Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate AU: the first words you soulmate speaks to you are marked on your body, just really need to get the feelings out, Shane briefly forgets he has a girlfriend, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-10 Completed: 2026-06-03 Words: 29,755 Chapters: 8/8

Third Degree

Summary

In a universe where your soulmates first words to you are tattooed on your body, Shane Hollander winds up with a single word to work with;

'Okay.'

He's glad to have a soulmate, but couldn't imagine anyone navigating a worse situation than him when it comes to contending with destiny.

Chapter 1

Shane often tried to convince himself that he wasn’t disappointed by his soulmark. After all, he had one.

He wasn’t one of those kids who went through their teenage years checking themselves over and over in the mirror, looking for some unfamiliar script or lettering to appear one day on their body. 

 

Either not everyone got to have a soulmate, or not everyone got to meet their soulmate.

No meeting, no mark.

 

But Shane had a soulmate. They were going to meet one day.

 

And their first word to him would be…

 

Okay.

 

Stamped on his inner wrist, as interesting and remarkable as a bar code.

 

The first time he heard the word after his soulmark had appeared, Shane had a very minor panic attack. He had just arrived at his doctor’s office for a routine check up, and given his name and appointment number to the geriatric old woman in the daisy-pattered crochet cardigan sitting behind the front desk. 

 

“Okay.” She said, shortly but kindly. “Take a seat, he’ll be with you shortly.”

 

Shane mumbled out a thank-you, and sat numbly in one of the chairs between a stack of old magazines and an exotic fish tank. He stared open-mouthed at her for several long moments, before excusing himself with many stammering apologies and all but running out the door. 

 

He had never noticed it before, never thought of it before. But suddenly it seemed to be the most common phrase for people who Shane had never met to say to him. Fast food workers and waiters taking an order. Individuals in a supermarket whose cart was taking up the entire aisle who you might ask politely to scoot up a bit. PAs managing Shane’s hockey team about to tell him the day’s schedule.

When Shane ended up holed in his room for days at a time, his father had gently intervened - insisting they take the boat out on the lake for some fishing.

Neither man was particularly good at fishing, but the tranquility of the water on a rose-gold morning was hard to beat to settle rattled nerves. 

 

“It's alright, you know." David said amicably. "After all, it's not just you. Your soulmate's got your words on them too. Plenty of people have unremarkable soulmarks, they meet up and get by just fine.”

 

Shane knew his dad’s own mark wasn’t particularly exciting. "Do you know which way to the Redpath Museum?”

 

His dad was pretty proud of the story. He had known the perfect reply right away, locked and loaded whenever someone asked him for those specific directions on his college campus.

 

“Yes, I hear it’s a great spot for a first date.”

 

It had been brilliant, the more Shane thought about it. David had one or two people ask him that during his time at McGill before his mom came along. And they had gently rebuffed him with excuses and polite smiles, and David knew that they weren't the one.

 

As soon as Yuna heard the words that mirrored the text on her body, she was ready to clear her calendar. 

The two had revealed their soulmarks to one another under the big T-Rex skeleton. 

He'd been right, it was a great first date.

It was a perfect soulmate story.

“Not everyone gets to have the type of story me and your mom have, and that’s okay.” David gave up on trying to bait his hook, instead pouring them each a cup of coffee out of a thermos he’d brought along.

 

“It’s true lots of people like to have unique opening lines ready to go on first dates, but it’s just not feasible for day-to-day living. You can’t let it get in the way of living your life. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

 

It was all things that Shane knew. He tried to take what comfort in the words that he could, but the thought still haunted him. 

He would meet his soulmate, that was true. The soulmark only appeared once it became a guaranteed thing that at some point in their lives they would meet.

 

But it didn't necessarily mean they would know each other when it happened.

There wasn't going to be a spark, or a physical reaction or fireworks.

 

There were few things in life sadder than those sorry individuals who lived their entire lives with the soulmark of someone that they never really knew. They had met, but didn’t recognize the moment. Those that had to live, knowing their soulmate at one point had been right in front of them, and they had been allowed to slip away.

It was worse - a hundred times worse - then never having any mark at all.

 

Okay.

 

Shane tried not to think of their faces. The people who said the word to him that that he’d likely never see again. His only solace was the blank, disinterested, or perfectly polite expressions they had when he spoke to them.

 

They didn’t know him either.

He couldn’t have met his soulmate yet. He couldn’t have.

 

He’d have to believe that, and hope that whatever he said to warrant that bland response was interesting enough that he’d be known.

-

 

Ilya Rozanov? Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.

 

The day it appeared, Ilya spent the evening locked in the hotel bathroom with a bottle of vodka. He texted Svetlana in a miserable panic.

 

Ilya: You know the name Shane?

Svetlana: Yes, why?

Ilya: It can be a girl’s name, right?

Svetlana: Maybe? I’m pretty sure it’s a boy’s name.

Svetlana: The only Shane I have heard of is that Canada rookie Shane Hollander.

 

Of course.

 

Stupid fucking Shane Hollander.

 

Yes, Ilya knew he liked boys. He had only recently discovered the extra hit of adrenaline he got from sneaking around behind his father’s back. He had his first tryst with Sasha just a few months ago. 

 

The risk of it had been thrilling. 

 

That didn’t mean he wanted it tattooed on his fucking arm. 

 

Even if there was a chance to hope there was some female Shane Hollander out there in the world - Ilya knew it wasn’t so. From the moment the brand appeared, Ilya knew exactly who would be speaking those words to him.

And soon.

His team would be heading to Canada for the Junior World’s Championship in just a few short months. Probably some asshole working for the league had just sent an email confirming schedules, or someone had booked just the right hotel room. Whatever butterfly flapped its wings so that fate was now aligned.

 

Nobody knew exactly how it worked, the mechanics of how the universe decided it was going to be a fixed point in their destinies that Ilya was going to meet Shane Hollander.

 

His soulmate. 

Ilya had a soulmate. 

Someone out there in the world - one day - was going to love him. 

 

Ilya had been in such a state over having his incredibly taboo sexuality stamped on his arm that it hadn’t had time to sink in. 

 

The thought sobered Ilya almost instantly. 

Ilya took a deep breath to steady himself. He set down the vodka he had been working his way through and changed it out for a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He unbarricaded himself from the bathroom and threw himself down onto his bed and started trawling through his blackberry.

 

Internet articles were shit to read on a phone in 2009. Ilya made due - searching and slowly trawling through the few bits of information available online of Shane Hollander. 

He had already read most of them. At the time, he had been honed in on hockey stats and performance figures to compare against his own. He'd skipped over anything personal.

 

Ilya found an image online, rough and pixelated. It was a group shot of Shane Hollander with his team. He had seen this image before. Ilya already knew of Shane Hollander, had vague, half-formed plans to demolish his team in Canada. 

He hadn’t really bothered to look at him.

 

He was pretty.

 

There were one or two interviews published online. Ilya read through them like a man starved, collecting any scraps of information he could find.

 

Of course, he liked hockey. Maybe almost as good as Ilya.

He was half-Japanese, half-Canadian. 

No pets, but he wanted to have a dog someday (yes good) and maybe kids when he was a little older (excellent).

His favorite ice cream flavor was French vanilla. That was very boring. Oh well. 

Shane liked running, and swimming at the lake near his parent’s house in Ottawa.

 

Ilya’s heart leapt into his throat. Someone had asked him about soulmates.

Yes, Shane believed in the concept of soulmates. He’d love to get his own mark someday and meet that perfect someone.

 

The interview was three months old. Of course at the time Shane had no mark. He would have only gotten it just now, at the same moment as Ilya. Somewhere on the other side of the world (what time was it there, the afternoon?) Shane had probably already noticed it as well. A mark on his wrist with the first words Ilya would ever say to him when they met.

 

When they met.

 

Ilya moved out of the stuffy hotel room and onto the cold night air of the balcony, letting it ground him. 

 

Fuck. He wanted to meet him. 

 

“I have a soulmate, mama.” He whispered it like a prayer under his breath that puffed out in cool clouds from his lips in the frosty night air. 

 

Ilya held the cigarette between two fingers, using his thumb to rub over the fresh mark on his wrist. 

 

He had always planned a future that didn’t involve Russia. It seemed the universe agreed. 

Now, the problem was going to be getting out. 

 

Like the rest of the world, it was common here for individuals to keep their soulmarks concealed.  Even Ilya’s own father would be understanding if he went home tomorrow wearing the black band. He wouldn’t ask questions, or demand to see it.

 

But unlike many other countries, here he would be expected to make an appointment with his doctor and log the mark for government registration.

 

That was not something he could get around his father's notice.

Not to mention the mandatory physical on his schedule with the team doctor that had to be done before they could get their forms finalized and signed to go.

 

Even if he did somehow managed to get on that plane to Canada without his brand being logged...

Eventually, he would still have to come back.

 

He could hide it - concealer, maybe? 

That could get him through the day-to-day, maybe. If Svetlana could show him how she managed to work the kind of magic she did with it. But it would be incredibly risky for someone with a career like Ilya’s. Highly physical, in the public eye. As soon as someone got a photo of Ilya with streaks of makeup running down his wrist, it would be over. Attempting to hide your soulmark was worse than delaying to log it once it appeared.

 

And Ilya couldn't not play hockey. It was how he was going to get to Shane.

 

His options, obstacles, solutions and problems all chased after one another in Ilya’s mind as the night turned into an early morning.

All the routes he could think of led to his mark being discovered and recorded.

 

And from there, it wouldn’t matter what Ilya did or said. 

 

Sure, Ilya hadn’t done anything (nothing that he’d been caught doing, anyway). If he was nobody important, Ilya might have gotten away with just having his name put down on a list. If he wasn’t Russia’s most promising upcoming hockey star.

But he was.

 

Someone might decide that the bad optics weren't worth the risk.

Someone might decide it could be safer just to disappear him.

 

But they won’t - would they?

Ilya looked down at his wrist.

He had the words.

Somehow, at some time, in some situation - he would meet Shane Hollander.

 

Did that mean that the government would let him go, even if they knew? 

 

Or.

 

Ilya looked from his wrist to the lighter in his other hand.

 

Did it mean that he would find another way?

 

-

 

By the time of the Junior World's Tournament, Shane was so numb to hearing the fated “Okay” he scarcely blinked when it was Ilya Rozanov’s first word to him.

 

Well, maybe he blinked a little. It was Ilya Rozanov after all. Not a face he was planning to add to the list of could-be-soulmates, but the world was a funny place like that. 

Surprising, but not enough to break up the painfully short and awkward conversation.

 

In the eight months since his soulmark appeared, he had heard it a hundred times already, after all. 

 

The moment came and went. Ilya didn’t seem to react, or be particularly interested in what he had to say. 

He mostly seemed keen to have Shane hurry up and get gone.

 

When he finally excused himself, Ilya met Shane halfway - shaking his hand in the chilly Saskatchewan parking lot. It was brief, but Shane’s fingertips still picked up a trace of the rough edges of his palm. Like vines, or webbing wrapped around the wrist. Because Shane had been a little (just a little) obsessed with the guy before meeting him, he had taken the time to look up a few things on him. 

 

He had heard rumors about the accident, though he hadn’t seen it yet in person himself. 

 

The guy didn’t like to have it photographed.

 

-

 

Shane wouldn’t get a proper look at it until a few months later, in the empty gym of his hotel. 

 

Ilya came in and took up the treadmill next to his and started his run at a steady pace. Unlike their first meeting, Ilya had dressed down to a sleeveless tank top, leaving his arms bare.

Shane didn’t allow himself to stare. He didn’t have a chance. Ilya had just upped the speed on his bike, and Shane wasn’t one to resist a challenge. 

Especially not to the guy who was the reason he had a silver medal from Worlds.

 

Shane focused on running, matching Ilya beat for beat until they were both sitting on the floor of the locker room, half delirious from the adrenaline and gentle glow of post-workout endorphins.

 

If only for a reason to tear his eyes away from the sweat pooling in Ilya’s clavicle, Shane finally allowed himself to look.

 

From his upper arm down to his right hand, Ilya Rozanov’s arm was a mottled mess of pink and white. Silvery jagged lines stretched over the taut skin of his arm. A magnificent burn scar that stretched down nearly to his palm.

 

“It is pretty, yes?” Ilya’s voice up until then had been lighthearted, casual. But there was something… charged… in how he spoke now. Even more so than before. Ilya held his arm out to give Shane a better look. He turned his hand one way, then the other. 

 

There was something there on the wrist. A twisted tangle of black among the scar tissue. 

The words were illegible now.

 

“Does it hurt?” Shane asked, in between gulps for air.

 

Ilya’s mouth twitched at the corner as if Shane had made a particularly funny joke.

 

“No.” He said at length. “Sore. Sometimes. Good lesson for kids. Don’t play with matches.” 

 

Ilya’s eyes widened a bit as he said it. The sterile white light of the gym flashed amber-gold off of Ilya’s eyes. 

 

“Yeah.” Shane forced out a laugh, a smile twisted up to hide a pitying grimace. Ilya didn’t seem like the guy who wanted anyone’s pity but… that had to be rough. Having something as personal as a soulmark mangled like that.

 

He thought his own situation was bad. At least Shane got to look at the words, when he wanted to feel comforted, or less alone.

 

Not quite sure how to verbalize it. Instead, Shane tapped the corner of his foot against Ilya’s. 

 

“I’m uh. I’m sorry about your, your-” Shane thumbed his own black wristband awkwardly. 

“Is okay.” Ilya said, resting his head back against the wall.

He looked like a guy with a lot on his mind.

 

It wasn’t taboo to talk about soulmarks, strictly speaking - as long as you didn’t ask someone concealing what the words were. 

 

Those who met their soulmarks already - like Shane’s parents - that was fine, of course. They didn’t go out of their way to hide them, now that they had met. But for those who were unmatched and without a soulmate, it was considered quite a private thing. 

 

After all, depending on what the words were, or what they were about. Especially out of context.

 

They could land someone in a lot of trouble.

Chapter 2

Ilya knew it was going to happen soon.

His head had practically been on a swivel since they arrived, keeping an eye out for Hollander’s team colors. 

 

He had been smacked upside the head more than once by his coaches to focus and lock in. They weren’t wrong. Ilya knew he didn’t need to worry - it would happen. Unlike his hockey future, which was going to go nowhere if he spaced out on the ice. 

 

It figures that after all his vigilance, he’d first catch his first sight of Shane Hollander watching him from the bleachers. He had sought out Ilya. His heart soared.

 

He had been determined to show off for him - much to the relief of his coaches.

 

By the time Ilya left the ice however, Hollander was gone.

Ilya did his best not to be frustrated, or anxious about that.

 

He had been assuming this entire time - of course - that Shane must know him as well. 

He had about a dozen different ideas of what he wanted his first words to Shane to be - he kept changing his mind. But surely it would be something similar to his own?

 

He was grateful that Shane did not try to do something foolish like reach out to him while he was in Russia (that could have been disastrous) but why hide now?

 

He had been just about to give up for the day, when he finally heard the words that had been haunting him and itching under his mangled skin. 

 

“Ilya Rozanov? Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.”

 

Up close, Ilya was able to finally confirm what he had suspected from poor blurry photos on the internet. 

 

His soulmate was pretty. 

 

Even if he hadn’t been attracted to boys, he would still be thanking his mama’s spirit in heaven for making sure that the fates deigned to pair him with one of their angels.

 

His Shane, with his pretty constellation of freckles and large dark eyes, crinkled at the corners with his friendly affectation. The tip of his nose was just a bit red from the cold, his cheeks a bit flush.

 

He was so busy taking in every detail of his face, he had nearly missed what Shane said next. It was too fast, the words too close together.

His English was not very good. 

 

He had to figure it out - his soulmate was talking to him.

 

Something about smoke? 

 

Not supposed to... Supposed? Had that been one word or two? Skip that one. What were the words ones he knew?

 

'Not' and 'smoke' (the gesturing did help).

 

Ah. Okay. 

 

He and cigarettes had a good run.

 

Quitting was going to be a bitch, but if his Shane says he shouldn’t smoke, he couldn’t think of a better sign that it was time to quit.

Ilya dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushing it out under his heel.

 

“You’re an awesome player to watch.”

 

Wait. Shit.

Did he say that out loud?

 

Okay?

 

Ilya stared at Shane, frozen in place. 

That couldn’t be it? 

Shane had already spoken again. There was no chance now to say anything else. 

He looked down to Shane’s hands in his pockets where his wrists were concealed, then back up to his face. 

 

Was that the word on his wrist? 

 

Shane was lingering there, a bit of an awkward shuffle to his stance.

Ilya was making him uncomfortable, he could tell. He had a truly impressive resting bitch face at the best of times and he could scarcely imagine what his expression was doing now.

He sighed, knocking his head back against the wall of the building.

Did destiny allow for do-overs?

 

In a split second, it had all gone wrong.

Shane didn’t know him at all, it was obvious. 

 

“Anyway, I should go. They’re waiting for me but uh- good luck in the tournament.”

 

Ilya had never been so keen for a conversation to end faster.

He would do better next time they met.

He had to.

 

-

 

Ilya kept his eye out for an opportunity to speak with Shane, but the tournament went by in a blur. Also it seemed Shane was… avoiding him? 

Or perhaps Ilya was being paranoid.

 

Either way, he made sure to secure the gold medal. 

Ilya might not have survived the devastation if he lost that as well. No, he was going to win.

He would make it so that Shane Hollander could not look away from him.

 

-

 

The next six months were something just short of torture for Ilya. 

Their destiny-mandated meeting had come and gone. 

Nothing was certain now.

 

Shane could step outside and get hit by a bus for all the universe might care for them now.

 

Ilya was also growing increasingly frustrated with his home life. 

Not that he had been happy with it - nothing had felt like home for Ilya for the past seven years. But it was decidedly worse now.

 

He had secured the gold medal for Russia, which had saved him some amount of abuse. But he had scarcely been praised for it. It was simply expected.

 

But now that it was becoming increasingly likely that he was headed for some measure of lucrative contract with the NHL, Ilya was on the receiving end of a new flavor of nastiness from his brother. Offhand comments about loyalty and dues. Casually discussing plans in the near future to go on expensive trips or buying luxury cars - things Ilya knew would not be possible on his Alexei's salary alone. 

 

It was annoying, yes. But what was worse was the few occasions when his father pressed him on a career playing hockey in Russia. It wasn’t anything new. Grigori had been saying this for years. But what had previously been irritating (Ilya had always had his heart set on the NHL) now Ilya bristled and snarled like an animal threatened. 

 

Part of him still wondered - hoped - this might finally be the bend in the road where his family would learn to appreciate him, if only because they had to.

 

But something foundational had been severed at the roots of the family tree, Ilya could feel it. 

He was coarse, and short. He spoke back - something he had never dared to before.

He paid for it, of course.

Awful words that could never be unsaid were fired on both sides.

 

Ilya he did not have to doubt now. He knew his future was a beautiful man with dark hair and freckles. 

His family would never accept that. Not if he had all the money in the world.

 

There was something strangely liberating that came with the feeling. 

 

Once it was time to book a flight to America for the draft, he and his father had not even spoken for weeks. Things were prickly, terse. 

He booked a single return ticket, and was quietly relieved to do so.

 

-

“Shane, could you move a little closer to Ilya, please? That’s perfect, alright. Smile boys.”

 

The two were bombarded by camera flashes. As soon as the last one stopped - perhaps even a breath before, Ilya was crowding into Shane’s space. His gaze was intense, his voice low.

 

“I need to talk to you.” 

 

Shane balked, surprised at the sudden intense confrontation by the man who he (and the rest of the world) had already pegged as his rival. Before he could ask what Ilya wanted, his mother materialized out of thin air at Shane’s side. 

 

“Shane, honey. Your father has a table over there, let me show you so you can join us when you’re done with the press-”

 

She spoke at the same time Ilya had, and Shane was caught looking between the both of them for a frantic moment. In a reflexive response to the overstimulation of the attention and the cameras and the crowd - he gravitated toward the familiar, and his mother whisked him away.

 

Ilya sighed sharply through his nose, letting himself be herded off in the other direction to do his best to answer their boring questions and give soundbites to the reporters there.

 

-

 

At one point, Shane found himself waiting at the bar side-by-side with a man who introduced himself as a marketing coordinator for Boston. 

 

Hasan Kara was a friendly, personable kind of guy. He had a very cool haircut and a fashionable way of dressing that made Shane feel a bit like a kid at their junior recital. Hasan not teasing him for the ginger ale order, which Shane appreciated.

 

“So what did Rozanov want?” He asked, after the two had finished exchanging some dry pleasantries. “He looked like he was about to murder you up there.” 

 

“I uh, I have no idea.” Shane answered honestly. Shit-talk him maybe? He doubted Rozanov wanted to congratulate him for being first pick of the draft, the guy looked way too pissed off about it. 

Probably for the best he never got a chance to say.

 

He scanned the crowd looking for the enigmatic man, but he was already gone in the throng of the crowd. 

 

“I don’t want to hear about Rozanov.” Thomas Ward, Shane’s new general manager came up alongside.

 

“Hello Mr. Ward.” Shane said brightly. 

 

“There’s my guy.” He gave Shane a hearty clap on the shoulder. There was a slight slowness to the way he spoke. The man had one or two drinks already, but he wore a warm smile and had a reputation for being very dedicated to the men on his team. 

 

“What happened with Rozanov?” Shane asked. He hoped he wasn’t being too nosy. But he had gotten, maybe just a little obsessed with the guy since he lost out at Worlds to him.

 

Ward sighed, setting his mouth tight. It was the signature look of an older man realizing he had let the alcohol do the talking for him in a moment. 

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to ruin your evening.” He said heavily. 

 

“Oh, okay.” Shane said.

“Well you have to tell us now.” Hasan spoke at the exact same time. 

 

Ward just put his hands up and shrugged it off, changing the topic easily to the draft picks and expectations around the upcoming year.

 

“So, are you excited to start the next phase of your career with Boston?” 

“Yes, sir!”

“Good! Let me know when you’ll be down, I’ll show you some great places to get some food and what bars to stay away from.”

 

The evening passed by in a blur. Shane did his best to socialize and mingle as much as possible. His parents were beside themselves with pride. His mom in particular was excellent at running interference when she noticed Shane was starting to flag, picking up conversation beats and giving him much needed openings to step out outside to breathe on his own for a moment.

 

It was on his way back from one of these strategic trips back into the party hall that Shane happened to spot Thomas Ward and Hasan Kara had re-congregated at the bar. 

He hadn’t planned on stopping, but pulled to a stop when he heard his name.

For a split second, he thought he was being called back over to join them, and it was the only reason why he turned and perked his ears up.

 

Though the two men hadn’t noticed him. He had stopped just out of their eyeline, half-hidden by some of the decorative foliage near the bar.

 

“It’s his night, after all. Shane earned that top draft pick. They both did, it was insanely close.”

“Yeah. I had figured it’d be Rozanov after he won gold for Russia.”

 

“It was Rozanov.”

 

The world had curiously shifted into slow motion. The music and the chatter from other attendees muted, as if it was underwater.

Shane stood stock-still, maybe he should have left. It wasn’t right to snoop. But his body wouldn’t move.

 

“I spoke with him in the spring. The kid told us he wouldn’t sign with Boston if we drafted him.”

 

Hasan snorted.

 

“What?” He laughed. “You can’t do that, can you?”

“It sure as hell isn’t smart,” Ward said grimly. The insult was still clearly fresh for the man, there was definite bitterness in his voice. 

“Why would he do something like that? Did he want more money?”

 

Shane’s throat felt very tight. He was wondering the same thing.

 

“That’s what we thought, at first.” Ward said heavily. “We offered him more money, though we weren’t happy about it. He wouldn’t bite.” He took a generous gulp of his drink. “Best I can figure… Rozanov, his dad’s known to be a bit old school. Might have some weird hangup with signing for a US team. Apparently the guy barely approves of his son playing outside of Russia to start.” He sighed grimly.  

 

“If that is the case it’s a damn shame. This kid’s just let his father kneecap his entire career. He’s lucky as hell that Montreal was impressed enough to decide that talent was worth the risk.” 

 

Hasan had gone quiet. Ward glanced at him and sighed.

 

“I shouldn’t be talking about this. Listen,” He leaned closer to Hasan, speaking more lowly now. Shane couldn’t quite make out the words, but it was clearly a stern request for Hasan to keep that bit of gossip to himself. 

 

The party was still moving in slow motion. 

Only now it had gotten very hot. His suit itched and it was too damn hot in Los Angeles, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

 

Shane turned and went out the way he came.

 

A few moments ago he had felt a bit drained.

Now, he felt completely gutted.

 

Shane had not been the first draft pick.

Or, well. He was. Officially. In every sense of that counted - except for the one that meant most to him.

 

Rozanov had beat him again. 

 

No, worse.

 

Rozanov had let him win.

 

Shane went back up to his hotel room, standing under a cold shower for a very long time. 

 

Somehow, that felt a hundred times worse than just losing. He chewed through his thoughts as he tried to get a handle on his feelings. 

 

It felt like… some kind of betrayal.

 

Sure he had never said more than a handful of words to the guy. But he could tell. The two were meant to stand at the top of the mountain together, pushing each other higher.

Had he just imagined the feeling might be mutual?

 

Stupid.

Shane gently knocked his forehead against the tiles of the shower.

 

-

 

His parents texted asking where he was.

He feigned a headache, that he had gone back to his room early to get some sleep. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth.

 

Shane was still wide awake and staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room well after midnight.

 

He sighed, scrubbing his face.

 

He was too keyed up to sleep.

 

He opted to head down to the hotel gym - try and work out the frenetic energy with a run.

 

-

 

When Ilya Rozanov walked into the empty gym, Shane had nearly chucked a water bottle at him.

He would have, if he’d thought to bring one.

 

Instead, he glared straight ahead and focused on out-running him in a stupid made up race that the two wordlessly threw themselves into. 

 

That’s right, asshole. Shane glowered, as Ilya ticked up the speed on his own machine. Shane did the same, breathing sharply through his nose as he maxed out the treadmill’s incline.

 

Shane wasn’t sure who won, but funnily enough it had been the very thing to settle his nerves.

 

To start, he didn’t have much energy left for his nerves to do much of anything but lie in a puddle on the floor of the gym.

But more importantly - Rozanov raced him. 

Didn’t let him ‘win.’ Whatever.

Maybe Shane had been stupid - gotten into his own head a bit too much.

 

Rozanov could have had any number of reasons for turning down Boston.

Shane contemplated it, contemplated him as he squirted the much needed water down his throat. 

 

Rozanov was still watching him like the man wanted to kill him.

Or, maybe it wasn’t that…

 

Shane swallowed thickly, his eyes caught by a bead of sweat trailing down the line of Rozanov’s neck to bead up in his collarbone.

 

For a moment, he was seized by the wild thought of what it might be like to run the flat of his tongue through that slick groove. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away to the man’s scar.

-

“I’m uh. I’m sorry about your, your-” 

 

Hollander tapped awkwardly on his own black band. 

Ilya smirked. 

 

His Shane was very cute. 

The run had felt… thematically appropriate. Ilya had spent all night trailing after Shane, trying to speak to him. 

Only to have him disappear barely an hour into the party.

He'd resigned himself to actually doing a bit of proper mingling. Soulmate or not, it was more important than ever that he deliver with Montreal. He had smiled and chatted, been pleasant and focused on everyone who wanted to speak with him.

 

Though he knew he was not going to be able to rest until he found him, found Shane.

 

When he had passed his water bottle over to Shane, it had taken everything in his power not to seize him by the wrist. 

Instead, he had settled for a brush of the fingertips. 

Caught you.

 

“Is okay.” Ilya said, resting his head back against the wall. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. 

 

“My English is… not good.” Ilya said slowly, apologetically. “When we first meet… the thing about smoking. I needed a few minutes to work out what you said. I forget to say something better.”

 

“Huh?” Shane leaned forward. There was a cute little scrunch to the bridge of his nose when he was confused. “Oh, no, it’s fine, man. You were cool.” He shrugged.

 

“Must have been hard, all this time.” Ilya sighed out. He tapped his shoe back against Shane’s foot, returning the gesture.

Shane made a little questioning sound.

 

“‘Okay.’” Ilya mimicked his own accent for exaggeration, tipping his head with each syllable. “Or, ‘Okay, yeah’? Did you get both words or just the one?” Ilya looked from Shane’s face to the band on his wrist, raising his eyes meaningfully.

 

Shane had spent the last several hours stewing over the draft pick. He was still stuck a bit in his own head, trying to find an organic way to bring it up that didn’t involve throwing his shoes at the guy.

 

 It took quite a long time for the meaning of Ilya’s words to fall into place. 

 

His hand clamped over his black band, his complexion went pale.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” He spoke tightly.

 

“You know what I mean. I can see it by how terrified you look.” Ilya smiled silkily.

“Shut up!” Shane scrambled to his feet. He had gone from pale to red very quickly. “That shit’s not funny.”

 

“It’s only funny for someone who knows what’s under that band you wear.” Ilya looked up at him from the floor. “Did you tell people?”

 

“No, of course not!” Shane barked back. “I mean, my parents do, but they’d never tell anyone!”

 

“I am sorry it does not say something cooler.” Ilya apologized with a sigh. “I had planned to say something like ‘Yes, and I am your soulmate Ilya Rozanov, you are very welcome.’” Ilya tipped his head back, giving him a slick wink.

 

Shane huffed out an incredulous laugh. 

 

“Fuck you!” Ilya watched with interest as the wheels turned behind Shane’s eyes. From incredulity to the same sort of panic that had settled over Ilya when he first processed it. 

 

And Shane did it all without the help of any vodka.

 

“Let me see your arm again.” Shane demanded, thrusting his own hand out.

 

Ilya stood, offering it obligingly. 

 

Shane glanced up, meeting Ilya’s eyes only for a moment before he had to look away. Rozanov’s gaze was… intense. Watching him hungrily under dark lashes. 

It was the same look he had given him at the photo op. At the parking lot.

Shane had thought the guy had been pissed at him but… shit. How had he ever thought that was a look of anger? It was clearly… something else.

 

Shane tore his gaze away, down to the man’s scarred arm. He cupped Ilya’s hand gingerly under his own, using the other to trace the gnarled contours of the scars. 

 

Shane’s fingers graced up the forearm, moving carefully over the wrist. 

The fine hairs of Ilya’s arm raised up with a shiver in their wake.

 

Ilya was standing very still, but his pulse was very fast. 

 

Shane squinted, and tilted his head. 

There was definitely an “S” there. That was the clearest letter to survive the carnage. A twisted sort of squiggle just before it could have been a question mark.

 

He had a feeling if he took out a pen and tried to draw in the rest, it would line up. 

Something fluttered in his gut.

 

…? Sl…      an……..o            i………ce …….. lf.

 

It was in the same place on the wrist. The letters were pointing in the same direction. Even the font looked like it could have been similar, at one point.

Ilya had shown him. Shane had looked right at it and not realized.

 

“Lucky for us the mark is not on our foreheads, yes?” Ilya smirked. “Your soulmate would be much less pretty.”

 

“What?” Shane looked up at him. His face fell as the meaning sank in. “You did this on purpose? Why?” He dropped Ilya’s arm, who crossed it tight over his chest.

 

“Is complicated.” Ilya said tersely.

 

To his alarm, Shane’s was rapidly… closing up. Or something. Not physically moving away but something was shuttering about his entire person. 

 

When he spoke, Ilya could feel his heart splinter.

 

“Do you, do you not want to be-?”

 

“No!” Ilya said quickly, then softer. “No.” 

He reached out, breathing out with soft relief when Shane didn’t pull away. His knuckles brushed against Shane's shoulder. It was tentative, and awkward. 

It meant everything to Ilya that Shane did not pull away. 

 

“I had no choice.” Ilya said thickly at last. His other hand braced Shane’s shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly. “It is… what I had to do. To get here. To meet you.” 

 

The words brought him back a bit. Shane relaxed under his touch, his eyes softened.

Yes, that was better.

Ilya didn’t want to see Shane look like that again. Not because of him.

 

The gap between them narrowed. Ilya’s head tilted to the side, soft lips parted. 

 

The realization shivered through Shane’s being.

Oh god, Ilya Rozanov was going to kiss him. 

Not even an hour ago, Shane had been plotting a dozen different scenarios to destroy this man’s career. 

 

And now Ilya was going to kiss him.

He was going to kiss a man.

 

“Can I?” Ilya breathed. 

 

There was blood pounding in  Shane’s ears. In addition to the revelation of his soulmate, Shane was still keyed up from their run. His blood was hot, the air thick with the anticipation of something about to start. 

 

Ilya moved a bit closer. 

 

“Wait…” Shane breathed.

Ilya stopped, his lips hovering just above Shane’s own. 

Ilya began to pull back when Shane surged forward.

 

It was too fast, some kind of miracle that the two didn’t knock teeth or their foreheads together. They might have, if Ilya hadn’t been ready for him, pulling Shane in. He braced Shane’s head with his hands, drinking him in with a deep groan of satisfaction.

 

If there had been any doubt in his mind that Ilya might have been Shane’s soulmate, it evaporated under the firepower of a truly spectacular kiss. 

 

Shane could feel his brain being rewired, his body thrummed electric. He gripped Ilya’s sweat-dampened shirt, pressing up into him earnestly. Ilya pulled back just long enough for Shane to take in a gasp of air, tugging gently on his lower lip before pressing back into him. 

 

And fuck - the second kiss was even better.

He wanted to keep kissing him. He wanted, he wanted-

Feet stumbled, Shane’s back hit the wall of the gym.

Their hips ground together. And he- they were- oh god- 

 

“W-wait-!” Shane gasped. He pulled back, though Ilya still held him close. 

“What?” Ilya groaned, his voice was thick. He pressed hot, fervent kisses to Shane’s temple and neck. “I have waited months to kiss you, I do not want to stop.”

“Not here!” Shane pressed his hands to Ilya’s chest, though he couldn’t bring himself to push away. Ilya’s lips had found a spot just below Shane’s ear that caused him to whimper. “Anyone could walk in! And I - I’m not, this is a lot to take in…”

 

Ilya cradled Shane’s head in his hands, looking down at him with such deep fondness that Shane felt he might be coming apart at the seams. 

 

“Okay.” 

Shane’s heart swooped on reflex at the word that had haunted him for the better part of a year. He immediately went pink from embarrassment, and deeply appreciated Ilya not taking the moment to laugh at him.

 

“Let’s go get some food. I’m fucking starving.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Please note the rating changed! I have no grand plan for this story I'm just getting some feelings out and it turns out that plan involves some smut.

A half hour later, the two were sitting at a 24-hour diner. Shane ordered an omelette, while Ilya had gone for an abomination terrifyingly named “mega breakfast bacon burger.” 

 

For whatever reason, every restaurant in the United States seemed determined to put bacon in everything. Ilya wasn’t complaining.

 

He had caught Shane up to speed on things. The way things were concerning soulmarks in Russia, the options - or lack thereof - that he decided he had, and his ultimate course of action.

 

 

“So, why not just burn out my name?” Shane asked. “What you did, it’s…”

A bit much. 

Shane didn’t want to overstep, but Ilya was lucky that the burn didn’t damage his ability to use his hand or arm. His hockey career would have been over before it got a chance to start.

 

Ilya shrugged around his massive bite of burger. 

 

“Two reasons.” He held up his smallest finger. “First. It is illegal to damage your brand on purpose. So this had to look like accident. Small burn, just over the name?” Ilya shook his head. “This is too obvious. In Russia, the government keeps lists. They can be secret from other people, yes. But not from the country.”

 

Ilya took another thoughtful bite, trying to be careful with his words in his stilted, halting English.

 

“It would not matter what I do, or say. How many women have I slept with.” (Shane balked) “Sometimes you can make a case for ah - what do you say. Story? Situation-?”

 

“Context?”

 

“Yes. Context.” Ilya snapped  finger appreciatively. “Context. Who knows why you say this? Maybe your soulmate is having a shit Monday and their first words to you is ‘I need you to help me kill my boss.’ Maybe my hot lady soulmate introduces me to Shane Hollander, then herself. You are not responsible for your brand.” Ilya chewed thoughtfully, slowly working through his words and translating them into English.

 

“But… It is risky. There is lots of attention on my career already. Same as you.” Ilya gestured to Shane with his burger. “Worst case scenario, I am not allowed to leave the country. Best - I go, but am watched very closely.” Ilya shook his head. “I would certainly be kept from meeting you. I could not have this happen.” Ilya said definitively. 

 

He had played the scenario out in his head, and it had nearly made him sick. 

 

Sure, they would meet. The marks made it inevitable. But how would it happen? Or when? Perhaps it wouldn’t be until years after Ilya’s hockey career was behind him, when there was nobody left who cared about the name ‘Ilya Rozanov.’ When nobody cared if he left Russia to go and find Shane Hollander? When he was old and gray and his dick had stopped working.

 

And who was to say what would become of his Shane? Shane, whose soulmark could say anything, no matter what Ilya planned to say (their own actual meeting had been proof enough of this). 

 

Who was to say Shane would wait for him? What if Shane had already married, had someone he fell in love with while he was waiting for a soulmate he’d never know. Had beautiful babies and grandchildren, all while Ilya spent a long life sick in his heart loving someone on the other side of the world.

 

“Hey…” Ilya was jostled out of his spiral by a gentle touch to his shoulder. Shane was looking at him, concern clear on his face. 

 

Because Ilya’s fingers were greasy from his meal, he instead gave Shane a reassuring smile. He nudged Shane’s foot with his own. His stomach did a happy little flip as Shane nudged him back. 

 

“Uh, what was the second reason?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You said there were two reasons. You. You know. The entire arm.”

 

“Oh, yes.” 

 

Ilya wiped his fingers clean. 

 

“The other reason is I am shit with this sort of thing. Not like you can practice burning yourself, right? I got drunk first. Drank half a bottle of vodka, poured the second half over my arm before lighting it. But it got, ah-” He grinned, flexing his fingers for emphasis. 

 

“How do you say it - out of hand?”

 

Shane barked out a startled laugh.

 

“That’s a terrible joke!” His voice broke at the end, a surprise tear rolled down his cheek.

 

“Shane,”

 

“This is my fault.” Shane croaked out with a dry sob, scrubbing his eyes roughly. Around the terrible stab of sympathy, Ilya couldn’t help but think Shane even looked pretty when he was crying.

 

“All because I said my name when I introduced myself…”

 

“No, no. It is good.” Ilya pushed away the plate, taking Shane’s hand firmly in his own. “I know my soulmate right away. Very simple, yes?” 

 

Although Shane still felt miserable, some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. There was something reassuring in Ilya’s easy confidence on the matter. 

 

Ilya’s thumb stroked over Shane’s fingers. 

 

“I am here. With you. And we know each other. It is good.” He gave his hand a small squeeze for emphasis, placing a gentle kiss on his temple.

 

-

 

“Didn’t you eat at the party?”

After the burger, the waitress had brought Ilya a basket of fries and a large chocolate milkshake.

 

“No.” Ilya snorted. “I was looking for you.” He took a bite of a fry. “Last food I had was a crappy airport sandwich like fifteen hours ago when I was-”

 

“-Why did you refuse to sign with the Boston?” Shane demanded. It burst out of them, briefly startling them both.

 

“Shit, did Ward tell you?” Ilya struggled with the name, pronouncing it more like ‘Word’ with a hard inflection over the ‘R’  “During the party?” Ilya frowned. “What an asshole.” 

 

It was like all of the anger had been waiting patiently through the soulmate revelation to resurge with force. Shane stood stock still, watching expectantly as Ilya dunked two fries into his chocolate shake.

Gross.

 

“I need Canadian visa.” Ilya shrugged. “If I sign with Boston, I would have to live in America for years. And US greencard is impossible. With Montreal, I live there, I naturalize and have citizenship by the time my contract finishes. Easy.” Ilya clapped his hands against each other for emphasis, sitting back in the booth.

 

Shane took a moment to process. 

It made sense. Especially knowing everything he did now. But the vindictive anger was still churning away in him. 

 

Ilya tilted his head to the side, puzzling out Shane’s indignation.

Then, a twisted smile spread across his face.

 

“Oh,” He said slowly, “You think that I do this for you?”

“You just said you did!”

“No, I did this for me. So I can live in Canada with my sexy Canadian soulmate.” Ilya grinned fiercely, even more so when Shane turned bright red.

 

“Once I am done kicking his ass in hockey, of course.”

“Fuck you!” Shane snapped back, but he was grinning. “I’m so beating you next year at Worlds.”

“Hm, one miracle is enough for one day, yes? I think meeting your soulmate fills that quota.”

 

Shane flared with anger, but it was a good kind now. Before it had been smothering, suffocating. This made him feel… alight. Excited.

Things slotting back into place, perhaps better than before.

 

Ilya paid for their food while Shane waited outside, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. 

 

“I really need to take a shower.” Shane grumbled. He still felt sweaty and gross from the run. Now that some of his questions were answered and his nerves were settled, it was more difficult to ignore.

Shane didn’t mind getting dirty and gross from exercise. But he didn’t like to linger in it the caked, gritty feeling on his skin and clothing.

“Yes, no chance in the gym though.” Ilya said, falling into step alongside him as they wandered back in the direction of the hotel. He brushed his shoulder against Shane. “I would not have been able to keep my hands off you after that kiss.”

 

Shane shuddered, something hot and electric zipped up his spine.

 

It was a really good kiss. His lips tingled at the memory of it. 

 

“I should probably shower too.” Ilya hummed. His tone was deliberately polite, casual. 

 

For someone who had given Shane such a shit soulmark, it was a pretty good line. He was giving him a pretty clear out to go their separate ways, if he wanted to take it. 

 

It was also an offer.

 

Shane glanced alongside. Ilya was watching him, his expression dark and hungry. Saliva was pooling in Shane's mouth. He swallowed, throat bobbing.

 

“So…” He said slowly, awkwardly. “We'll both be showering.”

 

Ilya smiled.

-

They got back to Ilya’s apartment in a bit of a blur.

Shane was staying just across the hall from his parents - and he wasn’t quite ready to have that conversation just yet.

 

Shane had tried to slow things down in the gym.

He really had tried. 

But… fuck. He really wanted to kiss Ilya again.

 

“My room. I shower first.” Ilya peeled out of his black top as he walked toward the ensuite. Shane breathed out sharply, watching as Ilya turned, kicking off his shoes and stripping off his shorts and boxer briefs in the same fluid motion. Shane could practically feel his pupils going wide, taking in the magnificent curve of Ilya’s ass. 

 

Fuck, Ilya Rozanov was hot.

Guys were hot.

What a fucking day.

 

His gaze slowly traveled up. He realized belatedly that there was a mirror on the far side of the wall. He didn’t know what kind of face he was making, but without turning around Ilya was able to see it through the view. There was a flash of a satisfied smirk on the man’s face before he disappeared into the bathroom. 

 

A moment later, there was the hiss of water being turned on. 

 

Shane lingered a few moments, clutching one hand over his pounding heart.

“Okay, okay…” He bounced on his heels, psyching himself up before stripping out of his own shirt.

 

The hotel rooms provided fabric bags for an in-house dry cleaning service. Shane stuffed his things in there and left his shoes by the door before stealing over to the bathroom. The door had been left ajar, steam billowing out. 

 

“Took you long enough.” Ilya’s voice was low - and maybe just a tad smug - as Shane stepped in to join him.

 

And then - yes! They were kissing again. 

Only this time it was a hundred times better - the hot wet slide of their bodies against one another had him immediately dizzy.

Shane was backed against the warm tiles of the shower wall. Ilya cupped Shane’s chin with one hand, licking into his mouth with soft groans of appreciation as he deepened the kiss. His other hand was around Shane’s wrist - his hand pinned to the wall above his head. Ilya’s thumb pressed against the dark ink, his words on Shane’s body. 

 

It wasn’t just the soulmate thing.

Shane was pretty new to the soulmate thing, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t just that.

 

If it was, he would have heard about it. Soulmates talking about kissing like it was the greatest thing since breathing. Like you can’t get enough of it. 

 

Like you wanted to crawl out of your skin and into them and live there. 

 

No, this had to be some combination of that, plus his sexuality sliding into place and the undeniable fact that Ilya Rozanov was an amazing kisser.

 

Shane pulled away with a dizzying gasp, his nose trailing along Ilya’s jaw as his mouth moved worshipfully down his neck. 

 

“I want- can I-”

 

Ilya released Shane’s wrist, letting him sink down to his knees in the hot water of the shower. 

 

“Fuck, Hollander-” Ilya breathed out, bracing his elbow against the wall of the shower as Shane took him into his mouth. A hand braced behind Shane’s head. Fingers threaded through and gripped his hair, but Ilya was careful not to pull him in, or thrust up into his mouth. The muscles of his thighs were taut and trembling slightly. 

He clearly really wanted to. 

Shane had no idea if he was doing things right, but a steady stream of Russian expletives from Ilya was deeply encouraging. Shane pined softly, grasping his own cock with his free hand. 

He was hard, almost painfully so. He thumbed the slit of his cock and groaned. It was - shit it was leaking - was that normal?

 

Shane had fooled around with girls before. He never got wet like this. He was barely even touching himself. 

He closed his eyes, groaning softly with want as he worked and sucked at the head of Ilya’s dick. 

He didn’t want to come just from sucking Ilya’s cock, it’d be too embarrassing... 

Ilya swore again, his cock pulsed in Shane’s mouth. 

The hand on his head tugged him back. 

 

“Wait- stop-”

“Is it okay?”

“Fuck yes, but I want to see you when you come.” 

 

Ilya’s soap-slick hand braced their cocks together, jerking them to completion. Shane clung to his shoulders, pressing hot kisses into his neck. His fingers dug in as a shuddering climax tore through his body. Something wet and hot splashed against his stomach as Ilya’s brow furrowed, teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder. Shane tipped his head back and hissed from the sudden bloom of pain, though he could only find himself deeply relishing it. 

 

“Ohmygod…” He groaned. His heart was pounding in his chest, his knees trembling. He could feel Ilya’s doing the same, pressed close against him.

 

 Ilya had splashed some water over the evidence, and pumped some more soap into his hand.

“Turn around.” Ilya instructed. Shane obliged, bracing himself against the wall as Ilya lathered up Shane’s shoulders and back. 

 

Shane closed his eyes, still circling back down to earth. Ilya’s hands were firm. A bit calloused by hockey, but so were Shane’s. 

His hands felt nice.

 

“So you have never kissed a boy before?” Ilya asked conversationally. Shane laughed, he crossed his arms on the shower wall, bracing his forehead against them. 

 

“We just did a lot more than kiss.”

“Yes, it was very good.” Ilya said warmly. His hands had made their way down to Shane’s hips, which got an appreciative squeeze. He kissed the bite mark on Shane’s shoulder reverently. 

 

“No, never. You were the uh. The first guy.” Shane laughed breathlessly. Then, he was struck by a sudden thought.

 

 “I… kind of have a girlfriend.” Shane mumbled under his breath. His eyes shot open wide. 

“Shit! I have a girlfriend!”

 

Ilya barked out a surprised laugh.

“Shane Hollander is an asshole!”

Shane groaned, pulling away from Ilya and shutting the water off. The shower was a nice one - big enough for him to take a full step in a half in the other direction to get some distance and air away from the hot water. 

 

“Hey, hey… is okay.” Ilya rubbed his shoulder soothingly. Shane made a half-aborted move to shake Ilya off of him, but couldn’t quite manage it.

 

Finding your soulmate was more or less a universal exemption to the conventional rules of monogamy. There were few people who would consider what they had done cheating.

 

Depending on where you were from and your background - staying in an established relationship (or even dating to begin with) with someone who didn't share your mark was more tantamount to infidelity.

 

“Very serious?”

“No.” Shane groaned. “We've only been together for like three months.”

 

Shane had offered to buy her a ticket to fly out for the draft, but she said she was too busy with her schoolwork.

It definitely wasn’t burn-my-body-and-piss-off-the-NHL serious, if that was what Ilya was asking.

 

But he still probably should have spoken to her before he jerked off in the shower with someone else. It would have been the polite thing to do.

 

Ilya smirked darkly, turning the water back on.

He still needed to get clean, after all. 

He scrubbed the shampoo and conditioner through his hair at the same time. 

Shane hadn’t left the shower, his back pressed against the opposite wall. He still looked a bit miserable, though his eyes were still lingering on Ilya. 

 

“Was her first word to you also ‘’Okay’?” Ilya said, with a healthy splash of sarcasm as he rinsed his hair. 

It was funny. 

Shane had grown to dread that word over the better part of the last year or so.

 

But he kind of loved the way Ilya said it. It had a musical sort of lilt to it. It felt like a different word altogether.

 

“It was actually, yeah.” Shane rubbed his arms a bit, avoiding eye contact. 

He glanced over, seeing Ilya’s expression had fallen as though he’d been shot.

 

“But it’s- I mean! I knew it wasn’t really her. I was pretty sure. Her soulmark is on her shoulder, and she’s never let me see it, so. I figured her mark must not have been anything about someone asking to borrow a pencil. I was planning on ending things anyway, even before all this.”

 

Ilya nodded stiffly, looking somewhat mollified. 

“You are cold, come here.”

 

Shane let himself be tugged back under the hot spray of water. A hand tilted his chin up, placing  a gentle kiss on his lower lip. 

 

“It will be okay.”

“Yeah.” Shane breathed out. His lips tingled. His cock twitched with renewed interest. 

 

Shane tore himself away from Ilya, viciously scrubbing his own hair clean. 

He still felt like an asshole.

“I’ve heard that word a lot, you know.” Shane secured a towel around his waist after they finished. “You had so much time to think of something better…” He laughed.

 

“Yes, I am sorry.” Ilya groaned. He roughly toweled his hair, but didn’t bother with any kind of modesty. Ilya trudged out of the bathroom, dropping the towel on the floor and collapsing on the bed. 

 

“Fuck…” Ilya swore softly, sitting up on his side to look up at Shane. “You do believe me, don’t you? Even if you can’t read my mark.”

 

“I do, yeah.” Shane agreed. But… he hesitated. 

Ilya noticed it. He frowned, sitting up right.

 

“Look. You remember when your mark first appeared, yes? The date, time?”

 

“Yeah it was-”

 

“March 11th at - I don’t know. Early afternoon, in Ottawa?”

 

“Yeah.” Shane’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t know the exact hour. Shane had found his mark in the evening, after a long day of practice. But the day he certainly remembered.

 

“Yes. Eight hours behind Moscow. It was late evening for me.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Because I learned every fucking thing about you that I can. You would do the same, yes?”

 

“Yeah, probably.” Shane laughed breathlessly. “Ilya, it’s okay. I believe you. It’d be, like, an insane thing to lie about.” Ilya visibly relaxed on the bed, looking suddenly drained. Shane felt a stab of sympathy.

 

Fatum Fraus - any sort of action to lie or manipulate the soul bond - was a serious crime in basically every country and a deeply condemned sin in most major religions.

That didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

 

“When did you last sleep?” Shane asked gently. 

 

Ilya opened up an arm at the same moment that Shane moved in to settle in the space on the bed beside him.

 

Fuck, he was tired too. 

The sun would be rising soon, and he hadn’t slept all night.

 

“Mn, not much.” Ilya’s voice was heavy and slow. He hadn’t quite translated Shane’s question correctly. His mind was starting to slow down. 

 

“I can go, you probably need to-”

“No,” Ilya groaned. He rolled over until he was nearly on top of Shane. “I mean. Yes, of course you can go if you want… I just need to close my eyes… ten minutes…” His words were slurred, and in the same breath that he finished talking Ilya had already begun to snore softly. 

Ilya's body was warm, and heavy.

It should have felt awkward, but instead it was grounding. 

In the dark and the quiet, Shane was a bit grateful to take a moment as well. 

 

Shane needed some time himself. To think, process things.

The last few hours had been a lot - though in a very good way.

 

Shane shifted a bit to get comfortable. Ilya barely stirred. He let himself touch and stroke the damp curls of his hair, and tucked his chin into the curve of Ilya's neck. 

His body thrummed in a deeply pleasant afterglow. Ilya’s body was warm and heavy. Shane closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

 

Fuck, this was nice.

 

He glanced aside, where Ilya's arm lay splayed out on the side of the bed. 

When Shane was little - maybe six years old - he had been playing with a ball in the house. It accidentally got kicked up to the mantle, causing a lit candle in sculpted glass to roll and fall off. Without thinking, Shane had rushed to catch it. The wick had burned his hand, and hot wax had been splattered over his fingers scalding them.

 

His mom rushed him over to the sink as he screamed and cried and ran his hands under cold water.

 

It hurt a lot.

Even days later. It caused a nasty boil to form on his palm, but it didn't leave a scar.

 

He tried to imagine that pain, but a thousand times worse. 

Dealing with it alone.

 

Shane sighed softly, letting his lips press against the pulse of Ilya's throat.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Please pay no attention to the creeping chapter count <3

Ilya wasn’t sure what time he finally fell asleep. It had to have been only a few hours away from sunrise. His sleep schedule was absolutely fucked. 

He woke at awkward times - his body moving but his mind still asleep, seized by the latent stress of re-meeting Shane that hadn’t quite been worked out of his system. His shoulders jerked, his arm groped blindly, palming across warm skin. 

Shane was still with him. Under him, beside him. 

Some primal thing in his mind that jerked him awake would be satisfied, and he’d fall back under again. 

At one point Ilya moved slowly to consciousness. Shane’s arm was around his back, his mouth was hot on Ilya’s neck. 

His naked cock was hard against Ilya’s side, rutting against him with soft, needful little noises.

He wasn’t sure if Shane was fully awake. 

He wasn’t sure he was awake either. His mind was still syrupy and slow as they aligned. The two slowly moved toward consciousness as they kissed and humped against one another to a messy, untidy climax.

 

It was hard to hold back - they were both dancing around the cusp of nineteen and dealing with all the urges and hormones that came with that.

 

“No, stay there.” Ilya rolled off of Shane, grabbing some nearby tissues to clean them off.

“I have to get back to my room.” Shane groaned, throwing an arm over his face. He looked as though he’d much prefer to fall asleep again. “My parents are going to be worried.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking up blearily at Ilya.

“Are you parents here?”

“Mine? No, no.” He said, softer the second time. “My father…” He started, but stopped when he couldn't quite find all the words.

 

This thing with Shane was still new. Still so precious to him. Shane, with his big beautiful brown eyes looking up at him with such open and gentle concern. 

 

“It is very far.” 

 

“Yeah.” Shane said softly. Ilya watched him curiously. He was closing up again, getting lost in something complicated going on in his own mind. 

 

“Here.” Ilya tossed Shane a spare change of clean clothes from his own bag. “Wear these back to your room. I will get your clothes cleaned.”

 

“We’re going to be leaving for the airport in an hour.” Shane murmured, perhaps more to himself than to Ilya. 

 

“Then I will give you your clothes when I see you again.” Ilya said easily. There was something deeply satisfying in the sight of Shane pulling on Ilya’s underwear.

 

Shane seemed mollified at that, his expression softening.

 

“Here.” Ilya walked over to him. “Give me your phone number, then go see your parents. I will text you.”

 

Shane nodded, handing over his phone. Ilya put in his contact details, and handed it back to Shane, stealing another small kiss as he did so.

“Talk to your ex-girlfriend.”

 

Shane burned a brilliant, deep red. 

 

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good boy.”

 

Shane groaned softly against Ilya’s shoulder. His phone buzzed.

He glanced down at it, and swore softly.

 

“They’re at my room. I have to go.”

 

-

 

Shane wasn’t quite ready to introduce Ilya to his parents just yet. He still had to get his mind around it. He was quietly grateful that Ilya didn’t seem to press him on it or mind.

It wasn’t that his parents would judge him for being gay (he didn’t think) especially not if it was his soulmate but- 

 

Well, they'd probably want to make a whole thing of it.

It was customary to throw a party so everyone’s friends and family could meet.

 

Except - no. Obviously they wouldn’t be able to do that.

 

Not only would it put Ilya in danger (at least until his visa was secured) but it would also have unknown repercussions on their hockey careers. 

It wasn’t something that got talked about in the NHL. There were no openly gay hockey players - which of course meant nobody in the league with a same-sex soulmate. 

 

Times were changing, but slowly.

 

As recently as a generation ago, it was “common knowledge” that soulmates were most likely to manifest in heterosexual couples. 

As the internet and social media rapidly picked up speed over the past decade, more ideas were spreading. The world was getting louder. It was becoming harder to ignore that soulmarks had no distinction across sex or gender. 

 

But in reality, many couples might have felt political or societal pressure to simply… forgo their soulmates. 

Pretend they missed the words. 

Not let them know.

 

Or stay together and not let the world know - like Ilya and Shane tentatively planned to do.

For now.

 

-

 

Ilya went back to Russia. 

 

Shane was squirrely about it, but he wasn’t sure what the alternative could have been. Besides, Ilya had sacrificed so much to be able to exist safely in his home country.

 

It felt wrong to… he didn’t know what. Ask Ilya to stay with him? With his parents? 

Ilya was already going to be moving away from his family.

He was already making long-term plans that involved a life in Canada.

It felt selfish to want more than that.

 

So Shane threw himself into his training and his brand deals and making trips down to Boston to scope out the area and find an apartment. 

 

The two texted a lot. 

They didn’t formally agree on it, but typically ended up speaking on the phone once a week on Sundays. There was a span of a few hours where their timezones aligned and their schedules were clear that allowed them to do so. 

 

They talked a lot about hockey - which was comfortable for both of them. 

 

Slowly here and there, Shane would learn new things about Ilya. 

He liked to swim as well. He hated clowns. 

They made each other laugh.

Or at least, Ilya made Shane laugh. Even if most of the time it was incredulous or exasperated. It was difficult to know (with certainty) over text if Shane was similarly coming across as cool or funny or confident.

But Ilya always replied to him straightaway - save for instances where their time difference had them out of sync. 

 

It was comforting to have Ilya in his pocket, with some funny quip or a photo of a random dog he had passed during his morning run. 

The Ilya in his phone was a different to the Rozanov that reared his head in interviews or sound bites on popular sports websites - the one that was gearing up for an epic clash of star rookies about to make their debut.

 

The “rivalry” that had been hinted and nudged at during the combine seemed determined to follow them to the NHL. Especially now that the two had been drafted to Boston and Montreal, it was almost guaranteed. That … could be a problem.

But it was hard to consider exactly how to approach it - or if they even should. 

It could be a useful smokescreen for them while they were keeping things low key.

Or, it could make it even more suspicious if they were ever seen off the rink together.

 

Shane checked his phone mid-run, scrolling listlessly through his text history with Ilya.

It was 6PM in Ottawa. It’d be well past midnight for Ilya in Moscow.

He likely wouldn’t be up until Shane was asleep.

He thought he could outrun it, but the same thought that had been nipping at his heels for weeks was back and had caught him again. 

 

His mom would know what to do.

If Ilya hadn’t been his soulmate - if he had just been some guy that Shane had impulsively hooked up with, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. 

Shane couldn’t possibly imagine a world where he’d just happen to end up fucking around with Ilya Rozanov of all people, but if it were the case. 

It’d be less important. He probably would have just kept it between themselves. 

 

But this was different.

This came with certainty. This was Important™

It was Important with a capital “I” and one of those trademark symbol things on it.

 

It was becoming more apparent the more that Shane connected with Ilya. 

Talked with him, laughed with him.

But more than just being the guy’s soulmate - more than fate and destiny and magic ink under the surface of the skin - Shane was starting to really like Ilya Rozanov.

 

When Ilya announced he would be coming to Montreal early to get settled in the city, Shane went out and bought his first car with a chunk of his signing bonus just to be able to drive out to meet him. 

 

His parents were wary of him suddenly looking to take a few days off so close to his own impending move down to Boston. He would still have plenty of time to pack and find an apartment and settle in (he assured them) but it was… a bit out of character.

 

They didn’t pry, or push. But it was awkward. 

It wasn’t like Shane to hide things from his parents, and they were clearly struggling with the best way to process it.

 

Maybe Shane should have come up with a better lie. But… he also didn’t want to lie. This was his soulmate. It wasn’t the sort of thing you were supposed to hide or lie about.

After a few starts and stops, Shane sent a few messages to Ilya before continuing on his run.

 

Shane: I think we need to tell my parents about us.

Shane: My mom is starting to take this rivalry thing pretty seriously. She’s cleaning out all of her old Metros stuff from the house.

Shane: I think she’s getting ready to burn it.

 

Sure enough, when Shane blinked awake the next morning, a reply was waiting for him.

 

Lily: Okay, if that is what you want.

 

Shane: Well I was thinking

Shane: You’ll be in Montreal in two weeks, right?

 

Dots appeared and disappeared. Shane rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying not to work himself into too much of a panic before he could have his first cup of coffee.

Lily: You want to introduce me to your parents?

Shane: Only if it’s okay with you.

 

Shane rolled over onto his stomach, watching his phone impatiently for a reply. 

More appearing and disappearing dots.

 

Lily: Yes, of course.

 

-

 

Shane set a Saturday aside to spend the day making a homemade dinner for his parents. He picked up a few bottles of nice wine and a fancy dessert from a local bakery. He spent a bit too long fussing with his appearance, dressing up more like someone preparing to go to a job interview than having a casual meal with his parents. 

 

Shane clearly was projecting his nerves. His parents didn’t touch their food (Shane wasn’t either) but patiently and kindly waited for him to say what was on his mind. 

 

He started with the hard part. 

 

“So, um. I’m gay.”

 

It went well.  Much better than he thought it would. 

There were plenty of hugs, a few tears.

His parents had apparently suspected it for a while, which was a surprise to Shane who was completely blindsided by it himself.

 

It had been a huge leap, but they caught him with open arms. 

 

Shane nearly felt dizzy with relief from it, the unburdening of a weight he hadn’t realized had settled over him in the past few months.. 

 

It was scary. But an important first step to get to the real purpose of the conversation. 

 

Fortunately, this would be the easy part. 

 

“So how did you find out?” Yuna asked, filling Shane’s wine glass. 

He had shrugged off his blazer and thrown his tie over the back of the chair. They were all eating, and things were slotting back into place. 

 

Good, normal.

 

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He said, unable to help a smile from spreading across his face. “I kind of… met my soulmate.”

His eyes lit up as he said it, and the dinner was once again derailed with another round of tearful hugs and cries of support and adoration. 

 

Shane’s face was starting to hurt from smiling, crushed between his two parents that he loved so much.

 

“That’s wonderful!”

“Oh Shane, we’re so happy for you!”

“When do we get to meet the guy?”

 

“He lives abroad, but he’s moving to Montreal in two weeks.”

 

There was a final falling into place. A quiet relief- especially from Yuna. 

 

“Oh! I see.” David nodded with a broad smile. “We had been wondering about that, you should have told us sooner! Your mother was worried about you taking time off during training.”

 

“We were sure you had a good reason.” Yuna dismissed it with a wave of her hand and a breathless smile. “But - oh Shane, that is so wonderful! We should all drive out together. We can take you out to dinner to celebrate!”

 

“What’s he like?”

 

“He likes hockey, like me.” The three had sat back down at the table. David resumed eating, though Shane was a bit too full of kinetic energy to think much about food. “We actually met at the combine last year.”

 

“Is he a hockey player as well?” Yuna asked, her eyes lighting up with delight. Shane nearly laughed. He could see exactly the train of thought she had jumped on.

 

Did he make the draft? Do we know him? What are his stats?

 

“Yeah. He, um. It’s actually, he’s Ilya Rozanov.”

 

Her expression shifted to shock. 

 

“Rozanov? Really.” David said with a chuff of a laugh. “How about that!” 

“Rozanov…” Yuna’s expression had gotten distant. 

 

It was a lot to take in, to be sure. 

 

“What was it that you said to him?” David asked genially. 

 

“Oh I just. I introduced myself. I spoke first so it wasn’t anything special. But he knew it was me.” Shane beamed. 

 

“And he said ‘Okay’?” David laughed, so bright and open Shane joined in, flushing red. 

 

“Yeah, he’s still learning English. I think it was… kind of an accident.”

 

“Nerves, I bet.” David nodded along sympathetically. “I never wanted to freak you out about it but it can be pretty scary realizing you’re meeting your soulmate and being the one to respond.” He spread his hands. “But you worked it out in the end! That’s wonderful, son.”

 

“Rozanov’s accident…” Yuna mused. She had gone a bit pensive. “It was in the papers a few months ago. That didn’t reach his mark, did it?”

 

“It did, yeah.” Shane’s smile fell. “That was actually kind of the point…”

 

Shane explained what Ilya had done. While David nodded along sympathetically, Yuna’s distant, thoughtful expression lingered. Shane couldn’t quite figure it out.

 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” She said quietly. “It looked like such a terrible injury. To think it was intentional…” She took a measured sip of her wine. 

 

“You know,” She spoke, and something in Shane’s gut went taught. Whatever Yuna had been thinking, she was about to say it now. “You two should look into seeing a Soulmark Consultant. One that is notary certified. If you’re able to be confirmed as soulmates, then Ilya would be able to access a Canadian visa through civil partnership.”

 

Shane’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“A bit soon for the kids to be getting married, don’t you think?” David said, surprised. 

 

“They would not be getting married.” Yuna replied, quickly and firmly. “But, it would take some of the pressure off.” She continued, gently. “If something happened with Rozanov’s contract with the NHL. If he got injured or some other reason.” She tilted her head meaningfully.

 

If they were outed, and things went badly for them. 

 

Shane was grateful that Yuna didn’t say it out loud. 

 

“He wouldn’t need to worry about his visa being tied to his job.” She finished. 

“That’s not a bad idea...” Shane said thoughtfully, to Yuna’s very visible relief. “Though, do you think they’ll be able to prove it?” He asked. “Ilya’s soulmark is… pretty much gone. There’s just a few letters left. You can’t make out any words, or anything.”

 

“They’re good at this sort of thing.” Yuna assured him. “It’s not just interviews. They run research online, conduct tests to ensure the marks are real.”

 

“Yuna-” David said, Shane made a soft sound of confusion.

 

“Shane,” Yuna said carefully. “Do you remember what we spoke about when you first got together with Jessica?” She asked.

 

“I talked to Jessica and ended things. She wasn’t mad.” Shane answered immediately. 

 

“I mean.” Yuna spoke slowly. “When you thought that she might have been the one, even though she didn’t seem to know your mark?”

 

Shane was drawing an honest blank. He was still a bit concerned that Yuna had somehow read his mind and learned about all the things he had done in that shower with Ilya before breaking up with her. 

 

“That if you ever met someone who said the right words, but you weren’t sure - that there are specialists you can speak to about this sort of thing.”

 

“Yeah.” Shane still wasn’t sure where his mom was going with this. “But I told Ilya my full name when I first met him.” Shane’s mark might have been vague, but Ilya’s would have been more than specific enough for both of them.

 

Not that Shane had ever seen it, but-

The realization hit him wet and cold.

 

“You think he’s lying.” Shane said quietly. 

 

“I am just trying to look out for you.” His mother pressed empathetically. 

 

“But he knew my mark.” Shane pointed out insistently.

Did he forget to mention that? 

He wanted Yuna to smile and wave her hands, insisting everything was fine then, of course! He wanted them to go back to that warm and trusting place they were when Shane came out to them. 

 

But instead, Yuna continued to watch him intently.

 

“Shane… are you sure nobody has ever seen your soulmark? You never told anybody? Even in secret?”

 

Shane shook his head and pushed away from the table. He stood, pacing fervently.

She knew what he was getting at. 

A few years ago, if a celebrity’s photo got photographed it was a major news story.

Now, there were websites all over the internet viciously stockpiling and posting photos of soulmarks of anyone even remotely well known.

If they wore a band or black patch, there were logs of where it was on their body, how large was the covering. Speculations on when it might have appeared.

 

Shane had never looked himself up, of course. 

But it wouldn’t be impossible to assume he might also feature there.

 

It was the reason that consultants existed in the first place. 

“Think of it this way,” Yuna said, even as Shane rounded on her.

“No! No I - I don’t want to think of that at all!” Shane burst out, nearly pleading.

 

“You two won’t want to keep this a secret forever, right?” She pressed. “If Rozanov-”

“-Ilya.”

“If Ilya destroyed his soulmark, it’s going to be the question on everyone’s minds once it happens. It will be easier to have this as proof, won’t it?”

 

“I don’t care what everyone thinks!” Shane said, petulantly. He sounded like a little kid, he knew. He also knew it wasn’t true. 

That - shit, that was going to be important. 

 

Shane thought about Ilya. If he got outed.

If something happened that caused him to get deported..

He would have destroyed his mark for nothing.

He would- he’d still be…

 

Shane curled in on himself, closing up as the walls closed in on him.

It hadn’t happened since he was little, but he couldn’t help it. 

 

As mad as he was at his parents, Shane was glad that he wasn’t alone. Glad to know that they would be patient, give him as much time as he needed to sort through the overwhelming deluge of feelings and hurt. 

 

Sometime later, Shane was curled up tight on the couch. 

His mom had made him a mug of ginger and lemon tea (he hadn’t touched it). David was in the kitchen, tidying up after dinner. 

 

“What if they can’t prove it?” Shane’s voice was very quiet. 

 

“We’re not looking for them to prove anything.” Yuna said gently. “If they come back inconclusive, we’ll respect your decision, whatever it is.”

 

Shane breathed for a few long moments. He kept his gaze far off in the middle distance.

 

“I won’t do this if Ilya doesn’t want to.”

 

There was a long, deeply uncomfortable silence.

 

“Well. Let’s see what he says then.”

 

-

Lily: how was dinner with your parents?

 

Shane’s phone pinged an hour later.

 

Lily: bad?

 

Another hour. 

 

Lily: text me a picture thing so I know your phone hasn’t been taken off you

Shane: An emoji?

Lily: yes

Lily: fuck

Lily: text me what you ate at the diner first night so I know it is you

Shane: 🥘

Lily: ok

 

Shane knew that telling Ilya he was going to come out to his parents and then ghosting him was a dick move. His concern about confiscated phones likely wasn’t an exaggerated fear or controlling behavior. 

 

Shane didn’t want to think about what Ilya would have been in for if their situations had been reversed. If he had to have that talk with his father. His father and his brother, who were like a landmine whenever they spoke. One that went off quietly and caused Ilya to get quiet and withdrawn and scathing like a cornered animal lashing out.

 

Shane felt terrible about it, but he didn’t know what to say to him.

He was embarrassed. 

He was worried.

He was afraid Ilya would be angry with him.

 

Oh, yeah. My parents don’t care that I’m gay. They were happy for me. They think you are lying and manipulating me, though. They’ve already got the number of a Consultant whose job is going to try and prove that. So how was your day?

 

This thing between them was so new and so good. 

He didn’t want to ruin it.

 

But, shit. This probably wasn’t helping either.

 

Shane wedged himself into a corner of his room, and hit the call button. Ilya picked up before the end of the first ring.  

 

“Shane. Are you okay?”

Shane opened his mouth, but found the words couldn’t come out. 

 

“... you are safe?”

“... yeah…”

“Your parents are angry?”

“No, they’re… they were fine about the gay thing.” Shane mumbled. 

 

There was a beat of hesitation on the other line.

 

“I have upset you?”

“No, of course not!”

“Okay.” Ilya’s voice softened. He didn’t sound happy, but the edge of worry had tapered off. Instead, he waited. 

 

It wasn’t a tense silence, or an awkward one. Even without Ilya physically there with him, Shane could feel him patiently waiting for Shane to be ready to talk. 

 

“My parents want us to see a Soulmark consultant.”

“A what?”

“They’re like. They’re private investigators who check to see if people are lying about their marks.” Shane said out in a mumbled rush.

“Ah.” Ilya said. “полиция судьбы. This is fine.”

Shane sat up, his body straight and tight. 

“What, really?”

“Yes.” Ilya replied easily. The nonchalance sounded a bit forced, but not by too much. 

“You’re not mad?”

 

There was a long pause, full of many things Ilya was not saying out loud.

“I know we are soulmates.” Ilya said at last. “You know it too.” 

 

It wasn’t a question. 

 

“If they are good at their jobs, they will know it. If they are not, and say I am…” Ilya searched for the words. “Trying to seduce and trick Shane Hollander, to throw off his hockey game, well.” Shane imagined Ilya’s mouth twisted up, somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

 

“I will have a harder time winning over your parents, I suppose?” 

 

Shane laughed softly, tears welling suddenly in the corners of his eyes. 

 

He hated being upset with his parents. It felt wrong - the floor beneath him twisted up slantways and throwing off the balance of every step he took.

He hated this entire situation. Shane hadn’t been able to imagine a circumstance where Ilya would possibly be okay with this, but the fact that he was, and so easily meant the world to him. It felt like he had been given something back.

 

“Thank you.” Shane breathed out, deeply relieved. 

 

“Nothing to thank.” Ilya said softly. “Your parents love you.”

 

Hundreds of miles away, Ilya stood in his bedroom and wondered what his parents would have done, if the situation were reversed, if his soulmark had been something boring and vague and didn’t have a man’s name on it. 

 

His father would probably tell him that soulmarks were superstitious nonsense and to not let it get in the way of his future. 

Alexei would probably see how much he could sell the information for behind Ilya’s back.

“They’re going to love you, too.” Shane said quietly. 

 

“I am going to love seeing you soon.” Ilya said lowly. “I cannot wait to take you apart with my tongue.”

 

Shane went beet red at once, pushing himself back a little further into the corner. It was a hard pivot, but one Shane was viciously grateful for.

He wanted to stop thinking about this. Stop stressing about it, even just for a little while.

 

“I have been imagining what kind of sounds you will make.” His voice had dropped even lower. Shane could practically hear the vibrations of the timbre of his voice quaking the phone. 

 

“Ohmygod…” Shane breathed out. 

 

“Yes, that is one of them…” Ilya purred. Shane closed his eyes tight, slipping his hand under the waistband of his pants. 

“Please, I suck your cock again…” Shane groaned, pressing his forehead against the wall. 

 

“Hm. Maybe if you are very good.” Ilya’s voice was rough, a little uneven. 

Fuck he was touching himself too. 

 

Shane pined softly.

Yes, this was good. He didn’t want to think about anyone, or anything else. 

He just wanted…

He wanted this.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

I finally gave up and removed the character limit. This story does have an outline and an ending planned, I promise!

In the remaining time before Ilya flew in to Montreal, Shane had thrown himself into some research. His mother had given him the contact details of a very good Soulmark Consultant agency, but Shane still felt terse and wary about the entire situation.

 

Much to his frustration - after several hours of looking into the various businesses himself, he found his research and questions all lead him back in circles to the same consultancy that Yuna recommended initially.

 

They specialized in cases of damaged, altered or missing marks. 

They were particularly well-known for being very professional and discreet with their clients.

Naika Aidu even had a background in immigration support.

 

Shane reached out to her separately, and arranged a meeting the weekend before Ilya was set to arrive.

 

Their office was a quaint and refurbished house, with a discreet parking lot and a private back entrance. The interior was clean and tastefully decorated.

The secretary who welcomed him in even got him a glass of ginger ale for the brief wait.

 

“Mr. Hollander.”

“Um, hi.” He awkwardly stood and shook the hand of the clean-cut and professional woman who came in to meet him. 

“My name is Anika Naidu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Anika had sleek, dark hair tied back in a braid that had been woven into itself in an elegant knot. She had sharp brown eyes and tastefully minimal makeup. She had a no-nonsense way of speaking that was efficient, but polite. She was curt, but not unkind. 

 

“I know you gave me a short brief over email. Would you like to tell me a bit more about your situation?”

 

Shane found himself dancing around the use of pronouns as he gave her an overview of the situation, which - if she found unusual - she didn’t inquire after further. 

 

“I am sure you are feeling very frustrated.” Anika said neutrally. She had moved from sitting on the corner of her desk to a seat opposite Shane, which he appreciated. “But your circumstance is not terribly unusual. We typically deal with two types of clients. Either someone who isn't happy or satisfied with their soulmate.” Her lips twitched imperceptibly.

“Or their family isn't.”

 

“They're just looking out for me.” Shane mumbled, looking quite determinedly at the corner of her desk. 

 

Anika gave Shane a brief, considering look before continuing. 

 

“Yes, well. Regardless of what brought you here, the process is relatively the same. Registering for civil partnership via a soulmate claim is actually quite straightforward in Canada.” She pulled out a notebook, jotting down some notes for Shane.

 

“Most soulmate meetings happen privately. We can’t insist on witnesses being present, like you might with a civil union. The only area that you would struggle in, is that you both need to testify that the marks corroborate with your first words to one another.”

“Yeah. I can’t do that.” Shane shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Naidu shrugged.

“Yes. Ordinarily this wouldn't be too much of a problem. But considering the public nature of both of your lives, when your relationship does become public it might raise some questions. There are other considerations as well.” She continued.

 

“Soulmates differ from marriage as well. It’s not something you can get divorced from. If there ever were an instance where someone registered a soulmate, it’s next to impossible to do so again, with another individual. It can be very tricky for cases like your, where your soulmark is a relatively common word.

 

Even if there was some genuine or - less genuine - mix up. That originally ‘declared’ soulmate would be legally bound to you in a very real way. Even if you were to remarry, or…”

 

“Or if I met my real soulmate.” Shane finished for her. “If Ilya was lying.”

 

“Yes.” She finished. “He would retain certain rights through that formally declared soulbond. You would have additional steps to take to make sure your assets remain secure and separate. If ever there was an accident, or if you were to have children-”

 

Anika continued on. Shane didn’t listen to most of it. He had just realized that they had slipped into names and pronouns, and it had him frozen in place staring ahead.

 

“-This is why civil partnership declarations in instances involve a phase of investigation, when there is cause for reasonable doubt for one or both parties. But Shane.” She leaned forward meaningfully. Shane blinked rapidly, looking over to her. 

 

“As a part of the debriefing, I need to take you through something of a general disclaimer.” She said meaningfully. 

 

“What we specialize in is a series of checks and tests based around the general societal consensus on soulmarks. This is based around statistics, data, and censuses. However,  it is important to keep in mind - there is no rulebook on soulmarks. There’s no formal guide for how they work or what they mean. Though lots of religions have, and a fair number of cults.” She said grimly. 

 

“But at the end of the day, it is your life. Who you choose to love, and be with. Nobody can tell you that but you.”

 

Shane supposed he had always known that, to some extent. 

It felt grounding to hear someone say it.

 

-

 

Ilya’s flight got in from Moscow at 2AM. 

 

Shane was privately glad for the unwieldy hour. Everyone at the airport was too bedraggled and fixed on their own comings and goings to pay too much attention to anyone else around them. 

 

Ilya somehow managed to look perfect. Sure he had some bags under his eyes, but he looked incredible. He was wearing a dark leather jacket and snug pants that hugged his thighs. His hair was a bit damp - Shane imagined Ilya must have stopped in the bathroom on the way off the plane and ran his fingers through it. He looked more like he was getting ready to step out to a club than stepping off of a twelve hour flight.

 

His eyes were drawn to Shane at once, making a beeline to where he was standing half-hidden behind a column near the gate.

 

“Did you really fly in that?”

“In what? My clothes?” Ilya grinned, shifting the strap on his backpack a little higher. “I should greet you in the nude next time?”

“Stop!” Shane turned away, if only to hide his grin and fantastic blush. He was worried if the two held their gaze any longer he might not be able to resist doing something stupid, like pull him in for a hug. Instead, he took Ilya’s rolling suitcase off of him and guided him swiftly to the parking garage. 

 

Shane loaded Ilya’s things into the car. 

“It’s about a forty minute drive to that address you sent me.” Shane said, pulling out and heading down the ramp. “Do you need to pick up anything? We’ll pass by a Couche-Tard on the way there.”

“A what?”

“It’s a convenience store.” Shane smirked. “You’ll have to know that living here.”

“Oh. Hm, no. I don’t need anything” Ilya’s eyelids were heavy. He leaned toward Shane. Fresh off the flight from Russia, Ilya was schooled and reserved against reaching for Shane as he clearly wanted to. The top knuckles of his two fingers stroked against Shane’s arm in a manner that could be defined as yearning. The hairs on Shane’s skin rose. 

 

“Just want to sleep in a real bed.” He murmured.

 

“We’ll be there soon.” Shane let himself brush his fingers through Ilya’s hair as they stopped at a red light. “You can sleep on the way, if you want.”

Ilya made a soft, petulant sound. 

“No,” He huffed. “Tell me about what you did today.”

 

Shane grinned, obliging him. 

It hadn’t been terribly interesting - mostly just packing and driving out from Ottawa to meet him.

 

“I also confirmed that. Uh. That thing.” Shane said cagily. “It’s tomorrow. But in the afternoon, so you can lie in.”

Ilya didn’t respond right away - in fact Shane thought he might have dozed off after all when he finally said. 

“Yes, okay.”

 

Ilya’s agent had helped him get set up with an apartment about ten minutes away from the Bell Centre. It was within walking distance of a number of good shops too. It had a doorman and a secure parking garage. From what Shane could see of the kitchen and living room that they staggered past, it wasn’t anything impressive or flashy.

 

To its credit, at least the place was already furnished. This meant that the two had little more to do than sleepwalk into the bedroom and collapse there. Ilya quickly showered while Shane made the bed with the sheet set that had been set and folded at the foot of the bed.

 

Shane supposed there probably been some discussion or niceties made about whether or not he should take the guest bed. But those thoughts were promptly shut down when Ilya emerged from the bathroom and dragged Shane down into the bed with him like an oversized teddy bear.

 

-

 

“Well, it’s definitely a soulmark. It’s just had a rough time.”

The technician said brightly, behind a white paper facemask. 

The room Ilya was sitting in looked and felt a lot like a dentist’s office, down to the large reclining chair. His arm was propped up against a brace, where she had been carefully examining it with something that looked like a jewelers glass.

 

“What else would it be?”

Ilya was having trouble accessing his usual charming aplomb. 

He had agreed to all of this because of course he did. It was important to Shane. There was nothing to decide. 

He swallowed it back and smiled on the phone - even though Shane couldn’t see him - and said it was fine. 

Even if it wasn’t fine.

 

Ilya still woke up in cold sweats sometimes at the thought of doctors examining his soulmark. In those dreams they loomed over his still intact mark, that he hadn’t been able to properly conceal. Or in some versions of the dream his burn was still there, but they managed to re-arrange the letters like clay until everyone could see it. 

 

He always woke up before it could go any further - simply because he didn’t know what would have become of him if that had ever occurred. Sometimes he genuinely wasn’t sure if the not-knowing made it worse.

 

Ilya never wanted a doctor - or a dentist - or anyone who looked like this woman - looking at his soulmark. 

 

But here he was. She couldn’t even have the decency to be clinical or rude. The woman was warm and calm and patient, and it made Ilya feel like an ass for not managing to be more polite.

 

“You’d be surprised how many people think that they can fake a soul bond with a regular ink tattoo.” She said lightly, swiveling her chair back around to the table where a few other tools were kept. 

 

Ilya wasn’t surprised. He knew that some individuals who had no soulmarks often inked ones after getting married, commemorating their first words to one another anyway for sentimental purposes. Some couples got ink tattoos for the sake of appearances. 

 

His parents had ink tattoos. 

 

Alexei had told him so. He didn’t know where he had learned it, only that he had told it jeeringly to Ilya when he was thirteen and his brother had caught him up late at night crying and sniffling and missing his mother.

 

He said it as if not being his father’s soulmate made her less of their mother.

“Soulmarks are more than just a tattoo.” The technician was speaking. Ilya got the feeling she was just talking to distract him from what she was doing, sterilizing a very sharp scalpel.

 

“The marks and the lines are a physical part of you, more like one of your moles. Possibly genetic.”

 

Genetic. Ilya rolled the word over in his brain, tasting every syllable. He focused on it, keeping himself calm as she swung her chair back over to Ilya. She tore open an alcohol swap, running it methodically over his wrist for a measured thirty seconds.

“The marks are not like the rest of your skin either.” She continued, as she worked. “If we removed one of your moles, for example. They’d just be gone. Your skin would heal up without creating a new melanin deposit. When this sample heals, the ‘ink’ will still be there. You may actually get back more of your mark than you had before.”

 

“Hm, doubtful.” Ilya tipped his head back. “Maybe if it was still my arm. To fix the burn the doctors took skin from my ass.”

 

It was technically the skin graft had come from the back of his upper thigh. But Ilya was too tired and pissed off to remember if there was a word for that part of the body in English.

The technician just hummed something neutral, entirely professional. 

 

“...Don’t touch the ‘S.’” Ilya said tightly. 

“Do you have a preference on where we should take it?”

“No. Just… just the S.”

 

It was the most intact part of his overall mark, somehow surviving the carnage of the fire. The capital S at the very center, that had once been Shane’s full name.

 

The local anaesthetic did its trick, Ilya didn’t feel much more than a minor, muted pressure and a vague suggestion of soreness as a tiny corner of his mark - roughly the size of the tip of a pencil - was removed and placed in a pressurized vial to be tested in some lab.

 

He knew what they were checking for. They were going to test and see if it matched the swab that they had taken off the inside of his mouth.

He wondered if they would say it.

 

Ilya had learned about it, during his frantic research into the black world of soulmarks and soulmates when he was trying to consider his options. 

 

It was sentimental and romantic to tattoo a soulmark in order to give the appearance of a soulmate.

If someone really wanted to force destiny and have a bond.

If they had the means.

 

Skin grafts could be used for more than just burn injuries.

“That’s you all done, Mr. Rozanov.”

Ilya stepped out into the early morning sun. He slipped on a dark pair of shades and pulled a baseball cap low over the bright curls of his hair. 

 

Ilya turned instinctively, spotting Shane’s car without having to look for it. 

It was a quick, subtle thing. Something Ilya was too tired and frustrated to examine closely. 

 

It had been a fad in the 70s - soulmates appearing on television claiming they had extrasensory abilities to detect one another or read their thoughts. It was an old fad, thoroughly debunked. 

 

He slid into the passenger seat of Shane’s new (boring) car. 

 

“I uh. I got coffee while you were there. Black, one sugar.”

 

Ilya had only mentioned how he had his coffee once, a few months ago they had been speaking on the phone. It was late in the evening for Shane, and Ilya had just woken up. He mentioned in passing that he had been making coffee, and Shane asked him about it.

 

Black. Of course. Maybe sugar, if I am having a shit day.

 

It softened the creases around Ilya’s eyes, his body relaxing slightly. 

 

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

 

No, Ilya wasn’t okay. The nice, polite, professional technician in the clean, tastefully furnished lab had still managed to make his skin crawl and frazzle his nerves. 

 

He was worried that somehow the information was going to get logged into some universal medical database and the information would somehow make its way back home.

 

He was worried that they’d go through all of this, and these nice, polite doctors would decide that there wasn’t enough of Shane’s soul left on his skin. That Shane would agree with them. 

And Ilya had messed all of this up. 

 

“Hm, more okay with coffee.” Ilya grinned and winked, taking the cup off of Shane. 

 

Shane smiled, causing Ilya’s chest to swoop happily. 

 

“Hey, uh.” He drummed his fingers nervously on the wheel of the car. “Thank you, again. For doing this.” 

“Is fine.” Ilya lied with calm confidence, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“The doctors said three weeks to analyze them. I don’t think it really takes that long to do this, but they have to send them pretty far since it's a specialized lab.” Shane picked a bit at his own bandage. They had taken a piece of him as well. 

“Hm, yes.” They had told Ilya much the same. “Do they need anything else?”

 

“The consultant, Anika Naidu. She is going to talk to us together and separately.” Shane started the car, pulling out of the parking lot. “But that’s not until Sunday, so we’ve got a few days to forget about it.” He smirked, his mouth twisting into a lopsided sort of smile.

 

Ilya laughed, draining his coffee.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

The summer air was fresh and bright. Shane seemed strangely determined to follow the speed limits, which meant they had plenty of time to get to their destination. The radio was playing something upbeat and jazzy, the lyrics in sultry french. 

Ilya supposed he was going to have to get used to that, living here.

 

“Are you excited for rookie camp?” Ilya asked with a sly smile. 

“I’m excited to kick your ass at the showcase.” Shane replied coolly, though he couldn’t keep his own mouth from twitching up at the corners.

 

Having already been drafted, rookie camp was more or less optional for Shane and Ilya. They were guaranteed a spot on their teams, and technically only needed to make sure that they were where they needed to be for training camp ahead of preseason. Shane scarcely seemed to understand what it meant not to give 110% when it came to his hockey career. 

Ilya also didn’t have much of a choice, though for a different reason.

 

“I’m surprised you want to go, though” Shane said blithely, oblivious to the third car in a row that he let pass them. “I thought you would have wanted to just get started at training camp with the more experienced players.”

 

“Ah, maybe. But after Boston, my agent tells me I am skating on thin ice. Need to be a model player for Montreal.”

“Nice idiom.” Shane praised. Ilya flashed a very white smile.

“Yes, I like that one.”

 

The viciously non-optional nature of rookie camp for Ilya was a convenient excuse to leave Russia that much sooner.

 

It would be easier to get his work visa sorted away the sooner that he had a local address. He wouldn’t be able to get things like a bank account living out of hotels, and it would be important for his eventual naturalization to start getting payslips with a consistent local address as early as possible.

 

He was deeply grateful to Shane lending him a hand to get settled in. After the appointment they drove out to one of the big superstores just outside the city to pick everything up in one or two large trips - rather than the half dozen smaller ones he would have needed to do independently before getting his own car.

 

And he had plans for cars. Though that would have to wait until Ilya was getting properly paid. He was also quite surprised to learn from Shane how much more opportunity there was in brand deals than he had realized. He had gotten some money (a decent amount, for someone his age) from a sports drink back in Russia. At the time, he had been so  impressed by the check they had signed him that he hadn’t thought too much about pressing it further. When CCM approached him for a deal as well, he had mostly assumed that most deals would operate much the same way.

 

Learning that it wasn’t - and learning how much more Shane was standing to make over the next year or so - was interesting enough to make Ilya wish that Shane had not put a conversational embargo in place between himself and Yuna. He would have liked to ask her more about it.

  

In addition to the boring necessities like trash bags, bathroom towels, and half a dozen small appliances that Ilya didn’t feel like bringing over and finding power converters for - they had also picked up ingredients to make a simple pasta dinner. Neither boy had much hands-on experience cooking. It was nothing complex, and they had a stack of local delivery menus on standby in case anything had gone wrong. 

 

Shane however proved to be particularly competent in the kitchen once a recipe was in front of him to follow. He took the time to measure out each ingredient outlined in the recipe. Though he had been a bit stubborn when Ilya tried to sneakily double the amount of cheese as instructed (“you can add it on your own plate when we’re done”) it was probably for the best, as everything went along very smoothly. 

 

Sure, they had to make due without good knives or a cutting board (added to the list to pick up later) but the two men fell into an easy rhythm with one another, taking turns prepping ingredients and watching over the sauce in a flow that felt almost effortless. There was a strangely palpable, electric synergy that ran between them as they moved about easily in one another’s space.

 

Neither spoke it out loud, but Ilya thought it when Shane knocked the door of the fridge to keep it open with the tip of his toe as Ilya approached, looking for the chicken.

Shane thought it when Ilya managed to locate the pasta strainer just a minute before Shane realized that they needed one.

 

I wish I could play hockey with you.

 

It’d be years before the two would be free agents, so neither bothered to voice it aloud. 

Instead, they kept the conversation to the current season. What else Ilya’s apartment would need. Discrete places around Montreal that Shane could show Ilya during the day. Lighthearted topics that tempered the atmosphere as they acclimated into one another’s space. 

 

After dinner and cleanup, Shane was full and pleasantly tired - the kind that came at the end of a long and busy day. The new sofa Ilya had ordered would not arrive until Monday, which gave them an easy excuse to relax on the bed as the default option. They had the television on to a baseball game that neither of them were particularly interested in watching.

 

Ilya’s arms were around his middle, his chin rested on the top of his head. Shane basked a bit in how nice it felt, warm and solid and safe.

How nice Ilya's mouth was on his neck, peppering him with hot kisses.

 

“I missed you, Зайка.” Ilya breathed.

 

He knew it wasn’t what he ought to have said. 

Ilya knew he should have asked if this was still okay.

He shouldn’t be running his hand up the smooth planes of Shane’s stomach, reveling in the feel of him warm and real under his touch.

 

He ought to check if Shane wanted to wait. See for himself what the tests and the consultants had to say. 

 

But Ilya couldn’t help but be a little selfish. He couldn’t help but be terrified of what would happen if Shane said he did want to keep him at arm’s length until he could be more sure.

Depending on what they said -

 

This time in the in-between of uncertainty and knowing might be all that Ilya ever got to have. 

 

Shane twisted himself out of his own shirt like he couldn’t wait to be free of it. He gripped Ilya’s hair with a little hiss of delight as his teeth scraped across Shane’s dusky nipple. 

 

“Do you like having your tits sucked, Shane?” Is what Ilya ended up saying instead.  Shane swore so sweetly in response. He preened, and arched up, so pretty for him. He kissed his way down Shane’s body, taking him apart slowly with his tongue until he was a needy, sobbing mess. Ilya had imagined this for months, having Shane in a way where he could take his time with him. Make it so he could never forget him, no matter what might come in the future.

 

Ilya quietly gave himself permission to be selfish, just for now. It was his first full day living away from Russia.

 

Shane was here.

His beautiful Shane.

And Ilya was here. 

In his own apartment, his own place a million miles away from his shitty family.

 

“Okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m okay.”

By the time Ilya pushed inside Shane, he was open and relaxed. There was a beautiful flush across his cheeks that ran down to his chest. 

 

Ilya was going to play for the NHL, have his own money, his own life.

 

Whatever was going to happen,

 

This - 

 

“Oh, fuck! Ilya-!” Fingers dug into his back, clinging to him as he started to move. 

This was perfect.

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Apologies for the hiatus! This story is now fully written and will be published at regular intervals for the remaining 2 chapters :)

 

Despite their talk of errands and sightseeing, the two didn’t make it terribly far out of Ilya’s apartment for most of the weekend. 

 

They knew that uninterrupted time like this was about to become few and far between, and they were determined to make the most of it. Shane had balked somewhat at the realization that Ilya had more sexual experience than himself - which came up casually during breakfast the morning after.

 

Ilya wasn’t ashamed of it, but he had been privately glad he hadn’t told Shane how much, or from what age. Shane seemed to assume from Ilya’s vague answer that he had meant sixteen or seventeen, and he wasn’t interested in correcting that until they’d known each other a while longer.

 

It had, however, stoked Shane’s competitive edge in a very delicious way. Shane appeared to decide that he had three days to catch up on three years of sexual experience and was determined not to waste the opportunity. 

 

Ilya was certain he would be sustained for weeks by the mental image of Shane between his thighs, mouth stretched around his cock, lips shiny and wet. His brow furrowed and focused in concentration - like he was doing some intricate handling exercise. It was so endearing Ilya had to struggle not to come immediately and ruin his concentration. 

Sunday morning came eventually. With it, Ilya’s walls creeping back up around him as he ate a bowl of cereal over the sink. Shane at least appeared oblivious to it as he checked over a dossier of paperwork for the dozenth time.

 

Copies of birth certificates, passports. Duplicates of their work contracts and Ilya’s visa information.

 

“Do you have the-?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, because she’s going to want-”

“Two. Yes, they are in separate - paper things-”

“Folders?”

“Yes, in the- bigger folder.” Ilya waved his hand at the stack irreverently. 

 

Shane looked at Ilya for a second, then snorted.

 

“No making fun of my English before coffee.” Ilya groused, without any heat in his words.

“No, I wasn’t - it wasn’t that.” Shane said, quickly schooling his face - though a flush still lingered there. “We just sounded a bit like my mom and dad.”

“What, we sound like boring married couple?” Ilya scoffed. “You’re about to move to a country where you can't drink at a bar.”

“Don’t remind me.” Shane said with a grim smile.

 

It wasn’t like Shane drank much anyway, but it was more of the principle of the thing.

 

-

“This is very helpful, thank you.” Anika Naidu looked over the pages. Among Ilya’s other paperwork, he had also printed out the text message exchange Ilya had with Svetlana the night his mark appeared. 

 

Ilya sat, terse and tight-lipped.

 

“It is okay?” His hand moved instinctively to tug at his ear, though he forced it back down at the last minute. It was a self-soothing habit from when he was very young that his father hadn’t quite managed to beat out of him.

 

“It is certainly something we can add as evidence of correlation.” Naidu said with a nod. “Discussing Shane Hollander on the same night your soulmarks appeared. You didn’t mention you had received your mark, but I also understand why you didn’t.”

 

“Do you?” Ilya said with a tight smile.

 

“My parents moved to Canada so they could be together.” Naidu said with a warm smile. “They are soulmates, and met each other naturally. But my mother already had a Bond Meeting prepared by her family with another man. Emigration was the only way she could stay with her true soulmate.”

 

Ilya could feel one of his walls shifting, very slightly.

“Bond Meeting. What is that?”

 

Naidu shrugged.

“It’s fallen out of practice in India. But it still happens in more places than you might think. My grandparents had picked out a nice boy for her to marry. You sit two young adults down across from one another. Tell them the words they need to say in advance. Who is to say it’s not how destiny intended for it to go?”

 

Ilya haunched a bit lower in his chair, deeply uncomfortable. 

He had never considered it before, he had never cared to. But he couldn’t help but think of how Alexei met his wife - his soulmate. 

Ilya remembered thinking how convenient it was that she happened to also be from a well-connected family. One who could get him a nice job with the police when his father hadn’t been enough. 

Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.

 

Ilya’s thoughts drifted further back, trying to align when the two had met with when he had first become aware that Alexei’s drug use had gotten so bad - but recoiled from the thought process as if he had touched a live wire. 

 

Naidu asked Ilya a few more questions after that, all very bland and straightforward.

 

What did Shane say when they first met?

Did anyone overhear them?

Did he tell anyone else about his mark? 

Had he taken any photographs of it?

 

Afterward, Ilya sat in the waiting room while she spoke privately with Shane. He knew this was part of the process - interviewing soulmates individually to corroborate their stories on what their marks said and what they had said to one another.

 

It felt… too easy. 

Perhaps Ilya had worked it up too much in his head. He had been ready for some sort of fight, or drama. 

But apparently most of the work was going to happen behind the scenes from this point forward. 

 

There wasn’t much more for them to do than to wait. 

 

-

 

For Ilya, waiting meant rookie camp. 

 

True to his word, Ilya showed up on time and with bells on. 

For the other young players there, it was an important step toward getting picked for the team. For Ilya, it was about proving to the Metros that they hadn’t been wrong in backing him. That Ilya could be a model team player - and failing that, an invaluable asset toward getting them a cup.

 

He almost felt a little bad, skating circles around others on the ice during their drills and exercises. By the end of the day there were a fair few dirty looks cast at him during cooldown. Ilya expected as much. His entire style of play revolved around getting under people’s skin. 

 

Some, but not everyone. 

 

Ilya had taken a liking to Boiziau almost immediately. He was loud and friendly and direct and seemed strangely impervious to Ilya’s riling antics. Their heavy accents were skewed in opposite directions and made communication practically impossible, but that was more of a roadbump than any sort of real problem, especially when it came to hockey. 

 

Ilya was glad to hear that he advanced to the rookie showcase, along with around twenty other prospects.

The showcase would be a week-long event - featuring a round robin series of scrimmages against opposing teams. During game days, their entire schedule was rigorously laid out with training, drills, warm-ups and reviews. While Shane didn’t have as much to prove as Ilya did, he was equally focused on giving it everything he had. The two were able to do little more than exchange glances as their teams traded places on the rink, in the changing areas or in the parking lot going to and from their respective hotels.

 

On their first game day, Montreal thoroughly trounced their first game against Buffalo in the scrimmage. It wasn’t a tournament, so winning and losing wasn't really as important as being able to showcase individual skill and an ability to follow the coaches instructions. 

 

The atmosphere in the stadium was a bit more relaxed - spectators mostly other coaches, players and a few diehard fans. 

 

Toward the tail end of that first game, Ilya found his eyes drawn toward the upper stands. 

He had never gotten more than a glance at Yuna and David Hollander in person, but Shane had shared a few photos of them. 

He supposed it made sense that they’d come to check out the games. Ilya kept his head down, and made sure to get through the remainder of the game without getting into any fights.

 

During the post-game rundown, Ilya’s coach made a point to show highlights of how Boston was performing during the showcase - specifically pointing out the moves made by Shane Hollander. Ilya watched with vicious delight. He knew Shane’s moves, of course. Ilya had been aware of him even before they became soulmates. But now, it was like every shot Shane was in was cut in higher definition. 

 

-

 

On the second day, the Boston and Montreal rookies were paired together for a scrimmage. 

Ilya was surprised to see the stadium packed fuller than any of the games so far. The games were open to fans, of course. But it was typically friends and families that came to see this sort of thing - along with scouts, coaches and journalists.

 

He had his suspicions, though he wasn’t sure until they were voiced by another Metro rookie named Hayden Pike - who Ilya was pretty sure must have just suddenly appeared in the changing room that very moment, because he hadn’t noticed the guy until he spoke.

 

“It’s because of you and Hollander though, isn’t it?” 

He said, tugging his jersey on. 

“Everyone’s buzzing to see you two face off again.”

 

Ilya grinned fiercely. 

He had no intention of disappointing them. 

 

The first proper look Ilya got at Shane was when they squared up for the puck drop at the center line. Ilya had a quip locked and loaded, but was thrown when he saw Shane up close at the line. He was already set and in position, his body tensed like a coiled spring. 

But the look on his face - focused, intent. Just a little line between his brow furrowed in concentration…

 

It looked far too much like the expression on Shane’s face as he was focusing on his dick-sucking skills.

 

Ilya didn’t manage to pull himself together in time to win the face-off, but he was determined to make up for lost time. Shane had been far too distraught at the idea that Ilya might have gone easy on him at the combine. He wasn’t planning on leaving any sort of doubt in Shane’s mind by the time the scrimmage was through. 

 

The game was explosive. 

Shane and Ilya were at each other's heels the entire game, fighting for every inch. 

The other rookies gave it their all as well, doing all that they could to keep up. 

 

By the time the game was over, the crowd was roaring and cheering as if it were a proper NHL game. 

It was a close one as well, with Ilya managing to pull their team ahead 2-1 in the final few minutes with a final goal. 

 

Shane: Good game.

Shane: Next time I’m going to get you.

Ilya: you should come get some tonight ;)

Shane: We have a curfew.

Ilya: you never snuck out on your parents before?

Shane: No, of course not.

Ilya: boring

Shane: YOU have a curfew.

Ilya: yes that is fair

-

 

On the fourth day, both teams had a break from scrimmage. Shane had vague plans to do his own independent exercises in the gym and review some footage of the past few games. He showered and changed, mostly ignoring the buzzing in the changing room. As he headed out though, he overheard talk of most of the Boston rookies having made plans to go out and catch a baseball game. 

 

And that was… fine. 

 

Shane definitely didn’t like the idea of spending his free time sitting in a noisy, crowded stadium and watching what had to be the most tedious sport in existence. 

 

He was used to that sort of thing happening. Shane had been in and out of hockey camps since he was five years old. He’d come to peace knowing that was just part of it - others bonding and easily getting along while he quietly stood on the other side of some invisible wall. 

 

Shane followed the team out into the parking lot to the bus that would take them all back to the hotel. 

 

At the same time another charter bus pulled up to drop off another rookie team at the facility. Shane’s eye was drawn at once to the bright blue and red jerseys for Montreal. He slowed a step or two. 

He heard Ilya before he saw him, his booming voice carrying over the lot. 

He spilled out of the bus, sandwiched between two others on his team. 

 

“No! I did not say this, you take this back!” 

“You gotta pay up, Rozy!”

“What? We still have entire day to see if Demaret will get left on read!”

 

They were all laughing. Even those who weren’t really present in the conversation were on their heels, pressing in. Wanting to be a part of it. While Shane had walls, Ilya seemed to have some kind of gravity, pulling others toward him. 

 

Ilya turned as he spoke, catching sight of Shane and doing a double-take.

 

“Hey! Hollander!”

 

Shane froze in place, locking up.

His first thought was that his last name sounded weird coming from Ilya. 

The second, was that they were not supposed to be doing this.

 

Ilya broke away from the throng of teammates and ran across the lot to him. Hands on his hips, eyes bright. 

 

“Hey! You are free this afternoon, yes?”

“Uh,” Shane shifted his bag higher, trying not to glare daggers at him with so many of the rookies watching.

“Great! I was not sure.”

Ilya definitely knew his schedule. He carried on anyway

“There is a man who does videos for Youtube Channel. He wants us to meet him on the rink in an hour.” Ilya was beaming. 

Shane continued to look back at him in horror. 

 

“Should be fun, yes?” He pressed, grinning like a fox.

“Uh, yeah. Okay.”

 

-

 

Shane wasn’t sure what the point of this was. 

 

He knew, objectively. Upper Deck was an important merchandising partner to the NHL. In recent years as Youtube was becoming a bigger platform for hosting online content, they had begun to expand to do shorts and promotional videos during the rookie showcase. Some of these videos involved putting rookies into silly situations - like making them answer interview questions with their mouth full or have them perform skits. 

 

Shane hadn’t anticipated that he would be the sort of guy that they would want to approach about this. He had some basic media training. He could answer press questions with a polite, professional aplomb but he wasn’t exactly charismatic when he was trying to act “natural” 

 

As the man explained the idea of the skit - especially after the scrimmage game yesterday - Shane could grudgingly understand the appeal. Even if he didn’t want to do it. But Ilya was there, standing alongside him and beaming as if it had all been his idea from the start. 

 

Shane was horrified to consider it very well might have been his idea from the start, but realized he didn’t want to know.

 

Ilya stood to look as ridiculous as Shane, after all. And what was more, he clearly wanted to do it. The idea would only work if it was them - specifically the two of them. 

 

The video ended up only being about thirty seconds long, and a pretty simple premise.

 

In full gear, Shane stepped out onto one side of the rink. 

On the other, Ilya was doing the same.

In the video “O Fortuna” would be playing loudly as they skated toward each other, sticks in hand, slowly picking up speed as the intense music swelled. A few cameras were set up to get the shot-reverse-shot of the over the top moment.

 

Then - the video would cut to a wide shot with the music cut off. 

Shane and Ilya slid to a casual stop into frame.

 

“Hey man!”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Yeah, good. How are you liking the games?”

“Yeah, yeah they’re great.”

“...”

“...”

 

The dialogue was painfully stilted and awkward - same as any rookie who generally wasn’t there to flex any sort of impressive acting skills. They only had time for a handful of takes, before the man producing clapped them both on the back, happy with their performance and willingness to take the time to participate.

 

“That was embarrassing.” Shane said tightly, sliding off of the ice.

“Ah, it was fine.” Ilya laughed, cuffing Shane playfully on the back of the head. “It is good, you’ll see. Let everyone see we don’t actually hate each other.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Ilya shrugged. 

“I don’t know.” He admitted, tugging briefly on his ear. “But… I think it would be easier if people could see us as friends, yes?”

Shane mulled it over with a cautious, stiff nod. 

 

“It’s just a video. I don’t think anyone takes them that seriously.”

“Yes, that is the point.” Ilya said, sitting down next to him as they unlaced their skates in tandem. “It is a joke. Not real. I will still beat you without mercy in hockey-” Ilya laughed as Shane gave him a playful shove. “- But also if we are seen catching up outside of the ice, maybe it is not so weird?”

 

Shane nodded again. He had put as much together himself when they were explaining the concept of the video to him. 

 

Shane had liked spending that weekend in Montreal with Ilya. 

He didn’t like that the two of them couldn’t so much as go on a morning run together without having to worry about someone recognizing either of them. That sort of thing was just going to get worse once their NHL careers properly kicked off. 

 

They couldn’t tell everyone about their marks. 

But… friends. Maybe. It was worth trying out.

 

“Good.” Ilya leaned over him. “So how about we go do something fun with our free evening, huh buddy?”

Shane grinned and ducked his head. The team from New York was on the ice now for their assigned scrimmage time and it wouldn’t help for any of them to catch him blushing.

 

“Don’t you want to go hang out with the other Montreal rookies?” Shane asked. “Some of them are going to be your teammates.”

“And then I will have all season to spend time with them and go to clubs and help get them laid, yes.” Ilya said, sounding bored. “Tonight I want to spend with you.”

 

Shane wasn’t quite sure what his face was doing, but whatever it was caused Ilya’s smile to warm. He went soft at the edges, glittering in the brights of his eyes. 

 

They didn’t do anything terribly special. They drove for a long time, taking turns with the radio and talking about their teams and how the prospect tournament was shaping up. An hour outside of Toronto they pulled in and picked up some quick, local takeaway food. They came across a park that was closed, but the parking lot was still open so they pulled over to eat and made out for a while like a pair of horny teenagers in the backseat of the car. 

 

After so many days being shuffled about and grouped up into the same cramped facility as half a dozen anxious rookies, it felt good to be out in the cool night air and enjoy a late summer evening together.

 

“We’re not too far from my parent’s cottage.” Shane noted, checking his phone. 

The two were sitting on the hood of Shane’s car, enjoying the night air. It was unlikely that anyone was going to recognize them out here. 

“Oh?” Ilya had to think to translate the word cottage - he knew it was a type of cheese that his trainer seemed to be determined to work into every one of his meals. He had a feeling that wasn’t quite right though, so he did what he typically did and kept quiet hoping for more context.

 

“Yeah. We go out there during the summers. It’s nice. You’d like it.”

“Hm. Maybe.” Ilya rubbed his stomach idly under his hoodie, keeping his expression carefully schooled. “I would like to meet your parents. I mean, ah…” Shane waited for Ilya to find the words. 

 

He was always grateful for that. Shane not rushing him, or trying to fill in the blanks. He didn’t make Ilya feel stupid as he tried to translate everything in his head and fit it into cobbled together English.

 

“I would like them… to want to meet me.”

 

Ilya could feel Shane shifting next to him, their elbows just bumping together. 

 

“It’ll work out.” Shane promised. “Miss Naidu is going to get everything squared away, and it’ll all be fine. I mean, not everything.” Shane shrugged. “We still can’t let anyone know, I guess. But in a couple of years we’ll be free agents. I’ve always thought it’d be cool to play for Montreal.”

“Your mom’s favorite team.” Ilya supplied. 

“Yeah.”

“They would not be able to afford both of us. We're going to be very famous in five years.” he said matter-of-factly, a simple given.

“Maybe.” Shane said thoughtfully. There was more behind the word. A sort of determination that hinted to Ilya that Shane wasn’t done puzzling it out. He’d probably keep thinking on it well into the night, and Ilya would wake up to five paragraphs of text messages with some wild and impressive game plan on how to make it all work out.

 

The thought put a gentle glow into Ilya’s chest, tucked right behind the ribs. 

 

“Hey.” Ilya leaned over to Shane. He was close enough that his nose brushed against Shane’s cheek. That he could drink in the sight of the evening light playing across Shane’s eyelashes and the dewy curve of his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Gimmie a kiss.”

The bridge of Shane’s nose wrinkled as he smiled. Ilya touched Shane’s jaw, guiding him in for a soft touch of the lips. Then another, a bit deeper. More intent. 

Shane made a soft sound, and Ilya squeezed his eyes shut.

 

I’m in love with you.

He thought, quietly handing over his heart.

They spoke on it a while longer, and during the drive back once the chill of the evening started to properly settle in.

Chapter 7

After the rookie showcase, the two dove headlong into their careers.

 

Boston took some getting used to for Shane. It was a smaller city than Ottawa, though it never quite felt like it. It was loud, harsh and could be grating at times. Moving so far away from home and everything familiar that came with it had been left behind with it. The supermarkets were different, making his usual comfort foods difficult or impossible to find. Even if he had enough money now not to worry about it, sales tax was infuriating. 

 

Fortunately, hockey was the same. Even if the team and the arena and the uniform were different, the game was still there for him. Shane threw himself into his drills and training regime, finding comfort in the structure and stability of it. 

 

While he did wish he could live closer to Ilya, being in the same timezone was a breath of fresh air for the both of them. Being able to text each other “goodnights” and “Good mornings” was a welcome novelty. 

 

It was also impossible to miss a marked difference between how Ilya was now compared to when he was in Russia.

 

Montreal seemed to suit him extremely well. He sounded more… alive in their calls, which they were able to do far more often. Before, speaking on the phone only occurred during a strict time when Ilya knew both his father and brother would be out of the house. Even then, he seemed to prefer to listen more than speak. Now, Ilya could speak far more freely. No longer having a time difference as well was a new and highly welcome novelty. 

 

On their third phone call, Shane mangled the pronunciation of a Russian phrase that Ilya was trying to teach him. On the other side of the line Ilya laughed - proper and loud and open, from deep in his chest. 

It was the first time Shane had heard him laugh like that, and he loved it. 

 

It was a small thing, but had Shane smiling for the rest of the day.

 

-

 

“How are things with Ilya?”

Shane stiffened. 

He had met his parents for lunch - the usual catch-up and an overview of brand sponsorships and other opportunities. Yuna had been careful about her timing. After the “business” talk was done, but just before the more casual sort of small talk that typically took place while they were waiting to fight over the check. 

 

It was the first time that either of his parents had mentioned him in months.

 

“Fine. Good.” Shane gripped the sleeves of his shirt to keep from fidgeting. “I mean. We talk a lot. And we play Montreal in two weeks so,” He trailed off, wondering if he should leave it at that. His gaze was schooled carefully in the empty space between his parents shoulders. 

 

“So it’ll be nice to see him then.” A little swell of courage buoyed him forward and rocked the words out of the back of his throat. “We, uh. We like to meet up after the games. When we can. I haven’t heard back from Miss Naidu - the Consultant. She’s working on the case. She said it will still be a little while before we hear from her.”

 

“But, things are good?” David asked tentatively. 

Shane met his eyes for a half second, then nodded stiffly. 

“Yeah. He’s… he’s a really good guy, dad.”

 

“How is your shoulder?” Yuna asked gently.

“My shoulder is fine.” Shane bit back, immediately. “It’s part of the game, mom. You know that.”

 

Their last game against Montreal was two nights ago. Even though they were still rookies, both had gotten a chance to play against one another during the second half. Ilya had slammed Shane into the boards as they both went after the puck behind Boston’s goal. He’d crumpled to the ground and Ilya took off with it to dash Boston’s hard-won lead up to that point. 

 

Shane didn’t care. He’d actually found it pretty hot.

After, Ilya had been sweet as well. He kissed the blooming bruise there while still inside Shane. He ended up having to wriggle and demand that he move, only for Ilya to deliberately slow down and tease him further until he was gasping and crying and-

 

Shane shook his head violently, blinking away the thought. 

 

“You would have hated it more if he went easy on me.” Shane challenged, to which Yuna nodded thoughtfully. 

 

Shane breathed out. He was glad that his team had managed to beat Montreal in the end. Ilya had gotten a good hit on him, to be sure. But Shane had won the face-off. Ilya got a goal, but so did Shane. And an assist. 

 

If his mother thought he was giving Ilya any kind of advantage…

He didn’t know what he’d do.

If it was on Yuna’s mind, she didn’t say it. So Shane pressed ahead.

 

“He’s kind of an asshole on the ice, but he’s…” Shane was methodically shredding a napkin in his lap. “He knows what kind of drinks I like. And he remembers that I’m not eating dairy. And when I forgot to bring a toothbrush he went to the store at midnight and got me three different kinds because he didn’t know what kind I liked.”

 

He makes me happy.

His parents mulled over his words for a while. Shane realized with some belated awkwardness that the anecdote about the toothbrushes probably revealed some other aspects of their relationship they might not have been ready to hear.

 

“I know last time we spoke it was… awkward.” Yuna said gently. “But, Shane. If he makes you happy, we’d love to meet him. We really would.”

 

Shane worked the lump in his throat. 

 

“Maybe… at Christmas?” Shane chanced. “He’s not going back to Russia. So. He wouldn’t really have anywhere else to go.”

 

“That sounds perfect.” Yuna beamed. 

 

Yes, that would work. 

By then, everything would be right again.

 

-

 

Ilya couldn’t wait until J.J. started officially on the team. Though he had gotten drafted by Montreal as well, he still had one year in college to finish up before he could start.

 

Fortunately, it was nearby. That meant the two could still meet up and go out together.

Besides getting along in general, Ilya appreciated having someone out with him fluent in French. 

J.J. appreciated going out with someone who could pick up girls as easy as breathing.

 

Tonight, that meant chatting up a pair of pretty young women who were in Montreal for a casting call that they hoped would be their big break into stardom.

 

“The very sought-after role of Kidnapped Woman #3.” She said, batting her eyes with a sarcastic flair that Ilya found charming.

 

“Is #2 already taken then?” Ilya chirped back. 

 

On the dance floor, J.J. was doing his best to charm the girl with the too-glittery top and the blonde curls. He had managed to get his hands on her waist, but was moving around too much.

 

“No, but #3 has an actual line of dialogue, if you can believe it!”

“Oh, big break!” Ilya grinned, toothy and bright. 

“Don’t joke, it really is!” She shoved Ilya’s shoulder with a fierce grin. “Now come dance with me.”

 

She had a nice face. Round and heart-shaped. Large blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair. She could take a joke, and was a little on the bossy side. Just the type of girl that Ilya would want to take home. 

If that sort of thing held any interest to him these days. 

 

He put his hands on her hips and tucked his face into the crook of her neck - she smelled like flowers. Fuck, girls smelled good. 

 

J.J. dove in for the kiss too soon. Glitter-top peeled away as the girls made a strategic exit. 

 

“You have a good night, Ilya.” She leaned in for a kiss, which Ilya directed to the corner of his mouth instead. She slipped him her number, and Ilya took it - because despite what the news loved to report on he wasn’t a total asshole. 

 

“You too, Rose.”

 

-

 

Shane and Ilya continued to make headlines. 

 

It started innocuously enough, with a reporter asking Shane how many goals he hoped to score that season. He had gone for forty, which he privately thought was very reasonable, if a bit boastful. 

 

Three days later, Ilya would be asked the same question - to which he replied cheekily that he would be scoring fifty.

 

Those around Shane all took it as a slight, as an insult. But for Shane, he was grinning ear-to-ear. 

 

The two of them talked and laughed about it. They planned and co-wrote tweets to send to one another to rib each other in a continued effort to shift the “rivalry” into a more comfortable realm of “frienemies.”

 

They blew up immediately online, garnering thousands of likes.

Shane didn't shy away from the attention, he leaned into it.

 

Good.

It felt good to feel like they had their hands on the narrative. 

 

This was what he wanted. 

Ilya Rozanov - who was going to challenge him. 

Drive him forward.

Until it was just the two of them, standing at the top of the mountain. 

Together.

 

The thought of it was like fire through Shane’s bones. 

It got him up early, training hard and pushing himself. 

Leaving everything on the ice when the two of them played together. 

 

Then getting to see him in the quiet stolen hours that would follow, where the two would claw and kiss and mark each other in every way that they could - reveling in how perfectly their bodies fit together until they were coming apart at the seams. 

 

-

“Inconclusive?”

 

Ilya turned to Shane, thrown by the word.

Shane gave Ilya a double take. 

“It uh, it means you don’t know?” He asked, partially to Anika Naidu and part to Ilya to catch him up. 

“We do know a few things.” Naidu said levelly. “You both have genuine soulmarks that match in location and angle. Most importantly, we can confirm - to the best of our ability - neither of your marks are currently public knowledge.” 

 

She tipped her head meaningfully to Ilya, who nodded tightly. He glanced over to Shane, whose gaze was fixed determinedly on Anika. 

She carried on. 

“However, due to the illegible nature of Mr. Rozanov’s mark and - most crucially, the fact that there were no witnesses to it - it is unlikely that the state would legalize your status as soulmates without some amount of pushback.”

 

“But we knew all that already,” Shane pressed, gripping his knees. “Wasn’t the point of this to know that this is real?”

 

“We are confident that we’ve found out all that we can. This aside, there are still plenty of options available to both of you.” Naidu explained. “For example, you always have the option to get married-”

 

The pair of twenty-year-olds both flinched.

 

“- when you are ready for it.” She finished. “If you wanted to, we are also prepared to help you make a case to have yourselves registered as soulmates officially in Canada. I am very good at what I do and I’m confident it will go through and you’ll be legally recognized soulmates in the eyes of the government. Just - not without review.” She said carefully. 

 

“And if - or when - your case goes to review, it is unlikely to stay… discreet. You’ll both be outed.”

 

Shane’s world swam, as he tried to work his way through the options.

 

The only way to get Ilya confirmed as his soulmate was to come out. To everyone. Right now.

But that couldn’t be it?

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go…

 

Ilya didn’t answer. He was sitting tight-lipped, arms folded across his chest. 

 

“Do you think we’re soulmates, Miss Naidu?” Shane pressed. 

 

“Is fine.” Ilya cut across, before she could answer. “I have work visa. I don’t plan on getting injured or quitting anytime soon. Even if I did, I can extend this long enough to work something else out.” 

 

“That is always an option as well.” Naidu said thinly. 

 

“Good. Fine.” Ilya stood, hands in his pockets. “We’re done here then, yes?”

 

Shane finished up with the consultant, squaring away a few remaining forms and fees while Ilya waited in the parking lot. He moved on the same, stiff autopilot that he did whenever he lost a hockey game. His stomach was leaden, his muscles tight. 

 

This was supposed to fix everything. But it hadn’t. 

Now Ilya was upset with him.

 

“That’s us finished.” Naidu said, with the final scribble of a signature. She handed over the research dossier, her business card pinned to the front. 

“Okay, thanks.”

“Shane, you remember what I told you on our first meeting?”

“I- uh. I do, yeah.”

 

He was sure he did. He just couldn’t think of it right now. All of his energy was going into keeping himself together at the seams as he worked to simply get through this last interaction as quickly as possible. 

 

Outside, the air was crisp and cool. Shane sucked in a deep breath, hating how the last bit of it shuddered as it left his lungs. He schooled himself. Shane had learned very early on how to keep his tears in check. 

 

Without having to look for him, Shane turned to where he knew Ilya was. Standing a few paces away from the front door beside a shrub. He was lighting up a cigarette.

Did Ilya smoke? He never saw him do so after that first meeting.

 

Ilya caught Shane approaching out of the corner of his eye, and glanced away. 

 

“I, uh. I’m sorry about that.” Shane stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. His words felt hollow. 

He wasn’t sure what more he could have done.

It still felt like he failed.

“Is okay.” Ilya said tightly, though it clearly wasn’t okay. “What did you expect them to do, Shane? Hack into secret camera in my hotel room three years ago?”

“I don’t know.” Shane scuffed his foot against the pavement. His ears burned. If possible, he felt even more foolish than before. 

This was supposed to fix things. Now Shane felt unmoored. He felt sick. 

 

The silence between them was tangible and caustic. Shane’s vision blurred dangerously. 

 

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know what we do now.” He said lamely.

 

Ilya sighed, blowing out a long stream of smoke as he did so. He looked over to Shane. He was close enough to touch him, but at that moment felt miles away.

 

“Now,” Ilya said heavily. “You have to just believe I am your soulmate.”

 

He dropped the cigarette, putting it out under the heel of his boot. 

 

“Or not. Your choice now.”

 

“Of course I believe it!” Shane breathed out, in a rush. “I’ve said so from the start, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you said so.” Ilya sighed, hands in his pockets. “If you knew so, then why do all this?” He waved his hand around the building.

 

Shane flustered, his hands clenched into fists in his pockets. He felt too exposed out here. He wished that they could have been having this conversation someplace private.

 

“My mom-”

“Oh. Yes, your mother.” Ilya spun in a half circle on the heel of his foot. “I forgot, I am your mother’s soulmate, is that right?”

Shane fumed.

“No, it is your name on my arm. You are the only one who needs to believe it was there.”

“Maybe it would be easier if your first word wasn’t something that I don’t hear three times a week!” 

Shane regretted the words as soon as he said it. Ilya’s jaw was set tight, glowering off into the distance. 

 

Shane knew with those words he had won.

But for the first time, the knowledge he had done so made him feel sick.

 

“I know.” Ilya groaned, grasping a hand tight behind his own neck. “I know.” 

 

What was Ilya supposed to say?

That Shane was so beautiful in that moment he forgot how to think?

What good would that do if Shane had already decided that he didn’t believe him?

 

“I need to go. I need to think.” Ilya said roughly. He walked away, leaving his heart behind under the thin blue glow of the streetlamp. 

 

-

 

Shane felt adrift and miserable. 

This was supposed to be the Solution. 

A clear yes or no.

Yes, Ilya Rozanov is Shane Hollander’s soulmate or. 

 

Or, what?

 

Shane leaned his forehead against the window of the plane, trying and failing to wrap his mind around it.

 

He was privately glad that the man sitting next to him on the plane was Cliff Marlow. The guy could be loud and a bit of a party animal, but he also seemed to have a knack for appearing whenever Shane was feeling tense or overstimulated and just sort of… getting between him and the noise. Shane felt odd about asking if it was intentional or not, but was quietly appreciative of it. The broad back of Marlow’s body formed a sort of fourth wall closing Shane off from the rest of the team on the flight who were still loudly talking, chirping and gossiping as it reached cruising speed.

If you believed that, why do all this?

 

Shane had thought Ilya was okay with seeing the consultant. He had said he was okay.

Why didn't he say so if he wasn't?

 

Shane closed his eyes, struggling to imagine what would have happened. If he dug his heels in and insisted to his parents to mind their own business.

It would have been fine.

Mostly. Probably.

Would his mom still have her suspicions? Would she still have them now?

 

The realization that he'd have to tell his mother washed over him, dreadful and cold.

 

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he found himself reflexively reaching for his phone, only to stop himself. 

Without even realizing it, he had gotten into a habit of reaching for Ilya whenever there was something heavy on his mind. It felt strange, having that cut off. Like a gap in his mouth where a tooth used to be, his tongue kept soothing over the absence. 

 

-

 

Shane texted that night.

 

Shane: Can we talk?

 

Ilya didn’t answer.

 

There were so many things in life that frightened Ilya. Fear of not being enough.

Being forgotten.

Of loving someone and being left behind. 

 

That fear chased him everywhere. 

 

It had filled every crack of his life in Russia. It followed him to Boston. It was in his reflection in the mirror when he felt he played poorly in a game or wasn't clicking with his team like he should. It was there on his off days, wrapped tight around his heart until the colors drained out of his world and left everything colorless and flat and terrible.

 

His soulmate - his Shane - he was supposed to be the one thing in life that he knew was going to be safe and real.

 

But now, it was here too.

The fear.

 

Ilya sat on his bed, staring at his phone with dread, sick with the worry of what would happen on the other side of that conversation.

 

In the days that would follow, Ilya played some of the worst hockey of his career. 

 

He couldn’t bring himself to care, although he knew that he should. He had built up some good grace with his strong start to the season but it wouldn’t be enough to coast on if he wanted to play on the front line. 

 

In between games, he could scarcely bring himself to do more than scroll listlessly on his phone in a dark hotel room, taking in nothing. 

Shane had texted him a few more times, all of them gone unanswered.

 

He didn’t have the words in English - possibly not in Russian either - to explain to Shane the real problem.

He wasn’t upset that the consultants hadn’t found some unassailable proof that they were soulmates. 

Ilya knew from the start that they wouldn’t. 

He was upset that Shane needed that proof to begin with. 

That Ilya’s word was not enough.

He couldn’t blame Shane. 

Ilya was the one who messed this up so thoroughly. He had been so caught up in meeting him, in making sure that he got to Canada as soon as possible. He had been so sure that Shane would meet him and love him at once - the way Ilya did now - he hadn’t considered that Shane might not feel the same way.

 

And that wasn’t something you could just… ask of someone. 

Not even your soulmate.

 

It wasn't a fair thing for Ilya to ask him.

 

-

 

Shane did a double take when he finally saw Ilya’s number flash on his screen. He scrambled to mute the television and fell out of his bed in one go, his heart beating in his ears. 

 

“Hey.” Shane gusted out.

 

“Hey.”

Ilya’s voice sounded black and far away. 

 

“Uh. So. How are you?” He pressed. 

 

Shane desperately wished that his voice wasn’t conveying through the call how he was practically vibrating out of his skin. The last ten days, eight hours and forty minutes that he hadn’t been cut off from Ilya had been a special sort of hell for him.

 

“Okay.” Ilya said tightly. “Not great. Bad, probably.”

 

There was a lump in Shane’s throat.

He needed to say something, make Ilya understand before he did something truly stupid like start crying on the call and sounding even more pathetic than he already felt.

 

“Ilya, I'm so sorry-!”

 

“No.” Ilya said roughly. “Is my fault.”

 

“It's not!” Shane burst out. His voice was thick. “You're right, I shouldn't have made you go through that. Made you feel like - like you had something to prove,”

 

“No, listen.” Ilya choked out. “Please.”

 

“Okay.” 

Shane leaned back against the wall of the hall, staring ahead at nothing.

 

“My mother…”

 

There was a pause, long enough for Shane’s stomach to curl and claw in on itself.

 

“My mother. She talked about soulmates sometimes. I think she-” Ilya caught himself, from whatever he was about to say. 

“The way she talked about them. She always made it sound like it was something… immediate. Effortless. Someone sent by god to love you. 

 

I know now, that is not true.” 

 

Shane thought to the burn down Ilya’s arm, his eyes screwed up tight.

 

“We are just people. It… was not fair of me to put that expectation on you.” Ilya said lowly, gently. “It is okay to be uncertain. To want to take the time to fall in love.”

 

“Do you still want to?” Shane asked, his voice a bit scratchy. 

“Want to what?”

“To... fall in love with eachother.” 

 

Shane’s voice was so fragile. Ilya wanted to be there. To take him in his arms and hold him and tell him over and over again.

 

I have loved you since I saw your name on my skin. It is over for me. I love you. I love you. I love you.

 

“Very much so.” Ilya answered quietly.

 

They would see eachother next in two weeks time.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Hello yes I did say I had finished this story then proceeded to not post the last chapter for two weeks I am sorry I have very unmedicated ADHD. Thank you for reading ya tebya lyublyu!

Ilya was buzzing. 

Boston was up to play Montreal.

After the game, he was going to see Shane.

 

He was going to see Shane. 

 

It had Ilya in a wreck of nerves.

Would he finally get to hold him again, to kiss him?

Would Shane tell him that they were better off apart, while he got his feelings in order?

 

The stress clawed at him.

 

They were texting again. Short, a bit awkward.

There were things clearly unspoken between them now, and Ilya hated that.

He didn’t know how to bridge it.

 

It was a bit funny - considering how that was typically Ilya’s default state. Always so afraid of connecting with others, of being rejected.

With Shane, he dove in right from the start.

He never concealed anything.

But now he was open and frayed, like an exposed nerve. 

 

Or a rock in his shoe. 

He could still function, still get through the day. But it was impossible to ignore.

 

It only got worse as the Boston game drew closer.

 

Desperate to distract himself (as best as he could) Ilya went out to a nearby club that was quickly becoming his usual haunt when he went out with Boiziau and some of his college friends. The flashing lights and thumping base created a wash of sensory that was a balm on his fried nerves.

Ilya was leaning against the bar when his phone buzzed, and his heart jumped. 

 

Shane: Are you free tonight?

 

Ilya was surprised by the message. Shane was meant to be traveling with his team. Traveling to Montreal. It wasn’t a good time for them to be calling.

 

Ilya: I am out nearby. 

Shane: Where?

 

Ilya smirked.

 

Ilya: Night club. Vera. Very loud. You would hate it. 

Ilya: I can be home in twenty.

Shane: No, it’s okay. Stay where you are.

 

Ilya frowned, pressing the button to ring him but it went to voicemail. 

 

You will see him tomorrow. Ilya closed his eyes, reassuring himself.

He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get through an entire hockey game against him first, but Ilya was going to try.

 

Boiziau bought a round of drinks, and Ilya tore through his in several large gulps. He set his glass down and realized that in his enthusiasm, half of the other college guys who had come out as well unanimously decided this was a competition and similarly shotgunned their drinks as well. 

 

Worse yet, Ilya didn’t even win as Pike (who was there for some reason) somehow managed to beat him to the punch and got a round of applause and cheers.

 

Ilya stole away to the bar. He checked his phone again. 

Nothing from Shane. 

He must be on his flight now, there’d be no reaching him until they landed.

What did he want to talk about?

 

A woman had slid up next to him at the bar, clearly trying to catch his eye.

 

Go away. Ilya thought grumpily. 

 

“Ilya?”

He glanced up to a pretty heart-shaped face and strawberry blonde hair.

 

“Rose.”

“I knew I recognized that mole.”

“Enough about my very sexy mole.” Ilya turned to her with a dazzling grin. “Did your audition go well?”

Rose’s eyes lit up, clearly thrilled that he remembered.

“Get this - two lines of dialogue!” 

“Ah, very good!” Ilya didn’t think that sounded good at all, but she was very pretty and very happy. 

 

Across the room, Ilya could see him getting some impressed looks from the other guys. Maybe Rose’s friends were here. 

 

“Let me buy you a drink, to celebrate.” Ilya pressed. 

He liked Rose. She was kind, and seemed more interested in letting off steam than pushing for anything Ilya didn’t want.

 

“I’m out with my girlfriends tonight.” Rose said with a bright smile. 

“Perfect, I am here with a group of very single boy friends. What are they drinking?”

 

Sure enough, after two rounds of shots, Rose’s friends had all paired up fairly neatly with Boiziau and a few of the other NCAA players out with them. 

And that was good, satisfying. It helped take his mind off of his anxieties to see them all enjoying themselves. 

 

Ilya ordered another drink at the bar. His last one for the evening before he would slink off and leave them to their fun.

 

He leaned against the bar, his head pulled to look sharply to his left.

It was not something he decided to consciously do. His body moved on his own by some unseen pull, catching at once to a figure standing a little too still, scanning the crowd.

 

He was wearing a white shirt and jeans, a little bedraggled and standing out like a sore thumb in the glossy crowd. 

The bottom dropped out of Ilya’s chest as an electric fizzle shot up the knotted scarred flesh of his arm.

 

Ilya watched in slow motion as Shane’s head turned, his eyes following after. Like two celestial bodies caught in each other's gravity. Over the bodies and the heat and the noise, locking gazes with one another in the same instant. 

 

He hadn’t decided to move, but before he realized where he was, Ilya’s hands were bracing Shane’s arms. He looked over him, trying to assess if he was real. 

 

“Shane!”

 

“Ilya.” Shane looked like he was caught in headlights. There were bags under his eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“No, no. Is okay.” Ilya swallowed. Should he give him space, hug him? He wanted to hug him - he wanted to do so many things. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I left early for Boston.” Shane, struggling a bit to raise his voice above the loud, thumping music.

 

Ilya grinned, despite himself.

Shane Hollander did not look happy to be in a nightclub. Between the noise and the lights and the crush of a hundred sweaty people. He was blinking rapidly, working his throat with difficulty like he was trying to suppress a cough.

 

“I am going to get you water.” Ilya led Shane over to the bar, around to the side where it was a bit less crowded. “And then we get a ride back to my hotel, okay?”

“Okay.” Shane clung to Ilya’s shirt as they went, causing Ilya’s heart to swoop with delight. 

 

Rose had made her way back to the bar. She spotted them, angling her body to give Ilya space in the crowd to wedge into the bar and flag down the bartender who seemed determined to ignore him.

 

“Oh! Is this another one of your friends?” Rose said to Ilya, greeting them brightly. She waved once, summoning the bartender over instantly. 

“Yes!” Ilya was beaming, he couldn't help it. Shane was here.  “Shane, this is Rose Laundry.”

“Landry!” She corrected Ilya automatically, giving him a sharp smile as she did. 

Ilya laughed. He liked Rose.

“We are getting one more round, then we must go.” Ilya said. “You want?” He looked to Shane, who nodded and raised his eyebrows to her questioningly.

“Okay!” She said to Shane happily. 

“Rose is an actress.” Ilya said, leaning his elbows up against the bar. 

“Oh! Wow. I uh, I guess the stars are really out tonight.” Shane said with a wavering smile. 

 

Ilya laughed, because with his limited English he understood that was probably some kind of pun. The bartender arrived with Rose’s cranberry cocktail and Ilya’s beer, as well as a tall glass of ice water for Shane.

 

“Here, you want this?” Ilya slid his beer over to another man at the bar. The man’s eyes shot up, then he leaned forward with a sultry smile. 

“So what are you-?”

“No, not flirting. I just don’t want it.” Ilya said shortly, turning away from him and back to Shane who was making what looked like very painful small-talk with Rose who was watching him with wide eyes.

Maybe recognized him from someplace - a Boston fan, maybe? Her accent was American.

 

“So uh- what movie are you-”

“Sorry-” Rose spoke at the same time, fully fixated on Shane. “Could we… go someplace?”

 

Ilya startled. That was not how this usually went. 

Sure, Shane was the prettiest man in the room, of course. But Ilya wasn’t quite used to being passed up like that.

 

“What, me?”

“Yeah I just-” She tugged on Shane’s sleeve. Ilya’s hackles went up as Shane followed, startled. He glanced over his shoulder at Ilya pleadingly, who followed hot on his heels.

 

Rose rounded the corner to a quieter corner of the bar, looking at Shane so intently. 

Ilya’s stomach dropped out of him the moment he saw her hold up her wrist with the black band. 

His world slowed down to a crawl as both boys watched her pull it back. 

 

The stars are out tonight.

 

The thumping music in the background faded away to a dull, tinny hum in the background as time slowed down. Ilya processing sluggishly what it was he was bearing witness to in that moment.

 

“What does yours say?” Rose asked, wide eyed and breathless. “Oh no, what did I even say to you just now?” She laughed, tossing back her hair a bit in a way that was sublimely uncalculated and beautiful. 

 

Shane’s lips were slightly parted, as he looked from the mark on her arm to Rose’s face.

 

“Okay? Is that what I said? Oh no, what a terrible soulmark! I mean, if it is. Is that-” 

It was like a romcom from hell. Everything slowing down, going soft as Rose stared into Shane’s wide eyes.

 

“Is it you?”

The moment was perfect. 

 

The only thing out of place was the awkward Russian man standing there with his mouth agape and his heart in pieces on the floor.

 

He knew what would happen next. Shane would show her his mark. With Ilya's stupid word printed on his wrist. 

 

Or, no.

 

Rose’s word.

Maybe it had always been her. Maybe Ilya’s soulmark had always only just been some cruel joke, only put on his body to lead him here to this moment so Shane could meet the beautiful woman he would spend his life with.

 

They'd hug. Maybe kiss.

Their friends would cheer for them and the DJ would put a spotlight on them and everyone would celebrate.

 

He didn't remember deciding to move, just that he couldn't stand to stay there.

He slipped out into the cold night air.

His phone was buzzing.

Ilya couldn’t bring himself to look at the messages.

 

Hey, sorry. I know we had plans but I need to figure some things out with Rose.

You understand don't you?

It's probably best if we don't talk for a while.

But good luck at the game tomorrow.

 

They’d say something like that.

 

Ilya pressed his palms to his eyes, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. 

The gnarled skin of his left hand pressed against his face and he hated it.

He hated his ugly scar.

He hated the words underneath them.

He hated himself for messing all of this up. 

 

“Ilya?”

He startled, stepping away from the wall. 

Shane had stepped out after him, looking a bit breathless. 

 

“You really tore out of there. I almost lost you.”

“What are you doing here, Hollander?” Ilya said thickly. “Rose she -” He waved his arm, turning away from him. “You heard what she said.”

“What, that she said ‘okay’?” Shane frowned, looking confused. “I told you, people say that to me all the time.”

“But you said-” Ilya gestured.

 

He wasn’t sure what he was even doing - was he trying to push Shane away? But he couldn’t help it. Everything was so perfect in how horrible it was at that very moment - like how one couldn’t help digging their fingers into a fresh bruise and linger in the pain.

 

“I mean, kind of?” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward and confused. “Hey.”

 

Shane walked around to Ilya, facing him straight on. 

Ilya turned his gaze away, but let himself be arrested by the firm grip on his shoulders. Shane looked at him intently, steadily.

 

“You’re more than my soulmate. You’re the person I’m in love with.”

 

“What?” Ilya breathed. He finally let himself look at Shane, a single tear fell free and ran down his cheek. 

 

“I mean, yeah.” Shane looked on at him, the barest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Is that… is that okay?”

“Yes…” Ilya forced out, his throat a bit dry. “That is very okay.”

 

Shane pressed forward, and Ilya moved in tandem as they shared a deep kiss. 

 

“Oh my god, I love you so much.” Shane sobbed dryly against Ilya’s mouth. 

“Fuck Shane…”  Ilya pulled him in tight, “I love you too.”

“I…” Shane stammered, his words awkward and halting. “ya… tebya lyublyu.”

Ilya choked out a surprise laugh, scrubbing his eyes dry.

“When did you learn this?”

Shane choked his way around a laugh.

“I don’t know… the day after Las Vegas?”

The two laughed again, their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling around untidy kisses in the cool evening air.

Epilogue - 2024

 

Logically, they knew it was bound to happen eventually. 

 

It was a split second, once-in-a-lifetime photo. 

 

Shane was on the beach with Hayden’s son Arthur. He had been helping him get some sand out of his eye when the crying child grabbed on to Shane’s armband, yanking it down nearly all the way to his elbow. 

 

It had been a bit of a manic moment. Hayden had been halfway up the beach, telling off some paparazzi that had spotted them not to take photos of his kids while Ilya backed him up - ready and rearing to throw hands. Jackie was reigning in her daughters - who didn’t quite get what was going on behind “daddy and Uncle Ilya are gonna go fight those guys” and took it as an excuse to start throwing sand. 

 

It had been a quick, chaotic second. Shane righted his band, staunched the flow of tears, and the photographers dutifully scattered as the sheriff showed up. The beach had meant to be private, they must have walked half a mile through the woods to get there. 

 

Clearly, it had been worth the effort. One of them managed to get a pretty solid photo of Shane Hollander’s soulmark. 

“This would be really bad if you weren’t already married to your soulmate.” Ilya mused dryly, scrolling through the endless feed. 

 

#IMOKAY was trending on Twitter. Thousands of individuals all discussing it and blasting the photo. Many of them were jokes making fun of how uncreative the word was for a soulmark. 

 

Hot on its heels was the hashtag #NOTOKAY, full of tweets angrily decrying that so many individuals would put on blast the very sensitive topic of someone’s soulmark, shared without their permission.

 

There was also a third faction attempting to point out the irony of using a hashtag like #NOTOKAY to get that particular point across. 

 

All of that had been fine. It didn’t really bother Shane. 

What did bother him, was the frightening number of DMs he was getting from individuals he had met over the years. 

Messaging him to imply, or outright state they had his words tattooed on their wrist. 

 

The first one had been some woman who he worked with on a photoshoot for one of his brand deals a year or two back. A photographer. 

She’d been nice.

Shane genuinely couldn’t remember. Ever since meeting Ilya, the word “Okay” had stopped being like a jolt of lightning to the heart. 

Had it been her first word to him?

 

Ilya had confiscated his phone after seeing how much it was distressing Shane. It did mean that Shane’s parents were now communicating with him through Ilya, but Shane got the sense nobody was terribly put out by that.

Shane's parents adored Ilya, after all. 

 

Ilya promised he would delete any DMs from strangers chancing their arm and spare Shane from reading them. Shane was still a bit worried that he was cultivating a private hit list.

 

While Ilya was fine (‘fine’ was a tenuous term) with letting “the rats crawl out” Shane was busy reading over a draft statement from Farah. Like all of her work as their PR Manager, it was clean and professional. A simple, polite statement that he appreciated everyone’s concern and was happy to inform that he had - in fact - met his reciprocal soulmate some manner of years ago and the two had a very happy and private relationship.

 

“It really is just a matter of time, isn’t it?” Shane mused, after giving the passage a third pass. 

 

“Hm?”

 

“Before people find out. About us.”

 

Ilya set his phone down, thumbing the ring around his neck. Anya picked her head up, her tail thumping expectantly against the bed where she was wedged in lounging between them. 

 

Ilya had been a full-fledged Canadian citizen for a while now. It was incredible the pressure that it took off - not having to worry about what might happen to Ilya if their relationship got exposed. It did mean he wouldn’t be able to return to Russia, but there had been nothing for him there for a while now. 

 

After completing his contract, Shane had left Boston for Ottawa. It had been a confusing move for some, Shane had a very successful tenure there having won multiple cups for the city. But many understood - Ottawa was his hometown and they had welcomed him back with a literal parade.

 

“Yes. Especially if you tell everyone that you have already met your soulmate.” Ilya said with a long, lazy smile. 

 

“Well, I was thinking. What if we changed the narrative on this statement a bit?”

“Yes?” Ilya set down his phone, turning to face him more properly now. “What are you saying?”

 

“I mean. The bit about the private relationship.”

“Hm, I don’t follow.” Ilya clearly did, by the way he was grinning from ear to ear. He wanted to hear Shane say it.

 

“I mean.” Shane spread himself over Ilya, playfully pinning his wrists against the bed. “I want everyone to know about us. On our terms.”

 

He looked over Ilya’s face, searching his expression. His thumb brushed reverently over the silver webbed skin of his arm. 

 

“Okay?”

 

Ilya smiled, light and breathless and beautiful.

 

“Okay.”