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:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Grigori Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Theriault (Game Changers), Coach LeClaire (Game Changers), Dallas Kent, Victor St. Simon, Connors (Heated Rivalry)

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Outing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hockey, Inspired by Heated Rivalry (TV), Anxious Shane Hollander, Bottom Shane Hollander, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Romance, Slow Burn, Secret Relationship, Top Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), whole house queer, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Troy Barrett & Ilya Rozanov Friendship, Troy Barrett & Shane Hollander Friendship, Homophobic Language, Homophobia, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Happy Ending, Canon Related, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Minor Original Character(s)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-19 Updated: 2026-06-22 Words: 30,451 Chapters: 3/?

O Icarus

Summary

Shane Hollander gets outed on video a day before the draft. As his draft position keeps falling, an unlikely team makes a blockbuster trade back into the first round to select him and create the MLH's next big dynamic duo.

or

Never regret thy fall,
O Icarus of the fearless flight
For the greatest tragedy of them all
Is never to feel the burning light.

Notes

I am always writing AUs for Hollanov that are totally out of this world; bratva, summer camps, college, etc. and so this time I wanted to write something that was more AU canon divergence. Still MLH, still the Shane & Ilya we know and love, still in the universe they exist within regularly. I was inspired mainly by Oscar Wilde's quote "Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light." Since there is so much about stepping into the sunshine and deserving that light throughout the show, the thought of Icarus and his tragic - yet beautiful - story came to mind for this particular canon divergence au. Big thank you to my beta readers!

I took some general liberties with this obviously - like having Shane break things off with his gf before the 2008 cup, but it was sort of necessary for what I was puttin down you feel me?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! find me on twt @ ilyaskotenok! i post 1 billion fic ideas and sneak peaks there

Do not feed my work through AI or create generated images based on the story. As a working composer and writer in film & games professionally, I'm INCREDIBLY Anti-AI. Support real artists and create your art using your big beautiful unique brain.

Chapter 1: Prospects

Chapter Notes

・・・・・

Saskatchewan, December 2008

Shane sat with his mom in their car with the heat running, going over their final checklist before braving the brief bite of cold, Canadian winter air outside the arena. It was the 2008 Prospect Cup, a match between Canada and Russia, one that Shane was desperate to win. 

A lot was riding on him. While his team had many great players representing the country, Shane was the only one that would’ve been considered a generational talent. It was going to be up to him to make the biggest difference in areas where his teammates were lacking. Regardless, Shane was sure he was going to shut out Russia, they had to. Not just because of his Canadian pride either.

He had to beat Ilya Rozanov.

Shane had spent the last year breaking down every aspect of his playstyle. He was aggressive. He used insults and played mind games to get under his opponents’ skin which caused them to make grave mistakes. He had a great backhand and a couple trick shots that Shane had figured out how to recognize - one of them he’d even been able to duplicate.

The media had already started spinning a rivalry narrative between the pair of them and they hadn’t even met yet.

Six months out from the draft, they were both projected to be taken in the top two. Who would go first was the most prominent discussion in hockey, and the answer to that question was dependent on who you asked. 

Rozanov was the complete opposite of Shane. He was completely straight-laced, whereas Rozanov was cocky, overly confident, and had a charm about him that made Shane curious. Shane had even gone through extensive media training over the last several months to ensure that he was the ideal representation of Canadian hockey. Losing to Rozanov was out of the question.

“Are you ready?” His mom asked. 

“Absolutely.” 

“This is a big game honey. It could really change the outcome of your draft night.”

Shane took a deep breath, “I know, mom.”

The truth was, Shane had been thinking about this game for the last year. All of the work that he’d done had been for this exact moment. He knew that they’d be playing against each other, with the other national teams lacking any sort of talent that was at the level that he and Rozanov were. 

The pressure was insurmountable. But it was something that Shane was almost used to at this point, and he knew that once draft night came and went that the burden would only get bigger from there. 

“Let’s go in.” 

After some time getting situated, Shane decided to go see if he could find his supposed competition. The back door of the arena was propped open, a couple players from the Russian team filed back inside. Shane zipped up his jacket and headed out to see if Rozanov was out there. He didn’t have to go far before he caught him trying to light up directly under a no smoking sign. 

“Ilya Rozanov?” The man looked up, cigarette still unlit. “Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.”

Shane held out his hand and Rozanov looked at it before giving it a quick shake. He wasn’t exactly an approachable person, with piercing eyes and a questioning look on his face. 

“Oh, I’m not sure you’re supposed to smoke here?” 

“Okay,” the man replied. 

“You’re an awesome player to watch.”

“Yes.”

Rozanov was more or less exactly what Shane had expected. He was arrogant, closed off, and a bit of an asshole. What Shane hadn’t expected was how attractive he was. Shane had tried to stay away from watching interviews and sports media coverage, so he’d only seen Rozanov’s tape up until this point. He’d seen him fight a few times on the ice and the occasional closeup after he’d scored, but seeing him in the flesh was incomparable. 

Rozanov stood slightly taller than him, his shoulders a bit more broad. A few small curls stuck out the bottom of his toque and caught the morning light. Shane’s eyes kept darting back and forth between his eyes and lips. Lips that parted to release puffs of smoke and pursed to take another drag. Shane was captivated by him. He turned to lean against the wall briefly, hoping that maybe Rozanov would break the silence. 

He didn’t.

It started to become more clear to Shane that he wasn’t going to be as sportsmanlike as he had hoped he would be. It didn’t exactly bother him, but he didn’t like it much either. They were going to be at the top together for another year - at the very least until their rookie seasons started and their skills were finally put to the test as pros. 

Even some of the other Russian players were more open and kind with him. 

Having some level of mutual respect between them should’ve been a given, not something that Shane had to try to force out of him. 

“Anyways I - I should go, they’re waiting for me but - um - good luck in the tournament.”

Rozanov gave him a soft smile while his dart sat delicately in between his lips. His eyes dragged over Shane’s face, landing on his cheeks and staying there for a brief moment before flitting up to his eyes. Shane couldn’t place what the emotion behind the look was, but he could tell that it wasn’t one of judgment or hostility. Either way, it made Shane’s heart race. 

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

Shane turned back, “That’s not happening.”

Rozanov cocked his head and smiled, “See you in final.”

Shane left quickly, hiding the blush that crept up the back of his neck.

The vibes in the locker room were tense. Shane knew his teammates mainly from their previous practices and from facing a couple of their teams during the regular season. He only had one teammate with him, a defenseman from the same suburb he’d grown up in. Douglas was his name. Shane doubted that he would end up being drafted at all. It was more likely that he’d go to the OHL and maybe get called up one day down the line. He wasn’t a bad player, and overall he was a great guy, he just wasn’t the MLH type. 

The two sat together on the benches and laced up their skates, occasionally bumping shoulders. 

“If we win this, are you coming to John’s party?”

Shane snapped his head towards him, “I didn’t know there even was a party.”

“Oh shit, sorry. I thought you’d be first on the invite list. Captain and all.”

“Yeah, guess not.” Shane was used to this sort of treatment, seeing as he wasn’t one to say yes to invitations anyway.

“You should still come. I’ll drive us both if you want.” 

Shane furrowed his brow, “Are you sure? I don’t want to, you know, impose or whatever.”

“Dude, you won’t be. Come with me.” Douglas gave him a nudge and a big smile. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll drive us back after so you can drink.”

“You’re the man, Hollander.”

Shane gave his team the best speech he could muster before they headed out to the ice. He hoped that his display of determination was enough to get everyone as locked in for this game as he was. Russia wasn’t to be underestimated.

Shane leaned over the line across from Rozanov and dared a glance up. His eyes were fierce, a smirk played at the corner of his lips. Shane’s breath caught for a moment before he forced himself to look back down at the ice at his feet. He wasn’t going to let his mind get the best of him. 

The puck dropped, and Rozanov won the face-off. 

The game was awful from Shane’s standpoint. Russia was aggressive and dominant, and though the Canadian team was fast and skilled, they weren’t connecting the way they should have. Thankfully, their goalie was on fire which removed a bit of the pressure from Shane and his defense’s shoulders, but by the end of the second period, Rozanov had scored twice and Shane had only scored once. 

Shane stole the puck from Rozanov several times during the final period and didn’t allow the slams into the board to get to him - even if they were much harder than they needed to be. Occasionally, he’d hear Rozanov say something to him as he pressed his body against him into the glass, but Shane ignored it every time. Even the simple act of remaining calm and expressionless against him seemed to rile him up even more, and Shane loved it. Even though his team was losing, it was hard not to enjoy playing against Rozanov - someone who could finally challenge Shane to be better.

As the final horn blared for a Russian win, he stole a glance at the other team. Rozanov was celebrating on the ice in front of his goalie’s net. Shane felt like shit. He’d let his team down, and knew that Rozanov would never let him hear the end of it once they made it into the league together. The media would most likely take this matchup and use it as more fuel for their rivalry - one that Shane wasn’t even sure he wanted.

The teams lined up to shake hands. Shane skated to the back of the line, hoping Rozanov would do the same so they'd have a second longer to chat, but he didn’t.

Rozanov winked. “See you at the draft.” 

Shane’s face turned beet red. He could deal with him being an asshole and trying to piss him off during games, but his cocky, almost flirtatious comments were much different.

Before leaving for the cup, Shane had broken things off with his girlfriend. It just wasn’t working out the way that he’d wanted it to even though they had been together for quite some time - most of high school to be exact. She was pretty and he liked spending time with her. The problem that he had was that outside of recognizing that she was objectively attractive, Shane didn’t really feel anything towards her. He appreciated her and enjoyed getting his dick sucked - like just about anyone would - but in most cases he had to imagine someone else doing it instead of her. The rest of intimacy was much more difficult. 

On a couple occasions Shane couldn’t get hard at all. Shane had gone down on her several times and didn’t dislike it - in fact he preferred it to what normally came after - but it wasn’t something he craved or spoke about the way his buddies on his team did. Eventually, he’d realized that maybe she just wasn’t for him. He thought at some point he would meet another woman, maybe someone at a bar or a nice girl who worked around the facility when he was drafted, but there was always a nagging voice in his head telling him otherwise.

After meeting Rozanov, it was suffice to say that everything had gotten much more confusing.

Shane was positive that he wasn’t gay. He had dated and slept with his now ex-girlfriend, and he hadn’t completely hated every second of it. Sure, it wasn’t always the best feeling in the world, but he’d imagined that's probably what sex was like for a lot of people. It was something you did together because you were in a relationship. It wasn’t going to be perfect and mindblowing every time, and maybe some people like him just got off in different ways. 

Shane had noticed men before, and had often found his mind wandering, thinking about them while getting sucked off, but he didn’t dwell on it. It was much too difficult to think about with everything else going on. Rozanov, however, made that thought harder to ignore. His smirk and soft lips with their prominent cupid’s bow had been burned into his brain since they’d shaken hands out back. He wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but he chalked it up to some sort of obsession or competitiveness between them that got him going in a weird way, and not necessarily the man himself. He wasn’t gay, and he definitely wasn’t gay for Rozanov. 

For once, Shane was happy to be going to a party. It was just the thing he needed to get out of his own head.

・・・・・

Shane and Douglas arrived at their teammate John’s house just outside the city. It was a decent size and Shane noticed that there didn’t seem to be any parental presence as soon as he walked through the door. It was a grade A house party with the entire team, some of the Russian players, and lots of people he didn’t know. 

He wandered around behind Douglas, totally out of his depth. The party was loud and crazy. Everyone was drinking, and the mixture of languages between the players was dizzying. Shane was bilingual, so he at least got two thirds of what was being discussed, but missed the Russian parts of the party altogether. 

“Do you want a drink?” Douglas yelled over the music.

“Nah, I’m good. Have one for me.” 

Douglas grabbed a beer from the cooler in the kitchen and cracked it open.

“Why don’t you come out to parties more often?”

“I kind of get nervous about it, I don’t know.”

“But everyone loves you man, you’re a good player!”

“Well, thanks. I get a little lost in my head sometimes, I forget about this kind of stuff outside of hockey.”

“I guess that’s why you’re a definite top two draft pick and I’m a maybe bottom pick, right?” Douglas wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“Nah man you’re great! I’m sure you’ll get picked up early.” Shane was a terrible liar.

“Yeah, by the Centaurs - and that’s if I’m lucky. God, I can’t believe I’m hoping to play for a team as dogshit as them.”

Shane laughed, “Maybe you could be the guy to turn them around!” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Douglas smiled back at him, and reached up to brush a loose strand of hair from his face. His eyes fell to Shane’s lips for a brief moment. 

Shane blinked and swallowed, “I’m gonna circulate."

“Yeah, okay,” Douglas backed up, “I’ll find you in a bit.”

Shane grabbed a beer from the cooler, I think I need this after all, he thought. 

As he meandered through the house, he spotted a bunch of the Russian players throughout different rooms. John was nowhere to be seen, but he assumed he’d probably be with his girlfriend somewhere.

In the downstairs rec room, Shane spotted the one person he’d hoped to avoid for the evening. Of course, he thought. Rozanov was playing a game of pool with a few of his teammates, lit by the coloured strip of RGB lighting that lined the wall to his left. He looked incredible. He bent down over a blonde woman to ‘help’ her line up her shot and kissed her ear. Shane caught himself staring and didn’t notice that Rozanov had focused his attention on him instead. 

“Hollander, are you just going to stand there and watch or will you join us before our beer gets warm?”

“Fuck off, haven’t you been an asshole enough today?”

Rozanov smirked, “Are you upset that we beat you? I told you it would happen.”

“Yeah well it won’t happen again.”

“Mm, I’m sure. Maybe you beat Russia next time, but it will not matter, because I will have beaten you for top draft spot.”

“Are you always this fucking arrogant?” Shane spat.

“No, I am not arrogant. I am confident. There is difference.” Rozanov took a drink.

“You’re such an asshole.”

Rozanov studied him for a moment and put his beer down on the edge of the pool table.

“Come. Play on my team instead of against me. Then we don’t have to kill each other in this ugly basement.”

“The same team huh?”

“Yes, Hollander. Might be our only chance to do that.” 

Shane picked up a cue and racked. He noticed the way that Rozanov kept his hand on the woman’s hip through most of the game, but occasionally looked at him instead of her when he went in for a kiss. Everything about him was confusing. As the game stretched on, he found himself drifting closer to where Rozanov stood, as if there was a magnet pulling them together. Eventually, Rozanov made the woman - Emily apparently - move to the other side of him so he was able to stand right next to Shane. 

“You are not here with anyone?”

Shane shook his head, “No - well, kind of. I don’t normally go out at all but Douglas - uh - Evans as you’d know him, he told me I should come. So I guess I am with him - in a friendly way, of course.” 

Rozanov looked at him, “Yes, in a friendly way. Okay.”

“What?”

“Nothing. You could’ve just said no. I am not here with anyone.”

Emily shot him a look.

“Well you don’t know anyone, so fucking obviously you’re not here with anyone.”

“Yes.” Rozanov shifted beside him, “You do not have a girlfriend?”

“No. Why?”

“Seems strange. Pretty Canadian hockey star doesn’t have a beautiful girlfriend. Makes no sense.”

Shane felt himself flush.

“I’m not pretty.”

Rozanov looked down at him and licked his lips, “Yes you are, you are very pretty, Hollander. Don’t be stupid. Here, look.” Rozanov threw a cube of chalk at his teammate across the table. “Demidov, is Hollander pretty?”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Rozanov-”

“It is not a bad thing, Hollander.”

“Whatever. My girlfriend and I broke up before the tournament.”

“Ah, I understand. You were too boring in bed.”

Shane snapped his head toward him and gave him a shove, “Oh fuck you! I am not boring.”

“Whatever you say.”Rozanov took another drink and watched the other pair of guys scratch.

“I don’t need to defend myself to you,” Shane took his last shot, sinking the eight ball and winning it for them both. 

“No, I guess not. I know you are boring anyway, nothing you say will change that.”

“I broke up with her by the way. Ended up not being my type exactly.”

Rozanov didn’t say anything to that, he just studied Shane’s face with fervent interest. It made Shane’s heart race, his breath growing shallow. Shane had already finished his beer and started on a second. He was a bit of a lightweight, and the alcohol in his system was not helping in his current situation. His eyes dropped to Rozanov’s jawline, down to his chest, and flitted back up to his lips. They looked soft. 

Shane watched them as they pulled up into a smirk, jolting him back to reality. He took a step back, realizing how close to Rozanov’s face he’d actually gotten. Why Rozanov didn’t back away from him when he was leaning in as far as he was was beyond him. He clenched his jaw and tore his eyes away from Rozanov’s gaze to put the cue back before he gave himself away any more. Whatever was happening between them was just the alcohol in their system and adrenaline from the game that night - nothing more. 

Still, when Rozanov turned away from him and went to sit on the couch in the corner with Emily, he felt a small twist in his stomach. 

“Brought you another beer,” Douglas had finally caught up to him.

“Oh, thanks.” 

“I thought you weren’t gonna be drinking tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on it but, you know. Losses hit hard sometimes.” Shane finished the can he had in his hand already and cracked open his third of the night. He knew having another one was a bad idea, but the presence of Rozanov in the corner made him feel like he had to step up his game. He couldn’t be the boring Canadian that he’d pinned him as. 

Shane and Douglas fell back into easy conversation and joked about the upcoming year. It was clear to Shane that Douglas was much more drunk than he was, but it didn’t bother him. He was just happy that the previous awkwardness of their interaction hadn’t seeped its way into this one. 

The downstairs room started to fill up with people as the minutes dragged on, with more and more guests arriving from last minute invites and party crashes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shane spotted Emily and Rozanov making out on the couch. The way his hands moved across her body and his tongue slipped into her mouth put him into some sort of trance. He couldn’t stop himself from staring, getting lost in the image before him and imagining himself in her place. Shane’s lips parted, he dragged his eyes down the expanse of Rozanov’s body. His shirt was buttoned down halfway, so the musculature of his chest was visible. His cross dangled from his neck and caught the occasional bit of pink and blue light. Shane couldn’t take his eyes off of him 

“Shane,” Douglas waved a hand in front of his face. 

“Oh, sorry I uh - getting tired I guess.”

“You’re not tired, you’re fucking drunk.”

Shane let out a polite laugh, “Yeah, I guess that’s it.” He stole another glance to his right to find that Rozanov had the exact same idea as him. As Emily straddled him on the sofa, her mouth on his, Rozanov stared straight at Shane. It was almost as if he was putting on a show just for him. He knows, Shane thought. His pulse quickened and his mouth went dry. He could feel himself slightly straining against the fabric of his jeans. There were too many people around and it was much too dark for anyone to notice - outside of Rozanov who was staring straight at it, and maybe Douglas. 

“I appreciate you coming out tonight, Shane.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

“I know you’re gonna be going pro soon and you won’t be around at home as much. I was actually trying to find more reasons to hang out with you before you left.”

“I’ll still be around. It’s my parents' place so I’ll be visiting every now and then.”

“Yeah, I know, I just,” Douglas licked his lips and put his beer on the floor. “I felt like we should’ve maybe gotten to know each other better? While we had more time.”

Douglas’s eyes darkened, he hooked a finger through Shane’s beltloop.

“Oh, I didn’t know you-”

“Yeah I mean, I realize that now,” Douglas chuckled, brushing himself against Shane. “I sort of get the feeling that you might be similar though.”

There was no way he was going to tell Douglas that his unfortunately timed hard-on was for his arch rival who sat in the corner taunting him, so instead Shane glanced back over to Rozanov, his attention still not fully back on Emily, and narrowed his eyes a bit. Is this supposed to be some sort of competition? Shane grew increasingly frustrated. Well, if Rozanov wants a show, he’ll get a show.

Shane leaned in and kissed Douglas. It was nice. It wasn’t mind blowing, but he was gentle and wary under Shane’s lips. He dared to look in Rozanov’s direction, who had completely stopped making out with Emily and was now watching him, impressed and equally as surprised. Shane was on cloud nine knowing that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted out of him. 

He kept his lips on Douglas’s for a while longer before breaking it apart. Outside of a kiss, he wasn’t interested in going any further with another man for the first time in the basement of his goalie’s house. He hadn’t even opened his mouth enough to let his tongue explore the other’s. Shane also knew how dangerous it would be if they had continued. Thankfully it didn’t look like anyone noticed them due to how dark it was and the sheer number of people around them who were all drunk. 

Shane felt a little relieved to know that kissing a man wasn’t life altering in the way he thought it might be after years of feeling nothing from his ex. Seeing as he felt a similar nothingness in this situation, he thought maybe that’s all kissing ever was. Just nice. 

Shane gave Douglas a smile and pushed on his chest a little, squeezing past him. 

“I’m just gonna get some air,” he lied. Shane knew it was time to get out of there. He called a cab from the front porch and took a deep breath of the freezing winter air. He knew he couldn’t stay any longer with Douglas after what had just transpired between them - especially since he didn’t feel anything for the guy and didn’t want to lead him on when he knew he was going to be drafted in six months time. It wasn’t like Shane would be able to date Douglas anyway, regardless of whatever his sexuality was. He was another man and the hockey world was not kind to people like them - like him.

The more he thought about it, the worse he started to feel. Panic rose in his chest as he replayed the moment in his head over and over again. It was a stupid and reckless decision that could’ve ended terribly. Rozanov hadn’t managed to get under his skin during the game, sure, but he did in that basement. Shane grew angry with himself, feeling a bit of bile creep up his throat. Why the fuck did I do that? He asked himself.

Shane threw up on the side of the road before the cab arrived, and was sick again when he got home.

・・・・・

Los Angeles, June 2009

It was the day before the draft, and everything was going perfectly. He had spent the last while with a private instructor, getting ready for the types of drills he’d have to perform during camp. There were rumours circulating that the first overall pick - Boston - was most interested in Rozanov. Shane wasn’t happy about that at all, even though he and his family hated Boston and wouldn’t want him to play there anyway. Still, the thought of Rozanov going first overall ahead of him made his blood boil. He didn’t want their careers to be a constant back and forth. Rozanov getting every accolade first, and Shane getting it second. He wanted to stand above Rozanov as often as he could. 

He sat on the couch in his parents' suite and watched some highlights while his mom, Yuna, sat on her computer in the corner. Shane jerked his head around to her when she gasped.

“Shane.”

“What? Are you okay?”

She just looked at him, eyes wide.

“Mom. What is it?”

She turned the screen to face him, and his stomach dropped. In a slightly blurry video was Shane standing in a dark basement lit by old RGB lights, making out with none other than Douglas Evans. Someone from John’s party had managed to get a video of the pair of them, and it was now spreading online like wildfire, one day before the most important night of his life. 

“Fuck,” was all Shane could muster. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Tears welled up in his eyes. The one time in his life he did anything remotely out of the ordinary for him was the moment that everything came crashing down. He could’ve stayed at home after the win the way he normally would, he could’ve gone to the party and not had a drink. He could’ve stayed away from Rozanov and that smug look he always had plastered across his face. He could’ve rejected Douglas and walked away. But he didn’t.

“Shane, honey.” His mom got up from her chair and grabbed onto his arms, glancing over at his dad David who was now watching the video for the first time himself. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We can figure something out-”

“The draft is tomorrow mom-”

“I know-”

“I’m fucked! I ruined everything.”

“Shane, you didn’t ruin anything.”

“What are you talking about of course I did! No one’s gonna draft me if they see that - if they know I -” Shane didn’t know how to continue. He couldn’t. He dropped to the floor and let the tears fall, his mom rubbing his back. 

“If they don’t draft you because of that then they’ll hear about it from me.”

“Mom you can’t-”

“I can’t what? There are plenty of party videos of other prospects that aren’t going to hurt their chances.”

“That’s not just a party video and you know it.”

“Yes, it is Shane.”

“Mom, I’m kissing Douglas Evans. A man.”

“I can see that, honey.”

“That’s why they’re not going to draft me. You know what the league is like. I’ve ruined everything cause of a fucking stupid decision at a party that I wasn’t even invited to to begin with. I don’t even know if-”

Shane stood and walked away from his parents, pacing around the room and pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to stop more tears from falling. His parents had poured all of their time and life savings into his training. He had promised himself that as soon as he was drafted and had booked some brand deals that he would start paying them back. He’d pay off their debts, buy them a new house once he signed a bigger contract, whatever they wanted. He had managed to be perfect, to do everything right up until this moment. The idea that he was letting them down in every possible way was too much to bear. 

Shane stopped pacing and tried to take a deep breath. On the way out it turned into a mangled sob as he stared at his mom and dad from the other side of the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I just - I don’t think I’m - I’m gay. I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t really had time to think about it that much and I didn’t want to have to do that until - I don’t know. Maybe ever.”

“Shane -”

“You guys shouldn’t have had to find out like this. Fuck, I shouldn’t have had to find out like this -”

Yuna and David both moved from their frozen places towards him. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. It’s okay.”

David finally spoke up, “We love you, son. Nothing is going to change that.”

“I know I just - M’ sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and -”

“Shane,” David grabbed his shoulders, “you went to a party and you kissed someone. Every teenager does that. This is no different - to us at least, it’s no different. It doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t understand, it’s all so stupid. I don’t even know if I liked it. I can’t even say oh well at least I learnt something about myself because I didn’t. If anything it just made everything way more confusing and now it’s also going to ruin my life.”

“You’re eighteen, Shane. Being confused is sort of part of the process of growing up.” His dad spoke softly. “Whoever filmed this is a horrible person, and sharing it is even worse. No one deserves that, son. You didn’t do anything wrong, they did.”

Yuna ran a hand through Shane’s hair, “You’re okay, Shane. It’s all going to be okay, I promise you.”

“Yeah well if I don’t get drafted then what? Huh?”

“Then we figure something out,” Yuna said. “Besides, you will get drafted. You will.”

The night dragged on endlessly. Yuna sat typing on her computer furiously with managers, scouts, reporters, and PR agencies, desperately trying to spin the situation into something more palatable for the league. It hurt her to do something like that. Yuna loved her son more than anything, and the thought that something so small as an innocent kiss could change the trajectory of his life forever made her heart break in ways that she couldn’t even begin to describe. 

She knew her husband felt the same way, she could see it on his face. Their poor boy, thinking he had to apologize to them for who he was. It was agonizing.

Shane left for his room and went to bed early. He knew the following day was going to be a nightmare, but wanted the current one to end as soon as possible. He’d apologized more times than he could count and his parents assured him that it was okay - but it was difficult to believe, since he himself wasn’t even okay with it yet. Shane lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, silent tears running down his face and onto his pillow.

What he’d said to his father was true. It had been six months since he’d kissed Douglas, and it didn’t fix anything. It just made it all worse. He was noticing men more often when he was out with his friends, he’d tried to watch some gay porn but got too embarrassed and turned it off every time, and the advances he’d received from girls at his school made him even more anxious than they usually would - if that was even possible. 

At the centre of it all though, was Rozanov. The smirk and knowing look on his face when Shane had blushed after he’d winked and called him pretty. The way his face lit up seeing him kiss another man at the party, eyes locked onto each other as if something more intimate was happening between them - despite being so far apart. Every time Shane closed his eyes, went on a date, kissed a woman, had his dick sucked, the image of Rozanov was there. It was infuriating and even more so - confounding. Now, he was certain he’d never end up getting the opportunity to face him again thanks to the video circulating the internet. He’d definitely drop out of top two contention - if he managed to get drafted at all.

I bet Rozanov is fucking loving this right now, he thought, and drifted off to sleep.

・・・・・

The draft was incredibly awkward. It was supposed to be a night to remember, but Shane was already hoping he’d be able to forget it as soon as possible. Most players avoided him like the plague, a couple shook his hand and gave him a pitiful smile before moving on to wait in anticipation with their families. Shane stood with his parents like always, a glass of ginger ale in his hand. His eyes were still a little bit puffy from the night before - the ice cubes his mom told him to put on his eyes didn’t do much to quell the swelling. 

As the music started and the first pick was drawn, Shane held his breath. 

Ilya Rozanov, Boston Raiders.

Shane clapped because it was the polite thing to do. After yesterday’s news he knew he wasn’t going to be up for first overall pick anymore, but it was still painful to watch it go to him instead. 

The picks kept rolling by. Montreal, no. Vegas, no. New York, no. Shane stood watching his draft position drop lower and lower. His mom was tense beside him, his father kept a hand resting on his shoulder to ground him. This was by far the worst night of his life. They had dropped all the way down to pick 24 before a trade hit the block. 

Vancouver sends pick 24 to Boston in exchange for pick 33, 72.

It made no sense. There wasn’t a single player available on the board in the first round who was worth trading up for after they’d already found their new centre. His parents were just as confused as he was, as were the few other families who still waited in their own sections. His whole body tensed, his gut telling him something that his brain had yet to figure out. Shane’s eyes remained glued to the screen, and that’s when the shoe dropped.

“With the 24th pick, the Boston Raiders select: Shane Hollander.”

Shane was sure that all the air got sucked out of the room. Boston was seemingly the only team willing to still take a chance on him despite his supposed outing. He was completely overwhelmed with emotion, while also being acutely aware that it meant he was going to have to play on a line with Rozanov. Or rather, compete for the spot if the other didn’t switch positions. It was unprecedented. Drafting the originally projected top two centres to your team both in round one would no doubt send shockwaves through the league. While some people probably doubted Shane’s ability in light of recent events, he - and clearly Boston - still knew that he was the exact same player he was two days ago.

Shane held the Boston jersey closely against his chest as he shook hands with his new coach and GM once round one was completed. At the beginning of the night he wasn’t sure he’d get picked at all. Now he had the chance to continue fighting for the dream that he’d had since he was a child, all thanks to the one team he had grown up hating. It was surreal. He tried his best to keep his emotions in check, but all he could feel was shock and gratitude towards the two men standing before him.

“Thank you both, so much. You have no idea how grateful I am for this opportunity.”

LeClaire gave him a smile, “Listen, kid. We love great hockey players, and you are a great hockey player. We don’t care about any of what’s been going around, alright? As long as you show up and help win us a cup you’re good in our books.”

“I won’t let you down. I love this sport, I always have. I’ll do anything to prove to you and the city of Boston that you made the right choice.”

“Even if it means working with Rozanov?” LeClaire raised his eyebrows at him. 

Shane laughed, feeling a sense of relief for the first time in over 24 hours. “Yes, even that.”

“Music to my ears. If you will, Hollander, we have to make some other stops before the night ends. We’ll see you at camp.”

“Yes you will. Thank you again, truly. It means a lot.” Shane shook their hands once more and turned away.

His GM stopped him briefly, “Oh, and Shane?”

“Yes sir?”

“You let us know if you need anything. Anything at all. We’ve got your back.”

Shane’s eyes were no doubt wet again as he blinked back tears. “I will.”

With a historic franchise like Boston behind him, he was starting to feel a bit better. The looks he was getting from other players in the room had less of a bite to them than before. Of course, there were still plenty of individuals who were not so quietly making it known how they felt about him, but the vast majority seemed to treat him like any other rookie. It could’ve definitely been worse. 

Rozanov stood with who Shane assumed was his father. He looked tense and angry, not like how Shane was used to seeing him. Rozanov caught his eye and jerked his head towards the balcony door, excusing himself from the conversation his father was having with a couple other gentlemen. After a moment, Shane followed him outside, jersey still in hand. Rozanov leaned against the railing and lit a cigarette.

“What do you want?” Shane started.

“Congratulations to you too, Hollander.”

“Oh, yeah. Congrats.”

“You are okay?”

“What do you think?”

“I do not know. That is why I am asking.” 

Shane would normally try to say something smart back at him, but as he stared into Rozanov’s eyes he realized that there was honest concern written across his face. 

“I’ve been better. But it’s nice to still get drafted I guess.”

“Yes. The league would have been very stupid not to draft you at all.”

“Are you being nice to me, Rozanov?”

“I’m trying, Hollander. But you are making it very difficult.”

Shane laughed and moved to lean on the railing next to him, cigarette smoke be damned.

“I guess we’re gonna have to try and get along, huh?”

“Da, yes. Will you play wing for me?” Rozanov smirked.

“I’ll do whatever Boston wants me to do. So yes,” he smiled, “I will.”

“The league won’t know what hit them. Rozanov and Hollander on the same line.” He whistled. “Scary.”

Shane thought about it. Rozanov was right. Each of them on their own would have already been a problem to solve. But the pair of them together would be formidable. He hadn’t ever imagined playing alongside Rozanov since their rivalry had already been so talked up by the media. The more Shane thought about it, the more excited he became. 

He started laughing. The absurdity of the last two days was finally catching up with him. Soon he found himself doubling over with tears in his eyes. He looked over at Rozanov whose face was split into a bright smile.

“What is happening?” He gawked at him. 

“I just can’t believe it. This is all so fucking insane.”

Rozanov started laughing with him, “Yes. I guess it is, isn’t it?”

After a few minutes of on and off giggling, Rozanov broke the silence again. 

“Will you room with me for camp? First rounders.”

“Oh, yeah sure. You’d be okay with that? I mean, with me you know -”

“Yes of course. I am not an asshole.”

“Well -” Shane smirked.

“Okay, I am asshole, yes, but not that kind of asshole. I am totally fine with it.”

“Cool. Thanks, Rozanov. I uh - don’t think everyone is, so.”

“Hollander, look at me.” Rozanov put out his cigarette and tossed it over the edge of the balcony. “If anyone on our team or an opposing one gives you any trouble, you tell me. Okay?”

Shane snorted. “What are you gonna do?”

“Tell them to shut the fuck up for one. If they do not, I shut them up with my fists. Is simple.”

“You’d fight someone for me.”

“Yes. You are my teammate now. I will go to bat for you. You think I am just a mean Russian man with a hockey puck where his heart should be. No. I care about the people I play with, and now, I play with you. So if there is trouble, you tell me.”

Shane’s breath caught in his throat. He thought he had Rozanov figured out, but maybe he was duped by the media and the persona he put on just like everyone else was. The man in front of him was much more open and kind than he’d have ever expected. He was also the first player to actively support him after the previous night’s events, despite shaking hands with so many other guys inside. Something near his sternum stirred. 

“Okay. I will.”

“Promise me, Hollander.”

“I promise.” He made a big show of crossing his heart like a boy scout. Rozanov exhaled through his nose. 

“You are funny. Not like Ha Ha funny, like strange funny.”

“Wow, calling the maybe gay guy strange.” Shane tutted and shook his head.

Rozanov gasped, “Oh my god, Hollander. You have a sense of humour!” 

“Fuck you!” Shane yelled back, but there was no sting in it.

Rozanov pushed Shane gently with a laugh and spun on his heel. “See you later, vesnushki.”

“What does that word mean?” Shane called out to him.

Rozanov didn’t look back.

・・・・・

Shane couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned thinking about how he was going to be heading to Boston once his pro career truly started. It was an incredible feeling, but it also made him quite anxious. He didn’t want to let them down, especially after they’d taken a chance on him after it seemed like no one else was going to. He didn’t want to think too much about it until it was necessary, and the quiet of his hotel room was not helping his situation. He had to get out and do something. 

The hotel gym seemed like the perfect place.

Shane rode on the stationary bike for only a few minutes before he felt a presence to his left.

Rozanov.

He watched as he geared up, making the workout much more difficult. Shane of course matched it. Their pace quickened, a silent competition breaking out between the pair of them. The rivalry that the media discussed constantly up until draft night hadn’t yet died, and it didn’t seem like it was going to any time soon. The idea of constantly being pushed to be better than one another, and having the opportunity to do it on the same team rather than in opposition was thrilling for Shane. He never liked unnecessary conflict to begin with - but constant, somewhat friendly competition that would inevitably fuel their own personal success as well as their teams’ was something he could get behind. 

The pair ramped up the speed to a full on sprint, neither one wanting to be the first to stop.

After what felt like forever, their competition came to a natural close and they stumbled off the bikes to the floor by the mirror. 

Shane stared at Rozanov. Sweat was dripping down his face and neck. His legs were splayed - water bottle nesting between them. 

“What a fucking day, ha?” Rozanov took a drink. Shane wished he had thought to bring water down. He didn’t realize he’d be working cardio to such an extent. 

“Yeah, totally.”

“Is everything you dreamed of?” 

“Almost.”

“I’m sorry - about the video. I don’t think I said that before.”

Shane could tell he was being earnest, “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“It was not fair to you.”

“Nothing I can do about it now.”

“This is true.” Rozanov stared at Shane in thought for a moment, “Will you lean into it?”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked.

“When people ask, will you tell the truth or ignore it? Will you really be out?”

Shane thought for a second. He hadn’t actually considered what he would do once he got in the league. At first, being outed in such a horrifying way was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He hadn’t even bothered going online since it happened, too scared of what he would find. In another way however, it was becoming a relief. He still got drafted, he had the support of his coaches and at least one of his teammates, and the MLH hadn’t made it a big deal yet. Shane realized he could just go about his life without hiding anything at all - and that was an exciting prospect. 

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it.” Rozanov raised his eyebrows. “But yeah, I think I’ll just - be out - I guess. Whatever that means. I still have a lot to uh - figure out myself but - it’ll be nice, not having to hide it.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Rozanov had a sort of distant, wistful look on his face that was not lost on Shane. He wasn’t sure what to think of it entirely, but he catalogued it as something interesting he’d remember about him later. Rozanov changed the subject. 

“Boston is nice?”

“Think so, people like it there.” Shane nodded.

Rozanov stared at him. Taking the occasional drink. Moments passed as they sat together in silence. Shane’s eyes darted from each of Rozanov’s moles down to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed, swallowing his water. There was a bead of sweat that slowly meandered its way down Rozanov’s neck and under the neckline of his shirt, just below the golden cross that rested above his pecs. Shane licked his lips, still out of breath and thirsty. 

Rozanov reached out to hand him his water. Shane tried to refuse but was met with insistence in the form of Rozanov shaking the bottle at him like he was some sort of dog. 

He smiled, Rozanov’s lips curling up to send one back at him. He reached forward to grab the bottle and felt their hands touch. It was electric. Shane took a long drink while analyzing Rozanov’s features some more. The way his chest rose with his breathing, his eyes wandering over Shane’s body. 

He stopped for a moment, bottle still in hand. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted Rozanov to say something - anything. 

“More,” Rozanov whispered, gesturing towards the bottle. Shane did as he instructed and took another drink. He watched as Rozanov’s smirk returned, a mixed look of satisfaction and curiosity appearing on his face. With no other direction, Shane handed the bottle back. 

When their hands touched this time, he was sure that Rozanov was doing it intentionally. That theory was proven even more correct when he gave Shane a wink. He didn’t fully understand the feeling boiling inside his chest, but the act of receiving some form of praise and attention from Rozanov made him feel a bit crazy. 

A good crazy. 

Shane dared another glance at Rozanov’s mouth and thought about closing the distance between them. He wondered how he’d taste. Most likely salty from the sweat on his face, a bit sweet from the hydrator he used in his water, a bit smoky from the cigarette he’d had earlier, a hint of mint from whatever toothpaste he’d used before trying to sleep. All in all, a mixture of flavours that screamed Rozanov, which in turn screamed something else to Shane altogether. He just wasn’t quite sure what.

Shane felt heat travel down past his stomach and snapped himself back to reality. He had to leave before he did something really stupid - a habit he was adamant about not forming. He stood and said his goodbye, noticing that Rozanov was analyzing every inch of his body like he was trying to commit it to memory. Go, Shane thought, and he walked back into the elevator.

Shane hopped into the shower and thought of everything he could to try and get his hard-on to go away, but nothing worked. Instead, Shane found himself jerking off to the thought of Rozanov until he released all over the hotel shower floor. He stood under the scalding water and let his mind wander. Fuck, he thought. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive Boston.

・・・・・

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading! If you liked this pls leave a kudos/comment, i love hearing everyone's thoughts! find me on twt at ilyaskotenok to keep up with updates and new fics and come say hi!

Chapter 2: Roster

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya attend Boston's rookie camp to try and secure their starting roster positions for the upcoming season. They end up as roommates, as per Rozanov's request, and get along much better than Shane had expected they would. He struggles with his feelings while Rozanov continues to shower Shane with the physical and verbal affection that he's clearly been starving for, which doesn't help Shane at all when it comes to keeping those feelings at bay - even if it does only seem platonic on Rozanov's part... most of the time.

Chapter Notes

Thank you all for your patience on chapter 2 I have so many wips going right now LOL.

CW: Homophobic Language!!

This chapter introduces a few one off original characters for the purpose of rookie camp things, only one will stick around in the end! If you want to see what he looks like there is a link at the bottom of the fic.

As always DO NOT run my work through any AI softwares, LLMs or generate images based off of my text. As a working writer and composer professionally I am very anti-ai. Use your own beautiful brain to create and support real artists!!

Find me on twt at ilyaskotenok

・・・・・

Boston, September 2010

As time went on, things weren’t too bad. Shane continued to play on his regular team, went back to World Juniors, and won against Russia. His teammates had mixed reactions to him continuing to play, but in general the vibes weren’t too off-putting. Shane chalked it up to the fact that he got drafted, whereas a lot of the other guys on his team hadn’t, so there was a level of respect that took precedence over their feelings towards him potentially being gay. Some avoided him in the locker room and showers, but Shane ignored them and locked into his usual routine. There was, of course, the issue of Douglas, who was also still on the team. Honestly, Shane was surprised he even came back. After months of ghosting his text messages and avoiding him on the streets of their suburb, Shane was positive that Douglas would’ve tried out for a different team or at the very least kept his distance. He didn’t - and Shane ended up being quite grateful for it.

Even though he didn’t want anything intimate with Douglas, it was nice to know that there was always someone in his corner - and, the fact that they were both known to be queer meant they had a bit of a strength-in-numbers act going on and off the ice. If someone said something to one of them, the other was there to step in. Thankfully, Douglas hadn’t made a big deal out of their kiss either. They chatted about the party, the video, the media reaction, and in the end, all was well. Douglas hadn’t gotten drafted, but was being scouted for a D1 college team in the states, which was the best case for him. Shane was feeling pretty good. That was, until rookie camp. 

“Alright, the rooming situation,” LeClaire started, “Everyone will share a room with a buddy for the next week.”

“What type of rooms are they?” Another rookie called out - Presley, a defenseman. 

“They’re university dorms. Boston is nice enough to put you up for the week. You’ll have to share the common areas.” There were a couple groans let out from the guys surrounding Shane. He didn’t really see what the problem was, they were all there to play hockey, not enjoy the university’s facilities and relax on the couch. Shane knew he’d be spending all of his time at the rink or in the gym, any other free moment would be filled by tape review and opponent research on his laptop. He was dead set on making sure his coaches knew they made the right choice by selecting him in the first after Rozanov, who, at the moment, was sitting right beside him with his legs splayed open, chewing a hoodie string.

Shane knew that they were going to be attached from the hip the moment they had been drafted to the same team. The coaches alluded to them having to play together, and Rozanov had even suggested Shane learn to play wing - something that he’d dedicated way too many hours practicing alone at the rink during his final junior season. They were originally rivals, and they’d definitely keep that up regardless of playing on the same team. They could be competitive while still working together, Shane was positive on that front. The only problem with them being forced to be so close with one another was the tension that Shane felt any time they got near each other. 

Over the past year, Shane had actively tried not to think about Rozanov. Every now and then someone would say Rozanov’s name and Shane’s ears would perk up, he found himself watching even more tape on him than he normally would, and even stalked his socials a few times - something Shane wasn’t proud of, considering he didn’t normally like using social media to begin with. It was clear that his attempts of forgetting all about him had been in vain. 

There were a few guys that had made passes at him since his outing, and every now and then Shane would consider going out with them, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He knew he was going to be heading to the states, so there was no point in getting involved with anyone while at home. That, and he hadn’t felt any sort of draw to them the way he had with Rozanov in the hotel gym. It was honestly starting to drive him a bit nuts. 

He was hoping that it had been a one-off instance, that the sparks he felt when their fingers touched would have dissipated by the time they were back together again for camp - it was anything but. As soon as Shane saw him in the parking lot his heart started beating a mile a minute. He’d almost started jogging into the rink in an effort to escape before Rozanov noticed he was there. 

That morning before their first camp meeting had started, Rozanov had given him a small wave and pointed at the empty seat beside him, silently asking if he could sit there. Shane gave him a thumbs up, because of course he did. He wasn’t exactly in a position to be saying no to his teammates, especially one who had supported him so fully, immediately after his outing. He was thankful that Rozanov hadn’t approached him to chat or reunite in some physical way. Sitting beside him was enough to make Shane feel like he was going to explode as is. He didn’t need to be wrapped in a bear hug or subjected to his teasing in front of the other rookies, that would only end in embarrassment. 

“Are you choosing our roommates?” Rozanov called out.

Shane looked over at him as he went to chew on his hoodie string again and smacked his hand away from it. Rozanov turned to him with a look of disbelief on his face. 

“We will be choosing them,” LeClaire started, staring at the pair of them, “But if you need to change for whatever reason you can ask - although, there’s no promises there.”

“That’s gross,” Shane whispered, nodding towards Rozanov’s saliva covered string. He heard the Russian let out a breathy chuckle beside him, pressing his knee against his. Shane felt the electricity again. LeClaire began a speech about camp rules in their housing when Rozanov decided to strike up a quiet conversation.

“You think they’ll put us together?” 

“Fuck no, did you see LeClaire’s face? He probably thinks we hate each other.” Shane kept his focus forward, trying his best not to draw attention to the pair of them.

“Do we not?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ah, but not all the time. This is good, cause I asked to be with you last week.”

Shane dared a glance at him, “You did?”

“Yes. Did you forget we said we would room together last year?”

“Well, no, I just wasn’t sure you were serious about that.”

“Of course I was,” Ilya sounded almost offended. 

“Okay, Jesus.”

“No, no, Hollander. Just Ilya is fine.” 

Shane snorted.

“Gentleman,” LeClaire looked in their direction, “Shut up.”

“Sorry,” they both said. Shane bit his bottom lip to suppress a smile that was threatening to creep onto his face. He wasn’t a troublemaker but he had a feeling that Rozanov was going to be dragging him into all sorts of precarious situations as their friendship - if that’s what it was - continued to grow. 

“Alright,” LeClaire grabbed a clipboard from the desk to his right, “When you hear your names called, grab your keycards and then head to the locker rooms to change for practice. Do not trade! I will find out. Okay, here we go; Presley and McAlpine, Greyson and MacMillan, Rozanov and Hollander,” LeClaire continued to fire off names, but Shane didn’t hear a single word after his. He stood up and walked to the front to grab the envelope with his and Rozanov’s cards, room 1410. Rozanov slung an arm over his shoulder and dragged him to the locker room, a giant smile plastered to his face. 

“This is it, Hollander. This is how it starts!” Rozanov pushed him into the room, lightly punching him in the chest, fired up. 

“How what starts?” Shane asked, laughing as Rozanov kept smacking him around playfully, “Fuck off! Stop!”

“Our domination, yes? We will be unstoppable.”

“Oh yeah,” Shane sat in front of his locker, “I’m sure us rooming together is really gonna make all the difference.”

“Oh but it will. The closer we are, the better our chemistry on the ice will be. You know I’m right.” Rozanov wiggled his eyebrows at him before taking the locker across the floor.

“Not a bad theory,” Shane took a drink out of his water bottle. 

“I am very smart, Hollander. You will learn this once we are on the same line.”

“We haven’t even hit the ice yet and you think you and Holly are gonna be playing together?” Greyson scoffed from the corner. A couple of the guys laughed at the name, Holly, not a nickname that Shane was interested in keeping. Rozanov stared at him, obviously clocking the discomfort on his face. 

“You’re going with Holly? That’s what you choose?” Ilya directed his question to Greyson, a slight bit of aggression in his tone.

“I mean it suits him, does it not?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Why would it?” Ilya smirked with a dangerous look in his eye, laying a trap for the group. 

“Fuck off, Rozanov.”

“No, Greyson. Why would it? Answer me.”

Shane stood to start changing, “It’s whatever, Rozanov. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah Rozanov, listen to your wife Holly.”

It took all of three seconds before Shane was turning around to drag Rozanov off of Greyson’s body with the help of another player. Shane pushed him down onto the bench in front of his locker and stared down at where Greyson was getting up from the floor, his nose obviously broken, blood pouring out of it. Rozanov’s hand seemed to be fine, other than the blood from Greyson’s nose that was splattered across his knuckles. 

“I heard you were a fucking psycho but I didn’t think you’d defend a faggot like him.” Greyson held a towel to his face and stormed out of the locker room. Shane had to push down on Rozanov’s shoulders to stop him from going at him again.

“Rozanov, stop! It’s not worth it.”

“He just called yo-”

“I know! I heard, trust me.” Shane turned to the rest of the group. “Does anyone else have something to say?”

The room was silent. Shane shook his head as he walked back to his locker to finish getting ready. The rest of the rookies changed quickly, including Shane, who didn’t want to make any more of a scene than the three of them already had.

Rozanov kept glancing over at him, as if he was going to disappear any second. 

“Rozanov,” LeClaire called from the doorway, “A word.” The coach looked over at Shane and gave him a nod. Shane desperately hoped that his coach would understand what had happened, that Greyson wouldn’t have told some elaborate lie to frame Rozanov as an aggressor, when he clearly wasn’t. He thought back to the conversation that the pair of them had had on the rooftop a year ago, one where Rozanov admitted that regardless of the consequences, he would stand up for Shane if anyone ever had a problem with his sexuality. He thought he’d at least make it through a game or two before Rozanov would lose his temper, not the first day of rookie camp sat in a locker room for a rink that wasn’t even their home ice. In fact, Shane hadn’t even been sure that Rozanov was serious at the time. It was a bit insane to think that someone he barely knew would break another guy’s nose on his behalf - insane - but nice.

Shane and the rest of the players took the ice and started running their drills. After a few minutes, Greyson and Rozanov both stepped out in their gear, Greyson’s nose stuffed with gauze. Rozanov looked pleased with himself and skated over to the start of the line, throwing a wink in Shane’s direction. All fine, he mouthed at him before turning to start training. 

The rest of practice went smoothly, as did the chatter in the locker room after. It seemed that Rozanov’s outburst had set a precedent for the type of team they were going to be while they competed for a final roster spot. The only person who clearly still had a problem was Greyson, who glared at them both from his area in the corner, his undereyes a deep purple. 

“Let’s go,” Shane said to Rozanov, walking out of the locker room ahead of him.

The bus ride was a tad awkward. Rozanov had tried to talk to Shane multiple times about what had happened in the locker room but he didn’t want to discuss anything until they had more privacy. The tension between them was palpable, wrought with the heat from the earlier altercation they’d found themselves in, as well as a feeling Shane refused to put a name to. He stared out the window while Rozanov sat next to him by the aisle, eternally grateful that the ride to campus wasn’t too long. 

When they got back to the room, Shane dropped his bags on the floor next to the further twin bed and turned around to stare at his roommate, hands on his hips. Rozanov’s hair was still damp from the showers, sections of it slightly darker than the rest of his curls that had dried a pretty gold, shining under the harsh fluorescent lights. He wasn’t sure how anyone could look good in such terrible lighting, but there Rozanov stood, as handsome as ever. Shane could tell that Rozanov wasn’t going to break the silence himself after being shut down so many times on the bus, so he sighed and forced himself to speak up first.

“You didn’t have to do that, but,” He looked around the room, unable to meet Rozanov’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“I told you I would stick up for you.” Ilya sat down on his bed, kicking off his shoes. 

“I know, I just kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to, I guess.”

“We both knew it was bound to happen, Hollander.”

“Yeah,” Shane walked over to Rozanov’s bed and picked up his shoes, placing them beside his own sneakers at the door. Rozanov just watched, seemingly cataloguing every little thing that he did. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Shane heard Rozanov sigh and turned back to him again, leaning against the desk on the far wall. 

“How often?”

“How often do people say it?”

“Yes, Hollander.”

“Often enough. It’s really not a big deal.” Shane crossed his arms.

“It is to me.”

“Honestly, I’m just glad the nickname didn’t stick. That was… worse? Well not really but -”

“How is that worse?”

“I don’t know. It’s not actually, obviously. The first one is just predictable and easier to fight. I can tell LeClaire or shut him up myself, or you can, cause we all know that’s fucked up. But a nickname like Holly, I don’t know, I’m probably just talking out of my ass but - it can be written off as nothing, even though I know - and you know - that they’re actually being dicks to me. They mean it the same way.”

“It’s a way out,” Rozanov replied.

Shane huffed, “Yeah. It’s basically a fucking loophole, so. I just want to be Hollander.”

“We will make sure you are.” Rozanov gave him a curt nod.

Shane swallowed a small lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky, having a supportive family back home, his coaches behind him, and a guy like Rozanov backing him up whenever he needed it. It was hard to believe sometimes that any of what was happening was actually real. He’d originally thought his life was over when the video dropped, but after a year of playing regular hockey - occasional, expected bits of homophobia aside - and standing in a dorm room with his ex-arch rival turned maybe, sort of friend, it seemed like a strange dream come true. He got to play, and didn’t even have to hide after all - well - he had to hide from Rozanov a little. He couldn’t let him know how he felt every time they made eye contact, or their knees touched on the bus ride back. The last thing he needed was to scare away the only person he knew he had in his corner going forward, even if those lingering touches and careful gazes seemed to be egged on by Rozanov himself.

“What did LeClaire say?” Shane watched as Rozanov picked at a bit of fluff stuck to his jeans, tossing it to the floor. He ran a hand through his hair before flopping backwards onto the bedspread, his shirt coming up slightly revealing a bit of hair that led down to the waistline of his jeans, disappearing underneath them. Shane swallowed and tore his gaze away to look back at Rozanov’s face instead. His eyes were stuck to the ceiling. 

“He told me I can’t fight everyone who chirps you,” He sighed. 

“Mhm.”

“But he also said I did the right thing, so,” Rozanov let his head drop to the side, looking across the room at him, smiling fondly. “All is fine.”

“At least you didn’t get in more trouble.”

“I doubt I would anyway, first overall. I have special privileges.”

Shane snorted, “Oh yeah? Like what?” He walked back over to his bed and sat at the end, careful to not let his outside clothes get anywhere near the top of the blankets where his hands and face would be for the next five days. 

“Like roommate requests, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Shane smiled at him as he sat back up, nudging him with his foot.

“I will also get a big fat paycheck.”

“I’m not sure that's a privilege so much as a requirement on your part.”

“Oh,” Rozanov gave him a big, fake frown, “Are you sad you won’t make as much money as me?”

“Oh fuck you!” Shane threw a pillow at him. “I’ll have you know that other first rounders make good money too.”

“Yes, but not first overall money. I know, Hollander, is very sad. You will be broke and begging me for money on your hands and knees.” Rozanov tossed the pillow back at him.

“Yeah right, not a likely position for me to be in.” Shane scoffed.

Rozanov didn’t reply, he just raised his eyebrows and licked his lips, letting a small chuckle fall out of him. Suddenly a million different visions of Rozanov pushing him down to his knees flashed before his eyes. Shane wanted to die.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shane stared at him. 

“Like what? I’m not doing anything.” 

“Yes you are.”

“Am not.” Rozanov shrugged, smirking at him.

“Whatever.”

Rozanov laughed, “Okay fine. You will make almost as much money as me. Maybe we can buy condos in the same building, or buy a night club.”

“Do I look like I would buy a fucking night club?”

“No,” Rozanov looked him up and down, a bit too slowly, “You look like you’d buy a Staples maybe.”

“Asshole!”

“Actually no, they have too many different types of printers there, way too exciting for you.”

“I’ll have you know I can be very exciting.”

“Oh yes,” Rozanov rolled his eyes, “I am so sure.”

“Do I need to remind you why I’m sitting here across from you and not hanging out with the Metros right now?”

Rozanov hummed, making a show of it, tapping his chin as if he couldn’t remember.

“You are unbelievable,” Shane laughed.

“Oh yes! I remember now! You are gay! Boring.” Rozanov blew a raspberry at him, “Plenty of gay people out there. Way less people own night clubs - oh! Hollander! Gay night club!” Rozanov reached across the small bit of distance between their beds and smacked Shane’s thighs over and over again, giggling.

“Holy fuck, I’m gonna kill you.” Shane was crying with laughter, doubled over, pushing his hands away. When the two finally came to their senses, a warm, heavy silence filled the room. It was much less awkward than their previous pauses. 

“Hollander,” Rozanov leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, “I am serious when I say this.  I really do want us to be friends.”

Shane nodded and took a deep breath, “Me too, Rozanov.”

Shane was being honest. He liked Rozanov. He thought he was charming and funny, not just the cocky asshole that he had met over a year ago. Even though everyone else in the league and the fans at home would most likely believe he’s a dick once he got on the ice, it was exciting for Shane knowing that the animal who tore everyone up out there was actually someone much warmer when you got to know him. Shane’s only fear was the fact that those friendly feelings were always accompanied by the threat of butterflies and a heat pooling in his stomach at the thought of Rozanov’s lips on his own. 

He wasn’t sure they could ever truly be friends, ever really know one another, if those feelings didn’t go away - and soon. Them being roommates wasn’t going to be a help. It was only going to be five days though, and then they’d most likely go their own ways. Shane had been planning on renting  a bachelor apartment in the city so that he didn’t have to live with anyone else. He was particular about the way he kept his spaces and the time he spent on his own. He wasn’t very interested in having to navigate his personal life while sharing his space with another person. A week was fine, but every day was different. He hadn’t found the right place yet, but he was sure it would pop up. Unless Rozanov asked him - which Shane was positive he wouldn’t, he was too boring - there was no reason why the pair of them would live together ever again.

“And I am serious about this first line business,” Rozanov continued. “I know we will have to work hard for it with the dinosaurs already having their spots but we will get there. We are the best in the league, no doubt.”

“You know, I was practicing wing all year.” Shane chuckled.

“No,” Rozanov said, shocked. His eyes went wide, “I asked if you would do that before and you said maybe.”

“That’s not true,” Shane bit his lip.

“Yes, it is, I remember.”

“You remember wrong. I said I would do whatever Boston wanted, and if that meant playing wing then I would do it.”

“So you practiced just in case?”

“Basically,” Shane scratched his ear, “I knew you’d definitely stay as centre if you made the first line, and I thought it would be cool to play next to you - like you had mentioned. So yeah, I practiced.”

“You’re amazing,” Rozanov smiled at him. Shane felt his stomach flip. “We’re going to kill the other teams. For real, they are going to die.”

Shane laughed, “Come on, I’m hungry.”

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street.”

“Yuck,” Shane grabbed their keycards and stuffed them in his back pocket.

“What the fuck? It’s McDonalds, what is your problem? Greatest fast food chain on the planet.”

“That is simply false,” Shane walked around him to get his shoes. As he bent over he felt Rozanov reach into his back pocket and yelped. “Dude!”

“What?” Rozanov smirked at him, “I’m just grabbing my key.”

“I can take them for us,” Shane could feel that he was beet red, heat climbing up his neck.

Rozanov let out a quick breath, “You do not need to do that, I can take my own key. Give.”

Shane reached into his pocket and handed him the card. Rozanov let his fingers brush against Shane’s again, like they were back in the hotel gym after draft night. It sent a shock through Shane’s body, a feeling that he wished wouldn’t have returned so obviously, especially now that they had to spend time together in such close quarters. Rozanov licked his lips and reached around Shane to grab the doorhandle, his chest brushing against his shoulder, his eyes darting to his mouth as he leaned closer.

“Move, Hollander,” He whispered right beside his ear, his breath tickling Shane’s neck.

“Oh -” Shane stepped back, letting Rozanov open the door and exit first. “Sorry.”

“No, is fine.” He winked, “Come, lets get you a Ronald McDonald salad or whatever the fuck it is you eat.”

・・・・・

The next couple days at camp were great, and spending time with Rozanov at night was actually quite enjoyable. Shane found himself laughing more than he had the whole previous year - maybe his whole life. Even though Rozanov was a bit of an asshole and loved to get under his skin, he always did so in a way that made Shane feel like they were both in on the joke, rather than him being the punchline, which was more what he was used to. On top of that, Rozanov had clearly paid attention to the way that Shane liked to keep their living space. He had started lining his shoes up beside Shane’s sneakers right after he got back to the dorm, he kept all of his belongings in his bag, and made sure to fold his clothes when he came back from the showers or got changed in the morning instead of leaving them on the floor. He was being considerate, and Shane was growing a bit attached. 

On the ice, Shane and Rozanov battled it out, constantly competing against one another in drills; who could be fastest, who was more agile, in the gym they tried their best to outpace each other, outbench one another, anything to keep the competition going. Their coaches loved it, and LeClaire had even made comments to the other rookies about potentially buddying up with someone to do the same, since clearly the battle between them was pushing them both to new limits - limits that were tested and broken on the daily. 

If things kept moving in the direction they were, the pair were a shoo-in for the roster. Shane was thrilled, as were his parents.

Mom: Are you sleeping well?

Shane: Yes, mom.

Mom: How much are you eating? Are you on a plan with them? Is there anywhere for you to cook while you’re there?

Shane: I am eating enough, no I’m not on a plan, no there is nowhere to cook. It’s fine.

Mom: Okay, well. When you find a place in Boston make sure it has a good kitchen. You’ll want to keep up with your regime I’m sure.

Shane: I will.

Mom: And camp, is it good? Are you still centre?

Shane: For now I am. It’s been fun. I like the coaches a lot.

Mom: Good! I’m glad to hear it. 

Shane: I think I’ll make the cut. Rozanov too, easily.

Mom: That’s my boy. Well, he was first overall. He wouldn’t go to the AHL now.

Dad: How is that kid anyway?

Shane: He’s great. He’s actually really nice.

Mom: Really?

Shane: Yeah. It’s been good.

David: Has he found a place in Boston yet?

Shane: I don’t know. I haven’t asked.

David: Maybe you guys could stick together? I’m sure it would be nice for him. 

Shane: Why?

Mom: He’s from Russia, honey. As far as I know he doesn’t have any family nearby.

Shane: Oh, right. Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask.

David: Can you ask him what type of vodka is best as well? The last bottle I had was terrible.

Shane: Lol. Sure. 

David: Thanks, kid.

Mom: Call us when you’re done for the week. Love you.

Shane: I will. Love you too.

“You two are doing real good,” LeClaire smiled at them on the bench. “I have some ideas I want to try but - I’m still not totally sure about them yet.”

“Hollander is - uhm, I don’t know the word. Can play many things?” Rozanov struggled.

“Versatile.” Shane offered.

“Yes! Versatile. He was practicing wing this year. Just in case, right?” Ilya nudged him.

“Yeah, just in case.”

LeClaire hummed and tapped his pen against his clipboard, “Good to know. I might try you there before the week is up. We’ll see. Right now you’re doing well in your natural position.”

“Thanks, coach.” Shane fidgeted with his gloves.

“We are both on the team then, yes?”

“Rozanov! You can’t ask him that.” Shane pushed him, eyes wide.

“Why not? Is a fair question. We are both very good.”

LeClaire chuckled, “I can’t give you an answer to that, but I agree with you, Rozanov. You’re both very good.” He gave them a wink and sauntered off. “McAlpine! What the fuck was that shit?”

“See? Told you we would make the cut.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shane took off back on the ice, starting another drill. Rozanov stood by and watched instead of joining in. He always felt more pressure when he knew that Rozanov was analyzing his every move. He had to make sure his edges were perfect, his stick handling made to look easy. He wasn’t necessarily trying to show him that their competition was worthwhile, it was more that he wanted to do well for him. He wanted Rozanov to see him on the ice and think that he was a beautiful player, someone that belonged out there with him. Someone he could lean on when he needed to, time and time again. 

Despite the fact that they had yet to try playing on a line together, Shane was positive that they’d have at least some chemistry. He recalled the work he had done leading up to their junior matches, how often he had compared himself to Rozanov, thinking maybe he should lean into his aggressiveness more. Maybe if he had been drafted to another team he would’ve considered doing exactly that, but now that he was going to potentially be on a line with the Russian, he didn’t need to. 

Theoretically, the pair would be able to balance each other out. That’s what Shane hoped for at least. They seemed to do that naturally when they were in their dorm room together and hanging out with the few rookies they’d decided to make friends with over the last couple days. Just like his performance on the ice; technical, precise, quick, Shane was similar in his personality. Rozanov’s loud attitude was reflected in his off-ice personality as well. The only major difference was the persona that he tacked on when talking to the media - the cocky asshole. Shane knew now that it was mostly an act - not entirely, because Rozanov was a cocky asshole - but the extent of his assholedom was much less than he portrayed to the fans and reporters that circled him every chance they got. Shane thought it was funny how well they managed along when they weren’t forced to hate one another, even though they were so different. Almost like they were two sides of the same coin.

“That was a nice shot, but you could’ve buried it in the top right corner instead.” Rozanov said, skating toward him.

“No fucking way,” McAlpine cut in. “That’s impossible.”

“Actually,” Shane started, “I guess I could’ve flipped the puck over to the left first and then cut back to tip it in?”

“Exactly.” Rozanov nodded. 

McAlpine sped off to make an attempt. It was horrible, and he missed the net by a long shot.

“McAlpine, I’m gonna ask you one more time. What. The fuck. Was that?” LeClaire’s jaw was almost on the floor. “You’re done for today, I don’t even want to look at your big dumb face right now. Go away.”

Shane and Rozanov stood next to each other, desperately holding in their laughter.

“You think it’s funny?” LeClaire spun around to glare at them. “Rozanov, why don’t you try doing what Shane described if you think it’s so simple.”

“No problem.” Rozanov shot down the rink like a bat out of hell, darting to the right, flipping the puck to the left, cutting back, and - it worked, of course. He tipped it perfectly into the top right corner of the net.

“Давай!” Rozanov cheered, making his way back over to where Shane stood.

“Not bad.” Shane shrugged.

“Not bad? They’ll be calling that The Rozanov when I do it in a game.”

“Maybe, but you were an inch away from a high-sticking penalty.”

LeClaire barked a laugh beside him, “Hollander’s right. It was a good shot, but keep the stick down next time.”

Rozanov grumbled something in Russian under his breath and skated off toward the bench. Shane tried his best to suppress his smile, but failed miserably at the attempt.

That night in their dorm, Rozanov sat on his bed eating a greasy slice of pizza while Shane reviewed some tape on his laptop. 

“Do you ever watch anything other than hockey, Hollander?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shane nodded, not looking up from the screen, “I actually really like movies.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

Shane hummed, “I have a pretty big DVD collection at home. My dad and I watch them together. Sunday movie nights - when there’s no game on at least.” He glanced over at Rozanov, “Why? Is that surprising?”

“I guess so.”

“I’m not totally boring.”

“Well you haven’t told me what type of movies you watch so, you could still be boring.”

“I like anything. Action, thriller, comedy, romance. There’s a documentary about fracking I wanted to see a couple weeks ago but I was too busy.”

“What the fuck is fracking? Is this a sex documentary?”

“What? No!” Shane pushed his laptop away and turned to face him, “It’s how we get a lot of our oil. It’s really bad for the environment. They did a whole study on it and made a documentary. It looks really good.”

“See? Now I can make an education decision. Yes, you are still boring.”

“Fuck off.”

“No. Let’s watch something together.”

“I’m watching tape, you’re welcome to join me.”

“No, Hollander. I don’t want to watch more tape. We spent all day playing, you need to relax a bit.”

“We spent all day practicing, not playing. Plus, even in scrimmage tomorrow we won’t be up against guys like Caufield. If we’re actually gonna play well when we land our spots we have to make sure we’re prepared.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“You said when we land our spots, and not if. Yesterday and the day before, it was if.”

“Yeah, well,” Shane shifted, “Coach basically told us we had them, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. I’m just not used to confidant Shane Hollander.”

“Oh fuck you, I’m confidant in my hockey playing. I just like to keep my expectations in check, have some humility instead of walking around with a big inflated head like some players I know.”

Rozanov snorted, “Okay. Well, I still vote no to the tape review. It’s been two straight nights of it and I am going to go insane. Please, Hollander. Have some respect for your roommate.”

Shane groaned, “Ugh, fine. What do you want to watch then?”

“I don’t know, what do you have on there?”

“Uhm - let me see, I have a drive of some digital stuff - I have uh - The Godfather, Roc-”

“Da, Godfather. This is good, I haven’t seen it before.”

Shane’s jaw dropped, “You haven’t seen The Godfather?”

“No. I know what it is about,” Rozanov made a face - trying his best to impersonate Marlon Brando. “There’s that guy that does this look.”

“Yeah,” Shane laughed, “Marlon Brando. He won the Oscar for it.”

Rozanov got up and pushed his bed closer to Shane’s. 

“What are you doing?” Shane looked at him, brows furrowed.

“I am making a bigger bed for us. Come on, move your bed towards mine.”

“This is ridiculous.” Shane walked around to the other side and pushed until their twin beds were flush together, creating a makeshift double. Rozanov tried his best to create a larger blanket out of their covers, sliding underneath and patting the space next to him. 

Shane climbed in and set the laptop between them, the fan humming as it opened the drive and started to play the film. He felt too vulnerable. Like the silence between them as the movie began was being filled with something almost tangible. Rozanov was warm beside him, even though their bodies weren’t touching. He could feel the heat radiating off his bare torso. Shane glanced over at him and caught the light of his cross against his defined chest, a smattering of moles decorated his skin. Shane clenched his jaw and turned back to the movie, trying his best to focus on it. 

It was a film that he had seen countless times before, hence his need to take it with him on his laptop. It was almost a comfort film; not as comforting as The Lord of the Rings or Disney’s Hercules - he was a sucker for the romance in that one - but it was still a movie that reminded him of his father and the time they’d spent building their little collection. It was almost impossible to keep his eyes on the screen this time, and soon he found himself looking anywhere but at the laptop. He stared past it at the wall, down at his hands, down at Rozanov’s hands, at his hair, over to the window, anywhere that he could in a desperate attempt to stop himself from thinking about being in a bed with the man beside him.

“Are you even watching?” Rozanov asked eventually.

“Yeah,” Shane cleared his throat, “I mean, I’ve seen it like a hundred times, so I’m half paying attention.”

“What is the other half doing?”

“Thinking,” Shane said.

“Thinking about what?” Rozanov turned his head to look at him, he was much too close. Shane watched as Rozanov’s gaze darted back and forth between his lips and his eyes. Shane shuddered.

“Nothing important, just tomorrow’s schedule.”

“You are impossible. I finally get you to stop watching hockey by suggesting a movie you already like and you’re still thinking about it.” He chuckled, “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” Shane whispered. 

As the movie played, Shane’s eyes started to grow warm and heavy. It had been a long day, and he’d definitely pushed himself more than he’d originally intended to in an effort to impress his coaches - and Rozanov, unfortunately. Sleep claimed him before his favourite part, and soon he was waking up to the 06:00AM alarm on his phone, his head resting on Rozanov’s shoulder.

Shane panicked, freezing where he was. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, or how long they’d been leaning against each other, but by the looks of it it had been all night. Rozanov was heavy against him as well, his face resting on the top of Shane’s head, the back of his hand brushing against his near the laptop - which was dead. Shane could feel an ache in his back from the strange position they’d fallen asleep in, but really, the only thing he could think of was how nice it was.

Shane had woken up with his ex-girlfriend a couple of times after spending the night at her place before they’d broken up, but it was never as peaceful as this when he opened his eyes. The weight of Rozanov leaning against him was grounding, the back of his hands soft. He smelled like laundry detergent, perhaps a bit too strong, like he’d maybe spilled some on the pants he was wearing before he’d packed them up. 

Shane felt him shift.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “Turn that off, Hollander.” 

Shane moved away from him and shut the alarm off.

“Sorry, I think I dozed off on you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I did the same. The movie was good.” Rozanov smiled at him. Shane couldn’t help but notice how soft he looked when he was still waking up. 

“I’m glad you liked it, it’s uh - a favourite - like a comfort one - for me. My dad likes it.”

“He has good taste.”

“We should get ready for today, put the room back.” Shane got up from the bed and went to grab a fresh change of clothes from his suitcase. 

“We can leave it like this, no?” Rozanov said with a stretch.

“Why? I mean, we have another night to sleep so…”

“Exactly. Just leave it, we can do your boring tape study together tonight this way.” Rozanov smiled at him and grabbed his phone from the floor. 

“Uhm - okay - yeah, sure. Just, uh, I’m gonna get ready for today.”

“Yes, you said that already.” Rozanov smirked, looking up from his phone with his eyebrows raised.

“Right, yeah, sorry.”

“Hollander, relax.”

“I’m fine.” Shane turned away, hearing Rozanov let out a small sigh behind him.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you on the ice.”

Shane nodded and packed his duffle, leaving Rozanov in the room behind him.

・・・・・

For the rest of the day, Shane did his absolute best to avoid Rozanov as much as possible. He sat next to McAlpine on the bus, he hung back during drills, and took lunch himself to pretend to call his parents. It was a difficult situation to navigate. Shane hadn’t meant to get so close to Rozanov in general, let alone fall asleep on his shoulder all night. He was living in near shock at the fact that his roommate hadn’t moved away, even after waking up he stayed where he was, totally fine with the whole situation - at least he was acting that way.

Shane was nervous. His feelings were going to ruin the only friendship he had. He was starting to hope that McAlpine would somehow make the team even though he’d been playing like absolute dogshit, cause at least then he would have another friendly face to see at the rink every day: a backup essentially. Before Shane could finish his meal, he joined him on the steps outside. 

“Hey! We were looking for you.” He said, sitting down on the steps next to him. 

Shane looked over at McAlpine. He was always so smiley and cheery. Shane wondered if he knew how to frown at all. Even when their coach was yelling at him about his playing from across the ice he still managed to grin and try again, as if nothing was able to phase him. He had a moustache and a bit of a beard, hair brown with reddish undertones when the sun hit it just right. He was tall and strong, perfect for battling against other guys for the puck against the boards. Shane hadn’t been able to play with him on a line in a scrimmage yet, but he felt like there were some unlocked abilities there that would come with time - something they didn’t necessarily have.

“Oh, yeah, I just wanted some fresh air. Who - who is we?” Shane stuttered. 

McAlpine stole a cashew from his salad, “Me and Roz. Couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Rozanov was looking for me?”

“Yeah, he said you were acting kind of weird today so we wanted to make sure you were fine.”

“Oh,” Shane looked down at his salad. “That’s nice.”

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Fine?” McAlpine stared at him, eyes wide, brows raised.

“Yeah, I’m good. Totally good.”

“Okay,” McAlpine gave him a look that said he didn’t really believe him, but he let it go anyway.

“Really, I am. It’s just been a tiring week.”

“Tell me about it,” he let out a huff. 

“You and Rozanov get along then?” Shane pried.

“Yeah! He’s a good guy. Bit of a dick but it’s honestly kind of funny.”

“Yep, that’s him.” Shane smiled, looking off into the parking lot. 

“You two seem close.” McAlpine leaned to the side and rested his shoulder against the cement wall.

“We are, I guess. He’s my roommate, so it's hard not to be.”

McAlpine snorted, “Totally, although Presley and I are not that close.”

“Fuck, right. He’s close with Greyson, yeah?”

“Unfortunately. I’ll probably end up on some AHL team with them.”

Shane thought back to the altercation in the locker room. He’d been grateful that McAlpine was there, seeing as he was the only other guy who stepped in to help pull Rozanov off of Greyson. He made sure to smile at Shane a couple times throughout the rest of the day as well, clearly making an effort to make it known that they were cool, and McAlpine wasn’t going to be an asshole like the others.

Shane shook his head, “Nah, I’m holding out for you. You’ve gotta make the roster.”

McAlpine barked out a laugh, “Yeah right! There’s no way that’s happening. LeClaire fucking hates me. I think if he had it his way he’d send me back to Saskatoon after lunch to play Timbits.”

Shane chuckled, “I think he sees potential. I do, so does Rozanov I’m sure.” 

“Yeah, a potential liability.” He laughed again. “Thanks though, Hollander.” 

“No sweat.” Shane started packing. “See you on the ice?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have a dart and come back in a minute.”

Shane shook his head and mumbled as he headed in, “You dumbasses and your smoking, man.”

“I heard that!” McAlpine called out as the door slammed behind him.

Shane stuck close to McAlpine for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally giving him a pointer when he asked and laughing when he messed up. He was so easygoing, Shane wished he could bottle even ten percent of his relaxed attitude for himself. Whenever Rozanov got close, Shane made sure to keep a wide berth and let them have their moments, noticing that every time he skated away Rozanov sighed or rolled his eyes. 

“You’ve been avoiding me all day,” Rozanov approached him in the locker room after practice.

“No, I haven’t.” Shane brushed him off.

“You have. Even Andrew noticed.”

“Andrew?”

“McAlpine.” Rozanov put his hands on his hips.

“Oh, right.” Shane went back to unlacing his skates.

“I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“What?” Shane snapped his head up toward Rozanov. “You didn’t.”

“We can put the beds back, I was just trying to have some fun.” Rozanov stared down at his skates, dejected.

“No, Rozanov. It’s fine.” Shane sighed, “Can we talk about this later?”

“Sure.”

“I promise you didn’t do anything, okay?”

Rozanov gave him a taut smile, “Okay.”

・・・・・

“So,” Ilya dropped his bag in the corner and crossed his arms as Shane entered the room after him. “Are you going to tell me what I did wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Rozanov.” Shane huffed, leaning back against the door.

“Clearly I did. You’ve been running away from me like a scared kitten all day.”

“Oh fuck you, I wasn’t.”

“You were, I told you. Even Andrew noticed, I’m sure other people did too.”

Shane dragged his hands down his face, “You didn’t do anything.”

“Whatever, Hollander. If I made you uncom-”

“It’s about what I did! Fuck Rozanov. Let me talk.”

Rozanov sat down on the desk and stared at him.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Ever since I got outed people have been fucking weird about it even if they’re not like - you know - outwardly saying something. They’re still avoiding me and whatever. I’m not saying that you do that cause you don’t, obviously, but like you said, I want to be friends with you. I don’t want me fucking falling asleep on you or being too clingy at practice or whatever to make you feel weird about us and I got scared about it. Okay?” Shane’s breathing was a bit ragged, terrified of what Rozanov would say back to him. 

He stood and crossed the small dorm room to grab Shane’s shoulders. “Shane, I am not uncomfortable with you at all, and I never will be. I told you this forever ago.”

Shane’s stomach fluttered hearing his first name come out of his mouth, “I know but-”

“No buts. I am not. I am an affectionate guy, yes? I give hugs and kisses and fall asleep on my friends too. I know you are not like this, so I haven’t been doing it to you. But really, if you let me, I would.”

“You really don’t care?”

“I really don’t. You being gay doesn’t matter to me. I broke a guy’s nose to defend you only four days ago, have you forgotten already?” Rozanov tilted his head, a twinkle in his eye.

“Well no but-”

“Ah, ah. What did I say?”

Shane mumbled, “No buts.”

“That’s right. No buts. I like you, Shane. I think you’re funny. Very boring, but funny.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Rozanov squeezed his shoulders before lifting a hand to cup his face. He dragged his thumb over Shane’s cheeks. “Please get out of that pretty head of yours and come back to me. You never need to worry about this.” He smiled at him. A blush creeped up Shane’s neck. Pretty, Shane thought, He still thinks I’m pretty? Shane felt that same electricity again, charged through their touch. 

He thought back to the party, to the way that Rozanov had looked at him as he made out with the girl on his lap, how he was so shocked at him kissing Douglas. Back then, there was a hint of something else that danced across his features - an emotion that Shane couldn’t quite place. Looking up at him now he thought he saw the same one, toying at his features while he looked into Shane’s eyes and flitted his eyes down to the freckles on his cheeks. It only grew when eventually his gaze landed on Shane’s lips. There was something there that Shane knew he was sorely missing - or rather - something that Rozanov was seemingly hiding from him.

“Now, we have boring Dallas tape to watch, yes?” Rozanov winked and walked over to his bags to change.

The rest of the night was a bit easier. Shane caught Rozanov staring at him a few times while they analyzed the tape and he got way too invested in breaking down every play. Rozanov caught things that Shane otherwise would’ve missed and vice versa. It was easy to see how they could help each other out strategically through the season if they managed to both secure their spots. Eventually, Shane shut the computer down and put it back in his bag, exhausted from the day and nervous for the following one. They’d most likely find out their status pretty early on as first rounders, and it was a terrifying prospect. 

“Sleep?” Rozanov asked.

“Sleep.” 

Rozanov pulled the covers back so Shane could climb in easier. The pair laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Shane listened to Rozanov’s breathing, deep and steady. He longed to reach out to him but didn’t know how. After their conversation, Shane had sort of hoped that Rozanov would be more affectionate with him the way he mentioned he was with his other friends. He was a bit touch starved, not that he was a fan of getting touched by people he wasn’t sure about already, but either way it had been a long time. 

Instead, they’d spent the last few hours sitting next to each other on top of the covers, pointing at the screen and jotting down notes into Shane’s notebook. Rozanov had swatted his hand away a couple of times when he went to pause the tape too often, but he hadn’t engaged with him in any other way. Shane felt a little awkward at the situation. He knew it was probably for the best, but it definitely didn’t feel very good.

As if Rozanov could hear his thoughts, he shifted beside him. 

“Shane,” he spoke, voice low.

“Mhm?” Shane risked a glance over at him, Rozanov was already staring back. He gave him a nervous smile and lifted his arm, beckoning Shane to move under it. Shane rolled to his right, allowing his head to rest against Rozanov’s chest, his arm slung across his torso. He was grateful that they’d both decided to wear some form of pyjamas that night, instead of going shirtless like they had before - that would’ve been much too intimate for him, and much too telling.

Rozanov’s arms hugged him closer, his face buried in Shane’s hair. It was nice. Warm. Shane let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding and sunk deeper into the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. It had been a long time since he’d felt so safe and comfortable. He could feel Rozanov’s thumb drawing small, delicate circles on his shoulder, every exhale tickling the top of his head. He smelled like laundry detergent again, but now that Shane was even closer he could distinctly smell what was left over from his fading cologne, a sandalwood and deep amber scent that attached itself to his body - something so definitively Rozanov.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Shane felt Ilya’s breath stutter for a moment before it evened back out, and Shane drifted off. 

The next morning was significantly better than the previous. Shane didn’t feel like he had to run away again, since Ilya had been the one to initiate their contact the night before. When he woke, the sun poured in through the shitty, broken blinds attached to the dorm’s windows, his alarm beeping on the end of the bed. He was still wrapped up with Rozanov, their legs tangled together under the covers. Shane looked up at him, soft as ever. His curls swept around his face and his lips were slightly parted. His bone structure looked like it had been carved from marble, with the shadows of his cheekbones etched into the glow of his smooth, mole dappled skin in the pale morning light. He was so peacefully beautiful.

As he stirred, Shane made sure to look away, trying to hide the fact that he had been staring - and could have kept staring if time had allowed him the opportunity. 

“Shane,” he groaned, “Are you fucking allergic to turning that shit off?”

Shane moved off the bed and turned the alarm off, beginning to get ready for the day.

“I didn’t mean you had to get up,” Ilya said. 

“Well I might as well, that’s what alarms are for.”

“Yes, but I was comfortable. You are like a big heating pad.”

Shane smiled, I could’ve stayed there all day if we had the chance.

“How do you do it?” Ilya mumbled.

Shane hummed, “Do what?”

“You just hop out of bed like that and start getting ready. Every time I wake up I feel like I want to die and I need fifteen more hours of sleep.”

“Maybe it’s all that McDonalds you eat.” Shane winked at him. 

“Wow.” Ilya’s face broke into a toothy grin. “This is bullying.”

“It’s not!” Shane threw a pair of socks at him. 

“Is to. We will go there again tonight after practice and I’ll force you to eat french fries.”

“I’ll go, but no fries, not gonna happen. We should invite McAlpine too. So he’s not stuck with those assholes.”

Ilya made a noise of agreement and rolled over. The beds slipped apart and he fell through the crack onto the floor with a thud.

“Блять!” 

Shane doubled over with laughter, tears pooling in his eyes as he watched Rozanov try to escape from the pile of covers he was now underneath on the floor. He knew then and there it was gonna be a good day.

Practice went off without a hitch. The final drills were easy enough, and Shane felt like he and Rozanov had actually managed to get better over the week thanks to their incessant competitive energy. On top of that, it seemed like McAlpine was getting better as well - not that LeClaire told him that. He even spent some time directly after looking at apartments on his phone, wishful thinking on his part, but he had a feeling it would work out in his favour. 

Eventually, the three found themselves sitting in an old McDonalds not far from their accommodations when Ilya’s phone rang.

“Coach,” He said. Shane and McAlpine looked at each other and leaned in. “Amazing, thank you… No, I’m not surprised but -” He laughed, “You know me, I am very humble… Yes he’s here, one moment.” Ilya handed Shane his phone. “For you.”

“Hey coach!”

“Hollander, very convenient that you guys are still together tonight, saves me a call.”

“Right, yeah.” He let out a nervous laugh. 

“No need to freak out kid, you made the cut. We all knew you would.”

“Holy fuck - I mean, sorry. Thank you. This is crazy.” Shane's smile shone so bright it could’ve powered the whole of Boston.

“I thought a lot about what Rozanov mentioned, having you as a winger. I think it’ll work well once we get to practice with the rest of the guys. I’m looking forward to seeing you try it out.”

“I’d love to, yeah. We should do well together,” Shane looked across the table at Ilya, eyes shiny. 

“I’m sure. Well I’ll let you go, I’ve gotta call one more kid before the end of the day.”

“Sounds good, sir. See you at the first practice.” Shane hung up the phone and gave it back to Rozanov.

“So?”

“Are you ready for me to play wing for you Rozanov?”

“Fuck yes!” Rozanov dragged him out of his seat and pulled him into a bear hug, kissing his forehead and cheeks over and over again. Shane laughed and tried to push him away. Still seated, was McAlpine, staring at his own cellphone. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” he said, looking up. “I’m just - I’m gonna get some air, okay?” 

Shane and Ilya watched as he stepped outside briefly and lit a cigarette. 

“Shit, I feel bad for him.” Shane said, sitting back down to inhale his filet o’fish. 

“Me too, I like him. He would’ve been good for the locker room I think.”

“For sure,” Shane took a sip of his soda. “Have you been looking at places in Boston yet?”

“No, not really.”

“What? Why? You were a shoo-in for the roster, you could have a place ready for the season by now.”

“I know, I just…” Ilya cocked his head and took a bite out of his burger.

“You just…”

“I just wanted to wait and see if you got your spot too.”

“Wow,” Shane said quietly. “You had that little faith in me.”

“No! There was no way they would pass up on second best hockey player in the league.”

“Second best!?”

“Yes, obviously I am the best. You can be the best right winger.”

Shane scoffed, “Whatever. Why would it matter anyway? You’d need a place to live regardless.”

“Yes, but I was going to ask if you wanted to live with me?” Ilya looked directly into Shane’s eyes. He was clearly concerned, nervous about asking him. "Rookies stick together all the time, no?"

“You want to stay as roommates…?” Shane wasn’t sure he was hearing things properly.

“Well not roommates, but housemates yes. We could rent something, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, near the rink. You know.”

“Hm, that’s a good idea actually.” Shane grabbed a fry from Ilya’s meal. 

“I am full of good ideas, Shane.”

“Unfortunately, I’m already a step ahead of you.”

“What does that mean?” Ilya furrowed his brow.

“I found a three bedroom loft not far from the rink already. I was thinking we could get some gym equipment, turn the third bedroom into a home gym, maybe even do some tape review in there.”

“You already found us an apartment.” 

“Yep.” Shane had assumed that they’d stay roommates after they’d figured out where their friendship stood. It was easy living with Rozanov - complex feelings aside. If they had their own rooms they wouldn’t have to be in each other’s space as often, and Shane would be able to sleep without having to roll over into his arms. He tried not to think about that too much, considering that when he did he felt an ache in his chest at the idea of not being wrapped up with him while he drifted off to sleep every night. 

“Shane Hollander, I accept.” He stuck out his hand and Shane took it, giving it a hard squeeze and a quick shake. “When do we see it?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Perfect.” 

Shane heard McAlpine come back inside and watched as he slid back into the booth next to Ilya. His eyes were a bit red, but he flashed them a big smile anyway.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry.” Shane started.

“For what?” McAlpine asked, finally eating his now cold meal. 

“We just feel like you should’ve been with us. It would’ve been fun.”

“Yes. It will be sad not having you there anymore.” Ilya nudged him with his shoulder.

“Oh,” McAlpine smirked, “It’s alright. You’ll see me.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean?”

“I’m the third player.”

“Fuck off,” Shane’s jaw dropped. 

“Apparently LeClaire’s nagging wasn’t all fuelled by hatred, he actually thinks I’m okay.”

“Better than okay,” Ilya beamed, “You made the fucking roster!”

“Yeah,” McAlpine was back to his smiley self. Ilya wrapped him in a headlock and gave him a noogie. 

"This is the best day of my life, easily." Rozanov said, smiling. 

"Same here," Shane nodded in their direction.

“Damn fucking right it is. Did I hear you guys saying you're going apartment hunting tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Shane’s smile dropped slightly. Rozanov looked over at him. 

“Shane found us a place, it’s just a two bedroom though.” He lied, shooting Shane a wink and a knowing smile. “He wants me all to himself.” 

Shane felt heat creep up his neck, he looked away quickly hoping the blushing wasn't as obvious as it felt. McAlpine didn't seem to notice anything, but Ilya certainly did. He nudged Shane with his foot under the table.

McAlpine laughed, “You guys are so weird, I swear. I’ve never seen two idiots get so fucking close so fast.”

“Is easy when it’s someone like Shane. He’s so boring there’s nothing to dislike, really.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane smiled, his heart skipping as he stared into Ilya's striking eyes before looking down at his mouth.

“Well, that’s fine anyway. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” McAlpine looked back down at his food.

“No,” Ilya looked up at Shane, his eyes dragged across his face, mapping out every detail before settling on his mouth and visibly darkening. He swallowed and licked his lips, “You wouldn’t.”

・・・・・

For anyone interested in what I envision McAlpine looking like :)

Chapter End Notes

If you like the fic so far then pls leave a kudos and comment! It always means so much and I love hearing your thoughts :3 how do you guys like my burly baby boy McAlpine???

Chapter 3: Rookies

Chapter Summary

Ilya moves into his new apartment with Shane. He navigates their blossoming friendship and the feelings that he tries to keep hidden as they both prepare for the start of the season. The small touches and compliments Ilya allows himself aren't always platonic in nature, but he refuses to make a real move. Ilya is far too concerned about ruining the one good thing he has in Boston.

Chapter Notes

first italicized section of Ilya's moment with this mama's grave is meant to be in Russian <3

also pls suspend disbelief with the imessage screenshots idk how to make old iphone ones LOL so just pretend they're the old appearance I guess

as always do NOT run my work through AI or generate images based off of my text. 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.

Moscow, July 2010

Russia sucked. Ilya had basically begged his father to allow him to stay in Boston and train with Shane after they’d signed their new lease together. It was no use. Ilya had to go home to train instead, and every night he listened to his father talk to him about the KHL and how he was throwing his country away in favour of a soft, foolish American life. The only saving grace was the fact that he got to visit his mother’s grave whenever he had a spare moment away from them and his training. He told her about everything he could; camp, his roster spot, the new apartment, and spoke way too often about Shane. He headed out from his house to pass by the graveyard and say good morning daily before heading to his training for the day, knowing he wouldn’t see her for a while once he left to go back to Boston. 

“Hi, Mama. It will be a while before I can come back to see you again. I am going away to America soon to play hockey. Boston, remember?”

Ilya sat down on the ground and picked at a few blades of grass. 

“I’ll be moving in with Shane soon. It will be nice, I think. He is nice - of course you know that. I talk about him all the time,” Ilya chuckled, “I do not know if Alexei or Papa will continue to bring you flowers or clean the grave. I was thinking about hiring someone to do it for me, or maybe asking one of my friends from the old team to check in every once and a while over the year. I will be back next summer though, so do not worry.”

Ilya swallowed and looked around at the other gravestones, most of which were covered in moss - a few scattered with old, dying flowers, wet from the rain. 

“You know how I feel about this place. I wish we could have buried you somewhere nicer, maybe even somewhere closer to home. Papa wanted to forget back then. I am afraid that now, however,  he is doing exactly that. Alexei tells me not to worry, that it is just old age and everyone gets that way. I do not agree. I wish he would bring the doctor to see Papa, but he refuses. It is foolish, but I cannot make the decision myself - especially since I am going away and Alexei will be in charge. I wish I could stay a bit longer and help Papa more. You know, his memory is fading, but he remembers you - sometimes he asks for you when he -” Ilya stopped himself, “Never mind, Mama. It is not something to worry you with. I have spoken too much about it already.”

Ilya ran his hands through his hair and looked down at the clock on his phone. He didn’t have much time left before he had to head to the rink. 

“I think I will like Boston. It is a good city, the people seem nice. Also Svetlana is there, you always liked her. I will be seeing her much more than I used to which will make things better. Her and Shane will get along well too, I am sure. Well, I hope they do. Shane has been talking to me a lot while I am gone, it is good to have a friend like him waiting for me. I love Svetlana, but it is different having someone in the league I can be close to. He understands me better than other people, I think. He listens well, and he cares about people. He is good.”

Ilya cleared his throat.

“But sometimes… sometimes I am still lonely. I do not know if it is the same feeling you had, but it aches in my chest. Russia does not feel like home to me, it never did. You knew that. I know that is why you wanted me to train so hard, to leave and find a new home. Our family is still here though, and I know I should not be lonely when I am with them, but we are so different - so… I do not know,” Ilya took a deep breath, “I am hoping Boston feels more like home. It used to be wherever you were, but… it is not that easy anymore. Maybe it was never that easy. I am sure Shane will help, though. He makes things feel lighter, Mama, sometimes when he smiles and his cheeks blush a pretty pink I think-”

Ilya paused as a car passed by the graveyard, his heart racing for a moment.

“I should go. I will not have a chance to see you again before I leave, so goodbye, Mama. I will think of you often, like I always do. See you next summer.”

Ilya stood and touched the headstone before picking up his bag and retreating from its place. The walk to the rink wasn’t too long, but he knew he would be late for this session. 

His trainer was somehow worse than before - much more rigorous. Ilya was doing what felt like ten times the amount of bag skates he used to do, and every edge and slight drift too far was nitpicked within an inch of its life. It was exhausting. Every night Ilya collapsed into bed and read through the texts that Shane had sent him.

Living with Shane was going to be a challenge. Ilya knew that from the get-go. Not for any of the typical housemate reasons either. Shane was - for all intents and purposes - the ideal housemate. He was tidy, quiet, kind, sure he had his quirks and a dire need to keep things orderly, but Ilya was more than happy to go along with it. He himself was clean and tidy as well, a desperate perfectionist streak running through his bloodstream the same as Shane. Making sure his sneakers were aligned by the front door and his pillows were centred on the bed were the least of his worries. No, living with Shane wasn’t going to be a challenge because of his standards. It was going to be a challenge emotionally - sexually. 

From the moment Ilya shook his hand before the Juniors back in 2008, he hadn’t been able to get Shane out of his head - for better or for worse. At the after party, he constantly looked for him, spotting him in small groups of people and watching as he inched his way out of his teammate’s bubble when they got too close. He liked to push his buttons, and Ilya had sensed that he and Shane had more in common than either of them expected - that maybe the tension between them was more than just a rivalry on the ice. This assumption was validated all throughout the night as Ilya watched Shane’s face turn pink every time he flirted with him. It took everything in him to walk away with whoever that girl was and leave Shane by himself, because truthfully, Ilya wanted nothing more than to drag him into a bathroom away from prying eyes and have his way with him.

Ilya knew he was good at riling people up, so getting under Shane’s skin was pretty simple once he’d realized there was a certain level of attraction there. Making out with a girl on his lap and staring directly at him was the easiest way to get in his head, and it wasn’t too bad of a view for Ilya either. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that the entire reason he was hard on that couch in Saskatchewan was because he was imagining it was Shane on him, and not the girl who’d latched herself to him from the moment he stepped foot through the front door. The way Shane had looked at him before kissing his teammate was an expression that Ilya was desperately searching for again since they’d gotten closer, but he’d only seen it once since: in the hotel gym. 

Ilya thought back to that moment a lot during his time in Russia. Living in a place where such impulses were not to be acted upon, lest there be dire consequences. Shane’s sweatsheening body, his pink lips and quick breaths, the way his eyes darkened every time he allowed them to travel down the length of Ilya’s body. But Ilya wasn’t one to take advantage of anyone, and Shane, having recently been outed, was only dancing on the edges of his radar. He wanted him more than anything, but not so soon. Not after what he’d been through only 24 hours earlier. With the promise of them being teammates, and Shane agreeing to room with him for camp, he knew he’d have his fill eventually - even if it was only friendly to begin with. 

Ilya thought back to the video. He’d watched it several times on repeat with his jaw on the floor when it had been released before the draft. If he’d known that anyone there was filming then he would never have pushed Shane the way he did. Honestly, he felt guilty about it for months. He’d flown back to Russia after the draft and made sure to keep tabs on him as time dragged on, not just so he could win again when they met at Juniors the next time - more so to ensure that Shane was okay. He hadn’t managed to get his contact information back then, and was actually a bit nervous to reach out online to get it. 

It wasn’t like him - getting nervous over someone. Ilya pushed the feelings of it down as much as he could until they roomed together for camp. It was impossible to ignore after that - especially once Shane agreed to cuddle up to him in their makeshift double bed. He was so warm and sweet, definitely awkward at first, but it was incredibly endearing regardless. Ilya hoped that he’d do it again when they moved into their new place, despite the fact that they’d of course have their own bedrooms to retire to every night.

・・・・・

Boston, August 2010

Ilya pulled up to their loft and hit the buzzer. 

“Hello?” He heard Shane’s voice crackle over the intercom. 

“It’s me, come down and help me with my shit,” Ilya hoped that Shane could hear the smile on his face and was rewarded when he heard what he was sure was a typical Shane snort. 

“Be right there.”

Ilya still hadn’t gotten his key to the place since he left so soon after signing the lease. Shane had promised him he’d make a couple extra copies for him for when he got back. He stood outside in the hot summer air with his bags by his side. He didn’t have much to bring with him outside of his wardrobe and some personal sentimental belongings, books, and footwear. He would be sure to go shopping for anything else he needed while he was in Boston, it made more sense to do that in the city, he thought, seeing as shipping a bunch of items from Moscow to his new place was expensive and tedious. 

The door swung open and Ilya was met with a smiley Shane. His heart flipped, and then he noticed a difference. 

“What the fuck? What happened when I was away?”

Shane laughed, “I trained. Didn’t you?”

Ilya stared at the man before him, his shirt tight across his chest. Shane had put on several pounds of muscle since he’d last seen him. He looked frustratingly good. His summer tan brought out way more freckles as well that not only danced across his cheeks, but also dappled the rest of his face, neck, and arms. Ilya could only imagine they were spread across the rest of his body too. 

Fuck me.

Ilya cleared his throat, “I did, but I wasn’t trying to gain weight. You look good.”

“Thanks,” Shane blushed, stepping forward to give Ilya a tight hug. 

Ilya breathed him in, the scent of aloe body lotion and whatever citrus shampoo he used filling his lungs. He made a mental note to figure out which one it was so he could maybe start using the same one. Shane pulled away, his touch lingering on Ilya’s waist for a moment.

“Let me grab this,” Shane reached down and picked up a couple of Ilya’s suitcases to bring upstairs. 

The apartment was just as nice as Ilya remembered, except now there were a few pieces of furniture, rugs, and knickknacks that Shane had moved in over the latter half of the summer. The apartment had massive floor to ceiling windows, and two bedrooms on the main level. The loft space was supposedly the third bedroom according to the agent they’d spoken with when they had signed the lease. That was the space Shane was most excited about. He had a full layout he’d sent to Ilya via email while apart; one that included a film review nook and a cardio area. He didn’t want to bring weights and a bench all the way up the stairs and cited concerns about the structural integrity of putting weights in the upper loft, so they’d agreed to keep the at-home equipment strictly cardio and calisthenic based. 

The kitchen was Ilya’s favourite part. Large countertops and a massive double fridge, large enough for two grown hockey players. Stacked ovens also meant that they could prepare their food at the same time, seeing as he and Shane had different diets - although Ilya remembered how easy it was to convince Shane to slip a little if he whined about it enough. There were a few recipes from his mama’s book he brought with him that he was hoping Shane would try. They were comfort foods for Ilya, and he planned to have them quite often while he missed what few fond feelings existed from his home. Cooking for other people was something of a love language for Ilya, and he looked forward to having the opportunity to do that for Shane if he let him.

“You did well,” Ilya whistled, “I like the living area.”

“Yeah, well,” Shane started, “We still don’t have a couch, and I wanted to wait to get a coffee table until we did that - if we get the one I’m thinking of then a rectangle would be good. But if not then maybe a circular one? I’ve never really liked those though.”

Ilya smiled, he loved when Shane started to ramble. 

“I will be happy as long as I can take a nap on whatever one we choose.”

“The coffee table?” Shane asked. Ilya just stared at him. “Oh the couch, right,” Shane nodded and looked around awkwardly, “Here let’s - uhm - put this stuff in your room.”

Ilya’s bedroom was the larger of the two. They had argued about it for several days before he went home to Russia. Shane thought he should have the larger room because he was bringing more from home and required the space to do his morning yoga. Ilya, however, felt that he deserved the larger room because he was fronting the first and last month’s rent for both of them after receiving his signing bonus before Shane had gotten his. Shane found it difficult to compete with that logic, and eventually backed down. 

The room was at the far eastern side of the loft and had its own en suite. There were fewer windows than the room Shane had gotten, but that felt fair seeing as the space was substantially larger. He stood in the centre of the room and took a look around. It was spotless. 

“Did you clean this before I got here?”

“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t gonna let you move into a dusty room, Ilya.” Shane dropped his suitcases on the floor just inside the closet. 

“You didn’t have to do that, I could’ve cleaned when I arrived.”

“No, no way. You just had a full day of travel, Rozanov. Cleaning an empty room isn’t exactly a big undertaking if it means you can get settled faster.”

Ilya mumbled, “Speaking of which, I need to go furniture shopping.”

“I wanted to go to Pottery Barn to look at that couch anyway, so, do you want to go now? Or do you need to eat something?”

“We can go now, I will grab something on the way.”

“We can hit the McDonald’s on the road, the whole trip is like thirty minutes or so.”

“Okay, just let me pee and then we will go.”

Shane spun on his heel and left the room, “I’ll be outside by the car!”

・・・・・

“Oh, this place is nice,” Ilya scanned over the furniture and decorations that donned the shelves of the store. 

“Yeah, my mom likes it. I don’t know if you’d wanna get a full bedroom set here, it’s pretty pricey, but the sheets are nice.” Shane stopped in front of a wall stuffed with different sheets and comforters. Ilya couldn’t help but realize just how domestic and weirdly intimate the whole ordeal was. 

“Can I help you two today?” Shane and Ilya were greeted by a smiley blonde woman in a pink blouse. She looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting for one of them to say something. 

Shane cleared his throat, “Yeah, thanks. I was looking at this couch online…” He walked to the back of the store, the woman and Ilya following close behind. Once Ilya saw the piece in front of him he realized what oatmeal had actually meant colour-wise. 

“Is this the colour you wanted, Shane?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It is very light, that’s all.” Ilya crossed his arms and looked at the styling. It was a nice couch, which was expected since Shane had apparently asked an interior designer for their opinion on the space before he started building his idea board, but it wasn’t exactly what Ilya was expecting. 

“Well, yeah,” Shane looked over at him, “We have darker rugs and woods. I don’t want the whole space to be dark colours, we need some contrast.”

“I agree,” the woman chimed in, “I haven’t seen your space, but if you’re working with some existing deeper toned items then a larger piece with a lighter tone would be a perfect balance.”

Shane gestured towards the woman, clearly saying See? with his body language. 

“I understand,” Ilya sniffed, “I just worry about messes. What if Andrew brings Dexter over?”

“Dexter isn’t jumping on our coach, Ilya.”

“Of course he is, he is a cute dog, he should not be forced to sit on the floor.”

“Ilya,” Shane furrowed his brows, “Dexter is a German Shepherd, not a pomeranian. He is not jumping up on our couch.”

“So you are telling me if we had a pet they would be a floor pet? You are cruel, Shane.”

“No, because it would be our pet, not someone else’s. It’s different.”

Ilya blew a raspberry at him, “Fine. But even if Dexter brushes against it his fur will show against the fabric, no?”

“Well then maybe Dexter just doesn’t come over.”

Ilya gasped, “You wouldn’t deny me my god-dog.”

“God-dog? If anything he’s my god-dog.” Shane stared at him with furrowed brows.

“Tsk, not if you don’t let him on the couch.” Ilya raised his eyebrows at him.

“He does have a point.” The saleswoman chuckled.

“Thank you - uh,” Ilya squinted at her nametag.

“Susan,” She provided, touching Ilya’s arm gently. 

“Susan. Thank you.”

Shane put his hands on his hips, his eyes briefly darting to where her hand rested on Ilya, “Can you give us a moment, Susan?”

“Of course! Just come grab me when you guys are ready to chat again,” She left in a hurry, making a B-line for the register near the front. 

“What is your problem?” Shane asked. 

“We are shopping for a couch, I am giving my opinion.”

“You didn’t have this opinion when I first brought it up to you! I would’ve found us a bunch of different options if you had said you don’t like the colour.”

“I don’t not like the colour, it just isn’t what I would pick.”

“Okay, well,” Shane grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the other side of the store. Ilya’s heart jumped at the sudden contact, they’d been much too distant for his liking since he’d arrived but he wasn’t sure how far he should push his luck after they’d spent a bit of time apart. Shane wasn’t the most physically affectionate person from what Ilya had gathered, even though he didn’t seem to shy away from his touch when it was offered to him. 

“What about this one? I can deal with the fabric.” Ilya stared at another couch, this one a more sage colour. He liked it better, but he didn’t want Shane to be uncomfortable. 

“I don’t want you to deal with the fabric, Shane.” Ilya removed his wrist from Shane’s grip and rested his hand against his lower back instead. He felt him shiver at the contact ever so slightly before relaxing against it.

“Well I already told you the only fabric I like is in oatmeal or navy, and I bought those rugs and end tables that are dark because you said you liked both options.” Shane sighed. “What if we got this style in the oatmeal and we got some darker pillows and a blanket?”

“I want Susan’s input.”

Shane stepped away from Ilya’s touch and faced him, “Why?” Shane narrowed his eyes. 

“Because she works here.”

“Yeah, but it’s our couch. I already talked to a designer.”

Ilya tutted, “Yes, you talked to a designer. Now I want to talk to Susan.”

“Whatever,” Shane walked back to the couch he originally wanted while Ilya followed.

“You don’t like her. You gave her that Hollander look,” Ilya whispered.

Shane spun around, his face scrunched up with a mixture of anger and confusion.

“Da! That one!” Ilya laughed as Shane turned red.

“I don’t like that she flip flopped on us. She agreed with me and then she agreed with you.”

“You know two things can be true at once, Shane? The light couch might look good but also it can get covered in dog hair. It is not difficult to imagine.”

“Fine! Go get her.”

Ilya made it half-way through the store before he spotted Susan pretending to be busy by a planter. He beckoned her over and she quickly joined them back at the original couch. 

“Shane’s suggestion is to still go with the oatmeal but buy dark pillows and blankets.”

Susan nodded, “I think that’s great. Like I said before, if you two already have some darker pieces the lighter couch would be nicer. Do you have a rug or anything that you could pull colours from?” Susan stepped closer to Shane, who pulled out his phone. 

“Yeah, here.” He flipped through a bunch of photos while Ilya inspected the fabric options again. 

“You know what? No, I don’t like the dark pillow idea. I think it should all be the same fabric.”

Shane stared at him, face devoid of emotion, “You’re gonna drive me crazy, you know that?”

“I am saying we will go with your original plan, Shane. The proper answer is thank you Ilyusha, you are the best, I will never be mad at you ever again. See how easy it is to say those words?”

Susan cleared her throat, “Can I make a suggestion?”

They both looked at her, waiting. 

She licked her lips, “Why don’t you actually sit on the couch. Neither of you have done that yet. I think maybe if you sit with each other it’ll make it easier to picture whether or not it could belong in your space. I’ll go grab the extra ottoman as well, I think you’ll like that.” Susan darted off to the other end of the store while the pair sank into the soft sofa. 

Instinctively, Ilya rested his arm around the back of the couch, his hand grazing Shane’s shoulder. After a moment he felt Shane drift closer to him, slightly tucked under his arm. When Susan returned with the ottoman, Ilya had already made his mind up, but after they put their feet up next to one another, it was a done deal.

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed out, his heart racing at the sensation of Shane’s side pressed against his, “It’s comfortable. I’ll give you that.”

“I did my research.”

“Yes, I know.”

Ilya stood up and looked down at Shane who stayed put, his head falling backwards onto the big pillow behind him. Shane stared up at Ilya, a soft smile on his lips, his big eyes blinking at him. 

“Fine, okay,” Ilya put his hands up in surrender, “Как будто я когда-либо смогу тебе отказать.”

(As if I could ever refuse you.)

Susan clasped her hands together, “You will not regret this. Now, we don’t have this specific couch available for rush delivery but we can get it to you in a few days.”

Shane stood and adjusted his shirt, “That’s no problem. I’ll come with you to the register. You wanna look at some bedroom stuff while I check out?”

Ilya nodded, “Yes, you will let me pick that?” He winked at Shane as he brushed past him. 

“Obviously,” Shane rolled his eyes, but the blush climbing up his neck was impossible to ignore. 

Ilya explored the rest of the store for a half hour before Shane was done with the final order. By the time they had reconvened, Ilya had chosen a bedframe and called another store about a king-sized mattress. He’d also chosen a couple matching end tables, some decorations, a wardrobe, and a nice area rug. 

“Fuck, you did well.” Shane said, approaching him while he tucked the couch receipt into his wallet. 

“Yes, I just have to pick out the sheets and covers.”

“Oh, okay. Well what do you like?”

“I don’t know, this is the stuff I’m not good at,” Ilya lied. He knew exactly what ones he liked. The problem was that he needed Shane to like them too. His plan was to make sure that Shane was as comfortable as possible, even if it meant buying the exact same bedspread that he had purchased before Ilya returned from Russia in order to get the man back into his bed where he felt he belonged. Shane was particular about textures, Ilya was acutely aware of this - especially after buying the couch - and the last thing he wanted to do was choose a set of sheets that would make Shane climb out of the bed or give him a terrible night’s sleep. 

Shane pointed to a set in the middle of the wall, “I bought those ones, they’re nice.”

Ilya picked them up, bamboo, very soft.

“But,” Shane continued, “You might like the linen ones? You sweat more than me so - not that bamboo isn’t cool or breathable, cause it is - it’s just, I don’t know. These seem more… you, I guess.”

Ilya watched as Shane touched the fabric. He didn’t give anything away on his face at all, but he knew that if Shane actually liked it that he would’ve bought them for himself, not the other ones. 

“Do you like them?” Ilya asked. 

“Uhm - not really. They’re nice but, I don’t know. They’re not for me.”

“Right, okay. I will get the bamboo then.”

Shane looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “You don’t have to get those, you can get what you want.”

“I know, I want these ones.” Ilya picked up the sheets that Shane had pointed out originally and turned to the comforters.  “You pick this too.”

“Ilya,” Shane started, “It’s your room.”

Ilya took a deep breath, “Yes, but you will come and hang out with me still. I’m not going to make you sit on the floor, like a dog that you subject to animal cruelty.”

“Oh my god, it’s not animal cruelty, it’s hygienic.”

Ilya grumbled, “Whatever. Pick.”

After spending way too long on bedspread fabrics and colours, the pair finally rang up the total for Ilya’s shop at the register. He was paying a hefty sum for rush shipping on the bedframe as well as on the mattress from the other store down the road. There was no way he was going to sleep on the floor, and he doubted Shane would invite him to sleep with him in his bed and refused to invite himself.

“You boys have great taste,” Susan smiled at them.

“Yes, well, he consulted a designer before coming here.” 

“I wanted to be thorough,” Shane groaned. 

“I know, Shane.” Ilya inserted his card. 

Susan stared at them while she waited for the transaction to approve, “You two looked great snuggled up on that couch together, it’s gonna go nicely in your space, I’m sure of it. It’s a big step in a relationship, moving in together. I’ve seen way worse arguments in here, believe me.”

Ilya’s face split into a huge smile. He jerked his head toward Shane, who was bright red next to him. This will be fun.

“Oh, I am sure,” He said, turning his attention back to Susan, “We are normally very good together, isn’t that right?” Ilya mindlessly reached for Shane, but he found himself grasping at empty air. He spun around to see him quickly walking out of the door.

Ilya cleared his throat and let out a nervous laugh, “Sorry, he is shy. Ah - thank you, for your help today.”

“Oh my pleasure! You let me know if you have any problems with delivery later today. Enjoy the new couch, and don’t forget to break in that bedframe,” She gave them a cheeky, over-the-top wink. 

Ilya barked out a fake laugh and grabbed his bags, “We won’t!”

Shane stood on the curb by the parking lot, staring out across the pavement. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt and bit his lip. Ilya sidled up next to him and tried to get a better look at his face.

“Don’t do that again,” Shane said, firmly. 

“It was just a bit of fun, Shane. She clearly had no idea who we were,” Ilya adjusted the handles of the bags in his hands and let out a sigh. 

“It doesn’t matter, someone could’ve - and I don’t like being embarrassed like that, I can’t just lie to people and pretend like you can.”

Ilya buried the sting he felt from Shane’s words. 

Embarrassed, he is embarrassed to be seen with you.

“I am sorry, I won’t push as much next time.”

“Let’s just go,” Shane pulled his keys out and walked towards the Jeep with Ilya in tow. 

“We should talk more about this, Shane.”

“In the car,” Shane popped the trunk and walked to the driver’s side, letting Ilya toss their bags in the back. Once situated inside, Ilya cranked the aircon and looked at Shane sideways. He was obviously stressed, wearing his emotions on his face, easily readable in between the lines that scrunched together on his forehead and in between his eyebrows. 

“I thought it was funny that she believed we were together, that is all. I didn’t think there was harm in playing along as a joke.”

“Well, there is. We’re living together and you said yourself back during camp that you’re an affectionate person so-”

“I am-”

“Yeah well I’m not.”

Ilya opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. 

Shane pulled out of the parking lot and continued, “I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea about us, that’s all. With me being out, people are always gonna assume things. It would be different if I wasn’t. Like you and Andrew could have fun the way you want to - we can’t. No one would think anything of it if it was you and him.”

“I promise you, she didn’t know who we were. She saw us and thought we were together all by herself.”

“That’s not any better, Ilya. In fact, that’s much worse. Imagine she did know us - it would be a fucking nightmare. We could maybe brush it off if you hadn’t played into it at the end, but now? No way. You can’t be doing shit like that in public.”

Ilya snorted, “You don’t need to justify this to me. You don’t like when I touch you, when I’m affectionate with you, it’s okay.”

“What?” Shane quickly glanced over at him, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well-”

“No, Rozanov, listen to me. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about us because of you. I’ve - you know, made peace with being out, I plan on dating and going out with the team when they force me to - to dance and whatever. I’m not gonna hide that, I just don’t want you getting looped into it.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think you do,” Shane let out a cruel laugh.

“You are being rude.”

“I’m not, I’m being practical, Ilya.”

“Do you know what Russia is like? I am fucking aware of my situation Shane, trust me.”

“That’s literally why I’m saying you can’t do that shit, Rozanov! It’s for your sake.”

“Me being friends with you publicly is already enough,” Ilya spat. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. 

“Shane, I didn’t mean-”

“Just stop talking, Rozanov.”

“I’m-” 

“Stop. You don’t have to apologize, I know what you meant.”

“Okay.”

Ilya watched as Shane chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes wet. It hadn’t even been half a day yet and they were already arguing, which wasn’t a good sign for their living situation overall.

Maybe this will be more difficult than I thought.

・・・・・

Ilya gave Shane his space for the rest of the evening, not even bothering to go upstairs into the film room to let him know when the moving guys had arrived with his bedroom furniture. It was pointless, he thought, prodding at someone who was clearly not going to change their mind no matter how much they discussed the situation. Ilya ordered himself a pizza and sat on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the newly assembled bedframe and bare mattress. This wasn’t how he imagined his first night in the new place at all. He’d wanted to spend it with his best friend, maybe by even sharing the very pizza he was devouring by his lonesome.

He looked at the bags by the closet door, his belongings tucked away still unpacked, neatly beside the brand new bedlinens he’d purchased earlier with Shane’s guidance. In the end they’d gone with a warm merlot colour for the room. It went well with everything else, but staring at it while Shane remained sat upstairs in front of the flatscreen made Ilya’s stomach turn. He pushed the pizza box to the side of the room and got up from the floor, his bare feet squeaking against the old hardwood.

In total he had four bags from the store, one with his sheets and some pillows, one with the larger linens and a duvet, and two others with decorations that he’d get around to setting out once the rest of his furniture arrived in the coming weeks. He wouldn’t have a wardrobe for his clothes until that day, and he forgot to pick up hangers while they were out - seeing as the ride home was tense enough that he didn’t dare ask Shane to make a pitstop at a Walmart along the way. Ilya instead made peace with the idea of living out of his suitcase for the next while. 

He started to unfold the sheets and duvet cover from the plastic they came in when he heard a faint voice behind him. 

“What are you doing?"

Ilya turned. Shane stood in the doorway, his hair a bit mussied as if he’d been running his hands through it, maybe even pulling on the longer bits.

“I’m making my bed.”

“No,” Shane stepped towards him and took the linens from his hands, “You have to wash them first, I’ll throw them in for you.”

“I can do it,” Ilya reached out to take them back but was stopped. 

“Ilya,” Shane raised his eyebrows, “Just let me do this, okay?”

Ilya sighed, “Okay.”

He watched as Shane left the room with his linens. Even after Ilya had clearly struck a nerve in the car earlier, he was still willing to help him as an olive branch. Ilya’s first thought was that he didn’t deserve this. He’d snapped at Shane before, after he’d cleaned the room in preparation for him and even handled all of the logistics of getting the place in order once Ilya had made the deposit. The thanks he’d gotten was Ilya pushing him further than he should’ve, and allowing his emotions to boil over into words he didn’t really mean - even if they were somewhat true. 

Ilya knew eventually the public friendship he was going to have with Shane, alongside the open support he’d provide to him would be enough for his father and brother to give him an earful over. They’d be disappointed in him for hanging out with someone like Shane - not realizing that their own son was already in a similar boat. Ilya wasn’t out, and wasn’t planning on coming out any time soon. He was pretty certain that Shane at least had a feeling that Ilya might be interested in men, but neither of them had ever commented on it. Once he was in a stable situation in the states with citizenship he would think about coming out on his own terms, but still wasn’t dead set on doing so if he didn’t have to. He knew it would be easier, sticking to dating women in the spotlight. There was only one man he was interested in being with anyway, and it seemed like he’d thrown that opportunity away in just a few hours at a local furniture store. 

When he returned to Russia he would have to push all thoughts of Shane away, especially with the knowledge that he’d most likely be asked to return for the Olympics and Shane would definitely be asked to be on the Canadian team. They couldn’t be friends there. The only saving grace was that he knew most of his father’s friends and the politicians he would be surrounded by shared the same opinions on American hockey that his own family did. They didn’t care about it, let alone the personal lives of players and what they were doing. There was a chance that a couple of folks would keep tabs on Ilya and who he spent time with since he was representing the country overseas, but he doubted that they would delve any deeper than whatever was on the surface of his and Shane’s friendship.

It was cruel, what Ilya had said. He knew it was the moment he said it and wished he could take it back. He hoped maybe the olive branch Shane had just put out for the pair of them over bedsheet washing would remain there for the rest of the night - that Ilya could apologize properly and set things right.

Ilya listened to the sound of Shane walking around the loft, the soft beep of the washer as it started followed by a low hum. The creak of the door, Shane’s socked feet scuffing every now and then as he moved through the different areas of the apartment. He heard the fridge open, ice drop into a glass, the sound of water pouring. Ilya’s breathing slowed and he closed his eyes as he focused in on it, hoping that maybe the sound of Shane would inch closer to his room again. 

After a little over an hour of moping on the floor, Ilya sensed a presence by the doorway.

“Pizza smells good.”

Ilya opened his eyes and looked to where Shane stood with his freshly washed linens.

“It is,” Ilya sat on the edge of his still bare mattress, “I was going to ask if you wanted some but…”

“I’m sorry.”

Ilya shook his head, “No, I am sorry. I pushed.”

“You did, but I did too. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you like that.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped, I was cruel.”

Shane cleared his throat, “It’s okay, you know? I understand what you were saying.”

“I know, but still.”

A silence settled between them. 

“We should make your bed, yeah?”

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. 

The pair worked as a team to get the fitted sheet on, followed by the rest of the clean covers. Shane taught Ilya a trick for getting the duvet inside of the cover that he was endlessly grateful for. He mentioned that his mother, Yuna, had taught him it years ago after she found him wrestling with one while he was fully trapped, tangled up inside of it. Ilya was in stitches at the thought of a younger Shane, red in the face and arguing with a sheet in his childhood bedroom, the way his nose probably scrunched similarly to the way it did now - like a bunny.

Zaychik, good name for you. 

Once the room was finally made up as best as it could be, Ilya picked the pizza box up from the floor and offered Shane a slice. 

“Peace offering,” Ilya said.

“Mm, Pizza offering.”

Ilya snorted, “Terrible, you are a terrible comedian.”

“Do you need to get anything else this week?” Shane took a bite from his slice. 

“No, not that I can think of. You are… okay with going out with me?”

Ilya watched as Shane blushed to the tips of his ears, “Uhm - yeah - like you mean outside? Like going places together?”

“Yes, Shane. I’m not asking you on a date,” Ilya smirked. If only Shane realized how desperately Ilya wanted to be able to do that. 

Shane cleared his throat, “I know that - and yes, I am okay with it. I want it, you’re my friend.”

Ilya nodded, a feeling of relief washing over him. Things were going to be okay between them after all. They finished off the pizza and took out the recycling, racing down the stairs to the larger bins around the back of the building, laughing much too loud for how late it was. Ilya thought they’d just use the trash chute, but Shane insisted that the size of the recycling they had could potentially get lodged in it and didn’t want to take that chance. Ilya wasn’t too upset with this, seeing as it meant he got to shove a giggly Shane into a wall twice on their way back - which felt almost like they were facing each other on the rink again. When they got back to the apartment, Ilya collapsed onto his newly made bed. 

“Did you want to skate tomorrow? There’s a public rink near here.”

“You want to go to a public skate?” Ilya laughed. 

Shane threw a pillow at him, “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, it is just funny. I haven’t gone public skating since I was a kid.”

“I still go with my parents around Christmas, it’s a tradition for us.”

Ilya licked his lips, “Okay, sure. Public skate. I will try not to knock over any children while beating you in our race.”

“Oh so we’re racing now? It’s a competition?” Shane smirked. 

“Yes. Everything is a competition, Shane.”

“Of course it is,” Shane sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I’m - uhm - I’m gonna go to bed I think, so, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re not going to stay here with me?”

“We have our own rooms now, we don’t need to sleep in the same bed,” Shane scoffed. 

Ilya sat up straight, “Yes, but, it is my first night here. We should have a sleepover, like we did at camp.”

“Ilya…”

“Shane… come on.”

“I have - like - a whole routine that I do,” Shane shifted where he stood. 

“If you need to jerk off before going to bed I will not judge you for that,” Ilya winked.

Shane turned bright red, his eyes blowing out wide, “Fuck off! I’m not gonna jerk off. I just have - like - skincare and shit to do. And normally I read.”

“You can read here after you do everything else, no?”

Shane stared at him before glancing around the room. Ilya could tell he was nervous. 

“I guess,” Shane muttered. “Just tonight though, I didn’t spend $400 on bamboo sheets just to sleep on yours all the time.”

No, I spent $400 on bamboo sheets so you would sleep on mine all the time.

Ilya stood up, “I am going to shower first, just come in when you’re done.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Shane left to get ready for bed. 

Ilya sifted through his belongings to find some sweatpants and took off his clothes. He touched his hand gently to his mother’s cross and puttered into the en suite bathroom to put away some toiletries and turn the water on. He leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror as it fogged up, the steam filling the room. Ilya hadn’t allowed himself a proper moment of peace since he’d landed, from the drive to the apartment to the furniture shopping and the later feeling of regret that plagued him, he hadn’t even had time to wash the airplane smell off his body. His eyes were heavy, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake for very long once his head hit the pillow. He just hoped Shane would already be there when he was done in the bathroom so he wouldn’t have to force himself to stay awake until he slid under the covers next to him. 

Ilya stepped into the shower and let out a groan. There was nothing better than the feeling of scalding water running down his body after such a long day and a half of travel. He washed his hair, digging his nails into his scalp, and used a body wash Shane had left on the counter for him - it wasn’t quite the same smell that he caught from Shane’s shampoo earlier, but it was close enough. 

Ilya wasn’t really joking when he’d suggested to Shane that he might need to jerk off before bed. He felt like he was pretty good at reading people, and every time the pair had drifted closer that day, there was a palpable tension that radiated between them. After the weeks worth of reflection on their past interactions that he went over while in Russia, he was pretty much certain of its existence. The only thing Ilya wasn’t sure about was Shane’s actual sex drive, and whether or not he’d even had sex with another man before. 

He knew he made out with his teammate - obviously - and he assumed that Shane had probably fucked around with people since then, but they hadn’t exactly talked about it. He didn’t want to make Shane uncomfortable. Ilya was sure of his own sexuality, and loved sex, which wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone - including Shane. But his new roommate? A mystery. There was something that pulled at Ilya’s core, a possessive feeling at the thought of some other man being the one to have him.

Ilya found himself drifting off to thoughts of Shane’s potential experience - or lack thereof. His soft pink lips, the muscles in his back and how they flexed and rippled when he took his shirt off in the locker room, the way a thin veil of sweat clung to his tanned skin, making his freckles shine like little stars all over his cheeks. He imagined that those pink lips would be perfectly plush pressed up against his own, that the heat of his pretty mouth would feel like heaven wrapped around his rapidly hardening cock.  

Ilya took himself in his hand, moving with long, slow strokes, his other hand toying at a nipple and winding down to squeeze his ass. The vision of Shane’s face danced across his mind, his wet eyes, the potential submission he could coax from him - the potential dominance that might show up. Ilya had no idea what Shane would truly be like in bed, other than the fact that his body alone would drive him crazy. His strength and size wasn’t something Ilya was used to in his sexual partners, and the thought of it was exhilarating. To think about fucking someone so equally athletic, to have him on his knees, his stomach, his back, staring up at him. Ilya’s cock was fully erect, leaking a bead of precum at the tip.

Maybe Shane would submit to him fully, allowing him to be in a position of total power, to use him the way he wanted to. Ilya could be a dom, he’d never gone fully into that dynamic, but he was definitely interested. He could get used to the idea of having Shane call him honorifics like Sir during a scene, telling him he was his and his alone, applying pressure to his beautiful neck and coming over his freckles, marking him. He had a sneaking suspicion that Shane would take great pleasure in letting go, in letting Ilya be the one to lead and take him out of his anxious, pretty head.

But - maybe Shane wouldn’t be submissive at all. Maybe he’d ride Ilya within an inch of his life, denying him the release he wanted and dragging out the pleasure until it was too much, until Ilya was begging to come, begging to let Shane fill him up, to release inside of him without any barrier. Maybe he'd be more experimental than Ilya had thought originally. A dominant, power bottom who would collar Ilya, rough him up a bit, maybe be slightly cruel. Shane had been firm with Ilya several times already, and that firm hand was strong enough to stop Ilya in his tracks. His mouth watered at the thought of it, of rutting against Shane, allowing him to spit in his mouth, to degrade Ilya and pull on his hair.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like Ilya to get so riled up at the thought of being the submissive one - but for whatever reason, the idea of Shane taking control was almost enough to send him over the edge. 

Ilya paused, a moment of clarity hitting him. Shane could very well be just outside the en suite doors, propped up in bed with his book - and fuck if that wasn’t even hotter. What if Shane was listening to him? Ilya hadn’t been moaning - at least he didn’t think he was. What if he did though, and it had made Shane hard? If he had sat in Ilya’s bed and palmed himself through his sweatpants until he had to leave and get himself off? Ilya increased his pace, allowing himself to get a bit louder. His other hand came up against the cold tile in the shower, bracing himself as he teetered closer to the edge.

He thought about Shane holding him down, squeezing the base of his cock to stop his orgasm. He thought about eating Shane out, about losing himself in the act of pleasing him until he was satisfied and allowed to stop. Every new fantasy that entered his mind drove him more wild than the last, each one introducing a different side of a dominant Shane.

Shane, please, let me come.

Come for me, good boy, good Ilya.

Ilya came with a soft cry and watched his release go down the drain. He let his breathing return to normal and finished up in the shower, sliding his sweatpants on and towel drying his hair before walking back out to his room.

Shane sat in his bed, under the covers in a blue t-shirt with a pair of glasses resting on his nose. It was clear that he hadn’t heard Ilya in the shower - he wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed about that or not. 

Ilya’s heart jumped, “You wear glasses?”

Shane turned to him, “Oh, yeah, just for reading.”

Ilya hummed, “Right. Good.”

“Please don’t make fun of them,” Shane groaned. 

“I would never, they are very sexy.”

Ilya climbed onto the bed briefly while Shane tried to hide his blushing face behind his book and plucked it out of Shane’s hands, chuckling at the angry noise that escaped his lips before Ilya bookmarked it and put it on the floor beside him. 

“I am tired, very tired,” Ilya drawled as he turned the lamp in the corner off and returned to Shane. 

“That’s why I was going to read in my own room,” Shane grumbled.

“You are so grumpy.”

“I am not.”

“You are. You are like old man.”

“Oh fuck you, I’m just not tired yet.”

“I can tell, but unfortunately, you are going to sleep anyway.”

Ilya climbed under the covers and scooched his way closer to his housemate, lifting an arm up like he had done back at camp when they shared a bed after film reviewing for way too long. He felt his heart flutter when Shane tucked himself under it, his head resting on Ilya’s chest, one arm flung across his torso. Ilya rubbed circles on Shane’s shoulders like last time too, trying to recall all the things that he liked to ensure that he didn’t feel strange being wrapped in Ilya’s arms in the comfort of their own home.

Of course, Shane could leave whenever he wanted to and return to his own room. That was a benefit to them having their own spaces - not that Ilya ever wanted him to do that, but he knew they most likely wouldn’t start sleeping together every night. Shane himself had even set that boundary earlier, and Ilya wasn’t about to cross that. He would, however, still ask tomorrow. 

“You used the body wash I bought,” Shane mumbled.

“Yes, I like it, thank you.”

“You don’t have to use it if you don’t like it.”

“I just said I like it, are you fucking deaf as well as blind?”

“Fuck off,” Shane snorted, smacking Ilya’s stomach before sinking into his hold a bit deeper. 

“Goodnight, Zaychik.”

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Ilya felt himself drifting off as Shane’s breathing evened out. Arguments aside, it was a perfect first day at home.

・・・・・

Boston, September 2010

The next few weeks went by much too quickly for Ilya’s liking. He was just getting used to having his freedom in Boston, and spending most of that free time stuck to Shane’s side. They’d gone skating a couple of times, done their grocery shopping together, argued about Ikea shelf instructions, and thankfully, continued to sleep in Ilya’s room. 

Every chance he got, he was all over Shane. It was nice, being able to shower someone in affection who was obviously very particular as to whom was allowed to display that towards him. Ilya was special, in a way. It started off small, they continued to sleep the way they always did and eventually Ilya peppered in more touches to Shane’s lower back - only in natural moments, like when he brushed past him in the kitchen or wanted to direct him on the street. Eventually it grew into larger gestures, with Ilya putting his arm around him on the couch when they watched movies, and on a couple occasions he’d even kissed the top of Shane’s head with a big laugh and a goofy grin. 

That was always Ilya’s favourite, cause it earned him the reaction of a confused and baffled Shane Hollander every time. His face turned bright red and a slight smile graced his lips, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes questioning, as if he was almost shocked that someone like Ilya would do such a thing - as if it wasn’t impossible to resist. 

Standing in a locker room full of veterans next to him was something else altogether however. They’d spoken briefly about boundaries at the rink thanks to their previous encounter with Susan - which Ilya now referred to as the Pottery Barn Incident. Shane was concerned about their relationship looking a bit “too close” as he put it, and didn’t want anyone on the team to look at Ilya differently, especially since Shane had insinuated that he believed Ilya would be captain one day - even though Shane vehemently denied ever saying that, which Ilya teased him for incessantly. 

Ilya looked over at McAlpine who sat on a bench in the corner next to a couple other players he had yet to meet. 

“Rozanov,” said a tall man, entering the locker room. 

Ilya noticed the rest of the team look over at him and grin, clearly he had some sort of power in the room, even though there wasn’t a C on his chest. 

“Yes, that’s me,” Ilya reached a hand out and the man took it, giving him a firm handshake. 

“Cliff Marleau, and this is Victor.”

“Salut,” Victor clapped a hand onto Ilya’s shoulder before turning his attention to Shane. Ilya stiffened, hoping they wouldn’t have any problems similar to the ones they had at camp over the summer. 

“You must be Hollander.”

Ilya watched as Cliff and Victor both sized him up and smiled, “On a vraiment de la chance, non? Deux choix au premier tour?”

(How lucky are we? Two first round picks?)

Shane laughed, which pulled a sigh of relief from Ilya, “N'oubliez pas McAlpine.”

(Don’t forget McAlpine.)

Cliff shook his head, “Impossible. We met earlier, good guy.”

Ilya saw Shane shoot McAlpine a warm smile and felt his stomach twist, refusing to linger on that feeling for too long.

When their coach arrived, everything went according to schedule. They warmed up and ran some drills, played a quick scrimmage, and took a water break. The guys on the team didn’t pay Shane any mind, he was just another first round rookie they could laugh with, and Ilya found himself drifting over to spend more time with Cliff and McAlpine as the training days went on. They were both good guys, even though Ilya did like Cliff more. After a couple weeks of Shane practicing centre on the 2nd line, LeClaire made an announcement. 

“Hollander, move up to the first line with Rozanov and Marleau. Right wing today for scrimmage.”

Fuck yes.

The pair moved like rushing water, harsh and explosive when necessary, but perfectly smooth otherwise. Ilya loved having Shane to play off of, he was incredibly fast with some of the trickiest stick work he’d seen up close. The veterans on the team were quick to acknowledge this as well, especially when they continued to get beaten by the pair of them time and time again. Marleau was eventually just acting as a bruiser, keeping everyone away from them while their chemistry led them to score consistently all throughout practice. Ilya had more goals, but he knew they’d be nothing without Shane’s assists - though he’d never say that to him out loud. 

When the first game of the season was approaching, Ilya overheard a conversation between the coach and Marleau about the duo while standing outside of LeClaire’s office, a feeling of pride bursting in his chest.

“I’m putting them out there for game one,” LeClaire said. 

“You think they’re ready?”

Ilya heard LeClaire snort, “You know they’re ready, Marleau. The other teams won’t know what hit them”

“I still can’t believe Montreal passed on Hollander, fucking idiots.”

“They’re archaic, who gives a shit about who he’s fucking if he plays like that.”

Marleau laughed, “You know it’s almost humbling being on a line with them.”

“It’s good for you, it’ll only help your game. The rest of the guys have to step up the way you have.”

“What about McAlpine?”

LeClaire sighed, “Don’t tell a soul I said this, alright?”

“M’kay.”

“He’s my project. I think he’s got a lot of raw talent that some other dumbass coach messed up.”

“Everyone thinks you hate him,” Marleau chuckled.

“Well,” Ilya heard LeClaire shuffle around a bit, “He’s a good kid. Reminds me of someone I used to know, good player. Anyway, he might be good with those other two eventually if we wanna switch things up.”

“Oh so you’re replacing me?”

LeClaire laughed, “Impossible. You’re stuck in Boston for life.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, especially now.”

“We’re winning a cup with those two rooks out there, mark my words.”

“One? Nah,” Ilya heard Marleau take a few steps towards the door, “Two or three at least.”

“Now you’re talkin’.”

・・・・・

Boston, Sunday, October 9th, 2010

Ilya was buzzing with anticipation before the match. He sat in the locker room with his eyes glued to the floor, going over plays and the weaknesses he and Shane had spotted in their film review the previous night over and over in his head. It was a chance for Ilya to prove himself to the league, and despite the way he presented himself to the media, he was actually a ball of nerves. His casual remark about scoring 50 goals was one he slightly regretted, even though he had a feeling he could get there should Shane come through with his assists - he had to, that was his job after all. 

McAlpine sat staring at the floor in a similar position, his head hung a bit lower. He’d been put on the 3rd line, with the incentive that if he played well over the next few months, LeClaire might throw him on the power play or experiment with him on the 2nd later on. Since then, he’d spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time at the rink. Ilya thought Shane was nuts with the amount of work he did, but compared to McAlpine it was slim to nothing. Everyone would see how hard he’d been working, and it was only a matter of time until he was moved up - it just wouldn’t happen tonight. 

Ilya looked across the room at Shane, who was already good to go for the game, his skates laced and his mouthguard bit between his teeth. He looked like a man on a mission, not nearly as nervous as he or McAlpine were. The pair of them had spent long hours over the week before the first game talking about their expectations. Shane had something to prove that Ilya didn’t, and rather than letting it get to him, he’d decided to let it fuel him in a different way. Shane had also made Ilya promise that he wouldn’t get into any fights on his behalf should someone say something to or about him during the game. Winning their first matchup was far too important to both of them to have it ruined by rash behaviour - at least, that’s what Shane had said. Ilya had agreed, but knew he’d snap if he was pushed too far. 

Shane looked over at him before they headed out to the ice, giving him a quick nod.

Go time.

The arena was deafening, but Ilya pushed it aside as he bent over the puck, staring at the captain of the Arizona Jackals. 

“Two rookies on the first line? Risky.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would be if we were facing a real team,” Ilya winked, and won the face-off.

Time went by in a blur, the sound of bodies against the boards and sticks against the icy surface of the rink clattering around in Ilya’s skull. To his left, Cliff stayed wide and acted as the bruiser he was supposed to be, while Shane on his right was the ideal wingman. Ilya felt like he was connected to Shane, their chemistry unfolding before their teammates and opponent as the minutes went on. Practice was one thing, but being in the midst of the aggressive playstyle that the Jackals were known for was thrilling for both of them. Shane was all smiles and laser focus, seemingly knowing exactly where Ilya would end up every time he passed. 

No team would have expected them to perform the way they did. 

In the middle of the second period, Ilya snapped the puck toward Shane who raced off toward the Jackals net, their gigantic goalie foreboding in the crease. Right when the defender - O’Brian - assumed Shane would take a shot, he cut back and tipped the puck in Ilya’s direction, who snatched it up in stride and buried it in the top left corner of the net. It was a play that they’d worked on a few times in practice, but it felt a million times better getting to do it for real - plus, it meant that Ilya’s first goal would forever be cemented alongside Shane’s first assist, which made Ilya’s stomach flip.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about baby!” Marleau yelled, his arms wrapping around both of their shoulders.

“More where that came from!” Shane replied, laughing as he skated off to the bench, knocking helmets with a couple players along the way.

Ilya was beaming, positive there was no better feeling than what he’d just experienced. 

When the game was almost over, Boston was up 2-1; Ilya and Victor both scoring in the second period. Shane had both assists, which Ilya was positive he’d brag about later when they got home. A couple minutes before the final buzzer, Shane took a big hit from O’Brian, his helmet smacking against the ice. 

Ilya heard the world go quiet for a moment, and stared at the mouth of the defender who hovered over Shane.

“Fucking freak,” Ilya saw him say. 

Before anyone could intervene, Ilya’s gloves hit the ice, and his fist was flying towards O’Brian’s face. Ilya felt his helmet fly off, a strong set of knuckles connecting with his nose, a crack and blinding white pain shot up the middle of his forehead.

Blyat, broken.

Ilya had already had a broken nose before, and knew there was nothing to do about it in the moment. He kept swinging until O’Brian finally hit the ground. Ilya’s hands were bloodied, more-so with the blood of his opponent than his own, despite the fact that his lip was split and the red pouring from his nose wasn’t letting up. 

O’Brian stood and skated off towards his locker room with the help of a couple teammates as Ilya held a rag to his face. He looked over at Shane who stood getting his eyes looked at for a possible concussion. He hoped that he’d be saved from Shane’s wrath later since he’d waited to get into a fight until the game was almost out of reach for Arizona. With their best defender out for the final minutes, Ilya wasn’t too concerned about them coming back. 

“Did you forget what I said?” Shane sat next to him on the bench after the line change. 

“No, I just waited for the right opportunity,” Ilya grinned at him.

Marleau leaned over and looked at Ilya’s nose, “Fuck eh? You’re gonna have to get that snapped.”

“Yes, I will go after.”

“You should go now,” Shane mumbled. 

“There is no point, only 40 seconds left until we win.”

“Don’t jinx it!” Marleau punched Ilya in the arm. 

40 seconds later the buzzer went. Ilya’d been right. 

Shane stared at him from across the locker room after the game, constantly pushing down a smile that threatened to take over his entire face. The rest of the team was loud and obnoxious, coaxing Ilya into his first ever speech as a rookie, and cheering as LeClaire gave his. Ilya stared back and lifted his finger. 

He mouthed, One.

Shane snorted and held up two fingers, mouthing, Two.

Ilya rolled his eyes and flipped him off, earning him a laugh. 

It wasn’t until Ilya watched Shane collapse on the couch when they got home that the magnitude of their win hit them. Their legacies started side by side in 2008 when the media declared them rivals. They should’ve gone back to back in the draft, but by chance or by fate, they’d ended up on the same line instead. They’d gone through camp together, with the pair of them snagging the first two rookie spots on the team. And now, their first game had gone exactly as they’d intended it to. Ilya’s first goal, Shane’s first two assists, their first win as a dynamic duo. 

Eight-One. 

Two-Four.

One and Two. 

“What are you doing?” Shane asked from the living room, “Stop standing there staring at me, it’s fucking weird.”

Ilya took a breath, “Sorry, was thinking.”

He tossed Shane a ginger ale and sat down on the couch next to him, pressing a cold pack to his nose. 

“You think we win the next one too?” Shane asked. 

“Yes, obviously.”

Ilya looked over at Shane, his eyes glued to the TV screen as it replayed their highlights. Shane licked his lips and grinned, glancing back at him for a moment before knocking his shoulder against Ilya’s.

“Obviously.”

・・・・・

for anyone who wants to see the collage for this chapter (and what the apartment is inspired by)

Chapter End Notes

sooooo how are we feeling?????? these boys are so precious to me and their slow burn means the world - i'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter. there will be lots more of cliff and andrew and victor in the following chapters (i have plans) :3

also lol pottery barn saleswoman, you are so real for clocking them that fast.

find me on twt @ ilyaskotenok, come say hi!