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:

Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Yuna Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Crack, Yuna Has a Gun, Remix, Misunderstandings, Secret Relationship, Ilya Rozanov is Trying His Best, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Protective Yuna Hollander, Good Parent Yuna Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-02 Words: 2,002 Chapters: 1/1

Home (but Yuna Hollander has a gun)

Summary

Shane got hurt (he's okay!), and Ilya couldn’t be there with him. No one even knew that he cared. The whole situation was shit.

...and Yuna has a fucking gun.

Notes

Comment on "Home":
"Oh my god.. why was I imagining Yuna holding a gun the whole conversation!? 😂 A gun was never mentioned but I kept removing it from the scene in my head... lmao"

So... :)

• Inspired by Home by Lakespider

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 sweater. The sweater. The stupidest, most ugly piece of clothing Ilya had ever laid eyes on. For some godforsaken reason, Shane was obsessed with it.

Shane only ever wore the sweater at home, and the only people to have ever witnessed its monstrosity were his parents and—since their summer together—Ilya. Before he could think too hard about it, he grabbed it and shoved it over his head, immediately being enveloped in its warmth. It was 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, holding up a fucking handgun.

Ilya was not proud of the noise that escaped him, and he put his hands up, trying to convey that he meant her no harm. “Wait! Don’t shoot! 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. “I swear. Please. Listen. Hollander gave me key. I know code. Not criminal, Mrs. Hollander. I promise. Please don’t kill me!” 

“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 shoot you 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. She had a fucking gun pointed at him. Shane would understand. 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, and the gun didn’t lower, but she did at least seem a little less primed to shoot him.

“Is true. I know– I know it sounds… crazy. But, promise. Is true.” Of all the times for his English to fail him, why did it have to be when he was being held at gunpoint? 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 and also avoid getting shot in the chest at point-blank range. Yuna’s eyes widened, and finally, her death grip on her gun 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.

Why the hell did Yuna Hollander even own a gun?

“Right,” 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. The gun really emphasised her point. 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. Thank you for not shooting me.” 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.” She gestured forward with the gun. “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. Sweater?” He nodded vaguely down at himself.

Yuna’s eyes drifted lower and then widened in alarm before she composed herself. “Yes. You- ah, you can take it off. Just leave it on a hook.

He nodded and quickly did as she said, grabbing his own jacket and desperately trying to ignore the gun that was still pointed directly at him. 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, gun steadily trained on him. “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, gun not leaving its position pointed directly at him 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. Shane’s mother is not boring.”