Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/F, Gen

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

OFC/OFC, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Original Female Character(s)

Characters:

Original Female Character(s), Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Holidays, Yearning, Angst, Family Issues, Grief, Sibling Rivalry, POV Outsider, POV Shane Hollander, Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Character Study, Coming Out

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of shane and his lesbian cousin

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-14 Completed: 2025-12-16 Words: 4,586 Chapters: 3/3

saving face

Summary

Everyone has a gay cousin and if you don't have one, you are the gay cousin.

Shane Hollander is not exceptional.

--

or: Shane Hollander spends the holidays with his mom's side of the family and finds out he has more in common with them than originally thought.

Notes

disclaimer im gaysian-american and ive never stepped foot into ottawa. i just want to give shane a family during the holidays and increase the asian population, even though im being sorta mean about it. i bingeread the game changers series in a fugue state last month and vaguely remember the timeline. set between heated rivalry and the long game, to make things easy

content warnings: allusions to homophobia, end-of-life with family members (grandparents specifically), and a mentally ill spiraling disaster lesbian

misumi, clarissa, and shane's "cousins" are all original characters of mine.

Chapter 1: can you see me, i'm waiting for the right time

Chapter Notes

It's 6pm and the clouds above continue to sprinkle snow upon the streets, the cars, and her, like powdered sugar. She probably looks frosted as fuck, has nobody to dust it off her head because six hours before, Clarissa had dumped her at the airport. And then Misumi was on a plane. And then Misumi was in the car driven by her dad. And then Misumi was here in Ottawa, stumbling through stilted Japanese with the older generation, nobody impressed by her bilingual attempts. Clarissa had tried to learn Japanese through Duolingo, but couldn’t figure out the pitches. Misumi had kissed the highs and lows out of her mouth. 

Ugh, does she feel pathetic. What the hell had she been thinking anyway? This is my friend from work, Clarissa. Who would believe Clarissa in the field, collecting soil samples with her clean look, hair brushed and pinned back with barrettes? Were they going to sneak kisses in the basement bathroom that nobody uses? The expectation that the sheer presence of Clarissa would make her family behave? Clarissa isn’t that powerful. Misumi’s the only one in love with her. 

"Smoking's bad for you, Missy."

Misumi rolls her eyes. "I'm not smoking."

"You... have a lighter and a cigarette in your mouth."

"I'm not smoking," Misumi repeats. It's a metaphor comes unprompted in her head and she shudders. It's not a fucking meet-cute—and she would kill for one right now, have her Hallmark moment in her hometown, rebounding from a frigid bitch with someone who'd, like, want to spend time with her—it's her Nation's Most Beloved Golden Boy Hockey Savior of the World cousin, Shane Hollander. 

She likes him vaguely. Shane’s rarely around for her to have formed a solid opinion on him. Before he had left for special hockey academy, he’d given her fruit snacks at lunch in exchange for her onigiri with spicy crab. But that’d been—fucking hell—over half their lives ago. Single digit era. Their lives minimally intersecting. 

He mostly spends the holidays with his Hollander side of the family if he’s not on road trips—she doesn’t exactly know. She doesn’t care about hockey, purposefully blasphemous. Shane doesn’t care about the conservation efforts for all the warblers in Ontario, simply ignorant. They’re related because their mothers are sisters. And they’re here because Obaachan now sleeps in a hospital bed in Misumi’s childhood living room and it’s looking pretty dire.

Oh, Misumi is not strong enough for this. The cigarettes are not strong enough for this, stolen from Clarissa’s coat pocket because Misumi had wanted to be cute, but now she’s just cold. 

The flame won’t catch with this wind chill. Misumi gives up, tucks the cigarette back into the pack, and shoves everything into her pockets.

“Phew,” Shane says. “My work here is done.”

But he doesn’t leave her be. Instead, he comes closer until they’re both standing on the last step of the stairs by the garage doors. 

“It wasn’t going to kill me,” Misumi says. Clarissa’s cigarette won’t be the thing to kill her. The line is too long. 

“All it takes is one,” he says, “Aren’t you studying to be a doctor? You should know.”

“You’re going to fucking mansplain a medical student about lung cancer?” Misumi glares up at him. Infuriatingly, he towers over her. In the days they were having lunch together, he’d been able to hide behind her, sitting on the benches. Her mom hated that. 

Shane starts stammering. Misumi lets him drown a bit before saying, “And that’s Suki, dipshit. You’re talking to the tree hugger.”

Suki’s a third-year resident at the trauma centre. She’s not here for the holidays, but with how much their parents brag about her, it makes no difference. Ami is married to a banker and has two wonderfully behaved twins who make Misumi feel like she’s in a horror movie every time she has to interact with them. Misumi is the perpetually single baby of the family who’s trying to save a dying planet one bird at a time. And she’s gay. Oh, the horrors. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane says, and like a kid, punches her in the shoulder, which does actually hurts—not that she’s going to tell him that. He might’ve forgotten he’s a professional hockey player. Misumi did. Had forgotten she has a cousin who’s the Prince of Canada, but to be fair, nobody had told her he was going to be here. 

And if Clarissa had come along… Fuck, if Clarissa got to meet Shane, what would that be like? Misumi bringing a work friend home and she spends the night fawning over Shane Hollander and his millions of dollars, and his Stanley Cups—well, at least his Olympic medal had been silver. Clarissa had known about Misumi’s sisters, soft and sweet kisses in bed about how success was subjective and as long as Misumi was happy, and fulfilled, she was doing important, worthwhile, meaningful work—she’s losing it. Misumi is losing it. Clarissa doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about Shane. And Misumi wouldn’t have asked him for tickets anyway, she’s not that kind of person and they’ve never been close like that, she feels sick. Does Shane have a girlfriend? Is he single? Auntie Yuna trying to set him up with Misumi’s work friend, she needs to stop thinking about this because Clarissa isn’t here for any of that to happen, Clarissa isn’t here at all. 

The world becomes blurry. 

Clarissa wouldn’t, though. She wouldn’t accept that. That’s fine. That’s nice. Clarissa would say that Misumi was mean to her sometimes, in Misumi’s head, making the concept of Clarissa do things that real-life Clarissa wouldn’t. But Misumi has had stress dreams of them breaking up too and, well. Her brain’s got a pretty good understanding of what Clarissa would do, even though it still comes as a surprise to her nervous system. She’d dumped Misumi at the airport. 

A nightmare surrounds her senses, showing Clarissa back home. Is she packing her bags right now? Is she packing for Misumi? She’d think she’s doing Misumi a favor, taking on the burden to decrease Misumi’s labor. They have such different definitions of kindness, Clarissa had wanted to speak her language—

“Missy. Missy? Missy!” 

Misumi blinks. Shane’s fingers are in front of her face. 

She quickly wipes her eyes and cheeks, even though the tears have become a thin sheet of ice across her face. “Were you snapping your fingers at me?! What am I, a dog?”

“You were crying!”

“Not a good enough reason, dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I should be asking you that! Are you okay?”

“Fuck, no, are you stupid? I’m crying!”

“Then stop it!”

Misumi stares at him. His mouth is agape like he, too, cannot believe he just said that.

“Let’s start over,” Shane says after a moment of mutual silence. He holds his hand out. “Hi, Missy. It’s been a while. How are you?”

Misumi plays along, taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m your cousin, weirdo. But fine. How’s Montreal treating you?” 

“It’s fine,” he says, stealing her word. “How’s, er. Do you still live here?”

“No,” Misumi answers. Then she frowns, remembering the nightmare from a minute ago. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s complicated.” She nearly spits the words at him, wanting to shut down this new conversation. Can he just go back inside and leave her to wallow in peace? Put Shane in the kitchen. That’ll do them some good. He won’t leave his post. 

It is complicated. Her name is on the lease, but there’s no way she’d survive being platonic roommates with Clarissa. She’ll look around first before moving back here. It’s only been six hours. Clarissa had dumped her at the airport. Now, Misumi has to look through listings all over again. The east side is out of her budget. She’s going to have to deal with the sun shining in her face again for both commutes to and from work. She has to deal with this shit! How could her mom think Misumi could handle stirring the sauce so it won’t burn at a time like this? 

“… You can tell me.”

“Tell you?” Misumi cannot keep the skepticism out of her voice. He is the last person she would consider telling anything to. She can’t imagine him attending a single Pride—have the Voyageurs been to any of them? And visually feeling this much over a fight with a roommate is beyond pathetic. But Misumi—now, standing here—does consider it. How would Shane react to the news of her girlfriend of three years? Ex-girlfriend? Would he call it a phase? Maybe he won’t call it anything. Maybe he won’t say anything. Obaachan’s health is on the line. And he had kicked up a fuss over one unlit cigarette. Ha! You can’t be mean to me, Shane. You would kill Obaachan.

Shane shrugs. “I don’t know if I give good advice, but I can listen? Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”

Misumi takes a breath. “Okay,” she says.

Chapter End Notes

obaasan means "grandmother" in japanese. (minor edit: ive changed it to obaachan which is a cuter way for misumi to call her grandmother. they have a relationship closer than other people). next chapter is shane's pov :)

Chapter 2: a different life, i'll get it right sometime

Chapter Notes

disclaimer from prev chapter still applies.

spoilers!!!! for chapters 19 and 26 of heated rivalry!!!!

Shane doesn’t remember the last time he had stepped foot into Aunt Naomi’s house, but he knows he doesn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the years. As he takes off his shoes by the stairs, careful with the slush, he looks at the displayed photos on the wall. They’ve changed. There’s two of him now—much older than grade two. One with the Stanley Cup, one biting into the silver medal at the Sochi Olympics. 

Ilya isn’t here with him. It’s the first holiday since they made it official at the cottage and told Shane’s parents, but they haven’t grown the circle of People Who Know. Shane coming here is already a big deal and he doubts his grandma would survive the mere presence of Ilya, even if they successfully play it off as being friends. Jesus. 

His grandma. His mom’s mom. 

She hadn’t been the one to tell him. It was Dad’s soft tones sharing about his grandma’s health problems as Mom walked into the other room to answer a call. And the way her eyes had gotten shiny when Shane told her he’d fly in from Edmonton after the game, Shane knew he’d made the right choice. 

Greetings take forever. 

Aunt Naomi grabs the wine from his hands and starts a conversation with Mom in Japanese that he can’t follow, but it sounds mildly disapproving. Ami’s a mom now, holy shit, and her twins’ heads reach his hip. Shane had expected her to still be pregnant based off the ultrasound pinned on his parents’ fridge. He asks the twins if he can see their binder of Pokemon cards and nearly gets killed by a fierce glare. Ami’s husband tries to rope him into a conversation about investments before Mom shuts it down, vouching for Shane’s pre-existing accountant. He escapes from Aunt Hana’s third husband’s comments about his backcheck into the second living room, into peace and quiet and… the hum of an oxygen concentrator in the corner. 

Shane stares at the small figure in the home hospital bed. His mind is such a liar, sometimes. He’d barely remembered what his grandma looked like, his life occupied with hockey, and, and hockey. Until now, facing reality and getting slammed by the wrongness of what he sees. In his head, there is a supercut of Grandma ladling broth at the stove, babysitting him and the cousins, her fingers drifting outward, braiding a 4-strand bracelet with his youth club’s colors. Where had it gone?

He comes closer, taking small, careful steps. The lights are off, the curtains are closed, and he can’t tell if Grandma is asleep. Wrinkles upon wrinkles on her face. Shane kneels down next to the bed, struck with both fear and relief at how her chest rises and falls. There’s some condensation in the tubing in her nose. 

“Ohayo,” Shane mouths. No, that’s the wrong word. That’s—good morning, isn’t it? It’s the evening now. How does he say that in Japanese? It doesn’t matter. It matters a little bit. It matters so much. 

“Konnichiwa.” That’s hello. Isn’t there an evening version too? Shane has no idea. He’s kneeling next to his sleeping grandma, looking up standard phrases in Japanese that should be encoded in his DNA, because he hasn’t a single clue what they are. 

“Obaasan.” Double aa, Shane makes sure to elongate the syllable. Grandma. Obaasan.

His efforts don’t wake her up. Should he wake her up? Would she even recognize him? No, he’s thinking about Ilya. He’s thinking about Ilya’s father who had Alzheimer’s. It is Obaasan’s heart that is fragile, not her mind. It’s her heart. Shane is a surprise. 

Fuck. He wants Ilya. He wants to be here. He doesn’t want Ilya here. He wants to be with Ilya. He wants his grandma to be okay. All that he wants laid on top of each other, impossible to co-exist. 

“Oh.” 

Shane looks up. Mom and Dad stand at the entrance. It’d been Mom’s voice, her face flickering through expressions until she schools it to the Yuna Hollander he recognizes. His chest hurts about it. Behind her, Dad puts his hands together and tilts his head into a silent question, Is she sleeping? 

He nods, and then gets up to his feet. Shane’s taller than his mom when he hugs her. He’s taller than his dad. It hits him that he’s not small anymore. He doesn’t get to be the small one anymore. Shane grips the back of Mom’s sweater tightly, like he’s holding onto the stream of time as it slips through his fingers. 

Ilya had been alone in Moscow, paying for his father’s funeral with a useless older brother and a stepmom who could only think about her own future. 

I am not alone, Shane remembers Ilya saying. You are here now.

His throat gets unbearably tight. A phone call away. Ilya’s only a phone call away. 

Shane leaves his parents in the room for some privacy and finds his shoes in the foyer. Outside, there’s light snowfall, sticking to the streets. Hopefully, it won’t stay for long because he has a flight—

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Like a lighter. But that’s impossible. Ilya knows where he is, but he doesn’t know here, not this specific address, not unless—Shane turns and finds a figure at the bottom of the steps. 

Flick. Flick. Flick.

It’s not Ilya. When Shane gets closer, it becomes clearer who it is, and he feels a sense of relief. He can talk to her. Although, he’s not a fan of what she’s up to. When they were kids, still curious about the cigarette butts collecting in their uncles’ ashtrays, Missy had snuck one out the pack brought back from a Japan trip. Berry flavored, not that that helped them any. Coughing up the smoke was still gross. 

Shane clears his throat. “Smoking’s bad for you, Missy.”

His cousin pauses. “I’m not smoking,” she says, somehow, the syllables fat and round with the cancer stick between her lips. 

Shane gives her a look. "You have a lighter and a cigarette in your mouth."

"I'm not smoking,” she says again. Flick. Flick. Flick.

Technically, she isn’t. The lighter won’t start, but Shane has to sigh at how pedantic she’s being. He gives her another judgmental stare and eventually she puts it all away. Shane’s glad for it. He has had a lot of practice, annoying Ilya off that nicotine craving, among other strategies. 

“Phew, my work here is done.” He walks down and stops at the last step. The car isn’t parked very far. Just across the street, but he hasn’t spoken to Missy in a long time. It’s her house. Grandma—Obaasan—is staying at her house. He doesn’t know where Suki has gone, but Ami’s moving to Westboro, her husband won’t shut up about the house they just closed on. 

“It wasn’t going to kill me,” Missy says. 

“All it takes is one,” Shane says. He racks his brain–what did Mom say Missy was up to? She was telling him about it on the drive here, trying to catch him up with everybody. “Aren’t you studying to be a doctor? You should know.”

Misssy levels him with laser eyes. “You’re going to fucking mansplain a medical student about lung cancer?”

“Wh-wh-woah, hey, I’m not trying to, uh, tell you what you can or cannot do with your body, but I mean, studies have shown, haven’t they? It’s common knowledge that smoking causes lung cancer? Right, like it causes cancer? I guess you would know more than me, going to school and all.”

Shane feels stupid. Is Misumi about to tell him that smoking doesn’t, in fact, cause cancer? As in they’ve done the research and she’s just sitting on this insane development that would make Ilya the most insufferable bastard if he were to find out?

Jesus Christ. They cannot meet. Misumi had sat on his elementary school bullies even though he’d been able to outskate and outrun them. Misumi knows all about how uncool he was. 

“Nah, that’s Suki, dipshit. You’re talking to the tree hugger.”

Through instinct, Shane punches her in the shoulder, last-minute adjusting the force because he could sit on her bullies now. Could even bench them too, although Ami’s husband might take issue with it.

“You’re such an asshole,” he says with a grin, and jerks away before she can drag him into a headlock. 

But Missy doesn’t respond. She falls quiet again and to Shane’s horror, starts crying. 

“Um,” he says simply. 

Her tear tracks are twin rivers on her face. She’s shaking, less from the cold and more from whatever is going on with her right now. Shane had called her worse. She’d called him worse. Shane gets the feeling that maybe, maybe this isn’t about him. But he can’t leave her like this. 

“Missy? Uh. Yoo… hoo? Missy? Hello?” Shane claps his hands. He snaps his fingers. “Come on, get yourself together now. Missy. Missy!”

She snaps out of it, scowling. “Were you snapping your fingers at me?! What am I, a dog?”

“You were crying!” 

Missy scoffs. “Not a good enough reason, dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I should be asking you that! Are you okay?”

“Fuck, no, are you stupid? I’m crying!”

“Then stop it!” Jesus Christ. Cheese and rice. One does not simply tell crying women to stop crying. Feeling awkward as hell, Shane extends his hand. “Let’s start over. Hi, Missy. It’s been a while. How are you?”

Misumi looks at his hand like it’s something off the bottom of her shoe, but shakes it anyway. “I’m your cousin, weirdo, but fine. How’s Montreal treating you?”

“It’s fine,” Shane says. “How’s, er. Do you still live here?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s complicated.”

Complicated. Shane can see why. The piano is collecting dust in the second living room turned bedroom for Obaasan. No more Heart and Soul specials. Shane has a vague idea of what caregiving is like, from Dad’s gestured explanations and the you-knows, making Shane fill in the blanks. The plastic bin under Obaasan’s bed of towels and wipes and adult diapers. How much does it cost to hire a personal support worker? Shane can cover that, even though his family would never ask.

He’d gone outside to call Ilya, to hear his voice, to give voice to all these feelings he has. Ilya had faced this just last year, in a way, Shane knows it’s not the same. He’s not alone, is the thing. Missy is out here, cigarettes and a lighter in her pocket, standing a few feet away from where they’d cough up their lungs and then some at the tender age of eight years old. 

“You can tell me,” Shane decides. 

“Tell you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if I give good advice, but I can listen? Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”

Missy’s lips quirk, half-smile. She takes a breath and Shane plants his feet, like if she’s going to fall. 

“Okay,” she says. And then, “Not here.”

Shane knows where they can go. 

Chapter End Notes

shane's struggles with japanese and the language barrier come from my own personal experience during the holidays, asking my parents how to say a certain number because that's the uncle i haven't greeted. lol.

didn't mean to make this chapter shane's pov of last chapter. it was going to be missy's confession in his pov, but shane muse was like wait, actually. working on the next chapter right now :)

Chapter 3: never mind, i'll remember you this way

Chapter Notes

yeah, i just totally busted this out right after posting the last chapter. unbetaed, all mistakes mine, ENJOY!!!

“So I have this roommate,” Missy begins as soon as they’re in the car, fingers fiddling with the dials and buttons on his dashboard. Shane aims the hot blast of air towards her. 

“Her name’s Clarissa. And she was supposed to come today with me and meet everyone. Except once we got to the airport, she changed her mind about it. Which, fine, I guess, because of the whole elephant in the room. Obaachan. Grandma. I guess it would be awkward to bring a random person home when the point is because the elephant is dying. Like I had spent the last two Christmases with Clarissa’s family—well. She invited me and you know, flights cost money and… you’re a millionaire.” 

Missy looks at him. 

“Yeah, multi-millionaire,” Shane confirms. His contract with Montreal still has a few years left.

“Disgusting,” Missy says. “She invited me because she was a nice friend! I got gifts for her family! God, I want that bread machine back. I’m going to make such delicious bread that nobody gets to eat! MY BREAD. I was there, you know? I was there. I drove her to the emergency room so she could be with her dad—he was just dehydrated, he’s never heard of electrolytes. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, everybody thinks they’re sick in her family, got me texting Suki about what it all means! But the second I ask her to be a part of my life because I wanted Obaasan to meet her, just this once, because she means so much to me, it’s too heavy. It’s too intense. I’m too intense, which is so stupid, because I was intense when we’d met!”

She punches the car roof. 

”Hey,” Shane says, and then pivots at Missy’s watery, squinty, death-threatening stare. “Shit friend.”

“Yeah! Shit friend!” Missy laughs. It becomes this sort of raspy gasp. “Shit friend… shit girlfriend.”

Shane straightens up in his seat. Did she just—“Missy?”

“Shit friend who is a girl,” Missy continues, “Shit female-gendered friend. Shit roommate who was a girl and also a friend—”

“Missy, hold on a second.” Shane reaches out to grab her shoulder. His stomach is in his chest, his heart is in his throat. “Girlfriend. You were dating a girl?”

Missy has a girlfriend. Missy had a girlfriend. Clarissa, who lives with Missy, who Missy wanted to bring home for their family to meet. Missy, his favorite cousin. She’s gay. She’s gay too, like him. She’s gay and she’s told him. She told Shane. She… confessed. Who else knows? Is he the only one to know? Holy shit, Missy is gay. She is gay and she told him. He gets to know. She told him. 

Missy shrugs his hand off and gets out the car. Runs away. 

“Wait, Missy!” Shane goes to leave, cursing the seat-belt when it stops him, and unbuckles himself free. “Missy, wait a damn second!”

He gives chase, but Missy has the advantage of a head-start and winter boots with ice cleats. Shane’s wearing his Reeboks which look great and have nothing else going for them. Maybe next time, he’ll speak up at the product meeting. From his man-made hole in the snow, he shouts, “ME TOO!”

“Groundbreaking!” Missy shouts back. “Shane Hollander is dating a girl!”

This must be how Ilya feels when Shane gets too literal with him.

He gets up to his feet. “Missy, please! You can do so much better than Clarissa.”

“Like a boy? Fuck off, Shane!”

“No! That’s not what I meant!” 

That stops her. Missy lingers at the front door of Aunt Naomi’s house, before the threshold. Shane gets closer because he doesn’t want to yell in public. It’s not for these neighbors to hear. It’s for Missy because she had given him something precious. 

“I’m on your side,” he says, and then borrows her word, “Dipshit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” Shane trails off. He brushes the snow off his knees. How is he meant to condense Ilya into a singularity that won’t kill him the second he says it out loud? He’s the highest drafted Japanese-Canadian player in the league, but he's not the first in history. He’s won two Stanley Cups back to back, but there were previous dynasties. Scott Hunter had kissed his boyfriend on national television. Shane won’t the first one to do this. Maybe the point isn’t to reinvent the wheel, but to just follow it. “I have a boy who is a friend.”

“You have a boy,” Missy repeats, rather succinctly. 

Shane nods. “More than a friend.”

“You’re not fucking with me?”

He sighs. “There’s that dastardly Shane Hollander, known for his pranks?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Missy says. Hand in her pocket, she gestures. “How… how long have you?” 

Since last year, Shane thinks. Since I’d met him. But that’s only Ilya. If she means how long since he’s been gay? Has known he’s gay? The timeline isn’t as clear. But he’d been doing gay activities for nearly a decade, so he tells her that. And then he waits patiently as she processes it, all her thoughts flickering on her face.

“I thought I was gay,” she finally says, “but you’re like. The gay. Cousin.”

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Everybody’s got one. Everybody has a gay cousin and if you don’t, you were the gay cousin. So I thought I was the gay cousin because I’ve been gay since Orange is the New Black. And that was a cross I was willing to bear, but you have me beat by, like, four years.”

“No, you,” Shane says. He has enough on his plate. “You can be the gay cousin. You came out first.”

“Huh. So I did. Coward.”

“Hey—!”

“I’m fucking with you, relax,” Missy says like a hypocrite. “I know the stakes are higher, Prince of Canada.”

Shane rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. He doesn’t fight it off. Jesus Christ. Missy is gay. He is gay. They’re both the gay cousin. He gets to have a gay cousin. 

“You can’t tell anyone—” Shane begins.

“I already don’t discuss you—”

“But can I tell him? My… my boyfriend.” There is a sun forming inside him. “Can I tell him about you?”

“He the gay cousin too?”

“I don’t think… he has cousins.” Ilya has never mentioned extended family. After his father’s funeral, that had been the end of it. His brother, his niece and nephew, back in Moscow. Staying there. “It might just be him.”

Missy blows air. “Shit. Tough. Yeah, alright. I’ll be his cousin.”

Shane wants to tell her, the urge slamming him against the boards. It’s Ilya in his heart. He wants to tell her about this man he loves so much, his Ilya. Shane wants them to meet, supervised, by him. He’ll quiz them both before they meet each other. Fuck Clarissa. Fuck her for not meeting Obaasan tonight. Thank God, Missy got on the plane. He did too.

Next Christmas isn’t going to be the same. He has no idea about Obaasan’s prognosis, if she’d hold on a little longer. But he’s not alone in it.

Missy has the door open for him. “Shane?”

He walks in. 

Chapter End Notes

thank you for the kudos and comments!!! im glad that this fic resonates to so many people. I'LL BE YOUR GAY COUSIN, you are not alone <3

edit: minor changes to shane's internal monologue. i decided to bring some of the nhl history into the mlh so paul kariya, you're now a poster on shane's wall, and pride night is happening in the sequel fic :D