Focus on Me

★ ★ ★

It’s unfortunately so much easier for both of them to pretend it’s not there than to process it for even a second.

Ahead of their match at the Prospect Cup, Shane’s well aware he should view Ilya Rozanov as competition, but can’t he at least introduce himself to the other players? They’re all going through the same thing during this insane tournament week. Especially the ones whispered about as breakout stars – he knows he and Rozanov are a tier above the rest.

So he spends too much time tracking down Rozanov only to find him smoking outside.

He barely remembers what he said, some shaky excuse for conversation, and then Rozanov finally reached out to return his handshake and a red string appeared.

It comes as second nature for neither of them to acknowledge it.

“You will not be so nice when we beat you.”

“That’s not happening.” And Shane heads back inside shaking from more than just the cold. He brings up his hand to his face and stares at the string. “What the fuck?” It’s looped around his left ring finger and trails into the distance, turning into mist a few inches away from his finger in the direction that he knows Rozanov was standing.

He knows, hypothetically, what it means but decides there must be nuance to the strings – he and Rozanov are meant to be strong competition for each other, maybe even unstoppable teammates one day. Surely the red string can represent relationships beyond just…

They’re parallel lines, both on similar paths in their careers and passions.

That’s all it is.

★ ★ ★

Ilya spends six months learning how to hide the string from any possible discovery. He learns how to manipulate it only to make sure he knows how not to.

He finds livestreams of Hollander’s games and waits ‘til he’s off the ice but on camera to tug and watches the way Hollander’s left hand jerks to the side. Hollander hasn’t figured out how to tug back, but maybe he hasn’t figured out that’s what it is yet.

Ilya had hoped to catch Hollander in the bathroom or something before the press conference for the draft but no such luck. So it’s standing in front of cameras that they’re both confronted by the red string going taut between them as they stand close to each other once again.

Any concern Ilya had about Hollander ruining this for them is discarded at the unmissable heartbreak on Hollander’s face to realize he was number two in the draft.

So Ilya shouldn’t be so surprised to find Hollander at the gym after the party at nearly midnight like him.

They don’t talk about it.

They race on stationary bikes and it’s as childish as it is liberating. Ilya can see the way Hollander stares at him, checking his speed. Eyes moving over Ilya’s legs for a moment.

It’s too easy.

It’s too easy to collapse on the floor and let the tension do the work for him.

It’s when he offers Hollander his water bottle that the string shines so brightly between them, it’s impossible to pretend not to see it.

“You think it’s, um, some kind of competition thing?”

Ilya blinks at him. “What?”

Hollander holds up his left hand, gesturing at the string. “It’s– It’s gotta be, like, maybe we’ll be good teammates one day or something, right?”

Ilya stares. His listening comprehension in English is fine, but even with a normal conversation he struggles to find the words for his own response. This is a uniquely difficult conversation to reply to. “Does that happen in Canada? We don’t have that in Russia.” He doesn’t believe for a second that it would be so different elsewhere, but Hollander seems so sure.

Hollander nods, eyes flitting over Ilya’s body again. “It must be.”

Oh, denial. At least they're on the same page about it then.

★ ★ ★

They get used to ignoring it.

Shane figures out how to tug on the string, but never does it during a game. Neither of them had to discuss it to agree on that.

Shooting the promo is when they lose it – being on camera with the string so front and center yet no one can see it. They skate closer together and it shines so brightly and still the directors tell them to stare at each other angrily and it’s all just too much.

Rozanov breaks first but then neither of them can stop laughing. Maybe it’s the terror that makes them resort to laughter, or maybe it’s just funny.

Ilya’s patience breaks in the showers afterwards. They’re both sneaking glances and there’s nowhere to hide their reactions so just absolutely fuck it.

Of course Hollander panics after. Which leaves Ilya to push harder and ask for his room number and Hollander doesn’t hesitate a second to give that to him.

The sex makes the string harder to ignore, but they manage it.

★ ★ ★

Ilya would’ve written it off as his imagination if it wasn’t Shane Hollander.

He starts to feel gentle tugs on the string after a hard loss. One day he even feels a pretty strong tug after a well coordinated goal, followed by a softer tug, and realizes it was an accident. He laughs to himself imagining Hollander hiding his fist pump in celebration for Ilya and focusing so hard it tugged the string.

Hollander shouldn’t be cheering for him. What they’re doing, it’s just sex. They’re still opponents.

And yet those stupid tugs are the best parts of his day. The worst part is, he starts to do it back.

★ ★ ★

Shane writes it off as his imagination because it’s Ilya Rozanov.

There’s no way Rozanov is congratulating him for passing up his scoring record tonight. It’s a taunt at least, right? Or it’s like… a phantom sensation.

He checks his phone when he gets back to the locker room.

Lily: nice to have real competition for once

Shane tugs back on the string, or at least, he thinks he does. He’s still not sure if it’s working.

Jane: You push me to be better.

He deletes that before he sends it, fuck.

Jane: Same

He focuses on the string, wondering if Rozanov will do it again, and something insane happens.

He’s in Boston. Well, no, that’s not quite it. He sees Boston.

Panic is sharp in his chest like a knife and that’s not what panic usually feels like for Shane.

“Hollander?” Rozanov whispers it into the silence of his living room, Shane can see the talkback on the TV following his match.

Rozanov? Shane tries to respond, but he can’t find his voice.

“What the fuck.” Rozanov’s voice is clear as day, like he’s talking directly into Shane’s ear, but he can’t see him.

Shane’s perspective is forced away from the TV, down and he sees Rozanov’s hand, his bare chest. Rozanov is fiddling with the string. He lets it go.

Shane is slammed back, blinking his eyes open to the locker room.

Hayden is laughing at him. “You need to get some sleep, man.”

Taking in the rest of the room, Shane realizes his teammates must’ve been trying to get his attention and he– what, couldn’t hear them? Travelled across the continent spiritually for a moment? What the fuck?

“Yeah,” Shane says noncommittally, “for sure.”

★ ★ ★

He gets home and immediately opens his phone again.

Jane: What the fuck was that?

Lily: it gets stronger

Jane: What does that mean?

Lily: do you actually know anything about it or are you still pretending it’s for competition?

Shane’s heart freezes in his chest.

Jane: What else would it be?

Rozanov doesn’t respond.

Shane drops the phone on his nightstand and takes a hot shower.

★ ★ ★

By the next morning, Shane is so well educated on red strings and so deeply sleep deprived.

They’re rare, which he knew already and is why he assumed he wouldn’t need to know much about them. He’s also never heard anything about red strings between men so he assumed it was something else.

A single Google search disproved that.

Has Rozanov known this the whole time? Has he known that they’re…

It still seems impossible. Rozanov? Really? Shane can admit the sex is… good, great even. Then again compared to who? It’s not like Shane is seeing anyone else, too much risk.

And he knows Rozanov isn’t exclusive with him, which is fine. That’s not what this is.

It would be so incredibly easy to write this off as a fluke but he thinks about those stupid tugs after his wins. He thinks about how gentle Rozanov has always been with it. Shane’s the one who accidentally tugged on the string during a game, Rozanov never made that mistake.

He’s probably been practicing for years to prevent it and Shane only now started taking it seriously.

It’s difficult to address the situation directly. It would be easier to go back in time and talk about it when this all started, but now that they’ve established that they don’t talk about it? Shane sighs and sends out something more logistical than emotional.

Jane: How do we keep that from happening during a game?

Lily: easy, don’t do it

Jane: Come on, seriously. One of us could get hurt

Lily: practice

Jane: I don’t even know what I did

Lily: i think i know. let me try

Nausea churns in Shane’s stomach and he can’t quite tell if it’s terror or excitement. He ignores both.

He remembers Rozanov fiddling with the string, the way the connection stopped when he let go. He focuses on the string.

At first, it feels like nothing is happening but then he notices… it’s almost like a heaviness on his chest. He feels like he’s carrying something yet it weighs nothing.

Hollander?

The voice is both clear and muffled, like it’s echoing inside his head which he realizes it must be. “Rozanov?”

See, I told you. Easy.

Shane sighs harshly. “Why do you always have to be such a dick?”

Don’t talk to yourself. Try in your head.

Shane grits his teeth, but tries it. Why do you always have to be such a dick?

A bright sense of satisfaction bursts in Shane’s chest that he doesn’t recognize. You learn fast, Hollander.

Shane chases the trail of that foreign emotion and finds something else. You proud of me, Rozanov?

The connection snaps shut.

Lily: don’t pry

Jane: I didn’t mean to

Lily: fine. don’t do it again

★ ★ ★

Weeks turn into months, and a whole season has come and gone.

As Ilya tried to warn Shane, the string’s connection between them gets stronger. The blips of overlap between them start to happen with less effort. They start being able to sense each other’s emotions without losing awareness of their surroundings.

It’s so fucking perfect that this develops as Ilya returns to Russia.

It’s nothing new. The same political bullshit and high expectations from his dad, but now when he shutters himself from the world, it leaves him vulnerable to Shane Hollander.

You good?

Ilya has perfected the art of listening while being reprimanded without truly being present. Fuck off, Hollander.

Despite how much he doesn’t want it to be there, he finds himself clinging to Hollander’s presence as a distraction. He can sense some kind of effort.

There’s guilt in Hollander’s ‘voice’ when he replies, I’m trying to fuck off and I can’t.

And isn’t that terrifying. Ilya’s one reliable coping mechanism is to push himself out of his own head and now that same action is what pushes him into Hollander’s. 

He can let go. He can open himself back up to what’s really happening, be more conscious of it and less conscious of Hollander. He, hypothetically, can do that.

Ilya takes a slow, deep breath, slow enough that his father can’t realize he’s doing it. It’s my fault. Try to ignore it if you can. And after a brief hesitation, he awkwardly tags on, Sorry.

★ ★ ★

Summer goes by strangely for Shane.

It’s restful. Or as restful as it can be with all the brand deals his mom sets up for him.

Every so often he thinks he’s falling into some kind of burn out, or a depressive slump, and then he realizes those feelings are coming from Rozanov.

He truly tries to ignore it as requested, but it’s impossible. Rozanov radiates constant dread, loneliness, desperation.

Finally, Shane can’t ignore it anymore.

Jane: Can’t you leave?

Lily: it’s not that easy

Jane: Even if it’s for like a week? Players take vacations.

Lily: you don’t understand

Jane: Then help me understand.

The text goes ignored for weeks.

★ ★ ★

The connection goes silent in a way Shane didn’t realize it could anymore.

When did Rozanov’s presence become such a natural default for him? Now it’s gone and Shane feels… empty.

Jane: You on the plane?

Lily: just boarded. was it that obvious?

Jane: You probably don’t want me to answer that.

The connection filters back in for a moment, I’m sorry.

And it’s only then that Shane realizes the connection went both ways this whole time. If Shane was feeling Rozanov’s dread, what was he feeling from Shane? Did it help?

A hesitation, then Rozanov admits, Yes.

Affection blooms in Shane’s chest that he knows he’s incapable of camouflaging in time. Then don’t be sorry.

The connection snaps closed again, but Shane expected that.

★ ★ ★

It’s a week later that he hears from Rozanov again.

Lily: it helped you too

Jane: What did?

Lily: you act like it’s all so easy, but you’re so stressed all the time

Jane: Sorry, that probably didn’t help whatever you had going on.

Lily: if i’m supposed to not be sorry, then you can’t either

Lily: just let me fuck you in Montreal next week and we’re even

Shane feels his cheeks heat. The connection opens for a second, just long enough to feel Rozanov’s satisfaction at flustering him.

Jane: That’s cheating.

Lily: i only get in if you let me

Lily: the road goes both ways

★ ★ ★

The sex is different.

How could it not be?

They both make efforts to keep the connection closed, but the proximity makes it impossible.

It’s hard to tell if their bodies are more tangled or their minds.

It’s only when they’re coming down from it that they start to sort through the boundaries between their minds to pull apart from each other.

They lie together, staring into each other’s eyes, hearts bared in a way they both desperately wish they weren’t.

The terror and affection swirling between them no longer has obvious traces of who it’s come from: they’re so used to sharing it.

“Stay,” Shane has to ask.

His voice is stable, but Shane can feel every ounce of vulnerability it takes for Ilya to say it. “Okay.”

★ ★ ★

In the middle of the night, Ilya wakes up with a frown. “Do you ever let yourself sleep?”

Shane grumbles. “It’s fine, you sleep.”

“Can’t,” Ilya taps Shane’s forehead with his finger. “You’re loud.”

Shane rubs a hand over his face, apologetic waves pulsing from him. “I’m not trying to be.”

“I know,” Ilya leans in and presses his lips to Shane’s forehead.

They both tense for a moment. It’s more intimate than they’ve let themselves be before, but it’s also not so different. They’ve been sharing all of this without words all Summer. It’s new to share it physically.

Ilya tries to overwhelm Shane’s anxiety. “Does it help that I’m exhausted?” He pushes it forward as much as he can.

Shane laughs softly. “Honestly, yeah. A little.”

Ilya lies back down, pulling Shane’s face onto his chest. “Okay. Focus on that.” He doesn’t mean to say it but the words slip out, Focus on me.

★ ★ ★

Shane wakes up more well-rested than he knew was possible. He feels groggy as he blinks his eyes open.

Ilya laughs at him. “You okay?”

Shane’s vision still hasn’t quite come into focus. “Is that what sleep is supposed to feel like?”

“Probably,” Ilya can’t keep laughter out of his voice. It’s echoed by fondness through the connection.

Shane doesn’t know what to do with that.

He can feel so much from Ilya – the realization that Ilya was able to help Shane for once, the trust strengthening between them that they keep trying to pretend isn’t there, the lo–

Shane’s the one to snap the connection closed this time. “We should go.” He shoots up out of Ilya’s arms. “I have practice.” It’s too much too fast. It was one thing to accept what the string meant for their future, but he wasn’t ready for that future to arrive so suddenly.

“Shane…” Ilya’s expression is severe. His emotions have gone a little cloudy.

“I can’t…” and for a brief moment, love shines undeniably between them, no string necessary to see it. He knows he feels it too. He does. Tears well in Shane’s eyes. “I have to…” He ducks into the bathroom as fast as he can amidst the confused betrayal in Ilya’s heart.

Ilya takes the hint, gets dressed, and leaves.

★ ★ ★

Ilya’s having a really vivid dream about meeting an actress at a bar. It’s disorienting the way dreams typically are. It feels real, but there’s certain things that he knows he’d never do if he was awake. Their interaction is so timid for one. When Ilya picks people up, he usually leads with heat and desire.

It’s only when they get up and she reaches for his hand to tug him to the dance floor that he realizes that’s not his hand. This isn’t a dream.

It must be a split second, but Ilya does his best to close the connection before the sharp and all-encompassing feeling of his heart breaking can make it to Shane. He’s not sure if he was quick enough.

It’s so unbelievably stupid.

Ilya’s the one who’s been sleeping with other people this whole time. Shane meets one girl at a bar and suddenly Ilya’s heart is shattered?

He opens his eyes and sees that it’s dark out. So much for an afternoon nap.

Then his phone rings and he knows, despite never having received a call from him before, that it’s Shane.

A cold, dark part of him wants to let it ring. There’s a version of himself, a version of Ilya who never met Shane, that would let it ring.

But somehow that part of him thawed without him noticing it.

That doesn’t mean he can’t be petty. “So you date famous actresses now?”

Shane sighs, and Ilya can hear the music thumping distantly behind him. “We’re just talking.”

His words are a little slurred. Ilya perks up. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” Shane answers too quickly.

Ilya lets his eyes close as he lies back down, head on his pillow.

He lets the connection open again.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the heartbreak, but Shane leaves the door wide open and suddenly Ilya is there with him, out in the cold on a balcony.

Shane turns around from the view and looks into the bar, letting Ilya see it. “Maybe a little drunk.”

They don’t need to be on the phone but neither of them hang up. Something about choosing to talk to each other out loud is making this feel more real.

It’s all there between them. The longing, the affection, the devastating confusion at how quickly they’ve gotten to this point, the temptation they both feel to turn away from it despite the urgent need to lean in.

Ilya has to ask, “Do you want to date her?”

Shane’s eyes follow Rose. “I don’t know. She’s nice. We, um, hit it off?” It comes off as a question.

Ilya was there, kind of, so he knows what Shane means. “The string… it, um, shouldn’t keep you from… it’s not like I haven’t…”

Shane makes a sound Ilya’s never heard before, something dangerously close to a whine. “You say that, but how am I supposed to do that when I can feel how you…”

Ilya tries to keep himself neutral and knows it’s a lost cause. “I’ve been with other people even with the string.”

“That was before.” Shane says simply and brutally.

It’s silent for a moment.

Then Shane says. “You haven’t been with someone since last time.”

Fear bursts in Ilya’s chest because that wasn’t a question. Shane knows it’s true, has been able to feel that it’s true. Even still, he tries to argue. “If you want her, you can still–”

“Stop!” Shane’s hand moves as he says it and it throws his balance off, he sways a bit and sits down. “No, I can’t. You know that I can’t. Maybe if things were different… but they’re not. I can’t do that to you, or to her! Or… to myself.”

Ilya’s defense weakens. He finds himself almost curling into Shane’s presence. “What are we doing?” The words are said through the phone and the connection at the same time.

Shane shakes his head. I don’t know.

They keep talking through the connection, but neither of them moves to hang up. Something about hearing each other’s breaths… You could be with her in a way I can’t be with you.

Shane laughs softly through the phone, pain infused in it. I can’t be with anyone the way I can be with you. That’s the whole point, right?

There.

They’ve finally admitted it.

How he feels about those words betrays any attempt Ilya would’ve made at disguising it. He’s not typically quick to cry but it’s not his fault that there are two sets of emotions in his chest right now.

I want to be with you.

The words come through along with a sharp intake of breath.

Shane presses the phone to his forehead. Fuck. Fuck, I want to be there.

Ilya laughs as he wipes at his tears. “You’re so drunk.”

Shane laughs too. “I didn’t think it was so bad.”

“How many did you have?”

Shane tries to remember and feels foolish. “I don’t know.”

Ilya tsks. “You are trying to make me worried about you, Shane Hollander?”

Shane’s smile turns into a smirk. “Is it working?” He switches back to the connection without thinking, Maybe you need to come here and take care of me.

The words are like lightning to Ilya, flirty in a way Shane never is outside of a locked bedroom.

Ilya can’t stop smiling, enjoying this glimpse of drunk Shane a little too much. “You will be at home in bed before I could make it to Montreal from Boston.”

“No,” Shane says. No, come here. Be with me.

Ilya realizes what Shane means.

They’ve never done that before. Not on purpose, not like he’s suggesting.

Ilya’s nodding. His resolve is so weak right now after the rollercoaster of jealousy and the adrenaline of realizing they’re finally acknowledging this thing between them is real and they both want it. And as much as he’s teasing, he is a little worried about Shane. As far as he knows, Shane’s never been this drunk before. “Okay. Hang up. I’ll be there.”

“Come here first,” Shane insists sweetly. Then I’ll hang up.

Ilya stares at his ceiling and takes a deep breath. This is either very romantic or very stupid, possibly both.

He leans into the connection harder than he ever has before.

The only way he can describe it is as if all of his senses have been turned up to 11.

A moment ago they were two people and now… 

Shane hangs up the phone and pockets it. Ilya can feel his muscles moving with the action, but can’t control anything. He’s just along for the ride and something about that is oddly freeing. Especially since he can leave at any time if he needs to.

Shane’s entire body relaxes, confidence borrowed easily from Ilya.

A dangerous, impulsive part of Ilya wonders for a second what it would be like if Shane did pick up Rose tonight. While they stayed like this.

Shane laughs to himself. I heard that.

Shame consumes Ilya. It was just… a thought, I did not mean…

I know, Shane comforts him. It’s weirdly hot but sounds complicated to disclose.

Ilya’s never heard the word ‘disclose’ before but he finds he doesn’t need a translation. Huh.

Shane keeps internally rambling while he makes his way across the bar. I don’t think I like girls like that but maybe if you’re here with me, guiding me…

Ilya feels feral. You have to stop that line of thought or we’ll both get hard.

Shane’s getting a little too excited at finally being the one in position to tease Ilya. What, Rozanov, you scared to fuck a girl with me?

Ilya’s self control is at its limit. You need to drink some water.

At that moment, Rose appears in front of him holding a glass of water. She smiles at him sweetly, something curious in her eyes. “You’re swaying.”

Shane takes the glass. “’m fine.”

“Mmhmm,” she says, guiding him by the elbow to sit.

He allows himself to be led.

Ilya remains quiet, curious to just… see Shane outside of a hockey rink, outside of a bedroom, even if this isn’t a typical environment for him.

Rose waits with her eyebrows raised until Shane drinks some of the water.

She stares.

Shane squirms. “What?”

Rose leans forward and then taps his ring finger as if she can see the string there. “You’ve got one, don’t you?”

Shane tugs his hand away, panic sharp in his chest. “What? Got what?”

Rose laughs but it’s not mocking and Ilya instantly understands why Shane felt caught in her sway. “You were fidgeting with your finger the whole time we were talking and then you suddenly disappeared to make a phone call during which you were smiling like an idiot the whole time.”

Ilya preens. Fidgeting with the string, that explains the connection seeping into his dream.

Rose keeps talking, trying to ease Shane. “I really like you, and even if you’ve got someone already, I still want to be your friend if you don’t think that’s the cheesiest thing in the world?”

Shane’s nodding. “That’s not cheesy. I really like you too.”

Ilya has no idea how to feel about any of this. This conversation would never have happened to him. He would never be able to reroute coming onto someone into friendship, but isn’t this Shane’s default? Isn’t this exactly what he did to Ilya?

For a moment, Shane loses focus, lost in Ilya’s racing thoughts.

Rose waves in front of his face. “Wow, you’re a goner. I have a friend who just got a string, and I’ve been in a rom-com about it, but I have to say this is wild to see. Is she, like, with you right now?”

Pain slams into Shane.

She.

Right.

He tries to remind himself that Rose isn’t truly making an assumption about his sexuality considering he spent the first half of the night trying to flirt with her.

Shane just nods, letting one of his hands pat over his heart.

Rose must be the kindest, most observant person on the planet because she says. “Hello to them, too, then. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to flirt with a taken man.”

The pronoun shift is brutal.

Ilya interrupts Shane’s thought spiral. Give her your number and then maybe time to go home?

Shane nods, brows furrowed as he hands Rose his phone.

She smirks. “Guess I got approval from the partner?”

Shane returns her smile. “Yeah, he– I mean, um.”

Rose draws an x over her heart. “I won’t tell a soul.”

The thought that bursts in Shane’s head is I love her.

Ilya can’t help the amusement he feels in reaction to that. Tell her I’ll be watching.

Shane rolls his eyes. I’m not saying that.

Ilya presses him. It’s funny. She’s funny, she will understand.

Hesitantly Shane takes his phone back and relays the message. “My, uh, person– It’s a joke, really. It’s stupid, but they say they’ll be watching.”

Rose snorts. “Buy a ticket at the box office, it’ll last longer.”

Ilya laughs so hard it jars him a little out of the connection with Shane and back into his own body a little. I really like her too.

★ ★ ★

As Ilya had suggested, they practice living with the connection and it gets easier to control when it’s open and when it’s closed.

They also start talking on the phone more and practice that with the connection closed.

It’s awkward but necessary.

They’re able to keep the connection closed during games but both fail to resist the temptation to open it during intermissions – especially when they play against each other.

And infused in all of it is the strange safety net of the red string.

It’s so bewildering, now that they’ve accepted it, that it was ever a source of fear. It should’ve been comforting to have cosmic confirmation that a person would make them happy.

A couple more people catch them.

Hayden finally noticed the way Shane fiddles with the string during intermissions and asked him about Lily.

Ilya actually told Svetlana about it and she admitted she noticed it about a year ago which makes Ilya nearly implode with questions about why she didn’t say anything to which she replied: he wouldn’t have wanted her to.

★ ★ ★

Summer comes around again and Ilya doesn’t go back to Russia.

Ilya walks into Shane’s cottage and takes in the floor to ceiling windows, the wood grain, the soft fabrics, the warm sunlight spilling in.

He turns to look at Shane, gesturing around the room. “This is what it feels like.”

Shane is still nervous, they both are. “What?”

Ilya taps his temple. “Being in your head. It feels just like this.”

Shane’s heart thuds in his chest in a way he knows Ilya can feel.

Ilya smirks.

A half thought that could’ve come from either of them is all they need to meet in the middle, mouths first.

They lie in bed, spent, with the windows open.

They stare at each other, both brimming with a happiness neither expected to find.

Shane lets out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry I ever tried to run from this.”

Ilya tsks, running the back of his hand across Shane’s cheek. “No, no sorry. I ran too. It was scary.”

Shane just keeps staring. He’s trying to think of the right thing to say but he doesn’t really have to. The connection has been open and thrumming between them consistently since the season ended.

So he doesn’t make a speech, doesn’t lead up to it. He just looks into Ilya’s eyes and says what he can feel in Ilya’s chest, “I love you.”

I love you…

It’s almost as if they speak at the same time, the sentiment spoken aloud and through the connection like an echo.

…even though I beat you for MVP this year.

Shane’s smile grows sharp and fond. “You’re such a fucking an asshole.”

Ilya’s eyes are bright with mischief and affection. “Yes, I know.” His thumbs run over Shane’s cheeks, still trying to let himself believe he gets to have this. His voice goes softer. “I know.”

Shane kisses him. If anyone had to be stuck in my head, I’m really glad it’s you.

Ilya laughs into the kiss. What’s the phrase, rent free?

Shane wheezes, breaking the kiss to catch his breath. “Yes, Ilya. You are more than welcome to live in my head rent free.”

“And cottage too, yes? There was no deposit and I don’t intend to pay.”

Shane sighs, exasperated and in love. “Before you ask, there’s no charge for the space you occupy in my heart either.”

Ilya pretends to gag. “That was too much. You know it was too much.”

Shane kisses Ilya’s cheek. “You liked it.”

Ilya continues to vehemently deny it aloud while his heart bursts with satisfaction.

They’re both filled with contradictions yet the string allows them to see, and love, every piece of each other.

★ ★ ★

THE END...?

★ ★ ★

★ ★ ★

Svetlana stares at Ilya as he puts their dishes in his dishwasher.

There’s something… off about him.

Ever since he came back from Russia for the Summer, he’s been…

The word feels wrong to even think but she can’t deny that it fits – peppy.

While it’s true that Ilya always has a lot of emotions when he’s back from Russia, they’re usually negative for a long time before they swivel back positive.

“Ilyusha.” Something in her tone makes Ilya’s shoulders raise as he finishes rinsing out their glasses in the sink.

He puts the glass down to dry and turns to her, a question in his eyes as he leans back against the counter.

She continues to stare.

He squirms under her attention. “What, Sveta?” He speaks Russian with her. It used to be that she made him speak English with her to learn, but he has enough practice with it elsewhere to let things be familiar between them here. “It’s so crazy that I’m washing the dishes?”

Svetlana laughs. “I mean, a little, yeah,” she teases. This isn’t unusual. He always pampers her when she’s here and cleans up after them. She doesn’t want to talk around it so she asks as directly as she can. “Usually after Russia… you get sad.”

Ilya’s eyes harden.

Svetlana rushes to stop it. “No, no, don’t close off now. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ilya stares at the floor, his arms cross over his chest. “I pushed through better this time.”

It’s a non-answer. She presses him on it. “Pushed through? What the hell does that mean?”

Ilya waves his arms and pushes away from the counter. “Nothing! I’m stronger, resistant. What they say to me, it matters less now.” He settles on the couch next to her, throwing an arm around her while he grabs the remote.

It’s strange because his words ring true. It seems like somehow, yeah, what they say really does mean less to him now. But he’s too tense for that to be the whole truth.

She also knows that if she keeps pushing, he’ll lock up and she doesn’t want to undo whatever it was that went right for him in Russia. She relaxes into his embrace and finally notices what’s on the TV. “You’re putting highlights on? Willingly? Before the season even starts?”

“Training in Russia doesn’t let me watch Americans. They say you’re all bad examples. I need to remind myself how the other teams play.”

It’s a bullshit answer, but his words aren’t what she’s focused on.

His right arm is around her, but his left hand is on his thigh – his thumb is pressed against the crease of his ring finger, massaging the spot as if it itches or something.

It’s halfway through the second video that the thought even occurs to her.

Holy shit.

Ilya has a string.

She sneaks a glance at his face. But he’s calm and he’s here with her. If it was new, if it was someone in Russia, leaving would’ve freaked him out.

He’s here and relaxed. It has to be someone here. Someone who he met before Russia. Possibly long enough for the string to strengthen and bond them while he was away.

She wants to be happy for him but there’s a glaring issue with all of it: he hasn’t told her.

If it was easy, if he was truly happy, he’d have told her.

Understanding dawns on her as her eyes flick back to the highlight reels from last season.

It’s another player. It’s a man. It has to be.

She tightens her hold on him. She won’t ask. She’ll wait until he’s ready to talk to her.

★ ★ ★

Ilya lies in bed after Svetlana leaves.

He spent most of the night trying to figure out how to tell her he didn’t want to fuck, only for her to be the one to say she wasn’t in the mood.

It’s either a perfect coincidence or she noticed something.

He holds the golden cross on his necklace between his fingers and presses it to his lips, letting his eyes close.

Yeah, this Summer has been… unusual. To say the least. 

He doesn’t touch the string. He can feel it, like a ghostly sensation, tight but not constricting around his finger.

Shane Hollander.

He’s known since 2008 that this man would be the love of his life and he’s spent just as much time postponing that reality.

He didn’t want to settle down at age 18. Didn’t want to have dated everyone he’d ever date.

He was supposed to give all of that up for boring, polite Shane Hollander?

Not that he could resist him but playing into Shane’s ridiculous competition theory, making it just sex at the start, that worked for him. But then the overlap had started.

It’s like the string knew Ilya was trying to shove it down and decided to make itself known. To make sure fate couldn’t be ignored.

Fate.

The word makes Ilya sick.

This was all easier to ignore before he’d been privy to the constant buzz of Shane Hollander’s emotions: quiet pleasures, timid curiosities, gentle frustrations. All of Shane’s emotions are moss-covered in the river that connects them. Ilya’s emotions are jagged and brittle.

How is he supposed to keep looking at other people when he’d spent an entire Summer sheltered inside Shane’s ribcage?

He’ll try to act like nothing’s changed, he knows he will.

But he hadn’t even said anything tonight and Svetlana was unnerved because… Ilya’s happy.

This Summer finally wore out his own resistance to the string and he came to the conclusion that this connection exists to bring him happiness.

He can tell Shane’s not ready, but that’s okay. Ilya knows how to wait.

★ ★ ★

As much as Ilya loves being on the ice with Shane, it’s an entirely different and thrilling experience to lounge on his couch watching the broadcast of the Montreal game and letting Shane decide when to entirely consume him.

It’s a new red string skill they’ve unlocked – one of them can keep the connection closed and the other can comfortably leave it open allowing themselves to be accessed at the other’s leisure.

So naturally, because they’re insane, they do this when they watch each other’s games.

It’s always a little frustrating because of the TV delay, so as a play starts to develop Ilya will suddenly be on the ice, colliding with Metros players to the sound of a cheering stadium and can assume that Shane scored, but has no idea how.

Spoilers, Ilya teases.

Watch the replay, it’s your style.

Before Ilya can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Shane shoved him back out. Likely because he wants Ilya to see the replay.

Ilya refocuses on the TV screen and sees the slow motion close up of Shane faking a slapshot before knocking the puck in with his backhand.

Ilya immediately scrambles to tug at the string.

Shane opens the door just enough for Ilya to ask. You playing dirty, Hollander?

He can feel a burst of satisfaction. A goal’s a goal.

Suddenly the connection opens again and Ilya’s watching the game from the bench while Shane waits for his next shift. They have an agreement about this – they can talk through the string while they’re on the bench, but it can only be about the game. Observations. Comments. Critiques. No flirting.

Minnesota looks good this season, Shane muses.

Ilya can see what Shane sees physically but tries to understand the details as Shane does. Because they have a new goalie?

He hears Shane hum thoughtlessly to himself. Cohesion. Must’ve trained differently this Summer. Better lines.

Ilya thought learning two languages was hard enough, but Shane’s thought process mid-game is the third one he’s beginning to parse. You’re better.

Shane doesn’t even take that as a compliment right now. He takes it as a fact. So are you.

It makes Ilya’s chest warm with affection.

Shane reacts to it in a complicated way. A blip of affection before an apologetic closing of the door.

And that’s extremely fair because Ilya’s swooning too much and Shane needs to focus. Fuck if it doesn’t make him crazy when Shane’s brutally honest about him like that.

Ilya watches on the screen as Shane jumps the boards back onto the ice. It’s a long shift, about two and a half minutes of pristine passes, before Ilya’s on the ice again.

He mumbles, I want to see the goal!

Shane laughs into the scuffle. You could close the connection, you know. If you really didn’t want me to pull you in.

And Ilya has nothing to say to that. He just enjoys the surge of joy and adrenaline that Shane gets every time he scores and lets the feeling wash over both of them.

They blend together for a moment and feel everything. This is exactly where both of them want to be.

End Notes

i'm marking this as complete but i already have future scene ideas that i might add on every so often since this concept is so fun so feel free to either mark as read or subscribe!

thank you so much for reading!