Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Pining, mention of Shane/OC

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-14 Completed: 2026-05-11 Words: 4,646 Chapters: 3/3

a heart of rich earth

Summary

Shane coughs up a petal in Las Vegas, in a hotel elevator that’s going down.

He has his hanahaki surgery a month later. There’s no other choice: Shane doesn’t want to die or stop playing hockey, and Rozanov has made it perfectly clear, over and over, that they are nothing to each other.

But his post-surgery instructions don’t tell him how to keep playing in a league where Rozanov is still always there. Or what to do when Rozanov texts him before a game in Boston.

Notes

Chapter 1

Shane books his hanahaki surgery the day after he coughs up his first petal in a Las Vegas hotel elevator.

He goes in for the surgery a month later. His doctors tell him he made a great choice: they’re catching his disease so early that the procedure will be simple and very low-risk. Just a little camera and a tool sliding down his trachea to snip out the seed where it’s taken root. This will barely be a blip in his medical history.

The way Shane sees it, there is no choice at all. Even slightly decreased lung capacity could seriously affect his performance on the ice, so he has to act fast. And there’s no reason to wait, since his hanahaki will never be cured the other way. Rozanov made it perfectly clear in that penthouse hotel suite that what they were doing was fucking only. He wouldn’t kiss Shane, wouldn’t even fucking look at him afterward.

Still, Shane loves him. That’s the stupidest thing Shane has ever done.

Shane discloses his condition to the Metros’ medical team, of course he does—his contract requires it, and there’s no way for them to know he got hanahaki because of a man rather than a woman. And they keep it confidential, as the law dictates, so the only other person who knows is Hayden, who’s driving Shane to his surgery. Shane tells his parents that he’s doing a silent retreat for two days to rest and re-set for the next year.

“Are you sure?” Hayden asks Shane while they’re parked outside the hospital.

There’s only one answer Shane can give. Sure, sometimes it feels good to be in love, to see Rozanov on the ice or giving a post-game interview, or to touch him during sex. It’s like a rush of gold dust in his veins, a sparkling feeling. But plenty of stuff that’s bad for you feels good. These hookups with Rozanov could destroy Shane. They’ve always been a mistake, and Shane’s misery since Rozanov stopped replying to his messages is proof of that. Time to end it.

“Yeah,” Shane says.

Hayden sighs and shakes his head. “She’s crazy, then. You’re a nice guy, #1 draft pick, solid bank account I’m guessing, in case you have a drug habit I don’t know about, and—I don’t mean this in a gay way, but you’re good-looking, right? What else does she want?” He frowns. “Unless she’s married?”

“She’s not married,” Shane says. He’s so tired. “Let’s go in.”

So they leave the comfortable air conditioning of the car for a brief walk through the blazing heat and surreal sunlight of the parking lot. Shane has his pre-surgery papers folded up in his sweating hand. For the first time in possibly years, he didn’t eat breakfast.

He changes into a hospital gown, which is weird too. Hayden is focused on texting Jackie, which is a relief since he’s not looking at Shane’s face. While he’s waiting to be taken into surgery, Shane scrolls through his messages with “Lily” one last time. One for every inch of the dick you want, what an asshole! It’s a good thing that, by tonight, Shane won’t be charmed by this stupid sexting any more. It’s good that he won’t still want to kiss Rozanov’s full lips that smirk and grin and pout and hold a cigarette so prettily.

Right before they wheel him into surgery, the doctor checks with him one last time. Is he sure?

“Yes,” Shane replies, wishing that people would stop asking.

In the recovery room, Shane wakes up a little cold and groggy, but without pain. The slight pinching in Shane’s left bronchus, near his heart, is gone. 

“Everything went perfectly. Textbook,” his doctor says, smiling. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Shane says. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “It’s easy to breathe.”

“Great,” says his doctor. “Your teammate has your post-surgery notes, but it’s mostly just resting for a couple days. Call me if you experience any bleeding or pain.”

“Okay.” Shane swallows. Of course the doctor knows who he is and who Hayden is. This is Montreal, and he’s Shane Hollander. 

He could never have brought a boyfriend to do this for him. So it was for the best. 

During the drive home, Shane rests his head against the car window and closes his eyes. Hayden offers to stay the night, and he probably should, but Shane wants to be alone. He’s starving, and he needs to at least try to hit his macros for the day. And he’s frustrated that he didn’t work out today, didn’t even get to jog. Everything is off.

Once Hayden’s gone, Shane sits on a stool at his breakfast bar to eat dinner and scrolls through his phone.

Lily.

It worked. Shane’s heart doesn’t ache when he looks at these messages. It’s strange when he thinks back and remembers how it used to; the Shane who had those feelings is a stranger, was a stranger inhabiting Shane’s body. It’s kind of fucked up, remembering clearly how much he used to care and not really understanding why.

Shane ought to stop thinking about it—the surgery is over, that chapter of his life is closed—but he can’t help poking at the absence within him. He doesn’t feel nothing for Rozanov. Rozanov is a great player to watch, a great challenge to meet on the ice. That hasn’t changed. He’s physically beautiful, that’s just a fact. He is, honestly, kind of funny. The difference is that the alchemy transforming all these pieces into love is missing. 

Yes, it was for the best.

That summer, Shane flies to a brand event in LA and tries Grindr for the first time. He’s pent up, he has needs and he’s not going to Rozanov to meet them. He has to get his head right so he can focus in the coming season.

What follows is not objectively bad. Shane becomes a faceless torso and matches with another faceless torso.

Do you like sports? Shane asks him.

Love watching built guys get sweaty, but otherwise no, Mike replies.

Great, Shane says.

And Mike, as far as Shane can tell, doesn’t recognize Shane at all amid the constellations of celebrities in LA. Mike is a band’s lead singer, closeted, with religious parents; he doesn’t wear a cross around his neck. They fuck, and Mike makes sure Shane comes before he does. They don’t kiss. The last thing Shane wants is to get hanahaki again.

So it’s fine, really. But afterwards, Shane isn’t floating in bliss the way he was with Rozanov in that stairwell. Shane didn’t have a basis of comparison before. Now he does, and unfortunately Rozanov is looking even better in contrast. 

Fuck.

Plus, the benefit of being with Rozanov was that if Rozanov outed him, it would be mutually assured destruction. Mike has religious parents, sure, but he could change his mind. There’s no possible way Rozanov would ever ruin his own career just to ruin Shane’s. That Shane is absolutely certain of.

That one fuck with Mike leaves Shane with anxiety all through the summer. And it wasn’t even that mindblowing.

Shane deletes Grindr before the preseason. Mike might not have recognized Shane, but some anonymous guy will eventually. It wasn’t worth it.

In autumn, a week before the Metros’ first game in Boston, Ilya texts Shane: Want to be bad on Tuesday night?

Shane hesitates. Turns off his phone screen, puts it aside so he can keep jogging on the treadmill. 

Opens up his messages with “Lily” again.

Seemingly by themselves, his fingers type yes.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Hooking up with Rozanov again is just as great as Shane had hoped. It was good with Mike, nothing to complain about, but Rozanov’s simply playing at a different level—the same as he does on the ice. Rozanov is naturally sensual in the way he squeezes Shane’s chest, takes control, fucks Shane with perfect confidence. Shane doesn’t have to think. He can let his own body and Rozanov lead the way.

It’s fine, because Shane knows how to stay safe now: when Rozanov leans in to kiss him, Shane puts a hand on his chest and says, “We shouldn’t. It’s just hooking up, right?”

“Okay. Yes,” says Rozanov, and true to his word, he doesn’t try again. He does press a kiss to Shane’s shoulder when he’s pushing inside, but then he freezes and says, “Is okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane pants, frustrated. “As long as it’s not . . . on the mouth. Can you . . .”

“Yes,” Rozanov says, before starting to fuck Shane in earnest. A few minutes later, Shane comes so hard he loses all feeling in his arms and legs for a while.

As soon as Shane can get up again, he does. “I’m just gonna shower quick and then head out,” he says, gesturing awkwardly to Rozanov’s en suite.

“Okay,” Rozanov says. Shane has always liked the way he says that word.

Shane showers, gets dressed, leaves. It’s still dangerous because they could get found out, of course, but at least Shane isn’t going to fucking die from it. 

Since this routine works so well, Shane sticks to it through the rest of 2014, and all of 2015, and the start of 2016 too. Sometimes Shane wants to kiss Rozanov—his lips look so soft, they are soft as far as Shane remembers—and Shane even catches himself leaning in to do it, but he always catches himself in time.

So Shane isn’t that worried when he takes an Uber to Rozanov’s new house in Brookline, out of the heart of the city in the west of Boston. Ilya looks gorgeous, as always, and the sex is amazing, as always. Shane doesn’t mean to fall asleep afterward—he’s never done that with Rozanov before—but Rozanov’s bed is comfortable, and his warm, firm arm holding Shane from behind is . . . nice.

Shane gets a little worried when Rozanov asks him to stay. More worried when Rozanov offers to make him food. But it’s just food, right? It’s tuna melts, which are nobody’s idea of a romantic meal, Shane’s pretty sure. They’re something anybody would eat with a friend. It’s fine.

It’s also fine that Rozanov says he doesn’t like Shane as a person, only his mouth. They’re a hookup. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

Then Rozanov gets a phone call and leaves to go talk to somebody in Russian. With nothing else to do, Shane looks at the shirt he’s wearing. Rozanov’s shirt. A plain black tee, nothing special, only unique because it’s carrying Rozanov’s scent: his cologne and his shampoo. Ilya stopped smoking a while ago, to Shane’s relief, so at least the fabric doesn’t smell of that.

Something tickles in Shane’s throat. Probably a cold—one of the rookies has been sick.

Shane coughs a little. Stands up and goes to Ilya’s bathroom so he doesn’t bother Ilya while he’s coughing more.

In front of Ilya’s bathroom mirror, Shane lowers his hand from his mouth and finds a petal there.

Ilya’s still on the phone, arguing with someone in Russian from the sounds of it, and Shane has absolutely no idea what to say to him. So Shane just leaves. He walks out, a way down the road, until it’s probably safe to call an Uber.

Shane’s watching the little car drive closer on the Uber app map when he gets a text from Ilya. Where are you?

Sorry, I had to go, Shane says. He’s standing alone on this leafy, quiet street, where the trees are autumnal red like on a New England postcard, and trying not to freak the fuck out. How could he fuck up this badly? He followed the rules. Shane didn’t kiss Ilya. Shane isn’t supposed to care. Shane isn’t supposed to want Ilya to say, even though you are so boring, I like you more than my women, more than anyone else. We’re something, you and me.

It would be so easy to go back to Ilya’s house now and kiss him, maybe even have sex again. Shane could put his hands in Ilya’s hair one more time, and feel Ilya’s hands on him one more time, and say goodbye.

Fuck. Shane cannot cry here on the fucking street. And he can’t go back to Ilya’s—Rozanov’s—house either, because there is no safe way to be around Rozanov. Shane gets it now. 

As soon as Shane arrives back at the hotel room, he gets in the shower—again—and bunches Ilya’s clothes up into a ball stuffed deep into his suitcase.

“Whoa,” Hayden says, sprawled out over his bed eating his gross Red Vines. “Are you okay?”

In spite of the damp towel around his waist, which is totally going to make the comforter damp too, Shane sits on the side of his own bed and puts his head in his hands. He had his big freakout in the shower. He’s on the brink of freaking out again.

“Dude.” Hayden turns himself so he’s sitting facing Shane. “Did something happen?”

Shane’s texting the team doctor as he says: “I have to have surgery again.”

“What? What for? Wait, do you mean . . .” The expression on Hayden’s face is devastating. Pity?

Shane fucking hates being pitied. “Can you please not tell anyone?” he asks.

“Of course, man.” Hayden doesn’t stop there, though. “Is it Boston Lily?”

Shane doesn’t have it in him to reply. He gives Hayden a look that leaves Hayden saying, “Sorry, shutting up now.”

Shane should apologize to him. He’s pissed off at himself, not Hayden.

Like before, the doctors want to act fast. The disease is in a very early stage (again), so the surgery should be quick and easy (again). The medical team look at Shane with pity, too, and he understands why. Hanahaki twice is ridiculous.

There’s a cool October wind, not glaring summer sun, across the parking lot as Hayden walks with Shane to the ambulatory surgery ward—so at least Shane can escape deja vu in one respect. Hayden had to take time away from his kids to come here with Shane. Shane appreciates it; there’s no fucking way he could tell his parents about this. They’d want to know what girl doesn’t love Shane back. They’d pity Shane, too.

It’s harder now, looking back through Ilya’s messages and knowing that in a few hours they won’t mean anything to Shane. When Shane had his first surgery, Ilya had been an asshole to him. This time, it’s Shane who was the asshole to Ilya, leaving his house without saying a thing. That was rude, even if to Ilya Shane is only a hookup, no more than a good mouth. 

Shane coughs again until Hayden tells him to stop scrolling his messages with Lily. “You gotta block her,” Hayden says earnestly. “No contact.” Hayden isn’t in the habit of telling Shane what to do, so that means he’s really serious about this.

“Yeah,” Shane says. “I know.”

They take him away to surgery before he can.

As before, the surgery is simple and goes well. When Shane wakes up, the thought of standing on a street in Boston and trying not to cry because of Ilya Rozanov is odd. But Shane did it.

That’s another Shane who has become a stranger to Shane as he is now. This truth makes Shane feel just as sick as it did two years ago. The surgery doesn’t just cut out Shane’s love, it cuts out a part of Shane himself, a part of who he is that obviously wants to exist. Shane really cared about Rozanov, and now he . . . doesn’t. Shane fell in love with Rozanov twice, and now that emotion is gone again. Amputated.

Shane goes home and takes Rozanov’s clothes out of his suitcase. They’re all wrinkled, and what was he thinking, putting dirty clothes in with his clean ones? Shane dumps them into the washer with his own black Under Armor undershirts, dries them, and tucks them in the back of a dresser drawer. It’s wrong for him to not return Rozanov’s clothes, but Shane can’t afford to take the risk. No more hookups with Rozanov, no matter how good they felt. As far as Shane’s concerned, they’re now two rival captains. Practically strangers.

Two weeks later, Shane’s out with the team when he meets Rose Landry. And it’s wonderful, it’s perfect timing because she likes him. She really likes him, and Shane likes her, and so this is not going to kill him. If Shane can fall in love with Rose, she might even save him. 

Shane is probably out of practice with kissing, given that he never did it with Rozanov. That’s why he doesn’t enjoy it that much with Rose. And the sex isn’t great the first time, but it’s normal to have nerves, especially if your girlfriend is a gorgeous A-list movie star. Rose assures Shane that it’s fine. She understands.

It does feel great to be able to text Rose in the locker room under her real name, and not worry about one of the guys reading the texts. They can see Shane calling her “babe.” Normal stuff.

If Shane isn’t that keen on going to the club with Rose, it doesn’t matter—he goes anyway because he owes it to her, and because he likes her and she wants to and this is how Shane’s life is now. He’s Rose’s boyfriend and that’s a million times better than dying because he was hooking up with the captain of the Boston Raiders.

Turns out that Rozanov is at the club too. A funny coincidence. Rozanov is busy making out with a woman, which perfectly proves that Shane was right to have the surgery. Rozanov likes fucking people, including Shane, that’s all.

Shane was the stupid one, getting involved with this guy and developing feelings for him. Shane’s still not over the embarrassment of having hanahaki surgery twice.

Pulling Rose closer, Shane kisses her. She seems into it, grinding closer on Shane’s body, which is kind of uncomfortable because he’s sweating in the hot club, but Shane can tolerate that. Shane needs to focus on kissing her and—

A commotion behind Shane makes him turn around again. Rozanov is on his knees, maybe puking? Or coughing, or . . . drugs? His body is spasming, and Marleau, his winger, is next to him, pulling him up by the elbows and trying to haul him out of the club, but the space that’s opened up around them on the dance floor makes it too obvious when something falls from Rozanov’s mouth.

Not petals. A long flower stem ending in two white lilies, like the ones at Shane’s grandma’s funeral, except that these ones are spattered with blood.

Chapter End Notes

😈 only 1 more chapter I think!

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

The Raiders hustle Rozanov out, but the damage is done. The dance floor is emptying, since the sight and sound of a guy choking on a bloody flower kind of killed the vibe, and Shane’s sure he saw people filming it, so Rozanov’s probably going to have to deal with that on social media too. This is Montreal, after all; there’s no way he went unrecognized. Poor guy.

Shane, Miles and Rose retreat to their booth again. “Shit,” Rose says, turning her champagne glass around by its stem. “That’s pretty advanced, which means he had to already know. Which means . . .”

“Means what?” Shane says. He can’t stop looking at the poor nitrile-gloved nightclub employee cleaning Rozanov’s blood off the dance floor. 

When Rozanov leaves his blood on the ice because he got punched, he’s always grinning, showing his bloody teeth. This wasn’t like that.

“That he’s decided not to have the surgery,” Rose says.

“One of my best friends from Juilliard got hanahaki a few years ago,” Miles says softly. “We all tried to persuade him to get the surgery. He wouldn’t.”

Is refusing the surgery what people normally do? Shane’s doctors always told him he was doing the right thing. He thought he was doing the right thing. He’s always listened to experts when they give him advice.

Fuck. “I should go home,” Shane says. He might be sick.

“Yeah, good idea, because there’s at least one person filming us right now,” Miles says.

“Oh my god, yeah, the internet would be a nightmare about that.” Rose downs the last of her drink. “Shane Hollander parties after rival reveals lethal illness.” She makes a face.

Numbly, Shane follows Rose and Miles out to a taxi, which drops Miles and Rose off at the cast’s hotel and goes on to take Shane to his apartment.

There, Shane sits at the breakfast bar in his kitchen, opens up his chat history with Lily, and stares at the last exchange in it. 

Where are you?

Sorry, I had to go.

If Rozanov had more to say, Shane doesn’t know, because he blocked Rozanov on the day of his surgery. His second surgery, shortly after he woke up from his anesthesia.

It’s not possible that Rozanov’s flowers are for Shane, right? Rozanov’s the one who started the not kissing thing. Rozanov’s the one who told Shane he was nothing more than a good mouth. Rozanov was the one telling Shane about the women he was fucking, how he might look for another woman to fuck. Shane went over these facts in his mind over and over again before he had his surgery, and they all pointed to the answer that Rozanov didn’t love him and never would.

Yet the guilt clawing at Shane’s guts doesn’t stop. Rozanov had his episode when Shane was near him in the club. And he coughed up a lily. That could mean . . . 

And it’s not like Shane doesn’t care at all about Rozanov now. Yes, it’s true that Shane doesn’t love Rozanov. But he can still remember how kind Rozanov was when he fucked Shane the first time. He still knows the exhilaration of facing Rozanov on the ice. It’s still horrible to imagine that a larger-than-life guy like Rozanov would die at the age of twenty-five.

Fuck, Rozanov can’t die.

With a sweaty hand, Shane unblocks Lily and tries to call her. Him.

No answer. This is Ilya, I will never—

Shane dials again. And again and again, sitting alone in his apartment that’s dark everywhere except his kitchen, since he went directly here after coming in the door. He doesn’t know what else to do other than call Rozanov, and he’s suffused with this abstract anger that has nowhere to go. 

“Fucking what, Hollander?” Rozanov’s voice snaps through the phone, startling Shane. “I am dying man, I’m trying to fucking sleep, what is the fucking matter?”

Shane has no niceties up his sleeve, no words that he knows he’s supposed to say. All he has is what he’s really thinking. “Is it me?” 

In a less irritable tone, maybe more tired than anything, Rozanov says, “It’s not you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Then it’s that woman you were talking about?” Shane says. How can she not love Rozanov? Don’t all women love him? 

“Yes—no—” And then Rozanov breaks off into wet, ugly-sounding coughs. 

Shane should hang up. It’s rude to listen, isn’t it? But if he hangs up, Rozanov might never answer his calls again. 

Shane needs Rozanov to live. He doesn’t want to play in a league that has a missing-tooth gap where the Boston Raiders’ cocky asshole captain should be. He likes Rozanov, he doesn’t love him but he likes him and there aren’t actually that many people in the world who Shane sincerely likes. 

As soon as the coughing is over, Shane says, “Don’t die.” 

A hoarse laugh. “What, you want to be five hundredth person to tell me to have the surgery? Sorry, get in line.”

Shane opens his mouth to say yes, of fucking course he wants Rozanov to have the surgery and live. What comes out is: “No. Don’t do it. It’s not worth it.” Horrifyingly, his voice breaks.

There’s quiet on the line. “You have had the surgery?”

“Yeah,” Shane says. “And it sucks. When you remember you used to feel something, but you’re not you any more.” He’s totally failing to put what he wants to say into words; he gives up. “So yeah, I wish . . . I don’t want you to die, obviously, but can’t you try to not love her any more?” Only 4 percent of hanahaki cases are resolved by the patient falling out of love. Shane learned years ago, before he had his seedling surgically removed the first time.

“No,” Rozanov says. “I can’t do that. But thank you. For calling.” More coughing. This time Rozanov mutes the call, leaving Shane in silence until Rozanov suddenly says, “Who was it for you? Not Rose Landry.”

Shit. Rozanov knows Shane’s never seen going out with women. He commented on it before. Who the fuck is Shane supposed to say he’s in love with? “No, not Rose.”

“Then, me?” Rozanov says it in a joking tone, but sometimes people say they’re joking when it’s not really a joke.

Rozanov’s cornered Shane, anyway. He’s going to know if Shane lies. He always sees through Shane as clearly as through a pane of glass.

Shane tries anyway. "No."

A pause, a cough.  "You’re lying."

“Okay, fine,” Shane says. It’s so fucking embarrassing. But what does it matter, if Rozanov is never going to speak to him again? Or if he’s going to fucking die? “It was you. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Rozanov laughs, and it sounds painful and rough. After what sounds like it might be cursing in Russian, Rozanov says, “Shane. You think mine is not for you? Is lilies every time, I’m so fucking sick of lilies. They smell like funerals.”

“You’re shitting me,” Shane says. No. He had it cut out of him and now—Rozanov—

“We are both very stupid,” Rozanov says with a bittersweet fondness Shane didn’t know he was capable of.

“No, look,” Shane says, his thoughts forming as fast as he can speak. “I mean, yeah, we are stupid, but listen. You’re on IR now, right?”

“Probably, after video of the club goes viral.” Rozanov sounds almost as unhappy about not playing as Shane would be.

“Then stay here. In Montreal. Because I don’t love you, not right now, but—all the reasons it happened are still the same, I guess. So it should happen again, right? If maybe we spend some time together.” Rozanov staying in Shane’s apartment, that would be so fucking weird. But Shane wouldn’t mind it. He definitely wouldn’t mind the chance to have sex with Rozanov again. Rozanov’s funny, handsome, a great player to watch—none of that has changed. He’s nice sometimes. He was pretty nice to Shane on that day in his house, making him a tuna melt.

Silence on the line, which Shane realizes after a few seconds is another coughing fit. Oh, shit, that’s his fault. 

“Okay,” a hoarse Rozanov says eventually. “I’m at the Sheraton, the usual one.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Shane barely touched his drink at Ciel, so he’s good to drive.

On the way there, through the night, Shane has a phone call with Rose on speaker. It’s painful but not unfriendly; Rose knew, just seeing the look on Shane’s face.

Outside the Sheraton, Rozanov seems smaller than usual, standing there in the dark. Shane puts his luggage in the car’s trunk, evoking complaints from Rozanov that he is not helpless. For some reason, Rozanov’s annoyance makes Shane smile.

Ilya gets in the passenger seat and says, “You are Canada’s favorite hockey star. Why are you driving this boring dad car?”

“Shut up,” Shane says, and he thinks with relief: yeah, it’s not going to take too long to fix this. Not long at all.

Chapter End Notes

This is COMPLETE!

I'm so tired, pls be gentle if you see mistakes, and please kudos and comment!