Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Rose Landry, Lots of Original Characters, fabian salah makes an appearance

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Hockey Coach Shane Hollander, Hockey Coach Ilya Rozanov, and now they're directing a musical, Flashbacks to College, Fluff, i am a silly goose on the loose, a little spritz of angst, POV Alternating, Musicals, and hockey!, both are about 29 in this

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-01 Updated: 2026-06-07 Words: 21,382 Chapters: 9/11

i am the star(light)

Summary

Former college hockey rivals Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are coaches at a Connecticut boarding school, and they’re both pretty good at their job.

But when the would-be director of the spring musical suddenly leaves just before auditions, both Shane and Ilya find themselves taking on a completely new challenge.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

South Essex Preparatory School’s men’s hockey team was leading by one in the final minutes of the third period of the league championship. Head coach Shane Hollander was dialed in, watching for the line match ups and making sure his best defensive players would be rested enough to get out there when the opposition pulled their goalie. 

He tuned out the screams of what looked like a large portion of the student body, including the entire women’s team that had won their own league championship game just the day before. He knew there were some college scouts in the crowd too. 

One of his top defensemen landed a huge hit and moved the puck along. All the players on the bench were standing, shouting and banging the boards with their sticks at every effort to clear the puck. The managers and previously injured players standing next to Shane were too tense to yell. 

The clock kept winding down, and the first line went out. 

They were well trained. They knew just where they needed to be, double-teaming the puck as soon as an opposing player mishandled it. They blocked every shot. They were in incredible condition after a season of Shane skating them hard in every practice. 

Finally, the clock got to zero, and the place exploded. Shane just stood and exhaled slowly as his team spilled out onto the ice, gloves and sticks flying everywhere. 

Across the rink, members of the women’s team pounded on the glass. Ilya Rozanov, their coach, snapped at them to stop. Ilya seemed to look through the glass at Shane for a moment, and then turned his attention back to making sure his team behaved. 

Shane turned to his own team. He’d have to make them line up for a handshake soon. He knew all too well what it was like to be on the losing side of a championship game. 

The tension he’d been holding all game was gone, and he rolled his shoulders back as he shuffled across the ice in his nicest shoes. He’d have to get in touch with the college scouts after this, write some speeches for the banquet, and get started on his recruits for next season. But it was good to know that the most stressful part of his year was over. 

South Essex was a boarding school situated down the hill from a small town with exactly three bars, only one of which was open late. That was where the faculty and staff who were available ended up on any night they could make an excuse for a celebration, and the double hockey victory over the weekend was the perfect catalyst. 

By the time Shane got there after hours of chatting with the parents and families of his players, he was relieved to see that Rose was already at the bar, waving him down and pointing to the beer she’d ordered for him. 

“Congratulations!” She jumped up and gave him a hug. “How do you feel?” 

“Better.” Shane took a sip of his beer. 

“I know you thought the other team had stronger players.” 

“Hey.” Shane narrowed his eyes at Rose. “I never said that.” 

“I know.” Rose grinned. “But you thought it.” 

“You’ll never prove it.” 

Rose just laughed. “I bet you’re glad Ilya can’t gloat that his team is better than yours.” 

“It would’ve been a long spring term if he could.” 

Years ago, the South Essex women’s hockey team barely had a program. That had all changed when Ilya Rozanov, a twenty-six year old former Boston University hockey player with a degree in Russian Language and Literature had signed on to both teach Russian and to try and turn the team around. By the time Shane arrived a year later, they were already competing for the top spot in the league. 

Shane had stepped into a much easier job a- the men’s team was already extremely good when he arrived. But it meant that it would be his own fault if the team didn’t live up to its expectations. 

The language classrooms were all in the same building, which meant that Shane, as a French teacher, saw Ilya quite a lot. And Ilya was always up to date with Shane’s team, especially if they lost. What is the matter, Hollander, he’d say, you cannot get your boys to skate in the third period? 

And Shane couldn’t even argue back with something like I’d like to see you do better, because Ilya did. His players were in such good condition that they never got out-muscled in the third period. Sometimes, it was a little infuriating. 

Rose waved at the door again. “Speak of the devil,” she said, “he’s here.” 

“Like he’d turn down an opportunity to celebrate himself,” Shane grumbled. 

Rose had arrived at South Essex the same year as Ilya, and they’d spent a lot of their first year commiserating on how entitled so many of their students were. Rose considered them decent enough friends, which meant that Ilya was often just around. 

When Ilya made his way to the bar, Rose raised her glass to the both of them. “This place is a hockey dynasty.” 

Shane raised his beer too. “It’ll be a theatre dynasty next, once the board gets their heads out of their asses and gives you more funding.” 

Ilya just raised his eyebrows. “Already done celebrating your win, Hollander?” He gestured to the bar for a beer of his own. “You might want to enjoy more. You don’t know when you will win your next one.” 

“I could say the same to you.” Shane felt his ears go red as Rose just laughed. She was always entertained by their little arguments. 

“Mmm… no you can’t. I will win next year too.” 

The annoying part was Ilya was probably right about that. 

“Actually, guys,” Rose cut in, “there’s something I wanted to tell you.” Shane had a bad feeling about the way she was biting her lip, as if she knew they weren’t going to like what she was about to say. 

Then, he remembered she’d had a meeting about the upcoming musical earlier. “Oh, no. Did they cut the budget more for the show?” 

“No,” she paused, “well maybe a little, but that’s not it. It’s actually good news.” 

Shane and Ilya both waited, but she didn’t say anything until Ilya said, “Spit it out, Landry.” 

Rose just took a breath. “I got cast in a TV show.” 

There was a beat. And then, “What? Rose, that’s awesome!” Shane pulled her into another hug. 

“It’s about hockey, actually. I guess I’m playing some kind of love interest- I’m not sure yet.” 

“Wow.” Shane felt the smile grow on his face. “I guess all those late night skating lessons I gave you paid off.” 

Ilya was giving them both a flat stare. “She said she was the love interest, not the hockey player.” 

“Hey, she could be both.” Now Shane just felt like arguing. 

Ilya leaned forward. “So why were you so nervous to share? It’s good news, yes?” He tilted his head and stroked his chin, as if in thought. “Unless… when do you start?” 

Now Rose really did look nervous, turning her glass around in her hands. “That’s kind of the- I leave in a week.” 

“What?” The smile fell right off Shane’s face. “You can’t just leave!” 

“There is one player on my team,” Ilya mused, “she is always wearing a Rent t-shirt. She will be sad she can’t do the musical.” 

Shane’s jaw dropped. “They’re canceling the musical too?” 

Rose rubbed her palm into her forehead. “I know, I know. I’m letting the kids down, I’ve already heard it. But this is a huge break for me. Like, maybe a life-changing one. I have to do it.” 

Shane was starting to feel a little hollow. “I’m so happy for you. Really. But wow. What am I supposed to do without you?” 

Rose shrugged. “Hang out with Ilya.” 

Ilya snorted. “Yes, Hollander. Hang out with me.” 

Shane ignored him. “We’ll have to do dinner together every night until you leave.” 

Rose looked like she was already tearing up. “I suppose I can tell you guys what the musical was gonna be. Since it’s not happening.” 

“You could have told me before,” Ilya said, “I will not know it.” 

“You knew that your player had a Rent t-shirt,” Shane retorted. 

“I looked it up.” 

Rose snapped her fingers, and they both looked at her. “It was gonna be Starlight Express.” She looked pained. “Our auditorium is perfect for it too, with all the ramps.” 

Shane and Ilya looked at her blankly. 

“It’s the one about the trains.”

Still, blank looks. 

“Where they’re trying to win a big race? Andrew Lloyd Webber?” 

“Rose,” Ilya started, “you are saying the musical was going to be about singing trains?” 

“Yes, and the cast does the whole show on roller-skates, and-” she paused, looking between Shane and Ilya. “How different is ice skating and roller-skating?” 

Shane had never been on roller-skates. “Very, very different.” 

“But it’s probably the same muscles, right?” 

Ilya suddenly looked tense. “Landry… no.” 

Now Rose was standing, her face full of excitement. “Neither of you are doing a spring activity.” 

“Because we have to recruit for our hockey teams.” 

“But you can do that in the summer! Please, Ilya, please please pleeeeease,” 

“Why aren’t you asking Hollander?” Ilya pointed over to Shane. 

“I know he’ll say yes if you do.” 

“Hey!” Shane narrowed his eyes at Rose. “No I won’t.” Suddenly, Shane realized what Rose was asking. “No. I seriously won’t. I don’t know anything about musicals. Or roller-skating.” 

“You can spend all the time you would’ve been spending with me on the musical instead.” 

Ilya laughed. “You should do it, Hollander. Fill your calendar.” 

Rose was shaking her head. “No. They can’t just have one jock who doesn’t know what he’s doing. But the two hockey coaches doing it together? They’d have to say yes. It’ll be in all the newsletters.” 

“Not if we fail, Rose.” Shane couldn’t believe he was actually imagining what the alumni and parent newsletters would say. 

“Oh, come on. You are both incapable of failure. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Just because you’re only ever trying to be good at hockey or teaching doesn’t mean you can’t be good at something else.” 

Ilya muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Hollander is very capable of failure.” Shane held himself back from kicking his foot. 

“Guys.” Rose was practically batting her eyes at them, even though she knew that kind of thing didn’t work on Shane. “The kids will be so sad if there isn’t a musical. They’d rather have clueless idiots-” 

“Uh-” 

“-doing the musical than no one at all. There just isn’t time to hire a new drama teacher. You’ll figure it out. The kids are so enthusiastic, they’ll practically do it themselves. All you have to do is make the rehearsal schedule and make sure they don’t let their teen angst get in the way of the show.” 

“Rose-”

“No, Shane, come on. This could really work.” 

Shane shook his head just as Ilya said, “No, Landry. We are not cleaning up your mess.” 

Rose sighed and took another sip of her beer. Then, she turned to them again, with a challenge in her eye. “I think you both are just scared to say yes.” 

“What” Shane wanted to throw his hands up. “Come on, neither of us are-”

“Oh, I think you are. What is it? You think your old college teammates are gonna hear about it and make fun of you?”

“I don’t think-” 

“Or is it that neither of you have tried something new since you were about five years old, and you think that doing something aside from hockey and teaching the literal languages you’ve grown up fluent in might make you realize that you have to rewrite your own identities now. That maybe there could’ve been even more for you out there all this time. That you are both almost thirty and have confined yourselves to boxes you never bothered to break out of because you didn’t have to.” 

“That’s not fair.” Shane was fuming. And he was especially mad because there was a little voice in the back of his head wondering whether Rose was right. 

Ilya was silent. 

“Maybe not.” Rose pulled hair back into a ponytail. “Maybe I’m wrong.” She wiped the corner of her mouth. “But there’s only one way for you to prove it.” 

And that’s how the next morning, Shane and Ilya found themselves standing in front of the door to the headmaster’s house, ready to volunteer as co-directors of the spring musical. 

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

The theatre kids seemed both happy that the musical was happening, and full of trepidation that Shane and Ilya were the ones directing it. Rose had described them as “rambunctious and full of energy,” but Ilya saw nothing but stony, nervous faces. 

“Okay, everyone,” he walked out onto the stage to get the students’ attention. Some of them started whispering to each other or giggling behind their hands. Could they tell how unnatural he looked standing on the stage? He looked at Shane, who was sitting in the front row. They’d drawn straws to decide who had to address the students first. Shane made a rolling gesture with his hand. Keep going. 

“Welcome.” He should’ve written down something to say. “If you did the show last year, welcome back. If you’re new, me too.” There were some pockets of hesitant laughter at that. “Mr. Hollander and I are hockey coaches. Do all of you know what that means?”

The kids all looked at him expectantly. Ilya smiled to himself. “It means we want to win. This is not a game, but-” he looked at Shane, “we will have the best musical in the league. The best in Connecticut.”

Whispers rose up again. In hockey practices, Ilya would tap his stick on the ice or blow a whistle to get the team’s attention. He felt helpless without either method now. Was a whistle an appropriate item to have for a theatre rehearsal? He’d have to ask Rose. 

He eventually just settled on saying, “Silence,” with his accent as dialed up as he could possibly make it. Luckily, it worked. “So. Today you will audition. You will do a monologue and a song. Mr. Salah will play the piano for you. 

He shot a thankful at glance at Fabian, who was sitting at the piano looking glum. At least he’d agreed to continue as the music director for the show, even if he clearly wished it was still Rose.

A kid sitting towards the front raised his hand. “Are we dancing too?” 

Ilya shook his head. “No. Mr. Hollander and I will be teaching you to roller-skate.” Everyone looked extremely nervous. “We will turn you into champions.” That only seemed to make it worse- some of the kids turned to each other in what looked an attempt to think of another spring activity to do. 

He had to get off the stage before he scared everyone away. “Who wants to go first?” And despite the looks that suggestion some kids would rather run out of the room, a bunch of  hands went up. It reminded him of all the players who volunteered to demonstrate drills at every practice. At least they were enthusiastic. 

Rose had given Ilya and Shane advice on how to cast the show. “This is not a performing arts school,” she’d said, “you’ll be able to tell who the talented ones are.” Ilya hoped she was right. The more challenging part of the process was to apparently make sure every kid got something substantial to do. “Every kid gets a part, even the ones who are tone deaf,” Rose had emphasized. “Maybe you do a few featured small groups, or split up some speaking lines. But make sure everyone gets something.” 

This was a different approach from hockey. Sure, Ilya had a fourth line that he tried to give more playing time against a weaker team. But in the most intense games, some players didn’t play at all. Others got less time on the ice if they were playing poorly. In the musical, Ilya couldn’t exactly “bench” anyone who wasn’t performing the way he’d thought, especially if they wouldn’t be casting understudies. 

“Do NOT cast understudies, oh my god,” Rose had said when Shane had asked her about it in one of their last meetings. “It is not worth the drama.” 

So, everyone would “make it.” 

Ilya settled in his seat next to Shane, who was flipping through a stack of paper. When Ilya properly looked, he realized Shane had printed out every student’s profile picture from the South Essex student portal. Good god. At least Ilya had a notebook and pencil. 

The first student to audition was Tony, a senior who Ilya recognized from the school choir concerts. “Hi.” He handed his sheet music to Fabian. “I will be singing Corner of the Sky.” He looked at Ilya and Shane, who both nodded. “From Pippin.” He seemed to be waiting for some kind of a reaction.

“Are we supposed to know that one?” whispered Shane. Ilya shrugged. 

Fabian started playing, and Tony sang. Rose hadn’t been lying- Ilya could tell right away that he was really good. Next to him, Shane was scribbling notes on the back of Tony’s picture. Ilya just wrote Tony is really good in his notebook. 

The next student to audition was a senior named Melanie, who sang a song from Heathers. Ilya was pretty sure he’d seen that movie. He didn’t remember the main character singing anything, though. Melanie was also extremely good- it seemed that the most talented students were eager to go first. 

As more and more students took the stage, Ilya began to feel overwhelmed. How on earth were he and Shane going to pull this off? Sure, there was a lot of talent in the group. He was delighted to find out that Eve, his defenseman that always wore a Rent t-shirt, had a nice voice. Another student got the kids cheering with a song called “You Stupid Bitch.” 

But other students were a little less, well, advanced. There were several attempts to rap about American history, and others who were clearly trying to rely on making people laugh. Ilya wondered if Shane was working as hard as he was to keep a neutral facial expression as a sophomore named Liam attempted to turn “Beauty School Dropout” into some kind of sexual proposition. 

By time the auditions were done and Fabian had left, Shane and Ilya just sat in their chairs, staring straight ahead. Ilya was so zoned out that he almost didn’t notice the footsteps behind him. 

“Hi, Mr. Hollander? Mr. Rozanov?” A student in a blazer appeared in front of them. She was holding a binder with multiple tabs sticking out. 

Shane smiled. “Oh hey, Tara. What’s up?” Ilya figured Shane had her for a French class.

“I signed up to be the stage manager.” Ilya wanted to smack his palm into his forehead. He’d forgotten that Rose had said they would need a stage manager. Tara pulled out two sheets of paper and handed it to each of them. “I’m sorry I missed the start of auditions. I was making a up a test from last week. But this should have all the characters in the show with a few descriptions. Hopefully that makes your jobs easier?” She looked uncertain for a moment. 

“Wow. Thank you.” Shane was already reading through the sheet. 

“No. Thank you.” Tara waved her hand at the two of them. “I’m hoping that this will really help my college applications in the fall. And I’m just really excited to do it. So thank you for making this happen.” 

It was just what Ilya needed to hear. “We are excited to do it too.” He could feel Shane’s eyes burning into the side of his head, no doubt remembering how he’d wondered if he should back out of it on the way to the headmaster’s house. But they’d promised they would both direct the show, and he wasn’t going to go through the torture of calling Rose to tell her he’d changed his mind. 

“Great! See you in class tomorrow, Mr. Hollander. Bye, Mr. Rozanov.” Tara wove through the auditorium seats and out the door. 

Shane and Ilya fell back into silence as Shane flipped through his notes and pictures. 

“I guess we need to cast this thing,” he sighed. He pushed himself off the chair and knelt down to the floor in front of the stage. Ilya just watched as Shane started laying out the pictures in rows. 

When Shane started studying the pictures, Ilya finally spoke up. “Hey, Hollander.” 

Shane looked up at him. “Are you gonna help me, or what?” 

Ilya looked at the floor with disgust. “Such a shame we cannot use a whiteboard anywhere in this big fancy school. If only one of us had the keys to a classroom instead.” He jingled the keys in his pocket to make the point. 

Shane was already picking the pictures up from where he’d put them, his cheeks red. Ilya would’ve felt a little bad about it if he didn’t cherish every opportunity to make Shane blush. 

“This is going to be a long few months,” Shane muttered as he practically stomped out the door and towards the languages building. 

Despite Ilya’s initial reservations, they managed to cast the show. It got easier once they decided to cast girls as some of the “boy” trains. 

“But what if that messes something up?” Shane had said when Ilya suggested that Melanie, the girl who had sung a song from Heathers, play the antagonist Electra. 

“Hollander,” Ilya pointed at his computer screen, which was open to the (weirdly confusing, by the way) plot of Starlight Express. “These are trains singing about winning a race. We have many more girls than boys. You would rather put that sophomore in as Electra?” 

Shane sighed. “I guess not. We may as well put Celia as Rusty then too. She’s clearly a star.” He moved the picture of Celia, a senior who had given what Ilya had thought was an unsettling audition with a song called “The Ballad of Jane Doe,” to the side of the whiteboard. 

From there, things fell into place. Tony would be the “reigning champion” Greaseball, and an impressive junior named Rebecca would play Momma McCoy (changed from Poppa McCoy). Sarah, the one who’d sung the “You Stupid Bitch” song, would play Pearl the Observation Car. Eve, the hockey player, would play Dinah the Dining Car. A freshman girl short enough to pass as a much younger child would play Control. 

Ilya even insisted on adding a Canadian train to the cast when he discovered that there was a character called Turnov, the Trans-Siberian Express engine. “They will think I am not being fair to you,” he’d said to an exhausted Shane. 

“No one will think that,” Shane had said, but had popped the cap off the whiteboard marker anyways. So, a junior who still needed a part became Canuck the Canadian Engine. Liam, the “Beauty School Dropout” kid, was assigned Turnov. 

They read through the final cast list together, making sure they hadn’t accidentally listed a student twice. 

“I can’t believe we did it,” Shane said as he set his email to send the cast list first thing in the morning. 

“Hollander,” Ilya tapped Shane’s forearm, which made him startle. He drew his hand back. “Um, sorry. But, send it now.” 

Shane just frowned. “Now? It’s midnight.” 

“Remember what Rose said? They are not sleeping.” Based on what Ilya had seen throughout the auditions, those kids were all probably holding hands and singing in the dorms right now. Curfew be damned. 

Shane looked at the pictures he’d stuck to the whiteboard. “Fine. But I’m blaming you if there’s a typo.” 

The next morning, Ilya woke up to an inbox full of emails. Most were from the students, to confirm that they hadn’t switched to a different spring activity and would be playing the part they were given. But there was one from Tara that caught his eye.

Hi Mr. Hollander and Mr. Rozanov, 

I wanted to thank you again for making this show happen. I am really looking forward to being your stage manager. I also think I speak for the whole cast when I say I really appreciate your choice of gender neutral casting for this production. Not only are you giving this group an amazing opportunity to really shine, but you are making a bold statement with the inclusion of queer relationships. It’s really nice to see that as the South Essex hockey coaches, you are making your stance on LGBT+ inclusion clear. 
I can’t wait for the first rehearsal! 

Thank you,

Tara 

Relationships? Ilya was going to have to read that plot summary again. It was possible he and Shane were about to be in big trouble with the headmaster. 

But hey, maybe this really was what South Essex needed. Plus, most people on the campus truly had no idea just how “pro-LGBT” Ilya could get. 

It was time to get this show on the road. Or, Ilya supposed in this case, on the rails. 

Chapter End Notes

Canuck the Canadian Engine was an actual character in Starlight Express on ice, which was a real thing

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The South Essex rink looked really weird without any ice. In the off season, it was just a slab of concrete that was used for graduation events or donor and alumni dinners. Luckily for Shane and Ilya, it was also completely empty in the mornings before classes started. It was the perfect place to figure out how the fuck to roller-skate without anyone seeing. 

As hockey coaches, they both had keys to the rink and the locker rooms- they technically weren’t even breaking in. They were simply visiting in the off season with the brand new roller-skates they’d ordered knocking together in the gym bags slung over their shoulders. Still, they were both looking over their shoulders as if they were planning a robbery. 

“I think we should start on this rubber floor before going out there,” Shane said as he pulled on his skates. “It’ll stop us from going too fast to start.” 

Ilya was examining the wheels of his own skates. “How do you stop?” He glanced at the walls. “Without crashing.” 

Shane had looked this up. “You have to do a tight turn to stop.” He stood, not liking how he already felt a little wobbly. “Okay. Let’s try this.” 

It really was not the same as skating on ice. The next time Shane got the chance to call Rose, he was going to yell at her. She had likely been ignoring Shane and Ilya’s calls on purpose, now that it was too late to back out. The movement was counterintuitive to someone who’d been skating on ice since childhood and was used to pushing off sharp edges. It was even harder to remember not to turn his feet to the side to stop. 

They took a few hesitant laps around the rubber floor of the locker room before trying to go around the outer perimeter of the rink. When Shane stopped and leaned against the boards, Ilya stopped next to him. 

“How is your knee, Hollander?” Shane looked up in surprise. Ilya hadn’t mentioned his old injury in the entire time they’d been at South Essex. He hadn’t brought up their college hockey days at all, actually. 

He shrugged. “Fine. Not really bothering me.” He frowned. Should he ask about Ilya’s head? Fuck, should he have thought to order Ilya a helmet? Maybe they both should’ve been wearing helmets. At the very least, he’d have to remember to get helmets for the cast. 

He decided not to say anything about it to Ilya, instead settling for, “We’re going to have to get some padding for the kids before we take them out here.” 

“And we will not take them here until we can do it better than them.” Leave it to Ilya to ensure they wouldn’t be shown up by their own students. 

They did a few more laps as they started to get more comfortable on the roller skates. When they’d both gone several minutes without almost falling over, they decided to try skating on the concrete. 

“Holy shit, Rozanov,” Shane said as he nearly careened directly into Ilya, “these can go fast.” 

Ilya just looked thoughtful. “Maybe we put rubber floors on the stage.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. Shane wondered who they’d have to ask about it. 

“Hey, Hollander,” Ilya pushed himself off the wall and skated backwards, giving Shane a minor heart attack despite the fact that he seemed to be decently confident on the skates. “Fabian is teaching them the music, yes?” 

Shane nodded. “Thank god. Neither of us can sing to save our lives.” He narrowed his eyes at Ilya, “Unless you’re hiding some kind of secret talent or something.” 

Ilya winked. “I’m not hiding any secrets from you.” 

Shane swallowed and looked away, pretending he didn’t hear that. 

Ilya kept talking. “But we’re doing the- what did Rose call it?” 

“Blocking.” Shane skated towards Ilya, who was getting a little too far away to hear properly. “And, um, dancing. Or whatever. Is it still dancing if they’re skating?” 

“Hmmm.” Ilya crossed one arm over the other and held them out. “Grab my hands.” 

Shane’s pulse was starting to pick up. “What are you doing?”

“How are we going to teach the kids dance moves if we don’t try them?” Ilya wiggled his fingers. “Come on.” 

Shane moved forward hesitantly, his hands fitting perfectly into Ilya’s. 

“Lean back.” 

“What? No.” 

“Just a little.” 

“Can we at least do this back on the rubber floor before we both fall and die?” Shane gave Ilya’s hands a squeeze and pulled them away. 

“Fine.” 

They skated off the rink and onto the safety of the softer floor. Shane rubbed his palms against his thighs to get them to stop tingling. 

Ilya stuck his arms out again. “If we both lean back, we will spin.” 

“Just a little, though.” Shane braced his core as much as he could and leaned away from Ilya. “Please don’t make me hold your entire weight.” 

“What, you think you can’t hold me?” Ilya had a mischievous smile on his face. Again, Shane ignored him. 

Slowly, they started to spin. Shane was grateful they weren’t trying this for the first time in front of students- he didn’t need that hit to his ego. But as they reversed directions, they started to get the hang of it. 

“I have another idea,” Ilya said, still holding onto Shane. 

“Jesus christ.” 

“We can make a train of people.” Ilya stretched his arms out, as if to indicate the train could go down the entire length of the rink. “They move their legs to the beat. Easy.” He guided Shane’s hands to his waist before turning around. “Left.” They both pushed off with their left foot. “Right.” 

Shane was holding onto Ilya’s waist perhaps a little tighter than necessary. He kept his arms stiff so he wouldn’t smash into Ilya’s back if they stopped suddenly. But if they skated with the same rhythm, it was possible to be attached without crashing or going too fast. Ilya turned the corner, and Shane turned with him. He started to feel emboldened by the fact that they were already getting the hang of it. 

“Maybe…” he slowed down, gripping Ilya so he would slow too. “Does it work if I go backwards? And you come at me?” 

Ilya turned with a brow raised. 

“For duets. And stuff. Right?” Shane willed what was likely a bright flush on his cheeks to go away. He pushed off a leg in the opposite direction to go backwards as Ilya followed him, their hands finding each other’s again. 

“This will work,” Ilya said, frowning in concentration. 

Shane couldn’t stop looking at the little divot that formed in Ilya’s forehead whenever he was really focusing. His eyes traced the slope of his brow, the slight bump in his nose from a college party mishap, the way his mouth was-

Shane tripped on something behind him and his foot shot out. Ilya reacted at almost the same time, letting go of Shane with one hand to try and grip the back of his shirt and slow his fall, while Shane slammed his foot back to the ground in an attempt to stay up. It resulted in what felt like a slow motion fall, Shane bracing himself as his back hit the ground and then again as Ilya fell on top of him. 

“Shit, Hollander, I’m sorry,” Ilya breathed as he tried to disentangle himself from Shane. “I should have caught you.” 

Shane shook his head, really trying not to think about how Ilya was practically straddling him. “My fault,” he wheezed, “you didn’t hit your head, did you?” He realized in horror that he’d been starting to reach up to Ilya, as if he wanted to physically check him for injuries.

Ilya’s mouth tightened. “No, no. I’m fine. Fuck.” He rolled off Shane and sat next to him. “This will take some practice.” 

Shane could only laugh in response. “At least we’re not the ones who have to perform it.” He pulled himself up to sit next to Ilya. “I’m out of shape. Whew.” 

Ilya gave him an exaggerated eye roll. Shane fought the uninvited urge to rest his head on Ilya’s shoulder. 

“I think we are done for today.” Ilya slid his roller skates off. 

Shane grinned as he got up, happy to notice he didn’t seem to have any bruises from the fall. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Ilya groaned. “I hate waking up early.” 

“Great. See you later.” 

And if the feeling of Ilya’s body against his popped into Shane’s memory while he was trying to teach basic French to a bunch of freshmen later that morning, he hurriedly shoved it out of his mind. 

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

let's take a little trip to the past!

Boston, 2008 

Ilya was finally starting to get the hang of finding his way around the city of Boston. Sure, he ended up on the wrong part of the green line every so often, but he always found his way back to the Boston University campus in the end. 

At least he had some people to commiserate with. Svetlana, a new friend also from Moscow he’d met in international student orientation, had complained about getting lost too. 

“My English was the best in my class in school, but it goes so fast here,” she’d whined to Ilya, who was grateful to be able to speak to someone in his own language again. Svetlana was also majoring in Russian Language and Literature alongside Ilya, but she planned to double major- she wasn’t sure what the second one would be yet. 

“Think how much better we will be than everyone when we go home,” Ilya had pointed out. 

Svetlana had just shaken her head. “What good is that to us right now?” 

It was Svetlana’s fault that he was heading over to Chestnut Hill. She was meeting up with someone she’d met online and wanted moral support. 

“Just in case I get stood up,” she’d said, “then we can find our way back together.” 

Ilya figured there were worse ways to spend an evening. 

Before they’d left, Svetlana had stopped him in his tracks and looked him in the eye. “We’re friends, right, Ilya?” 

Ilya had frowned and nodded. “Of course.” 

“Then there’s something you should know.” For the first time since Ilya had known her, Svetlana had looked a little nervous. “The person I’m meeting today, she’s a woman.” 

Ilya hadn’t reacted for a moment. Then, it clicked. “Oh.” Svetlana had started to back away until Ilya realized he probably sounded like an asshole. “Wait, Svetlana. I don’t care. I’m just surprised. You’re from Moscow too so I thought-” 

Svetlana had laughed, relieved. “Why do you think I came to America?” 

Ilya supposed that made sense. “So, you’re gay?” 

“Bisexual.” Svetlana eyed Ilya curiously. “Do you know what bisexual means?” 

Ilya cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m not stupid, Sveta.” 

Svetlana had rolled her eyes before threading her arm through Ilya’s and leading him to the T stop. 

So now Ilya was sitting alone at a table while Svetlana got to know a Boston College lacrosse player who had very much not stood her up. He couldn’t even order a drink himself to pass the time. Stupid America and its ridiculously high drinking age. 

In fact, he was starting to feel guilty as more and more people trickled in looking for a place to sit. Here he was, hogging an entire table with no intention of getting up to order anything. Maybe he’d wait five more minutes and walk by Svetlana’s table. If she looked like the date was going well, he could leave without feeling like he’d abandoned her. 

That’s when he looked across the room and saw a man who seemed to be around his age doing the same thing he was: sitting at a table alone and looking really uncomfortable about it. Without thinking too much, Ilya got up and approached him. 

“Can I sit? People will be mad if I am at a table for five by myself.” 

The guy looked up from the bubbly drink he’d been staring into. “Oh. Uh, sure.” 

Ilya sat. Nearby, a group started playing darts against the wall. 

“I was here with some teammates, but… I don’t know where they went,” the guy said, looking around the thickening crowd. 

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Team?” 

“My hockey team.” 

“Ah. You play for BC?” 

He nodded, looking embarrassed. 

Ilya grinned. “I play for BU.” 

The guy seemed to snap into focus. “Wait. Your accent… are you Ilya Rozanov?” 

What the hell? 

Ilya must’ve had some kind of look of surprise, because the guy put his hands out in front of him as if to halt his train of thought. “Sorry, that sounded weird. I just have been trying to get familiar with the rosters of the teams we’re gonna play a lot. I’m Shane Hollander, I’m a freshman too.” 

As panicked as Shane seemed, Ilya had actually heard Shane’s name as well. He was the exciting young new prospect, the one Ilya was expected to match up with when BC and BU played each other. 

Ilya drummed his fingers on the table, noticing how Shane watched his hands. “Hmm. I will look for you on the ice.” 

Shane’s shoulders seemed to loosen as he gave a small laugh. “I should be easy to find.” 

“Yes.” Ilya leaned back in his chair. “You will be behind me, probably. Chasing the puck.” 

Shane was already shaking his head. “Not gonna happen.” 

“We will see.”

“Yes we will.” 

They just looked at each other for a moment. There was a brightness behind Shane’s eyes as he took a sip of his drink. 

Ilya regarded the drink with jealousy. “You did not have to show ID? At the bar?” 

“This is just ginger ale.” 

“Bleh.” Ilya wanted to thunk his head on the table. “I want a drink.” 

Shane did not look sorry for Ilya at all. “Drinking won’t make you better at hockey.” 

“I do not need to be better. I am already good.” 

Someone bumped into Shane’s back, making him scowl. “The players might be better here than you’re used to. Apparently the NCAA has never been stronger.” He tilted his head as he looked at Ilya again. “Where did you play before this?” 

“A club in Russia.” Ilya was certainly glad not to be playing there anymore. 

“It’s, uh, cool that you traveled so far. To come here.” 

Ilya shrugged. “Was an easy decision.” The full scholarship and promise of a high level of hockey had been all he needed to get the hell out of there. 

“I thought I had it bad… I’m only coming from Ottawa.” 

“Then you are seeing that America is weird.” 

Another person bumped into Shane, and his shoulders tensed again. “Yea, it’s pretty weird. So far, at least.” 

Someone nearly spilled their drink on Ilya, only muttering, “Sorry, sorry,” before walking away. 

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Too many people in here.” Shane just huffed out a breath. “Yea, these places can get crowded.” 

“I want to go walk outside, if you…?” Ilya slid his chair back as Shane looked at him as if he was trying to solve a puzzle. 

“Around here?” 

“No, Hollander, on the other side of the city. Yes, around here.” Ilya slid his chair back. “Come with me. You look…” He tried to find the word. 

“Miserable?” Shane supplied. 

Ilya laughed. “Yes. Come.” 

They wandered through a path on the edge of what looked like part of the BC campus. Shane didn’t seem to know much of the campus yet- he told Ilya he’d only gone to the buildings he needed, like the rink, his dorm, and the classrooms. 

Ilya just looked at him in surprise. “You are not curious? About the rest?” 

“Not really.” Shane’s eyes were focused on the ground. Ilya was strangely aware of how far apart they were walking, and the moments their shoulders bumped into each other when they had to make room for runners or bikers. 

“Do you go anywhere else with your team?” 

“Not aside from the rink. I normally don’t go out with them but I thought maybe joining them tonight would… help.” 

“Help what?” 

Shane looked like he regretted saying anything. “I don’t know. Just, help. Being new.” 

Ilya thought about how Shane had been sitting there, alone. And he’d gone to try and hang out with his teammates more. Bastards. “You will not be new forever.” 

Shane sighed. “I hope not.” 

“You will be better than them at hockey.” Ilya paused. “But you will still be worse than me.” 

Now, Shane seemed to be fighting back a smile. “In your dreams, Rozanov.” 

They rounded a turn past the corner of a huge and clearly old building. 

“Oh,” Shane stopped. “This is my dorm, I think.” He was looking at Ilya again, in a way that Ilya couldn’t quite figure out. Did he want Ilya to comment on it? 

“Is… nice,” Ilya tried. From the lack of reaction from Shane, he guessed that wasn’t what Shane had been looking for. 

“I guess I should just go back now. Do you…” he looked at Ilya again. Ilya just studied his face. What the hell did he want? “… know your way back? I guess you shouldn’t be out here in enemy territory for too long.” Shane was shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Ilya gave him a thumbs up. “No problem, Hollander. I know it. Down the path. Easy.” 

“Uh, okay.” Shane shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then… I’ll see you soon?” Ilya was about to respond when Shane added, “On the ice?” 

“Yes.” Part of Ilya didn’t really want to leave, but he started to back away. “You will not be so nice when we beat you.” 

“You wish.” 

Ilya turned back down the path, where he promptly got lost and wandered around for a while until he found a sign pointing towards the T stop. His phone buzzed with a text: Svetlana’s date was going well.

That night, Ilya jolted awake and sat up, letting the covers pool around his waist. He took deep breaths in the dark, replaying the way Shane had looked at him before he’d left, eyes wide and shoulders drawn up. Could he have been…? No. There was no way. Or was there? 

Ilya tried to fall back asleep. It’s not like he was ever going to find out for sure. 

BC won the first BC/BU matchup. Ilya was finding out that despite his team’s skill, they needed him to score more goals if they wanted to come out on top. And in this game, Shane Hollander had matched him stride for stride. 

Though he’d been trying to quit since coming to America, Ilya really needed a smoke afterwards. So, late that night he found a small park far enough away from the BU campus that no one he knew would catch him. 

He’d only been able to really savor the cigarette for a few minutes before a familiar voice said, “Smoking is bad for you.” Shane stepped out of the darkness, a jacket thrown over his BC hoodie. 

Ilya snorted. “Thanks, Hollander.” He tried to take another drag, but it was harder to enjoy with Shane watching him in what was surely complete disapproval. “Good game.” Then, he turned to look at Shane, as if he was only just registering that Shane was really there. “Why are you here?” 

“I needed to be alone. Didn’t wanna run into anyone.” Shane was fiddling with the string of his hoodie. “Guess I failed at that too.” 

Shane looked so tense that Ilya almost didn’t want to ask, “What else did you fail at?” 

“Hockey.” 

Now, Ilya just rolled his eyes. He’d wondered whether Shane was one of those perfectionists who couldn’t let a single mistake go. 

Shane noticed Ilya’s expression. “Okay, fuck you, Rozanov. I don’t know what you want out of this, but I want to go to the NHL. I want the scouts to notice me. I want to be drafted.” 

“But-” 

“And I’m just not standing out enough, okay? I’m not making every game count the way I should. I’m not-” 

“Hey, Hollander.” Ilya put out his cigarette, which was a lost cause at this point, and turned to face Shane. “Who said you are not standing out? I think-” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Shane was shaking his head. “I’m not working hard enough. I need to find the next level-” 

Ilya put a hand on Shane’s shoulder, hoping Shane wouldn’t smack his arm away. He didn’t. Now that Ilya was closer, he could see even in the dim moonlight that Shane’s face was too pale, the area under his eyes far too dark. Shane’s voice faltered as he looked down at Ilya’s hand. 

“You are not the only one who wants to go to the NHL.” Shane’s eyes flicked to Ilya’s mouth for half a second, and Ilya tried not to think about it. “I will make you a deal.” He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. “You tell me how I can be better, I will do the same for you.” 

“You can stop smoking, for one.” 

“Yes. You text me, say my one-timer was shit,” Ilya’s one-timers were never shit, but he needed to come up with something on the fly. “I text you and say you need to hit more.” 

“I do not-” 

“When college is over, we make it to the NHL together.”

Shane was quiet as he slowly took Ilya’s phone and put his number in. 

“And maybe,” Ilya wondered if he should stop talking, but he powered through, “you relax, yes? You are good.” 

Shane gave a bitter laugh. “Relax. Right.” He took a step towards Ilya. “How exactly should I relax?” 

Now Ilya was sure he wasn’t reading this wrong, but he tried to tread carefully. “By doing whatever you want.” 

Shane’s voice was quiet. “I don’t think I know what I want.” 

God, Ilya wanted to pull him in closer. He’d make Shane forget all about whatever issue he’d had in the game he’d just won. But Shane genuinely looked overtired, and the defeated look in his eyes held Ilya back. He didn’t know exactly how he wanted it to be, but he didn’t want it to be like this. 

It pained him, but he stepped back. “Then call me. When you do know.” He turned to leave, but let himself brush against Shane’s forearm on his way. “Goodnight, Hollander.”

He thought only of Shane that night.  

The next time they played, BU fought back and won. It had been close, seeing as Shane had scored twice. He looked much more at ease this time around, even joking with his teammates during warmups. 

Ilya and Shane had been texting quite a bit in the time since they’d last met. It had started with Shane providing such highly specific feedback that Ilya had felt the need to respond in a similar fashion. 

This way, he could tell himself he was watching BC games because he was trying to be helpful. And he could tell others he was watching because he was trying to beat them, which wasn’t even technically a lie. 

As they kept texting, things started veering off the rails. Every so often, Shane would tell Ilya what he was eating for breakfast, and guarantee it was better than what Ilya was having, and tell Ilya he’d have to skate faster in the next game if he wanted to prove Shane wrong. 

Every time Ilya experienced what he called “American nonsense,” he texted Shane about it. Shane would tell Ilya that all kinds of crazier stuff happened outside of Boston, and Ilya would wonder what was going on over on this continent. 

Meanwhile, Ilya was flying through his Russian classes, realizing that he’d already read pretty much every book in the curriculum. His other classes were mysteriously lenient with him any time he fell behind- there must’ve been a star next to his name in the roster that said “hockey player.” 

As the BC/BU game had approached, Shane and Ilya had traded texts with more teasing tones, each challenging the other to try some move neither had done yet.

They were both eager to beat each other, neither really acknowledging that they wanted the other to play just as well- otherwise, the game wouldn’t be as fun. 

But after the game, Ilya’s phone was quiet. He’d kept it right in his locker room stall and checked it almost immediately. But there was nothing. An hour passed, then two. Ilya wondered if he should text Shane first, if he could roast Shane for hitting the post in the second period, or if Shane was having another spiral about not being good enough. 

Finally, several hours later, Ilya’s phone buzzed. 

From: Shane Hollander
Have you been to the Owl Café? 

Ilya had been, but it was several T stops away- not at either the BU or BC campus. 

To: Shane Hollander 
Yes. 

From: Shane Hollander
Meet me there. 

To: Shane Hollander 
It’s closed at night. 

From: Shane Hollander
Just do it. 

And Ilya did. He excused himself from the dorm party he’d found his way to by that point and showed up in front of the dark windows and locked door of the Owl Café. 

Shane was already there, leaning against the wall, wearing that same BC hoodie again. “Come with me.” He led Ilya around the corner, to an empty alley coated in graffiti. 

“Um, Hollander?” Ilya didn’t actually think Shane would do something unsafe, but he was extremely confused by what was happening. “If you are going to murder me, it would have been easier to-” 

“Shut up, Rozanov.” Okay, then. 

But Shane didn’t say anything else. He just pulled at the string of his hoodie and bit at his lip, breathing hard. Ilya waited. 

Finally, Shane started pacing back and forth until Ilya blocked off his path. “Hey, Hollander. Stop. Look at me.” He steadied Shane with a light hand on the outside of his arm. 

To his shock, Shane groaned and knocked his head against Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya hovered his hands over Shane’s back, wondering if Shane wanted an actual hug. “This is really hard, okay?” Shane’s voice was muffled against Ilya’s shirt.

That didn’t clear things up. “What is?” Ilya felt Shane huff out a breath.

“I wish you could read my mind. That it wasn’t so-” Shane cut off again and tried to back away, but a light touch from Ilya made him stop. 

“Maybe I can,” Ilya said softly, brushing Shane’s chin with his fingers. He inched closer. “But if this is not what you want, then you have to-” 

Shane cut him off with a kiss, one hand settling in Ilya’s hair while the other stroked behind his ear. Ilya responded immediately, backing Shane up against the wall and pressing their hips together. He let both his hands come up to Shane’s chest, rubbing absentmindedly as he deepened the kiss. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Shane moaned against his mouth, “I didn’t know if-” 

“Yes.” Ilya practically ripped his own shirt off and threw it off to the side on the ground somewhere. In an instant, Shane was kissing down his chest and sinking down lower, biting at the skin on Ilya’s stomach before starting to open his fly. 

“Wait, wait.” Ilya could not believe he was about to say this. “We are outside. We can’t- you are-” 

Shane was already standing back up and pulling Ilya in impossibly closer, moaning again as Ilya kissed his neck. “Where else are we gonna go? You’re public enemy number one at BC these days. It’s not like you can be seen coming into my dorm room.” 

Ilya bit under Shane’s ear, hard. “I will think of something. If you want-”

“Yes. I want.” Shane guided Ilya’s face back up to his. “Fuck.” 

Ilya’s skin was on fire. He’d had a few hookups already, the kind he thought only happened in American movies to add something interesting to a boring plot, but none of those had felt anything like this. He let his kisses get wetter and messier by the minute, sparks shooting up his spine every time Shane gasped or kissed him harder. 

He slid his hands under Shane’s thighs and Shane complied, hooking his legs behind Ilya’s back and letting Ilya use the wall to hold his weight up. 

Finally, it got to be too much for Ilya, and he slowed his kisses, whispering “I am putting you down now,” to Shane before lowering his legs to the ground. 

Shane kissed Ilya on the cheek and whispered, “Did I do something wrong? Or can I-” 

“No. The opposite.” Ilya let himself lick at Shane’s mouth again, bracing himself on either side of the wall. 

“Oh. Same. For you.” Shane’s voice was barely coming out between shallow breaths. 

Ilya pulled back a little so he could properly look at Shane. “So? Losing gets you hot?” 

“Fuck you. No.” Shane traced the top of Ilya’s chest. “I forgot. How much I- until I saw you again.” 

“I will not go easier on you next game, Hollander.” 

“You better fucking not.” 

Ilya pushed himself off the wall and looked around. “Do you see my shirt?” 

“Yea.” Shane picked up Ilya’s shirt and shook it out, trying to get the dirt from the street off. He handed it to Ilya as he looked down at his own hoodie forlornly. “I should’ve thought of that before I wore this thing. I spent way too much on it to throw it on the ground.” 

Ilya just raised an eyebrow. “You would throw any clothes on the ground?” 

Shane blushed. “Probably not.” 

“You will not need to. We will do better next time.” 

“Next time?” Shane was giving him that wide-eyed look again. 

“Like I said before, so we do not have to meet here.” Should Ilya not have said that? Had Shane only seemed like he wanted more in the heat of the moment? 

But Shane was already nodding in agreement. “Okay. Next time.” 

They leaned against the wall in a moment of quiet, both still breathing harder than usual. 

“Cigarette?” Ilya pretended to reach into his pocket. Shane glared at him. 

“I am joking. I don’t have any.” 

“Fuck you, Rozanov.” 

It wasn’t exactly an ideal arrangement. Every so often they pooled their money to get a cheap hotel in Braintree. No one ever recognized them, but occasionally a hotel employee would give them a knowing look that made Ilya nervous. 

On the ice, they were becoming two of the most talked about freshmen in college hockey. BC and BU were neck and neck, trading wins back and forth through one goal games and overtimes. 

There was never really a set time for Shane and Ilya to meet- they just texted each other when they thought they’d set aside enough money for a hotel. Sometimes Ilya thought about coming up with some other place to meet or risk another dark alley, until he remembered that he (and probably also Shane) could get into real, lasting trouble. 

As the frozen four neared and both teams seemed to have a real chance at making it, their texts slowed. Ilya wondered if Shane had officially gelled with his team in the way he had wanted to, now that he was scoring in almost every game. They never talked about their team or their coaches aside from the usual light ribbing. Nothing that would give the other some kind of advantage. 

They did both make the frozen four, but both lost in their semifinal game. When Ilya walked past Shane in the airport, wearing his team jacket and waiting in line for some kind of make-your-own salad, Shane didn’t acknowledge him. Ilya noted the slump of Shane’s shoulders and thought about saying something, anything to him, but decided against it. 

The next day, when Ilya was back in Boston cleaning out his locker room stall, he got a text.

From: Shane Hollander 
See you next season. 

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Rehearsals were going decently well. The kids were getting pretty good at roller-skating, even coming up with some moves themselves that they eagerly showed to Shane and Ilya in rehearsal. Even the ones who were struggling refused to give up, often staying later than required to practice one move over and over. 

Though the students had been hesitant and less than trusting of Shane and Ilya at first, they’d quickly changed their tune as soon as they saw how much time their new directors were willing to put in to make sure they got their roller-skating moves right. The fact that they’d done gender neutral casting had seemed to be a big hit with everyone as well. 

Every night after rehearsal, Tara would give Shane and Ilya a write-up of everything they’d gone over that day, and Shane would add it to his notes. Then, he and Ilya would strategize over what they still had left to block, and what needed more review. They’d coordinate with Fabian to make sure that people who weren’t working on blocking were working on the music instead. 

Shane would send out rehearsal reminders, while Ilya would field any responses to make sure all questions were answered in advance. They’d make sure they ran everything they’d rehearsed that day all the way through before they dismissed the cast, but everyone always made it to dinner on time. 

As Rose had warned, the cast was a rambunctious group. While most of the students were taking the show seriously, even the most dedicated cast members couldn’t help but laugh at themselves as they tried to master the art of roller-skating, or poke fun at their friends when they inevitably wiped out. Ilya had started bringing a whistle to rehearsal for when things got too out of control, and did sometimes use it despite Shane’s (admittedly weak) protests. 

It also didn’t always help that at least a portion of the cast thought that Shane and Ilya were attractive, a detail that Shane had noticed and decided was best left ignored, while Ilya would laugh about it when they were planning the next rehearsal. 

“Poor Melanie,” he’d say when Shane would suggest that Ilya take on all the Electra scenes in the next rehearsal, “she will spend no time with her crush tomorrow.” 

Shane would smack Ilya on the shoulder in response. “She thinks you’re hot too, asshole. And I hope you’re not making her feel bad about it.” 

Ilya would always just click his tongue or give Shane a look of exasperation whenever Shane tried to tell him how to manage hormonal teenagers, and Shane would have to remind himself that Ilya had probably been dealing with this kind of thing for years. 

But all in all, things were going well. 

Until, of course, they had to order costumes. 

“I don’t understand.” Shane was staring at the budget spreadsheet that had been approved by the headmaster and board. “This isn’t close to what we’ll need to order the costumes online. Hell, I spend way more than this on hockey equipment for my team every season.” 

“Rose warned us,” Ilya said while peeking over Shane’s shoulder, “they give less money to the musical.” 

“Ugh.” Shane felt a strange urge to knock his head against Ilya’s chest before catching himself just in time. “How are we gonna do this?” 

“Maybe…” Ilya seemed to be counting quickly to himself, “we take the kids to the store.” He straightened up away from the spreadsheet. “They are creative. They will help us think of something.” 

“Hmm.” Shane clicked around on his laptop, pulling up the addresses for local Goodwills or Savers. They could start there, at least. “That’s not a bad idea.” 

Ilya leaned back in his chair. “It will be like away games, but with shopping.” 

“Hopefully with fewer injuries too,” Shane muttered. The worst injuries of the season always managed to happen in the worst possible locations- one of his players had broken a kneecap during a game out in some mountains in Western Massachusetts and had been forced to stay there overnight. Other broken bones had occurred in New Milford, Simsbury, Watertown, but never South Essex, where they could be quickly addressed. 

“I will order the bus.” Ilya stood up. “See you tomorrow, Hollander.” 

It was way more chaotic than an away game. 

Hockey players sang on the bus too, but only after a big win. And they were usually singing some kind of predictable pop song. The theatre kids, on the other hand, were singing show tunes that must have been about eight minutes long. One even had some kind of rap in the middle of it about plants that every student seemed to know every word to. When Shane looked over at Ilya, he was nodding his head along to the beat as if he was enjoying the unhinged performance going on in the seats behind him. 

Shane only wished there was a way he could put on noise canceling headphones and not look like a negligent chaperone. 

The plan they’d given the cast was this: everyone could shop around the thrift store for an hour, and come up with some possible ideas for their character’s costume. Shane and Ilya had gotten clearance to use as many hockey shin pads and elbow pads as they could pull together, and the students could decide whether they’d make their costume go over the pads, or if they would decorate the pads in some way to make them fit with the look. 

Once the students had at least an idea or two for their costume, they’d show them to Shane and Ilya, and they’d all strategize whether they would need to find some other kind of accessory. 

Shane knew nothing about fashion or costume design, but figured in a show where all but one of the students were playing singing trains they were all flying equally blind. Kenzie, the freshman playing Control, would simply wear pajamas. Ilya had looked up the costumes that professional productions had done and immediately declared that attempting to replicate them would be a lost cause. 

Shane and Ilya leaned back against the wall to wait out the hour as the cast descended upon the thrift store. Towards the front of the shop, Eve and Tony were rifling through what looked like a mix of prom and evening dresses, strategizing over whether they could cut the sequined fabric to make their trains striped. 

“It’s nice to see,” Ilya said, nodding toward Eve. “She is so quiet when she plays for me. She sits alone on the bus. It is not my business to make my players be friends, but they have more fun when they are.” 

Shane grimaced, remembering his struggle to make friends his first year at BC, and how in subsequent years he’d wondered whether his teammates were only bothering to hang out with him because he was a standout player. 

“Yea,” he said, taking in the thoughtful look on Ilya’s face, “it can be tough. Looks like she has lots of other friends doing theatre, though.” 

“She is much more confident here.” Ilya scratched the side of his head. “I would not have known this side of her without this.” He gestured around the room, to the other kids holding up clothes to each other and collapsing into laughter. “I forget that maybe I do not know my players well outside hockey.” 

Shane laughed. “Why would you? Some people like to just, compartmentalize, I guess.” 

“Did you?” 

Shane froze. He’d been expecting Ilya to ask about his own team, where Shane was ready to admit he didn’t know much about the lives of his own players outside hockey either. 

He rubbed a finger over his eyebrow. “I mean, of course. It’s not like I ever told my team everything.” He gave Ilya a meaningful look, possibly the closest he’d ever come in years to acknowledging the way the two of them had known each other. 

Ilya was keeping his eyes focused on the ongoing commotion in the store. “At BU, we were like brothers.” He exhaled. “Most of us were very close. But I did not… share everything with them either.” 

Shane tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. “I hope not.” 

“Not just that.” Ilya’s hand twitched toward his pockets, a motion Shane recognized as looking for a cigarette before remembering he couldn’t have one. “I think sometimes if there is something you hide from people, you hide more.” 

“What, of yourself?” Maybe that was true. Maybe Shane had avoided lots of meaningful or interesting conversations with his teammates because of the one thing he didn’t want them to find out.

“Yes. I joked and partied with them, but-” Ilya flexed his fingers again, “when I went back to Russia, they did not call.” 

Shane frowned. Ilya had always seemed well liked by his teammates. “Not even to check on your-?” Shane tapped his own head. 

Ilya’s mouth flattened into a line. “No.” He sighed. “Maybe it is my fault. If I had been more brave, then maybe it would have been different.” 

“Ilya.” Shane pushed himself off the wall a little. “Don’t- don’t do that. I think it was pretty clear to both of us we could never have- even if we didn’t-” he broke off, not even wanting to think about what could’ve happened if his own team had found out about him and Ilya. Or him and any man, for that matter.

Ilya shrugged. “I could not have told them everything. But I told them nothing.” 

They looked at each other until Shane closed his eyes, letting the emotions he thought he’d left behind in college bubble up again. 

“I felt like a traitor,” he said, opening his eyes to see that Ilya had turned to face him as well. “Everyone said we were all a family, and I guess I just never really felt like that. I was, uh, obviously never into any of them-” 

Ilya quirked an eyebrow. “Never?” 

“Shut up. No. But the fact that I could be, I guess, was what scared me. And thinking about if they ever did find out. Why bother trying to make friends when you’ll just lose them later anyway?” 

He could see Ilya reaching toward him, but he shook his head sharply and Ilya let his hand fall. 

He took a breath. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to tell me.” 

Ilya nodded, his eyes serious. “I will tell you anything you want.” 

Shane’s heart seized, and he powered through it. “Why did you come back from Russia? I thought you were going there for good after college.” Because you told me you were, and then I never heard from you again until I saw you on the fucking South Essex campus, he didn’t say. 

Ilya ran a hand through his hair. “My dad died.” His face was blank, as if he’d perfected the art of relaying this information. “He was sick for a while. I took care of him, and then I could not be there anymore.” 

Shane felt his own face fall, and the lingering anger he didn’t realize he’d still been holding at Ilya leaked out of him, leaving a space that felt strangely empty after all the years it had been sitting there. “Geez. I’m so sorry.” 

“Svetlana convinced me to come back. She asked her friends and found out that some boarding schools teach Russian. And this one needed a hockey coach, so.” 

“It’s crazy that we wound up at the same school.” 

“Hockey is a small world.” Ilya leaned a little closer to Shane, his mouth curving up in a smile. “Do you want to know a secret?” 

“I thought you said you weren’t hiding any secrets from me.” 

“Maybe one or two.” 

Well that made Shane’s heart start to race. “Do I want to know?”

Ilya grinned. “Rose found the names of the finalists for your job. I went to the headmaster’s house to tell him-” 

“Rozanov, if you fucking pulled some strings to get-”

“No, no, it was not like that. The headmaster was all excited and asked me if I remembered playing against you. You were already the number one pick.” He gave an overdramatic sigh. “And then I had to keep that secret for weeks until they told everyone.” 

Shane laughed. “Liar. You definitely told Rose.” 

“You will never prove it.” 

“Only because she’s been too busy to answer her phone.” 

Shane hadn’t noticed that he’d shifted to be a little closer to Ilya over the course of the conversation, and that Ilya had done the same. He wondered if they were too close now, if he should step back.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made him jump, while Ilya just turned slowly and smiled as if he’d known someone was going to approach them all along. 

“Tara, how’s it going?” 

Tara waved at the chaos among the rows of clothing behind her. “Some people have their costume ideas ready, if you want to see.” 

“Of course.” Ilya nudged Shane in the side. “Ready for a fashion show, Hollander?” 

Shane gave Tara an encouraging smile. “Let’s see it.” 

-------------------------

An excerpt from the Theatre Kids’ Group Chat

Tara: Okay you guys, I wasn’t gonna say anything because you were all gonna say I was crazy but…. 

Rebecca: Uhm you are NOT crazy. WHAT WAS THAT

Tony: I thought they were gonna kiss. 

Eve: Who was gonna kiss???? 

Rebecca: Evelina are you blind 

Rebecca: Mr. Hollander and Mr. Rozanov!!! 

Tara: They jumped away from each other when I went to talk to them as if they were doing something wrong. Like ??????? 

Tony: @Eve you said they played college hockey together right?

Eve: No, they played against each other at BC and BU 

Rebecca: ……… 

Eve: omg LOL 

Celia: You guys will seriously ship anything 

Celia: Okay but I do kind of see it though 

Celia: Do we even know if they’re not straight? 

Tony: @Tara ten bucks if you ask 

Eve: Do NOT even fucking think about it

Tara: NO I’m going to ask Mr. Hollander for a college rec next year

Tara: Also you freaks need to control yourselves at rehearsal or they’re gonna notice 

Rebecca: Idk what you’re talking about 

Eve: Tell that to Melanie 

Tony: Melanie is her own problem 

Tara: I have an idea but it’s not gonna be good if you’re acting insane every day 

Tara: Also learn your fucking lines

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

“Hey Rozanov?” 

Ilya looked up from his spot on Shane’s couch, where he was grading the Russian papers he’d been neglecting for weeks. “Yes?” 

“Do you think they’re all gonna know their lines in time?” Shane was pacing, ignoring the stack of his own French papers that needed grading. 

Ilya didn’t take his eyes off the essay he was reading. “Yes. They would not embarrass themselves so badly in front of their classmates.” 

Shane sighed, and still didn’t sit back down until Ilya added, “Hollander, relax.” 

Unfortunately, relaxing was not in the cards for them for the foreseeable future. Tech week was just a few days away, and Ilya and Shane were both scrambling to make sure everything fell into place. 

Ilya remembered how Rose had snapped at him one morning just before her own tech week last year after he’d remarked that they hadn’t met for coffee in a while. She’d said something along the lines of “I hope you get hit in the face with a puck next season,” and stomped away, leaving Ilya to warn everyone else he ran into to stay away from her. 

Now, he understood. 

He’d gone to Party City and bought some plastic chains, plastic wheels, multicolored bows, and anything else he could pluck off the shelves that might remotely work as the finishing touch on a student’s costume. Then, he’d gone back again when not everyone had been able to find an accessory that worked. 

He’d found some glow-in-the-dark tape and lined it along the ramps leading to the stage, making them look like some kind of neon tunnel. Shane had wrangled some art students to design the set, but couldn’t get enough people to paint the wooden backgrounds that would roll on and off the stage. Ilya and Shane wound up painting along the lines the artists had left on the panels themselves, doing a bit every day at the end of each rehearsal. 

Fabian had recruited students from the orchestra to do the music, but they all needed passes to be excused from their other spring activities in order to participate, which Ilya had to get by taking multiple trips to the headmaster’s house with updated lists of names.

Some of the cast members doing their first show with South Essex were extremely nervous, and Ilya had had to spend time convincing several of them that they were going to be great, and that he wouldn’t let them out on the stage if he thought they were going to be terrible. Luckily, this was a familiar conversation. He saw players suddenly lose their confidence every season. 

Not to mention that they were still running normal rehearsals. They’d blocked everything, but every scene had at least one person who forgot where they were supposed to be. Ilya made sure everyone practiced their basic roller-skating skills every day so it would feel like second nature. But sometimes, he and Shane would look at each other at the end of a scene, knowing the kids were hoping to get some kind of acting advice, and realizing neither really knew what to say. 

Shane would often try to say what he must’ve imagined Rose would think of, stuff like make me believe you’re really sad, or remember you can use your arms to emote more. 

If that didn’t work, Ilya would jump in. “Tony,” he’d say, “have you ever broken up with someone?” 

That would always cause a round of laughter from the rest of the cast, while Tony or whatever other student that got hit with a question would just look at Ilya with wide eyes. They’d go to answer, and Ilya would cut them off. “Do not tell me the story. Put it in the feelings of your train.” 

And sometimes, weirdly, that would work. 

On top of all of this, Ilya and Shane were still teaching their regular classes. During the hockey season, Ilya was a well-oiled machine when it came to balancing his teaching and coaching responsibilities. Maybe he’d extend a deadline here and there, but for the most part his students stayed right on schedule the entire winter. 

This musical, however, was scattering his schedule in a way he’d never experienced before. It was as if he had an away game every single night. He was falling behind on making lesson plans, getting assignments back slower, and drinking an inordinate amount of coffee throughout the day.

Finally, when he’d run into Shane between classes and they shared the mutually guilty look of two teachers who were simply so far behind that they were improvising new class exercises just to give them a chance to to look at what they were supposed to teach next, he put his foot down and decided they would both catch up once and for all. 

Which is why they were holed up in Shane’s house just before midnight, trying to power through their excess grading. 

Ilya’s apartment was attached to a boys’ dorm, where he served as a dorm parent a few nights a week. Shane, on the other hand, lived in a row of faculty housing down the street from the athletic fields. Ilya was off duty for the night, but still designated Shane’s house the meeting spot in case anyone wandered to his own door to talk. 

Ilya had gotten quite a bit done, despite his struggle to keep his focus on his grading rather than letting his eyes wander around Shane’s home. He hadn’t actually been to Shane’s house before- most of the time they’d spent together at South Essex had been out somewhere, usually with the rest of the faculty or because Rose had organized some kind of get together. 

Of course, Ilya had known where Shane’s house was as soon as he’d moved in. He’d walked by once or twice at the beginning, wondering if he should knock on the door. He’d wondered what he would say if Shane answered. Should he apologize? Ask if Shane wanted to catch up? Ask if Shane wanted to start with a clean slate? 

He’d never found the courage to do any of that, and instead had let the meeting between them happen naturally- when faculty in the language department decided to have a welcome party. 

He’d so badly wanted to skip the awkwardness. So, clearly, had Shane. They’d hardly spoken at first, instead just looking at each other with a bittersweet acknowledgement of what they’d both lost. That neither had planned to be in a place like this, especially before they even reached the age of thirty. 

They didn’t have the language for that kind of thing. So Ilya had defaulted to what he knew. Chirps about hockey, teasing about his French classes, light ribbing on anything Shane ordered if Rose got a group to go out together. Anything that made Shane stop avoiding him and decide to chirp Ilya back instead. 

And until they started working on the musical, that had been the way they communicated, deftly avoiding anything that might stir up memories. 

Shane still had mostly hockey posters on his walls, ranging from Ottawa Senators icons to BC team photos. One small frame had a ticket from their freshman season displaying an action shot of Shane. Ilya remembered how he’d felt the first time Svetlana had shown him the ticket with his own picture that she’d kept, and his heart twinged looking at how carefully Shane’s ticket had been preserved. 

He looked over at Shane, who was clearly doing his best at trying to get back to his grading. 

“You will need to put a Starlight Express poster in here, Hollander,” he said, making Shane’s head snap up in annoyance. “You are more than hockey now. You can show it to Rose.” 

Shane made a mark on the paper he was looking at. “Do you think she actually expected us to do this?” 

Ilya shrugged. “Does it matter?” It had been about proving Rose wrong at first. But as they’d kept working on the show, as he’d watched Shane flounder his way through knowing nothing about musicals and trying to figure out how to help the kids anyway, it had morphed into something else. 

“I guess not.” Shane adjusted his glasses. “Those kids are into it, though. I’m glad we could make this happen for them. If I go down in history as the worst director at this school, at least I can always say that.” 

“Then we would go down in history as the worst together.” Shane just smiled at Ilya in response. Ilya shivered, either because Shane kept his house at frigid temperatures or because the way Shane’s hair was falling into his face was reminding him of those stolen nights they’d spent in college, and in hindsight how there hadn’t been nearly enough.

Incredibly, Shane noticed. “Oh, geez,” he muttered, “I should’ve given you an extra layer. Sorry, Rozanov.” And he was off to another room before Ilya could stop him. 

He’d made a few more marks on his paper when Shane reemerged. “This old sweatshirt should fit you,” he said as he threw it at Ilya, “I used to wear them kind of oversized back in-” 

“I remember.” Ilya looked at the sweatshirt in his hands. He’d recognize it anywhere. It was that fucking BC hoodie. It had a small stain on the left shoulder that Shane had never been able to get out. He’d stopped wearing it once he’d bought a new, more immaculate hoodie. But he’d evidently never thrown the old one out. 
He stroked the fabric, letting his fingers run down one of the sleeves, as he’d done back then when Shane was wearing it. 

“Oh, come on,” Shane laughed as he went back to the grading station he’d set up at his table, “I won’t tell anyone you wore a BC logo.” 

A quiet zing of pain shot through Ilya. This unassuming hoodie clearly didn’t mean anything in particular to Shane- he’d worn it all the time. And why would he remember what he’d been wearing those first few times with Ilya? He’d had enough going on. He’d been trying to cement his place as an integral part of the BC team so he could showcase enough skill to catch the attention of NHL agents. Of course, Ilya had been doing the same thing, but he’d clearly let himself have more capacity for other things to take root in his memory. 

He wanted to put the hoodie on. He wanted to throw it in the trash. He wanted to smell it and remember the way Shane’s neck had always smelled like the cheap soap they put in the dispensers in the locker room showers. 

He set the hoodie aside. There was no way he was going to get any more grading done tonight. “I should go. It’s late. I think I have done enough.” He gathered his papers, shoving them in his bag without bothering to organize them. 

Now Shane was standing at the table looking confused. “But I thought we-” he cut himself off and looked down. “I guess it’s late.” His voice was flat, and in any other circumstance Ilya would make some joke about how Shane seemed too sad to see Ilya leave. But Ilya just had to get out of there.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” To Ilya’s horror, Shane picked up the hoodie from where Ilya had left it on the couch. “Take it, just in case it’s windy on the way back.” 

Ilya could only shake his head. “I don’t need it.”

Shane walked in front of Ilya as he made his way to the door, essentially blocking Ilya’s escape route and turning so they were face to face. “Text me when you get back?” 

“I will try not to get murdered on this dangerous campus.” 

Shane gave Ilya an exaggerated eye roll. “Just do it.” He didn’t move from in front of the door. “Can’t have you disappearing on me.” 

Ilya frowned. There was something in the tone of Shane’s voice that was making him pause. “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily, Hollander.” 

A half grimace flashed across Shane’s face so fast that if Ilya had blinked he would’ve missed it. Ilya studied the way Shane’s shoulders were tensed and raised just a little too high. Maybe he wasn’t the only one walking down memory lane tonight. He took a breath. “I wanted to come visit. When they hired you.” 

“Maybe it’s better you didn’t.” Shane’s voice was quiet. “I think once I realized you were here I just- I just needed a minute.” 

They’d drifted closer as they spoke, their bodies less than an arm’s length apart. 

“Mmm.” Ilya swallowed. “I’m sorry for leaving.” He set his bag of papers down. 

Shane gave a tiny shake of his head. “It made sense for you.” He stepped forward so that their faces were inches apart. “I should’ve tried harder to stay in touch. You were the only person who really got-” he cut off, a crease in his brow appearing as he searched for the right words. “I guess I wasn’t comfortable with-” he trailed off and looked at Ilya helplessly. 

Ilya really didn’t want to be talking anymore. He tucked a strand of hair behind Shane’s ear and didn’t pull his hand away, instead cradling the edge of Shane’s jaw. Shane leaned into it, tilting his head as their lips brushed. 

It couldn’t have been more opposite from the first time they kissed. They’d been desperate then, not knowing if there would ever be a next time, or if their most significant point of connection would always lie in this moment. 

This time, they were hesitant, as if both were in disbelief that the other wanted it. And this time, they were quiet. The only sound in the hallway was the faint hum of the air conditioner, keeping the house too cold for anyone but Shane, apparently. 

Ilya deepened the kiss by wrapping an arm around Shane’s waist and pulling him in closer, rather than pushing Shane up against the door behind him. Shane rested his hands on the waistband of Ilya’s pants, but only let the tips of his fingers graze Ilya’s skin. 

Jesus. Ilya had forgotten how good this felt. How Shane seemed to anticipate his every move, the same way he’d done on the ice. How something flew between them, some elusive urge that Ilya couldn’t help but chase with anyone else he was ever with. It was still there, after all this time. 

He felt the moment Shane froze. He didn’t push Ilya away, but he just… stopped. 

Ilya stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Shane?” 

Shane wouldn’t meet his eye. “You should go.” 

His voice sounded far away. Ilya picked up his bag, trying to keep his face composed. “Oh. Okay, yes. I will go.” 

Shane made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “God, I’m sorry. It’s just-” 

“It’s fine.” Ilya tried to nudge Shane aside so he could open the door. 

“Do you know how it feels to look at someone and see all the ways you failed?” For a moment, Shane’s face was completely open, showing the heartbreak over his ruined future that had never truly healed. Then, Shane pressed a fist against his mouth, looking for all the world as if he wanted to grab the words he’d just blurted out and shove them back in. 

But that wouldn’t stop Ilya from hearing them. “Yes, Hollander,” he said, finally opening Shane’s door and stepping out into the night. “I do know.” He didn’t need to look at Shane to think about the ways he’d failed- all he needed to do was look in the mirror. 

He walked back to his apartment, feeling like shit and knowing that he deserved it. 

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

okay adding a note that I have taken some creative liberties with the format of the frozen four.

Boston, 2012

Senior year, Shane and Ilya were two of the most talked about players in the NCAA. Other players of their caliber might have taken the leap and begun their professional careers, but they’d both decided they needed more development before they declared themselves eligible for the NHL draft. 

They’d talked about it a few times, usually while the sweat was still cooling on their skin and they were still twisted in the hotel sheets. It was as if they needed to get their first hook up out of the way so they could have a proper conversation about their futures in the NHL. Then, in the final hours they spent together, they’d have sex again- this time, it would be much slower and more carefree. 

Their meetups had stalled and started again throughout sophomore and junior year. Every so often, Shane would get a girlfriend and decide it was time to stop talking to Ilya once and for all. His relationship would last a couple months before they’d inevitably break up without much resistance from either party. 

He’d wonder if it would be better not to get in touch with Ilya again after one of these breakups. He’d resolve to keep the silence between them going and let their interactions stay strictly on the ice. 

That mindset would last about a day before he’d be texting Ilya again, usually to criticize something about BU’s latest game. He’d tell himself he was just keeping up his end of the bargain they’d struck when they were freshmen. Soon after that, they’d both be back in a hotel room as if they hadn’t ever stopped. 

Sometimes they even talked about more than just hockey. They’d complain about professors or annoying classmates, and wonder aloud how both their dining halls got away with serving bland slop most days of the week. 

After a particularly embarrassing breakup, Shane had even swallowed his pride and asked Ilya for advice on how to please women in bed. Ilya had looked at Shane with concern. “Is not so different from how I please you, Hollander.” When Shane had protested that no, it was very, very different, Ilya had shaken his head. “No. You follow what she wants, and if you don’t know, ask.” 

He’d kissed the base of Shane’s collar bone and then bit lightly at the sensitive spot right above it, making Shane tense under his mouth. “Like that.” Then, he’d looked Shane in the eye. “But you have to feel good about it too,. Or it will be harder.” 

It had made Shane pause. Did he truly feel good when he had sex with women? Or was he simply happy that he was living up to the expectation of what everyone thought he was doing anyway? 

Sometimes it hit him, how little he had to worry about satisfying Ilya, or think about whether he felt good when they were together. It was a given, even from day one. And maybe that meant more than Shane was willing to admit to himself. 

BU had beaten BC in the national championship their sophomore year. It had been one of the worst days of Shane’s hockey career. He’d done anything he could, diving in front of pucks and rocketing passes tape to tape in the offensive zone. He’d scored a goal by tipping in a shot from the point. But it hadn’t been enough. 

He hadn’t looked at Ilya afterwards. He’d known the whole game that despite everything he’d done all year to play his absolute best, Ilya was playing even better. And as much as Ilya loved to tease or joke about their games, he was lethal whenever he got deadly serious. 

The only thing that had kept Shane from crying at the end of the game was the knowledge that there were cameras likely zooming in on his face, hoping to get a good image to put next to the picture of Ilya jumping into the arms of his teammates. 

He’d ignored Ilya for a while after that, and Ilya didn’t reach out to him. 

For a fleeting moment, Shane had wondered if this national championship loss would be the thing that ultimately helped him move on from Ilya. Maybe the next time he looked at Ilya he’d only think about the resentment that had flooded through him as Ilya had scored the go-ahead goal, rather than the way Ilya had kissed the base of his spine before whispering, Can I? as if Shane wouldn’t let him do whatever he wanted. 

Maybe losing the biggest game of his life thus far to Ilya and his team had been the solution all along. 

That theory had only lasted until the next time BC played BU during junior year, and Shane had met Ilya’s gaze across the ice during warmups. It didn’t matter how heartbroken or humiliated he’d been after the championship game. The thrumming in his chest that only increased the longer he looked at Ilya showed no signs of going away. 

What was more concerning was how little he felt when he looked at anyone else, even when he really, really tried. 

Ilya hadn’t questioned Shane when he finally broke and texted Ilya after that first game back- he’d just offered some times when they both had a string of home or local games and it would be easier to meet up. 

When BC beat BU in the semifinals their junior year and went on to win the national championship, Ilya didn’t ghost Shane in the same way that Shane had done to Ilya. He’d simply texted we’ll get you next year ;). 

But something had stopped Shane from gloating too much. Maybe it had been the way Ilya had reassured his goalie the moment the final buzzer went off, or how he’d stood by the door and patted everyone on the back, taking an extra moment with all of the graduating seniors. 

Not that Shane had been watching Ilya instead of focusing on his own team’s celebration or anything. 

Shane had gotten a hat trick in the national championship game, but part of him felt a little empty as he watched the hats from the dedicated student section rain down on their corner of the ice. It hadn’t felt nearly as good as he thought it would. And it didn’t bother him as much as it should have that though he’d achieved a goal he’d been working toward since he decided to play college hockey, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to Ilya while he was supposed to be celebrating. 

Of all the seasons, senior year was the one that counted the most. It would be what left lasting impressions with the scouts, analysts, and NHL managers. It would be the final opportunity to leave a lasting legacy at BC. 

And Shane was ready. He’d been training harder than ever. He watched game film every day, and stick handled around a folding chair with a golfball when he was watching TV. Even though he’d pretend that Ilya didn’t know what he was talking about when he said stuff like, you’re getting too fancy with your cross-ice passes, Hollander. Shoot the puck, he worked on his snapshot until he knew he’d be able to fake a pass and take a quick shot instead with ease. 

He’d accepted that he hadn’t stopped wanting Ilya throughout all four years of college, whether he was dating someone or not. And he’d begrudgingly accepted that any amount of time he managed to steal with Ilya was making him better at hockey, not worse. They were pushing each other to the next level on the ice, and they were giving each other brutal and unfiltered advice off the ice. Among other things. 

He didn’t always let himself think about how things would be with Ilya once they both went to the NHL. They would never live in the same city again, unless they both wound up on the same team one day. They’d have new schedules, new team structures, and a much higher set of expectations. 

Would he ever even kiss Ilya again after college was over? Would it even be possible? 

He resolved that all he could do was make the most of it while he could still meet up with Ilya for one more year. If Ilya ever noticed anything different about the way Shane pushed him up against the wall and edged him to within an inch of his life, smacking Ilya’s hand away when he tried to do anything himself, he never said. 

But ultimately, the worries about their future in the NHL were unnecessary, as it was not to be. 

Shane’s injury happened first. He’d been driving to the net, hoping to get either a wraparound goal or a pass to the slot. A stick in the wrong place, a foot sticking out, and a caught edge all converged on a single moment, sending Shane slamming into the boards with his legs tangled and his knee pad askew. 

There was a moment of nothing, and then the pain hit. His knee was exploding in an undefinable way, leaving Shane with little to tell the medics aside from the whimpers of pain he tried to bite back. 

He caught a glimpse of some of his teammates as they wheeled him away, and he was surprised to see that they were crying. They knew what he hadn’t quite realized yet- that his hockey career was over. 

He’d held out hope until the doctor’s results came back. A broken kneecap alongside a torn ligament. At least three surgeries, rehab, and some screws. And that was all just to get him walking again. Stopping, starting, and pivoting on skates were out of the question, let alone doing any of that well enough to play in the NHL. 

Ilya had come to see Shane after he’d returned to his apartment in Boston and let his parents reorganize his living space to accommodate crutches. He’d decided to stay in the city for the remainder of the year to finish his degree and remain within the proximity of the expert surgeons he’d already met with. 

Shane hadn’t returned any of Ilya’s calls in the days following the injury. He’d lost too much already. 

When Ilya finally showed up under the guise of mutual respect between captains and longtime rivals, he was holding a colorful basket full of lotions, socks, and miniature table puzzles. “Svetlana said this might be nice,” he said as Shane took in the assortment in front of him, “It smells good.” 

Shane could barely look at him. He knew Ilya had a game tomorrow, where he’d likely keep up the scoring streak he’d had for a few weeks at this point. He knew sneaking off to try and meet up with Ilya again would be physically impossible for him- he was barely able to get around his own apartment. 

He wondered whether he’d be able to watch Ilya’s NHL debut next year as he sat on his couch. 

Ilya made an aborted movement in Shane’s direction, but instead nodded towards the contraption that pumped ice cold water around Shane’s leg. “Smart. These are good. Is like an ice bath.” 

Shane nodded, keeping his eyes down. “Yea.” 

It was quiet between them until Ilya left. When Ilya’s footsteps finally faded away behind the door, Shane closed his eyes and willed his tears away. If he let himself cry he’d have to admit to himself that it wasn’t just the hockey that he regretted losing. 

He’d almost managed to fight off his tears when his phone buzzed. 

From: Ilya Rozanov
I am so sorry, Shane. 

Shane immediately lost the battle. 

Ilya’s injury happened two months later. He took a hit to the head, from a player he never saw coming. 

When Shane heard that Ilya had been so badly hurt that the game had been delayed for over an hour getting him off the ice and checking him for signs of paralysis, he heaved into the nearest waste basket within reach. Apparently both teams had refused to resume the game until they heard that Ilya was responsive and able to move his limbs. 

He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he had somehow caused this. Had he ultimately been so jealous of Ilya that he’d willed an injury into existence? Had his inability to stay away from Ilya throughout his time at BC intertwined their fates and triggered a cosmic equalizer between them? 

He had another thought too, one he hadn’t allowed himself to even entertain before. If they were both done with hockey, if neither of them was going to the NHL… maybe other things were possible now. 

It wouldn’t be so crazy for them to be friends after all this. Maybe they could hang out without worrying about what their teammates or classmates would think- surely they’d understand. Shane could help Ilya catch up with his schoolwork once his headaches started to subside, and Ilya could go on slow walks with Shane around the city once he got off his crutches. 

They could spend time together and properly talk. Not that their chats in bed and over text hadn’t been good, but they’d been mere glimpses into lives that they hadn’t entirely shared with one another. And Shane was realizing that he really, really wanted to know more about Ilya. 

And maybe they could also do whatever they wanted… whenever they wanted. They wouldn’t have to tell anyone if they didn’t want to. Maybe just a few people- people who wouldn’t care that two former hockey players were sitting a little closer to one another on the couch or holding hands. 

God. What would it be like to hold Ilya’s hand? 

Wracked with guilt that he couldn’t stop turning Ilya’s nightmare injury into a fantasy, yet unwilling to completely let that fantasy go, Shane crutched out the door. He had to see Ilya. 

“I am going back to Russia.” 

Ilya’s words snapped Shane’s vision of the future in half. 

He was still standing in the middle of the room, leaning on his crutches. He’d never seen Ilya’s apartment before, but he could tell someone had cleaned it recently. There was nothing on the floor for him to trip over and no dirty plates in the sink. Ilya hadn’t even put much on the walls aside from a team calendar that was still set to last month. 

Ilya’s face had fallen when Shane arrived, and Shane had known right away that his chance to know Ilya more had already come and gone. 

The room was dark- light still triggered dizziness and nausea. Shane could still see the way Ilya’s mouth twisted as he tried to find the words that would make the situation better, knowing from experience that absolutely nothing would. 

“Maybe I will teach English in Moscow,” Ilya said, keeping his voice low, “My English is much better now.” 

Shane rubbed at his own chest, trying to make the ache fade. “Are you sure? That’s what you want?” 

Ilya sighed. “Maybe. Maybe I will want it someday.” 

“Will I ever see you again?” Shane hated the way his voice was far too small in the dark room, and the way he was making Ilya’s more recent loss about himself. But he couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. 

“Probably not.” Ilya’s mouth was set in a line, in the kind of expression that Shane had come to realize meant he wouldn’t change his mind. 

Shane let himself look at Ilya without an ounce of urgency or shame, wondering if there was even any part of Ilya that he couldn’t conjure in his mind’s eye in an instant. Wondering if a time would come when he’d realize he no longer remembered the exact shade of Ilya’s eyes or the curve of his shoulders. 

“At least we tried, right?” He wasn’t sure if he was only talking about hockey. 

Ilya’s forehead creased, and Shane couldn’t tell if he was getting another bad headache or if he was holding back tears of his own. “Yes.” 

Eventually, Shane crutched his way out of Ilya’s apartment. 

He graduated and took some tutoring jobs for a few years. He coached a few local club hockey teams. 

Then one day, he heard about a boarding school in Connecticut that needed a French teacher and a hockey coach. 

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Tech week was awkward as hell. It wasn’t like Ilya could avoid Shane as they worked out all the final pieces of the show. He couldn’t even split the cast into different rehearsal groups like they’d done earlier in the process. They were in the home stretch now, and they needed to be working together on almost every issue that came up. 

But that didn’t mean Ilya had to enjoy it. 

Gone was the easy flow of conversation that had reestablished itself between them somewhere between their first few awkward meetings upon Shane’s arrival at South Essex and their mutual decision to throw themselves into this musical. Gone was the feeling that had sprouted in Ilya’s mind recently- that he could probably tell Shane anything on his mind and not regret it.

It had scared him to realize he felt that way, and now he knew why he was right to be scared. 

Luckily, Shane wasn’t much better. Ilya wouldn’t have been able to handle it if Shane had showed up to rehearsal the day after they’d kissed acting as if nothing had happened. But Shane was quiet, continuing to remind students where they were supposed to be without any other comments to Ilya on the side. There was no I bet they do that move better than you now that Ilya would pretend to be annoyed about. 

At the end of every rehearsal, Ilya would turn to a blank page in his notebook and make a checklist of everything they still had to do before turning to Shane and asking if he had anything to add, which Shane would respond to with his head buried in his own notes. 

They’d pack up and leave without looking at each other. 

The rest of the South Essex campus was buzzing as opening night drew closer. Unfortunately, Ilya had the sense that it was for the wrong reasons. He’d caught a few people in his Russian classes whispering that the show was going to be a train wreck (pun intended) and they couldn’t wait to see for themselves. Even some of the other faculty members looked like they were holding back laughter when they told Ilya they would never dream of missing the musical. 

He was extremely offended by the lack of faith from what seemed like absolutely everyone, even though he’d doubted his and Shane’s own ability to pull the show off in the first place. 

But it wasn’t like he could complain to Shane about it now. All he could do was throw himself into making sure everything happened onstage the way it should. The more he worried about what would happen with the lights during the opening of “Freight,” the less he had to think about Shane. 

And the more he scrutinized the cast’s roller-skating tricks, the less he worried about whether he’d ever summon the courage to properly talk to Shane. To say he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. To tell him that as soon as he arrived in Moscow he’d realized he missed Shane so much it made his chest hurt. 

Before he knew it, their final tech rehearsal was over. Ilya took measured breaths as the cast retreated to the dressing rooms before they would come back out to the auditorium for their final round of notes. It was all almost over, yet the finish line felt so far away. 

“We should say something to them,” Shane’s voice was subdued as he gathered the last of his notes. “For motivation.” 

“We?” They both knew that Ilya was the better motivator of the two. 

“I mean, I can do it if you want.” 

Before that night at Shane’s house, Ilya would’ve loved to see him attempt to give a speech to the cast. He would’ve paid close attention so he could quote it back at Shane later. 

Now, he just shook his head. “No. I will do it.” He glanced at Shane out of the corner of his eye, but Shane was still looking down. 

The cast trickled back onto the stage and sat in any empty spot they could find. 

“Everyone, listen.” Ilya stood, feeling mildly stupid in his spot among the auditorium chairs. “Uh, hold on.” He tried to step past Shane, who stood to make room and let him squeeze by. Was that a hand that brushed against his lower back on his way? Had Shane done it on purpose? 

He was in the aisle now. “Okay.” He looked up at the faces before them, some of them scrubbed raw to get all the makeup off, others with deep circles under their eyes. 

They were all looking at him with complete trust. He remembered how scared they’d been that first day. “Life is… weird. You work hard for years, but maybe something does not go the way you want. You do your best, but you make a mistake.” He could feel Shane’s eyes on his back. “I know some of you might have been sad Ms. Landry left.” 

He noticed that Eve was frowning from her spot on the side of the stage. “Or you didn’t get the part you wanted. Or your classes distracted you from learning your lines earlier. But instead of thinking about the show you didn’t do, or the things that didn’t happen, you made this happen.” He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t think I would be doing this either. So thank you for working with me, and with Sh- Mr. Hollander.” He didn’t risk looking back at Shane and forgetting what he wanted to say. 

“You worked hard. Maybe you will make a mistake. But that is life.” He let himself smile. “Before hockey games, I tell my team to leave it all out there. And I will tell you too. Because tomorrow? It is your night. This is your time.” A few cast members were looking at each other and nodding. “And I cannot wait to see you take it.”

Behind him, Shane jumped in with directions for call times and final prop details, and the cast filed out. After Tara had given them her final sheet of notes and had followed the final cast member out the door, Ilya and Shane were left in the auditorium alone once again. 

“Pretty good speech, Rozanov.” Shane’s voice was tight- it was the kind of tone that Ilya called out within the cast almost every rehearsal, reminding them that they had to relax and project.

“I think they will be ready for tomorrow.” Ilya hated how much he wanted to run out of there. Debriefing with Shane used to be his favorite part of the night. Now the pauses between everything they said to each other illuminated everything that it seemed they couldn’t say, with no distractions from the students to make them forget about it for a moment. 

“I think I’m more nervous for tomorrow than I am before games.” Shane gave a soft laugh. “I guess Rose was right. We couldn’t help but make sure it would be good.” 

“We will see.” 

“No.” Shane was suddenly insistent, looking at Ilya for what felt like the first time all night. “It will be good. Because you made it happen. We both did.” 

Ilya eyed his bag, still sitting on a chair in the same row as Shane. He’d have to squeeze past Shane again to get to it, and he didn’t trust himself to do that without risking doing something he’d regret. Not with the way Shane was looking at him. He would just wait for Shane to move. 

But Shane had more to say. “Hey, um, about the other night.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from Ilya again. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Ilya stayed rooted to where he was standing. “No. But I’m glad you did.” Ultimately, Ilya had decided that it was better to hear it than to wonder what Shane was really thinking. It was better to know how Shane really saw Ilya before Ilya let himself fall yet again. 

Shane was shaking his head. “But that’s not what I-” he grimaced and rubbed a hand over his eye, “that’s not all I-” 

“It’s okay, Hollander.” Ilya didn’t need this right now. Not before opening night. If Shane wanted to stab another knife in his chest once this was all over with, he could go right ahead. “Let’s just do the show.” 

“But I-”

“Can you pass me my bag?” Ilya was tired of waiting for Shane to move. 

Shane retrieved the bag with an air of reluctance and passed it to Ilya, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Ilya turned to leave. 

“Please let me say I’m sorry.” Shane’s voice was almost wobbly now, seemingly threatening to break. “Please let me make this right.” 

“You don’t have to.” Ilya turned back around and faced Shane, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “I will get over it.” 

“No.” Shane put his arm out as if to stop Ilya from leaving, though Ilya was too far away for him to reach. “Because that’s really not all I think about when I see you. I guess some things just- they just came up that night. But that was my fault.” He rubbed at his neck again. “But when I see you, I see a, um, friend, I guess? At least I think so.” 

Ilya couldn’t handle the way Shane looked all hopeful now, like friendship was what he’d wanted all along. He wished he could say that Shane’s friendship would be enough. He hated himself for realizing that it wouldn’t be. 

He mustered what must have been a half smile. “A friend.” He cleared his throat. “Yes.” He very nearly ran out of the auditorium before Shane could see his face fall. 

An excerpt from the Theatre Kids’ Group Chat

Rebecca: Soooooo was anyone watching Mr. Hollander’s face while Mr. Rozanov was talking to us? 

Eve: We really can’t go a single day without bringing this shit up, can we 

Rebecca: I wouldn’t be bringing it up if he hadn’t been making sad puppy dog eyes literally the whole time 

Tara: I saw that too. WHAT is going on with them??? 

Tony: Ugh I missed it. I was too busy listening to Mr. Rozanov. He is 🔥🔥🔥

Celia: Same. @Eve I can see why y’all are so good. If he was giving me motivational speeches every week I’d be ending some bitches on the ice. 

Eve: LOL 

Rebecca: I still feel like they’re fighting or something 

Eve: Maybe they’re just focused on the show. I saw Cassie between classes and she told me both the hockey teams are coming.

Tony: Time to turn some heads. Those hockey boys will think I look sexy in my train costume.

Tara: Oh, honey. 

Tara: Now I’m worried about our gift though. If there’s actually something going on are we overstepping? 

Rebecca: Hell no. They don’t HAVE to use it. 

Eve: True, they can always just invite other people. 

Eve: I feel like after all this we’re gonna graduate and find out they’re both, like, married or something. 

Rebecca: TO EACH OTHER 

Tony: As much as I miss Ms. Landry this has been a really entertaining show

Tara: This isn’t the drama department for nothing.

Tara: But if you guys hear of anyone else who wants to donate to the gift just lmk 

Eve: Aye aye, captain 

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

“You WHAT?????” 

Shane winced and turned the volume on his phone down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? I wasn’t sure what you already knew, and I knew you guys were friends first-” 

“He obviously didn’t tell me a damn thing. I cannot believe you. Either of you.” 

Rose had finally been able to carve out a free hour early in the morning to call before Shane had to be in the classroom, and instead of letting her wish him a happy opening night he’d opened the floodgates and told her about everything that had happened with Ilya back in college. 

“I was trying to leave all that in the past.”

Rose sighed loudly through the phone. “You can’t leave someone in the past when you see him every day, Shane.” 

“No, I mean, I was trying to-”

“I know, I know. Your injury. I know it sucked. But, what? You were never gonna talk to him about it ever again because he was in your life when it happened? That’s not how it works.” 

“It was more than that, okay?” Shane gestured at the phone even though Rose couldn’t see him. “I- it was more than just sex to me, by the end. And it wasn’t for him.” 

“It wasn’t?” 

“No. I mean, I don’t think he gave a shit. He didn’t care if we went months without seeing each other. He gave me advice on how to please women in bed.” 

He could practically feel Rose’s judgement on the other end of the line. “How did that go?”

“Fuck off. But, I don’t know. At one point I thought we could actually be something.” 

Rose was quiet for a moment. “How do you know he didn’t also think that?” 

“Were you not listening to me?” 

“I am listening to you. But it sounds like you didn’t actually ask him how he felt.”

“That’s not-” 

“But I feel like you’re leaving out the most important thing.” 

Shane eyed the clock and realized he needed to start making his coffee if he wanted to drink any before he left. “What’s the most important thing?”

“How do you feel about him now?” 

Shane almost didn’t want to say. Rose had yelled at him too much already this morning. “I, um. I told him I see him as a friend. And, um, I…” His voice failed- despite everything he’d already said to Rose, he couldn’t even say the truth out loud. 

Rose’s extended silence spoke more than a thousand words. But eventually, she spoke. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“You don’t need to tell me I fucked this up. I just needed to tell someone that I-” he broke off. He really didn’t see Ilya as a friend. Or, at least, not only as a friend. But he’d panicked in the moment. He’d wanted Ilya to start talking to him again. He wanted the surprising ease with which they’d worked together all semester back. “He is so important to me.” His voice came out small. 

“What is stopping you from just telling him that?” Rose, to her credit, spoke gently. 

“He hates me now, Rose. You should’ve seen him sprint out of there when I tried to fix things.” 

“I think you’re trying to read his mind again.” 

Shane leaned back against his counter. 

“You know, I’ve been trying to get you and Ilya together for like a year.” 

He almost dropped the phone. “What?” 

“I’m serious. I thought you guys would make a good couple. Not just because you had so much in common- I had a feeling that there was just something that would make you guys work.” She coughed out a laugh. “Looks like I was a little late to the party on that one.” 

“Well if I had noticed you were doing that I would’ve told you to stop.” 

“I was trying to be subtle.” 

“Clearly.” Shane scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I really fucked this up, haven’t I.” 

“Maybe a little.” 

“Not helping.” 

“Shane.” He imagined that Rose was there, shaking his shoulders and probably flicking him in the side of the head. “Haven’t you noticed that Ilya always wants you around?” 

“Well we kind of have no choice but to work together right now-” 

“I mean in general.” He could hear Rose moving around, getting ready for her day. “He was always at events when he knew you were gonna be there. You guys were always talking about running into each other in the language department.” 

“But this is a small school. It would make sense we’d be in a lot of the same places all the time.” 

“Do you really think he wouldn’t be capable of avoiding you if he really wanted to? If he wanted to forget everything? If you wanted to forget everything?” 

Shane thought for a moment. “I just don’t know. I really don’t.” 

“Just- please try to talk to him again.” 

He remembered crutching out Ilya’s door back in 2012, trying to swallow his own heartbreak by the time he made it home, thinking Ilya was gone from his life forever. And now, he had to admit that all he wanted was to be able to hold Ilya close again. To tell Ilya that despite the way everything ended, what he remembered most about that time was how much they’d helped each other succeed. Whether or not he’d actually be able to do that was another story. 

“I will try.” 

“You better. Oh, and Shane? Wear a suit to opening night.” 

“Would you believe me if I said I already planned to?”

“No.” 

Shane wore one of his hockey game suits for opening night- he assumed Ilya would be doing the same, and even Rose had said that those suits would be perfectly appropriate. 

He did not expect Ilya to show up in a fucking tuxedo. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” He definitely sounded judgmental as Ilya approached him in what was still an empty theater. It was either judgement or acknowledgment that Ilya looked so good it made Shane’s entire mouth go dry.

Ilya shrugged. “Rented it.” 

His short answer made Shane frown. The Ilya he knew would’ve teased Shane to no end over how much worse he looked. He would’ve held it over Shane’s head all night. But Ilya was already walking along the ramps, doing a final check for anything that could trip the actors up while they were roller-skating through. 

But Shane intended to keep his promise to Rose. “Hey, Ilya. Listen, I think we-” 

Ilya’s head had snapped over to Shane at the use of his actual first name, but before Shane could say anything else the doors of the auditorium flew open and Tara burst through. 

“Happy opening night!” She was dressed in an all black attire so she could be backstage during the show. She stopped short when she saw Ilya. “Whoa.” 

Shane would’ve internally rolled his eyes at her if he didn’t completely get it. 

But Tara seemed to recover quickly. “I’m so excited, I’ve been telling everyone to come. My family is coming tomorrow though, which is great because I can get the nerves out tonight.” She seemed almost out of breath with how eager she was about the show, and Shane reminded himself that his personal feelings about Ilya were not the most important thing to focus on tonight. 

They had a show to put on. 

The cast filed in, opting to do a warm up both before and after they put on their costumes- it was kind of like the warm ups Shane’s players did in and out of their hockey equipment, in a way. The nervous and excited energy was palpable, with the students listing off the names of friends they knew were coming to see them, or sharing when their parents were traveling to campus. 

Fabian and some of the instrumentalists arrived, and Ilya went over some last minute notes with the leads before circling back to Shane. They stood there in silence as the violins warmed up, the growing hum of a tuning note getting louder around them. 

Ilya seemed perfectly happy to not talk to Shane, but Shane couldn’t stand it. “So,” he started, trying not to think about how Ilya didn’t look his way, “do you have anyone coming? Any friends, or anything? Where’s Svetlana these days?” 

That got Ilya’s attention. “You remember Svetlana?” 

“I do listen when you speak sometimes.” Did Ilya really think he didn’t give a shit? The thought left an ache in Shane’s chest. 

“But you remembered from ten years ago.” 

Now, Shane wracked his brains, trying to remember whether Ilya had brought up Svetlana in their time at South Essex, and couldn’t come up with anything. Maybe the last time they’d talked about friends outside of the campus really had been at some point during college, probably while they were still naked and wrapped up in each other. 

“I guess I did.” 

Ilya turned to fully face Shane, though his eyes were guarded. “She is still in Boston. She was too busy to come.” 

“That stinks.” 

“She will see the recording.” 

Rose would see the recording too. Shane took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way he used to on the bench just before he went out to try and tie up games in the last minute. It’s going to be good.

“Are you gonna watch from the audience?” Shane gestured to the seats in the back row that Tara had roped off. 

The corners of Ilya’s mouth lifted in the first playful smile Shane had seen in a week. “You think I would miss it? I would do all this work and then leave?” 

“No, no, I just wondered-” 

“Yes, Hollander.” Ilya turned toward the stage, as if he was watching the show already. Shane followed his gaze, past the spot where Eve would sing her solo, along the neon taped areas where Celia and Sarah would do their couples’ dance, to the open space in the front where the big ensemble numbers would happen. 

A few students flitted across the stage, testing their roller skates. They looked like they’d been skating all their lives- no one wobbled or second-guessed their stride. Shane thought back to those first rehearsals, when even he and Ilya could barely manage the moves. “We really made them good.” 

Ilya gave a low chuckle. “I told you.” 

He looked so fucking good in his tux. Shane had to tear his eyes away again and again, reminding himself to focus on the show, hoping he might catch Ilya looking at him too. But Ilya didn’t spare him a single glance. And why would he? Shane had pulled away after their kiss. Shane had let the memories of his injury get in the way of his current feelings, and then told Ilya he saw him as a friend. 

And for all Shane knew, maybe Ilya had been caught up in his memories that night too. Maybe that kiss had been a mere echo of the past he had to acknowledge.

Maybe Rose’s observations had been wrong.

Maybe Shane was about to sit next to Ilya in the dark, watching the show they’d both worked harder than they could’ve imagined to create together, wishing he could hold Ilya’s hand, and maybe Ilya was already looking forward to the end of the show so he could go back to keeping Shane at a friendly distance. 

Maybe if Shane managed to tell Ilya everything- how he couldn’t have chosen a better person to do this with, how all he thought of when he looked at Ilya now was how he made Shane’s life better no matter what they were doing, how he wanted to kiss Ilya again- he was setting himself up for another heartbreak. 

But how could he let the closeness he’d had with Ilya this semester fade away without being honest? How would he ever forgive himself a second time?

The house doors opened, and audience members trickled in. Shane waved to anyone he recognized, watching Ilya make his way through brief conversations with some of the parents he’d met on conference days. 

Ilya slid into the seat next to Shane as the lights dimmed, whispering, “Here we go,” before giving Shane a gentle nudge with his elbow. Shane tried to smile back, but his mouth was too tense to move properly. 

At long last, the curtain rose.