at the start of the season, and with his habit of sleeping around many of his teammates didn’t mind either. The hassle of checking if he’d remembered to put the do not disturb tag in place had been too much. Especially since he’d kept forgetting it. 

It was useful now. When he’d finally gotten his hands on a finished copy of his book. Their book really. Their league mandated rivalry. He wondered if it would have been different if one of them had gotten drafted to a different team, or had gotten traded later on. 

But there was no use lingering on stupid things. There was only the present and presently he had his hands on the heavy hard cover. 

He flipped it over and found a signature on the title page. ‘my beloathed, to many more loses on your side and wins on mine, s.h.  #24’. 

Ilya covered his smile with his hand before he remembered that he was alone. This was a mistake. He was funny. Which was the worst thing he could ever be. What right did he have, being funny? 

Something slipped right above Ilya’s sternum. It felt warm and soft and oh so wrong. Like a shade of friendship that got dyed the wrong color. 

Underneath the signature was a smaller print. A different pen. A number. A question without a mark. 

Ilya shouldn’t do it. It would be the worst sort of mistake. Betraying his duty and his family and the country he never returned to anymore. 

He didn’t think about it. The number got saved under a number. It could be easily explained. Just another puck bunny that he didn’t remember the name of. 

[22:58pm] I.G. Rozanov

Why do I have your number?

[23:01pm] #24

Why did you text?

You laughed at my jokes.

Ilya didn’t like the implication in that. Didn’t he have a girlfriend? At least to play pretend with? He’s friends with some guys on his team as well right? Pike? Don’t they laugh at his jokes? Doesn’t his team? 

He’s funny! Who wouldn’t laugh with him?

[23:04pm] I.G. Rozanov

Your bar for contact is very low. What you think stripper flirt with you because she loves you too?

Chirping was always safe.

[23:06pm] #24

I don’t go to strip clubs. 

Of course he didn’t. Boring man. Ilya needed to stop texting him. This was a mistake. He didn’t understand jokes sometimes. 

[23:07pm] I.G. Rozanov

You are sometimes funny.

Like when you slip on ice during overtime.

[23:07pm] #24

Oh, fuck off. At least we won.

Anger was better than sadness.

[23:08pm] I.G. Rozanov

Yes, now team all owe me bottle of good vodka.

Should almost thank you but league will say I throw game.

[23:10pm] #24

Nobody can ever accuse you of that.

Except for the fact that that text read like borderline tampering. Especially to the captain of the team he was playing the games against. 

[23:12pm] I.G. Rozanov

Might if see these texts. 

Should not save my number in phone. Or different name.

[23:12pm] #24

What name should I save you under? Won’t that create issues with all stars or if someone asks?

[23:12pm] I.G. Rozanov

Do people ask you about me?

Did someone at the shoot talk about their conversations? About how they’d seemed friendly off camera? Or maybe the person who’d taken the book from his hands to Ilya’s.

Ilya didn’t know who knew what. A mortifying ordeal for someone who survived on cutting his persona into 

[23:12pm] #24

…

Only every reporter since rookie season.

Oh, yeah. People asked Ilya about him all the time as well. It wasn’t what he’d meant though. It wasn’t about the reporters. More so about what they looked like from the outside. What Ilya’s brother might say about them if something went wrong. If either of them got outed in connection to the other. 

[23:14pm] I.G. Rozanov

Maybe we continue talk. I want that. 

But delete messages after. No trail. 

[23:15pm] #24

You want me to delete any interaction we have? I don’t think my lawyers are good enough. 

Funny. It cut through Ilya’s worries like a sharp knife. He could do this. Have this. Keep this. In small increments. Like his cigarettes when the office wasn’t looking. 

[23:15pm] I.G. Rozanov

No, just text. To keep safe. 

[23:16pm] #24

Being friends with me isn’t safe? 

[23:18pm] I.G. Rozanov

If anyone find out about you being different, might not be safe for me in Russia.

That’s what it all came down to right? His safety in Russia, the work VISA that kept him firmly in America. He knew he could be forced to return their at any moment. He wasn’t stuck here yet. Might never be. 

Going back there, to the cold and the actually good blini, it didn’t feel as good as it had those first few times. It felt hard. Difficult. Like trying to get off the ice without a blade.

[23:19pm] #24

Why? 

[23:19pm] I.G. Rozanov

Google, Jane. 

[23:20pm] #24

Fuck off. That’s not my name.

[23:31pm] #24

Oh. 

Yeah. I’ll delete the messages. 

But we can still talk? I think I’d like to be friends. Properly. 

So he could be brave? Sometimes. Ilya didn’t know where to store this knowledge. It didn’t fit in his head but his chest was too full with an acidic fear.

[23:33pm] I.G. Rozanov

In secret. Can’t let fans know I am friends with boring person.

[23:33pm] #24

I’m not boring. Nobody says that.

[23:34pm] I.G. Rozanov

People do.

[23:34pm] #24

Who?

He was so easy to rile up. 

It was so easy for him to calm Ilya down. Even when he wasn’t trying.

[23:34pm] I.G. Rozanov

Me. 

[23:35pm] #24

I’m gonna delete this thread now…

See you on the ice?

That might be for the best.

[23:37pm] I.G. Rozanov

Yes. Will beat you this time. 

[23:39pm] #24

No, you won’t.

Yes, I will, Ilya thought and he stared at the messages until he fell asleep. He’d delete them in the morning.

***

Shane started tidying their home while Rose waved off his friends at the door. Hayden and Jackie with a bunch of sleepy kids had left right after the game. J.J. and his current girlfriend, as well as Miles and Rose’s other actor friends had stayed later. It wasn’t the type of play off watch party that a captain was supposed to host but Rose had pulled an ultimatum a while back. 

None of the really homophobic guys were welcome in the house. At the very least not when either she or Miles was around. It made sense. Miles was gay and he shouldn’t be subjected to the casual hate thrown about. 

It got sticky whenever Rose reminded him that he was gay as well. That the life that Miles was living, that Scott Hunter, Ryan Price, those guys, that could be him as well. A nice Montreal guy. But that wasn’t Shane, wouldn’t be him. It wasn’t just the vitriol he heard every day, it was whatever he’d subject the poor guy he dated to. 

What he subjected Rose to right now. All the couples cuddling on couches and chairs and the easy kisses. Yet here she was with what they all called ‘the big catch’ – mr. Golden Canadian – and there was little to no PDA. Shane would hold her hand, give her a hug when he remembered but he’d never been big on touch. It didn’t help that he wasn’t into her like that. 

He’d seen her wistful look tonight. She wanted something like that. He knew she deserved it and if he could, if he was capable in any way, he’d give it to her. But, as she often reminded him, he was gay. There was no chance of them having anything more than what they had now. Friendship. Sure, some lines were probably blurred in the way they often did when you lived together on and off for two years but she was family now. 

Only, he didn’t love her romantically. Sometimes he wondered if he was even capable of that. But… he thought about the quiet moments with Rozanov during their shoot back in March. A throwaway day 

And their short conversations after that. Rozanov made him smile, riled him up. It normally took more to get Shane out of his own head but with Rozanov it just happened. It had been nice not to have to worry and in turn… He’d had fun with Rozanov. 

Even more so, Rozanov seemed to have fun with that version of Shane! The one that normally only Rose and the Pikes got to see. Well, the Pikes don’t know he’s gay, so maybe even the version that only Rose truly knows. 

Him. 

“Can we do the full clean tomorrow?” Rose looked at the clock. Twelve forty-five. “I’m grabbing brunch with Miles so I can get up early and vacuum and mop.”

Shane found himself nodding even though he knew he’d stay up for another twenty minutes at least. The pillows sat wrong on the couch and he knew he couldn’t fall asleep if they were crooked.  “Sure. I’m gonna load the dishwasher and go as well.”

“Promise me?” She walked over and held up her pinky. 

“Sure.” He linked their hands and kissed her knuckles. She did the same to his. 

“Love you!”

“Me too.” He didn’t wait for her to get upstairs before he was rearranging the pillows and blankets around the couch. Everything had a spot, a place of existence. If everything was correct maybe he wouldn’t feel so wrong in his body. 

Out of it. Bigger than his body but so small in this space. 

He moved on to the kitchen. Most glasses fit in the dishwasher and whatever didn’t got washed by hand. He checked the entire space over, righted some other things and snuck up the stairs.  

The hall, his clothes folded on the chair, his softest shirt and pajama pants, beneath the covers and ready for sleep. 

It didn’t come. Not when he closed his eyes. Not after he grabbed his phone. (0615; the only note he’d make of his stupid crush.) Not after he opened the one contact he’d promised not to use too much.

Shane turned onto his back and watched the cursor blink next to his carefully crafted message.  

[01:22am] Shane Hollander

Do you want to upstage Hunter and announce that we’re friends? Think that would be a bigger shock to the MHL.

If he knew anything about Rozanov it was that he’d appreciate pulling a prank on the world. The thing he didn’t know was if he’d been imagining things… Rose could be right and Rozanov was straight and wouldn’t that be a painful joke.

Shane sighed and he backspaced the entire message. There was no use in shaking up his entire world. 

Rozanov wouldn’t have asked him to keep their contact private, hidden, scorched earth, without reason.

Still, he couldn’t let it go entirely. 

[01:25am] Shane Hollander

You played well today.

[01:26am] Ilya Rozanov (Bears C.)

Yes, you must be jealous of my team. Get cup and see my face every day.

Wish that was you, yes?

Shane regretted texting him. Rozanov was the worst asshole he’d ever met. It didn’t stop him from replying.

[01:27am] Shane Hollander

Fuck off.

I’m not a traitor.

[01:29am] Ilya Rozanov (Bears C.)

No. But did like playing with me more than with own team. 

Is okay. Very normal to love me. Want me. 

Was he flirting with Shane? Shane wasn’t delusional? Was this actually happening? 

No. Rozanov wouldn’t do this. Not on any other day, especially not now when he was most likely surrounded by teammates who could see his phone. He was too careful about them even being friends to risk flirting. Even when he doesn’t mean it like that. 

[01:31am] Shane Hollander

Jesus. Are you drunk? You can’t text me that.

[01:32am] Ilya Rozanov (Bears C.)

You are not drunk? Thought that was why you texted me. 

Booty call.

Shane hid his smile in his pillow even though nobody was around to see. It was nice for someone other than Rose to know. Not just know but be okay with it. Welcome it in a joking way that didn’t make Shane feel bad about it. 

[01:32am] Shane Hollander

Who is teaching you those words?

[01:33am] Ilya Rozanov (Bears C.)

People on winning team are. 

And there he went again… Shane should stop texting him. Let him go back to having fun. The way he should cut Rose loose and let her have fun with other people. It was selfish to keep her. 

Selfish to text Rozanov while he was partying with friends. 

[01:36am] Shane Hollander

Okay. This has been awesome…

I’m going to bed. Have fun tonight.

Rozanov didn’t immediately reply. For a second Shane thought he’d put his phone away for the party he surely was at. It would be his right. Shane was nothing to him. 

He didn’t stop staring at his phone.

[01:45am] Ilya Rozanov (Bears C.)

Sleep well, Jane.

He came back.

[01:27am] Shane Hollander

That’s not my name!

[01:29am] Ilya Rozanov (Bears C.)

I know. Go to bed. 

Shane didn’t listen. Not at first. He stared at the text thread for another hour. Normal players had friends on other teams. This happened. Especially since Shane and Rozanov were at the all stars every year. They shouldn’t have to delete their messages but they had to. 

Shane scrolled back up. Booty call. Shane laughed and traced his own mouth with his thumb to wipe the smile away. It kind of was. Except emotionally. The reminder that Shane could feel this for someone else. He needed to worry that that someone was Rozanov. It was wrong to think like this about his rival. His secret friend? 

But he’d made a promise to keep this distance between them. Their friendship lived in the hollow slumber of the world. The space between their teams, the league, the weight of their countries and families. 

Pinky promise.

He deleted the entire chat, rolled over and went to sleep.

***

Ilya finished his interval run by slowing down the treadmill. He liked walking while he checked his emails. It kept his body busy while he tried to avoid the stress of having to think about his brother.

Truth be told, Ilya should’ve cut him off years ago. It felt too late now. He’d been taking care of his family for ten years now. At least on the financial front. Cutting his brother, and by extension his niece, off now was wrong. It would destroy them and their social standings. 

And social standings were important in Russia. 

There were a couple of emails from his agent. An aging Russian man who really should be doing a better job for how much Ilya paid him. Perhaps it was finally time for a new one. An American lady who could set him up for dumb photoshoots and sponsor meetings like Hollander and his mamayaga. 

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. It was useless. Ilya would stick with his Russian agent and he’d send money to his brother and the world would continue turning the way it always did. 

His phone buzzed. Once, quick. Not the annoying rhythm he’d assigned to Sveta or the long thrill of his brother. 

A number he’d saved in the middle of the night after a game. One text, a promise. He didn’t text in the middle of the day. Not without reason. That was on Ilya. Ilya and his insistence that they could talk but they’re not friends and nobody can ever find out. 

Because people knowing would make this fragile tether real. It would solidify this weird goo that congealed slightly above his sternum.

[03:41pm] #24

What did you think about us playing together during All-Stars?

What a strange question? They played together like gods. It had honestly been unfair to the players on the other team. They had seemed less like all stars and more like all-mids. Like Pike.

[03:43pm] I.G. Rozanov

You forget you have actual friends again? Talk to worst player on team. Hayden.

There. A good, solid answer that wouldn’t look weird to anyone else that may see their texts. 

[03:44pm] #24

Not to spread rumors but I may be looking for a new team.

No. He would never. The face of that red and blue franchise? He was deserting them? Leaving his station of duty? 

[03:52pm] I.G. Rozanov

You are traitor now, yes?

[03:52pm] #24

I don’t want to play for a team that doesn’t want all of me.

What? Oh. Oh.

Ilya scrubbed a hand through his hair. Shit. This was bad. He’d told someone about himself and it had not gone well. This was not just bad. This was very bad. 

He didn’t know how to fix this. Which teams were homophobic and which weren’t. Ottawa was always proud of being the nice team but nice didn’t win them any games. It would be a waste of talent. He would probably rather die than play for that team in its current state. 

Fuck, a team was really giving up their star centre? For what? All because he sometimes liked to suck cock? He was discreet about it! There weren’t even any rumors about his sexuality. Not when he was openly dating Rose Landry.

Which could make him bi, but– Well, Ilya knew better than that. He had said more than that. Not with so many words but with his vocabulary Ilya had gotten good at working with little in this country. 

But how could he help? Fuck it.

[03:59pm] I.G. Rozanov

Montreal has always been filled with fool assholes. Bears are a much nicer team who may be looking for a wing.

He stayed quiet for too long. No dots, finally dots, disappeared and back again. 

[04:02pm] #24

I’ll keep them in mind if the rumors pan out. 

Thanks.

There was no way that Ilya was going to delete these texts. Not when he may not be safe with his own team. Instead Ilya stepped off the treadmill and dialed his head coach. He had intel to share and a dumb man to keep safe.