Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Svetlana Vetrova, various headted rivalry characters

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate outing, Ilya's phone call is leaked, POV Alternating, Social Media Reactions, Texting, Mild Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Language:

English

Collections:

HR, Shane and/or Ilya get Outed via people catching them or a leak

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-20 Updated: 2026-10-19 Words: 46,764 Chapters: 11/13

Leave the Pieces

Summary

Ilya Rozanov bares his soul to Shane Hollander, while crouched in a tunnel in Moscow after he buries his father. Words spoken knowing the person on the other end can't possibly understand them.

Little does he know there is someone listening who can.

Notes

A few notes!
I have about 60% of this pre-written and am quickly working through the rest. I am hopeful for a biweekly chapter drop.

This is shamelessly based on some requests I've seen on the HR fic subreddit about Ilya's monologue to Shane being leaked, and an idea took hold and wouldn't let go.

For reading ease, please assume that whenever two characters who are Russian are talking/texting to each other, they are doing so in Russian. I have tried to note it in the narrative, but did not want to have chunks of text that would need to be translated in browsers, or for people to have to flip back and forth to the bottom notes to find out what the heck is being said.

Texts are a work skin, make sure you don't have hide creator's style checked.
I don't expect any major trigger warnings on this fic outside canon typical homophobia, but I will warn if something comes up in chapters outside that.

Disclaimer:
I am not an immigration expert, nor am I an expert on the Russian government, or phone tapping.

So with that:
Is everything in this fic accurate: heck no.
Would the Russian government ACTUALLY monitor Ilya: who the heck knows!
Are we here to have fun anyway: heck yes!

I tried to make the time zones line up, it's not perfect and ditto with an actual timeline going forward.
Also, did you know you can't fly direct to North America from Russia and vice versa?
Yeah, me either, and we're all going to pretend we didn't learn that little tidbit.

With that said, enjoy!

Chapter 1

It's the most honest Ilya has ever been with anyone in his life. More than any of his teammates, more than any of the people who had ever shared his bed, more than even Svetlana who knew almost all there was to know about him. 

Almost. 

He pauses halfway through, because it's too much and everything all at once. 

All these things he has kept so close to his heart that Shane coaxes out just by asking. Things he had assumed he'd tell no one. Yet here he is, huddling in some tunnel in Moscow with Shane half a world away wanting to hear them, even if he can't understand them. He taps the phone to his mouth. He knows Shane will wait. That he'll take the sudden silence for what it was, a moment to collect himself. 

The passing lights of a police car catch his eye. The sound of its tires on the wet road echoing in the otherwise silent tunnel he'd wandered into. It fades and the silence settles back in. He knows Moscow is alive elsewhere, all the people getting ready to go out to the clubs, the parties, all the drinks being consumed before the drinks. The start of the nightlife he had once loved to lose himself in. But not tonight. Tonight he is crouched on the ground, baring his damn soul to Shane Hollander. 

He lets out a slow breath, and brings the phone back and keeps going. 

Not about his family this time, but about Shane. Admits how stupid he has been, how deep he has let it all get. That he is so stupidly in love, even if he knows it was the worst thing he could possibly have done. The things he would never say in any language Shane could understand, that he couldn't possibly admit to in the light of day. That he would hold so deep inside until the feeling of it made him explode, burst his heart into a million pieces with Shane Hollander's name etched on all of them.

He thinks maybe some days he is just as bad as his family. That he too wants more. More, more, more, more… that nothing will ever be enough when it comes to Shane Hollander. 

Fuck me indeed, he thinks.

"Okay. I'm done." 

The call doesn't last much longer, and he's thankful for the opening of a sex joke, thankful that Shane lets him take the moment to slip into something else, something easier. 

I wish you were here right now echoes in the tinny phone speaker. 

And Ilya wants. He wants it so badly he can feel it in every bone in his body, in every muscle. Every space fills up with want. For Shane, for the way his voice sounds right then, for the way he comes apart under Ilya's hands, for the warmth of his skin, the endless depths of his eyes.  

More, more, more, more... 

He replies back, in Russian. Doesn't trust himself to say it in English, but he wonders if Shane knows anyway. 

They hang up not long after, and Ilya starts the walk to a busier street to hail a cab to take back to his apartment. The apartment that tomorrow he would leave forever and would be his brother's to do with what he wanted. There is already a room for his niece, painted deep purple with a princess bed that she has never slept in because Alexei would never let her stay. He longs for what he will never have. A brother. A relationship with his niece. All these lovely things he had seen second-hand over the years with his teammates. Who spoke easily of barbeques and holidays. Who didn't have great, gaping holes where their siblings should be. 

Svetlana is there when he arrives, and Ilya feels a little bad for having ditched her as they had left the dinner service. But she doesn't seem to hold it against him as she draws him into a tight hug. "I called a lawyer," she says in Russian, "you'll have paperwork in the morning to sign over the deed."

Ilya gives her a tight squeeze and a quick kiss on her cheek before they pull apart. 

"Thank you, Svetlana," he says, and he hopes she knows he means for more than just making the call. He makes a mental note to spoil her rotten the next time they see each other. To make a whole day of following her around any store she wants to go to, foot the bill for all of it and remind her just how much he appreciates having her in his life.

"I am going to go pack," he says and leaves to go to his room. He thinks maybe he should offer to take her out, but exhaustion fills him at the mere thought. She lets him go without suggesting it either and he thinks maybe it's okay to be a quiet night before they leave.

There is not much to pack, he had only spent a few weeks in the summers here, and most of the clothes he's content to leave. Alexei can sell off the sneakers for coke money for all Ilya cares. There's a few outfits he'll figure out how to fit in his carry on, the kind of shirts and pants he only ever seems to find in Russia, a couple of watches, a few gold chains. Most everything else is nothing he can't replace when he's back in America. Or doesn't have in Boston already. 

There's a box on the top shelves that he pulls down. Carefully puts the contents into his carry-on between folded clothes. The note his Mama had left, some pictures he had managed to get from the house before Papa sold off anything that even had a hint of Irina. Tries not to think about how his beautiful, sad mother's life exists now in nothing but a yellowed piece of paper, a dozen photographs, and a few books she had dog-eared the pages on as she read them. He packs all but one of the books, leaving it on the nightstand beside his bed.He pours himself a drink and stares out the window at the snow still falling softly over Moscow.

He will never come back here.

It's a thought that fills him with hope and dread in equal measure. Tomorrow he will go to his mother's grave one last time. Leave flowers, the white lilies that she had always loved. Tell her about Shane and hope that somewhere she is happy for him, even if it was all complicated. He will say goodbye and walk away for the last time. He will go to the restaurant near the graveyard that he likes, order his usual, bask in real Russian food for the last time. He will then go to the airport, get on a plane, and never come back.

The thing was… he knew. In the back corners of his mind, he knew. It would always end like this. That Papa would die, and he would come to a funeral, and that would be it. His last remaining tie to a country that wouldn't want him anyway, not if they knew who he really was. Maybe if they hadn't fought at the dinner, Alexei would have kept hounding for money, texts and phone calls when his drugs ran out or when some bill came up that he couldn't pay. Maybe the ghost would have lingered longer, haunting him and reminding him that he came from nothing good. Maybe he still would, even with the threat Ilya had laid at his feet. And maybe, if he was feeling particularly self destructive that day, he would answer. 

It was an inevitability though. Russia wasn't home. It hadn't been for a long, long time. 

And Ilya wasn't sure what was. Home.

Boston, maybe. Where he had somewhere along the line, in locker rooms and on the ice, grown from a dumb teenage boy to a slightly less dumb man. The Dunkin' close to his apartment that knows him by name and order now, the little Russian store that sold food that was very close but not quite right, all the bars and clubs he had made his way through both in celebration and commiseration. The streets that now felt as familiar as the ones he had grown up around. His house, his cars. A team of men that loved him for hockey but maybe not much else.  

It didn't feel right though. 

He thinks of Shane. Of deep brown eyes, of freckles dusting along skin, of the way everything, all the noise in his head could just… stop.

He thinks about how it wasn't magically all better after their call. But it was lighter. Like Shane had reached his hands into Ilya's chest, dug his fingers into the awful blackness that encased Ilya's heart and gently pried it open - just a little. Enough for something better to take root.

Ilya finishes his drink in two large gulps and sets the glass back down. 

He takes off his suit and hangs it up so it doesn't wrinkle. He will wear it again tomorrow to go see Mama. Oh, Ilyusha, look how handsome you are she would always say, the few occasions his younger self had been told to dress nicely for something or the other.  He changes into sweats, cleans himself up after the day and slips under the covers of his bed. He knows sleep will not come easily tonight. He reaches for the book he had set aside and opens it up, flipping past the first few pages that contained acknowledgements and other things before the book itself started.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, just that at some point the words on the page blurred together. And he doesn't know how long he has been asleep when a pounding on his door startles him out of it. 

"Ilya! Ilya get up!" Svetlana's voice calls out, and even half asleep Ilya can hear the panic. 

He quickly gets out of bed, half tripping over sheets as his legs get tangled, and moves to the door just as Svetlana barges in.

"Sveta… what's wrong?" he asks, yawning and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He glances to his bedside out of habit, but it's not the LED clock he has on the table in his Boston home, rather an old-fashioned clock that he can't hope to read from here. "What time is it?" 

"You have to go. Now." Svetlana says, sharp and urgently, ignoring the question, as she shoves her phone at him and grabs his carry-on from the floor to put on the bed. 

"What - " Ilya responds, confused. He fumbles with the phone a bit and finally manages to focus his eyes on the text chain left open. 

He stares at the words. He knows them all. He can read them all in the Cylric it's written in, and he can translate them into English and back again. All the words make sense on their own. It is when the words are all put together that his brain can't follow. 

"Ilya!" Svetlana snaps. 

Ilya looks from the phone to her panicked face. He is not sure what his own is doing. The phone clatters to the ground.

"Sveta…" 

Ilya can't feel his fingers. He stretches his hands out, like the team's physical therapist had shown him, touches thumb to pinky, then ring, then middle then pointer. The tips are numb. He presses his thumbnail into the top of his middle finger, watches the skin go from pink to red to white, looks at the indent left behind, but he doesn't feel it. 

He was supposed to go visit Mama. He was supposed to leave flowers, say goodbye. 

"No flights to Boston for six hours," Svetlana murmurs next to him as they walk through the crowded airport. "You could get to New York, flight in ninety minutes, and Boston from there… Ilya are you listening?" 

Ilya snaps his attention to Svetlana, hoping he looks appropriately apologetic because no, he had not been listening.

"What about Montreal?" he asks, surprising even himself as the words come out.

Svetlana huffs. "Hopeless," she chides. 

She's been trying, Ilya knows, to lighten the mood. To tease. Now that she knows - Jane is Shane. And Shane is Shane Hollander. A fact the rest of the world would know sooner rather than later. 

The sheer panic of it makes him feel reckless. If everyone is going to know, why shouldn't he go to Shane then. What do they possibly have left to hide when audio of Ilya saying how in love with Shane he is will be publicly consumed before Ilya can even board a plane. 

"Canada might be better," Svetlana concedes though. "US is sometimes…" she leaves the sentence unfinished, Ilya knows the end. They both do.

"You'll have to run," she says, fingers typing away on her phone as they slow to a stop so she can book the ticket. She hugs him, tight. Ilya makes a umph noise, but presses his lips to the top of her hair. 

"You are the bestest friend I could have ever had, Sveta," he says softly as hundreds of people pass around them.

"Ew," she replies with a laugh, but it's tight. Laced with the panic and worry Ilya knows won't ease up until he is safe. "Text me when you are past security," she demands and he nods. There was a prepaid sim now in his phone, the only thing they had stopped for as they rushed to the airport, to replace the one they had flushed.

"Tell Sasha thank you," Ilya murmurs as he lets go of Svetlana.

"Tell him yourself," she says and reaches to pat the side of his face. "Gate 15. Be safe." His phone pings with the incoming text from Svetlana, containing his boarding pass.

Ilya is a nervous wreck as he goes through security, as he shows the boarding pass and then hands off his passport while his carry-on goes through the xray belt. Sasha had given them a heads up, but Ilya wasn't sure how much time that bought him. How long it would be until something was flagged and putting his name into a computer at the airport ended with him being stuck in a room somewhere. 

He hopes the fact that he just has to clear security right now, and not customs will help. He is sure that by the time he reaches Canada he will be detained. Charges laid against him for promotion of non traditional values. But he would much rather be detained on Canadian soil than Russian.

The guards eye him, faint recognition in their eyes. He holds his breath and only lets it out when the guard hands back his passport with a cutting it a little close aren't we. Ilya just nods, curtly, and starts running towards Gate 15 as a final boarding announcement rings out, thankful for the years of cardio training.

He barely makes it. The attendant is already starting to close the gate as he runs up, out of breath. "My apologies," he says to them as they check his boarding pass and passport.

He says it again as the flight attendants at the gate give him a dirty look, and once more to the attendant who shows him to his seat. 

Ilya stows his carry-on in the overhead, backpack under the seat and then sinks into the business class seat, another thing he'll owe Svetlana for, though he's sure it was more to do with availability than her not wanting him to sit in economy. He turns his phone off for take off, and keeps his eyes on the front of the plane. He knows it is maybe paranoia, but he can't help the mental image of police barging in, picking him up and dragging him from his seat. He taps his phone against his leg, nerves alight. 

The plane taxis and Ilya has never been more grateful for a take off than he was as he felt the plane lift then. They were in the air. No one could barrel in last minute and haul him away,  and for the first time since Svetlana barged into his room takes a full breath. He knows everything is not okay. It is so far from okay he would laugh if he wasn't surrounded by people. But he is on a plane. 

In nine hours he will be in Canada. 

In nine hours he will, maybe, be with Shane.

His head falls back against the seat and he just breathes as the plane ascends. Slow, steady. In and out. He's only tangentially aware he might look like a crazy person, but assumes anyone will just chalk it up to being a nervous flyer. The background noise of the flight attendants going through the same safety speech he's heard a thousand times is nice. Grounding.

He presses his thumb into pinky, ring, middle, pointer finger. The tips are tingly, but he can feel the press of his nail. Better.

Ilya waits until the seatbelt sign dings off through the cabin, and an announcement is made that they've reached their cruising altitude, and then turns his phone back on. He connects to the plane's wifi, paying the exorbitant charge with Svetlana's card. He chews on his thumbnail as he stares at the screen. He knows he should check twitter. Check his email. See what has gotten out. 

Instead he pulls up his texts with Shane and tries to do the math on the time difference. He thinks that maybe it is late, but not too late. He runs his hand down his face and then types.

Ilya has to blink hard and fast against the tears forming in his eyes, the words in the texts going blurry as he breathes in and out. He really doesn't want to start crying in the middle of an airplane, but Shane's words are doing something to his heart that he can't quite wrap his head around. 

All I'm worried about right now is you.

Not hockey. Not the Metros and their dickhead players. Not the MHL. Not the internet. Him.

Ilya's breath catches and he has to take a moment to look out the window, collect himself. 

He bites his lip, hard. But it's no use and Ilya can feel the hot streaks of tears running down his face. He pulls his cap down lower, sinking in his seat, trying to hide his little breakdown. 

Shane is not mad. Shane is maybe freaking out, probably freaking out, but trying to keep Ilya calm. Shane will be there when he lands. 

No matter what happens when he gets off the plane, Shane will be there. 

He wipes at his face, not even sure why he is crying. This was not a bad thing, this was a good thing. More than he could have ever dreamed of, but here he is crying. Maybe it is too good a thing, more good than Ilya even knows what to do with so it is coming out as tears. Like his feelings about it all are too big for his body and have nowhere else to go. He wipes again, lets out a slow breath and when he feels like he's not about to burst into tears anymore he lifts his head back up.

Ilya smiles a little. His Shane, worried about his lack of sleep. He closes the texts and lets out a little sigh. He knows Shane is right, he had barely slept more than a few hours before everything happened and he's been running on adrenaline since. But he feels restless, his knee jostling, his body vibrating. He will sleep, he will. He just knows he won't even be able to think about it until he looks.

He finds it easy enough. Two anonymous accounts. One in Russian and one in English, but clearly from the same people. 

The Russian one is more firm in denouncing him, and Ilya isn't sure how to feel about that. Tucks it away to be dealt with during some nebulous time labelled later.

The English one does not have as much traction as the Russian, but it has enough. Enough to start something. Enough that by the time he lands in North America it will be a story.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

A check in with Shane. Who is doing just fine. Perfectly fine. No freaking out at all.

Thanks for the support!

Shane Hollander is freaking out. He doesn't want to be. He is trying very hard not to be. Texting with Ilya was good. Well, all things considered. It had given him something to focus on. Ilya was on a plane, he was coming to Canada, he was safe for the moment. Things were bad. Very bad. But right then and there, Ilya was safe - thirty something feet up in the air where no one could touch him.

Except now he's not texting Ilya and all the calm bravado he had tried to emulate was crumbling quick. His own panic and anxiety seeping in now that he's not trying to assuage Ilya's anxieties.

He can feel his breath starting to shake and he tries the breathing exercise he learned years ago. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six. 

It doesn't help. 

He looks around his room. What was the other one? Things you can touch, see.. but he can't remember how many of each or what the other options are so he gives up. 

His fingers itch to look online. To see what is being said. 

The thing is, he doesn't know. 

He doesn't know what Ilya had said when he switched to Russian. He had assumed it was Ilya talking about how hard it had been, the funeral, his family, his father's death. The only word Shane had caught was Svetlana, a name he only knew from more time stalking Ilya on the internet than he'd like to admit to. 

Ilya had said he had mentioned them though. Had said enough about this thing between at least that he was now those thirty something feet up in the air escaping Russia like it was still the Cold War. He tries to think what he himself said. Ilya's name. Offering to listen, in Russian. That he wished Ilya was there. The sex joke. A joke that was kind of tame all things considered and Shane is so thankful for that right then.

Would his voice even be on it? If the government released the call. Or would it just be Ilya's end of the exchange. It didn't seem fair, not really. If it was only going to be Ilya exposed, an intimate moment of his life left out there for the world at large to judge and dissect.

But… Ilya had said his name.

It hits Shane like a freight train. 

Ilya had said his name. 

Once. At least he thinks only once. But once was enough. 

Black dots flicker at the edges of his vision and Shane tries, and fails, to keep his breathing even. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

Ilya had said his name.

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

He laughs, the sound echoing in his bedroom. He's not even sure why he's laughing, just that it suddenly feels so fucking absurd and he doesn't know what else to do.

For so long he had been keeping this secret. This big, scary, secret that he has spent so much time and energy worrying about. Concocting a million scenarios in his head of how someone might find out. How he might use he instead of she when Hayden bugged him about Boston Lily, how he might open the wrong text near the wrong person, how some hacker with too much time on their hands might find his carefully deleted browser history and post on the internet that Shane Hollander watched gay porn and bought a dildo (or three). That someone might take a picture of Ilya and him in some compromising position, something that couldn't be excused away by the inherent homoeroticism of male sports. 

But this?

The Russian government tapping Ilya's phone?

"What the fuck…" he mutters out under his breath, just to say it. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

He looks at the flight itinerary Ilya sent. He has nine hours, give or take a bit. Nine hours to figure out what the fuck he was going to do, how to tell his parents he's gay and he's been sleeping with Ilya Rozanov since he was eighteen, and now they need to potentially prevent him from being extradited back to Russia for being bisexual.

He glances at the time.

11:06 PM. 

He picks up his phone and calls.

"Shane? You okay, buddy?" his dad's groggy voice answers on the fourth ring and Shane would feel bad about waking them if his life wasn't currently falling apart.

"Hi, Dad. I'm -" he pauses as his voice catches. 

Fuck. 

I'm gay and have been in a secret relationship with Ilya Rozanov since the summer before our rookie seasons, I might be in love with him but he doesn't know that yet and he's running away from Russia because fucking me is a crime there just doesn't seem to want to come out.

"Shane.." his dad continues, worry in his tone, and Shane can picture it so clearly. His dad will be sitting up, turning on the bedside lamp. His mom will wake, immediately worrying too by the way his dad had said his name. She'll lean in, press her hands to his dad's shoulders and motion for the phone. His dad will fumble with it for a moment, still not quite awake but full of panic, to hit the speaker icon. 

"Shane, honey, what's wrong?" his mom says then, her voice even but Shane can hear the panic under it. 

He never calls after nine unless something has happened. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

"I need your guys' help," Shane starts, hoping he doesn't sound as shaky as he feels. "And I need you to trust me for a bit."

"Of course, Shane - "
"Shane what happened - "

Overlapping voices and Shane shakes his head though he knows they can't see it.

"Can you drive to Montreal? Like.. now?" he asks in lieu of answering. "Or I can come to you," he quickly adds.

"No, we can come," his dad says.

"Are you hurt?" his mom asks.

"No, no, nothing like…" 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

"I'm not hurt," he settles on. "Mom, I need you to turn off your news alert for me," he pauses, "and for all the hockey stuff," another pause, "please."

"Shane this is very strange - " his mom starts.

"Just trust me, okay? There might be some stuff - soon, I don't know, maybe you already have a notification for it, but I want to tell you in person, okay?" Shane chews on his lower lip as silence lingers on the line.

"Okay," his mom says after a long moment. "Alerts turned off."

"Thank you," Shane says quietly. "And uhm, don't google me, or hockey stuff? But can you look into immigration lawyers… in Montreal?"

He hears his dad suck in a breath. "Buddy, that's kind of a weird ask," his dad points out.

"Yeah, I know," Shane concedes. 

"Is one of your teammates in trouble?" his dad adds, Shane assumes his mom is already on the task he gave her.

"No, but another player," Shane answers, he figures he could give them that at least. "We'll talk more when you get here?"

"Okay, Shane," his dad says, there's still worry there, but it's not the same panic from before.

"I'll see you guys soon?" Shane says in response.

"This late? We'll make good time," his dad replies and they hang up. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

He sends out a quick URGENT: call me when you're up email to his agent and then sets his phone to do not disturb, adds Ilya's new number to the exceptions, turns the volume way up and shoves it under his mattress. He's not going to look. But he'll hear it if his parents, Farrah, or Ilya call or text.

Two hours.

He has two hours to kill, a bit more really, before his parents show up at his door.

He heads into the spare bedroom they use when they're in town, and makes sure it's ready for them, fresh sheets on the bed, that the ensuite there has towels and spare toilet paper. Goes to a 24 hour store to pick up a few things that he doesn't normally keep in the apartment, but he knows his parents will want. Picks up a nice bottle of wine for his mom who will probably need it sooner rather than later. 

He tries to work out. 

Showers. 

Tries not to think about the ticking time bomb of a phone under his mattress. 

Replays everything he can of his phone call with Ilya. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

He thinks maybe he should do what he told Ilya, sleep for an hour or two while he can, but the thought of laying down with his own racing thoughts right then feels like way too much.

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

He stares across the Montreal skyline from his windows. There's some lights on, there always is, but the city for the most part is asleep. Anyone he knows is. The team had just come off a long roadie. Maybe a few guys were out, tearing up the town, but he knew most had long since passed out. At least those without secret Russian boyfriends - he pauses in his own thoughts.

Boyfriend.

He smiles a little. Was that what this was? Can he even use that word when he and Ilya haven't discussed it? He doesn't know, but he likes the sound of it.

Boyfriend. 

"Mom, Dad… I have a boyfriend," he tries out loud to himself. It sounds nice. Scary as hell, but nice. 

"I want to tell you about my boyfriend," he tries again, pauses, "Ilya Rozanov." It's there the frown comes. The panicky feeling in his chest. The sweat on his palms, and his breathing starting to quicken. 

Shane has no doubt his parents love him. He has no doubt, if he removes the hockey of it all from the equation and all the complication that brings, his parents would have no issue with him being gay. Except they can't remove the hockey of it all from the equation. Especially when he's gay, and he wants Ilya Rozanov. It's the same sticking point he has come to over and over for years now as the truth of it all sits right behind his teeth during every phone call, every dinner or lunch out, every moment he spends with them. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

"Mom, Dad, I'm gay, I've been seeing Ilya Rozanov, and he might be in a lot of trouble." Okay, the first bit was good. Last bit.. Well, he can see his mom's unimpressed look from here, and can hear the inevitable Of course he's in trouble, Shane, he's Ilya Rozanov.

Shane lets out a long breath. Paces the width of his living room. "Mom, Dad, I'm gay. I've been involved with - " he stops. Involved feels weird. Like there was a crime and he was a part of it. 

"Mom, Dad.. I'm gay. I'm sorry I haven't told you yet…" and if that doesn't open a whole rabbit hole of worry and anxiety to follow down he doesn't know what will. What if he waited too long. What if they're mad because he's in his mid 20's, been sleeping with his supposed rival for nearly a decade, and only now bothered to tell them he's gay. 

"Fuuuuuuuck…" he mutters out, raking a hand through his hair. "I should have told them I wanted a Swedish Prince," he mutters to himself, thinking back to that lunch years ago.

Okay. He huffs out some breaths, shakes his body out, like he's mid work out and not like he's psyching himself out to come out to his parents. His wonderful parents who have sacrificed time, money, their own social lives, vacations, more time, more money, so much money, to see his dream come true. 

He definitely didn't get them good enough Christmas gifts last year for this.

"Mom, Dad, I'm gay. I've wanted to tell you so many times, but I could never find the right words. I don't want you to think that I'm only telling you now because I have to, well, I sort of do, but still, I was going to… soon. I think. I mean I was definitely thinking about telling you soon..." he groans and flops onto his couch.

"Mom, Dad, I'm gay. We can talk about it later. I've been seeing Ilya Rozanov for… a while. Something happened when he was in Russia and I need your help to make sure he doesn't end up in some Russian jail for the rest of his life just because he touched my dick…" Shane sighs. It was a good start. Lost it in the end. But he could work with it. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

"Mom, Dad. I'm gay…"

His parents arrive just before 1:30 AM.

Shane has officially declared himself a crazy person for how many times he's rehearsed a speech to his ceiling. He jumps out of his skin as he hears the knock at his door, followed by the sound of his code being entered. His parents are nothing if not comfortingly predictable.

He sits up, stretches out his neck, frowns at the sound of a pop, and moves into the kitchen. He dishes out some grounds into the basket of his coffee maker and adds the water, setting it to brew. He normally would never have coffee this time of day, he's normally never even up this time of day, but he knows none of them are going to be going to sleep anytime soon.

He waves as his parents make their way into the kitchen, his dad dropping their overnight bags onto the floor beside the island.

"Hey, kiddo," he says, and Shane is struck by how fucking grateful he is for them right then. His parents who have given so much for him and still dropped everything to drive two hours in the middle of the night just because he had asked them to.

Shane blinks hard and then rushes towards them, pulling them both into a tight hug. "I love you guys so much," he muffles into his dad's shoulder.

"We love you too, Shane," his mom says as they start to extract themselves from the hug, "but I gotta say, you have us kind of worried right now."

Shane nods. "I know, and I'm sorry, I'll explain everything," he says. "Coffee will be a few more minutes, why don't you freshen up and then we'll talk," he suggests.

He halfway expects them to push, but he also knows they've been driving for a bit, and he's glad when they nod and make their way further into the apartment. Shane pulls mugs out from the cupboard, the cream he picked up for his dad, and some raw sugar he knows his mom will take with her cup. He sets it all out on the table, and when the coffee machine is done he brings the pot over, pours into all their cups and then sets the pot down. 

He takes a seat, just as his parents emerge back into the kitchen. His mom shoots him a grateful look as she spoons a little sugar into her cup and takes a sip, sitting in the chair to Shane's right. His dad takes the one across from them. 

"What's going on, Shane?" his dad asks, evenly. There's some worry, but there's no harshness to the words.

Shane takes a moment to sip at his coffee. He sets his cup down and looks at each of his parents in turn. "Mom… Dad… I'm gay." 

He almost wants to laugh. Years he's held this in, so many times he's run through how to start the conversation. And in the end it was as simple as two words. I'm gay.

Okay, maybe not simple.

But they were out there. Those two words. 

He looks to his hands around his cup, he can hear his mom make a little noise, and feel her hand almost immediately land on his shoulder. But he can't look, he can't get derailed just yet, and if he dares to look he knows he might not get through the rest of it. "I've been - seeing - someone. Well, no, not someone. Like obviously he is someone, but he has a name…" he pauses, lets out a slow breath. His parents, thank god, are quiet, letting him get through this.

"Rozanov," a pause, "Ilya. Rozanov. I've been seeing Ilya Rozanov. For uh - a while now." A pause. "The hockey player."

Nailed it. 

"Rozanov?" he hears his mom say at the same time his dad says, "for a while?"

Shane shakes his head. "Look, it's not - well it's important, but it's not the most important thing. Right now." He glances up. He's not sure what he expects to see on his parent's faces. They haven't yelled yet, they haven't disowned him or run screaming for the hills. But he looks. Closely, because sometimes he doesn't quite get it right the first time.

They're both looking back at him. There's no distaste in their expressions, no hatred, nothing that makes Shane want to shrink under it. There was confusion, but even still they're looking at him how they have always looked at him - like he's their son and that was all that mattered. Shane didn't realize how much he needed that assurance until it was given. It's that which lets him continue forward.

"Ilya called me yesterday after his father's funeral. I told him to talk to me, in Russian - since he couldn't say it all in English. I don't know what he said, I just listened. Neither of us knew, but  the audio was recorded, by the Russian government I think?" Shane watches as his parents take it in. "I thought he was just talking about his family or whatever, I don't think they really get along, but he said he talked about me, about what we've been doing. And we said a couple things, in English, that might be kind of… damning?"

His dad sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly, his mom is just - staring. Like she could find all the answers on Shane's face. She blinks a few times and leans back a little in her chair. Shane folds and unfolds his hands, finally settles then palm down on the table.

"Okay, just so I know I'm hearing this all right. You and Rozanov are - involved?" His mom starts, Shane winces at the word. "You had a phone call while he was in Russia and during that call some things may have been said that allude to you two having a romantic relationship?"

Shane nods stiffly, looking at his hands again. "Yeah, I mean I don't know what he said in Russian but I know what I said, so yeah, I guess that's it."

Yuna nods. "And where is Rozanov now?" 

Shane looks up. "On a plane. He lands in Montreal at 7:45 AM. I don't know what's going to happen to him from there." The last bit is quieter, wrapped up in all of Shane's worries. 

That's the scariest part, that he doesn't know what is going to happen to Ilya. It's scarier than telling his parents he's gay, scarier than saying he's been with Ilya. Scarier than everyone in the world finding those two things out in the next twenty four hours. He thinks maybe that's why it felt so simple to say it all. Because in the face of losing the man he loves - and, oh wow, he loves Ilya - everything else just feels insignificant. 

His dad reaches across the table and drops a hand gently on Shane's forearm. 

"I love him," Shane says, voice wavering as he wipes the back of his hand against his eyes, tears forming. "I can't lose him."

"I know, son," his dad says gently. "We're going to make sure that doesn't happen okay?" 

"It had to be Rozanov," his mom says suddenly and Shane can tell it's mostly teasing, mostly. But he bristles a little regardless. 

He's about to say something when his dad starts to laugh. Shane looks at him, slightly confused. His dad just shakes his head and looks between the other two. "It had to be Rozanov," he repeats Yuna's words, less exasperated teasing and more like he was stating the obvious. "Yuna… who else would it be?"

Shane watches as his mom brings a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her own laugh.

"What's so funny?" Shane asks as he looks between his parents. 

"Oh, Shane, honey… you are the most driven, disciplined, talented, and competitive person we know. Of course you would pick the only person who has ever been able to keep up with you," his mom says, losing the battle against a soft laugh. 

"So you're not mad?" Shane asks, softly, he thinks he knows, but he needs to be sure. He needs to hear them say it.

"Of course not," his mom answers easily and without hesitation. "We're maybe a little surprised and trying to process all of this, but all we have ever wanted for you was to be happy. Does he make you happy?" 

Shane nods. "Yeah, he really does. So much," he replies. "Even when he's an asshole," he adds, lightly, hoping his parents get what he means by the comment and when they laugh he realizes that maybe they do.

"You said a while," his dad prompts.

"Uh - yeah…" Shane shifts in his stool a little. He knows what it might look like, on the outside, if he just drops since before our rookie season with no context. The chatter around Ilya, the women he's been seen with, his own recent fling with Rose.

"Shane…" his mom says gently, "you don't have to, if you're not ready…"

Shane shakes his head. "No, it's not… it's just - complicated?" It sounds so lame to his own ears. "We've been -" and god he does not want to say hooking up to his parents, "casual, since rookie year," summer before he can practically hear Ilya correcting him, but at this point Shane wasn't sure he wants to add his mom thinking about how her son hooked up at his first big commercial shoot to everything else.

"Casual," his mom says, evenly, at the same time his dad mouths rookie year? 

"Yeah, casual," Shane doubles down. 

"And now?" his mom asks.

"Obviously not so… casual," he answers. "We've been talking about it a bit more, what we, you know, feel and stuff," he really should have rehearsed more. "It feels more - serious. I think maybe it's always been serious, we just never let ourselves admit it was."

His mom reaches for his hand and gives it a squeeze. "It won't be easy," she says, sympathetically. 

Shane turns his head to look at her. "I know. But he's worth it." 

His mom smiles at him, squeezes his hand again before letting go and then pats the table twice. "Alright, what's the plan?" She stands to grab her ipad from her bag. "I've found a few lawyers like you asked, but I'm not sure who, if any, would answer a call this time of night…"

Shane lets out a small sigh of relief. This he could do. Plan. So much easier than talking about the rest of it.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Thank you to everyone for reading along, leaving a comment or kudos, or subscribing.

"Ilya? Did you land, are you okay?" Shane's voice says on the other end of the call. Ilya grips his phone tight.

He has a hundred things he wants to say, but there's an immigration officer watching him close. This isn't the time for it. Ilya turns a little away from the officer, an illusion at some privacy, resting his forehead against the wall.

"Landed. Russia laid charges, my passport was flagged," he can hear Shane make a small noise at that. "I'm okay," if okay was a relative term, "I'm still at airport, they brought me to a different screening area."

"Are they sending you back?" Shane asks, Ilya can hear the panic at the thought in his voice.

"No," it had been his first question too. He doesn't miss the way they both let out an exhale at the same time. Maybe it would still happen, maybe he wasn't out of the woods yet, but no one had immediately shoved him on a flight back to Russia to face whatever hell they had in mind. 

"Did you find a lawyer?"

"Yeah, he's here with us," Shane answers.

Ilya smiles a little to himself, despite everything. Shane was there, Shane had found him a lawyer, Shane had texted him during the worst flight of Ilya's life, Shane had heard what happened and immediately looked for ways to try to fix it. Ilya never felt so cared for in his life, and he has to take a moment to collect himself. 

I love you, he thinks, I love you so fucking much.

"Thank you," he says instead, keenly aware of the officer in the room.

"Ilya…" Shane starts, and it feels like maybe he was going to say something, but then Ilya hears a few other voices in the background. "Uh, he wants to talk to you, hang on a sec."

There's a pause as the phone is handed over. 

"Mr. Rozanov? Pierre Letourneau, we are heading your way, but first I want to make sure you are safe?" the man says - firm, and direct.

"I think so?" Ilya answers, "they have me in a room, it's fine."

"No one has made threats, hurt you? You have been provided water, allowed to use the facilities if needed?" Pierre asks.

"Uh - no, no one has hurt me or anything, they gave me a bottle of water," Ilya answers. He hasn't even thought of asking for the washroom, too focused on everything else. "They took my bag and passport, but gave me my phone to make this call," he adds.

"That's fairly standard," Pierre lets him know. "I will be there shortly, Mr. Rozanov, and we will see what we can do about having you released this morning."

The call ends and Ilya hands his phone back to the officer. 

What feels like an eternity, but is closer to ten minutes later the door to the room opens and another immigration officer enters with a man Ilya figures to be in his mid fifties. He's in a suit and Ilya can tell he's the lawyer even before he's approaching and introducing himself with a handshake. Ilya is looking past him though, hoping Shane is not far behind. 

"The Hollanders have to wait outside," Pierre lets him know, and Ilya feels very called out.

Pierre motions for Ilya to sit at the small table in the room as the immigration officers leave.

"Mr. Hollander has given me a brief rundown of the situation," Pierre starts as he taps on his phone, "do you mind if I record?"

Ilya shakes his head. Pierre sets the phone down between them.

"Now, just to confirm - you were in Russia for your father's funeral. You had made a phone call to Shane Hollander the evening of March 20th. You and Shane Hollander had a conversation and part of that conversation alluded to a romantic relationship between the two of you. You were unaware your conversation was being monitored and recorded. You were made aware of that fact by a friend and at that time you made the decision to leave Russia earlier than planned and boarded a flight to Montreal, knowing the Russian police would soon come looking for you. You arrived in Montreal and were detained when going through customs." A pause. "Is that accurate?"

It feels weird. To have it all laid out like that, in a way that only stated facts and nothing about the anxiety and fear that had made a home in him since Svetlana had barged into his room. But he nods. Pierre motions to the phone. "Yes," Ilya adds, leaning forward to talk into the phone, "That is correct."

"Okay," Pierre says before continuing. "Mr. Rozanov, you have been formally changed in Russia citing the Law for the Purpose of Protecting Children from Information Advocating a Denial of Traditional Family Values."

Ilya can't help the smirk. "Such a mouthful, you had to practice that?"

Pierre does not seem to find the humor in the comment. Ilya hadn't really expected him to.

"Canada typically does not extradite people to Russia, and I personally can't see them doing so in this case, Mr. Rozanov," Pierre assures him and Ilya nods a little, relieved to hear the words from someone who knew what they were talking about.

"However," Pierre starts, and Ilya braces himself at that, "there is still the possibility that you may be held while things are sorted, though given you are a public figure, that what has transpired is now online, the fact your charges aren't violent in nature and that Canada is generally a supportive country when it comes to the LGBTQ+ community, I think we have a good chance at bypassing that."

Ilya nods again. It feels more real somehow. The flight over had felt like some fever dream, escaping Russia in the middle of the night. Now the reality of what's happened is hitting him like a brick wall. Russia had charged him. Fleeing the country hadn't just been some paranoid overreaction, but the thing that had saved his life.

"Do you have any questions for me at this point?" Pierre asks.

Ilya shakes his head. "No. I am sure I do, but it's all a little…" he pauses, waves his hand a little to try to indicate the feeling.

Pierre offers a sympathetic smile. "I understand. Today is just the emergency, Mr. Rozanov, we will have time to go over things again and in more detail going forward."

Just the emergency. The words stick. Ilya knows, of course, logically, that today was just the start. But to hear it was something else, cementing the long road stretching out before him. It feels suddenly insurmountable. 

"Hang tight, I'm going to go talk to immigration and see if we can get you out of here," Pierre says before he grabs his phone and knocks on the door to be let out. A loud buzz cuts through and Pierre pushes the door open. 

Ilya barely registers him leaving. He stands, rakes his hands through his hair, pulling tight. The sensation feels second hand somehow, like the hair on his head doesn't belong to him, and neither do the hands that pull on it. He tries to take stock of the good things. He was not taken into custody in Russia, he made it to Canada, Shane is waiting outside, Canada will not send him back to Russia.

But the huge unknowns seep in. What if they insist on holding him, what if he can't leave the airport with Shane. What if the lawyer was wrong and they do put him on the first flight back to Russia where he'll be immediately thrown in jail for the rest of his life, or worse. 

What if… what if… what if…

"Blyat," he mutters to himself, stopping the pacing he hadn't quite realized he'd even started.

The door opens and Pierre re-enters the room, Ilya tries to determine if it's good news or bad news by his face, but the man is frustratingly expressionless. He wonders what his own face is doing, if the desperation for good is written all over it. He drops his gaze and it's then that he realizes Pierre has his bag in his hand. That had to be good, right? 

Pierre hands Ilya the bag. "You are good to leave," Pierre starts and Ilya wants to hug the poor man. 

"There are some conditions I strongly encourage you to follow though," Pierre adds and Ilya nods. "Do not attempt to travel out of Canada. Your passport has been relinquished back to you, but you will be flagged again at any customs office and you may be indefinitely detained or other countries may be more inclined to deport you back to Russia. I would suggest limiting your travel in general, you don't want to look like a flight risk. Someone from the IRCC will be reaching out within the next twenty hours, do not miss the call. They will be setting you up with a check in schedule, do not miss your check ins."

Ilya nods. "No leaving, do not miss call, do not miss check ins," he repeats.

"You got it," Pierre replies.

There's a buzzing noise by the door and Pierre moves to open it for Ilya. He feels like he's about to come out of his skin at the idea of seeing Shane, but there's still a whole office to go through and while Ilya has half a thought to sprint the final leg he's sure that might not look good to a bunch of immigration officials.

Finally, finally, they leave the office, and Ilya can see the familiar back of Shane Hollander mere feet in front of him. Shane is standing with his parents and it's David who points at Ilya, prompting Shane to turn around. 

Ilya's breath catches in his throat. Shane looks tired as hell, but as breathtaking as ever, and Ilya can hardly believe he is actually here. His life had completely fallen apart since he'd gotten the call of his father's passing and Shane was there through all of it. A steady presence that kept Ilya from completely losing his mind. A soft place to land when the rest of it all was so, so, hard. 

They move at the same time, quickly clearing the half a dozen feet between them and Ilya crashes into Shane, arms immediately wrapping around him. Ilya tucks his face into Shane's neck and just breathes. The rest of it disappears, the airport, the lawyer, Shane's parents, the thought that someone might be walking by taking a photo of them. Ilya doesn't care, and it seems Shane doesn't either with how tight he holds Ilya back. 

"I was so worried, Pierre told us to wait but it was taking so long, I was about to shove my way inside and find.." Shane's words are cut off as Ilya lifts his head and presses his lips to Shane's. 

As frantic as Ilya feels, the kiss isn't. It's slow, tender, like he could put all the things he had said in that call into the kiss and Shane could just know them from the kiss alone. Shane's hand is gripping the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer and Ilya wouldn't want to be anywhere else. His hands lift to cup Shane's face and he knows his eyes are a little wet as they pull apart. Ilya drops his forehead to Shane's. 

They just exist for a moment, their own little bubble away from all the awfulness that had led to this moment. Eyes closed and foreheads pressing together, breath mingling. 

There is so much Ilya wants to say, but not like this. Not outside the customs office, employees walking around, Shane's parent's eyes on them and a lawyer standing just a few feet away. 

"You are okay?" Ilya asks instead, voice soft.

"No," Shane replies, honestly, just as soft. "You?"

"No," Ilya answers, honest in turn. "But maybe bit better now."  He pauses, sinks into the moment. "Thank you," he says. "I would not have made it through this without you," he adds, lifting his head a little so he can look at Shane properly, his thumb brushing across the freckles on his cheek.

Shane is quiet for a moment, and Ilya can practically see his mind thinking it before he says it. 

"Well… I'd be a pretty bad boyfriend if I didn't help you out of an international incident wouldn't I?" Shane asks, and Ilya can't help but smile. He loves Shane so much. The way the words are both joking and a little shy all at once, like he's testing the waters of something he's spent too long overthinking.

"Boyfriend?" Ilya questions, raising a brow, he can't not. He thrives on being a little shit to Shane Hollander. But he knows there's a little smile on his lips that makes it clear he's not complaining about the title.

"I mean, yeah? I think so?" Shane half says, half asks, searching Ilya's eyes. 

Ilya leans in to press a soft kiss to Shane's perfect mouth. "I like it," he says. 

There's a gentle throat clearing from someone, Ilya isn't quite sure who, and they laugh softly at each other before letting go. Shane is flushing a delightful shade and Ilya wants nothing more than to kiss every inch of it, but there will be time later. 

Pierre reaches out to shake Ilya's hand again. "Mr. Rozanov, my office will be calling later today to set up a meeting in the next day or two. In the meantime I will assess a few ways we can move forward from here and have them ready to present to you then. Do you have any further questions for me at the moment?"

Ilya shakes Pierre's hand. "No, nothing I can think of. Thank you, for everything today," he says 

"I'm aware I'm in a different area of law, but a bit of advice for both of you - keep any written communication you have with your teams going forward, try to divert talks to email and if you can't, record your conversations, avoid making any public statements before you've had a chance to talk to your agents and lawyers" Pierre suggests looking between Ilya and Shane. "What's happened to you both is an awful breach of privacy. I'm sure you'll have your hands full from all sides soon enough," he hands Ilya a card. "We'll be in touch," he says as he starts to walk off.

Ilya's not sure if he finds Shane's hand or Shane finds his, just that Shane's fingers are tangled in his own and Shane gives his hand a squeeze before they turn to face Yuna and David. 

"Mom, Dad… this is Ilya," Shane says. It's maybe redundant, they of course know who Ilya is, but Ilya appreciates it for what it was. Being introduced to his boyfriend's parents, not as another player, not as a long time rival, but as a significant other.

It's a different sort of nervousness that settles in as Ilya looks at David and Yuna. He's never been introduced before. Always just someone's hook up, a fun way to spend a night or weekend, never more than that. Sure, there had been some girls who had tried, a graveyard of texts asking for more than a quick fuck. But Ilya had never reciprocated.

He lets go of Shane's hand so he can shake David and Yuna's in turn. "Nice to mee you, Mr. and Mrs. Hollander," he says as he does, hoping it sounds polite. 

David shakes his head. "David and Yuna is just fine," he assures Ilya. "I'm sorry we're not meeting under better circumstances," David adds, dropping his hand onto Ilya's shoulder and offering him a sympathetic look. Ilya isn't sure what to do with either.

"Yes," he says awkwardly. Or at least it feels awkward to his own ears.

"I'll admit, Shane kind of took us by surprise with all of this," Yuna adds, and Ilya nods in return. "I'm glad he roped us in though, you shouldn't have to go through this alone."

Ilya isn't sure what to do with that either. Objectively, it is a nice thing to hear, but Ilya isn't used to parents who are nice.

"Thank you," he says quickly, "for helping, you didn't have to," he adds, Shane grips his hand again.

"You don't have to thank us," Yuna says quickly, "you're important to Shane, we weren't going to let you two deal with this on your own."

Ilya grips Shane's hand back, and Shane can thankfully read the sign for help for what it is. He is glad David and Yuna are being nice, but it's more than Ilya knows how to handle right now.

"Okay. Uh - let's get out of here? Before people start to snoop?" Shane suggests. He lets go of Ilya's hand, which feels like a loss but Ilya understands. The rest of the airport will be far more busy than this little corner. It's just enough that Shane is there. 

Shane reaches for Ilya's bag and shoulders it, Ilya gives him a look. "I can carry my own bag, Hollander," he says and holds out a hand for it. 

"I know," Shane says, but just pulls the bag more firmly onto his shoulder and motions for them to all start walking. Ilya can't help the pleased little smile at it all. 

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

NOTE: DID YOU MISS CHAPTER 3?

I separated the text and tweets into their own chapter, so if you're here from a subscription notice make sure you've read chapter 3 as well, thanks!

There is a canon typical slur at the start of this chapter.
And as always, if it makes sense for the characters to be texting/talking in Russian, then assume they're talking/texting in Russian.

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
I still can't believe the times we are living in. They all said I was crazy, they tried to drive me off twitter, they said I was seeing things. Vindicated!

@rozander first hollanov fan
Yes. Yes. Smart person. Do not listen to rest of internet. 

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
Change your name omg, I was the first hollanov fan.

@rozander first hollanov fan
Did you put them in package at 2008 International Prospects Cup? I did.

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
Put them in package? You mean ship? 

@rozander first hollanov fan
Yes, ship! I am original hollanov fan. Since Regina. 

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
What even is this conversation.  

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Shane Hollander is too good to be dragged into this fucking mess. Yeah, I get it, it's probably him on the phone but maybe it's just one sided? Like he's just being a friend. He doesn't actually say anything that incriminating. 

@mlhfan24 major league hotties  
Agreed. Kind of shitty of Rozanov to put this on him. 

@rozander first hollanov fan
Ah you are right. Hollander is way too good for him. 

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Aren't you a ship account?

@rozander first hollanov fan
Doesn't mean I can't speak truth. 

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Whatever, troll. Not interacting with accounts less than an hour old.

@avianadel aviana travels
I just saw the hottest guy get taken away at customs. Don't know what he did, don't really care, still absolutely would climb him like a tree.

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole
I know, I know, respect people's privacy but I'm a nosy bitch, went down an #audiogate rabbit hole and read the transcript. OMG???? If someone ever said to me what Rozanov said during that call I would die. Never got into shipping hockey players, but I might ship it. 

@pcksandgoals mlh chokehold
RIGHT??!!!??? All I want is you, it's always you??? Are you fucking kidding me??? 

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
More romantic than my wedding vows, who knew hockey players had it in them.

@MLH_Offical MLH Official ✅
We have been made aware that a phone call from Boston Raider's Ilya Rozanov (#81) has been released online. This is an ongoing situation and we are not at liberty to discuss the contents of the call at this moment, or speculate on the identity of the other person in the audio. We ask for privacy for our players and will update when we have a clearer understanding of the situation. 

@metrosfan3524 go metros go! 
We can't speculate on the identity of the other person means it's totally Shane Hollander.

@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p.
Did not have gay romance scandal on my bingo card for this season.

@mlhobsessed hockey is life
What a nothingburger statement.

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
So it's Shane Hollander for sure, right? Has anyone said anything officially? #audiogate

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
Nothing official, but it has to be him. Compare the voice to his interviews. It's 100% him. 

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
Fucking crazy then. 

@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast
Fucking gays ruining everything. Hockey doesn't need this bullshit. 

@marissarmt marissa ❤️
As someone whose vagina is still recovering from Rozanov three years ago I can tell you there is nothing gay about that man. #audiogate

@mixtapes9232 landon
You know bisexuals exist, right?

@marissarmt marissa ❤️
No man who eats a woman out like that fucks other men, it's just not happening.

@jeloussound mikey
Yeah, I heard about #audiogate, five hours ago. What, do you guys all sleep or something?

  @bedbathandbullshit stevie
Being an insomniac this morning is so funny, because we've all been freaking out for at least four hours over #audiogate and all you well adjusted people are just starting to ask the questions we already have spreadsheets and several conspiracy boards started for. 

@hollygirly becca

It started here right? If so, that's like a crazy amount of time to start declaring your love from another country. All-Stars was literally two weeks ago. #audiogate

@aroguelauren lauren
Proving the gays can u-haul just as well as the lesbians.

@lizbian liz!
Nah. Take that back. 

@jeloussound mikey
They have to have been together before that then? IF SO WHEN???? HOW LONG??? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.

@metrosgirlygirl hollander stan 
[ grainy photo, clearly zoomed in, Shane and Ilya barely visible, both with hats pulled low but for recognizable for those who watch them. ]
Uhhhh… guys???? Is that who I think it is????

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
OMG IT'S HAPPENING!!!!

@mlhwatcher99 matt
Friends can't pick friends up from the airport anymore?

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
They aren't friends, they're rivals. Who may or may not be fucking. 

@mlhwatcher99 matt
Who says they're fucking?

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
Uh, they do? Did you not read the transcript?

@mlhwatcher99 matt
No, I watched hockey. What we're all here for.

@jennyfer jenn's life 
I work at Montréal–Trudeau and you didn't hear it from me, but customs apparently had a high profile person detained for quite a few hours early this morning. 

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
But I feel fucking empty. I actually cried hearing that. You never know what someone is going through. #audiogate

@sticktweets maddy
Is anyone talking about yes, sir? The absolutely tonal whiplash of I'm so in love with you to call me sir? Rozanov the man you are. #audiogate

@mlhobsessed hockey is life
Remember when hockey twitter was actually about hockey 

@booksandtea allison
I don't follow hockey, but anyone else just kind of sad after seeing the #audiogate stuff? I can't imagine having your breakdown over your shitty family being thrown onto the internet like that. 

@PuckGossip Puck Gossip
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are spotted at Montreal airport, along with Shane's parents. Does this confirm Hollander as the "Shane" in the leaked audio? #audiogate

@TSN The Sports Network ✅
Reports coming out this morning that the Boston Raider's Ilya Rozanov has had criminal charges laid against him in his home country of Russia. This is an ongoing story and we will have updates as they come. 

@CBC CBC News ✅
Hockey star Ilya Rozanov is facing legal trouble in Russia pertaining to audio leaked onto the internet late last night. Follow for more updates as the situation unfolds. 

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
CHARGED?? With what? #audiogate

@haydenspike35 hayden fan #1 
Being gay is illegal in Russia.

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
Is he even gay though, maybe someone mistranslated it. Rozanov's kind of a man slut.

@haydenspike35 hayden fan #1 
I think the Russians know how to speak Russian. 

Chapter End Notes

gif credit
https://robertdowneyjjr.tumblr.com/

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

There's like 700 people about to get an email for this and that feels really freaking surreal so THANK YOU!

If you've seen the chapter count fluctuate you saw nothing. IDK friends, I have a plan, but certain parts are getting away from me. 10 seems fair, may come in 1 or 2 off in either direction.

There's an updated tag, it's not the focus of the fic though so I'm leaving the rating as is.

"Your parents are not staying with you?" Ilya asks as they approach the door to Shane's apartment. 

"They did last night, but they booked a hotel earlier," Shane answers. "So we could - uh talk and get some rest." Ilya delights in the slight flush that creeps up Shane's neck as he unlocks the door and lets them in. 

Such considerate parents.

"Talk," Ilya says, letting the word sound out slowly as he gives Shane a devilish smirk, leaning in close as Shane shuts the door. "I do love talking," he continues, taking the opening for all he can and pressing his lips lightly to the side of Shane's neck, pushing him up against the door. 

Ilya can hear the thud as Shane drops his bag in favor of tangling hands into Ilya's hair. "Yeah, talk, the thing - we should - probably - do - that - " the words get more staccato as Ilya drags his lips up Shane's throat column.

"Mmm… no, I think I want to blow you against the door instead," Ilya counters, trailing a hand down Shane's side and behind to cup his ass. He grins against the skin of Shane's throat as Shane makes a beautiful little noise at it. His Shane, always so eager. His other hand tugs at the collar of Shane's t-shirt, pulling it down so his lips have more skin to drag across.

"Ilya…" Shane starts. 

"Hollander," Ilya replies and pulls back to look at Shane. Is his desperation written all over his face he wonders. The silent plea to please, please let them exist in a moment of their normalcy before the rest of the world settles back in. The past twelve or so hours sit like a weight on his chest. A vast unknown that has stolen his foreseeable future. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to plan. He doesn't want to think. He wants it to all shut off, the anxiety, the restlessness, the persistent panic and fear that won't let go of him. 

Shane leans in, and Ilya sighs into the lingering kiss Shane presses to his lips. He tugs Shane in closer by his belt loops, and tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into Shane's mouth. But it seems Shane has his own ideas, pulling back a little and running a hand through Ilya's hair. 

"Come on," Shane says and tugs Ilya by the hand towards the stairs up to the bedroom.

They end up in the ensuite, Shane reaching into the shower to start it before turning to Ilya. Shane pulls off Ilya's jacket, placing it on the counter and then reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over Ilya's head.

"You are joining me, yes?" Ilya says as the shirt is placed, folded, next to his jacket. He leans in to steal a kiss.

"That was the plan, yeah," Shane says, lips brushing against Ilya's.

"Good, so I blow you in shower then," Ilya replies with a smirk and pulls off Shane's shirt. There's a smile from Shane as Ilya folds it quickly into quarters and sets it down on the counter, next to his own clothes.

Ilya tugs Shane in close and sighs as bare skin finally touches bare skin, his chest pressing into Shane's and he trails his hand down Shane's back lightly. It settles something in Ilya, fundamentally, the feel of Shane's skin against his own, the way he can feel Shane's heartbeat against his chest. 

When did that start? When had it shifted from the thrill of sneaking around in hotel rooms with his appointed rival, to being the only thing that could bring calm into his world. And Ilya knows what this is, he had said it. Words that were now circulating on the internet, known to everyone except the person they had been said to. But still, it stuck in his throat. Toes on the edge of a cliff that he was so close to jumping from, but couldn't quite make his way over just yet. 

They shed the rest of their clothes between kisses, and Shane leads Ilya into the shower. Ilya has always appreciated a good shower after a long flight, being able to wash off the smell of recycled air, and the warm water on muscles that had spent too long in one position. But this might just be the best post flight shower he's ever had. Shane's body solid against him as their hands drag over skin, mouths pressing together. Water washing over them, steam curling through the air.

Ilya makes good on his word and drops to his knees. And it doesn't take long to work Shane to full hardness, a few well placed licks of his tongue up Shane's cock, keeping his eyes upward to look at Shane is all it takes. Ilya keeps his eyes on Shane as he sinks his mouth onto Shane's cock, swallowing him nearly all the way immediately.

"Fuuuuuck…" Shane groans out, his hand gripping Ilya's hair.

He works Shane's dick with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing down and pulling off to lick the precum from his slit. He's so easy, always, for Ilya. But then Ilya knows he's so easy for Shane too, his own cock already feeling heavy between his legs just from the noises Shane is making above him. From the way he can feel the muscles of Shane's thighs tremble under his hands. From the rush of being the one to make Shane Hollander come undone. 

"Ilya… Rozanov - wait - I want - " Shane gets out between breathy moans and grips a hand under Ilya's arm, tugging up upward.

Ilya stands and Shane pulls him in for a searing kiss, the kind that still makes Ilya feel weak in the knees even now, after all this time. Shane presses him into the shower wall, and Ilya groans as Shane's hand wraps around both of them. Shane's cock pressing against his like this, the slide of it and Shane's hand at the same time, is something Ilya is sure he'll never get used to. He hopes he never does.

He kisses Shane, sloppily as they both start to come close. Contact for the sake of contact alone, open mouths pressing against each other's, breathing into each other. The bathroom echoes with the sound of the water, skin on skin, and their moans.

"Shane.. lyubimiy…" the endearment falling off his lips easily as Shane works them both in his hand. He comes right after, aware of Shane following, both of them spilling over each other and into Shane's hand.

Ilya knows he is usually the one who holds it together better after. A solid place for Shane to sink into. But this time he's the one going boneless and limp against Shane. Tucking his face into Shane's neck, his body shaking. He might be crying, he thinks, a rush of emotions, but it's hard to tell if it's tears or the water running down his face. 

Shane's hand is running up and down his back lightly. Ilya doesn't deserve him, but he's going to take it anyway. There's a lull, and then there's hands in his hair, the smell of Shane's shampoo. Gentle hands work the shampoo through his hair, and Ilya lifts his head to look at Shane. His breath catches as he sees the look in Shane's eyes. Open, caring. Loving. It's too much. It's everything. 

Shane guides Ilya to tilt his head back a little under the spray, rinsing the shampoo out with care not to let any fall in Ilya's eyes. Shane conditions his hair with the same gentle motions, runs a loofa with suds of body wash over Ilya's body, and Ilya doesn't even know what to do with the care being shown, the kind of care no one has ever shown him before. How he is keenly aware he wants this for as long as Shane is willing to give it to him.

He's still boneless and floaty feeling as Shane gently guides him to lean against the shower wall and cleans himself up, far more quickly than the time he'd taken with Ilya. He lets Shane lead him out of the shower, wrap a fluffy towel around his waist and pull him back into the bedroom.

They're under the covers, still naked, when Ilya blinks slowly, coming back to himself. Shane's hands card through his hair and Ilya lifts his head out from where it had been buried into Shane's chest to look up at him from half-lidded eyes. The room is dim, most of the light blocked out by blinds, but enough gets in to bathe Shane's face in softness and Ilya is sure he's never seen anything so beautiful. 

"I got you," Shane says, quiet in the room, pressing his lips to Ilya's forehead, hands on his face. "Go to sleep, baby," Shane adds and Ilya melts. 

"Ya tebya lyublyu…" Ilya mumbles into the skin of Shane's chest as he buries his face into it again, and if Shane asks what it means, he doesn't hear before sleep pulls him under. 

Ilya sleeps just long enough for his brain to trick him that it might have all been some weird dream. That he's waking up in his Moscow apartment, his suit hanging up that he'll put on to go visit his Mama. He'll lay lilies on her grave, tell her about Shane, and go to the little restaurant near the cemetery. Nothing bad has happened. He'll leave Moscow on his own terms, he'll go to Boston and get ready for their next game. He's not on the run from the government, he's not stranded in Canada with a passport that would get him arrested if he tries to leave. 

It's the best twenty seconds ever. 

Until his brain catches up with him and the reality of everything comes crashing back in. 

He stares up at the somewhat unfamiliar ceiling. He's alone in the bed, but he can distantly hear noises from downstairs. Shane talking to someone on the phone, the clatter of things being moved in the kitchen. He turns his head to look at the clock on the bedside table. 

3:52

He feels groggy, jet lag from hell, and yawns big enough that his jaw clicks. He rubs a hand across the back of  his neck and gets out of the bed, fighting against the urge to hide back under the covers for the foreseeable future. His bag was still by the front door, he thinks, so he raids Shane's drawers for a pair of sweats. 

He makes his way down into the kitchen, something loosening just a little in his chest as he watches Shane drop ingredients into a blender on the kitchen island, phone pressed to his ear. 

"No, mom, I don't know who his agent is, or if they've contacted, we've been asleep since you dropped us off - " a pause, presumably as Yuna says something. "I was already going to ask Farrah - mom, yeah, I know - " Shane glances up and Ilya lifts his hand in a little wave as their gaze meets and he slides into one of the stools at the island. "Look, mom, can I call you back? Ilya just woke up - yeah, okay - yeah, love you too, mom."

Shane sighs and sets his phone down before dropping his head into his hands. "I love her but she can drive me insane…" he mutters and Ilya smirks a little. "She says hi by the way."

Ilya just nods. "It is good though? She has your back," he points out and reaches a hand across the island to run through Shane's hair before he lifts his head back up. He feels better, knowing that David and Yuna hadn't disowned Shane for being gay, that he still has his parents in his corner. 

"Yeah, I know, but Yuna Hollander in full crisis mode is a little much," Shane replies. He turns on the blender, the noise taking over for a moment, before he pours the smoothie, a shade of green that Ilya just knows tastes terrible.

"You want?" Shane asks and holds the cup out for Ilya. "I can make another."

"I would rather drink curdled milk than drink that," Ilya deadpans, and is rewarded by Shane's face doing the thing it does when he's annoyed. He loves that look.

"It's good for you," Shane insists.

"What's in it?" Ilya asks, eying the glass.

"Spinach, kale, chard, wheat grass, protein powder, chia seeds, and a banana," Shane answers.

"Shane, hearing that is the saddest thing to happen to me today and I was detained at the border," Ilya replies. 

"Too soon?" he asks as Shane immediately frowns. 

"Way too fucking soon, asshole," Shane says. 

Ilya sighs and waves his hand for Shane to pass over the smoothie. "Fine, I'll drink your gross smoothie," he says and takes a long sip, not bothering to hide the grimace. But Shane looks pleased as he starts another one so it's worth it. 

As Shane settles into a stool with his smoothie he slides over his laptop to Ilya, a browser window already open. "I figured you might need to check your emails," Shane says. "We should call your cell phone company too, get a new sim card for your actual number. Marleau tracked me down trying to find you," he adds, "I'm sure a lot of people have been trying to get ahold of you."

Ilya lets that linger. Were there be? Outside his coach and team management, whose calls Ilya was sure would be more about whether he was going to be available to play than anything else, were there people calling? Svetlana has his temporary number, Shane is here. Ilya loves his team, he tells them that every time they come off the ice. But his team are also a bunch of overgrown manchildren, and while Ilya has tried to cultivate a decent enough room he hears the words they toss around without a second thought. 

How much of that was locker room joking and how much was what they believed. Ilya didn't know the answer, but he figures he's going to find out quickly. 

Still, he logs into his email from Shane's laptop, quickly weeds out some obvious spam or things he doesn't want to read and is left with a semi manageable inbox. He types a to the point reply to management that he is in Canada, he can't currently leave, he will have a meeting with an immigration lawyer in the next day and will let them know where the situation stands from there. It's all very formal. No one asks how he is, no one expresses sympathy for the breach of his privacy. It's a stark difference from the emails regarding his leave for his father's funeral. 

"Oh," he utters as he opens one from his agent and looks up at Shane. "My agent has terminated our contract," he explains to Shane and shrugs. "I'm not surprised, he is very old school Russian." It had been on a mental list for at least a year, to find someone new, but he had just never gotten around to it.

Shane nods. "My agent, Farrah, she's good, I'm sure she'll take you on," he suggests.

"Would that not be - conflict?" Ilya asks.

"I don't think so?" Shane shrugs. "It might be… easier? Less people to tell all the details to," he pauses. "She's a good person, I think, or at least she seems like one, she's already reached out to me about everything and it sounded like she was okay with all this."

"Okay," Ilya answers, rubbing his eyes. He feels so damn tired and there's still so much to do, to think about. 

"And your team? What'd they say?" Shane asks.

Ilya groans. "Uh, nothing really, just when will I be back in Boston." A question he currently doesn't have an answer to. He takes another drink of the sad smoothie. "Your team?"

"Management wants a meeting as soon as possible," Shane answers. Ilya can hear the anxiety at the edge of the words and guilt settles into the pit of his stomach. It's bad enough his own career may be tanked, but dragging down Shane's feels like the worst crime ever. 

"So they know then," Ilya says, evenly.

"Yeah, think they figured it out," Shane replies.

Quiet settles into the kitchen for a few minutes. 

"You could deny it," Ilya says after a moment, fingers dancing along the smoothie glass. "Or say you were just being good friend. You didn't say anything on call, not really. Nothing that you couldn't play off." He doesn't look at Shane as he says it, looking at his hands instead. There was a joke made, a comment that Shane wished Ilya was there. All things a good friend could have said. Ilya can be the one hopelessly in love with a straight Shane Hollander who was just trying to be a good friend. He could play that part.

He hears Shane set down his glass and move towards him, then his own glass is taken and set onto the counter with a soft clink. Shane's hands pull his face up and Ilya meets his gaze, making space for Shane to step between his legs, looping his arms around Shane's waist.

"I'm not going to do that, Ilya," Shane says. 

"You should, you shouldn't risk your career for this," Ilya adds. For this, for me. 

"I'm terrified," Shane admits, "of what my team will say, of what management, the league, will say. Of losing my place in Montreal, what everyone will think of me -"

"So then you say you were just helping a friend," Ilya interrupts.

Shane frowns. "Don't interrupt me," he says, leans in and presses a soft, quick, kiss to Ilya's lips. "I'm terrified of all of those things, but you know what terrified me more? Thinking I would never see you again. That you'd be hauled away back to Russia and you'd just… disappear." He pauses. "I don't want to lose you, I don't want to lose this."

"Shane…" Ilya says, his fingers curling into the fabric of the back of Shane's shirt.

"Whatever happens, we're in it together, okay?" Shane says, eyes locked onto Ilya's.

"Okay," Ilya repeats, dropping his forehead to Shane's chest. "Together." It sends a thrill through him. Together.

"Good," Shane says and drops a kiss to the top of Ilya's head. "What do you want for dinner? I have some of my meal prep, or we can order something in…"

"I want to fuck you," Ilya answers, lifting his head back up and looking at Shane with dark eyes. "Let me make you feel good," he adds, his hands slipping under the hem of Shane's shirt. He doesn't know how to say it, what it means that Shane is here, showing him such care and… love, he realizes. How together makes him feel feral in some way he can't describe. He doesn't know how to give the words he so desperately wants to say, but he knows he can show it. 

That part has always been so much easier for them.

Shane's pupils widen almost immediately, and he nods. "Yeah.. yeah," he gets out and Ilya stands, pivoting them to push Shane up against the island. He presses a hand just under Shane's jaw, the way he knows Shane likes it, and leans in to kiss him - deep and filthy, his tongue slipping into Shane's mouth, licking behind his teeth.

"Upstairs," Ilya breathes out.

Hours later, Shane is getting lost in wiping down the kitchen counters, his mind wandering to the meeting he'd set up for tomorrow with Montreal management. Anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach as he goes through a dozen or so scenarios. None of them very good. But he had meant what he'd said to Ilya. Despite the anxiety that was threatening to swallow him whole, he wasn't backing down. He wasn't leaving Ilya on his own in all of this.

Exhaustion sinks into his bones, the emotional toll of the last twenty four plus hours leaving him feeling like he'd played a full playoff series. Well, maybe not that extreme, but his eyes were burning with the lack of sleep, and his limbs felt heavy and sluggish. Ilya had gone upstairs earlier, bag in hand to sort out his clothes and start a load of laundry, and the apartment was quiet. A stark difference from the constant phone calls that had eaten up most of the afternoon and evening.

Once the counters were clean and the dishes put away, the apartment reset for tomorrow, Shane heads up upstairs. 

"Ilya?" He calls out as he gets closer to the master bedroom, silence answering him back. 

He enters the room and the worry is immediate as he sees Ilya sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly forward. "Ilya?" Shane asks, gently, moving with slow and deliberate steps further into the room, to Ilya, not wanting to startle him. Like his dad had done those afternoons Shane had come home from school and practice, and completely shut down from the socialization of it all. 

It takes a moment, but Ilya lifts his head a little to meet Shane's gaze and something in Shane breaks. His careful approach is abandoned and he closes the distance in quick steps, pulling Ilya into him. 

"Hey, I'm here…" Shane says quietly, his hands in Ilya's hair and Ilya's face pressing tight to his stomach. 

"I forgot -" Ilya starts, and it's clear he's still not fully present in the moment. "One of mama's books - on nightstand - I was supposed - before I left -  go see her -"

Shane rocks gently on his heels, holding Ilya so tight like he could absorb him, like he could take all the pain in the fractured words away and make Ilya whole again. He wants it more than anything, so much it makes him angry at himself that he can't, as illogical as he knows that is. 

"I didn't get to say goodbye," Ilya gets out, his voice breaking and Shane wants to burn the Russian government to the ground. 

Shane can feel Ilya crying, the shaking of his shoulders, the wetness spreading into Shane's shirt. But he just keeps holding on, his own heart breaking every time Ilya mutters the same thing over and over in Russian, and Shane doesn't need a translator to know the words. I didn't get to say goodbye. Just like he doesn't need Ilya to say who he was talking about. He just knows. 

He doesn't say anything, because there is nothing he can say. No magic words to make this aching and deep grief lessen. All he can do is hold onto Ilya, run his hands through Ilya's hair, let Ilya make a complete mess of his shirt with tears and snot. Just keep holding until the shakes in Ilya's body start to subside, the sob turning into a sniffle.

Only then does Shane pull back just enough to tug his shirt off, tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner. He easily maneuvers them into the bed, and tries to make it so he can lay on Ilya like a giant weighted blanket, but there's a huff of displeasure and Ilya arranges them so he's sprawling over Shane.

"So you can play with my hair," Ilya mumbles softly, tucking his face into Shane's neck and Shane wants to explode with how much he loves this man.

"So demanding," he says instead of I love you, his tone light, before he presses soft little kisses to whatever part of Ilya's face he can and lets his hands tangle into curls.

The worry of tomorrow, going to the rink, seeing his teammates, the meeting with management, it's there. An ever present hum of anxiety that thrums just under his skin. But it's easier to handle, with Ilya a comforting weight against him, with curls between his fingers and Ilya's breath against his neck. Knowing that he will fall asleep with Ilya in his arms and wake up the same way. That no matter what awfulness tomorrow brings, he will have woken up with Ilya and will go to sleep with him again. The world was being very unfair to them, and Shane knows it will be for a long time still, but they had each other. 

Shane has always felt uncertain about so much in his life. Social cues that were lost on him, watching how other people navigated the world and wondering why he just couldn't seem to do it in the same way. 

He feels it now, tenfold, uncertain about a future that suddenly looks so, so different. A plan completely tossed into the garbage. He doesn't know what tomorrow will bring, or the next day. He doesn't know what it means for Ilya, being stuck in Canada. Doesn't know what it means for himself, having his relationship with Ilya all over the internet. But he knows one thing, with a certainty usually only reserved for when he's on the ice, that he'd be more than content to spend every night he can wrapped up in Ilya like this.

He knows he's wanted it for a while now. To be able to linger like this, like they could be something more than just a quick fuck in a hotel room or one of their apartments the few times their schedules line up. 

But for the first time he thinks maybe it's possible. Lets himself sidestep the anxiety and fear and see what could maybe, just maybe, be on the other side. A life with the man he loves. Not hidden behind locked doors, not hidden behind fake names on phones and room numbers, but open. The thought still feels him with a dread that leaves his skin itching, everyone knowing. But there's something else if he lets himself push past the dread. How nice it would be, to speak Ilya's name like everyone else speaks their partner's names. To be honest when someone asks if he has plans. To say it with his whole heart that Ilya is his and he is Ilya's. 

He thinks maybe he's getting ahead of himself for someone who just managed to use the word boyfriend less than twenty four hours ago. 

Ilya's breathing evens out, and Shane knows he's asleep. He knows maybe it's silly. But he just needs to try it, to let his mouth sound it out when it can't be heard. The words that have been rattling around in his head for a while now, that he had come so close to saying so many times since picking Ilya up from the airport. Caught at just the last minute. It feels safe now, Ilya asleep in his arms, the chance to say it without worrying about seeing rejection in Ilya's face. 

"I love you." 

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

I've tried to catch up with some recent comments but please know I appreciate everyone who's taking the time to read and comment, even if I don't get a chance to get back to you.

Just a story note here: we're earning that canon divergence tag a little bit more here with a slight adjustment to when Ilya's Boston contract is up (aka the end of the current season as opposed to end of the next).

Shane had not had high expectations for the meeting with Metros management, but even still he can't help the low what the actual fuck was that under his breath as he and Farrah leave the conference room. He's never felt so frustrated in his life, twenty minutes of being stonewalled at every turn. Of having his character, as a player and a person, picked apart. He's not even sure he's upset, not in the way he had expected. It's more awed anger. Disbelief. The urge to walk back into the room and tell them all to fuck all the way off. 

"Shane.." Farrah says, slowing her pace as they make their way out of earshot of the room.

"What a bunch of fucking… assholes," Shane seethes as he pulls his foot back a little, almost like he's going to kick the wall, but thinks better of it before he actually does. The facility staff didn't deserve trying to clean the scuff mark it would leave behind.

Have you ever thrown a game for him… rattles in Shane's brain and it makes him feel just as awful as it did when it was asked. 

Seven years. Seven years Theriault had watched him sweat and bleed for this team, give everything and then more every damn time his skates hit the ice. Seven years. How could he have watched all that and then have the audacity to question whether Shane had thrown a game. 

He's never felt so insulted in his entire life. 

"We'll push back on the suspension," Farrah starts, clearly trying to get things back on track and Shane both loves and hates her for it. "They have no contractual basis for it, you never signed that you wouldn't become involved with another player."

Shane barks a short laugh. "Bet legal's putting that in now," he says wryly.

"Probably, but it wasn't in your contract," Farrah answers. Shane vaguely remembers her and his lawyer arguing the same in the room, somewhere around the time Theriault had hurled that they'd drafted Shane to win them cups, not embarrass them by being a fucking fag. A comment immediately intercepted by the HR rep in the room. 

"We'll get you back on the ice, Shane. They're surprised by the turn of events and being reactionary dicks," Farrah says and Shane scoffs a little, laughing at her honesty. "And… to be frank? I think they're trying to scare you into being quiet more than anything, but they have no leg to stand on. Not really." 

Shane nods. He leans against the wall and shoves his hands into his pocket. "Do you think I have?" he asks, tilting his head, "thrown a game?" 

Farrah drops a hand on Shane's shoulder and gives him a warm smile. "Shane, I've watched you and Rozanov play each other for years, even knowing what I know now? Not for a minute." 

Shane smiles. "Thanks, Farrah."

"It's what I'm here for," she replies, even though they both know the last day has maybe been very far out of what she was there for. "I'll get one of the admins in our office to pull some statistics and send it to you. Then you have the numbers on hand, if anyone's dumb enough to ask you again."

"That'd be great," Shane says, "I really appreciate, well… everything," he adds. Makes a mental note to send her one hell of a gift basket next week for dropping a scandalous relationship reveal on her lap with no warning.

"We'll be in touch, keep your head up," Farrah says and takes her leave. 

Shane watches her leave and then pushes off the wall. Texts in his thread with Hayden and JJ that he's done and he'll meet them by the gym. It feels weird, wandering the rink without having to adhere to a routine. Shane hates it. 

The commotion of the gym hits him as he gets close, the deep thump of bass in some song of the week, the metal clang of weights, and as he gets closer, the sound of twenty odd men chatting. But a few voices ring out over the others.

"Idefinite suspension - "

"Can't believe someone like him has been in our showers this whole fucking time - "

"Get over yourself, no one's looking at you - "

"Nah, I agree, feels weird having someone like that naked around us - "

"Yeah, whatever, but fuck man, we are fucked for playoffs if Hollander is out, can't believe he let himself get benched like that - "

"You guys really think he wants to be suspended, be fucking real, dudes - "

"No, I think he thought with his dick too much and screwed over the rest of us - "

"Right! Got fucked by Rozanov and fucked us - "

"Oh fuck off, Comeau, like all your dick forward decisions are winners - "

"My dick forward decisions don't cost us a playoff spot -"

"Who knows when else he's fucked us over for Rozanov, can't trust any of those games anymore - "

"Right on, go be gay or whatever, but fucking Rozanov?"

"Jesus, fuck, will you all shut up! Stop being fucking dickheads - "

Shane turns and hurries back the way he comes, spots blurring his vision. It's muscle memory alone that gets him out of the building and into his car. His hands shake as he pulls out his phone, and it drops to the floor at his feet. They hate him. His team knows and they hate him. They think he's thrown games, they think he's going to fuck them over for the playoffs, they're never going to trust him on the ice again, or in the room, they're going to petition the league to kick him off the team, they hate him, they hate him, they hate him…

A shrill noise cuts through and it takes Shane a moment to place it as his phone, on the floor by his feet.

It stops, then starts again, and Shane clumsily reaches for it, somehow managing to answer and turn on the speaker. 

"Shane - "

They hate him. They think he's thrown games, they think he's going to fuck them over for the playoffs, they're never going to trust him on the ice again, or in the room, they're going to petition the league to kick him off the team, they hate him, they hate him, they hate him…

"Shane? Shane, are you there?"

He can hear Ilya's voice, but when he opens his own mouth to answer, nothing comes out.

"Shane, sweetheart… can you please answer," Ilya tries again, it's low, rumbly, like he sounds when they're working each other up, hands and mouths everywhere, and that starts to pull Shane back. 

In for six, pause for three, out for six.

"They hate me," he gets out, voice shaky. "They all think I - that I threw games, for you - " 

"Blyat," Ilya snarls. "Fuckers. Fuck them. You are Shane fucking Hollander, they are idiots to think you would ever throw game."

"Theriault said it too," Shane adds, staring at Lily across his call screen.

"Fuck him too." 

That, at least, gets a little laugh out of Shane. 

"You are suspended?" Ilya asks, in a tone that makes it clear he already knows.

"That got out fast," Shane sighs, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

"Big news when second best MLH player gets suspended," Ilya replies, a hint of teasing to the words.

"Oh fuck you, Rozanov," Shane answers, but he's laughing a little. "So what's happening to the first best MLH player then?"

"Ah, so you admit it, I am best," Ilya starts.

Shane feels the anxiety continue to deflate, the anger he felt from his meeting being replaced bit by bit with a warm feeling at Ilya's ability to get him out of his own head and bites back I love you. "I admit nothing," he says instead.

"Indefinite healthy scratch pending immigration issues," Ilya answers, and Shane is sure if he looks it up there's a tweet with that exact wording.

He bristles at it. "But you guys have a game in Montreal right away, you're in Montreal," Shane points out.

"Ah, I think maybe they do not want the - " Ilya trails off for a moment and Shane can picture him waving his hand a little as he searches for the word.

"I know what you're saying," Shane interjects, biting at the inside of his lower lip. "Farrah thinks the suspension is for the same reason, they're trying to scare me into staying quiet about everything."

The conversation lingers into quiet for a moment, interrupted by a knock on the passenger side window that has Shane jumping out of his skin.

"What the -"

He looks to the window to see Hayden, and his heart stops going a mile a minute. .

"Shane?" Ilya asks, worry in the words.

"Uh, yeah, all good, just Hayden," Shane answers and unlocks the doors before waving for Hayden to come in.

"Ah and how is fifteenth best Metro?" Ilya asks as Hayden gets into the car.

"I can hear you, asshole," Hayden grumbles, settling into the passenger seat.

"I know," Ilya replies and Shane can hear the smirk in his boyfriend's voice, and then, lower, for Shane only: "I'll see you at home, Shane?"

And if that doesn't do something to Shane - Ilya being at home, waiting for him -  something he is sure is written all over his face as Hayden gives him a look.

"Yeah, see you soon," Shane replies and hangs up.

"So fucking weird, dude," Hayden gets out around an exhale and pops down the mirror to fuss with his hair.

"What is?" Shane asks, he thinks he knows the answer, but he wants to be sure.

"You and Rozanov," Hayden answers, not missing a beat. "Like you hate the guy, that's been the whole thing since I've known you."

Shane looks out over the parking lot. "I never hated him, Hayd," he starts, palms pressing against his thighs. "Well, maybe a little," he admits with a shrug. "But most of it was…" he shrugs again. "People putting a story on us before we even played our first MLH game."

They'd been so young he realizes then. Eighteen when they were drafted, nineteen when they started playing professionally. Kids staring at the only other person who could get what the other was going through, and being told they were supposed to hate each other instead. He wonders how different it might have been, if the pressure to loathe each other wasn't just another thing thrown onto their shoulders. If they could have been friends, not rivals.

"So how long have you - not hated him?" Hayden asks, Shane smirks at the wording. Hayden flips the mirror back up and looks at Shane. "Cause there was the whole Rose thing, and you've been texting that Lily girl…"

"Boston Lily," Shane points out and waits for the realization to work its way across Hayden's face. It'd be funny if they weren't having this conversation because the Russian government had leaked a private phone call and was asking for Ilya to be deported back there. 

Well, no, it was still a little funny as Hayden's mouth opens and closes several times, with no words coming out.

"Okay, but… Rose? That was just a couple months ago." Hayden asks after he recovers. "And Rozanov has been seen with chicks for years."

Shane nods, it's fair he supposes. "We weren't - like exclusive or anything," he explains. "How could we be," he looks over at Hayden at that. "We just admitted it's more than just -" he trails off, and waves his hand here, not wanting to say the word sex and break Hayden's brain even more, " - at All Stars." A pause, he picks at an invisible piece of lint on his pants. "And now everyone knows."

Hayden lets out a slow breath. "That shit is fucked up, man, having something leaked like that" he says and Shane appreciates it so much. A short lived moment as Hayden follows it up with: "you could have told me, Shane. I tell you all my stuff with Jackie -"

Shane stares at him for a moment, then lets out a short laugh. Shakes his head when Hayden looks at him confused. "Are you for real?" he asks. Hayden nods. "Dude, Ilya is at my apartment, stuck in Canada because the Russian government fucking charged him with a crime for being not straight and you're upset I didn't tell you before this? I couldn't tell you, Hayden, I couldn't tell anyone. You get that this is different from you and Jackie, right?"

Hayden holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, point made. I get it."

Shane narrows his eyes. "Do you?" He sighs, drops his head back to the headrest. "Fuck, Hayden, they suspended me, Coach asked me if I threw games, half the team thinks I did too, everyone hates me - "

"Everyone doesn't hate you, Shane," Hayden interrupts and Shane looks at him with what he hopes is an you sure about that kind of expression. Hayden shrugs his hands again. "Okay, people are - surprised. They all just found out you're gay, and you've been doing, whatever, with the Captain of our team's biggest rival team, you can't fault them for needing some time to process it."

Shane sighs. "No, I get them being weird about it, I'd be fucking weird about it, but I've given everything to this team, Hayden. Everything. How can they think I'd ever throw a game?" 

Hayden doesn't answer. Shane knows it's because he doesn't have one. Shane doesn't either, past a general people suck. It just hits harder when it's the people you've given the better part of your twenties to.

"I should get going, Ilya's got a meeting with his lawyer and I want to go with him now that I don't have anything else today," he says after a long and silent moment. It's in three hours, but Hayden doesn't need to know that.

"Yeah, sure of course, man," Hayden says, oblivious to the fact Shane is fleeing the conversation. "Give me a call, Jackie wants to hear everything and says you guys should come for dinner sometime," he adds as he lingers, leaning against the open door. "See you around!"

Shane gives a two finger wave and watches Hayden make his way back into the building. He lets out a shaky breath and turns the car on, thinking about how Ilya had said home, and how Ilya was there right now, waiting for him. Lets that quell the anxious buzz in his head and starts the drive. 

Russia has officially revoked your citizenship, Mr. Rozanov…

Pierre's words rattle in Ilya's head still, over an hour later, as he and Shane make their way back into the apartment. He thinks maybe Shane is asking something, but he doesn't hear it. He stalks through the living room to the balcony doors, muttering a curse as he fumbles with the unfamiliar lock and then finally gets outside. 

Russia revoked his citizenship, is still asking for Canada to send him back to face charges. His work visa in the US is null and void. As far as meetings went he was sure it couldn't have gone worse. 

His hands shake as he digs out the half empty pack of cigarettes he had stuffed into his jacket, back in Moscow, before everything fell apart. It takes a minute to shake one free and coordinate the lighter and he hears Shane open the sliding door behind him as he sparks the lighter.

"I don't want to hear it," he says, brusquely, maybe a little too brusquely he realizes too late as he lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. He knows Shane hates it.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Shane says, quickly, in a way that sounded like he was definitely going to have said something, but he sets an empty coke can on the balcony ledge. Ilya glances down to it, exhales the smoke in his lungs. 

"Is just when - " Ilya starts, waving a hand.

"I get it," Shane says and lends up on the railing beside Ilya.

They're quiet for a moment, the sound of cars and the city filtering up between them. Ilya takes a few more drags, ashing into the can Shane had brought out. 

"It's dumb, I shouldn't care," Ilya starts, takes another drag, lets it out slow. 

Shane gives him a questioning look and Ilya shrugs. "I was never going to go back," he continues. "After papa's funeral, after we talked, I thought I will never come back here again. I had already told Alexei he could have my apartment, I packed the only things that mattered, and knew I would never go back."

Shane is quiet, watching and listening, Ilya looks to him. "I hate it there, I never wanted to go back, so why does it matter that now I can't?" he asks, and hates how his voice breaks on the words. He shakes his head, ducks it for a moment and takes another drag of the cigarette. "Is so stupid. So what? I am not Russian citizen anymore, I didn't want to be Russian citizen anymore anyway. They don't want me and I don't want them."

Shane is still quiet. 

Ilya coughs back a sob, leans heavy onto his arms, hiding his face as he stretches backwards, blinking rapidly against the tears in his eyes. "Fuck."

Shane drops a hand to his back, the weight grounds him. He props his chin up on his arms, staring out over Montreal in front of them.

"It's different," Shane starts, quiet, "when you thought you'd never go back, that was your choice. Now it's not. You can be upset about that, Ilya."

"Oh I can, can I?" Ilya snaps, regrets it immediately. Lets out a long, long, breath and avoids looking to see Shane's face. "I'm sorry," he says. "That was an asshole thing to say."

Shane's hand is still on his back. He scoffs from above Ilya. "Yeah, well… you can be an asshole, so…" is all Shane says about it. Forgiveness in a Hollander chirp.

"You are right though," Ilya says as he stands back up, drops the rest of the cigarette into the coke can. "It is different." He feels restless, adrift in a physical way to match what had come out of the meeting. That he had no country. A tiny speck of a person, drifting through the world unwanted and unclaimed. Stuck in a bureaucratic limbo that would now define his life until it was sorted. 

"Six months, that's not bad though, temporary work permit for Canada at least should be ready for the start of next season," Shane segues, bringing it back to hockey. Ilya huffs. He loves him so much. 

"Six months minimum," he corrects. "And does not matter, I will still not have passport." What team would want him if he could only play in one country.

"You don't think Boston would - "

"No," Ilya interrupts. "Not anymore," it wasn't even a question a week ago. Ilya had assumed Boston would send him some ridiculous contract to continue with them, his free agency most likely blipping past without him even looking elsewhere. Now though, he wonders if any team would even make an offer.

"You could do what Pierre said, try to find a lawyer in the states, see if you can get there - "

"And maybe they send me back if I try, or I get detained again… no. I'm here, I'll stay here," Ilya cuts off harshly. He knows he's being unfair, Shane is just trying to help. But he was in the meeting too. He knows what was said. Six months, maybe, he could work in Canada. But could still not cross the border. No American team would sign him with a timeline on that being unclear. A player who couldn't even attend practice, let alone most of the games. A Canadian team might, maybe. Toronto was out, Montreal. Western Conference teams put him too far from Shane… that really only left one very terrible team. 

He tries not to get lost in the impossibility of it. 

"Do you wish you had landed in the States instead?" Shane asks, quietly, pulling Ilya from the thoughts.

It's surprising, even to himself, how quickly he shakes his head. "No." A pause. "It was longer for flight to the US - maybe I didn't get to get on plane," he shrugs a little, like it wasn't a thought that has been filling him with dread for the last couple days, how badly this could have all ended. How narrowly he managed to get out of Russia and somewhere safe. How he could be in some jail cell there instead of Montreal, broken and bleeding, or worse. 

"And if I had, I would have been stuck in New York, what you think Scott Hunter would have been such a good host like you?" He lets the insinuation into the words and it has the desired effect as Shane gives him an annoyed look.

"Fuck off, Rozanov," Shane snaps, habit at this point. 

Ilya turns to Shane and runs his fingertips down Shane's arm. "I would be stuck in America, we would never see each other," he adds, softer the real part and not the joke. Ilya has survived a lot in his life, he knows he would have survived landing in the states. Alone, with no one waiting for him on the other side of customs. Shane untouchable through a video call, or just a voice on the other end of the line. But this was better. So much better.

Shane turns to face him, his own hand curling against Ilya's hip, his eyes downward. "You should stay - here, my apartment."

"I am staying here, Hollander," Ilya teases, stepping in a little closer.

"Shut up," Shane bristles. "I mean, like - live here. With me. Officially, or whatever," he adds, looking up at Ilya from under long lashes. "I know we just sort of, ended up here, but don't go, don't find a different place while you sort everything out. Just stay… here."

"Mmm.." Ilya hums, like he has to think of his answer, like it isn't an immediate yes. Like he never planned on leaving unless Shane had wanted him to. "Do I get half the closet?"

Shane's free hand smacks him in the chest and then lingers. "You can have the whole closet, I don't care, just want you here," he answers and Ilya would kiss him for it, if he knew Shane wouldn't hate the lingering taste of cigarette smoke.

"Ah you think I can get WAG chat invite?" Ilya can't help but continue, gleeful in his trolling. "Now that I am Captain's stay at home boyfriend…"

"Oh my god!" Shane heaves, pulling himself away from Ilya with a loud sigh and Ilya is delighted. "You're the actual worst," is added as Shane stalks back inside and Ilya grins.

"Shane, nooooo… let me be good WAG. Best WAG for second best MLH Captain," Ilya calls as he chases after Shane, catches him around the waist and dumps him onto the couch. He all but jumps on top of Shane, burying his face into Shane's neck to pepper a slew of loud kisses. "I would give other WAGs the best sex tips. Poor, repressed, Metros wouldn't know what hit them."

Shane is laughing, the best sound Ilya's ever heard. "Oh yeah, I'm sure Comeau would love for you to tell this month's girlfriend how to finger him."

Ilya laughs, a fake scandalized look on his face. "Shane! I can't believe you say such things in your living room."

Shane pauses for a moment, runs his thumb over Ilya's cheek as a soft look goes over his face. "Our living room," he corrects Ilya.

And Ilya has to kiss him over that, the lingering taste of cigarette smoke be damned.

The apartment is dark and quiet when Ilya slips out of the bed. Shane barely stirs, a little displeased noise even in his sleep as Ilya pulls his arm out from under his neck, but Shane settles quickly enough. Ilya takes a long moment to just watch him, face unburdened by all the things that keep him tightly wound in waking hours. He looks younger like this, almost like that baby faced teenager who had approached him outside the rink all those years ago, and it makes Ilya smile. He leans down, brushes his lips lightly against Shane's forehead and gets out of the bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

There's a few lights on downstairs, the soft glow left for someone to wander in when they can't sleep so as to not end up stubbing their toe on the edge of something. It reminds Ilya of his mother leaving the hall light on, knowing how much he hated the darkness, even when his father would yell at her the next morning for the waste of electricity.

Ilya pulls a calendar down from the kitchen wall, brings it to the island and goes into the fridge to grab a bottle of water before he sits down. He stares at the calendar page in front of him, takes a drink and sets the water down.

He takes a breath and counts it. Six months.

April, May, June, July, August, September.

His finger taps September 1st. The absolute best case scenario. Maybe missing some early training camp days, but able to work when the season starts. He counts three more months, nine total. October, November, December. Would still leave half the season. Half the games of half the season. The better case scenario, the one that doesn't steal an entire season.

He gets up, rummages through a drawer that is way too orderly to be a "junk" drawer and easily finds a pad of paper and pen.

He writes:

82 Games

41 at home

~ 20 for half season

Draws a line down the page and on the other side of it:

Montreal
Toronto

Winnipeg
Calgary
Edmonton
Vancouver

And after a moment of hesitation adds:

Ottawa

Another line is drawn and he opens up a browser on his phone, googling travel time:
Montreal - NA
Toronto - 1.5 fly, 5 drive

Winnipeg - 4
Calgary - 4+
Edmonton - 5
Vancouver - 5+

Ottawa -  2 hour drive

He taps the pen against his mouth. 

Crosses Montreal off. Writes: they are assholes, next to it. 

Crosses Toronto off, writes: Kent. 

Crosses off Vancouver, Edmonton, Calgary. Too far. 

Puts a question mark next to Winnipeg. Pulls their records up on his phone. Writes down their current league standing. 

Pulls up Ottawa, scoffs at how terrible it is and writes it down.

He pulls up last year's schedules and counts how many away games Winnipeg and Ottawa had that were still in Canada. Comes up with seven and eight respectively. Neither a clear front runner and the kind of number that most likely shifts every season. Adds seven next to 41 at home and makes it 48.

If he was lucky enough for best case scenario he could play a maximum of 48 regular games. Give or take one or two. 20 something he knows is more likely. Half of half a season.

A chin hooks over his shoulder and he realizes Shane has slid up behind him. He smiles a little. "Didn't mean to wake you, lyubimiy," Ilya says as he lifts a hand to rest on Shane's arm around him.

"You didn't," Shane replies, looking over the page. He's quiet and Ilya knows he's putting together the same pieces. "We would make it work. Vancouver, Edmonton, Calgary," Shane says, sounding more determined than Ilya feels in that regard.

"Too far," Ilya mutters. "We'd barely see each other - "

Shane presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "We'd make it work. Vancouver and Calgary are always conference leaders."

"Who says they would even put out an offer though," Ilya points out. He remembers joking with Marly a few months ago about his free agency at the end of the season. How maybe he'd let Boston sweat, see what the other best teams in the league wanted to throw his way. Now he wonders if any team will offer anything.

"They'd be dumb not to, you're Ilya fucking Rozanov," Shane says, easily.

"Ilya fucking Rozanov who maybe only gets to play twenty games next season, maybe even none at all," Ilya counters.

"Your twenty games can still get more points than most people's seventy something," Shane returns. 

Shane is quiet, looking at the list. "Boston wasn't much better off than Ottawa when they drafted you," he points out and Ilya knows he's looking at Ottawa.

Ilya gives a tight smile. "I know," still better than Ottawa was currently, but he knows he pulled the Raiders from a multi year slump. "But I was seven years younger," he adds. Time was always the enemy for all of them.

"It'd be hard, their management has been shit for a few years, but if they got some good players, new coach," Shane mutters. Ilya knows Shane is doing the same math he is, what it would take, knowing that one player can't fix a team alone, how many years it would be for the rebuild, how many years Ilya would have to give up before he's on a team at the same level as Boston again. 

And then he can see the moment Shane moves to the other math. "It's two hours away." The biggest draw of all. Still distance, but manageable. They could see each other on days off, could spend a few days together when their schedules offered it. It could be a few times a month instead of once every few months. 

"Would be one and half for me," Ilya says.

Shane slips between Ilya and the island, "your insurance will be insane," he says, a smile playing across his lips.

"Ah, I think I will survive," Ilya replies. "Anyway, it is all just hypothetical," he says as Shane starts pressing light little kisses along his collarbone. "Maybe I just retire and become your sugar baby."

"Baby," Shane teases and lifts his head to look at Ilya. "No."

"No?" Ilya says with a look of mock offense. "You don't want me to lay around your house all day, naked and hard, waiting for you to come home to use me however you want?"

"I mean, when you put it that way…" Shane says with a laugh. "Still no." He leans in, presses a kiss to Ilya's lips. "This is temporary. Teams will realize that. What's one unknown season if they can lock down Ilya Rozanov. Any team would be lucky to wait that out to get you at the end of the day."

"Mmm, I have smart boyfriend," Ilya says, pulling Shane into his lap. He's not sure he entirely believes it all, but Shane did and that would be enough for now.

"Lets go back to bed," Shane says, leaning in to capture Ilya's mouth in a deep, lingering kiss that made it very clear he meant for something more than just sleeping.

"Mmm… very smart boyfriend," Ilya murmurs against Shane's lips and lifts him up as he stands. 

@BostonRaiders Boston Raiders Official ✅
Ilya Rozanov (#81) will be an indefinite healthy scratch due to pending immigration issues.

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
Oh shit just got like REAL real.

@ra1der5fan chucky
Well there goes our playoff season.

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
He's a person you know, one going through something really shitty, not just a trained hockey monkey.

@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p.
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

@grgmckay george
Sorry, what's the stupid game here?
@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p.
Fucking your rival.

@PuckGossip Puck Gossip
According to Russian news outlets, the government has revoked Ilya Rozanov's citizenship and is still calling for his immediate return to Russia to face his charges. No official statements from the league, the Raiders, or Rozanov.

@mhlobsessed hockey is life
Hope Shane Hollander's dick was worth it.
@rozander first hollanov fan
It definitely was.
@mhlobsessed hockey is life
Well that's a weird reply.

@MontrealMetrosOfficial Montreal Metros ✅
Shane Hollander is suspended from team activities until further notice.

@hollygirly becca
SUSPENED. Wow. They really woke up and chose to be homophobic assholes didn't they.
@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p.
Or maybe they're looking into whether or not their Captain cheated, given he's been fucking the Raiders Captain.
@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Can we stop jumping to conclusions, neither Rozanov or Hollander have confirmed anything.
@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
I don't know, the call seemed like it confirmed a lot. 
@rozander first hollanov fan
Metros are dumb team. Hollander would never throw games. He lives to get pucks in deep.

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
What does that mean, his citizenship is revoked? Does he have US citizenship from playing there?

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole
Nothing I've found has said he does. And the rumors are he's not in the US right now anyways.
@raidmeraiders raiders for life
Where is he? 
@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
Montreal. Someone posted a picture from the airport. Kind of grainy, but it def looks like Rozanov and Hollander. 
@raidmeraiders raiders for life
So Hollander is holding our star center hostage in Canada before playoffs? Dick move.
@rozander first hollanov fan
Mmm no, he is where he wants to be.

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
All-Stars was meant to be a soft launch, I guarantee it. Show the world the chemistry, get some buzz, maybe start showing up as friends to things, rewrite the whole rivals narrative. But then Russia had to be Russia and here we are.

@rozander first hollanov fan
No. Was more like relaunch.
@hollanov hollanov truther number one
Relaunch, what does that even mean?

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Thanks again for all the support!

Ilya wakes slowly, Shane solid under his arms, his chest pressing into Shane's back and his hand feeling the steady thump of a heartbeat under it. It's kind of perfect. Ilya nuzzles his nose into the back of Shane's neck, the faint scent of body wash and shampoo still lingering. He thinks maybe it's crazy, that he's already thinking of years of this, a lifetime of this, when up until now they've barely spent more than a handful of hours together at a time. 

But then he's always been a little crazy when it comes to Shane Hollander.

It should be the worst moment of his life. All of those fears he's held onto for so many years coming true. Getting outed, Russia charging him, Russia renouncing him, the very real possibility of losing hockey staring him down. And it still is, that is all still there, very terrible things that circle around his mind constantly. 

It's just that there is also this.

Shane Hollander in his arms. With a day that stretches out before them, a day that he will share with Shane. There was a to-do list, of course. Calls to make, an IRCC check in to make, a video meeting with Farrah later, he's sure Shane will want to go for a run, get a workout in and Ilya can't fault him for that, he doesn't want to get complacent either. But there was no flight time hanging over their heads, no game to get to, no teammates who would wonder if they were gone too long. There was no alarm blaring. Just morning light creeping through the curtains, bathing the room in soft light, and Shane in his arms. 

Shane, still naked from their late night, or early morning maybe, sex. Ilya had barely gotten them cleaned up with a cloth before sleep had pulled them under, warm and sated and wrapped up in each other. Shane, who had asked Ilya to live with him the day before, who had sat in the kitchen in the middle of the night and talked hypotheticals of a career that suddenly looked so much different than Ilya expected it to. Who had simply said we'll make it work to teams too many hours away because he knew Ilya deserved a winning team. Shane, who had seen his own world turned completely upside down and instead of looking for an out just said together. 

Shane, who Ilya loved more than anything in the world.

It was time to jump.

"Shane…" he starts, voice low, lips brushing against the back of Shane's neck.

"Mmm.." Shane mumbles in reply, "what time is it," he half drawls, half slurs, pulling Ilya's arm tighter around his chest. Ilya smiles, so fucking content in the knowing he's the only person to see Shane like this, all sleepy and cuddly. Soft and relaxed. He would be even more content to know he'd be the only person ever to see Shane like this. 

"I want to tell you, what I said on the call," Ilya says, his lips still brushing against the back of Shane's neck. He can feel the sudden uptick in Shane's heartbeat against his hand and he presses a soft kiss to his neck. "It will maybe sound, not so good, at first, don't get in your head about it," Ilya forewarns.

It feels so different. This moment compared to the one in Moscow. The soft morning light instead of dark, Shane in his arms instead of thousands of kilometers away, the warmth of their bed instead of the brisk cold air. Shane nods and Ilya presses his forehead to Shane's back for a moment before he starts, pulling the words from memory, and maybe he re-read them online. He wanted to get it right after all.

"I have no one now. Well, not no one. I have - Svetlana. She loves me. And I love her - " he's not surprised to feel Shane tense at that. He takes a moment, kisses Shane's shoulder, his neck. To steady Shane, to steady himself really, knowing what he says next. 

"But not like I love you. That's the worst fucking part of all this is… that all I want is you."

Shane turns his head, eyes wide as he looks at Ilya and Ilya smiles a little shakily. Shane's face blurs a little as tears gather in the corner of his eyes, and Shane's hand is immediately there on his face. His thumb pressing into Ilya's temple, another hand fisting in his hair. 

Ilya just takes a moment, looks at him. "It's always you. I'm so in love with you, and I don't know what to do about it," Ilya says, quiet, but fiercely, staring into the depths of Shane's dark eyes. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. 

"Holy shit," Shane breathes out. 

Shane's mouth is on his in the next breath. Insistent and with a tinge of desperation. Ilya matches it, like there's nothing else in the world outside this bed, Shane's hand in his hair and lips on his. And at that moment, there isn't. His entire is just this, the man he loves, the words out there now, for Shane to take.

"I love you," Shane sighs out between kisses. "Fuck, Ilya… I'm so in love with you too."

Ilya kisses him, shifting to push Shane back onto the bed so he can hover above him. His hands brush over Shane's hair, fingers run over freckles, he stares at Shane, his beautiful Shane and has never felt his heart feel this full. His body no longer feels big enough to contain it, the depth of what he feels for Shane, and the sheer joy at knowing it doesn't have to. Not anymore. It doesn't have to live under his skin, unsaid and unacknowledged, whispered in a language Shane won't understand. It doesn't have to be this secret he holds so close to his heart, locked away from the world.

He can say it.

So he does.

"Ya tebya lyublyu," and again, in English. "I love you. I love you, Shane, so fucking much - "

The words are half swallowed up as they kiss, Ilya feels feral with it, the way he can't keep his mouth from meeting Shane's. Like his hands can't quite be touching enough, like as wrapped up in each other they are right then it's still not enough, that it will never be enough. He could crawl inside Shane and it still wouldn't' be enough.

"Ilya… I need you," Shane exhales, legs wrapping around Ilya's waist and they're both hard, Ilya gasping into Shane's mouth as they brush up against each other.

Ilya takes them both in hand, stroking slowly as he drags his mouth across Shane's collarbone. "Fuck, Shane…" Shane is already leaking and Ilya uses that to smooth the drag of his hand. He knows this isn't what Shane really wants, or what he really wants, but he's more than eager to live in the sensation anyways. The slow drag of his hand working them both up. The intimacy of it all. 

"Baby, please.." Shane sighs out.

Ilya makes his way down Shane's body, pressing kiss after kiss as he does. Dragging lips across Shane's bare skin like he'll never get enough of it, getting lost in every pretty little moan and sigh Shane makes. He presses Shane's knees up lightly, and fumbles a hand upward to grab for the lube on the nightstand where they had left it earlier.

Shane is still loose, but Ilya still takes care in opening him up. Watching the flush across Shane's face as his fingers slide in, curling up just so. Watching Shane like this has always felt like a revelation. A gift Ilya still isn't sure he's earned but will spend the rest of his life trying to prove he deserves.

"You're so beautiful, Shane, so fucking beautiful…" words pressing into the inside of Shane's thigh as llya presses his lips to it, eyes still watching Shane.

"I want - I'm good, please just - " Shane gets out, tugging at Ilya's shoulders to get him upward.

Ilya knows the feeling. A desperation to be buried so deeply in Shane, enough to finally feel like he's home. He pulls his fingers out of Shane and moves back up the bed, reaching toward the nightstand drawer where the condoms are. He turns to look at Shane as Shane drops a hand on his arm.

"Can we - I just want to feel you -" Shane starts, eyes staring into Ilya's. "Is that okay?"

Ilya can hear the question under the question. He knows Shane would be fine if the answer was no, they hadn't ever talked exclusivity. But Ilya doesn't have to say no, there's been no one else for a while. Nothing more than a pointed, heated make out on the dance floor while staring right at Shane. And no one since the last time he was tested.

He drops his hand, slips it into Shane's hair instead, leaning in to kiss him deeply, pressing his weight down onto Shane. It doesn't last long, not when both of them know what they're about to do, and Ilya breaks away.

He remembers feeling insane the first time they did this. Overcome with want for Shane, for the way it would feel to fuck him. So lost in his desire, letting it overshadow the small, obtrusive thought in the back of his mind that wanted to scream how different it felt from just sex. How, even then, it felt like something more than just getting off.

He still feels insane now, hands shaking as he coats his dick in the lube, knowing how much more it really is. His eyes lift to Shane for a moment, both of them staring at each other wide eyed, pupils blown and Ilya knows he'll never forget how Shane looks right then. He pushes himself in, and it's so much, too much, not enough all at once.

"Ilya…" Shane says, softly, still looking up at him and Ilya has to take a moment to drop his face into the crook of Shane's neck and just breathe. Shane's fingers tangle in his hair, his legs wrap back around his hips. The world could end outside their windows and Ilya would die happy in this moment.

"Baby…" Shane exhales.

"Lyubimiy…" Ilya breathes out in turn and starts to move. His forearms bracket Shane's head, their faces barely inches apart, breaths mingling, lips brushing against each others, lingering when they can and breaking barely apart when they can't. His hips roll, thrusts picking up pace, and he feels dizzy with the sensation, Shane and nothing but Shane around him. As close as a person can possibly get to another. "You're perfect, so perfect for me."

Shane looks wrecked, and Ilya knows he must too. He feels so far gone, completely lost in Shane. 

Ilya slips a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Shane's cock, kissing him through the moans that elicits. Ilya never wants it to end. Wants to live in this moment for the rest of his life. But he knows it can't last. He can feel himself getting closer and closer, can see Shane getting there too - so finely tuned Shane's body.

He spills into Shane with half a sob, a moan that he's never heard himself make before, his fingers still curling around Shane's dick and bringing Shane over the edge with him.

Ilya drops his weight onto Shane, his face burying into Shane's neck, his breath a ragged thing that echoes softly between them. Shane's sounds much the same. There's nothing he can say, there's nothing he needs to say. It all exists in their skin against each other's, in the way Ilya doesn't move to pull out, the way Shane doesn't mind it right then. The way there is nothing but them.

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

It's you, it's you, it will always be you.
In English, in Russian, in French. In some secret fourth thing that only they know.

Ilya will stay lost in it for as long as Shane lets them.

But it can't be forever, nothing can, and Shane starts to come back underneath him. A little squirm that brings a soft laugh out of Ilya. Shane presses a kiss to Ilya's forehead and gives a gentle nudge of his hips, Ilya takes it for the hint it is and slowly pulls out, but doesn't go that far. Not yet.

He lifts his head and pulls Shane in for a lingering kiss. Soft and languid. He laughs again, light and carefree as they break apart and he drops his forehead to Shane's for a moment. "I love you, and we can go shower now," he says, he knows Shane all too well.

Shane laughs in return, and Ilya thinks it might be the most beautiful sound.

Only half the to-do list gets done, the things they can't move. The rest gets lost in getting lost in each other. It's okay, Ilya thinks, he's sure by the fourth round that sex can absolutely be considered their cardio for the day. It's the best day of Ilya's life. He can't stop looking at Shane and breaking into a ridiculous smile, knowing that Shane loves him, watching as Shane breaks out into the same ridiculous smile and then Ilya just has to kiss about it, and everything gets derailed again. It's perfect. 

Even when reality seeps in from the sides, a check in call to say he hasn't fled the country, Yuna checking in with them and ranting for nearly an hour, a call with Farrah with updates that weren't really updates about Shane's suspension and the Raider's complete lack of support for Ilya. The sex is especially cathartic after that one - fast and urgent, tinged with their respective frustrations, the opposite of how their day started but exactly what both of them needed in the moment. 

They try to make dinner together, but it quickly falls apart as they start making chirps at each other's vegetable cutting. Turning it into a short lived competition before Ilya drops his knife to chase Shane around the kitchen, tackling him to the ground. The chicken burns in the pan as they make out and grind against each other, ruined by the time they come up for air. Shane lets Ilya feed him noodles from his take out container after they dump the burnt chicken and it's the kind of domestic evening Ilya never let himself imagine in a million years. He wants a thousand of them, a lifetime of them. 

Ilya's lips are tingling, Shane under his arms as they lounge on the couch, making out in a slow and indulgent way they've never really been afforded before. Neither really making much of a move to take it further. Ilya isn't sure he even can, but fuck it if he's not open to finding out if Shane's hands went for a little wander. The tv plays in the background, some show neither of them got more than a minute into before the kissing started. 

"What if we got married," Shane says as they pull apart, his fingers dancing along Ilya's brow. 

Ilya nearly chokes. 

"Sorry? What?" he asks, because Shane did not just say what he thought he said. 

"We could get married," Shane repeats and the breath leaves Ilya's lungs.

"Shane…" Ilya starts, threading a hand through Shane's hair.

"I mean it," Shane starts and Ilya smiles as he watches the determination take over Shane's face. "It could help, maybe make things move quicker or whatever." Ilya loosens his hold as Shane sits up, but keeps his hands touching as he follows. "I can sponsor your citizenship, I mean, we'd have to look into it and see what it all entails, but maybe it gets you back playing quicker, maybe it gets you a passport sooner - "

"Shane, sweetheart, not like this," Ilya answers, cutting him off. It takes every ounce of his self control to say it. Everything in him wants to scream yes, to ask how soon, to do it tomorrow if they could. It's maybe a little insane. To go from I love you to let's get married in the span of a day, but it doesn't feel quick to Ilya. Not when he feels every second of the years that brought them here - from the moment Shane had shook his hand, twice, to this one right now.He knows Shane is it for him.

He knows he wants to marry him.

He knows he wants to do it properly.

"Why not," Shane protests, Ilya leans up and kisses the frown on his lips, smirks a little as Shane pushes him away lightly. "I mean it. You're it for me, Ilya. There's no one else, there's not going to be anyone else. If it's not today - then it's next month, or next year, I'm going to marry you."

"I love you," Ilya starts, fingers playing with his hair as he searches Shane's face. "I promise I will marry you, Shane. I'd marry you tomorrow, okay, just not like this." He hooks his finger under Shane's chin and lifts it to look at him. "We would have to prove it," Ilya explains, "for immigration, especially with the timing. I do not want to have to prove it to some government person."

Shane nods and Ilya takes a moment to press their foreheads together.

"So many people have so much of us already, they all knew what I said to you before you even did, they are all sitting there writing things on the internet trying to figure out more. More, more, more…" the echo of what he said of his family is not lost on him, he presses a lingering kiss to Shane's lips, trying to shake the thought. "I do not want to give them the things that are just ours. To hand over Jane and Lily to some government person to decide if it was real or not."

"I'll have you know that this is the most romantic no to a marriage proposal ever," Shane says after a moment with a soft laugh.

"Hmm - you've given many proposals?" Ilya teases with a playful smirk and laughs when Shane smacks him across the chest. Ilya grabs the hand and maneuvers them back down, laying over Shane. "But is not no," he points out, more serious and drops a kiss to the tip of Shane's nose. "Is just - not yet."

"Not yet," Shane repeats, a smile spreading across his face. "I can work with not yet."

@montrealethan ethan

[ photo taken from around some shelves, Ilya has a basket hanging off his arm, staring at Shane who is looking at the back of a box, both wearing hoodies and ball caps. ]
Yeah, Rozanov is definitely in Montreal. Spotted them at my grocery store right before close.

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
Domestic babies!!!

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
They're full grown men, but sure.

@viewbtwn michelle on twitter
So you took a picture of two people who went to a grocery store at the least busy time in the universal we're trying to hide outfit and put it on the internet? Lame. 

@metrosfan2435 metros baby!!!
Feels a little suspicious that neither Rozanov or Hollander have confirmed anything, right? Like you think someone would have said something by now.

@r0z4n0vfan nick
They don't owe you their personal life, and pretty sure Rozanov has bigger things to worry about right now.
@stickspucksgame brad
It's because it's not real. Some dumb PR stunt that backfired. 
@r0z4n0vfan nick
You do realize Rozanov lost his citizenship and is being charged in Russia, right? That's not a PR stunt.

@jerberhockey Jer & Bear talk hockey
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov have spent their careers being billed as the MLH's hottest rivalry, now the league and fans grapple with their biggest rivals being something else. Join us on the podcast as we talk about rivalry turned romance, going over the Hollander Rozanov dynamic and trying to find the answer to everyone's biggest question - when did rivalry turn into love?

@PuckGossip Puck Gossip
It's been a week since the call was leaked and still neither Rozanov or Hollander has confirmed, or denied, anything regarding the call. Nor has either party made any public statement regarding their current status with their teams and the league at large. 

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Not to be like one person carries a team but if the Metros could get their shit together and put Shane back on the ice that would be fucking fantastic. Not here to lose out on playoffs this year, thanks. 

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
I miss Rozanov on my screen 🙁

@metrosgirlygirl hollander stan 

SPOTTED! 

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
UH EXCUSE ME?!?!?!? THE WAY SHANE IS LOOKING AT HIM!!!!! 

@hollygirly becca
I was not prepared to be emotionally attacked by this so early in the morning.

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
THAT SMILE??? They're like in LOVE love

@shayden4ever shayden is real
You know what, I cry, but I'll admit this is kind of cute. I guess.

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Those glasses 👀👀👀👀

@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast
Metros win! Doing just fine without Hollander and the shit he brought.

@metr0smetr0s jake and bake
my dude, they barely won that. definition of lucky ass goal. We're not making or getting through playoffs that way.
@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast
Nah, wrong take.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Thank you to everyone reading along, I am terrible at replying to things but please know every comment brings a huge smile. Glad people are enjoying!

Shane is of the age he would have gone through minor hockey in Canada in the old naming system, so the Atom reference here is now known as U11. OMHA is Ontario Minor Hockey Association.

Trigger warning specific to this chapter - mention of parental death (one canon, one not).

"Shane?" Ilya calls out as he makes his way into the apartment, swapping shoes for slides at the door and dropping the keys to Shane's boring SUV onto the little table by the door. 

"Hello," he says as he steps into the apartment proper and sees Yuna in the kitchen across the open space. He glances around, hoping to see Shane, the idea of being alone with Yuna just a little daunting. 

"Shane went with his dad to pick up dinner," Yuna explains as Ilya makes his way into the kitchen. "They should be back in twenty or so."

Ilya nods, reaches into the fridge for the water pitcher. "Okay." There's a glass in Yuna's hand, held out for him before he can get one himself. "Thank you," he says and takes it, fills up the glass and takes a drink before leaning against the island. 

"What kind of food - "
"So you're a free agent - "

Ilya presses his lips together as they both start talking at the same time and then waves a little, "you go ahead."

"You're a free agent at the end of this season, if I remember correctly?" Yuna asks. Ilya smiles tightly, knowing there is no way Yuna doesn't know this. So much like Shane, a wealth of hockey knowledge. 

"Yes." 

"And Shane says you should have a work permit by season start, or not too long after, have you told Farrah? I'm sure any Canadian team would be doing whatever they can to sign you if she can get that out," Yuna continues.

Ilya thinks about the scrap of paper now folded into the drawer. Seven teams in a list, all but two crossed out. We'd make it work, Shane's voice in the back of his mind. "Maybe, but maybe longer, and longer still for passport" he says to Yuna, shrugs a little. "Shane is being very optimistic on the best case scenario," he adds.

"Honey, he cares about you, he's just hoping it works out," Yuna says.

Ilya doesn't know what to say to that, so he just nods.

"You know, in all of this, I never got to say how sorry I was to hear about your father," Yuna continues and Ilya looks over at her, the easy empathy on her face that makes him wonder about Shane's grandparents.

"Is fine," he dismisses, "we were not - close." It was an understatement maybe, but he didn't quite feel like getting into his terrible family dynamics with Yuna Hollander. 

But Yuna seems determined to do just that Ilya quickly realizes. 

"Do you still have other family back there?" she asks.

Ilya takes a moment to drink the water he no longer wants. He can't fault Yuna for the questions. He's dating her son, he's the reason her son is now being hotly debated on the internet, and is currently suspended from his team. He reminds himself this is just a parent trying to get to know their child's partner. Even if that concept feels wholly foreign to him. 

"My brother, but he is police, we will never talk again," he answers, flatly, honestly. It was what it was. "I have a niece. I left her a trust, but I doubt I will see her outside photos, and my mother - " a brief pause as he rubs at the back of his neck. "My mother died," and before Yuna can say anything about it he quickly adds, "was long time ago."

"Oh," she says and Ilya knows that oh. He's heard that oh for years now. When someone does the math on "long time ago", and him not being all that old, and then coming to the correct conclusions. The oh of realizing he'd lost his mother young. "I'm sorry."

He knows this one. He's exited this conversation countless times. He is well versed in side stepping sympathy for one of the worst moments of his life. But he doesn't do that. Which leaves space for Yuna to drop a hand on his forearm and say: "I lost my mom when I was eighteen, it never really goes away, does it."

It surprises Ilya a little. But then Shane has never really spoken much of his parents, or at least deep enough to bring up their parents. He is quiet for a moment, looking at Yuna, seeing the same sadness reflected in her eyes that he knows is in his sometimes. He knows what she means by her words, he knows it all too well. That some days were better, but it was always there. An ever present grief that coloured all the good and bad moments with the aching thought of I wish my mother were here. Ilya looks down at her hand on his arm and settles his own over hers, giving it a little squeeze. "No, it doesn't." 

Yuna's other hand cups the side of his face lightly, and Ilya looks up to meet her eyes, knowing his are maybe as shiny as hers. For a moment he is not her son's boyfriend and all the things wrapped up in that. They are just Ilya and Yuna, two people sharing the same grief. Who know the pain of losing a parent long before you are ready.

Yuna smiles, a little bit sadly, and then drops her hands. She starts to putter around the kitchen, pulling out cutlery for dinner. "Can I ask you something?""

Ilya gives her a wry smile. "I think you will still ask even if I say no," he points out.

Yuna laughs a little. "You might be a little right there." Ilya motions for her to go ahead. "You and Shane… I'm just trying to wrap my head around this, that you've been involved since rookie year…"

"Ah, no, did he say rookie year?" Ilya interjects, raising a brow. Yuna nods and Ilya shakes his head. "Liar, he is liar," which, alright, maybe wasn't the best way to put it to his mother. He laughs a little. "Summer before rookie year," he lets Yuna know.

"Summer before…" he watches Yuna as the dots connect, "the CCM shoot?" 

"Yes," Ilya confirms, delighted. 

"I always wondered why they changed the shoot to both of you at the last minute," Yuna continues, and Ilya is so thrilled by the way he can see her world view shift in that exact moment. 

"I suggested it," he tells her and shrugs with a cheeky smile when she looks at him with wide eyes. "Thought it was good idea, no? And easy way to see cute Canadian boy again," he says with a wink.

Yuna laughs. "It's kind of sweet really. And was a great idea, I don't think those ads would have done the numbers they did without the shots of the both of you," she says. "Even if I was pissed off at the time, Shane's first big shoot and they made him share it with you of all people," she trails off, and Ilya can see the moment she remembers seeing him at the hotel. "So when you were going up…"

Ilya nods. "I went to see Shane." He pauses. "You had a question, no?" Before she can think too hard on what went on in room 1410.Yuna shakes her head a little. "Yeah, I did, sorry - just trying to process."

"Don't be sorry, it is a lot," Ilya assures her. 

"Right. I guess I just wonder… you two are so different," Yuna says. "What kept drawing you together?"

Ilya is quiet for a moment, taking the time to give weight to Yuna's question. He doesn't want to joke it off, make light. He is going to marry Shane, Yuna will be his mother in law, he wants to respect that she might have questions about all of it. "We are best players in league," Yuna nods a little at that, it wasn't ego, it was truth. "That is lonely, being the best. It has always been hard, the pressure, the expectations," Ilya pauses, looks at Yuna. "It was less lonely, with Shane. He was the only person who got it."

Yuna is looking at him, something soft on her face and Ilya shrugs, suddenly feeling like he's said too much.

"And the rivalry?" she asks.

Ilya can't help a little smile at that. "Shane is my favourite person to play against, rivalry is at least…" he trails off, waves his hand a little, "eighty percent real?" Yuna laughs at that. "I have never hated him though, even when I say asshole things it is just because everyone expects me to say asshole things. Just like they expect Shane to say polite things."

"So you're not an asshole then?" Yuna asks.

Ilya gives a playful smile. "I am little bit asshole," he concedes, holding his hand up with thumb and forefinger closer together. "But Shane is also little bit asshole, so it works out." 

He expects Yuna to deny it. Not her son, not Shane Hollander, polite Canadian boy. Instead she laughs. "I mean…" she starts in agreeance and Ilya hopes the utter delight at hearing it is written all over his face. "Did he ever tell you he once tried to get a ref fired when he was in Atom?"

Ilya is sure he's going to explode from how much more delightful this just got and he shakes his head. "No, but please, you tell?"

Yuna leans her arms on the island, leaning into Ilya like they're sharing secrets. "It was a tournament, semi final game, some ref swore he saw the puck on Shane's goal touch another player before hitting the net. Shane knew it hadn't. They argued on ice, Shane almost got a game misconduct."

Ilya laughs a little, thinking about baby Shane arguing with a ref.

"We get back home from the weekend and Monday morning Shane has written a two page letter detailing the incident and imploring the league to never work with the ref again. He asks me if he can have an envelope to mail it," Yuna pauses, shakes her head and smiles. "Ilya I have never read anything so scathing in my life, I still haven't."

Ilya laughs again. "Did he send it?"

Yuna's smile fades, she stands back up straighter. "No," she catches Ilya's eyes, her mouth in a tight line. "I told him I would send it that day, but I never did. I didn't want OMHA to think he was trouble, it was only his first year playing triple A, he was the youngest player they'd ever called up."

"You are a good mama," Ilya says, reaching across the island to give her hand a little squeeze.

"Sometimes I think I held him back too much, made him be too polite, too easy… too quick to fall into line," Yuna admits. "I was so worried about making him a role model for other kids like him that I didn't let him be himself."

"It was - different, for Shane," Ilya says softly. Ilya knows it's different for himself now too, with everyone knowing he was in love with a man. But for Shane it was more. Something he could never hide. "It is hard when you are different, harder when you are as good as he is and different."

Yuna nods. "I never wanted him to give anyone an excuse," Ilya can hear the conflict in her voice. "He was already one of the only Asian kids for the most part, especially as he got older, I always thought if he could just…" she trails off, wiping at the corner of an eye.

"Be most polite Canadian boy and not asshole like me, then it would be one less thing for people to hold against him?" Ilya supplies. 

Yuna nods. "Yes, that." She pauses and gives Ilya a soft smile. "I'm glad he can be more himself around you."

Ilya smiles back. "Me too." He stands and moves to pull down some plates from the cupboard, Shane and David should be back soon. "Now tell me more baby Shane stories," he requests as they both start to set the table.

They're laughing from Yuna doing just that, working side by side to lay out cutlery and glasses when Shane and David walk in. Yuna glances up and smiles brightly at her husband. "David!" she starts, sharing a conspiratorial look with him, "summer before rookie season."

"Summer before?" David questions with a confused look as he drops the bags onto the table.

"Wait - you told her?" Shane exclaims at the same time, narrowing his eyes at Ilya.

"I can't believe you lied to your mama, lyubimiy," Ilya says with a laugh. "She thought it was romantic, that I set up photoshoot to see you again."

"I think I need someone to explain this one to me," David says as they start to settle in.

The conversation flows as they eat, and Ilya is gleeful when his question about how David and Yuna met results in finding out David approached her twice in one weekend.

"In my defense, I was rather drunk the first night and the details were a little fuzzy…" David argues as Shane just looks at him blankly.

"I had short hair back then, and had worn a wig to the party," Yuna adds, and is subject to Shane's deadpan stare next.

Ilya shrugs. "I do not know, sounds nice, at least you knew you really liked her if you tried to make a move twice."

"That's what I always say," David says and Yuna laughs, Shane just keeps staring.

Yuna brings up one of David's teammates from the same party and they start chatting amongst themselves. It feels warm, so fucking warm and Ilya has never known it could feel like this. A family dinner. Stories shared not to hurt and embarrass, but to keep a shared memory alive, to tease and bring laughs. Ilya looks to Shane, reaches for his hand on the table and gives it a squeeze. He smiles, soft, warm, and mouths thank you. He leans in, presses a quick kiss to the corner of Shane's mouth just because he can and goes back to his dinner.

"They like you," Shane says later, when it is just them in the apartment again, putting away the last of the day's mess. It feels so ridiculously domestic that Shane is sure his heart is going to explode from it. His suspension still weighs a million pounds on him - but he just had dinner with his parents, and his boyfriend, maybe fiancee, and it's the kind of normalcy Shane had never expected in his life. 

"The'yre nice," Ilya replies, pressing a kiss to Shane's cheek and taking the dishes from his hands to load into the dishwasher. "Not many parents would have taken all this as well as they have."

"Bold of you to assume they haven't had several conversations about us that aren't as calm as they've been when we're in the room," Shane points out with a bit of a laugh. "But they do," he tries again, wanting Ilya to be certain of how his parents felt, "like you, Ilya." 

"Okay," Ilya says as he closes the dishwasher, leaning against the counter and looking at Shane. 

Shane closes the distance between them, stepping a little between Ilya's feet and dropping his arms onto Ilya's shoulders. "Just okay?" Shane asks gently. "Would you rather them not like you?"

"No, it is good," Ilya replies. 

"But?" Shane offers, tilting his head a little as he looks at Ilya. He doesn't want to push it too hard, but doesn't want to let it go either.

Ilya shrugs, thumbs at his nose. "But I wish maybe I had family to like you too," he admits, eyes down for a moment before he looks at Shane. 

Shane's heart breaks a little and he cups the side of Ilya's face with his hand. "I wish you did too, Ilya, you deserve to have that."

Ilya drops his forehead to Shane's and Shane lets his thumb stroke lightly against Ilya's cheekbone. They're quiet for a moment, Shane knows there isn't really anything he can say to take away this particular hurt, all he can do is just be there with Ilya. 

"My mama would have loved you," Ilya says after a long moment, barely audible with how quiet it was.

Shane's breath catches in his throat. He's only ever heard Ilya mention his mother once, in the same sort of dismissive way he's watched his own mom dodge the subject of hers when it's too much. It was years ago, I was young, it was a long time ago - downplaying the very real grief. 

"What was she like?" he asks, carefully.

"Beautiful, inside and out," Ilya starts, still so quiet that Shane doesn't dare move, barely breathing so he can hear it. "When she smiled it was like… sunshine. When she laughed it made me want to hear nothing else. When she looked at me I felt like only person in world, she could always make me feel like the center of her universe. She taught me to skate, and would laugh, and laugh, when I tried to do the twirls. All I ever wanted was to make her happy, but - "

Shane tenses. 

"She was so sad, and I couldn't fix it - " 

"Ilya," Shane cuts him off, titling their heads a little to brush his lips lightly against Ilya's. "You were a kid, you couldn't - "

Ilya nods. "I know, but I still wanted to."

Shane wraps his arms around Ilya, holding him tight. He doesn't need Ilya to say it to know where this is going. "How old were you?" 

Ilya sniffles, Shane holds him tighter. "Twelve," he answers, muffled. "I found her."

Shane sucks in a breath, tightens his arms on Ilya even tighter. "I'm sorry." It feels so inadequate, but he is sure anything he says will feel inadequate.

"I think sometimes I have been alone ever since. Papa was - worse, after. Alexei too much like Papa. After she was gone it was just me, and then them," Ilya continues. Shane wants to crawl into Ilya's skin, plant himself there so he'd never have to hear the heart breaking loneliness in Ilya's voice ever again.

He can't, but he can promise one thing. "You're not alone now. You won't be again, ever, okay. I'm not going anywhere." He pulls back a little to look at Ilya, his hands coming to cup the side of Ilya's face. "It's you and me. Always." He smiles a little at Ilya. 

"Always," Ilya repeats. He ducks his forehead into Shane's shoulder. "Ya tebya lyublyu," he murmurs out against Shane's skin. "Thank you."

"Anytime, baby," Shane answers, drops a kiss to the side of Ilya's head before Ilya lifts it back up. "Uhm, and I was thinking - maybe we could talk to your lawyers and Farrah soon, like tomorrow maybe? About me making a post… confirming things."

Ilya raises a brow. "Confirming?"

"Yeah, about you and me," Shane pauses, pulls his mouth into a tight line for a moment. "And about, well, me. Come out, or whatever," he adds the last bit, almost hastily, nervous even just thinking about it.

"You don't have to do that, sweetheart," Ilya says, hooking a finger under Shane's chin to lift his gaze up.

"I want to," Shane assures him.

"What about your team?" Ilya questions.

"They can handle it," Sane answers. "It's important to me that I do this. I don't want what you mean to me to just be something debated on the internet, everyone trying to decide whether we're actually together or not. I want everyone to know that you're mine, and I'm yours." It was still a terrifying thought, it still fills Shane with dread whenever he looks at the drafts he's put into a notes app for days now. But there's a certainty there. When there's so much that could take Ilya away from him, he's realizing he refuses to let his own anxieties be just one more.

"You are sure?" Ilya checks.

"As long as it won't affect your safety, I'm a hundred percent sure," Shane replies easily.

Ilya smiles and Shane wants to keep that exact smile forever. The hint of awe and excitement, the way he looks at Shane with such unfiltered love that it makes Shane's throat go dry. And it only makes Shane more sure of his decision. That it would be one thing to say to Ilya that they were in this together, that he would never be alone again, and a whole other thing to say that to the world. To prove his own words, even if that proof was never expected. Maybe even more so because that proof was never expected. 

"Would be better if we could just say surprise we're married,"Ilya says lightly, stealing a quick kiss.

Shane laughs, smacks him lightly on the chest. "Hey, you're the one who said no, remember?"

"Mmm, yes, terrible decision, what was I thinking," Ilya teases and pulls Shane in for a proper kiss. 

@shanehollander24 Shane Hollander ✅

I met the love of my life in a parking lot outside a rink in Regina when I was 17 years old. I told him he couldn't smoke there and shook his hand, twice.

Nine years later he's the most important person in my life. The person who challenges me, both on the ice and off of it, and who makes me want to be louder, braver, better. 

So this is me - being louder, braver, better.

I'm gay. I'd love to say that feels great to put out there, but it's pretty damn daunting. I've been playing hockey since I was a kid. I love this sport. I love it more than myself somedays. It's hard to know that hockey, sometimes, doesn't love me, or people like me, back. In a perfect world it wouldn't matter that I'm gay, or that I'm half Japanese. But we don't live in a perfect world, and I've spent so long hiding a very big part of myself because of that. 

I'm done letting it make me hide though. So hi, I'm Shane Hollander. I'm gay, and I'm in a committed relationship with Ilya Rozanov. More than that, I'm still just Shane Hollander. The guy who has wanted nothing more than to play hockey for a living and shows up the best he can every damn day to do just that. 

@shanehollander24 Shane Hollander ✅
[ several images of stats showing a distinct pattern of both Shane and Ilya playing as good and usually better during MTL/BOS games than any other match up ]
For anyone who thinks any of the above affects my gameplay, I have the math to prove otherwise. I love him, but I love winning against him more.

@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
Very sexy graphs.

@haydenpike Hayden Pike ✅
Proud of you, Shane. 

@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
You are not proud of me? :( 

@haydenpike Hayden Pike ✅
You're okay. 

@roselandry Rose Landry ✅
Love you, Shane. 

@scotthunterofficial Scott Hunter ✅
Good post, Rook. 

@hollygirly becca
sjdfdslkfdsjklfdsklfjdskfds 

@hollygirly becca
I'M JUST SHANE HOLLANDER HE SAYS

@hollygirly becca
Like JUST Shane Hollander isn't the greatest hockey player of a generation.

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
Proud of you, Shane! Everyone wins when people get to live out loud. 

@stickspucksgame brad 
No room in hockey for this. Just play the fucking game.

@metr0smetr0s jake and bake
Just want to see you back playing, man. Hopefully Metros figure their shit out soon.

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
The scream I just screamed!

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
If you're wondering how long I'll be gloating about this the answer is forever. 

@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast
Hockey isn't about this shit, save it for your therapist. 

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
WAIT!!!!

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
SEVENTEEN!!!!!!

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
NINE YEARS LATER!!!!

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
RIGHT!!!?!?!?!?! THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME???

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME!

@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
To answer internet's pressing questions: Yes, phone call is real. Yes, I am in love with Shane Hollander. No, I am not gay, I am bisexual. Very important. Yes, I have lost citizenship in my home country. No, I do not know what that means yet for next season. 

That is all, yes? Then I would like to say something.

I was very, very, very lucky. Not everyone is lucky, and not everyone has the money and influence I do. I am forever grateful that I was able to make it somewhere safe and that I am allowed to continue to stay in a country that will not send me back to Russia. Unfortunately there are many people who did not get somewhere safe, who are still living in a country that would jail them for who they are. Who would kill them for who they are. 

I am making a $150,000 donation to Rainbow Railroad and will be matching an additional $81,000 to donations made that end in 81. Please only donate if it is safe for you to do so.

@shanehollander24 Shane Hollander ✅
I will also be making a $150,000 donation to Rainbow Railroad and will match additional donations that end in 24 up to $24,000.

@scotthunterofficial Scott Hunter ✅
I have pledged $50,000 to Rainbow Railroad and will match donations ending in 21 to an additional $21,000

@haydenpike Hayden Pike ✅
I'll be donating $20,000 and up to an additional $3,500 for donations ending in 35. 

@cliffmarleauraider ✅
I've donated $20,00 to Rainbow Railroad and will match up to $7,000 for donations ending in 7.

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
YOU LIVE! Made my donation! 

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
Made a donation. Glad you're safe. 

@yunahollander Yuna Hollander
Done! Mine ended in 24, David's in 81. 

@shanehollander24 Shane Hollander ✅
Oh wow, Dad, I see how it is.

@shandry4ever shane + rose
Will probably be deleting this, it was fun while it lasted guys

@shandry your unofficial shandry source
Ugh, right? But we love a supportive bestie I guess?
@shandry4ever shane + rose 
Not really. Thought for sure they'd find their way back to each other.
@shandry your unofficial shandry source
They still can! 
@rozander first hollanov fan
What part of "I'm gay" and "in a committed relationship with Ilya Rozanov" did you miss?

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
Updating my hollanov spreadsheet, kicking my feet and giggling. But what even is this timeline. SEVENTEEN! Still not over it.

@rozander first hollanov fan
Told you so. 2008 International Prospects Cup.

@mlhfan24 major hotties league 
Kind of stuck on this whole nine years thing. Like Rozanov whored around a lot, what was he just expecting Shane to be sitting at home waiting around? How did this even work?

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart
I am begging you to google situationship.
@metrosfan3524 go metros go! 
Casual thing maybe? Hollander just said they met at 17, not that they've been together since they were 17. And what Rozanov said on the call felt very oh crap this got more serious than it was supposed to.

@mlhnews All Things MLH
Shane Hollander stuns in new social media statement. "I'm gay." Confirms relationship with rival, Ilya Rozanov

@sticktweets maddy
STUNS? What is he, some hollywood it girl stepping out in a basic dress and heels?

@justshanehollander I'm Just Shane Hollander
Hi, I'm just Shane Hollander, second overall draft pick and rookie of the year.

@justshanehollander I'm Just Shane Hollander
Hi, I'm just Shane Hollander, olympic silver medalist.

@justshanehollander I'm Just Shane Hollander
Hi, I'm just Shane Hollander, three time Rocket Richard Trophy winner.

@justshanehollander I'm Just Shane Hollander
Hi, I'm just Shane Hollander, two time Stanley Cup Champion.

@justshanehollander I'm Just Shane Hollander
Hi, I'm just Shane Hollander, two time Conn Smythe Trophy winner.

@mhlwatcher99 matt
Fucking over it. Fire them both.

@shayden4ever shayden is real
I guess the real shayden was the friends we made along the way. Sad my ship is tanked, but happy to see Hollander and Rozanov getting to be their authentic selves. I made my donation to Rainbow Road, hope everyone else does!

@PuckGossip Puck Gossip
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov confirm their relationship via their social media accounts. Hollander, Rozanov, Scott Hunter, Hayden Pike, and Cliff Marleau pledge nearly $400,000 to LGTBQ+ charity, Rainbow Road. With potential donation matching of an additional $136,500.  Links below. 

@MLH_Offical MLH Official ✅
The MLH supports diversity and inclusion at all levels of its organization. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov's situations with their teams are complicated circumstances with many moving parts between both players and organizations. We hope to see them both back on the ice as soon as possible. 

@TSN The Sports Network ✅
A historic day for the MLH as Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov become not only the first openly out players, but the first to be in a relationship. We'll discuss what that means for the sport going forward on our podcast tomorrow. 

@popcrave  PopCrave ✅
Rose Landry's ex, Shane Hollander, confirms new relationship with fellow hockey player, Ilya Rozanov 

@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
Delete this tweet 

Chapter End Notes

I have this random bit of dialogue in my notes for this chapter that was written down but I never ended up finding a way to work it in, I still love it though.

"No, no, don't apologize for him. I like when he's asshole. He texts me, when he watches games. I always say where is this when you are on the ice. You would make everyone cry."

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Thank you again so much for all the support and love on this fic!

The formatting on this was a nightmare for some reason so please let me know if something is still wonky or out of place.

Shane's suspension proves short-lived. Ilya presumes someone did the math on the Metro's season and their playoff chances without Shane and realized they cared about that more than Shane sucking Ilya Rozanov's dick. He's happy for Shane, he is. One of them should at least be getting to play.

Even if that means Shane's carry on is on the bed to be packed, ticking down the time until he has to leave. Even if that means Shane is in the bathroom having a crisis about it all and taking it out on his toiletry bag.

"Sweetheart, you are panicking," Ilya says as he comes up behind Shane at the ensuite counter, pressing a kiss to Shane's shoulder.

"I'm not," Shane replies, automatically, and Ilya just raises a brow at him in the mirror as Shane again unpacks the toiletry bag to repack it again in a slightly different way. He's packed Ilya's aftershave but Ilya isn't going to say anything about it, yet.

"It's okay to be nervous, Shane," Ilya says, turning to lean on the counter so he can look at Shane. 

Shane sighs. "I just want to walk into the room and have it be normal, but I know it's not going to be."

"No, probably not," Ilya agrees.

"Gee, thanks," Shane says.

"What, you want me to lie to you and say it will be all rainbows and Metros will have a card congratulating you on coming out and bagging the hottest player in league?" Ilya counters.

"Cosmo magazine says fifth," Shane points out, notices he has the wrong aftershave and swaps it out, dumps the whole bag and starts again.

"Terrible magazine, they don't know what they're talking about," Ilya says with mock indignation. "It will not be normal," Ilya continues, a little more serious, "but it will be fine. Your team are not that big of idiots, they know they need you."

Shane scoffs. "So they'll be nice just because they need me to get them to the playoffs?"

Ilya shrugs. "Yes, maybe. Some will be nice to be nice, but it's hockey. We both know how hockey is." They all spoke of their teams as their brothers, a bond forged on the ice. It wasn't though, not really. Ilya knew that, he knew it in the silence from Boston, the way he's only seen JJ and Hayden check in with Shane and even those had an undercurrent of why didn't you tell me sooner, the way teams and management were so quick to bench them when things became inconvenient. 

But winning was still winning, and Shane could get them the win.

Shane collapses into Ilya, and Ilya easily catches him, wrapping arms around Shane's waist. He drops a soft kiss to the top of Shane's head. 

"I hate this," Shane mumbles, muffled against Ilya's chest.

"I know. But you are Shane fucking Hollander and you are worth more than anyone else in that room," Ilya says, fiercely. "If they let who you love make them forget that then they are the problem, not you." 

Shane is quiet for a moment, Ilya doesn't press, just holds him tight in the quiet of the bathroom. 

"I know it is scary," Ilya continues, "but you are so brave, Shane."

Shane scoffs a little. 

"You don't think so?" Ilya asks.

"Not really, no," Shane answers. 

"Why not?" Ilya presses, gently pulling on Shane's chin to lift his head up. 

"I've spent so long hiding this really big thing from everyone, from myself even, and I would have kept hiding it if you didn't get outed," Shane answers, eyes downward. 

"Shane… Lyubimiy… that doesn't make you weak, or not brave," Ilya starts, leaning down a little to catch Shane's eyes. "Keeping yourself safe, even from yourself, that isn't anything to be ashamed of." Ilya cups his hand against Shane's cheek. "You have been so brave, telling your parents, telling the world." He presses a quick kiss to Shane's mouth. "And you will be brave today, with your team."

Shane is quiet, Ilya knows it's not because he's ignoring the words, but rather letting them settle. Giving them weight. Trying to see what Ilya sees. 

"I'm going to miss you," Shane says, and Ilya pulls him back into his arms.

"It will only be a few days," Ilya points out. They had gone longer. So much longer.

"I know, but - " Shane starts.

"Is different," Ilya agrees.

Different now that they knew what it was like to be together like this. To wake up in the mornings together, spend their day together, and go to bed together. A luxury so many took for granted but had meant everything to Ilya since landing in Montreal. A luxury he wasn't ready to give up, even for a few days. Not now that he knew how it could be.

There's an ache in his chest, and he holds Shane even tighter. "How did we do this before,"  he asks, a little rhetorically.

Shane laughs, softly, "by denying our feelings and pretending we didn't want it to be more."

Ilya nods. "Ah, yes," he leans back a little as Shane lifts his head so they can meet eyes. "Was very stupid of us I think."

Shane presses a quick kiss to Ilya's mouth and shrugs a little. "We had our reasons," he points out. "But I think I like this better, even the hard parts," he adds.

Ilya can't help but smile at that, even as Shane's departure hangs over them. "I like it better too," he replies, leaning in to kiss Shane.  Ilya quickly deepens the kiss, hands cupping under Shane's ass to lift him up. 

"Ilya, I still have to pack," Shane protests, weakly, as he keeps kissing Ilya. 

"I'll help, we'll have time," Ilya points out and carries Shane to the bed.

Ilya stands on the doorstep holding a bouquet of flowers, a bag with a bottle of red wine that Shane had said his mom liked, and a bottle of Russian vodka. The good kind. Along with his overnight bag, even if he's still not sure he'll take Yuna and David up on spending the night and not driving back after the game. A whole evening with just David and Yuna, without Shane, is a lot different than the twenty minutes in Shane's kitchen with just Yuna, and nerves flare in the pit of his stomach. Shane was so sure they liked him, but Ilya was still a little uncertain. Not sure if the offer was just Shane's parents being polite, or worse, a pity invite for poor Ilya stuck at home not playing while Shane was back on the ice.

He knocks.

Yuna answers with a smile and looks at the flowers and then the bottles in the bag. "Oh, honey you didn't have to, but thank you," she says as they make their way into the house, taking the flowers and bag from Ilya so he can pick up his overnight. She sets the flowers down and then pulls out the wine and vodka, setting them on the kitchen island.

"Yuna, if the kid wants to buy me vodka, let him buy me vodka," David says with a laugh from where he's cutting vegetables for dinner. 

"Who says I bought it for you," Ilya replies with a cheeky smirk, "and not because Canadians have even worse vodka than Americans" David is laughing a little and Ilya is glad the joke is landing for what it is. "Don't worry, I can share," Ilya adds as he finds a spot in the freezer for the bottle.

"These are beautiful, Ilya," Yuna says as she sets the flowers into a vase on the island and Ilya is glad to see her enjoy them. He will never admit to how long he had debated between three different bouquet styles.

"Can I help?" he asks David, nodding to the dinner in progress.

David dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand. "I'm almost done, go get settled upstairs before we eat," he answers.

"Shane's room is the first door on the right," Yuna instructs as Ilya goes to grab his bag. 

It feels kind of homey, David and Yuna just letting him make himself comfortable, not minding him making his own way through the house. Like he was part of the house and not just a guest.

He pauses at the top of  the stairs, a frame with several photos under cutouts catching his eye. Shane through the years, mostly alone but sometimes with his mom or dad. Ilya smiles fondly at one, Shane can't be more than six, all geared up on the ice with a huge smile. He takes a picture of it and sends it to Shane.

Ilya doesn't answer that, makes his way into Shane's room instead. It's clearly been redecorated over the years, no longer a teenager's room. But bits of Shane still remain. Half guest room, half reminders of the teenage boy who used to live here before becoming one of the MLH's greatest players. There's a bookcase with medals and trophies, some photos of Shane and the teams he played with. That big smile from the photo in the hall fading quickly, replaced with something that only gets more intense as Ilya watches Shane age. He knows his own face would have shown the same progression, if his father had kept any photos that was.

The walls are bare, but Ilya spies a box on the corner of the desk, posters in hard sleeves sticking out. He grins and makes his way over to flip through, laughing with delight as he flips to one of Scott Hunter. Shirtless in hockey pants and leaning on a stick, giving the camera an intense look. He snaps a photo and sends it to Shane. 

Dinner is surprisingly easy. The little bit of nerves at being alone with David and Yuna without Shane as a buffer easing as the meal goes on. It's a quiet sort of comfort, sitting at the table as David and Yuna talk about their week. Not a prolonged silence filled with resentment and anger, or voices raised when someone said the wrong thing. Just the idle chit chat of life and work. He chimes in on the odd thing, and they ask him what he and Shane got up to since they last spoke. It's nice.

They break out the vodka and wine after dinner, settling into the living room for the game. The tv playing highlights from earlier Montreal Buffalo matchups between shots of the teams warming up on ice.

"And we have Shane Hollander back on the ice tonight, coming off a three game suspension as the Metros try to cling to their wildcard playoff spot," one of the announcers says, the camera panning to Shane stretching and chatting with JJ.

"You have to wonder what the Metros were thinking, pulling their first line center this late in the season and with such a precarious placement heading into playoffs - "

"Well, they were put in a pretty extraordinary situation, Ron, there wasn't really a precedent for how to handle two players being in a relationship -"

"Whatever happened to talking about the game," Yuna hisses out overtop the commentators and takes a drink of her wine. 

Ilya swirls the vodka in his glass, eyes down watching it. He's used to being a footnote on Shane's career. Shane has been one on his for just as long. Their stats compiled and compared, two sides of the same coin, over and over. Hollander and Rozanov, one rarely mentioned without the other since they were seventeen. This felt different though. This wasn't a footnote, this was an asterix. Shane Hollander, great hockey player, but…

"Excuse me," Ilya sets his glass down and gets up, moving back into the kitchen. The tv out of sight but he can still hear the commentators, moving onto Montreal's playoff chances. Illya presses his hands into the edge of the countertop, the sharp prick as it digs into his skin, grounding him.

"Ilya?" he hears Yuna after a few minutes. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he answers. Quick, automatically. He stays quiet, Yuna doesn't pry. 

"I am sorry," he starts again after a long moment. "I didn't want for all of this to affect how Shane is spoken of. I should never have…" he trails off there. 

Never have what? Fallen for Shane, inserted himself into Shane's life. Called him on the phone. Knocked on that hotel room door all those years ago. All of it? All he knows is it feels immensely important right then for the parents who had sacrificed so much for Shane to know that he is sorry for all but spitting in the face of those sacrifices.

"Ilya, honey," Yuna starts and drops her hand on his. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Your privacy, Shane's privacy, was violated in an absolutely horrific way, that is not your fault," Ilya starts to interject, but Yuna doesn't let him, lifting a hand up. "It's not your fault."

"I could have left him alone," Ilya points out instead, a little shrug of his shoulders.

"Do you think Shane is a pushover?" Yuna questions and Ilya turns his head to look at her. "Well?"

"No," Ilya answers, "of course not." 

"No," Yuna repeats. "So then don't insult him, or you, by trying to presume Shane was just some helpless participant in all of this. He knew the career risks as well as you did, clearly he thought it was, that you were worth it. Don't minimize his feelings, or yours. You are both in this together, and neither of you have anything to feel guilty about, certainly not for the way you feel."

Ilya nods. "Okay." It doesn't make all the guilt go away - but it helps, to hear that Yuna doesn't hate him for what happened, to have it reframed a little bit different than it is in his own head.

"Good." Yuna pauses. "Besides, he could do a lot worse than have his name associated with the second best player in the league," she gives Ilya a smirk. "Now come on, first period's about to start."

Ilya laughs as he follows her back into the living room, saying lightly, "oh I see, so that is where Shane gets it from."

The game is passable. A 3 - 2 victory for Montreal, with Shane getting the hat trick, something that pleased Ilya greatly. But as the game wraps and the players file out, Ilya looks to Yuna, wondering if she was seeing the same things.

"They weren't clicking," she says, answering the unspoken question.

"No, vibe is - off," Ilya agrees. Nothing maybe that noticeable for most, but little things. Passes with just an extra second of hesitation, goal celebrations just a little bit subdued. Shane is the best player on the team, but Ilya has rarely seen him have to carry the rest of them to such a degree. 

In the post interviews it's clear that Montreal's PR is working overtime. Only one reporter breaks ranks, asking Shane about his coming out, and is promptly shut down by Shane asking if anyone has hockey questions and the scrum breaks up from there. Ilya stares at Shane's well practiced media face, it doesn't give much away. But Ilya can see the strain in his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. He wishes desperately it had been a home game so he could wrap Shane up in his arms at the end of it all. 

Yuna and David putter around as the broadcast turns to post game highlights from the rest of the night, winding down. Eventually they bid Ilya goodnight and head upstairs. Ilya follows not long after, runs through his night time routine and settles into the bed in Shane's childhood bedroom. 

Shane's facetime request lights up barely a moment later and Ilya smiles as he hits accept, seeing Shane's face fill the screen, earbuds in.

"So eager," he teases Shane.

"Shut up. And I can't - Hayden's got headphones on but I doubt they're that good," Shane answers. 

"Is okay," Ilya smiles softly as he looks at Shane. "I just wanted to see you."

"It's weird, seeing you in my old bedroom," Shane says. "I mean, it's more of a guest room now than my bedroom but…"

"Still room where you fell asleep staring at Hunter's abs," Ilya points out with a laugh.

"Nevermind, you're kicked out, go sleep on the couch," Shane throws back.

"Noooo…" Ilya says dramatically and then levies Shane with a look. "Did you ever jack off to me in here?" he asks, teasing glint in his eyes at the words.

"And goodnight," Shane says as a reply and makes a move like he's going to hang up.

"No fun, Hollander," Ilya pouts.

Shane is quiet, head turning to look behind him for a moment and then he turns back to Ilya. "Yes," he says. Mumbles really, flush creeping up his face. 

"Yes? Yes what?" Ilya pushes with a challenging smirk.

"Yes I jerked off to you in that room," Shane says, quickly, words running together and so quiet that Ilya barely catches it.

"More than you did Hunter?" Ilya can't help but ask, with a delighted smile.

"Fuck you." Shane bristles. 

"No, no, tell me more, when? A lot? Did you even find pictures back then?" Ilya keeps prodding.

"I hate you," Shane mutters.

"No, you love me," Ilya points out.

"I can love you and hate you at the same time, Rozanov," Shane counters, but Ilya can see him folding. "Uhm - like after the first Prospects Cup, my coach back then had gotten ahold of tape from Russia, kept showing it to me to get me ready but like, it was all grainy as shit and low quality, couldn't really make out what you really looked like. Until we all got there. For months I kept thinking about you in that toque, cigarette hanging from your lips which was, objectively, so fucking disgusting, smoking is gross, Ilya, but it just - "

"Did something for you," Ilya supplies gleefully. 

"Yeah. I hated it, but yeah," Shane admits. 

"I jerked off in the hotel shower that night," Ilya says. "Could not stop thinking about very polite boy and all his freckles."

"What, really?" Shane asks and Ilya smiles a little at the surprise in his words. 

"Yes, Hollander, really. You were cute, so eager with your handshakes and telling me things I did not already know from the sign," Ilya replies and laughs at the annoyed look Shane gives him. "It did something for me," he adds, a little more serious as he eyes Shane.

"And here I thought I had made such a bad impression," Shane says.

Ilya shakes his head. "No, impossible for you to do." He pauses, watching Shane for a moment. He wants so badly to reach through the screen and touch him that it hurts. "I'm glad you came up to introduce yourself," he says softly. 

"Me too," Shane replies, just as soft.

For a moment they don't speak, just watch each other and exist together through a screen. It's not enough, not when Ilya knows how it feels to have Shane in his arms all night long, to wake up next to him. Not when all he wants is to feel Shane's heartbeat under his hand, to hear the soft inhale and exhale of his breath.

"I love you," Shane says.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Ilya replies and then smiles. "Now tell me how much that interference call in the second pissed you off," he segues, and grins as Shane's eyes narrow and he starts into the rant Ilya knows he's been holding in this whole time.

When Ilya wakes up his phone is on the pillow beside him and he checks it to find a text from Shane. There's a photo of Shane, half asleep, blankets pulled up under his chin. 

Ilya snaps a photo of himself, sitting up in the bed, still shirtless and the sun hitting his hair, grinning wide. He sends it in the text thread.

He plugs his phone in, cleans up, and heads downstairs.

"Coffee's fresh on the counter," David says as Ilya enters the kitchen, barely glancing up from the paper.

Ilya fixes himself a cup and settles into the chair across from David who hands him the entertainment section. Ilya's not really sure what to do with it, he hasn't read a paper in years, everything on his phone. But he flips it open, skims an article about some movie, daydreams a little about taking Shane. Thinks about how they could pick a late show, make out in the back, a normal date. 

"Are you planning on heading back to Montreal right away?" David asks, breaking the morning silence.

"Mmm, maybe, hadn't decided yet," Ilya answers, sipping his coffee. "Where is Yuna?" 

"She does a whole book club, lunch, farmer's market day with some of her friends on Sundays," David answers. 

"That is a lot of activity for one day," Ilya points out. 

David laughs. "Scheduling is a nightmare, so they try to multitask."

Ilya nods and goes back to his part of the paper, sipping his coffee. "And you, what do you do when Yuna is busy with twenty things in one day?"

"Some friends of mine from work have a beer league game on Sundays, I timekeep for them," David replies.

"You do not play?" Ilya asks, raising a brow as he looks at David from above the paper.

David chuckles. "Oh no, no… I used to, but I blew my knee out about a decade ago. I don't want to spend a week recovering from one afternoon." David picks up his cup and looks at Ilya. "Besides, I'm never the Hollander that they want filling out their teams." 

Ilya laughs a little. "They only think that because they do not know the look of soul sucking disappointment Shane would give when they do not live up to his expectations."

David blinks, surprised, and then laughs. "Truly it is better for all involved." He pauses, takes a drink and sets his cup down. "They're always short guys, if you feel like playing," it's asked very casually, and Ilya knows it's not though. That maybe David would worry even bringing it up was a sore subject considering, well, everything.

Ilya debates it for all of two seconds. Sure it was going to be a bunch of people who play once a week at best, but ice time was ice time. Except he doesn't have his gear with him, or even in the country. "I don't have gear with me," he says, shrugs a little. 

"I'm sure we can cobble together enough with what's in the garage," David suggests. 

Which is how Ilya finds himself in a community rink in Ottawa, in gear that was just slightly too small and a practice jersey with Hollander 24 across the back and Peterborough Petes across the front. He had made David take a photo to send to Shane. They did have to stop for skates though, the pair in the garage pinching too much to be comfortable, and a stick in Ilya's preferred brand. 

The game is about what Ilya expects. No one hits hard, no one is all that great aside from one or two guys who had clearly played for many years, but it's surprisingly exhausting. There's not twenty odd guys on the bench to keep his shifts short, and he's feeling it by the end of the game. He jokes around with his team, chirps the other guys, takes photos at the end and signs a few things for people who had been watching from the start and some that showed up halfway through (he presumes after word got out he was there).

It's fun. In a way hockey hasn't been for a while. Playing for the sake of playing, no standings to worry about, no playoffs hanging over his head constantly, no expectations, no press after. Just some guys, chasing a puck around. Hockey for the sake of hockey. 

He's all smiles as he comes out of the dressing room, bag slung over his shoulder and stick in hand, giving a little wave to David who has been waiting. It's been over a decade since someone was waiting for him outside the dressing room.

"Felt good?" David asks and takes Ilya's stick.

Ilya nods. "Yeah, nice to stretch the legs," he answers. He'll have to talk to Shane if he knows anyone good, figure out a trainer in Montreal before too long. Next season is still up in the air, but he doesn't want to lose momentum in case someone does sign him. 

"Hey, Rozanov! Same time next week if you're in town again," Cooper, the unofficial Captain of the team, calls out as he heads out with his kids and wife.

"I'll see what I can do!" Ilya calls back, and he's surprised by how much he means it. That it could be fun, to make this a semi regular thing. Hang out with Yuna and David, and then go play rec hockey. 

"I think you just made Cooper's year," David says lightly as they walk out of the arena. 

"He's a nice guy," Ilya says, pauses as they get back to David's car and waits for the trunk to open. "Thank you, for the suggestion," he says as he lifts the bag into the trunk and looks to David. "It was nice to get out of my head for a couple hours." 

David drops a hand on Ilya's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "Of course. And you're welcome over anytime, Ilya. With or without Shane. We'd love to get to know you better."

Ilya nods. "I would like that too."

 "Good," David smiles, drops his hand and starts towards the driver's side.

@PuckGossip Puck Gossip
Shane Hollander shuts down questions regarding his coming out and relationship with Ilya Rozanov during post game media. "I've said everything I need to say about that on my post so I'd appreciate it if we could keep the questions to the game."

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
 Shane Hollander's media training is unrivaled.

@MontrealMetrosOfficial Montreal Metros ✅
Montreal Metros take a 3-1 victory, securing their playoff spot! Shane Hollander (#24) scores the hat trick.

@hollygirly becca
 That's my Hollander!
@mlhfan24 major hotties league 
 Damn right.
@metr0s24 metros fanboy
 Thank god they got their heads out of their asses and put Hollander back on the ice.
 @h0ckymum proud hockey mom
 #notmymetros
 @hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast
 If he stops making posts shoving how he's gay in our face it's all good I guess. We'll have to see how playoffs go. 

@h0llanderh0llander jude
Hollander hat-trick, let's go baby!!!!

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
God I missed this man's beautiful face on my screen.

@stickspucksgame brad 
Not watching Metros tonight, won't watch them again until they take a good, hard look at what values they want to represent.

@hollygirly becca
 Okay. No one will miss you.

@metrosfan3524 go metros go! 
PLAYOFFS!!! Let's go!!!

 @hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast
 Hopefully Hollander doesn't have anything else to distract the team.
 @metrosfan3524 go metros go! 
 Dude, get out of my replies.

@icedcappsandbooks jenna
[ photo of Ilya on the ice, it's a bit blurry ]
That moment when Ilya fucking Rozanov shows up to your Dad's Sunday afternoon game.
 

@mackenzietwitter mack!
 Whaaaat?? How?? 
 @icedcappsandbooks jenna
My dad works with Shane Hollander's dad, he runs the clock for them, so guessing from that?
@mackenzietwitter mack!
Oh wow, hanging with the boyfriend's dad, that's freaking serious

@joetheref joe grant
[ selfie of a referee with Ilya, both grinning ]
Hands down the highlight of my part-time reffing career

@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
 Better than most MLH refs, maybe we do it again sometime

@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
[ photo of 12 guys, all in a mismash of practice jerseys, helmets off, and posing with smiles like they'd just won the cup and not a random sunday afternoon game ]
Number one team in Ottawa!
 

@zboodram Zane Boodram ✅
 Feeling kind of called out right now, Rozanov.
@ilyarozanov81 Ilya Rozanov ✅
 Me? I would never do such a thing.
@zboodram Zane Boodram ✅
 Yes you would. You still in town? Shoot me a DM if you want to grab a drink.
@censfan i love losing
 👀👀👀👀
 @centaurs4life danny 
 Please make this happen.
@gocensgo dumbest logo in the league! 
 Roz, Ottawa will love you forever!
@jackandcens jack 
 JFC, two players getting a drink doesn't mean one of them is going to join the other's team.
 @gocensgo dumbest logo in the league!
 But you have to admit, it'd be super cool if it happened.
@jackandcens jack 
 Well, duh, just saying it probably won't.
 @gocensgo dumbest logo in the league!
 Why not. Doubt Roz can sign with an American team right now.
 @jackandcens jack
 There's still six teams way better than Ottawa that he can sign to though.
 

@abbybrummond abby
[ video of a boy, around 8 or so, watching a game in a small rink, he's got a huge grin on his face, yelling excitedly every few seconds, pointing at the ice and looking from it to his mom ]
Watching your kid watch Ilya Rozanov literally five feet away and NOT having to pay MLH ticket prices? Best Sunday ever. A class act too, came up and chatted with Ollie for a good ten minutes, took pictures, signed the stick he was using and gave it to him. Kid's gonna have the best story to tell Monday morning at school.

@PuckGossip Puck Gossip
Ilya Rozanov spotted in Ottawa, playing an afternoon rec game.

@cashsanders Cash
MLH star to someone's Sunday beer league, what a wash out.
@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
 Never thought I'd be jealous of people living in Ottawa goddamn.

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
[ photo of Ilya cropped from one posted earlier, to just Ilya, half of Hollander visible with the angle he's turned to ]
HE'S WEARING ONE OF HOLLANDER'S OLD JERSEYS. MY HEART!!!!

@h0llan0v2484 hollanov fan
 SO FUCKING CUTE OMG
@hollanov hollanov truther number one
 I can't even handle this, so boyfriend of him.
@h0llan0v2484 hollanov fan
New lock screen.

@raidmeraiders raiders for life
Why the fuck is Ilya Rozanov in Ottawa??

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
 His boyfriend is from there.
@raidmeraiders raiders for life
 Right. That whole thing. 

@PeterboroughPetes PeterboroughPetes
[ repost of the "team" photo ]
Hey @ilyarozanov81 nice to see you repping our team! Let us know if you want a more current design! We'll even put your name on this one.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

In which Shane is going though it a little.

I mentioned on threads, but heads up here as well that I have caught up to myself and where I'd pre-written to so updates will be more the biweekly drop for the last bit here than once a week.

Again, a huge thanks to everyone following along, sharing the story, commenting, etc. It means the world!

The Metros make the playoffs. Barely. But a playoff spot is a playoff spot. Shane marks the games in the calendar in the kitchen, Ilya adds them to his phone. Adjustments are made to Shane's food delivery service, his workout routine, everything really, to make room for the post season. No one ever wants to assume they're going all the way, but no one ever wants to get caught unprepared three rounds in either. 

"Do you have a sex ban during playoffs?" Ilya asks, his hands carding gently through Shane's hair, both of them sprawling across the bed. Shane has a couple days until the Metros' first game and a few hours until he has to go in for a practice. 

"I've never had sex during playoffs, but it wasn't really a pre-determined thing," Shane answers.

"Ah, because you did not have sexy WAG waiting at home before," Ilya teases.

"You're not my WAG, you're my partner, and second best player in the league," Shane retorts, a testing tone to the last bit.

"He has jokes today," Ilya says and then drops a quick kiss to Shane's forehead. He lets the silence linger for a moment, just enjoying Shane in his arms, his hand still threading through Shane's hair. "What do you mean not a pre-determined thing?"

"Well, I wasn't going to force myself to have sex with a woman during playoffs when I knew that only left me feeling weird and anxious," Shane starts to answer, "I wasn't going to risk trying to find some guy to hook up and have it potentially out me, and it's not like we could hook up in the middle of playoffs… so sex ban by default," he shrugs. "Do you have a playoff sex ban?"

"Kind of same, by default. By the third game no one is going out anymore, and I am too focused to deal with someone I barely knew," Ilya answers. Texting some name in his phone, flirting, arranging when and where, it usually hadn't felt worth it when there were calories he had to make up for, tape to review, and a bruised and battered body to try to care for.

"But I am living here," he points out after a moment. "It is very different from all the other playoff runs. It would be very hard, keeping my hands to myself, but if you think it will be a distraction…"

"Ilya, no," Shane says, sitting up a little so he can look at Ilya. "I don't want to do a sex ban or whatever. I like our sex life, a lot - "

"Really, I had not noticed," Ilya can't help but interrupt, it earns him a smack across his chest and one of Shane's exasperated, but still somehow fond, 'asshole's.

"No sex ban," Shane starts, "but maybe nothing too crazy when I'm playing, and we can kind of figure it out as we go? Not a full ban, but I can't guarantee I'll always be up for it."

Ilya leans up to kiss Shane. "We'll do whatever you want," he assures. "Is kind of new territory for us, yeah? Being in the same space during playoffs and not playing each other." 

"Yeah, it definitely is," Shane answers. "But I like it."

Ilya presses another kiss, deepening it. "I like it too." He tries not to think of next season. Of where he might end up, of how far it might be from Shane and going back to only pockets of time between their schedules. Stolen moments that he knows will never be enough now.

"Do you want to come to my games, the home ones?" Shane asks as they pull apart.

"Do you want me to come?" Ilya counters instead of answering. He does. He wants to. Desperately. But he doesn't want to do something Shane is not comfortable with, or thinks will just be a distraction. 

"I do," Shane answers. 

"Then I'll go," Ilya replies, grinning wide. "I'm not wearing a Metros' jersey though," he adds with a teasing smirk.

"Oh god no, you'd be murdered in the stands," Shane says with a laugh, letting Ilya pull him into a kiss.

Ilya does not wear a Metros' jersey. But he does find Shane's All-Star's jersey in the back of the closet and wears that, sitting between David and Yuna. He waits until the jumbotron focuses on them to peel off his jacket to reveal the jersey, Hollander 24 across his back - to a mix of cheers and boos and Shane looking delightfully flustered on the ice when he looks up at the screen. Ilya gives the camera a wink. 

"Rozanov really came," Hayden says as he skates up to Shane, gesturing towards the stands.

Shane glances up to Hayden beside him, who looks less than amused. "He's my boyfriend, Hayden, he wants to support me." 

"You don't think it's like a distraction? He's also Rozanov, Captain of the Raiders," Hayden points out.

"He's been suspended through the rest of the season and they're not re-signing him in case you've forgotten," Shane says, pointedly, glancing back up to Ilya. He shakes his head just a little at the questioning look he gets in return. 

"Right," Hayden concedes, Shane notes he sounds at least a little guilty. "But he's still - Rozanov."

Shane sighs. So close. He stands up from the stretch, turns to face Hayden. "Your wife is in the stands, so is Mitty's. Wilson and Gagnon's girlfriends, Stedlund's second and first wife…"

Hayden holds up his hands. "Okay, okay…"

"If anyone is getting distracted by my boyfriend coming to my game, that's on them," Shane says. 

"I'll hand it to him though, that takes guts, showing up in our rink, wearing your number, must really like you," Hayden adds, glancing back out to where Ilya, David, and Yuna are sitting.

Shane just laughs, shoving Hayden's shoulder with his own. "Christ, Hayden," he gets out, "yeah - he really likes me, you might even say he loves me."  

Hayden laughs, gives Shane a tap on the shoulder. "Right."

Comeau skates up to them. "Can't believe Rozanov showed his face," he says, leaning on his stick and looking at Shane.

Shane can't help but feel like he's being baited. Like Comeau is waiting for him to bristle in return and start a fight. Shane doesn't want to give the satisfaction. So he just shrugs, gestures to where Ilya sits with his parents, and looks to Comeau. "What, your eyes don't work?"

Comeau huffs and skates off. 

"He'll get over it," Hayden says.

Like you've gotten over it, Shane can't help but think. He knows it's maybe a little unfair. Hayden has been trying, which is more than he can say for Comeau. Sure Hayden was awkward and a little dumb about it, but he hadn't been outright mean or combative. Or acting like Shane was persona non grata in the dressing room and on the ice. The sound of the buzzer pulls him from the thoughts, warm ups over, and Shane heads back off the ice with his team.

Playoff games are always more intense. Just that much faster, that much harder, that much more desperate - even from game one. And this game was no different, in that regard at least. Detroit comes out of the gate swinging. Clean, but brutal, hits. Chirps meant to demean, but that only aggravate Shane. The low hanging fruit he had been expecting. Like being gay suddenly made him a terrible hockey player. The kind of chirps that only made it that much more satisfying when he buries the puck in the back of the net early in the first period.

Less satisfying is how only Hayden and JJ come up to celebrate the goal. But Shane's eyes find Ilya in the crowd, and seeing him on his feet, cheering loudly between Shanes' parents, is worth everything. He catches his mom leaning into Ilya, saying something that makes Ilya smile wide, on the trombone as he skates back to the bench and his heart fills so full he's sure it will burst. 

The game is close, Shane's goal not going unanswered for that long, and it stays tied through the second until JJ pulls them ahead again in the third. Shane takes a hit that he knows he's going to feel in his shoulder for the rest of the series. They come off the ice at the end of the third with a 2-1 victory. 

It should be cause for celebration, but the dressing room feels oddly quiet. Or rather, Shane realizes quickly, his corner of the dressing room feels quiet. The celebration sequestered into other areas, groups splintering off that didn't include him. He strips to his base layer and tries not to think about it. 

He doesn't have long to dwell on it before he's called in for media. The same recycled questions from the season, now just about the playoffs. Shane's never really liked it, but it was part of the job. He plasters on the media face, approachable but professional, the smile that never quite feels like a real smile to him but seems to satisfy the reporters enough at least, at starts pointing at the now familiar faces to ask their questions.

"Shane, the Metros had a good start to the round, what do you think is needed to take it all?"
"Well you know, we just have to keep the momentum from this win going, stay focused, play for seven games and hope we don't need them all."

"What is the mood like coming off a game one victory?"
"Good. You know it's always nice coming into a round strong, getting that first win under us quickly sets a nice mood for the rest of the games."

"What do you think the Metros' chances are of taking round one?"
"If we keep focused, keep playing hard and smart, I think our chances are great. You know, we got a great team here, great coaching, great players, and I know we're all really working hard to get that three-peat, we'd love to put that on the history books for Montreal."

"Speaking of keeping focused, it's been quite a few weeks here for you, Shane. Do you feel like recent events in your personal life have affected how you're coming into the playoffs?"
"No. I'm fully committed to this playoff run and focused on winning it for Montreal."

"Ilya Rozanov was spotted in the crowd, were you aware he was going to attend tonight's game?"
"Yes, we spoke about it."

"Did that affect your gameplay at all tonight?"
"Well, I think everyone plays a little bit better when they have their family out supporting them."

He answers a few more questions, the next reporter thankfully bringing it back to the game and not his relationship, before the Metros' PR brings the scrum to a close.

"Hollander, a word?" Theriault says as they start back towards the room.

Shane stops and turns to look at his coach. "What's up?" he asks, trying to ignore the anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. 

"You knew Rozanov was coming tonight?" Theriault asks.

Shane nods, confirming what he had said earlier. The anxiety grows, his mouth drying out. "Yeah."

"And you didn't think to give us a heads up?" It's less a question and more an accusation. 

Shane swallows against the dryness in his mouth, his hands clammy as his fingers curl into his palms. He fights against his initial impulse to apologize, to smooth it over, to be the compliant and agreeable player he's been since he was signed. Fights against letting Theriault make him feel like he's done something wrong.

"I wasn't aware I had to get permission for my family to use my seats," Shane answers, nails digging into his palms. It's not the first time he's stood up to Theriault, but it's the first time that it's about something other than a differing opinion over a play or a drill.

Theriault scoffs. "Come off it, Hollander, you know that this is different."

Shane doesn't bite. "Was my performance tonight unsatisfactory?" he says instead knowing damn well it wasn't. They won, one of the goals was his, he assisted on the other. 

"A team is more than one player," Theriault counters.

"I am aware of that, Coach," Shane answers evenly. 

"And you didn't think that your teammates might have found it a little distracting, having Rozanov in the crowd?" Theriault continues.

"I thought this team might have a little more maturity than that, Coach," Shane responds. 

Theriault looks surprised at that, or maybe just at Shane not folding. "Right," a pause, "I take it we can expect Rozanov next game?"

Shane nods and Theriault does the same in return before heading off.  Shane lets out a slow breath, unclenches his fingers, and heads back into the dressing room. The sound of teammates - around him, but not engaging with him - rings in his ears as he goes through post game motions. The showers empty by the time he hits them, he wonders how quickly everyone got through theirs to make that happen.

He's already half dressed when Hayden plops down next to him, shoving his phone in his face.

"Oh man, you seen this yet?" Hayden asks and Shane shakes his head. He hasn't even touched his own phone. 

Hayden touches play on the video and Shane frowns seeing a reporter walking up to his parents and Ilya outside the rink. "Fucking vultures," he mutters under his breath.

Shane watches as the reporter walks right up to Ilya, mic in hand, and asks, "Rozanov, quite a surprise seeing you in the crowd tonight - "

"Why surprise?" Ilya cuts the reporter off and Shane smiles. "Why wouldn't I be here to support my boyfriend?" 

"Do you think you were maybe a distraction for the Metros' team?" the reporter pushes, ignoring Ilya's comment. 

"Can't have been that big of a distraction, they won didn't they?" Ilya counters and Shane laughs a little to himself as the reporter seems to flounder and Ilya walks off with Shane's parents. 

"He's alright I guess," Hayden says with a little laugh of his own as he takes his phone back from Shane. "Jacks wants to sit with him and your parents for game two, she got a sitter for that one."

Shane nods as he finishes getting dressed and tosses a few things into a bag.

"Capitaine!" JJ booms as he comes up to the pair, "beautiful assist," he adds and slings an arm around Shane as they start out of the room. 

"Beautiful goal," Shane says in return and notices the eyes of a few stragglers still in the room on them. He pushes it aside, falls into step with Hayden and JJ. Game one down. 

Shane heads into game two feeling a delightful mix of focused and relaxed and he thinks maybe there's something to having Ilya in his apartment during playoffs. Apparently a blowjob between morning tape review and the game was the key to not feeling like a bundle of nerves, who knew. It's even enough to keep Shane from falling into his anxious thoughts as the dressing room once again seems to segregate. He, Hayden, JJ, and a couple of the rookies on one metaphorical side, and the rest on the other. Conversations once again occurring around Shane, without bringing him into them.

But it's okay. Ilya is texting him selfies from the seats, a couple with David and Yuna, some with Jackie that Shane shows to Hayden who mutters a traitor, but it's said with a grin and a teasing tone so Shane figures it's more a joke than anything else. Shane sends a few texts back and then gets lost in his pregame rituals. 

Shane gets the first goal of the game, well into the first period. And it's, again, an oddly subdued celebration given it's a playoff game. He tries not to think about it as he heads back to the bench and settles in for the quick break between shifts. 

"Showing off for your boyfriend?" Comeau hisses, it's anything but friendly sounding. Shane can feel the last of the mood he'd entered the game with slip away. 

"Trying to win the game" Shane corrects, focusing his gaze out over the ice. 

Detroit ties it up in the second, and it stays 1-1 until later in the third. 

Shane is used to the chirps, if they could be called that. It's been two games of it. Throwing around the fact he's gay, the fact he's with Rozanov. Shit he had expected to hear going into the round. Shit he's heard, well, aside from the Rozanov part of it all, since he was a kid. It hasn't been anything he hasn't been able to shake off. 

At least until one of the last face offs. Shane bends down in front of Ivanov, Detroit's starting center, eyes focusing on the ice and waiting for the puck to drop.

"He should be rotting in a cell somewhere," Ivanov snarls, accent thick. And Shane's mind just… whites out. A fear and panic rising so strong it takes his breath away, and he can feel the bile in the back of his throat. Holds him hostage until Ivanov has snapped the puck and is more than halfway down the ice.

"HOLLANDER!" JJ shouts and that's what snaps Shane back into, chasing after Ivanov.

But it's too late. The goal horn sounds.

Theriault calls a line change. Shane still feels shaken as he sits on the bench. There's less than two minutes left. They pull their goalie. It doesn't matter. The buzzer sounds and game two goes to Detroit.

Shane goes through the motions. He doesn't even remember what he says in the post game media, just hopes the years of experience was enough to answer without making an ass of himself, especially since he's sure someone asks about the pause after his last face off. The dressing room is tense, more than it's ever been. He doesn't even try to engage. Just nods along to whatever Hayden says as he gets cleaned up and dressed.

He makes it home in the same fog on muscle memory alone. Ilya's in the kitchen when Shane makes his way into the apartment. Cooking something that Shane is sure smells good, but at the moment he can't even register it. It will hit him later that he didn't even get to enjoy coming home from a playoff game to Ilya in their kitchen, making them dinner and the whole domesticity of it. He drops his bag and keys at the door, kicks off his shoes before making his way into the kitchen. 

"This is almost ready," Ilya says from his spot at the stove, and Shane nods in return as he slides onto one of the island stools.

It's quiet while Ilya finishes and plates their late dinner. Quiet while Ilya takes a few bites and Shane stares blankly at his own plate. Not a good quiet. A heavy quiet.  

And it stays quiet until Ilya cuts right to the heart of the matter, setting his fork down and looking directly at Shane after barely taking two bites. "What did Ivanov say?" He doesn't need to clarify when, what exchange it was. They both know the moment he is talking about.

"It doesn't matter," Shane mumbles, quickly, forcing himself to take a bite of the food.  "Just some dumb chirp," he adds. 

"I have never seen you get rattled like that from some dumb chirp," Ilya points out, words gentle. 

Shane doesn't know what to say to that. He pokes at the chicken on his plate. "Won't happen again," he replies after a moment. Thinks maybe he said those exact words to Theriault. 

"Shane," Ilya says as he gets up and moves over to Shane. He takes Shane's fork from his hand and sets it down, pulling Shane's arms around himself. "I'm not press, I'm not your coach, you can tell me what happened."

Shane pushes away, standing and taking several steps back from the kitchen island. Ilya doesn't follow, sinking into the stool Shane had just been sitting in. Shane isn't sure if that is better or worse. Ivanov's words repeat over and over in his head. The vitriol in Ivanov's voice is still so clear, stirring that same panic in Shane. He clenches and unclenches his hands, fighting to keep his breathing steady. 

"Sweetheart…" Ilya tries again, moving closer to Shane again. 

Shane shudders out a breath and drops his forehead against Ilya's chest. "He said you should be rotting in a cell somewhere," Shane says, words quiet. Like it hurt to even say it. Ilya sucks in a breath.  The panic grips at Shane, just thinking about it, threatening to pull him under. 

"Shane, look at me," Ilya says, and Shane slowly lifts his head up. "That did not happen, that will not happen. I'm here," he takes Shane's hand and presses it over his heartbeat. "I'm here, with you, I'm safe. Ivanov is just asshole trying to get under your skin."

Shane huffs. It had worked. Which was the worst part. Still… "You didn't hear how he sounded when he said it, Ilya. It wasn't just getting under my skin." He lifts his gaze to Ilya. "He meant it, that's why I froze."

If it had just been another insult, another slur in the name of chirping, Shane could have let it roll off his back like he had been doing all game. But it hadn't been. It had been coming face to face with someone who fully believed Ilya was better off in some jail cell somewhere. Rotting. Dead. 

"Ivanov is very - traditional," Ilya says. 

Shane scoffs, hating the way it sounds like an excuse. "Fuck, Ivanov." 

"He is a good Russian boy who wants to go home to see his family in the summer," Ilya continues.

Shane pulls back, shakes his head. "So? He could have said nothing and still been able to do that. You didn't say shit like that."

Ilya is quiet for a moment, letting it sink in. 

"I should have punched him," Shane says after a pause. 

"As hot as that sounds, you would have gotten a penalty and been pissy about the missed ice time," Ilya points out.

"He scored off the face off anyway," Shane grumbles. "If I'd punched him at least it would have shut him the fuck up."

Ilya cradles Shane's face in his hands. "Shane, Ivanov is asshole. He wanted you rattled, he wanted you to do something dumb. He knows how to get to you now and the best thing you can do to shut him up is not let him." 

Shane nods a little. "Yeah, I know…"

"But?" Ilya prompts.

"It would have been really fucking satisfying to punch him," Shane adds with a bit of a laugh as he comes around a little. The anxiety is still there, he still feels a little floaty with it. But it's better. Ilya is there. Shane can reach out and touch him, feel the heartbeat steady under Ilya's shirt. Feel him warm, and solid, under his hand. He's in their apartment. He's safe. It will be okay.

Ilya laughs and drops a kiss to Shane's forehead. "Yes, it would have. But will be more satisfying to watch you beat him next game," he says. "Now let's eat?" 

@hollanov hollanov truther number one 
"Well, I think everyone plays a little bit better when they have their family out supporting them."
FAMILY. He called Rozanov his family, I'm dying guys, put this on my tombstone. 

@h0llan0v2484 hollanov fan 
Another Rozanov sighting, another Hollander jersey. Wonder if we'll ever see him in a Metros one before playoffs are over?

@raidmeraiders raiders for life 
No way Roz would wear a Metros' jersey. 
@r0zzzzan0v rozanov 81 
Fuck that, I love them but even I would burn this whole place to the ground if Roz wore a Metros' jersey
@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart 
Roz will only wear one Metros' jersey, his own, when they sign him on July 1st.
@mlhwatcher99 matt 
Wow, that's fucking delusional.
@mlhfan24 major hotties league  
Dude, I don't think the Metros even like Shane right now, there's no way they're adding Rozanov.
@r0zzzzan0v rozanov 81 
Boston still might re-sign him!
@mlhwatcher99 matt 
Nah. I have a friend who works in the front office at the Raiders and they said the mood there is very anti-Rozanov. Management is super pissed about being out of the loop and getting caught off guard. Plus Roz can't travel, re-signing him means they're pissing off Russia and there's some good Russian prospects right now.

@h0llanderh0llander jude 
And that's game one for the Metros!!!! We're so back, baby!!!

@metrosfan3524 go metros go! 
We never went anywhere?
@h0llanderh0llander jude 
WE'RE SO BACK BABY!!! 

@hollygirly becca
Kind of crazy how most of the Metros don't seem to be engaging with Shane.

@stickspucksgame brad  
And cutting again to Rozanov in the stands, can TSN stop shoving this down our fucking faces.

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole 
Stay mad, asshole.

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole  
Anyone else completely in their feelings about the shots of Rozanov and Hollander's parents? Like every time they cut to them they look so cozy, chatting and watching their boy play. 

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
So cute! He's already adopted by the boyfriend's parents.
@raidmeraiders raiders for life 
He is a full grown man.
@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole  
You can still be adopted as a full grown adult.

@rznv81 rozanov mvp of my heart 
THEY WON DIDN'T THEY. Never change, Roz, never change.

@MontrealMetrosOfficial Montreal Metros ✅ 
With goals from Shane Hollander (#24) and J.J. Dagenais (#16), the Montreal Metros lead the series 1-0. 

@metrosfan3524 go metros go! 
GAME TWO LET'S GO!!!!

@mlhfan24 major hotties league
Anyone know what Hollander jersey Rozanov has on?

@hollanov hollanov truther number one
2011 All Stars.

@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p. 
Lots of passing, lots of attempts, but nothing going in. Going to be one of those games.

@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p. 
FINALLY! Goal for Hollander. 
@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p.
Ah fuck, of course Detroit ties it up.
@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p. 
What just happened??!?!?! Where the fuck was Hollander??

@metoshockey jackson coe
HOLLANDER WHAT THE HELL!

@mlhwatcher99 matt
Did he fall fucking asleep or something? JFC what a shit face off, and Detroit scored off it. Way to fucking go. 

@hockeyandbeer steve's twitter
Hollander freezing at the face off and now we're losing the game. 

@stickspucksgame brad  
Told you, he can't handle the game anymore.

@hollygirly becca 
Has anyone figured out what Ivanov said to him?

@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast 
Shouldn't be leading a playoff team if you can't handle a chirp.

@frankshockeytwt frank
Can't believe we lost that one. 

@metoshockey jackson coe
More like can't believe Hollander lost us that one.
@frankshockeytwt frank
Team is more than just Hollander.
@metoshockey jackson coe
Yeah but if Hollander hadn't frozen, Ivanov wouldn't have got that last goal..

@mlhobsessed hockey is life 
I know we joke about hockey robot Shane Hollander but was he even a person during the media after that game? Don't think I've ever seen a player that checked out and on auto pilot.

@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p. 
Probably thinking about how he fucked the Metros over.
@mlhobsessed hockey is life 
Relax, it's game two. We still got time.

@hollygirly becca 
Ivanov has never participated in a pride night and has often spoken highly of his home country of Russia. Not sure what he said to Hollander but it was probably very homophobic or even threatening.

@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast 
That's a stretch.
@hollygirly becca 
Is it? 
@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast 
Even if he did say something shitty, Hollander needs to learn how to handle it or shut the hell up about his sexuality and not give the other players the ammo.
@hollygirly becca 
So the gay man needs to police himself and not the homophobic asshole, okay.

@MontrealMetrosOfficial Montreal Metros ✅
A loss in game two ties it up to 1-1 for the series. Goal by Shane Hollander (#24) in the first, assisted by Hayden Pike (#35). 

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

💛 As always, blown away by the support for this and thank you everyone!

 

TW: a slur is used in this chapter

They lost game two, but it's fine. Sweeps were rare, they were bound to lose a game or two. Ivanov was a dickhead, but it's fine. Shane now knew nothing was off limits and wasn't going to get caught off guard again. The room was tense and awkward, but it's fine. They were still a good team and everyone just needed a few more days to adjust to finding out he was gay and dating Rozanov. They could still pull this round off. 

It's fine when he wakes up alone in a hotel bed, missing Ilya's warmth next to him. It's fine when his mom calls and asks how he's doing, her voice going soft in the way it does when she's concerned. 

It's fine when he presses ice to bruise that bloomed along the back of his shoulder, the one on his hip, the one on his ribs, the collection of smaller ones - more than he's ever had in a round one before. It's fine when the hits keep coming, hard and brutal, and he's not sure if it's because he's gay, or because he's the only Metro managing to keep the team from completely self imploding on the ice.  

It's fine when he talks to Ilya during the nights at the hotel on the road, and they both know he's not being completely honest about how not fine it really is. It's fine when Ilya doesn't call him on it, but Shane can hear in his voice how much he wants to. 

It's fine when Theriault gets more and more aggressive in their chats. It's fine when comments about Shane's leadership get more and more disparaging. It's fine when he checks the internet and all he sees are think pieces about how the Metros are falling apart and whether Shane was to blame. 

It's fine when the cutting remarks from his own teammates show no signs of stopping. It's fine when his one mistake in game two is continually brought out like some justification for every other loss, when he's been the only one fighting for the win.

It's fine when he winces as he pulls his ribs, ignoring Ilya's look of concern, as Shane moves around their apartment, back on home ice for game five. It's fine when Ilya asks about the bruises, the hits, the way Shane looks like he's in the middle of round four and not round one. It's fine when he says it's fine and watches Ilya's eyes narrow with the lie. 

It's fine, it's fine, it's fine.

Until game five and three losses in a row and Shane can't pretend it's fine anymore. But he still damn well tries. 

Theriault is on a war path in the room, barking orders, last minute adjustments to lines, reminders of strategies, reminders not to get "distracted" which Shane knows is code for "don't let Hollander's gay shit lose this game for us". 

It's fine.

If a reporter asked Shane if he ever thought going into a game they would lose it, he would have said the polite version of fuck no. That there was always a chance, hockey was a fast moving game with lots of parts and it could go any way on any given night. There was no game that wasn't winnable. 

The instant the puck drops on game five though he knows that's a lie. He knows they will lose this game. 

The team is too disconnected, lines not working the way they should, too much division within their own ranks to make even a dent in the unified front Detroit comes out swinging with. It's the kind of game that Shane knows immediately will haunt his career. To be analyzed and broken down, to be brought up anytime he faces Detroit again, anytime he makes playoffs again, forever noted as the gold standard in Shane Hollander failure. How it looks when everything goes wrong for a player that rarely has anything go wrong. 

A gotcha moment that people will gleefully post about for months.

He got distracted…
This is why gay men shouldn't be in sports…
He was never really all that great to begin with…
The beginning of the end of Hollander…

He scores the lone goal for the Metros, one that's not making highlight reels anytime soon, and watches with frustration as Detroit tallies up three goals. It feels like the embarrassment it is and while Shane rarely wants a game to be over, he's counting down the seconds on this one. There's a bitter taste in the back of his throat as the buzzer sounds and he watches the Detroit players crash into each other in celebration. It's not even jealousy. It's just a bone deep tiredness, grief for the way things used to be and the knowing they never would be that way again. 

He wrangles his team into the handshake line. It feels more demoralizing than any other handshake line he's been in. Choking out a good game to a line of players who had done nothing but call him slurs and use him as a punching bag for five games straight. He drops his hand for Ivanov though, a hard look in his eye as he passes the other player. He knows it will draw media attention. He doesn't care. It can be just one more thing to tear him apart in the wake of the Metros being knocked out in the first round after winning two cups in a row. 

The room is -

Awful.

Sticks, gloves, and helmets are thrown into cubbys. The sound clattering through the room, breaking the heavy silence of the team. 

Shane is the last one in. He knows he needs to say something. He's the Captain, win or lose, and it's on him to navigate his team through both. There's nothing though but a bitter, coppery taste in the back of his throat, and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and no room for words of consolation. He knows they're going to pull him for media soon, the very idea of it makes his skin crawl. He pulls off his jersey, wincing at it tugs at the ribs he definitely shouldn't have played with. His compression shirt sticks to his skin, cooling, and the feeling is never a great one, but it's so uncomfortable at that moment he wants to rip the damn thing off. 

"We'll get them next year, eh boys?" JJ says, trying to break the dour mood. 

Shane flinches at the sudden noise. It should be him. It's supposed to be him, breaking the silence in the room. And yet he can't even muster a reply. 

"Yeah, next year… if Hollander can get his head out of his ass," Gagnon barks from his stall.

"Or out of Rozanov's you mean," Comeau barks back, leering at Shane. 

"Hey, out of line, Comeau," Hayden shouts. 

There's more voices, overlapping, and Shane can't make it all out. It's just… noise. About him. About Rozanov. About how he'd lost them the game, the round, the cup. 

His team, and to them he was nothing more than a punchline. A scapegoat. The only one who had managed to keep their games from being a complete embarrassment and it wasn't enough because that one other thing overshadowed it. It wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to sit here, listening to them all rake him over the coals, putting all the blame of their loss on his shoulders and his alone.

"Too busy showing off for his fucking boyfriend," Stedlund seethes, adding to the comments. 

"Fucking enough!" he shouts, almost startling himself with the volume of it.

Everyone quiets, heads snapping to look at Shane. 

"We're a goddamn team, we win as a team, and we lose as a team," Shane continues, looking from player to player. "But whatever the fuck happened out there," he says, pointing back towards the door and the rink beyond, "that wasn't a team."

Comeau scoffs. "Yeah, and whose fucking fault was that." 

"All of ours," Shane answers briskly.

"Nah," Comeau says and starts walking towards Shane. "See, I think only one of us was fucking the enemy for years and got found out. I think only one of us thought it was a good idea to come out right before the playoffs and make shit weird. I think only one of us fucked this up for everyone else," he finishes, jabbing a finger into Shane's chest with the last words. 

Shane doesn't flinch. 

"Way I see it Comeau, you got two options," Shane starts, trying to keep his voice even. "You can get the fuck over it, or keep letting what I do on my own time affect your game and we spend next season losing like we did this round."

"Fuck you, you goddamn fag - " Comeau roars and shoves Shane into the cubbys. 

Chaos explodes. Voices yelling, hands grabbing at Comeau, hands grabbing at Shane, trying to pull them apart from each other. Shane can barely process what is happening, who is grabbing at who, who is saying what. His hands grapple towards Comeau, trying to push him away as Comeau keeps trying to rush him. A sharp pain blossoms across his face, and he hears someone swear. It's not a punch, at least he doesn't think it is. Someone's elbow maybe? 

"What the hell is going on?" Theriault's voice booms over the mayhem and that's enough to break it up. Shane stumbles back, touching the right side of his face gingerly, and sits in front of his cubby. 

Theriault looks around the room. "What, you had a piss poor showing on the ice, you thought you'd cap it off with an ever shittier showing after?"

No one says anything, Shane watches as most of the team drops their heads, gazes down. 

"JJ! You're on press, the rest of you get your fucking shit together," Theriault commands.

JJ gives Shane's shoulder a squeeze as he gets up and follows after their coach. Hayden is next to him and he hands Shane an instant ice pack from his bag. Shane cracks it and presses it to his face with a mumbled thanks.

Hayden lets out a slow breath, leans back. "You okay, man?" 

Shane glances around the room. Comeau is glaring daggers at them. Shane peels off his compression layers and dresses quickly. It feels terrible, pulling clothes over skin that still has a layer of sweat, but the idea of going into the showers feels worse right then. He just wants to get out before something else happens. He wants to cry, he wants to punch someone, he wants to hide away forever, he wants to tell everyone in the world off. He wants to rewind to when his life made sense, when he just worried that his teammates couldn't get past him being gay and not have the physical proof of that on his face. He wants to throw up. He doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't even know what he feels. 

He looks to Hayden, "I'm fine."

Ilya frowns as he watches the post game press highlights. He knows it's not Shane's favorite thing, and no one likes to do it after a loss, but it's a surprise to see JJ handling it. He knows Shane was collecting bruises and injuries, but he had skated off on his own. He'd been insisting everything was fine for almost two weeks now, so why wouldn't he be doing press like he usually did. 

His phone buzzes in his hand with the incoming text.

Ilya flips back to the press clips. The same questions, the same answers. JJ is decent enough at it, but seems to freeze when someone asks about Shane. And Ilya can hear the bullshit from a mile away when JJ says Shane is trying to keep spirits up in the room. 

He glances at the time. Shane should be home any minute. The stream he's watching switches back to the commentators. They show the handshake line, focusing in on Shane dropping his hand for Ivanov, and Ilya makes a face as the commentators say something about sportsmanship and how disappointing a moment it was. "Only one fucking asshole there and it's not Hollander," Ilya mutters.

The keypad sounds and Ilya closes the stream, setting his phone down. He stands up to watch Shane move from the entry into the kitchen. 

Shane looks like shit. Which is not normally something Ilya thinks when he looks at his boyfriend, but he can't help but think it now as Shane walks into the apartment. There's a slight limp, and it's easy to see him favouring his left side. Ilya knows there's a hell of a bruise across his right ribs and hip, and knows the hits he took all night that will have only made it worse. He knows the bruise on Shane's left shoulder. He knows the tiredness that comes from playoff games. And he knows the heartbreak of getting eliminated.

What's new though, and what he can't place, is the bruise blooming across Shane's cheekbone. Like he had been hit. But Ilya doesn't remember Shane being in a fight on the ice.

"What happened to your face?" It's not what he meant to ask first, or say first, in the wake of Shane losing the round. But it's a bruise he can't place, and the worry wins out over everything else. 

He moves to meet Shane, gently holding Shane's jaw in his hand so he can turn his face, examining the mark in the light. It's new. Still more red than the yellow and purple that will come later. The skin isn't broken at least, but when he so very lightly touches a finger to the edge he can feel the heat. It will need to be iced. Along with half of Shane's body.

Shane brushes off the hand and turns away to move to the fridge. "Took a high stick, late in the game," he replies as he opens the fridge for a bottle of water.

Ilya frowns. He doesn't remember a high stick, and there wasn't a moment in the game when he wasn't looking at Shane when he was on the ice. It's another brush off. Another I'm fine when he clearly wasn't. 

He watches Shane, the tense set of his shoulders, the way he moves like his own skin is bothering him, the way his hair sticks flat - like it hadn't been washed after the game. Like Shane hadn't showered after the game, which is something he can't ever imagine Shane doing willingly. 

Something had happened. 

"I don't remember seeing a high stick," Ilya says, delicately. It's not an accusation, it's an opening. 

"Maybe you missed it, happened quick," Shane replies, eyes focused on the water bottle in his hands.

"Shane…" Ilya tries, moving in closer, reaching a hand to curl around Shane's arm. "It was not a high stick, and you are not… fine. Please just tell me what is going on, I'm here for you." He slides his other hand around the back of Shane's neck, ducking a little to try to meet his eyes. "You can tell me what's going on."

Shane looks up, meets Ilya's eyes. "I'm fine, Ilya," he says, sharply. 

Ilya scoffs and drops his hands, taking a few steps away. "Fine," he starts, the word short. "Of course you are fine. Everything is fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine," Ilya continues, hands gesturing as his tone gets more and more frustrated. "I am so sick of the word fine, Hollander. It is all you have been saying for nearly two weeks. You are fine, team is fine, room is fine. It is fine when I ask, it is fine when your mama asks..."

Shane flinches a little at the mention of his mother. "You've been talking to my mom about me?"

Ilya sighs, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes for a moment. "She is worried about you, Shane. I'm worried about you. You just keep telling us same thing, that it is fine." He watches Shane, and when Shane doesn't seem like he's going to say anything, Ilya keeps going. "But it is clearly not fucking fine," he grits out, gesturing at the mark on Shane's face. It's not quite yelling, but it's hard. Laced with the frustration and helplessness he's been feeling more and more.

It's quiet. Shane is staring down at his feet as Ilya watches him closely. Ilya moves in again, the tip of his big toe pressing to Shane's. But he doesn't reach for him, not yet. "Sweetheart… it is not fine, you do not have to keep pretending it is. Not to me."

"Just fucking drop it, Ilya!" Shane yells, moving away, and the blinks a few times in the silence that follows. Like he's not quite sure the words just came from him.

"I just want to shower and forget tonight ever fucking happened." The words are short and tense, but quieter, Shane's gaze hard as he looks at Ilya.

"Fine," Ilya says, and he knows it's petty as hell even as it leaves his mouth, spat back like a swear, and he immediately wants to take it back. But it's too late. Shane is already heading for the stairs, body tight and without even a glance back.

Ilya moves to the island and drops his head heavy into his arms. "Fuck." 

@stickspucksgame brad  
Hollander can't even do press after costing his team the cup? What a spineless asshole.

@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast 
Too soft to show his face after a loss, too soft for hockey. 

@hollyander  - number 2 in draft 1 in my heart
It's weird they have JJ out, right? Like they've had Shane doing press every game, why switch it up now?

@metr0b0y jayden
So much for that three-peat

 @admiralstan hunter fan
It was never going to happen anyway. It's Hunter's year.
@metr0b0y jayden
You guys say that every year and every year he crashes out. 

@hollygirly becca 
Shane's never not shaken someone's hand in a line before, right? What the hell went down with him and Ivanov.

@h0llanderh0llander jude 
Must have been bad.
@hockeyandbeer steve's twitter
Or Hollander's just a sore loser.

@frankshockeytwt frank
Sad to see the crass display by Hollander. While not a league requirement, post playoff round handshake lines have been a long standing tradition. Very unsportsmanlike to not shake someone's hand in it. 

@iiiiiiiiilyaroznov rozanov's mole  
Anyone ID Rozanov's jersey from tonight?

@metrosgirlygirl hollander stan
All-Stars 2011
@haydenspike35 hayen fan #1
OMG Hollander is a hoarder
@metrosgirlygirl hollander stan
I mean, it was his first All-Stars, I'd keep that one too
@hollanov hollanov truther number one 
Speaking of first All-Stars, now that we know it's been THE WHOLE DAMN TIME, bringing this around again.
[ video of Shane and Ilya's press conference ]
@h0llan0v2484 hollanov fan
BABIES

@MLH_Offical MLH Official ✅
Heartbreaking end to Montreal's season, losing 3-1. Detroit takes the round in five games.

@metoshockey jackson coe
Hopefully the Metro's drop Hollander before next season. 

@dylanwatcheshockey dylan p.
Think he's still got a year on his contract. 
@hockeylyfe brett, hockey enthusiast 
Boston was lucky, Rozanov's was done this season. 

Chapter End Notes

So.... I kind of feel like I need to apologize for where we left Shane and Ilya here lol. SORRY!