Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Hockey Coach Shane Hollander, One Shot

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of "second chances" universe

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-01 Words: 1,532 Chapters: 1/1

i'm okay, i promise

Summary

Shane’s face was ashen. He was staring at Ilya with a haunted look, eyes flicking from Ilya’s head to the end the boards he’d crashed into.
Fuck.
There wasn’t much Ilya could do to comfort Shane from where he was aside from trying to mouth “I’m fine,” which from the look on Shane’s face, he didn’t believe one bit.

Ilya gets a minor concussion during a game, and it hits a little too close to home for Shane.

Notes

a little hockey background knowledge if you're interested/did not know: if a team dumps the puck in from behind the red line in the neutral zone and it crosses the goal line of the opposing team without hitting anyone, that is an icing call and the whistle will blow, the face-off will go back to that team's defensive end, and the team will not be able to get a change. up until about 2013, the NHL used the rule of "touch icing," where after the puck crosses the goal line in this scenario, the team whose zone the puck is in has to touch the puck first in order for icing to be called. If the team who shot it down the ice is able to touch the puck before the other team, icing is not called. So basically, if you are on the team who just shot the puck down the ice and you are too tired to take another face-off in your defensive end (and the opposing team will be able to get fresh legs on the ice), you better haul ass to try and touch that puck first. Today, the NHL uses "hybrid icing" rules because this predictably led to some dangerous high speed crashes into the boards. This is a lot of explanation for a short little fic, but in this universe they are using touch icing which is why Ilya is trying so hard to touch the puck first.

It was a close game. It always was, against Montreal. They’d be up a goal, and then get a penalty and give one up on the kill. They’d be down a goal, and Ilya would manage to go bar down on an impossible shot from almost all the way in the corner. Every single second counted, and every little mistake could have consequences. 

So when a Bruins defenseman iced the puck after about a minute and a half of being stuck in their defensive zone, Ilya refused to accept another face-off in their end. He was neck and neck with the Montreal defenseman, but his legs were too tired to get the jump on him. The puck bounced off the boards behind the goal line, and Ilya was so close, and then he’d be able to get off the ice. He had a long reach, but the defenseman he was racing was big too. He put on a burst of speed and stretched his stick out as far as he could, hoping to god he would touch the puck first. He stretched just a little farther, and- 

He caught an edge at the last second and slammed into the boards at full speed. He remembered to keep his head up as he crashed, a lesson drilled into every hockey player from the day they learn to skate. His move protected his neck and spine, but damn. His head really hurt. 

The Montreal defenseman was blinking stars out of his eyes too- they had both gone down. The ref whistled the play dead as the arena waited for the two players to get back up. 

Ilya, feeling a little dazed but okay, stood up slowly, giving a thumbs up to the defenseman as he stood up too. They would both need a concussion check, but any major crisis had been avoided. The crowd clapped as he skated to the bench, relieved. He gave another thumbs up to his teammates to show he was okay before he’d have to go down the tunnel for an evaluation. 

The team didn’t seem worried. They’d probably resumed thinking about their next shift as soon as they saw Ilya get back up. The coaches, however…

Ilya pretended he needed to have his water bottle from his previous spot on the bench so he could take an extra second to flash Shane a smile of assurance. He tried not to startle when they made eye contact, quickly composing his face in case there was a camera on him. 

Shane’s face was ashen. He was staring at Ilya with a haunted look, eyes flicking from Ilya’s head to the boards he’d crashed into. 

Fuck.

There wasn’t much Ilya could do to comfort Shane from where he was aside from trying to mouth “I’m fine,” which from the look on Shane’s face, he didn’t believe one bit. 

Ilya went down the tunnel, hoping Shane would think of some excuse to join him. Please, baby, follow me, he tried to beam out to Shane with his thoughts, come see that I’m okay. 

Shane, unfortunately, did not get the message. 

Ilya could only hope the rest of the period would be uneventful. 

 

The evaluation was quick. Ilya had to stay out of the rest of the game, monitor any headaches for the next couple of days, and if all went well could return to practice after that. The doctors would determine how long he’d have to wear the bright red “no contact” jersey, but his concussion was so mild that he doubted he’d be out for very long.

Ilya heard the horn for the end of the period sound, but stayed in the training room alone. He didn’t want to distract the team from their focus on the rest of the game. And, he was hoping- 

There was knock on the door. “Rozanov?” 

It was Shane. He kicked the door shut behind him and glanced around the small training room before taking in Ilya, letting out a breath. 

“Did they check you out?” His voice was low and serious as he gently cupped Ilya’s head, looking into his eyes. 

Ilya would’ve made a joke about how some boyfriends looked lovingly into their man’s eyes, while other boyfriends checked to make sure their pupils weren’t dilated, if he thought it wouldn’t make Shane genuinely mad at him. 

“Yes,” he nearly whispered, “I’m okay.” Shane’s face did not relax. Ilya tried again. “Babe, I’m-”

Shane’s eyes widened. “We’re at work.”

“You are the one playing with my hair.” 

Shane stepped back and cleared his throat. “What did they say when they looked at you?” God, Ilya wanted nothing more than to pull him in close.

“Just a minor concussion. Nothing serious.” He tried to keep his voice light, but Shane grimaced anyways. “I promise. I did not hit the wall too hard.” 

“I could hear it from the bench.” 

“Look. I’m talking to you, no problem.” He reached out a hand to Shane before remembering that Shane would probably tell him to stop. “I just need to rest.” 

Shane nodded, still not looking thrilled, but no longer looking like he was about to break down. “I’ll come over tonight.” Ilya grinned at him. “To help you rest, okay?” 

Ilya pretended to be annoyed. “You are so boring, Hollander.” 

“Fuck off.” 

 

Shane showed up at Ilya’s apartment that night with an old hockey bag full of curtains. He strolled right past a confused Ilya and threw the bedroom door open, immediately pulling out a foldable step stool and sliding Ilya’s own curtains off the rod. 

“Shane?” Ilya hovered by the door, afraid to get in Shane’s way when he was clearly on a mission. “Are those… the curtains from your apartment?” 

“I ordered new ones for myself,” Shane huffed, “they’ll be here tomorrow.” 

Ilya gazed at the corner of his own discarded curtains, green ones with a diamond pattern. “What was wrong with mine?” 

“They’re not blackout curtains. These ones will keep your room dark.” 

Ilya folded his arms as Shane maneuvered the curtain rod back into place. “Want some help?” 

“No.” 

Once the curtains were up, Shane pulled something else out of the bag, a kind of box with speakers. 

“Now what? What is that?” 

Shane ignored Ilya’s tone of incredulity. “It’s a white noise machine. Some people find it irritating, but it really helped me when I- it really helps. It drowns out noise from the street or anything that could mess with your sleep.” 

Ilya crossed the room and knelt down just behind where Shane was powering the machine on and fiddling with the dials. 

“You can adjust the volume too, if it’s too loud or-” 

Ilya kissed the back of Shane’s neck. Shane paused his work on the machine. 

“Ilya, I was serious about not doing anything tonight-” 

“I know.” Ilya kissed Shane’s neck again before resting his head on Shane’s shoulder. “I just- thank you. You did not have to do this.” 

Shane turned to face Ilya as Ilya massaged up and down his arms. “Well, I’m kind of an expert. You never know which thing will help the most, right?” 

“Right.” Ilya kissed Shane lightly on the lips before pulling back and searching his face. “I will be better soon. But Shane-” he ran a thumb over Shane’s freckles. “Are you okay?” 

Shane gave him a tight smile. “As long as you are.” 

Ilya shook his head. “No. That is not what I mean. Your face was-” he trailed off, not able to find the right word, and not wanting to say I think you scared me more than I scared you. “Do you want to lie down?”

Shane reached behind him and pressed a button on the white noise machine. The muted sounds of the rainforest filled the room. “Sure.” He shrugged off and folded his jacket, which he hadn’t even taken off before he’d started putting up curtains. 

Ilya pulled Shane into his arms, kissing his neck, his cheek, his mouth. He smoothed out the creases on Shane’s forehead, giving Shane an exaggerated frown. Shane bit his lip in what looked like a stifled laugh. He sank into Ilya’s chest. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He felt Shane shake his head.

“Not really. It’s just hard, I guess. I never like seeing someone get hurt. And when it’s you, it’s just-” 

“Personal?” 

“Yea.” 

“Do you remember being on the ice? When it happened to you?” He’d seen the video, both when it happened and when Shane started with the Bruins. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to watch it since then. 

“Not really. It’s all a little fuzzy. I just remember hearing voices telling me not to move.” 

Ilya shivered and hugged Shane tighter. “I’m so sorry. I wish they changed the late hit rules earlier.” 

“Me too.” Shane looked up, his eyes watery. “But then we never would’ve fallen in love.” 

“No? We would not have fallen in love over the face-off dot? We would not have met after games?” 

“It would’ve taken a miracle.” 

“No.” Ilya murmured his words into Shane’s mouth. “I think we would have fallen in love that way too.”