Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander/Yuna Hollander, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Home, Light Angst, Yuna Hollander Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya rozanov is a good boyfriend, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Domestic Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Emotional, Misunderstandings, Closeted Character, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Yuna Hollander, Secret Relationship, Coming Out, Shane Hollander is High on Pain Medication, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Trying His Best, Good Parents David Hollander/Yuna Hollander, Protective Yuna Hollander, Established Relationship, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt Shane Hollander, Anxious Shane Hollander, POV Outsider, Domestic, Domestic Boyfriends, Domestic Fluff, Reveal, Relationship Reveal, Fluff and Humor, David Hollander Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Anxious Ilya Rozanov, Banter, omelets, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov Relationship Timeline Reveal, Podfic Welcome, Translations Welcome, Fanart Welcome, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Meet the Family, Ilya Rozanov's Last Year Playing in Boston, Between Book 2: Heated Rivalry and Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Collections:

RainyBugs_Hollanov_Yay!

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-01 Completed: 2026-02-25 Words: 12,482 Chapters: 4/4

Home

Summary

Shane was hurt and Ilya couldn’t be there with him. No one knew that he cared, that his boyfriend was in the hospital, not even Shane’s parents.

OR: Yuna Hollander just wanted to grab some of Shane’s things from his apartment during his hospital stay. She didn't suspect she'd stumble across a home invasion, and that the perpetrator would be Ilya Rozanov.

(Shane’s okay!)

Notes

If Ilya’s speaking when he’s by himself, it’s safe to assume that it’s in Russian.

Translation into Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/019d406b-09a3-7856-9e87-664c00510ff7

Chapter 1: Yours, Mine, Ours

Chapter Notes

I wrote this all in one sitting because I was having big feelings about Shane and Ilya.

To Ilya, their time at the cottage was perfect. It was… intimacy, plain and simple, uninterrupted by the pressures that were hockey, family, Russia; all the things that held him and Shane back from just being with one another. When they were at the cottage, it was just the two of them, together, in a perfect little isolated bubble of Shane’s creation.

But as all good things ultimately do, their first summer together—and he really did hope it was just the first of many—came to an end, and the two of them found themselves back in the real world.

Perhaps, in another life, before the end of the season, Marleau injured Shane. Maybe this led to Shane’s father accidentally leaving his phone charger behind when helping his son settle into his cottage for the summer. Possibly, that one mistake led to them being caught kissing after only a few days alone together.

In this life, none of that happened, and their blissful few weeks together passed by uninterrupted. Not a single other soul knew what they’d become; how things had changed and what they truly meant to one another. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were in love, boyfriends. They finally had something real, honest, an actual label, and not a single soul besides the two of them had any clue.

Eventually, the summer came to a close, and the new season began. It would be Ilya’s final season with the Bears, not that anyone besides him and Shane knew that. It was bittersweet. He loved his team and the city of Boston, but he missed Shane to a painful extent, and could hardly wait to be just a mere two hours apart almost all year-round.

Ilya knew Shane wanted to tell his parents about them. He seemed certain they would react well, and Ilya was doing his best not to doubt that. Shane planned to wait until summer, when there was time to introduce them properly and things between them had been given suitable space to settle, breathe, solidify.

It’d made sense at the time… their plan to wait. Neither of them had anticipated Shane’s injury. Why would they? If they’d known, they would’ve done things differently. It was a clean hit, just three games into the playoffs, Montreal vs Boston. They’d both been so excited to get some time together.

Marleau’s shoulder slammed into Shane at high velocity. The angle was all wrong, and Shane didn’t get back up. Ilya was left alone, no one knowing, no one having any idea, that someone out there loved and was loved by Shane…

Someone who just wanted to know that his boyfriend was alright.

Ilya knew that if he truly wanted to, he could march into the hospital and demand to see Shane. His beautiful, brilliant boyfriend had made them put one another as emergency contacts at the start of the season. He was down all the way at the bottom of the list—a last resort, so their secret wouldn’t get out unless it was absolutely necessary—but he was there.

He could be with Shane right now.

Ilya would never do that, though. He wouldn’t destroy everything they’d built… just to what? Visit Shane? Pop in to say hello?

He knew that Shane was alive and at Montreal General; okay, but out for the rest of the playoffs. Shane was alive. He was okay. He would be back by next season. That was all public knowledge, and the only reason he wasn’t getting a text from Shane was that someone had confiscated his phone. Shane definitely had a concussion, and not being allowed screens was standard procedure for that. He was sure of it. Everything was fine.

So why was it so damn hard to stay away?

Ilya glanced down at his phone as he stepped out of the car. He’d been checking it obsessively since the end of the game, and still nothing. He pulled his hood up a little further, just to be sure no one spotted him, as he made his way up to the front door.

After the quickest post-game shower of his life and dodging his teammates’ attempts to talk, Ilya had called for a car to take him directly from the arena to Shane’s apartment. Shane wouldn’t be there; he knew that, but like hell was he going back to the hotel in this state. Firstly, all his shit was already at Shane’s from the night before, but more importantly, he was a mess. Too obvious, too visibly in love with Shane Hollander, to be around other people.

God, he was a disaster.

He pulled out his keys and typed in the door code. There was a small beep as the door unlocked, and he let himself inside. Ilya closed the door gently behind him and toed off his shoes in the dark, not bothering with the lights. He felt simultaneously drained and buzzing with energy. He hung his keys and jacket by the door and dropped his bag on the mat Shane kept by the door for that express purpose.

Shane was a neat freak, having a specific spot in his home gym where he kept his own bag, but once Ilya started making regular appearances at his place, the mat was a quick addition. Most days, Ilya was too lazy to bring his bag all the way into the gym, and when Shane moved it there himself, Ilya would just forget his bag when he left. The compromise had been the mat; Shane refused to let him leave his ‘gross’ bag on his nice hardwood floors.

“Fuck,” he cursed, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to start crying. He dropped into a squat, phone clutched in his hands, hands pressed to his forehead, too overwhelmed to go further inside than the front hall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His phone vibrated, and he scrambled to look at it, but it was just the team chat, so he quickly shut it off and pressed his palms into his eyes.

He let himself crumble, alone there in the hallway. No one was around to see. He didn’t have to perform. He could just think about Shane, in the hospital and out of Ilya’s reach. He was stuck here, surrounded by reminders of Shane, but alone. “Fuck!”

Eventually, he managed to pull himself together enough to move further inside. Ilya had no idea how much time had passed. He felt like he was moving through a thick sludge; it took all his effort just to put one foot in front of the other.

Somewhere, deep in his brain, he knew he needed to sleep, but as he headed toward the bedroom, something that sounded a lot like Shane’s voice stopped him. You just played a game. You have to eat something.

He did a quick 180 and stumbled into the kitchen, where he proceeded to gulp down three of Shane’s disgusting protein shakes, dumping their carcasses in the trash with a muttered, “Gross.”

He eventually made it to the bedroom and… No outside clothes in bed, Ilya. Do you even know how many fucking germs you’ve got on you right now?

It was Shane again. His eyes watered, but no tears fell. It was so stupid, an argument they’d had a hundred times over the years, even back before they got together for real. He’d showered at the stadium after the game. He was already clean. It was so dumb.

Ilya quickly shucked his clothes and threw them into the hamper before collapsing into bed. He set an alarm for an hour before visiting hours started the next day, then curled up under the covers into the tightest ball he could manage.

The bed smelled like Shane.

It took just seconds for the tears to start falling. It wasn’t fair. If he were anyone else, he could be at the hospital with Shane. Eventually, exhausted from the game and emotions of the day, he drifted off into a restless sleep.

Ilya woke up two hours before his alarm was set to go off. The hospital was five minutes away. He had at least two and a half hours before he could leave and not look like a crazy person, showing up to see Shane Hollander for ‘captainly duties’, or whatever the fuck he was supposed to say when he got there.

He spent a good fifteen minutes lying in bed, alternating between staring up blankly at the ceiling and obsessively checking his phone for any news. Eventually, general antsiness, a gradually building headache, and the need to empty his bladder forced him out of bed and into the bathroom, where he was immediately confronted with just how much of a mess he was. He couldn’t show up at the hospital looking like this. He needed to get his shit together.

It was that thought that forced him into the shower and had him gulping down a few capfuls of liquid painkiller. Shane kept it in the medicine cabinet specially for him after learning of Ilya’s aversion to pills. He brushed his teeth to get the terrible taste out of his mouth, even going so far as to apply some cologne just to make himself feel human enough to appear in public.

After donning clean clothes from his corner of the closet—and wasn’t it crazy that Shane had carved out a corner of his closet for Ilya—something from Shane’s clothes caught his eye. It was a sweatshirt. The sweatshirt. The stupidest, most ratty oversized piece of clothing Ilya had ever laid eyes on. It had a goofy-looking cartoon octopus on the back, and for some godforsaken reason, Shane was obsessed with it.

Shane only ever wore the sweatshirt at home, and Ilya was pretty sure he was one of the only few people to have ever witnessed its monstrosity. Before he could think too hard about it, he grabbed it and shoved it over his head, immediately being enveloped in its warmth. It smelled like Shane, making his eyes well up again. It was also soft, like nothing he’d ever felt before, and it was instantly clear why Shane loved it so much. It was like wearing a hug.

He shuffled desolately out to the living room and turned on the TV, which immediately showed hockey. He snorted. Predictable. His mood fell once he realized they were still covering last night’s game and Shane’s injury. He wanted to turn it off, but what if he missed something?

Ilya left it playing at a low volume, just loud enough that he could hear if they said anything important, and abandoned the TV to make himself something quick to eat in the kitchen. His stomach was revolting after he’d refused to feed it properly last night, but thankfully, the protein shakes were keeping him from feeling lightheaded after all the calories he’d burned during the game.

Breakfast and coffee assembled, he made his way back into the living room and curled up on the couch. Keeping one eye on his phone, just in case, he shovelled food in his mouth and watched the coverage on the TV. The hit didn’t look any better from the fifteen different angles the cameras captured it than his view from the ice, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Suddenly, there was a beep and a click, and Ilya practically jumped up off the couch. It was the front door.

Shane.

He took a step toward the door, but as it opened, he stopped dead in his tracks, freezing in place. A cold trickle of dread made its way down his spine.

Fuck.

Staring back at him was not Shane. No, it couldn’t be that easy. It was Shane’s mother, one Yuna Hollander. It took her a few seconds to register that someone was standing there, but when she did, everything went to shit, and she blinked at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What the fuck!”

He gaped at her, at a complete loss for how to handle this situation. In all the times Shane had discussed introducing Ilya to his parents, they’d never once talked about what would happen if Shane wasn’t there.

Suddenly, there was movement. Yuna stepped out of the apartment and slammed the door with a resounding bang. Ilya burst into action, bolting forward and yanking open the door. Yuna was a few steps back from the door, and he could already see her dialling 9-1-1. When the door swung open, she backed up even further and looked like she was about to run.

“Wait! Yuna, yes? Please! I’m not breaking in.” As he spoke, he saw her mouth fall open, and her eyes widen as she stared at him with visibly dawning recognition. “I swear. Please. Listen. Hollander gave me key. I know code. Not criminal, Mrs. Hollander. I promise.” He put his hands up, trying to convey that he meant her no harm.

“Rozanov. You have two seconds to explain what the fuck you're doing here, or I’m calling the cops, and I promise I’ll get your name out quicker than you could shut me up.”

He fully believed her and took a step back, trying to make sure she knew he would do no such thing. He spoke quickly, “I am friend of Shane. I wanted to visit him, but visiting hours are later. So I came here first. I promise, he gave me key.”

“You’d have better luck with that particular lie if I didn’t recognise you. I’m not joking around. Tell me what the fuck is going on right now, or I will call the cops.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I–” the words caught in his throat. This was Shane’s mother. He didn’t want to take away Shane’s chance to tell her, but he was out of options here. He swallowed hard. “I truly am Shane’s friend. I– Uh, we are secret. He–” He swallowed hard again. “We are rivals, yes, but is for public. Fuck, English is hard. He–” He took a deep and embarrassingly shuddery breath. “Shane is nice,” he finished lamely.

He didn’t expect that to work, but something about what he’d said seemed to catch her off guard, and a small amount of tension leaked out of her, replaced by surprise. “Seriously?” She still didn’t sound like she believed it, but she did at least seem a little less primed to call the cops on him.

“Is true. I know– I know it sounds… crazy. But, promise. Is true.” Of all the times for his English to fail him. Every word was a struggle, and he just hoped he was conveying his point properly.

“Prove it,” Yuna said sharply.

“Uh.” He stared at her blankly for a beat. “Uhm, I don’t… uh.” He licked his lips nervously. “Door code is 1919. Uh, Shane is…” God, what could he say about Shane? He needed to say something that gained her trust, but if he said too much, it might make things even worse. What would a friend know that a boyfriend wouldn’t? Then it hit him. “We want to start charity together. For mental health. He tells you about this, yes? Is how we became friends. We have same goal to help. We hang out… to talk about plans.”

It was a lie, but one Shane could clear up later. The white lie was worth it if it meant he wouldn’t take away Shane’s chance to come out to his parents on his own terms. Yuna’s eyes widened, and finally, her death grip on her phone weakened. “He mentioned a charity… but I didn’t realize he was thinking of starting it with another player. Let alone… you.”

Since they were planning to start their charity after Ilya’s first year in Ottawa, Shane had started dropping hints to his parents throughout the season about wanting to do something to give back, so that they could at least start feeling out some ideas on how to run such an organization. It was definitely paying off now, since it gave Ilya an in for his ‘new friendship’ with Shane.

This was a fucking nightmare.

“Right, is, uh... is new,” he said vaguely, quickly adding, “Sorry.”

He could see the gears turning in Yuna’s head as she debated what to do next, and the expression was so like Shane's that he had to swallow back the lump that formed in his throat. Eventually, her eyes hardened, and she said, “Look, as much as I want to believe that you didn’t fucking break into my son’s house. I’m having a tough time with it. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get in my car and drive to the hospital. You are also going to go to the hospital. If you show up, I’ll ask Shane if what you’re saying is true. If it is, I’ll apologise. But if it’s a lie, or if you don’t show up at the hospital, I’m taking this straight to the police. This place has excellent security cameras that will back up everything I say, and you will go to jail. I’ll make sure of it.” Ilya stared at her in a mix of terror and admiration. She met his gaze coolly. “Are we clear, Rozanov?”

He nodded wordlessly, and her expression shifted expectantly, again looking so much like Shane that it made his heart hurt. “Uh, yes. Yes, I understand.” He swallowed hard. “I– Uh. I am very sorry,” he gestured vaguely at the apartment behind him, “–about… this.”

She frowned at him contemplatively, eyes flicking to look past him briefly before focusing again on him. “Move slowly. Close the door behind you.”

He moved to step outside before realizing he wasn’t wearing shoes. He glanced down at his feet, feeling betrayed by their nakedness. Yuna, seeming to realize the problem, rolled her eyes. “Shoes first, then outside.”

“Right.” He nodded and, moving slowly, slipped on a pair of sneakers. He made to step outside, then hesitated. “Uh…”

“What?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.

“Can I… uh, change? Sweatshirt?” He nodded vaguely down at himself.

Yuna nodded. “Yes. You- ah, fine. Quickly. Move slowly.”

He nodded and quickly did as she said, grabbing his own jacket. Not wasting any more time, he stepped outside and let the door fall shut behind him, locking with a quiet click. Yuna nodded and backed up slowly. “Count to fifty, then follow me. When I get there, I expect you to be right behind me.”

He licked his lips nervously. “Uh…”

“What?”

“I have no car. Must call ride.”

She closed her eyes briefly before they quickly flew open again, as if pinning him in place with her gaze. “You have your phone?”

He nodded. “In pocket.”

“Grab it.”

“Okay.” He pulled it out slowly.

“I’m going to read out my phone number to you. Once you have it, send me a text so I know it’s you. If you’re going to be any longer than fifteen minutes behind me, you will update me.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She took a deep breath and rattled off a series of numbers. He typed them in and sent a message just saying, ‘Ilya Rozanov’. In her hand, her phone buzzed. She glanced down at it and nodded. “Okay. I’m going now. Remember. Fifty seconds.”

“Fifty seconds,” he confirmed.

Yuna backed up slowly until she was out of sight, and once he was sure she was gone, Ilya let out a heavy breath and an incredibly heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Chapter End Notes

The editing on this was very light. Don’t judge me too hard :)

Chapter 2: White Lies

Chapter Notes

Thanks for all the love on the last chapter. It inspired me to write another!

Any Russian is translated by the internet, and I am very open to corrections. Just let me know!

The second she pulled out of the parking garage and onto the road, Yuna called David. It only rang twice before he picked up, and she immediately started talking, “David. You need to come down to the hospital entrance, right now.”

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“No. Everything is very much not alright. Fucking… Rozanov.”

“Rozanov? Yuna, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

She took a deep, shaky breath in and released it slowly to calm her racing heart. “It– He was there. At Shane’s apartment. Inside. Fucking– Fucking acting like he owned the place… I– I can’t. Fuck, David. He’s following me to the hospital, and I need you there.”

“He’s following you?” David suddenly sounded much more alert and concerned.

“He’s not following me, following me. I told him to come to the hospital, but I didn’t let him in my car.”

“Why is he coming to the hospital? Why–” There was a clatter on the other end of the line then, “Why was he at Shane’s?”

“I don’t know!” She exclaimed, anxiety permeating her every word. “I don’t fucking know, David! I just– I just unlocked the door, and he was there. I was gonna call the cops, but he said Shane had given him a key? And, fuck, he was sort of convincing. I didn’t want him to get in trouble if Shane was okay with him being there. He said he wanted to start a charity with Shane, and they’d become friends by talking about that, I guess? I really don’t fucking know. But I’m not just gonna trust him, so I said he should come to the hospital and see if Shane backs up what he was saying. I told him if he didn’t show, I’d call the cops on him. I mean, Shane’s got those security cameras so–”

David cut her off, “Yuna, hey. Take a breath for me, sweetheart.”

She took another deep, shaky breath. There was so much adrenaline coursing through her system that she felt like she was going to explode. “Sorry… just, sorry. I just… God, David. What the actual fuck?” She gave a panicky little laugh.

“I’m on my way down to meet you right now. Is he far behind you?”

“I’m not sure. He said he had to call a car. Which makes sense, I guess. Away game. Ugh. I told him to text me if it would be any more than fifteen minutes.”

“You gave him your number?”

“Yes. I just wanted to make sure… God, I don’t even know anymore,” she trailed off as she turned into a parking space and took another steadying breath before shutting off the car. “I’m here.”

“Good. I’m in the lobby, by the bathrooms.”

“I’m on my way.”

Ilya was doing his very best not to panic, though it wasn't going very well. His ride had come annoyingly fast, and he made it to the hospital in under ten minutes. He’d been hoping for some traffic, anything to give him a little more time before he had to face Yuna Hollander again. He still wasn’t sure he had his story straight. It might have worked in the short term, but eventually, Yuna was going to realize just how weird it was for a friend to be in Shane’s apartment and wearing his clothes when Shane was in the hospital. Hopefully, the story wouldn’t have to hold up too long, and Shane would have a chance to talk to his parents before everything sank in.

He was such an idiot, going back to Shane’s instead of the hotel. If it hadn’t been Shane’s mother, it probably would’ve been his father, or Pike. It was only a matter of time before someone in Shane’s life went to check up on things at his house or grab some things for his hospital stay. God, one of them could’ve been helping him get settled back home after being discharged! Ilya had been too caught up in feeling bad for himself to think things through, and now everything had gone to shit. He was basically forcing Shane to come out to his parents before he was ready. Ilya was a fucking terrible boyfriend.

He reluctantly stepped out of the car with the air of a man who was walking to meet his executioner, which he supposed wasn’t all that untrue. The doors parted, and he was hit with a wave of hospital air conditioning. Yuna was easy to spot, hovering off to the side with another man—Shane’s father, David, he realised—and his stomach twisted even more with nerves.

Ilya walked over to them with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and cleared his throat nervously. “I am here. Sorry, it took so long.” He looked at David. “And you are Shane’s father?” David nodded at him, face unreadable except for a small hint of what Ilya would guess were nerves.

“So, you actually showed up.” Yuna was looking at him consideringly.

“I, ah– I did not lie. Hollander is… a friend.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and met her eyes. “Uh… How– how is he? Shane?”

“He’s alright,” David stepped in with an answer. “Kid’s got a nasty concussion and a fractured collarbone, but he’ll be okay.” Even though it was what the news had been reporting, hearing it from Shane’s parents themselves was an immense weight off his shoulders. Shane was okay.

Ilya let out a relieved breath, presumably more obviously than he intended, judging by the matching pair of looks he received from the Hollanders. Quickly trying to backtrack and avoid giving away just how concerned he was, he tacked on, “Good. Would not want to lose only real competition from second best hockey player.” It came out a lot weaker than he’d intended, and he could see it written clearly on Yuna and David’s faces that his lack of conviction had not gone unnoticed. He cursed internally and schooled his face as much as possible.

Yuna shifted in place slightly before straightening up and saying, “Right. Let’s go up. Remember what I said, Rozanov. Either Shane backs your story up or–”

“Or you call police. Yes. I remember,” he confirmed seriously with a nod.

He followed the two past the front desk, not speaking more than necessary to get a visitor’s badge. They entered the elevator and rode upward in silence, stopping on the fourteenth floor. The doors opened with a cheerful little ding, and Ilya had to force his feet to move. Every step brought him closer to Shane, but they also brought him closer to revealing the truth to Shane’s family.

Yuna and David went first into the room, and Ilya trailed behind them, feeling like a kid who’d gotten caught misbehaving and was awaiting punishment. He stared at his shoes, waiting for Shane to say something, decide what story they were going to run with, but…

“Ilyaaaa!” His head snapped up in alarm. Shane was staring at him, grinning goofily. Oh fuck.

Shane was high.

This was so not part of the plan.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

Fuck, fuck fuck.

He stood in front of the door, eyes wide. “I, um, I just wanted to…” He glanced over at Shane’s parents, who seemed to be waiting for him to do the talking. He swallowed and took a steadying breath. He would start simple, “Are you okay?”

Shane looked down at himself, as if taking stock of his injuries. “Concussion and a fractured collarbone.” He looked back up at Ilya with a dopey smile. “Out for the playoffs, but…”

“Could have been worse,” Ilya breathed out, sounding more relieved than he would’ve preferred, given their audience.

“Could have been worse.” Shane smiled and nodded dopily. If he weren’t so panicked about their situation, he would’ve found the whole thing unbearably cute. Oh, who was he kidding? It was adorable, even given the circumstances.

“Marleau feels terrible,” he said, rather than voicing the soppy thoughts swirling around his head. “He did not mean to hurt you.”

Shane squinted at him, definitely concussed. “I know. Part of the game. We all get our bell rung eventually, right?”

“Right,” He agreed blandly.

It was at that point that Yuna decided to cut in. “Shane, sweetie?”

“Mom!” Shane turned to her enthusiastically, which caused him to wince. Ilya grimaced sympathetically.

Yuna moved closer to the bed and put a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “You know how I was going to get some of your stuff for you earlier?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. You came back.” He grinned at her.

“Yes, I did.” She smiled at him, looking only a little uncomfortable. “Look, Shane… When I went to your place, I found… uh, well, I found Rozanov there…” she trailed off.

Shane’s face became one of exaggerated concern, looking quickly back and forth between his parents and Ilya. “Oh no!”

Ilya held back a wince and cut in before Shane could make things any worse, “I told your mother about the charity we are planning to start. How we became… friends because of it.”

Shane’s eyes widened comically. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, wow. Smart!” Shane’s earnest praise had him unable to hold back his wince any longer, a fact that seemingly didn’t go unnoticed by either of Shane’s parents.

“Is that not true, honey?” Yuna looked at Ilya with narrowed eyes, and he resisted the urge to run.

“Eh,” Shane said with a noncommittal shrug. Ilya felt the urge to shake him, as if that would somehow sober his boyfriend up. Suddenly, a look crossed over Shane’s face, as if he’d had some sort of epiphany, but all Ilya felt was a sudden wave of dread. “Hey. Heeeey!” Shane reached out a hand toward Ilya. His heart sank into his shoes. When he didn’t move any closer, Shane pathetically turned to his parents and asked, “We’re friends, right?”

As he looked at his parents for confirmation, Ilya shoved his hands in his pockets so as not give away his nerves. Eventually, Shane’s father said, “I’m not really sure, kid. You’d know better than us.”

Shane seemed to take that as his go-ahead to once more call for Ilya, “Hey! Come’ere. We’re friends,” he sounded giddy to be saying it.

After one last glance at Shane’s baffled parents, Ilya finally acquiesced. “Okay, okay.” He walked up to the bed, carefully staying just out of Shane’s reach. He gave a tense smile to Yuna, who’d stiffened when he’d gotten closer.

Shane seemed to realize he wasn’t getting any closer and dropped his hand with an exaggerated huff of disappointment and annoyance. He stared up at Ilya with sad eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night.”

Did Shane think he wasn’t touching him because he was mad? Fuck. Ilya desperately wanted to reach out, run his fingers over the bruises under Shane’s eyes, but resisted. He felt his lip tremble ever so slightly, but took another deep breath, and it steadied. He tried to smile at Shane. “No, it’s okay.”

Yuna looked at Shane softly. “Is that why he was at your place, Shane? Were you going to meet last night?”

“Yes, to talk about the charity,” Ilya said, before Shane had a chance to say anything.

Yuna shot him a glare. “Actually, I’d like some confirmation from my son.”

“Sorry,” he said, looking down awkwardly.

“I was excited about last night,” Shane said, still unfortunately talking more to Ilya than his mother. It was clear from his tone. Ilya’s head shot up to see Shane smiling goofily at him. “I’m mostly mad at Marleau for… fucking that up.”

Eyes darting quickly to Yuna, then back to Shane, Ilya said, “He feels really bad.”

Shane nodded at him, and then his face fell. “You know, it really sucks.”

“What sucks?” Yuna asked, and Shane’s attention finally turned back to her.

“Maybe it’s better if you just rest now,” Ilya cut in, no longer caring if Shane’s parents could see his desperation to shut his boyfriend up.

Yuna glared at him again, but Shane was already talking, “We were having so much fun with playoffs together, y’know. Then summer’s next. Don’t wanna waste any time…” Shane trailed off, closing his eyes, expression dreamy.

Well, fuck. That was… more revealing than Ilya would’ve liked. He forced another awkward smile. “We have been enjoying planning the charity. I think we are both very excited about it, yes?”

“Mmm.” Shane nodded, eyes still glued shut. “Yeah…” He blinked up at his mother. “We’re gonna name it after Ilya’s mother,” his voice was low, nearly a whisper, like he was telling his mom some great secret.

Ilya swallowed hard, blinking back tears. Shane’s parents were looking at him again. His voice broke slightly as he said, “Yes. We wanted the charity to be for… mental health. We, uh… My mother struggled… up here,” he tapped his temple. “I lost her because of it,” he added after a moment.

Their faces both twisted in sympathy. He felt something brush his fingers and then… Shane was holding his hand. He’d reached over, injuries be damned, to grab Ilya’s hand, just to comfort him. Fuck. He loved Shane so fucking much that sometimes he had no idea what to do with it. Like now, for example.

He looked down at their intertwined fingers and then back up at Shane’s parents. “I– uh…” Then everything went to shit.

“Love you,” Shane’s words knocked the breath out of his lungs, and not just for the normal emotional reason. Shane’s parents were staring at them now, eyes wide and understanding plastered across their faces.

Goddamnit, Shane.

“Ilya?” Shane’s concerned and a little bit confused voice cut through the silence that’d fallen over the room, and he squeezed Ilya’s hand.

Tearing his gaze away from his boyfriend’s parents, he looked down at Shane with a tense smile. “Sorry. Я тоже тебя люблю.” Shane smiled dopily up at him, and the room fell silent again.

“So–”

“You should talk to Shane once he’s no longer high,” Ilya firmly cut Yuna off.

She fell silent, and he looked up to meet her gaze. At some point, David’s hand had come up to rest on her shoulder, and Ilya saw him give it a firm squeeze.

Yuna blinked hurriedly and said, “Alright. I– I can wait for Shane.” Her voice was softer than Ilya expected. He nodded at her before glancing back down at Shane, who looked on the verge of falling asleep.

The next few hours passed in a blur of awkward silence, doctors and nurses, and occasional few-minute-long bursts where Shane was conscious, but not quite lucid.

Ilya tried to stay as unobtrusive as possible, which was made difficult by the fact that he was sitting right next to Shane and holding his hand, but every time he tried to let go, Shane would either look miserable in his sleep or refuse to let go and whine about it if he was awake. The one time he had to use the bathroom, Shane made him feel very guilty about the whole thing by pouting at him.

Shane’s parents spoke to him very little, David attempted to make smalltalk only a few times, with little success, and Yuna offered to grab him a drink and sandwich when she left to get something for herself and David. He didn’t speak to any of the medical professionals who buzzed in and out of the room, trying to blend into the wall and praying that they either didn’t recognise him or that they legally couldn’t tell anyone about his presence if they did.

Shane was due to be discharged in the late afternoon, and when the time rolled around, they loaded him up with one last big dose of pain meds and sent an orderly to wheel him down to the back exit. Yuna went ahead to pull the car around while David stayed back. When the time came to leave, Ilya said, “I should stay back. Go by myself. Meet you there.”

David, thankfully, and a little surprisingly, didn’t press the issue, simply nodding and following Shane’s wheelchair down the hall. Ilya stared after them for a few moments before shaking his head.

He was so fucked.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Ilya :(
He's really trying his best, and Shane is so fucking high :)

Chapter 3: Slow Build

Chapter Notes

I added a little something to the end of chapter 2 since the date I originally posted it, so you might want to reread that before you read this chapter!

Any Russian is translated by the internet, and I am very open to corrections. Just let me know!

Leaving Rozanov behind at the hospital was both a relief and incredibly nerve-wracking. Yuna was deeply appreciative of the chance to just be with her son without Rozanov breathing down her neck, but she was also hesitant about letting him out of her sight when things still seemed so uncertain. She’d gotten over her worries about him breaking into Shane’s house; it was obvious there was a lot more to it than that, but the whole thing was still… a lot. She knew he’d only be a few minutes behind them, but that was still a few minutes of peace for her rattled mind. This day had been endless.

The drive was peppered with pathetic little whiny complaints from Shane every time they drove a little too fast for his collarbone or went over a rough patch of road. It was a clear sign he was still high as a kite, because Shane was much more of a ‘bury the pain’ kind of person. Thankfully, the drive was short, and it wasn’t long until they were pulling up to Shane’s building. Yuna walked ahead of David as he helped Shane out of the car and up the front walk so she could open the door and let the three of them inside.

The first thing she noticed was that the TV was on, already playing some old hockey match, the Admirals vs the Centaurs. There was also a dirty plate and a half-full mug of coffee sitting out on the coffee table. Rozanov, she assumed. Something in her gut twisted uncomfortably and she watched out of the corner of her eye as David got Shane settled on the couch, busying herself with unpacking Shane’s meds onto the island.

David left the TV on and picked up the dishes, walking over to her and giving her a quick peck on the cheek and saying quietly, “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

She nodded, not feeling significantly convinced. “I know, it’s just…” she trailed off.

“I know.” David bumped their arms gently together before walking the dishes over to the sink and starting to rinse them.

Yuna took a steadying breath and walked over to Shane, trying very hard to smile in a way that would read as natural and not forced. Shane was leaning back into the couch with his eyes closed and face slack. He’d had enough concussions by now to know that he’d go crazy without something playing in the background, but even in his drugged-up state, he knew the consequences if he didn’t keep his eyes closed. He’d get a headache, yes, but he’d also get his tv privileges revoked.

She ran a hand through his hair, and he blinked rapidly, then squinted up at her, eyes hazy and unfocused. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, baby,” she said, still stroking gently through his hair, which was unpleasantly greasy. He hadn’t had a chance to shower, and while the hospital sponges did wonders for his sweaty body, he hadn’t been admitted long enough for anyone to bother helping him with his hair. She didn’t mention it to him, knowing that the second he realised how greasy his hair was, he wouldn’t be able to relax until he was clean.

“Whr’s dad?” He seemed really out of it, probably due to the heavy dose of painkillers they’d given him right before he was discharged so that they could get him home without too much trouble.

“He’s in the kitchen, he’ll be back in a second.”

“‘Kay.” His eyes drifted shut again.

“Do you need anything? I can go get you a blanket or a snack?”

His eyebrows pinched. “Sweatshirt? Is’ blue and big. There’s an octopus on the back.”

“Where is it?”

“Closet,” Shane said, eyes drifting shut.

Yuna walked over to Shane’s room and immediately regretted opening the door. The bed was unmade. Shane would never leave it like that. There was stuff on both nightstands. Shane was one person. There was a fucking Boston Raiders sweatshirt staring at her from the top of the laundry basket.

She grit her teeth and moved to the closet, only to be confronted with what was clearly a split wardrobe. Shane would never wear something like that. That’s not a brand Shane’s allowed to wear. That’s another fucking Boston Raider’s sweatshirt. Very purposefully not prying, she rifled through the sweatshirts, only to come up blank. Seriously, all that and she couldn’t even find the thing?

She made her way out, shutting the door behind herself. If the door was shut, she could try to forget what she’d seen. She pasted on a smile as she made her way over to Shane. “Sorry, I couldn’t find it.”

He frowned, then shrugged, wincing at the movement. “‘S okay. Thanks for lookin’.”

“Okay, baby,” she said softly, then there was a knock on the door.

Rozanov was back.

Fuck.

As he reached Shane’s front door, Ilya instinctively reached into his pocket for his keys, only to remember that in his rush to leave earlier that morning, he hadn’t had a chance to grab them. Feeling incredibly awkward about the whole thing, he knocked. It was only a few seconds before David was opening the door and awkwardly gesturing him inside.

He neatly lined up his shoes by the door and hung his jacket on a hook before awkwardly shuffling his way further into the house. He felt more unwelcome in this house than he ever had before, including the years he only entered through the back door. It was strange.

All the discomfort rolled right off his shoulders the second he spotted Shane sitting propped up by a mountain of pillows on the couch. It was clear the moment Shane noticed him because his face melted into a goofy smile, and Ilya could feel his face unwittingly doing the same. God, they were so damn soppy about one another sometimes.

“Heeeey…” Shane slurred out.

“Hello,” he said. Although he’d just spent hours holding Shane’s hand directly in front of them, he was nervous about going to Shane when it was clear both his parents were watching them. It somehow seemed so much more intimate, here in the place where Shane lived.

“C’mere.” Shane’s voice was all it took to get him moving, and he quickly crossed the room to stand in front of Shane, their hands linking once again. Shane’s parents were hovering in the background, not really doing anything, and Ilya was doing his best to ignore them. He couldn’t wait until Shane was off the narcotics and could break the awkward truce that had formed between Ilya and his parents. He envied Shane for living in blissful ignorance in the meantime.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly.

“Better,” Shane said, his eyes drifting shut. “Still hurts though.”

He glanced at his phone to check the time. “Your next dose for pain is in an hour. Should help.”

“Mhhm,” Shane mumbled. Not really wanting to interact with Shane’s parents, he decided to plop down next to Shane on the couch and keep doing his important job of holding his boyfriend’s hand. It was endlessly amusing how clingy high-Shane was.

On the tv the Admirals were beating the Centaurs 8-1, and he winced at the reminder that that was his future team being destroyed on screen in front of him. It was an old game, a replay from a few months ago, and he let it distract him. Here, in Shane’s home, it was easy to relax, and he almost didn’t realize when it was time for Shane’s next dose of medication.

Yuna brought over Shane’s pills with a diet-appropriate sandwich and a tall glass of water. Ilya released his hand and helped Shane prop himself up further so he could eat more easily. Shane wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes, and it was clear he’d started to sober up in the short time they’d been sitting there. It was clear that everything that had happened over the course of the day was catching up to him, and he was starting to panic.

The pills he’d been sent home with were strong, but Ilya recognised the names from his own experience. Shane was going to be a little fuzzy for an hour or two after each dose, but would be sober more often than not. This would only get worse for him.

Yuna was still hovering, so Ilya was hesitant to do anything, but he bumped their arms together, hoping it might ground Shane, at least a little. Some of the tension slipped out of him, but he still didn’t look very relaxed.

Shane downed the meds then ate in silence. When his mother took the plate into the kitchen, Ilya took the chance to squeeze his thigh and rub his hand up and down it a few times. It was much more effective than the elbow bump, and Shane grabbed for his hand once again, giving it a hard squeeze.

“Ilya,” Shane’s voice was quiet but wrecked, and it broke Ilya’s heart to hear it. He should’ve been able to tell his parents on his own timeline. Not like this, never like this.

“I know, моя любовь. I’m so sorry.”

Shane’s eyes were welling up, but no tears fell. “Fuck. I don’t–” his words cut off as his voice gave out, but Ilya could fill in the blanks.

“It will be okay.”

Shane’s parents left them alone after that, though Ilya could hear them moving around in the background and talking to one another quietly. He wasn’t quite sure why they were being left alone, but appreciated it nonetheless.

The sky had gone dark outside by the time they were next interrupted, this time by David. “Are you boys getting hungry? I was thinking of making some pasta?” It wasn’t a question, but it was asked like one. Very Canadian of him.

At his father’s words, Shane’s eyes jolted open, and he ripped his hand out of Ilya’s. Unfortunately, that move only drew everyone’s attention, and Shane flushed uncomfortably. “Uhm,” he started awkwardly. “That sounds good.”

He glanced at Ilya, who nodded. “Yes. Is good.”

David smiled awkwardly before leaving them once more. Shane leaned backwards, obviously freaking out and whispering urgently, “Fuck, this is a fucking nightmare.”

“Shane…” Ilya turned his upper body so he was facing Shane and rubbed a hand up and down his arm while capturing his other hand in a comforting hold once more.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Shane looked like he was somewhere between wanting to cry and throw up.

“You will talk to them. Like you planned.” He kept his voice low. Shane’s parents were both making noise in the kitchen, and he could hear the low, indistinguishable murmurs of a conversation, so he knew they had their privacy for the moment, so long as they kept it down.

“Yeah, but I fucking lied to them,” Shane breathed out. “For so many years, I fucking lied to them, and now they found out, and I didn’t tell them. Fuck, I wanted to tell them.”

He stopped rubbing up and down Shane’s arm and squeezed his shoulder hard. “I know. I know.”

“Fuck, I’m scared.”

“Yes, it’s scary.” He brought his hand around to squeeze the back of Shane’s neck. “But you’re brave.”

Shane was looking down at their joint hands and playing with Ilya’s fingers. “Shut up.”

“You are, you’re brave.”

He looked back up, eyes desperate. “Then why do I feel like I’m gonna die?”

“Well, you have broken collarbone, very bad concussion, big bruise on–”

Shane laughed. “Oh my god, stop!”

Ilya shrugged with a smile.

Shane sobered again. “So much for easing them into it.”

“Maybe… maybe they didn’t even notice. Hmm?”

Shane chuckled. “How are you being so calm about this?”

“One of us has to be.”

“Yeah.” Shane looked down again.

Ilya used Shane’s chin to bring his head up so their gazes met once more. “It will be okay, Shane.”

Shane nodded jerkily. “Yeah.”

The voices in the kitchen cut off, and Ilya heard footsteps approaching. He brought both his hands to rest in his lap, but Shane snatched the hand he was holding back. He was being so brave.

Ilya smiled at him, right before Yuna came into view. Before she could say anything, Shane blurted out, “Mom. We– we should talk.”

Ilya saw the moment it clicked for Yuna just how sober Shane now was, and her entire face softened. “Shane… it can wait.”

“But–”

“No. Listen. All… all that matters is that you know that your father and I love you no matter what, and that we’re so, so proud of you.” She swallowed visibly. “Everything else can wait until morning.” She reached out and stroked her fingers gently down his cheek.

Ilya felt a sudden surge of affection for this woman who, mere hours ago, had made him feel like he was going to shit his pants out of fear. In this moment, she reminded him of his mother.

Beside him, Shane nodded and weakly said, “Okay.” It was a testament to just how exhausted and out of it Shane was still feeling, or Ilya had no doubt he would’ve pushed to talk now instead of later.

The four of them ate in the livingroom, making awkward pasta-centric smalltalk. When they’d all finished, David and Yuna cleared the dishes and announced that it was time for bed.

After a few more minutes of fussing over Shane as he swore up and down he’d be fine without them for the night, they were gone, and for the first time since the game yesterday, Ilya felt himself truly relax. Next to him, Shane seemed to be feeling similarly, letting out a long sigh and leaning fully into him for the first time all day, something he hadn’t even done when he was high as fuck.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Ilya felt himself starting to drift off, so he forced himself awake and moved Shane gently off of him. Shane made a small whiny noise that was quite frankly adorable, and Ilya couldn’t have stopped the besotted smile that spread across his face if he’d tried.

“Come, sweetheart. We should go to bed. Will not be nice to sleep out here.” At his words, Shane pulled a face, and Ilya smirked knowingly. “Yes, don’t worry. I know you very well. I will change the sheets and help you shower off the hospital.”

Shane knocked his forehead into Ilya’s shoulder, doing a bad job of hiding his smile. “I love you so much. Я тебя люблю.”

Ilya smiled down at him. He was so gone for this man. “I love you too, Shane.”

Chapter End Notes

Hope y’all liked this!

Chapter 4: Uncomplicated

Chapter Notes

I only went over this once, so I might come back and edit it later. I just didn’t want to make y’all wait any longer :)

Yuna exited Shane’s guest room, surprised to see him already awake, sitting on the couch and playing around on his phone. “You’re up early,” she said, quickly adding, “–and no screens.”

He pulled an apologetic face and put his phone face down on the couch next to him. “Sorry. I was just checking something. I only used it for, like, two minutes max.”

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, running a hand through his hair, which was notably no longer greasy. He must’ve showered, she absently thought, but it wouldn’t have been easy to shower with his collarbone the way it was, not unless he had help.

She decided to stop thinking about it. He pulled away from her hand with a petulant huff. “Eh. Not great, but better than yesterday.”

“Where’s, uh…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“Ilya had a skate this morning,”  Shane said, easily filling in the blank, but avoiding her gaze. “He should be back soon.”

It made sense; game four was later that afternoon, and Rozanov obviously hadn’t been at practice yesterday. Boston was leading the series against Montreal 2-1, and the gap was only doomed to grow now that Shane was out of the game. She was trying not to feel too bitter about that.

“Do you know when he flies out?” Yuna asked, aiming for casual, and not quite hitting the mark.

“Tomorrow, early.”

“Ah,” she replied vaguely. The day before had been… a lot. From thinking someone had broken into Shane’s apartment, to that person being Ilya Rozanov, to learning that Shane and Rozanov were… well, they were something. Yuna was trying really, really hard not to put the obvious pieces together, but failing pretty miserably at it.

Shane and Rozanov were involved. It was more than casual. It seemed pretty damn serious, actually… and somehow she’d known nothing about it.

How was it possible for her to have missed this? Whatever was going on couldn’t be any less than six months old, not with how they acted around one another. She’d seen Shane countless times in the past six months, and yet she’d picked up on none of it. God, what if it had been longer? A year… or even two! Up until yesterday, she would’ve sworn up and down that Shane hated Rozanov.

Okay, maybe not hated, but at best, she would’ve said they were professionals who respected one another and could make smalltalk, or something, not… whatever it actually was.

Before either of them had the chance to say anything else, a click followed a beep, and the front door swung open. In walked Rozanov, dumping a duffel bag by the door and hanging a set of keys on a hook. He peeled off his jacket and toed off his shoes, as if he’d done it a million times before. It was uncannily natural, like he was a normal guy coming back home after work. Only this was Shane’s house, and he was Ilya Rozanov.

It took him a few seconds to notice her standing there, but when he did, she saw his whole body tense, and a glance down showed her that Shane had gone just as stiff. He cleared his throat and said in that thick accent of his, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she replied coolly. “You had practice?”

“Yes. Uh, with the game later,” he looked awkward, “–but you know that. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Shane said suddenly, cutting off his awkward rambling.

Rozanov took an aborted step forward before pausing and nodding at him. “Shane. You still want omelet?”

“Sure,” Shane said.

“Would you like one too, Mrs. Hollander?”

“Yuna,” she corrected. “And, sure, if you’re already making.”

“Okay.” He nodded before retreating to the kitchen. Shane stood and glanced at her before following him to sit at the island. After a moment’s consideration, she followed them, taking the seat next to Shane and watching Ilya move around the kitchen with a level of ease even Yuna didn’t have in Shane’s apartment.

Once he’d gotten out the eggs and an assortment of other ingredients, Rozanov pulled out a bowl and started adding things without a word, and Shane, her beautiful neurotic son, didn’t say a word, just sat and watched, trusting Rozanov to make breakfast to his exact diet-approved specifications with zero input from him.

Either that, or Shane just didn’t care that Rozanov was fucking up his meal plan, which seemed unlikely. He worked in silence, the only interruption coming when he went to add the egg mixture to the pan, and Shane said, “The pan’s not hot enough yet.”

Rozanov looked at him, eyebrows raised as he pointedly continued pouring the mixture into the pan and dryly said, “And you wonder why you always burn things.” Shane huffed, a mix of annoyance and amusement flashing across his face. When it was done cooking, Rozanov slid the omelet onto a plate and set it down in front of Shane with a flourish, waiting until he took his first bite to say, “Well?”

Instead of any of the responses she would’ve expected from him, Shane rolled his eyes and said, “Fuck off. You know it’s perfect, asshole,” before taking another bite.

Clearly, she’d made some sort of alarmed noise because Shane turned to her, looking bashful and said, “Sorry, Mom.”

“It’s fine,” she waved him off. It’s not that she minded the language; she’d heard far worse, and Shane was a fully grown adult. It was just that he’d never spoken like that in front of her. She honestly hadn’t thought Shane was the type of person to speak like that ever. Despite being a hockey player, he’d always been strangely reserved compared to his peers, letting his skills make up for the lack of cursing, banter, and chirps.

Rozanov still looked amused as he cracked more eggs into the now-empty bowl and turned to her. “Would you like anything in it?” He asked, staring at her with a piercing gaze. His eyes were intense when focused on you, she realized. No wonder he had such a reputation with women; something she’d very much be prying into when the time came.

“Onions and tomatoes, please,” she said, and Shane pulled a face. Normally, she wouldn’t even bother asking for tomatoes in Shane’s house, because he hated them and didn’t keep them around, but yesterday she’d seen them in the fridge, along with a dozen other foods her son wouldn’t be caught dead eating.

Rozanov’s face lit up; it was a new look on him, the smile transforming his face into something almost unrecognizable. “Ah, a woman of taste.”

She realized he was looking at Shane, who hid a small smile behind his forkful of egg and muttered, “Well, I think you’re both crazy. They’re so slimy.” Then he smiled, and she realized it was the first smile she’d seen since he’d been high out of his mind.

“Pshh,” Rozanov waved Shane off, opening the fridge and pulling out the tomatoes. “You’re missing out, Hollander.”

“Oh no. How will I cope?” Shane deadpanned before taking another bite of his tomatoless omelette.

Yesterday, when she and David had been very pointedly giving the boys a little privacy, Yuna had an hour or so of panic, then she’d let herself be upset, and as the evening wound down, she’d let herself cry. Now, after all that plus a good night’s sleep, she wasn’t even all that upset anymore; she was mostly just sad that Shane had someone so obviously special and important in his life that she hadn’t had any idea existed until yesterday. Add on top of that, the fact that she’d found out by accident—rather than because Shane had made the conscious decision to tell her—and the whole thing was even more devastating.

David emerged from the guest bedroom just as Rozanov was plating her omelet, and he said brightly, “Perfect timing. Would you like an omelet?”

David stared at him for a few seconds, clearly coming to terms with the fact that yesterday hadn’t been some sort of crazy fever dream before saying, “Sure.”

Once David had his food, Rozanov began to clean up, and Yuna asked, “Are you not having one?”

“Ah, no. I ate before practice.”

“Oh.”

By the time he was done cleaning up, David’s omelet was gone, and the four of them were left staring awkwardly at one another until Shane finally said, “Alright. I know we need to talk. Can we… can we just go sit?” he gestured toward the kitchen table.

Yuna nodded. “Alright, let’s do it.”

Ilya watched Shane’s face closely as the four of them took their seats around the table. He seemed confident, but terrified. It was good that they hadn’t done this yesterday when he was coming off heavy drugs and a panic attack. He seemed much more ready for the confrontation now, after a good night’s sleep.

When they were all settled, Shane said, “Uh, first of all, I wanted to say, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have found out this way, and I know neither of us has really… said anything yet, but I’m sure it’s obvious by now.” He took a breath before saying, “I’m gay. Which I was gonna tell you this summer, actually. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I… Yeah, and this is Ilya. Rozanov. But you met him… already.” Shane put his head in his hand, good elbow resting on the table, and Ilya held back a grimace.

“Hi,” he said blandly. Beneath the table, he put a hand on Shane’s thigh and started rubbing small circles into it with his thumb.

Not lifting his head, Shane continued, “He was staying with me because he was here for the playoffs… but also because we’re together, uh…” he trailed off clearly at a loss for what to say next.

“Boyfriends,” Ilya clarified after a beat, then added, “I’m sorry I lied. I wanted Shane to be able to tell you himself.”

“I’m sorry I accused you of breaking in,” Yuna said weakly, and they exchanged a look that seemed to offer mutual forgiveness. She looked back at Shane and quietly said, “We thought you hated him.”

“No.” Shane lifted his head to meet his mother’s eyes. It only lasted a moment before his eyes skittered away, and he shrugged. “I mean, I get that, but no, I actually, uh… I love him.” He quickly glanced at Ilya before looking back at his parents and blowing out a deep breath. “I did not want this to be how I told you. Uh, Jesus… I had a whole plan, and now…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“When did this happen?” David asked after a few long seconds of awkward silence. Were they going with one year or eight years? Ilya glanced at Shane. “Wait,” David said suddenly, “Last year. That All-Star game, when you two were on the same team, you had so much chemistry.”

It was an alarmingly good guess, but Shane quietly said, “No, it was before then.” Ilya was a little surprised they were going with the full story right off the bat. It was the brave choice, and the more honest one. It would’ve been so much easier for Shane to say they’d been together for a year and not offer any more information, leaving the rest of the story for later. Not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth.

“Wow!” David leaned back in his chair slightly. “Wow. Wow.”

“So, when?” Yuna asked.

Shane pursed his lips and, after a beat, said, “Since our, uh, rookie season.”

Yuna straightened up, visibly alarmed. “Since your rookie season?”

“No, is not true.” Ilya stared at him. “Since before that.”

Shane shook his head. “Not helpful.”

“Before?” Yuna asked, sounding even more alarmed.

“The summer before,” Ilya filled in, looking at her.

Yuna’s expression was growing more alarmed. “So you’ve been in love since…”

“No!” Shane interrupted.

At the same moment, Ilya said, “Probably.”

They both stopped and stared at one another. Eventually, Shane smiled shyly and turned back towards his parents, not meeting their wide eyes. “We were both… feeling it, a long time before we admitted it to ourselves, let alone each other.”

“Is true,” Ilya agreed, nodding. “Shane is probably right… maybe wasn’t love then, but it didn’t take long.”

“No, it didn’t,” Shane said, glancing back at Ilya and bumping their feet together under the table.

“So, you were just what? Dating? Hooking up?” David asked after a few beats of stunned silence.

“Dad!” The tips of Shane’s ears flushed pink, which was unfairly endearing.

“Was not dating,” Ilya said serenely. “We were just, uh…” he trailed off when he saw Shane shoot him a look. Clearly, he was not allowed to outright say that they’d been hooking up, even if that was the term David used first. 

“Just what?” Yuna asked.

Ilya blinked at her, unable to find another appropriate term in English for what he and Shane had been getting up to for seven years that would be less crass than saying they were hooking up. The only thing that came to mind was ‘fuck buddies’, which he doubted was any better. Arguably, it was worse. “Uh, just…”

“Just…” she pressed.

“Just…” he repeated.

“Ilya,” Shane said in warning; a little hypocritical, since he wasn’t exactly offering up any better suggestions. Who was the native English speaker here again?

“Lovers,” Ilya finally landed on.

Shane’s face immediately twisted up. “No, Ilya, that’s gross.”

Yuna inhaled sharply and stood up, saying, “Well, I would love a drink.”

“It’s 10 AM!” Shane exclaimed as his mom got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of vodka.

“There is cold vodka in freezer,” Ilya offered helpfully.

Shane shot him a betrayed look. “Fine, but you’re not drinking.”

“Why not?” Ilya frowned at him.

“You have a game later.”

“Uhhgghh,” Ilya groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Fine.”

“I can’t drink either, with the painkillers,” Shane reminded him unhelpfully.

Yuna returned to the table with the bottle and two glasses. As she poured herself and David a drink, she said, “I think we thought maybe you were gay.”

“You did?” Shane looked at her, clearly surprised.

“I think we thought it was certainly possible,” David said, swirling his vodka around in his cup.

“For how long?” Shane asked.

Yuna smiled tightly at him. “Mmm, for a while, I guess.”

“We both know you pretty well, Shane.” He hesitated, and Shane winced. “I mean, well… what we did not suspect was that you were… uh, dating Rozanov.”

“Ilya,” he said. It was about time Shane’s parents started using his first name. He’d held off on correcting them until now because he’d wanted to leave things… ambiguous, but now that all their cards were on the table, it was due time.

“Ilya, sorry.” David sent him a nod before looking back at Shane. “And there were no nice men in Montreal?” It was clearly meant as a joke, but didn’t quite land.

“I don’t know. Probably there were.” Shane shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly looking.” David looked a little uncomfortable, but nodded in acceptance.

“And do your teammates know?” Yuna asked.

“I told Hayden and JJ I’m gay, but nobody knows about Ilya.” Shane pursed his lips before adding, “The only reason I didn’t tell you guys I was gay first is that I don’t think I could’ve told you I’m gay without telling you everything,” he glanced over and met Ilya’s gaze, holding it, “and I wanted to wait until I had time to explain.” He looked back at his parents.

“This summer?” Yuna asked.

“Yeah.” Shane nodded.

There was silence, and after a few moments, David said, “This is pretty good vodka.”

Ilya shrugged. “I am Russian, so I make sure he buys good stuff.”

“Right,” David said, before falling quiet.

“You never…” Yuna started hesitantly. “I mean, you never let him win, did you, Shane?”

Shane’s face twisted in disgust. “Do you let Dad win at cards?”

“I’d rather die,” Yuna said.

“I would break up with Shane if he let me win,” Ilya said bluntly. “He would not be Shane. It would be imposter.”

Shane frowned but nodded. “Same here.”

“Alright,” Yuna said.

David sighed before asking, “So is your plan to, what, just keep doing this in secret until you both retire, or…”

“Yes.” Shane nodded, voice low and serious.

Yuna’s face fell. “Oh, no, that’s sad.”

“I know.” Shane glanced at him, and Ilya squeezed his thigh lightly. Shane turned back to his parents with a sigh. “We know. We just can’t come out and, like… announce it.”

“We have a plan,” Ilya added, “to make things better.”

Shane nodded. “We won’t be able to come out anytime soon, but we can maybe be… friends.” He smiled at Ilya sadly, and he returned it with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He felt Shane’s foot bump against his again beneath the table, and he returned the tap supportively.

“How are you gonna do that?” David asked.

Ilya groaned. “Shane has a notebook.” He tried to make his face look appropriately horrified. “So many plans.”

Shane knocked their arms together jokingly. “Plans you agreed to.”

Yuna hummed. “It is good to be prepared.” Apparently, his boyfriend’s mother had the same energy when it came to planning as he did.

He groaned again, hamming it up a little bit, and Shane smirked. “I’ll show you later, once Ilya leaves. I know you’ll probably want to go over every detail.”

“Give me the Sparknotes,” Yuna said.

Shane nodded and said, “Next season, Ilya’s moving to Ottawa.” His parents looked shocked, but Shane continued without pause, “We’re going to start a charity, claim that we found common ground through that, and slowly be seen out in public together at events. After a year or two, we can be seen outside events just hanging out. Hopefully that kills the rivalry, at least enough that we don’t have to keep pretending to hate each other.”

Yuna hummed thoughtfully before asking, “Are you planning on coming out? Obviously not as a couple… and I wouldn’t expect you to, Ilya—not until you have citizenship, or asylum at the very least—but you could come out, Shane.”

“Uh, sort of,” Shane said. “I want to tell my team.”

“Well, once you’re ready, I’m gonna quietly reach out to the premium brands, or maybe just Reebok, and Rolex, and Speedo.”

“Mom…” Shane unsuccessfully tried to interrupt.

Yuna continued, “They’re gonna be thrilled, I think, once they wrap their minds around this. There’s a world of opportunity here, if they do it right.”

“Mom, can you just take three steps back, please? I’m not gonna come out, come out. Not publicly. Just to the team. It’ll be quiet. I won’t deny that I’m gay, but I’m not gonna be doing everything Hunter is.”

“Hmm. Do you have statements prepared in case anything leaks?” Yuna asked. “I’d recommend something very classy and simple.”

“Of course I do,” Shane sounded offended. “For both of us. Separate ones about our sexualities and one for us as a couple.”

“Good,” Yuna said, nodding. “Have you run them by your publicist?”

Shane shook his head. “Not yet. Ilya took on Farah a few months ago, so we’d have the same publicist, but we wanted to wait until we’d told you guys to involve her.”

“And your NDA covers this?”

“Everything we tell her stays between us.”

“Good.” Yuna sat in silence for a few beats before turning her attention back to Ilya. “You play in Ottawa?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “We will be closer, and with the charity.”

“Ilya’s already told Boston management and his teammates that he’s not planning to re-sign, and he shouldn’t have any trouble getting Ottawa to take him. They definitely have the cap space,” Shane added with a small shrug.

“Mhmm.” She stared at him consideringly. “–and you would have no loyalty to Boston?”

“Jesus, Mom!”

“What? They drafted him.” She turned away from Shane and back to Ilya. “You would leave Boston for Shane?”

“Yes,” he answered plainly. He would do it in a heartbeat if it meant being closer to Shane.

“Hmm,” Yuna hummed.

“Mom?”

She shrugged. “Loyalty is important.”

“He’s trying to be loyal to me, not Boston,” Shane exclaimed, expression a mix of fondness and exasperation.

“Well…” Yuna trailed off, and Ilya couldn’t help it; he started laughing.

Shane turned to look at him with a smile and said, “My mom cares a little too much about hockey.”

Through his laughter, Ilya said, “Now I see where you get it from. She would get along well with Sveta.”

“You think?” Shane asked.

“I know.”

“Sveta?” Yuna questioned.

“My friend, from Russia. Svetlana.”

Before Yuna had a chance to dig for more details, David asked, “Have either of you talked to Scott Hunter?”

Shane nodded. “Yes. I sent him an email. Nothing about us specifically, but I told him what he did was cool and that he had my support.”

“What did he say?” Yuna asked.

“‘Thanks’. He was ‘glad for my support’. Not much else. It wasn’t a very long email.”

Yuna turned her attention to him. “And? What about you?”

“I did too. Briefly. After he won MVP. Occasionally, when we play Admirals, we talk. I also didn’t tell him about Shane and me. I wanted him to know I supported him, even though it was not safe for me to say publicly. What he did, it was…”

She nodded. “Yes, it was very brave.”

“It changed things for us,” Ilya added, sharing a quick smile with Shane.

“We just want… a future.” Shane shrugged. “He showed us it was possible.”

They continued talking for a while, Shane spilling little pieces of their relationship with obvious delight, clearly thrilled to finally be able to talk to his parents about them. Ilya chimed in occasionally, but he mostly watched fondly as Shane spoke. It was unclear just how long they sat there, but it was long enough that they were interrupted by simultaneous alarms going off on both his and Shane’s phones.

Yuna looked at him. “I assume that means you have to get going?”

“Yes.” He nodded, checking his notifications, which he’d silenced in anticipation of the morning’s conversation. There was nothing important that he’d missed, so he shoved his phone in his pocket.

As he did that, Shane was speaking to his parents. “He’s got about fifteen minutes, but since he’s got to call a ride, he shouldn’t wait until the last minute.”

“Not everyone is Mr. Punctual,” Ilya chirped as he tuned back into the conversation.

“You’re captain of the team,” Shane sounded so offended by the idea that he could even consider being late.

Ilya stood up from his chair and stretched. “I will be fine.”

“Do you need a lift to the stadium?” David asked.

Ilya felt something warm grow in his chest at the question, even as he shook his head. “Ah, no. No, I appreciate the offer, but safer if I call ride.”

David nodded, acquiescing. “Okay.”

He walked over to the door with Shane trailing behind him, his parents hovering in the background. Pulling on his shoes and slipping into his jacket, Ilya shoved his keys into his pocket and turned to Shane, who was smiling at him. “Will score hat trick for you, мой любимый.”

Immediately, Shane’s face twisted in disgust. “Please don’t.”

“Okay,” Ilya nodded seriously. “Will make it a dick trick then.”

Shane snorted. “I hate you.”

Ilya smiled at him. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Shane said with a soft smile.

Ilya picked up his bag and made to leave, but was stopped by Shane’s hand on his arm. “Hey.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across Ilya’s cheek. It was chaste and sweet, and in front of Shane’s parents. “Goodbye, Ilya.”

He felt his heart speed up and warmth grow in his chest. There had been no fear or hesitation on Shane’s part to show affection in front of Yuna and David, and that meant the world to him. He smiled tenderly, voice soft as he said, “Goodbye, Shane.”

Ilya carried that warm glow with him all the way to the rink.

Works inspired by this one

Home (but Yuna Hollander has a gun) by Lakespider