Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, Jackie Pike, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Troy Barrett, Luca Haas, Wyatt Hayes

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Artists, Muses, Obsessive Behavior, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Alternating, shane wants to be a pastry, Bottom Shane Hollander, Needy Top Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Shane Hollander, ilya please stop staring

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-13 Words: 2,764 Chapters: 1/10

A Case of You

Summary

Ilya Rozanov has decided to move to Hollowvale, a small Canadian town where he can hopefully find new artistic inspiration - he ends up meeting Shane Hollander, the owner of a local bookstore & cafe who immediately becomes his muse, or rather, his obsession.

or

I remember that time you told me, You said, "Love is touching souls," Surely, you touched mine, 'Cause part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time.

Notes

Recently I have been craving fall weather, and started dreaming of a warm, vulnerable, deeper type of Hollanov fic that was set in the atmosphere of some of my favourite fall/hallowe'en films. I had to create it myself once I had the idea, and so here it is. I hope you all enjoy it, cause writing this slightly darker type of work is always fun for me - especially when the darkness is equally matched and tuned to a romantic key.

Please do not feed my work through AI or use it to generate images. As a writer & musician full time I am Anti-AI and do not condone this whatsoever. Please support real artists and use your big beautiful unique brain to create.

You can find me on twt at the same name @ ilyaskotenok!

Chapter 1: Court and Spark

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

Chapter One: Court and Spark

Ilya moved to Hollowvale in the early fall of 2011. The leaves had just started to change and the crisp autumn weather had dug its nails into the breeze and occasional rainfall. He took a deep breath in; fresh air, the smell of wet pavement, the smoke off of his cigarette. He’d come to this town to find new inspiration after months of being unable to create anything of value. He often wondered if his touch was starting to fail him, the feeling of a 4B pencil in his hand not bringing as much comfort as it used to. His oils clashed, textures and colours battling each other rather than bringing harmony. 

Hollowvale was like any other small, Ontario town. There was a short main drag lined with independent shops and a driving school. Trees that were removed by the side of the road on residential blocks left behind tall stumps that were carved by local artists. A mural on the side of the ski shop highlighted the history of the area, parts of it covered with tags while other sections faded. The houses were old and made of red clay brick, details of wood and different coloured doors caught your eye as you walked past. He assumed the gardens in the spring and summer were beautiful when in full bloom. Everyone seemed to care greatly about the way the place was presented. Here, the tourism board actually did their job. There was a fall festival approaching at the end of September, a Hallowe’en fair at the old fairgrounds on the eastern edge of the town, and plenty of smaller shows and attractions. Ilya understood why they capitalized on the fall feeling. The entire place felt like something out of a TV movie, one where the leads fell head over heels in love and saved the town from ruin with the power of friendship and a pumpkin carving contest. It was a good place to reset. 

Ilya walked down the street past a few of the larger houses on the way to the centre of town. He’d asked the woman who owned the place he was renting if there was somewhere quiet he could sketch and relax and she’d recommended what sounded like the ideal place. A small used bookstore & cafe, one that closed for an hour in the evening to change over to a wine bar at night called Hollander’s. It had been a town favourite for decades and was now being run by the original owners’ grandson who’d taken over when his parents decided to retire. Ilya liked supporting businesses like that - multigenerational independent places were often important hubs for arts and culture. He’d have expected nothing less in a place like Hollowvale.

The outside of the shop was unassuming and quaint. Burgundy brick and a near-black wood entrance invited you in. The sign Hollander’s was painted a sort of light creamy yellow. There were countless books in the window, from classics with worn edges to modern releases that looked brand new. Whoever maintained the exterior of the shop was doing a good job. It was inviting. 

Ilya stepped through the wooden door and was hit with the smell of fresh croissants and coffee grounds. It was warm and quiet, a bit of soft jazz piano played through an overhead speaker. Bill Evans? Ilya thought, listening closer. No, Oscar Peterson. Canadian, of course. To his right was a table decorated with dried flowers and a couple plays by Shakespeare and Kat Sandler. The booth that lined the window and far wall was old forest green velvet, slightly faded from the sunlight that pooled in over decades of ownership. The wood floors creaked with every step as he walked towards the counter. A young woman with long, dark hair and a pearly white smile greeted him with bubbling enthusiasm.

“Hi! How are you today?” She asked, straightening her striped apron. 

“I’m good. Thank you,” Ilya glanced down at her nametag, “Jackie.” 

“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Passing through?” 

“Ah no. I just moved here. Is temporary, no more than a few months.” Ilya shifted, he didn’t like divulging too much information about himself.

“Oh that’s great! Well I’m Jackie,” she reached her hand across the counter, “and you are?”

Ilya took her hand and gave it a quick shake. “Rozanov - uh - Ilya Rozanov.” Ilya was used to giving people his surname, it was standard in his industry to refer to other artists. He preferred when people called him Ilya instead of course, but it was normally reserved for those close to him and not baristas he’d small talk with day to day. 

“Nice to meet you! Well, what can I get you? All our coffee is roasted in house, so it’s nice and fresh - and our matcha is actually real. Not the garbage you get at Starbucks or whatever.” She snorted. 

“Good to know.” He offered her a small smile. “Just a dark roast for me, two sugar.”

“You can do the sugar yourself over in the back corner, do you need room for milk or anything?”

“Ah, no.” She rang up the coffee and Ilya added a croissant to the order. He decided to take the booth by the front window, allowing the natural light to shine through and illuminate his sketchbook. It was a nice place to get some work done. He still wasn’t feeling any sort of inspiration, but the atmosphere provided enough for him to do some basic linework and observational sketching. He set up his area and draped his jacket over his bag before heading back to the counter to grab his coffee and snack. In the corner of the cafe section was a station with a small mini fridge of different milks, creams, and alternative options. On the top were different shakers full of spices and a couple bowls of sweetener and what Ilya assumed would have been sugar - if the bowl wasn’t empty. 

“Sorry, Jackie. There’s no sugar.” 

“Oh gosh okay! Sorry about that, just a second,” she turned and called out to the back, “Shane! Can you bring up more sugar!"

“Yep!” Ilya heard a man’s voice resonate through the archway into the main bookshop area. After a minute or so of waiting, a young man appeared with a cardboard box full of raw sugar packets. He approached the self-serve counter and Ilya almost dropped his cup.

Holy fuck, Ilya thought. Standing in front of him was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. His skin slightly tanned, his eyes a deep, captivating brown. His hair was parted in the middle and slightly messy, Ilya assumed it was from running his hands through it, hands that were adorned with veins and calluses from years of work. He was only a few inches shorter than him. The fall sunlight that shone through the window behind Ilya’s shoulder drenched the man in a warm golden glow. He looked almost holy, like a god or angel staring up at him through thick dark lashes. A small smirk lifted the right edge of his lips, pink, plush, soft. He probably tasted sweet as honey. The one thing that caught his breath the most however were his freckles. Gorgeous dark brown dots that stippled his lightly rose-hued cheeks. It was the final finishing touch on an already perfect masterpiece. Ilya wanted to frame him forever and selfishly hide him away in his personal collection, unable to fathom anyone else viewing such a remarkable work of art as he. 

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

Shane felt the box slipping from his hands and was forced to put it down - not as gently as he wanted to. He’d heard the man’s voice drifting through the shop while he ordered from Jackie, a deep Russian accent hanging off of every word. It had caught his interest as he went through some of the new stock from the drop box out back and made him wonder what type of person such a warm, almost sensual timbre could emanate from. As Shane stood in front of the man now, it was as if his whole world was closing in around them. He was slightly taller than him, his shirt pulled snug across his muscular chest and shoulders. His face and body were peppered with beauty marks like the occasional wildflower decorating an expanse of green fields. His eyes were sharp and laced with something that looked like desire - perhaps mixed with the same sort of shock that Shane was feeling now. As the light shone through the window behind him, the edges of his golden curls were backlit. He was glowing; magnificent in every way. Shane caught himself staring at his lips that had opened slightly, his cupid's bow prominent. He imagined those lips on his skin, their light touch growing into a deeper pressure. As his cheeks flushed he tore himself away and looked back up at the man’s eyes instead. It didn’t really make a difference, his eyes were just as stunning as his lips.

The two stared at each other, silence stretching between them for a touch too long before Shane broke it. 

“Hey - uh - sorry about the sugar problem.” Shane  set the box down on the floor, the back of his t-shirt rising up slightly to reveal the skin of his back, taut with muscle. Ilya cleared his throat and forced himself to look back at the counter where Jackie stood, looking on. She lifted her eyebrows and gave him a knowing smile, turning her back to fiddle with the machines behind her. 

“Is no problem,” Ilya watched his hands as he poured a bunch of packets into the milkglass bowl, “I don’t have anywhere to be.” 

“Still, I should’ve caught that.” He held his hand out, “Shane Hollander.”

Ilya smiled and took it. Shane was warm. His grip was firm but the touch of his skin was soft and delicate. Ilya felt like a fire was lit inside him, his heart raced, his fingers itched. He knew coming to Hollowvale was the right idea. He’d come here in search of inspiration, and of course he’d found it: his new muse.

“Hollander as in -” Ilya pointed up towards the ceiling, “Hollander’s?”

Shane laughed, his smile nearly giving Ilya a heart attack. “Yes, that Hollander.” Ilya reached out to grab a sugar packet, Shane’s eyes followed his movement, lingering on his fingertips as they brushed the edge of the bowl. There was a smudge on the top of his ring finger and minor indent, a bit pink from too much pressure over a long period of time. This detail combined with his elegant hands and nimble fingers suggested to Shane that he might be an artist. He’d gone to school for literature, and had many friends there studying visual art, sculpture, and art history. Almost all of them at some point had a similar indentation and smudges on their hands - that and paint. “Are you an artist?” Shane asked.

“Yes, how did you know?” Ilya was suddenly worried that Shane might know of his work - he’d hoped that in a smaller town like this one they’d not be as interested in him, he could remain anonymous and gain some sense of normalcy for once. 

“You have some charcoal or something on your fingers.” Shane smiled, a bit embarrassed by the observation. Ilya took a short breath in.

“Not charcoal, just a soft pencil. For sketching. I thought I would do some work here.” He tore the edge of the packet and poured it into his coffee, stirring slowly with a cheap wooden stir stick. Shane’s eyes landed on Ilya’s lips, staring at them as they spoke, almost hypnotized. 

“That’s amazing - I mean I’m not an artist at all but -”

“You’re a writer, Shane! That’s art!” Jackie called from behind the counter.

“It’s not the same, Jacks!” He fired back at her, a blush creeping up his neck. Ilya wanted to squeeze him, bite him, chew him, anything really. He was adorable. 

“Yes, it is.” She grabbed a broom and hit him with it as she walked past into the back.

“Hey!-”

“I agree with Jackie. It is just a different type of art,” Ilya continued before Shane could interject again, “but I know what you mean. I am Ilya by the way. Ilya Rozanov.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip - it was perfect. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you. Will you be coming around here more often?” Shane bent down to pick the box back up, the sinewy muscles in his forearms flexing as they gripped the bottom. He was trying his best to force himself back to work, otherwise he would stand by the counter and talk Ilya’s ear off all day, desperately trying to know everything about him before the sun went down. 

Ilya licked his lips. “Da, yes. Quite often, I think.” He cocked his head and stared down at him with a smirk. Ilya took him in, dragging his eyes down his face and body. Ilya couldn’t get enough of him.

“That’s good.” Shane swallowed, nervous. “Always nice to have another regular.” He took a deep breath and bit his lip, watching Ilya as he checked him out. Shane knew there was something here between them. It was a tension thick enough you could cut it with a knife - he didn’t know whether he wanted to climb Ilya and wrap himself around him or get on his knees and beg for his attention. Knowing that he would be back would have to be enough for now. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Ilya gave him a wink above the rim of his coffee cup and walked back to his booth, intentionally getting a bit too close to Shane as he moved past him. He smelled like jasmine and maple, intoxicating. There was a sort of spark between them. Ilya wanted nothing more than to take that small flicker and light it ablaze. He was burning from the inside, hungry for something that remained unnamed.

Shane brought the cardboard box behind the counter to stock the rest of the empty containers. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking so he crouched down and focused on his breathing for a moment. He’d been around people he was attracted to before but never had this type of visceral reaction to them. His ex-girlfriends knew now that his inability to feel anything sexually for them was because he was never actually interested. This was discovered after a few terrible sexual encounters with his long term college girlfriend Rose. Thankfully, they’d stayed in their hometown and remained friends after breaking up. Without her, their group wouldn’t be the same. Shane had slept with a few different men since then. The sex was always good, mainly because Shane was great at it, but there was always a piece of it missing. The desire to be touched and the need for release was always fulfilled, but the connection between him and his partner was often lacking. There wasn’t any sort of hunger or need for them the way that Shane’s favourite authors and playwrights had described. He’d often found himself wondering if that type of instant need for another person even existed at all Now, after meeting Ilya, he’d felt that desperation for the first time. Shane was scared of it, but drawn in nonetheless. He could hear the soft crunch of a croissant coming from the front window and knew it was Ilya’s mouth biting down. It was the first time in Shane’s life he’d ever wished to swap places with a pastry.

As Ilya squeezed back into the booth with his coffee, he watched Shane behind the counter. His hands were shaking slightly and eventually he dropped down out of sight. Ilya was going to be spending most of his days sitting here at the booth, and maybe winding his way further into the bookshop to find Shane when he was working. Throughout the entire conversation all he could stare at were his freckles and pink mouth. Every colour, dip, curve, line, sliver of light, dimple, shadow-filled divet, dark strand of hair, sparkle in his eye, every micro expression, pore, smile line, tooth edge, crinkle, was etched into Ilya’s mind like a commandment carved in stone. After months, maybe even years, of searching for new inspiration - something to be passionate about the way he was in his youth - he’d found it in him. Ilya picked up his pencil and started sketching. It would end up being the first of many.

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･