Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike, David Hollander & Yuna Hollander

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Wyatt Hayes, Zane Boodram, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Grigori Rozanov, Brandon Wiebe

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Teammates, Rivals to Lovers, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Oblivious Shane Hollander, POV Shane Hollander, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Hockey, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Slow Burn, Shane Hollander Character Study, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-19 Updated: 2026-05-19 Words: 73,222 Chapters: 19/24

every day is like a battle (every night with us is like a dream)

Summary

Historic trades, a stroke of irreplicable genius by Ottawa's management, a confident gamble, and unwavering belief in their talent lead to Ilya and Shane being drafted at No 1 and No 2 to the same team.

Or: the progression of Ilya and Shane's relationship as rivals to teammates to friends to lovers if they had been drafted to the same team, and the story of how Ottawa makes the rest of the league pay for letting them end up with the best two hockey talents in a generation

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

June 2009

Shane was already awake when his alarm went off that morning. He wasn't even really sure why he still set his alarm in the morning anymore because he always seemed to wake up right before it went off. His parents had encouraged him to sleep in, told him that there was no point in waking up at five in the morning when the draft didn't start until seven that evening. 

It wasn't like there were any more weird tests of athleticism for him to compete in like a show pony, and there certainly wouldn't be any NHL team scouts at the rink down the street, never mind in the small hotel gym. Shane had already shown everything he had to show to the scouts, coaches, and team management. By now, all of the teams definitely had their lists of what they needed and who could fill those roles.

Shane thought bitterly that Ottawa had probably already drawn a big fat red circle around Rozanov's name six months ago after the conclusion of World Juniors when Russia had walked away with the gold and Shane had gone home to bury his respectable, but utterly devastating silver medal in the back of his closet.

He felt the familiar itch in the back of his mind to open the hockey blogosphere and see what exactly people were saying about him and where he would fall. He hadn't checked it since the night before the World Juniors final game. He knew his mom still kept up with it somewhat, but she had stopped mentioning what people were saying about a week into the New Year when she noticed just how much Shane's shoulders tensed every time she brought it up.

He was pretty sure not obsessively checking what the pros were saying, who at the end of the day were really just speculating, every night was probably good for him. Well, it was good for his physical health at least. Because he had conditioned himself to go work out until he was practically too tired to move every time he wanted to open that damn website. So when the urge to check the latest update struck, he dressed himself in his favorite pair of gym shorts and one of his old Ottawa U16 hockey shirts and jogged down the stairs to the hotel gym.

It was, unsurprisingly, empty. He hopped on the treadmill and started running.

It was blissful really, pushing himself to his physical limits always released some certain set of endorphins in him that both elated him and completely erased everything shaky and worrisome from his mind. He didn't love running as much as he loved skating, there was a certain freedom in flying across the ice that never translated to the careful, constrained steps he took on the treadmill. But he had checked the schedule of the closest ice rink last night, and in addition to not having a way to get there, free skate didn't start until eleven, and his parents had meticulously scheduled their day to try and keep Shane's mind off of the draft.

His favorite part of running on the treadmill was always about an hour in when sweat started dripping off of him and wetting the grooves of the surface beneath him. It was a tangible example of his physical exertion. But today as the sweat dripped off of him, it brought his mind back to his greatest fear.

It was the fear that he would fall in the draft. He had basically accepted at this point that he was not going to be the first draft pick. Even though his meeting with Ottawa's front office and coaching staff had gone well, he was almost certain that they were just being nice to him because of all of the stories about how he had grown up a loyal Centaurs fan.

Hell, there were pictures floating around on Twitter that had been taken from his dad's Facebook page before he had made it private of Shane sitting on his bed in a Centaurs jersey in his room filled with Ottawa posters.

For a second near the end of his interview, he had let himself be disillusioned that maybe Ottawa would pick him when their coach had clapped him on the back and told him how much they believed that he was going to be one of hockey's biggest stars.

One of.

The disillusionment had lasted for all of five seconds before those words had processed. Because of course he was still being compared to Rozanov, he was probably always going to be compared to Rozanov. He'd already been trained by the agent his mom had forced him to meet with on how to respond to all of the press questions he was surely going to receive about Rozanov after the draft later.

His pre-loaded response about how Rozanov was a great player that pushed him to be better and how he was excited to see how his dominant, physical play style translated in the NHL already tasted bitter on his tongue.

He was so focused on his run that he didn't notice the door to the hotel gym opening or the hand that pressed the button causing his treadmill to gradually slow to a stop. His mom stood to the side, looking at him with concern painted all over her face. 

"Shane, baby, have you been here all morning?" She asked softly. He glanced at the time on his watch. It was nearly eight.

"Uh, yeah mom. Sorry," He said, unsure of why he was really apologizing. It wasn't like he regretted the almost three hours he'd spent on the treadmill. That was three hours closer to the damn draft that he was pretty certain was going to be the worst day of his life, since World Juniors at least. 

He knew deep down it was selfish and crazy and stupid to be so upset about this. There were so many kids out there who had trained, like he had, for years and years and would never see a minute of playing time in the NHL, and here he was losing his mind over going in the first round. Because sure, he might not be first or second or even third, but there was no way he was falling out of the first round.

"You don't have to apologize, just-" His mom paused, biting her lip as she looked him over, taking in the way his shirt was completely soaked in sweat, his face bright pink from exertion, and the quick but steady rise of his chest. "We don't want you pulling something before the draft." She settled on.

Shane managed a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a shower and put on something clean. We have breakfast reservations down the street at nine." His mom suggested, the look on her face indicating that it was less of a suggestion and more of an order.

Shane nodded, stepping off the treadmill and letting his mom escort him back to his hotel room like a child that had been caught sneaking out. Three hours down, eleven to go.

The draft this year was in Montreal, which was ironic because they had the second pick and Shane could very well be going there. Probably not. They really needed a big defenseman, and Shane was definitely not that. Montreal wasn't that far from Ottawa, and Shane had been a couple times before with his parents, but he was surprised and honestly a little touched at just how many different activities they had packed into the day just to distract him from his all consuming nerves about the draft later that day.

It had started off well enough, but as the day had progressed, Shane knew he was closing in on himself. It would be fine. Everything would be fine. He did those deep breathing exercises the therapist his mom had made him see a couple times had given him. They hadn't really worked.

Maybe a new city would be good for him. He would have the opportunity to reinvent himself a little bit. He wouldn't have to worry about running into Jessica, his ex girlfriend who had broken up with him a month after World Juniors. Not that he really cared about running into her. He was sure he hadn't been a great boyfriend, even before World Juniors, but he was almost certain he had been a terrible one after. He had felt bad, but he really just couldn't find it in himself to make time for her, so it hadn't really been a surprise when she'd shown up to his house after two weeks of not seeing each other to drop off one of his hoodies and tell him it was over.

Also, Ottawa was a perpetually mid team. They had a couple of great pieces, but their coaching staff had never really been able to figure out how to fit them all together, and they had probably the worst injury luck in the league. And sure, Shane had always dreamed of being the missing piece that would make the whole team click. And sure, he had spent every birthday since he could form a sentient thought wishing to be the hometown hero that would one day lead Ottawa to a Stanley Cup win... but he was sure it would be just as satisfying to do that on any other team.

Shane sat in the audience with his parents, among all the other first round hopefuls, devastatingly aware that Rozanov was somewhere in the crowd with his family. He checked his watch. Five minutes until Ottawa was on the clock with the first pick.

He sat between his parents, and they both wrapped an arm around him as the camera man in front of them counted down from three with his fingers. When he hit one, Shane plastered a smile on his face, knowing he was being broadcast to everyone who was watching the draft live and that the clip would probably end up in some highlight reel about him in a few years time.

The smile dropped off his face quickly when the camera man held out a thumbs up, thanked them, and then turned to walk over to the next family. Shane adjusted in his seat, pulling the lapels of his jacket closer together and straightening his tie as he began sweeping the room. He saw Tyler Warren, the college left winger who had led his team to the Frozen Four, and Martin La Fleur, the hotshot goalie who had played internationally already and had a .91 save percentage.

He found Rozanov all the way across the room right as the lights dimmed, Ottawa was officially on the clock. Rozanov drew attention from everyone in the room. Of course, they all expected him to be picked first. There was a camera pointed at Shane just in case, but there were multiple trained on Rozanov. As if he sensed him, despite all the other eyes on him in the room, Rozanov turned his head slightly and seemed to stare right at Shane. 

Their eye contact was broken by a whispered "Holy shit," coming from the guy sitting in front of Shane. The guy was looking at something on his phone which was lit up like a beacon in the midst of the dark room. Shane could vaguely make out the ESPN logo on the phone screen. He had powered his phone off hours ago, so he wouldn't be tempted to check the blogosphere. He was about to click the power button to power his phone back on as his mom shot him a confused look when someone walked up to the stage.

It was Craig Crasinski, a former Ottawa player, probably the best center of the mid nineties despite being stuck on such a mediocre team. He'd been traded and won a Cup with Chicago in early two thousand, but had signed a one day contract to retire with Ottawa in 2005.

"Good evening, everyone," He smiled, effortlessly charming the crowd. Despite needing no introduction, he said, "My name is Craig Crasinski, former center for the Ottawa Centaurs. The Cens asked me to announce their pick in the draft, but first I have to announce an unprecedented trade."

He paused.

Shane looked between his parents with an alarmed look on his face before noting the blinking red light on the camera pointed right at him. Ah, he was sure he was going to be memed all over Twitter and Instagram later.

"Ottawa has traded left wing, Trevor Morgan, their 2nd and 3rd round 2009 draft picks, as well as their first and second round 2010 draft pick to Boston." Another pause. A collective gasp resounded in the auditorium. Trevor Morgan had won the Art Ross trophy two seasons ago for scoring the most points in the league, as well as Rookie of the Year back in 2005. He was their best player, and it was almost unheard of for a team to trade so many draft picks. Without a first or second round pick, they could be utterly fucked next year. 

The guy in front of Shane who had gasped at his phone just a minute before was now subtly shaking his head, "Ottawa got fucking fleeced," Shane heard him murmur to his dad.

"Boston has sent defensemen, Gilbert Comeau and Walter Miitka, their 2009 2nd round pick, their 2nd and 3rd round 2010 picks, and Ottawa's 2010 first round draft pick to Montreal in return for Montreal right wing, Victor St. Simon." Crasinski paused again.

Shane heard his mom gasp, "What?" and he had to agree. This was insane. He couldn't really see what Ottawa could possibly get to make trading Trevor Morgan and so many draft picks worth it, especially when Boston had gone around and traded off their first round pick next year.

"And Montreal has sent Ottawa their back up goalie, Wyatt Hayes, left winger, Cliff Marlow, Boston's 2nd round 2010 pick, and their own 1st round 2009 draft pick, leaving Ottawa with both the 1st and 2nd draft picks in this draft." Craig Crasinski flashed another winning smile to the crowd. "So now, with that out of the way, I'll get to the part everyone has been waiting on."

Shane felt his eyebrows raise in disbelief. This was certainly an unprecedented trade and a really fucking risky one. While Boston and Montreal received proven, seasoned veterans from the trade, Ottawa received two untested former rookie players in Hayes and Marlow and two draft picks that could very well be busts. The end of his conversation with the Ottawa coach replayed in his mind.

"With the first and second picks in the 2009 NHL draft, Ottawa is proud to select in no particular order," Crasinski winked, "Russia's, Ilya Rozanov, and Ottawa's own, Shane Hollander."

Shane could feel his jaw drop. He vaguely felt the pressure of his parents urging him to stand up, so he did. He let them wrap their arms around him and went through the motions of hugging them back before walking up to the stage where people were standing, holding Hollander and Rozanov Centaurs jerseys. He shook Crasinski's hand and grabbed the jersey meant for him. He sensed Rozanov standing, holding his own jersey up on the other side of Crasinski, and had the good sense to plaster a bright smile on his face.

Deep down, maybe he realized that he was making history in multiple ways. As the first Asian player to be drafted in the NHL, but that was overshadowed by the fact that this had never been done before. Rather than a first and second pick, him and Rozanov were now a 1a and 1b pick, going to the same team. He was pretty sure the hockey blogosphere was probably imploding. Six months of articles comparing the two of them to great historic rivalries of the past now crumbling down because their rivalry wasn't going to be a rivalry at all... it was going to be a partnership.

He still felt like he was floating out of his body as him and Rozanov were escorted down the long hallway off the stage to the media room where two podiums had been haphazardly dragged together to create standing space for the two of them. The questions launched at them came at lightning quick speed, rattled off one after another, and Shane barely caught what they were asking him.

"How do you both feel being part of this historic three way trade?" "Shane, what's it like standing next to Ilya now knowing you two are going to be on the same team after spending the past few years being touted as rivals?" "Shane, Ilya, how do you both feel about the immense pressure you'll be under to perform immediately after everything Ottawa gave up to get both of you?"

Rozanov's slight shift from side to side mere inches beside him snapped Shane back into his body. If memory served him right from World Juniors, Rozanov knew English, but it was not his first language, and these rapid fire questions ought to be giving him a hard time.

He leaned toward the mic and cleared his throat, "Uh, hi." He started, and the throng of reporters before them quieted down. "I am honored that Ottawa saw something special in the two of us and put in so much work to make sure they got us both, and I don't wanna speak for him, but I'm sure Rozanov feels the same way." He shot a quick glance to the side, and saw Rozanov looking back at him, nodding his head along with something that looked like gratefulness dancing in his eyes.

"Rozanov is a great competitor who has pushed me to play better throughout the past few years, and I'm honored to be drafted alongside him. I promise we'll work very hard to bring the Cup to Ottawa and show the fans, coaches, and management that they were not wrong to put their faith in us." Shane let a smile take over his face as he finished and leaned back from the mic. He was just glad he had gotten through everything he'd wanted to say without stumbling over his words.

"Multiple Cups." Rozanov added on to the end, and Shane couldn't help the quick laugh he barked out. "Will bring multiple Cups to Ottawa." Rozanov clarified.

They answered a few more questions, the reporters calmed a bit now that they'd been given a couple good soundbites to use, and Shane answered first for each question to give Rozanov more time to process what was being asked. When they were ushered away from the reporters, presumably so they could move one of the podiums out of the way for the third draft pick, they were brought to a room with a photographer.

Shane went first, and they snapped photo after photo of him holding up his jersey. At one point, someone handed him a Centaur's baseball cap and he put it on for the picture, only slightly worrying about it messing up his hair. Rozanov went next while Shane stood there and watched the effortless way he smiled and posed for the pictures, and then-

"Can we get a few of both of you?" One of the photographers asked, so Shane walked over to join Rozanov. He was only a little caught off guard when Rozanov threw one of his arms around Shane's shoulders before he relaxed into it. He wrapped his an arm around Rozanov's shoulder, but wasn't sure what to do with his other hand.

He settled for awkwardly placing it in his pocket until he felt Rozanov nudge him by bumping his hip into Shane's own. Shane looked over at him, and saw him hold up a 1 with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Shane. Rozanov nodded his head toward Shane for him to do it too.

Later, his mom decided that she loved Rozanov and was going to invite him and his dad out to dinner with them after the picture of the two of them with their arms thrown around each other's shoulders both holding up the number one in their Ottawa Centaur's hats went viral. Shane had to admit that it was a great picture, and it seemed the Centaurs agreed because when he had finally powered his phone back on, he'd seen he'd been tagged on almost every social media by the Centaur's official accounts with that picture now plastered across their pages.

He didn't even want to imagine the frequency of the posting of that photo in the hockey blogosphere.

After a long night of mingling, talking to the Ottawa management that had made the trip to Montreal for the draft, a call with his new Coach, and a polite decline to the dinner invitation his parents had extended from Rozanov and his father, something or other about jet lag, Shane finally relaxed into his bed and was immediately overtaken by the best sleep he'd had in months.

Chapter End Notes

take a shot every time shane brings up the hockey blogosphere mwahahaha

chapter two!! maybe a little bit of suspension of disbelief required here... I tried to make the trade fair, but I don't think anyone has ever gotten the first and second pick in one draft before. I hope y'all are enjoying so far!! there is a little bit more set up and character introduction to be done before we start getting to the juicy stuff, but I hope you like it regardless. xoxo!

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

December 2009

The cold wasn't as bone chilling this time around. Maybe it was because with the pressure of the draft gone, Shane was finally having fun playing stress free hockey this time at World Juniors. He was no longer competing to be the first draft pick, and he didn't have a chip on his shoulder because Ottawa had refused to designate a first or second between him and Rozanov since they'd had both picks.

He still wanted more than anything to cap off his juniors career with a title for Canada, but when he leaned down to take the first faceoff of the game against Rozanov, he reveled in the noise of the crowd.

As anyone in the hockey blogosphere could have predicted two weeks ago, the final was once again Canada vs Russia.

"Shane Hollander," Rozanov acknowledged, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a slight smirk. He couldn't help but notice that Rozanov's accent, while still prominent, was not as thick as last year.

"Hi Rozanov." Shane replied, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face. He was certain every camera in the arena was trained on the two of them.

"Will you disappoint them?" Rozanov asked him lowly, nodding his head toward the roaring crowd around them, most of them decked out in Team Canada merch. It was such a Rozanov question to ask, Shane almost laughed. He hadn't seen him since the draft, but he'd been keeping up with his stats, as always, and had engaged in more than a few text conversations with him in the Centaurs Rookie groupchat that was aptly named 'Baby Cens'.

It would have rattled him last year, but the past six months had brought a new level of confidence to his game.

"No." he replied confidently, a smirk of his own pulling across his lips as the referee skated up to them to drop the puck. "Will you?" He asked lowly. The puck dropped, and Shane won the faceoff.

The game was electric. It was almost like him and Rozanov were competing in some kind of dance. If Shane took a step forward, Rozanov would follow.The score was tied 5-5 in the middle of the third and final period. Shane had two goals and two assists, and Rozanov had four goals and one assist. The Russian team was playing fast and hitting hard, as was their style. It was incredible really how the different signature styles of play reflected that of their respective captains.

Team Canada was meticulous, disciplined, and patient. They would wear you down with perfectly executed, well timed passes putting the puck exactly where it needed to be, and calculating and recalculating the probabilities and angles of each shot. The Russian team, on the other hand, was fast, quick thinking, and brutal with their passes. Their strategy relied on turning you around until left was right, up was down, and you were so mixed up you lost track of the puck until it was solidly buried in the back of your net.

While Team Russia took more shots on goal, they also made more mistakes. And while Team Canada wasn't making any highlight reels for crazy impressive goals, they were actively creating tape that coaches would show their players to demonstrate the importance of teamwork and passing.

Rozanov was a vision on ice. He was the epitome of speed, he was everywhere all at once, always exactly where he needed to be. He commanded the ice with his dominant presence and carved through Canada's elite defense as if it were nothing. The only warning their goalie had before Rozanov would attempt one of those breakneck speed slapshots of his were a rough double tap on the ice. And even knowing it was coming, sometimes it still couldn't be stopped.

Shane knew he was no slouch either.

He led his team in a different way than Rozanov did. Where Rozanov was loud and bold, Shane was quiet and subtle, but it was a lethal kind of quiet. Through hours of dedicated film study and many after hours practices, he had come to know his teammates like the back of his hand. He had learned their tells as if he were the defenseman that would be guarding them, only to use it to his advantage and read where they would be on the ice. He was an unselfish player, he always had been. He had no problem passing if he knew one of his teammates had a better shot than him, only it was very rare that one of them did.

The hockey blogosphere had been riddled with articles throughout the World Juniors tournament theorizing how Ottawa was going to use the two of them, wondering how or if their play styles would align. Some thought that having the two of them on separate lines as a one two punch would be deadly. Without a clear defining play style, teams would have to prepare for Shane's lethal subtlety and Rozanov's brute force. There were also a certain set of retired pros still chasing the fame that came with the hockey world wondering if a position change for either of them would make sense.

Shane's best guess was that they would each center their own lines but be together on the power play.

Playing with Rozanov in the World Juniors only increased his excitement for next season. It was the most fun he'd had playing hockey in a long time. Even when Rozanov was slamming him up against the boards fighting him for the puck, Shane knew he had a stupid grin plastered on his face. Shane managed to sweep the puck out of Rozanov's grasp and over to his right winger and managed to get out before taking off toward Russia's goal, "Try and keep up, future teammate."

The only indication that Rozanov had been caught off guard was the half second he paused before chasing after Shane on the ice. 

Shane didn't usually chirp on the ice, he'd never really seen the point in it, but he was maybe going to change his position on that. That half second ended up counting in a big way. When his right wing dropped the pass between his legs for Shane to pick up, he had that half second on Rozanov to wind his stick back and gain the momentum for the slapshot that he buried into the top right corner of the net, flying just millimeters above the Russian goalie's glove.

No other goals were scored that period, not for lack of trying from Rozanov and the rest of the Russian team, but as Shane's middle school coach had hammered into his mindset, desperation breeds sloppy passes. So Team Canada walked away with a 6-5 win in the final over Team Russia, taking back the World Juniors title and defending home soil, and Shane finally had a gold medal he could proudly display in his room.

The Russian team was grim, but polite in the handshake line, and when Shane reached the end of it he saw Rozanov give him a tight, but not unkind smile. He held out his hand and yelped slightly in surprise when Rozanov grasped his hand and pulled him forward into a hug.

"I still scored more goals than you, teammate." Rozanov whispered into his ear in a low register as to not be picked up by the cameras circling them. 

Shane smiled in response, "Great game, Rozanov." 

Shane meant it wholeheartedly, Rozanov had played incredibly, and Shane was sure his eyes would be drawn to him when he watched the highlights of the game on the small, shitty tv in his hotel room later. And after all, Rozanov was right. With the conclusion of the tournament, they were no more matches to be held between the two of them. Their days of being rivals were over, as they were officially teammates.

Which meant that Shane would spend the next few months training hard and scouring any tapes of Rozanov's games that he could find to learn his playstyle like he knew the back of his own hand. So he could theoretically play blindfolded and still be able to find Rozanov on the ice.

The Team Canada locker room was a stark contrast to the way it had been just one year ago. Where last year had found them shrugging off their gear as quickly as possible, throwing their helmets on the ground and ripping the tape off their sticks, this year found them jumping around and spraying each other with their water bottles, embracing and celebrating everything they'd worked so hard for.

Shane was truly elated, but he couldn't help his mind from wandering and thinking about what he was sure was a somber mood in the Russian locker room. His parents had taken him out to dinner at one of the few places in town that had performance diet friendly food, and had given him a knowing look when they'd dropped him off at his hotel room and told him not to have too much fun.

There was, of course, a lowkey party happening in one of his teammates rooms. Shane was sure there would be lots of celebrating and indulging going on, and he would probably stop by for a little bit, but the events of the day had worn out his social battery, and before any of that, he needed a walk to clear his head.

He was thankful that despite being the middle of the Canadian winter, the wind had died down to practically nothing making the bite in the air much more manageable. And Shane liked the cold anyway, it grounded him. He walked out the front doors of the hotel, planning on just taking a couple laps around the parking lot, but he ended up following a light smoky smell around the side of the hotel.

When he rounded the corner, he was faced with the vision that was Rozanov blowing a puff of his cigarette smoke up into the air, face half illuminated by a streetlight. Shane had the sudden realization that it looked like something out of a commercial. He wondered if Ottawa would be upset if one of their new stars partnered with a cigarette brand. Probably. Smoking was terrible for you.

He knew Rozanov noticed him as he walked closer to stand parallel to the man as he had done last year outside the rink in Saskatchewan before the semi-final games, but Rozanov didn't say anything to acknowledge him. Shane stared out at the road before them, a car driving by every now and then. He didn't turn until he heard Rozanov sigh.

"Well," Rozanov spoke raising an eyebrow expectantly when Shane finally looked at him.

"Smoking is bad for you." Shane wasn't sure why he said it. Of course Rozanov knew that.

"Oh, is it?" He replied sarcastically, and Shane let out a huff of air that kind of doubled as a laugh.

He wasn't sure why every time he was around Rozanov he seemed to just blurt out whatever was on his mind, even when it made him sound like an idiot.

"I'm trying to quit." Rozanov offered, his voice breaking the peaceful silence of the air around them.

"That's good." Shane replied softly. "Did, um, they ask you to?"

"Yes." 

Shane turned his body back to face the road, looking away from Rozanov. There was a lot of things he could say, but none of them felt quite right. He listened as Rozanov slowly exhaled another puff of his cigarette before dropping it into the snow and stamping it out with the heel of his foot, bending down to pick it up and put it in his pocket.

"You are from Ottawa." Rozanov spoke into the quiet night.

Shane wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a statement or a question so he replied, "Yeah," anyway.

"Is nice?" Rozanov asked, this time his voice lilting a bit at the end inquisitively.

"I mean, yeah. I like it." Shane replied quickly, turning his head slightly and fixing his gaze on Rozanov who had already been looking at him. "It's quiet, peaceful, good fans I think, though not many. Hopefully we can change that." Shane ended with a sort of laugh, shooting a quick smile at Rozanov.

Rozanov nodded.

A few moments passed before Shane figured he should probably ask a question back. "Are you going back to Russia after this?"

Rozanov fixed him with an unreadable look for a few seconds that bordered on uncomfortable. Shane was starting to wonder if he was going to answer the question when finally Rozanov responded with, "Yes. For a little bit."

It was Shane's turn to nod. He wasn't always the best at reading social situations, but it was abundantly clear that even getting this answer out of Rozanov had been a toss up. He wasn't about to push his luck and make his future teammate uncomfortable by prying anymore.

"I move to Ottawa in June. Time to get settled before training camp in July." Rozanov spoke after a quiet minute. "You will live with your parents, or?"

"Oh, umm no. I mean, I could I guess, but I don't want to." Shane said hurriedly. In all honesty, his parents, especially his mom, had been more than willing to have SHane continue living with them, but Shane hadn't wanted to. He hadn't exactly told his parents that though. All David and Yuna knew was that Ottawa had requested he live with one of their more veteran players for a year. It would foster team chemistry and more gradually introduce Shane to the life of a pro hockey player. Those had been the reasons he'd given his parents at least.

He loved them so much, more than anything really. But he needed to have a little bit of space. He knew his mom loved him, but he could do without the daily lectures on everything from his social media presence to the brands he chose to partner with and how all of that would influence how the media viewed him and the impact he was mkaing on little kids that looked like him.

It wasn't that he didn't care about that part. He actually really did. He cared so much that sometimes he spiraled and overthought interactions and what they would mean for the community he was representing to the point where he was so lost in his own head that the only thing that could snap him out of it was a good hockey practice. He had been all too aware from a young age what being such a generational talent as an Asian kid could do for not only other Asian kids in hockey, but in general too. It was a responsibility he bore with pride, but it was one that came with a lot of stress and a lot of expectations that sometimes seemed unattainable.

He didn't need his mom reminding him every day about the higher standard he would always be held to.

"I'm living with Hayden Pike, the guy they called up from the AHL last year when Morgan got hurt." Shane offered. It had been an unexpected bright spot of an otherwise dim Ottawa season that had been thought to be all but over after Morgan had gone down. Hayden Pike had turned into a respectable second line right winger with loads of potential to improve. He'd done so in the first half of this season, and Shane was looking forward to getting to know him and play with him next season. He hadn't yet signed a long term deal, but it was a great indicator that he would in the off season if they were offering Shane to live wit the guy.

"I am with Cliff Marlow." Rozanov replied. It was a no brainer to pair Rozanov with Marlow. From everything Shane had read about the guy, he was loud, lively, a great locker room presence, and knew how to have a good time. Cliff Marlow had adjusted well to Ottawa's play style this year, quickly working his way up to the first line and making Montreal realize that they may have traded what they thought was a rock, but Ottawa had polished into a diamond.

Shane nodded in response, "Great player."

Rozanov hummed his agreement.

Shane studied Rozanov's side profile for a moment, struck by the thought that with the way the light was hitting him and the soft glow of the snow around them, Rozanov looked a little like a model. It was a weird thought, but it made his assessment of Rozanov being a great candidate for a cigarette commercial from earlier make a little more sense. He almost laughed with the thought that Rozanov in a cigarette commercial would be devastating for all the anti-smoking organizations who had spent the past few years pushing advertisements about the detriments of smoking and drawbacks of lung cancer.

He was almost certain that a photo of Rozanov blowing his smoke up into the air could convince young adults across North America that smoking was cool again. Hell, for a split second, Shane almost wanted to ask him for a cigarette just to see what it was like. But he didn't, and he wouldn't.

With that realization, Shane was certain he was sleep deprived. There would be no late night hotel room drinking celebrations with his team. He was sure they would understand. He needed sleep.

"Well," he sighed out, "I should head to bed. Umm, you played really well today. Playing against you, it's always great..." Shane paused, was he saying too much? He was absolutely sleep deprived. "But I'm even more excited to play with you." He offered his hand out for Rozanov to shake before he could think better of it because of course he did.

Something about history always repeating itself.

Rozanov glanced down at his hand, the beginnings of a smirk starting to appear on his face. He grasped it firmly and shook. "Tonight, you were better." 

It was a callback to how Shane had responded to what Rozanov had said to him at the end of World Juniors last year, Shane was sure of it. He bit back his attempt to protest, because really they'd both been equally impressive on the ice, Shane's team had just been the one to get lucky this year. Instead, he let the knowledge that Rozanov had thought about their conversation, remembered it, and maybe replayed it in his head after like Shane had settle deep somewhere within him.

"Pretty fitting way for our rivalry to finish, tied 1-1." Shane commented softly with a small smile on his face, glancing up from their joined hands into Rozanov's eyes as if he were searching for approval.

"Mmm for now, yes. Will not stay tied when I beat you for rookie of the year." Rozanov replied offhandedly, shrugging his shoulders as if he hadn't just spouted fighting words.

"That's not happening." Shane quipped immediately, feeling his body alight with a competitive fire.

"We will see." Rozanov said softly, finally dropping Shane's hand.

Shane supposed that was his cue to go inside. There was a part of him that wanted to linger, to stay in Rozanov's orbit just a little bit longer, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavy and he wasn't sure he wanted to keep thinking about the way Rozanov looked blowing out his cigarette smoke or what it meant that he'd been so fixated by it. So he managed to make himself look away and start to move his feet toward the front door.

"See you at training camp, Rozanov." He said quietly into the night before he turned the corner, hoping the subtle breeze would carry his voice. He got his confirmation that it had when he was able to make out the slight pull of the corner of Rozanov's mouth into a smile even from the distance.

"Goodnight, Hollander."

The reply put a smile on Shane's face, and when he finally lifted the covers and laid down in his pillowy soft hotel bed, he fell asleep with the faint, lingering scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to his shirt and the ghost of a smile dancing around his mouth.

Chapter End Notes

I'm having a lot of fun writing this fic. It's a welcomed challenge to write only in Shane's pov after writing from both of theirs in my last story, but I'm excited to try and convey Rozanov's emotions through Shane, who may or may not always be the most reliable narrator, haha! I hope y'all are enjoying their interactions so far, and the different direction I'm going with their story while still trying to keep their spirit and canon personalities alive and well! The slow burn is slow burning, but don't worry y'all... fire is catching ;)

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

July 2010

Slowly but surely, Shane adapted to the utter chaos that was living with Hayden Pike. For a guy that had only been in Ottawa for a year when Shane had moved into his modest 3 bedroom 2 bathroom apartment, he sure had a lot of stuff. Shane's eyes had widened a noticeable fraction when he'd first walked in and seen the state of the apartment, his parents downstairs parking the moving truck.

"Believe it or not, I did clean." Hayden had said before shaking Shane's outstretched hand. "I'll hire a service to deep clean though, and I'll donate some of this stuff later this week. Sorry, I spent the offseason with my family back in the States. I got in late last night."

Shane had plastered a nonchalant smile on his face and shrugged, "No worries man, whenever you have the time." He intentionally left out that if whenever Hayden had time wasn't extremely soon, there would in fact be worries. Thankfully though, Hayden had stuck true to his word. By the end of Shane's first week living there, nearly half of the stuff that had formerly lived in the living room was now either in Hayden's room or donated, and the cleaners had left the place as immaculate as the bachelor pad of two very busy professional athletes could be.

Shane had quickly learned that Hayden, who was only a couple of years older than him, was a pretty damn good hockey player, but in addition to his messy living habits, was a mess in nearly every other aspect of his life. Shane was pretty sure that if not for him, Hayden would be ordering in for almost every meal. Instead, around the second week of living together, Shane had started doubling his grocery order for the week and meal prepping for two. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it.

Hayden was also a mess when it came to his love life, or lack thereof. Shane had been dragged out to numerous bars and clubs where he would engage in casual, friendly conversation with the friends of certain girls that Hayden was trying to pick up, usually without much luck. And where Hayden was usually striking out being the one turned down, Shane was normally the one doing the turning down.

After another unsuccessful night of going out, the two lounged on the living room couch together as Hayden groaned, "Dude, you know I won't give a shit if you wanna go home with someone, right? Or if you wanna bring someone back here?"

Shane responded by chucking one of their throw pillows at him. The problem wasn't that he didn't want to bring someone home. He was a nineteen year old boy after all. The problem was more so that he was almost certain that every girl propositioning him knew that he was Shane Hollander. And he wasn't full of himself, they just weren't exactly subtle about it.

The main thing holding him back was the thought of any of these random girls from the bar leaking things about him to the press. While he hadn't yet run into Rozanov in Ottawa, he was more than well aware the man was somewhere in the city based on the photos of him released like clockwork every other morning on the Centaurs subreddit spotted with someone new with captions like 'Seems like Rozanov is settling in nicely' or 'Rozanov scores on and off the ice'. As his mom always reminded him, he was in a position that came with a lot of responsibility, and he had a reputation to maintain.

And it wasn't fair that while the Centaurs subreddit seemed to applaud Rozanov for his weekly conquests, Shane was sure that they would rip him to shreds for the same exact thing. Shane was also pretty sure that asking a girl to sign an NDA before bringing her home would home would absolutely kill the mood, and even if it didn't, the paranoia of pictures being leaked was enough to turn Shane off completely.

He didn't really think it was something Hayden would understand. Not that Hayden wouldn't try, but he would probably attempt to problem solve because that was just who he was. And this wasn't really a problem that could be fixed... and Shane was also pretty sure he didn't care enough about bringing a random girl home to do anything about it.

So instead of explaining the sometimes crushing weight of expectations to be a model citizen and set a good example he felt being the first Asian hockey player in the league, Shane settled for just saying, "Nah man, I'm just not really focused on that right now."

Hayden simply sighed and tossed the pillow back at Shane. "Well thanks for being my wingman anyway, dude."

They spent the two weeks after Shane had moved in and before training camp started getting to know each other, spending early mornings in the gym and late afternoons fucking around on the ice during free skate at the community center hockey rink down the street from their apartment. Shane was asked to be in at least five photos every time they went, and slowly but surely people were starting to recognize Hayden too.

The night before training camp found Shane sitting on their couch in the late hours of the night drinking a cup of green tea, which he was sure was absolutely not going to help his current insomnia, and trying to calm his nerves. The tea was helping a little bit with the nerves, his mind was only going a mile a minute now, rather than the previous hundred miles a minute.

It wasn't that he was worried about making the cut, he was the co-first draft pick after all. He was pretty sure what it boiled down to was the uncertainty of his position. After trading away their best player and so many draft picks, the prior season had ended with Ottawa at the bottom of their division. Shane knew the first and second line center positions were all but guaranteed to him and Rozanov.

It was like the draft thing all over again. Shane wanted to be first so badly, and deep down he knew the competition between the two of them would come down to what their Coach decided he wanted the identity of the team to be. 

That was another thing. After the end of the abysmally terrible losing 2009-2010 season, Ottawa management and their head coach had made a "mutual decision" to part ways. The former coach had gone to join Montreal as a consultant which had been a huge slap in the face. And it was starting to seem like Ottawa had a thing for making incredible risky, gut driven decisions that the rest of the league wrote off as ridiculous because rather than promote a proven, tested assistant coach from some other team in the league, they had hired the thirty-four year old Brandon Wiebe who had previously been the head coach at McGill university.

Shane didn't hate the decision. His dad had played for McGill in university, and Wiebe had completely transformed the team in the two years he'd coached there from a whisper of former greatness to an absolute powerhouse. Shane guessed they were hoping Wiebe could do the same thing with the Centaurs, but university and pro hockey were two entirely different beasts.

So given that there was an entirely new coach and a roster full of newbies and younger players who had shown sparks of greatness... Ottawa was looking for a new identity. It, like most things Shane worried about, could all be traced back to the hockey blogosphere. The one that had been filled with post after post the past couple weeks about whether Ottawa would take on Rozanov's fast, physical play style or Shane's quietly lethal one.

Shane finally managed to fall asleep around two in the morning which was less than ideal given that they had to be at the rink by nine, and if Hayden noticed anything about the sluggish way Shane blended their protein smoothies the next morning, or that he accidentally added too much milk and made them too watery, he didn't say anything.

Training camp was terrible.

Maybe not terrible, but Shane had never trained so hard in his entire life which was a lot coming from the guy who used to stay two hours after already three hour long practices to train extra. Shane wasn't sure if this was how Coach Wiebe had taken his McGill boys from an abysmally bad losing seasons to the Frozen Four the next year, or if the young coach felt like he had something to prove, but he was working them to the bone.

Shane barely had the energy to cook dinner for himself and Hayden when they would get home before collapsing into his bed to sleep for the night. Even sightings of Rozanov going home with random women on the Ottawa subreddit had ceased.

Shane rarely ran into Rozanov unless it was in the locker room or during film study days, and there they were surrounded by teammates. They'd been kept in separate training groups for all of training camp. At first, Shane had thought it was because Wiebe thought the two of them still had some bad blood from the rivalry they'd been drawn into during their junior years, but it wasn't like they were unfriendly with each other.

Shane said hello to Rozanov every morning, and sometimes they even sat next to each other during film study. Shane didn't really get his answer as to why they had been separated all of camp despite their frequently rotated groups until the final three days of camp. The previous three weeks of nonstop conditioning, training, and drills had all been leading up to these three days that would essentially be a gigantic scrimmage.

"Alright, alright," Shane heard Wiebe call in his gruff "coach" voice. It was deeper and louder than his normal speaking voice. The chatter continued throughout the locker room that was filled with too many people, some of whom Shane knew would be cut by the end of the scrimmage days.

"Hey, shut the fuck up!" A loud booming voice echoed across the walls. It was Cliff Marlow, the left winger Ottawa had acquired from Montreal in the three way trade, their top point scorer last season, newly designated Captain, and Rozanov's roommate. 

Everyone shut up.

"Thanks, Cliff." Wiebe said, clapping the large man on his shoulder. Shane's eyes snapped to Rozanov when he heard him chuckle, probably at the way Marlow had bristled slightly at the use of his first name. That was another quirk about Coach Wiebe, he ignored hockey's standard use of last names as nicknames and called everyone by their first name. He clapped his hands together.

"Gentlemen, the next three days will be very important, so I want you all putting your best skate forward and playing some great fucking hockey." Wiebe paused as a few sticks pounded on the ground in acknowledgement. "Not only will we be determining our regular season roster, we will also be figuring out our lines."

Shane's ears perked up at that. Most of training camp had been conditioning and drills, they hadn't yet played any real games or given any indication what these lines might be.

"We're gonna test some different combinations out, so please play your best, but don't hit each other too hard. We don't want any injuries in camp." Wiebe continued with some other basic rules about how the scrimmage would go, but Shane's mind had already taken off. He'd had the chance to run drills with mostly everyone in the room, and he had a good idea of who the best players were. 

A part of him wondered if the strength of the players on his line would indicate who between him and Rozanov would be the starting center.

"Carson, Shane, and Jesse, I'll have you guys on team gold. Cliff, Ilya, and Hayden will be team red." Wiebe read out from his clipboard.

Shane walked over toward his linemates and pulled on a gold jersey. He had talked with Jesse La Fleur, his current right wing, a little bit the first week. Despite Wiebe's insistence on using first names, most of the guys in the locker room called him Fleury. He was on the smaller side for a hockey player, but he was incredibly fast and very shifty. And despite his smaller stature, he hit hard. Shane had seen some of his AHL tape and knew the guy was not afraid to drop his gloves and get physical.

Carson Vaughn, on the other hand, who Marlow had affectionately referred to as Vegas on the first day of training camp, was a lot quieter than Fleury. He was the younger brother of Carter Vaughn, the assistant captain of the New York Admirals. He had played with his brother on the Admirals last year, and he hadn't been bad, but he hesitated too much on the ice which often resulted in turnovers. 

He was taller than his brother and had broader shoulders, but despite his physical gifts, he was not the same star that Vaughn was. The Admirals had cut him at the end of last season, and Ottawa had quickly snatched him up. If he could just get out of his own head, he'd be a hell of a player, Shane thought.

They spent thirty minutes warming up with passing drills on the ice before Wiebe whistled for them to get ready to start. And this was Shane's first test really as a leader. He circled up with Fleury and Vaughn- maybe Vegas?- along with Chouinard, a veteran defenseman, Roberts, a defenseman that Shane was almost certain would be cut, and Hayes, the goalie Ottawa had gotten from Montreal in the big trade.

"Okay guys," Shane started, taking the time to make eye contact with each player. "They're gonna come out strong and fast, that's Rozanov's signature, but we can wear them down, okay? Let's just focus on short, clean passes to start while we set up our attack, got it?" They all nodded and bumped their helmets against each others before Shane skated to center ice to take the face off against Rozanov.

He bent down and resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Rozanov hit Shane's stick with his own a couple times. "Hello Hollander," He heard Rozanov whisper in his smooth Russian accent.

"Hi Rozanov." He replied flatly, focused on the puck that would be dropping any second from one of the assistant coach's hands.

The puck dropped a second later. Rozanov took off with it, leaving Shane cursing until he watched Chouinard steal it from him cleanly. He resisted the urge to smile when he heard Chouinard chirp out, "Welcome to the NHL, Roz." Before he was sending the puck soaring down the ice, right to the tip of Shane's stick. Shane pivoted and glanced up, looking for one of his wings to pass to as Dykstra, a defenseman from the other side closed in on him. He dropped the puck back for Vegas who he saw in his peripheral as he skated out to meet Dykstra, feigning possession still.

He heard the chalky skid as the puck went cleanly from Vegas to Fleury and took off down the ice toward the red team goal, making sure to stay within passing range for Fleury.

Shane winced as he watched the puck slide out way in front of him toward Vegas who had moved further down the ice. It was easily intercepted by Hayden who quickly slapped it down the ice where Marlow was waiting. Shane turned quickly and took off, hoping to provide some help, but he couldn't get there before Rozanov and Marlow overwhelmed Roberts and the puck was buried in the back of the net.

He skated up to Hayes and patted him on the helmet, because it hadn't been his fault with two gigantic hockey players determined to score. He was a little annoyed that Rozanov's team had drawn blood first, mostly his annoyance was at Fleury for taking that long shot down the ice toward Vegas when Shane had clearly said short, clean passes. He shook the annoyance out as he met Rozanov in the center again.

He vaguely heard Rozanov whisper, "1-0," to him before the puck dropped. This time he won the face off. He sped down the ice, weaving around the other defenseman and shooting the puck toward Vegas before Dykstra intercepted him. He circled back to stay close to Fleury. He would steal the puck from him if he tried another one of those risky long passes.

Marlow checked Vegas in the boards lightly, gaining possession of the puck which he shot down to Rozanov who immediately shot it toward Hayes who stopped it this time. Shane skated toward the center as Chouinard handled the puck, nodding slightly down the ice. Shane got the message. He took off down the ice as he heard the scuffle happening behind him. He turned his head quickly to see that Chouinard, Vegas, and Fleury had formed a triangle formation, passing the puck between each other and drawing the attention of the Marlow, Pike, and Dykstra. He tapped his stick twice on the ice and in the next second, he was skating with the puck Fleury had sent him.

He easily skated by the other defenseman and faked a slapshot before sending a clean backhand into the bottom right corner of the net. He supposed he could forgive Fleury now.

The game ended 6-4 in Rozanov's favor and while Shane was a little annoyed, he wasn't too upset. His team had done as best as they could considering the electric connection between Marlow and Rozanov. Shane hoped that Wiebe would let him play on a line with Hayden the next day.

The sun was setting by the time they got back into the locker room to change. It was a Friday night, and since all they had on the agenda the next day was the scrimmage, they didn't have to be at the rink until four pm. Shane was already preparing his excuse to Hayden for why he couldn't go out. He had practiced it in his head a few times in the shower and while he had changed, and was about to give it when he heard the loud booming voice from earlier.

"We're going out tonight, motherfuckers! Everyone has to come, captain's orders." Marlow again.

Shane was sure he'd understand.

He walked up to Marlow, his bag slung over his shoulder, ready with the excuse he had practiced when Marlow whirled toward him, eyes alight with mischief, "Whatever you're gonna say, I don't wanna hear it, Hollander. You're coming out, or I go tell Coach right now to put you on the second line."

The words died on Shane's lips. He couldn't really argue with that.

It was unsurprisingly fun hanging out with all of the guys. Shane was considering becoming devoutly religious that Marlow had chosen a more lowkey dive bar for them rather than a club. He wasn't sure he would've been able to handle the strobe lights and loud music of a club right now.

He sat in a booth that was probably meant for four regular sized people pressed in between Hayden and Vegas with Fleury, Marlow, and Rozanov squeezed in on the other side. There were three pitchers of half drank beer covering the table, and Shane was just the right amount of intoxicated which was not so much that he'd feel it tomorrow, but enough that he didn't care that much that Hayden had accidentally drank from his cup twice already.

The conversation between them all was unexpectedly easy. Shane was struck by the thought of how lucky he was that he actually really liked his teammates. It wasn't that he hadn't liked his previous teammates when he'd played at Juniors or in the U19 leagues, he just would've never wanted to do something like this with them.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me, man. Really?" Marlow exclaimed in that booming voice of his, nearly falling off his part of the booth when Shane admitted that he'd never taken a shot. "Oh we're fixing that right fucking now." Marlow said seriously as he stood up and walked over to the bar.

Shane accepted the playful teasing from Hayden and Fleury with a smile on his face. They had been talking about how they should all take a shot together, voting on which liquor was best for shots. Marlow had asked Shane what he thought, and that was when it had come out that Shane had never taken a shot.

When Marlow returned, hands full of six shots of shots that looked suspiciously full, he announced, "Tequila," with a wink as Vegas and Fleury protested. Marlow then pulled a napkin out of his pocket that contained a handful of limes.

"Dude, why was that in your fucking pocket? That's weird." Fleury asked him.

"Fuck off, La Fleur." Marlow replied, "You fuckers made me bring back six shots by myself. I ran out of hands."

Shane decided that Fleury was right, and he was absolutely not going to take a lime and do whatever you did with limes during a shot. Shane gripped his shot tightly in his hand, after they did a cheers. He watched the way Hayden's nose wrinkled as he downed the shot and felt a rush of fear as Vegas erupted into a coughing fit next to him and Fleury muttered something that sounded like "fucking disgusting".

His eyes stopped on Rozanov who was staring back at him with his own strikingly perceptive ocean blue eyes as he sipped the shot down slowly, never breaking eye contact. He set it on the table, eyes locked on Shane's. Shane felt his mouth tighten into a straight line. He needed to take the shot, he knew that, but the less than encouraging reactions had made him hesitate.

Rozanov eyes dipped down toward the shot in Shane's hand before he looked back up to meet his gaze again. "You do not have to take it." Rozanov said with a shrug, and it was the first thing he had said directly to Shane all night.

Shane brought the shot up to his mouth, tipped his head back, and took the shot.

He cringed at the taste and coughed a little as the tequila created a burning path down his throat and into his stomach as the liquid tricked down his esophagus. He felt his eyes start to water before a lime was being forced into his hand.

"Bite it man, it helps, I promise." Hayden was saying as he sucked on a lime of his own.

Shane brought it up to his mouth and bit into it, sighing as the burning in his throat finally subsided and the disgusting tequila taste was replaced with the sour tangy bite of the lime. He managed a glance back at Rozanov who was looking at him again with those bright blue eyes and a barely concealed smile.

"Fuck off," Shane muttered, which seemed the magic words that set Rozanov off into a fit of laughter.

"So how was it, Hollzy?" Marlow asked, grin stretched across his face looking like he could do a second or a third.

Shane simply shook his head in response, and smiled as the whole table joined in on Rozanov's laughter.

By the end of training camp, the lines had been settled. The final score of the last scrimmage had been 1-0, in Shane's favor. His line would consist of Hayden as his right wing and Vegas on his left. Their play styles complimented each other well, and Shane's connection with Hayden from living together for the past two months had translated just as well as Rozanov's with Marlow on ice.

The other line would be Rozanov, Marlow, and Fleury, and while Shane still wanted his line to be first, he wasn't as upset as he had been before training camp started about potentially being second.

Maybe it had been the night out where he had finally felt like he belonged after playing hockey for years without a close friend, or maybe it had been the fact that Coach Wiebe assured them after the conclusion of the final game that since the lines were so well matched, they would receive nearly equal time on the ice. All Shane knew was that it certainly hadn't been the shot of tequila making him feel better about it.

Despite training camp ending on a Sunday night, Marlow convinced them to go out anyway, but Vegas had bailed because of an early flight the next morning to visit his brother in New York, and Fleury had bailed to go home to his girlfriend, which just left Shane, Hayden, Marlow, and Rozanov.

Marlow had started off the night with a round of shots of whiskey which had gone down significantly easier than the tequila. Hayden had suggested vodka, but Rozanov had said vodka was meant to be enjoyed, not taken as a shot. Another couple rounds of shots from Marlow and Hayden who were terrible influences on each other had left Shane in an almost floaty, intoxicated state.

He felt himself smiling fondly, watching Hayden ask Marlow for a third rematch arm wrestle. He wasn't sure why Hayden thought he would win on his fourth try, but he cheered his roommate on anyway as Rozanov did the same for Marlow. When Marlow tipped Hayden's hand down onto the table for a fourth time, Shane locked eyes with Rozanov as they botch laughed and shook their heads.

"Okay, maybe different game now!" Rozanov spoke loudly, interrupting Hayden's attempt to ask for a fourth rematch. Their discussion about what they should do next was stopped by the unmistakable sound of a cleared throat from behind Shane.

He turned to see a pretty girl standing behind him with flushed cheeks. "Umm, hi." She said softly.

Shane waited for a beat too long that it was nearing awkward before he realized she was talking to him, "Hi." He replied quickly, hoping that he hadn't come off too rude.

"My name is Sarah," She said, holding out her hand to Shane.

He took it, shaking it twice before releasing it as he said, "I'm Shane."

She giggled, "I know." 

He probably should've assumed she would know his name, but he hadn't wanted to be rude. He also supposed that he should ask to buy her a drink or something, but he didn't really want to. He was having a great time with his teammates, and she was pretty, but there was the whole NDA thing to deal with, but... one drink wouldn't hurt?

"What are you drinking?" He asked, his voice coming out way smoother than he felt inside. He heard Hayden whistle lowly behind him and clap him on the back, but he brushed his hand off.

"Tequila soda," she replied sweetly as he stood from the stool he'd been sitting at to walk over to the bar. He flagged the bartender down, ordered a tequila soda for her and a ginger ale for himself.

His eyes glanced over quickly to where Marlow, Hayden, and Rozanov were pretending not to watch him. His eyes flickered back over to the girl, Sarah. She was closer to him now, and up close he could see that her eyes were a pretty shade of blue, but not as pretty as Rozanov's were.

"So what are you up to tonight?" She asked him, batting her eyelashes quickly. Shane assumed it was supposed to come off flirtatiously, but he couldn't help the way his eyes drifted back to his teammates.

"I, uh, I'm just hanging out with my friends." He replied. He paused for a second before he registered that it was probably rude not to ask her back. "What about you?"

"I came with a couple friends too." She said, placing her hand softly on Shane's arm. The bartender set their drinks down, and he quickly took a long sip of his ginger ale to delay responding. He glanced over at the guys again.

It seemed like Hayden had convinced Marlow into another round of arm wrestling, but Rozanov was still looking at him.

"Look, umm Sarah, you're beautiful, and you seem really nice, but my uh friends and I were discussing some important things about the upcoming season..." He trailed off. He was sure he sounded like a super douche, but she knew who he was, and he just really wanted to get back to his friends. Every second longer he spent with her was another second for someone to snap a picture of Shane Hollander at a bar with a girl's hand on his arm.

Her smile only faltered slightly before she said, "Well can I give you my number then? Maybe you can reach out when you're not so busy."

"Sure," Shane replied quickly, slipping his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her with the phone app open.

"It was nice to meet you, Shane." She said sweetly as she placed his phone back into his hand and leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Text me?"

"Yeah, for sure," Shane replied, plastering a smile on his face as she backed away. When she turned her back, he sighed out in relief.

He signaled the bartender and ordered a round of 4 shots of whiskey, managing to balance carrying them and his ginger ale back to the table with Marlow, Hayden, and Rozanov.

Hayden and Marlow booed him loudly when he got back. "Dude, what the hell?" Hayden asked, punching him in the arm causing the shots to spill slightly.

"Yeah man, she was fucking hot!" Marlow whined.

Shane rolled his eyes, "Shut up, and take your shots." He ordered.

He took his shot quickly and chased it with a sip of his ginger ale. He could feel the alcohol starting to make his cheeks flush. 

"Dude, the pool table just opened up!" Marlow exclaimed with the same joy as a little kid in a candy shop, before leaping off his stool toward the table with Hayden on his heels. Shane took his time walking over and felt a calming presence settle in next to him. Rozanov didn't say a thing about Sarah, in fact, he didn't really say much the rest of the night. Shane didn't either. 

He was all too happy to let Marlow and Hayden chirp each other and fill the air with random stories that never really related to anything that was happening but always started with "That reminds me of the time...."

When he got home later that night, he showered, washed his face, brushed his teeth, set his alarm for nine the next morning because he deserved to sleep in after the horrors of training camp, and deleted Sarah's number from his phone. There was no point in having it when he knew he would never text her. He told himself it was a mix of guilt and whiskey that made him picture her blue eyes before he slept, and ignored the fact that maybe he had gotten the shade of blue mixed up with another.

Chapter End Notes

omg guys you don't understand how excited i am for this story!!! i'm having so much fun and i have so many big things planned!! i won't promise another update tonight bc wow wow i just wrote 5k words, but if not tonight then mid day tmrw for sure.

The slow burn is slowly burning but don’t worry guys im pouring gasoline soon xoxoxo

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

November 2010

To say the season had gotten off to a great start would be a complete and utter load of bullshit. And to say that Shane was a little frustrated would be the absolute, undisputed understatement of the century.

They were mediocre at best, and mediocre was something Shane had never been. His welcome to the NHL moment had probably been the first time they'd played Boston, and Wiebe had sent Shane out to take the first face off of the game. Somewhat surprisingly, he'd won the face off against Boston's very veteran center and had taken off immediately down the ice where he had been tripped by Trevor Morgan, the former Ottawa star left wing and bargaining chip in the three way trade. It seemed he was angry at his former team, and he had chosen to take it out on Shane.

The tripping had resulted in a penalty which the Centaurs were unable to capitalize on because Marlow had immediately dropped his gloves and started fighting once Wiebe sent him over the boards to join Shane's line. Shane supposed he should've been grateful to Marlow, given that the large man had been shouting, "Don't fucking touch my rook!" while he brawled with the Boston defenseman, but Boston had scored just minutes after that, and then again, and then again.

The game had ended 4-1 with the lone goal having been scored by Shane near the end of the third period which was basically garbage time for Boston.

Wiebe still hadn't declared a permanent first or second line, opting to alternate starts between the two and sticking true to his word from the end of training camp that the lines would see equal time on the ice. That was great and all, but Shane just wanted to fucking win.

He called his mom after walking off the ice from their tenth game of the season, which also extended their losing streak to ten. At this rate, they were on a pretty good pace to take the record especially given that they were about to start a six game road gauntlet. 

"Shane!" His mom exclaimed in surprise as she answered the phone. "Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Yes mom," he sighed wearily, trying to keep his voice low as his teammates began stripping around him. The mood of the locker room was extremely somber.

He heard his mom take a deep breath on the phone. He knew she was debating her next words carefully. Despite living less than thirty minutes from the arena, his parents had watched from home. It probably had something to do with the fact that Shane had snapped at them after a brutal loss to Toronto in their sixth game of the season for telling him he had played a great game when he had just lost 2-0.

He had called them later to apologize and tell them it was just hard losing games that they should really be winning in front of the two people who had sacrificed so much to get him to the NHL.

Because honestly what it all came down to was that Shane had always been a winner, and he really wanted to win now. Every loss they took, regardless of if he could trace it back to a moment being directly his fault or not, was grating on him and altering his perception of his own self worth. He was on another self imposed ban from reading the hockey blogosphere. He didn't even need to read it to know that every post was about the absolute robbery Montreal and Boston had committed against Ottawa.

"Great. We're excited to see you, honey." His mom settled on. It was a smart, safe choice to not mention anything about hockey even though Shane knew his parents had watched on the television.

"Me too, mom." Shane replied before hanging up the phone. He showered quickly and changed back into the suit he'd worn to the game. He tuned out Marlow and Rozanov who were trying to convince people to go out with them as he laced up his shoes.

That was another thing bothering Shane. Rozanov, Marlow, and Fleury were constantly going out drinking after losses. It was like nobody else was taking these losses as seriously as he was. He worked on tying his shoes faster. If he got out of the locker room within the next minute or so, he could escape before Wiebe asked him to do press or Rozanov's line started calling him boring for not going drinking with them.

As fun as the camaraderie during and after training camp had been, the appeal of going out had soured very quickly for Shane sometime around their third loss of the season.

"Hey man, wanna watch a movie later?" Hayden asked from next to him.

"Can't. Dinner with my parents." Shane replied almost automatically, only feeling bad after the words left his mouth. He hadn't been great company lately, he knew that, but Hayden hadn't stopped trying yet. Maybe that was what made Shane add, "Actually, do you wanna come?"

Hayden's face brightened, "Seriously? Yeah, I'm down!" They left quickly after that, ducking around Rozanov and Marlow while they were trying their hardest to get Dykstra and Chouinard to come out with them.

Dinner was fine.

His parents were excited he'd brought a friend with him, and Hayden had gotten along with them well. They did end up watching a movie when they got home, and Hayden was content to talk into the abyss, never discouraged by Shane's half-hearted nods of acknowledgement. It was fine. Everything was fine.

The road gauntlet changed everything.

They lost their first game against Florida 6-5. The whole game had been a crazy shootout, the teams trading goals back and forth, and the Centaurs had simply run out of time. Despite the loss, the locker room wasn't as somber as usual as Hayden talked animatedly to Shane and Vegas while they changed about the plays where they had really clicked and how they could repeat and perfect them.

Shane was in a good enough mood that he agreed to have one drink at the hotel bar with the Rozanov line.

"Marlow, I said one drink!" Shane laughed, pushing the shot Marlow had just set down back toward him.

"A shot is not a drink, Hollzy!" Marlow had exclaimed in reply, "Plus, I brought your favorite!" Shane watched in disbelief as Marlow pulled another napkin full of limes from his pocket and set one down in front of Shane.

Shane rolled his eyes as Fleury and Hayden started chanting, "Shot! Shot! Shot!"

"Okay, fine." Shane said exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air. The shot of tequila was no less bad than it had been the first time, but at least Shane had known to put the lime in his mouth immediately this time. 

Somehow, one shot turned into two which, of course, turned into three. And that somehow led to Hayden losing their room key which then led to Shane and Hayden crashing in Marlow and Rozanov's room.

Shane woke up hungover and grumpy because they had a flight in a couple hours to play Tampa Bay later that night, but his mood immediately shifted when he spotted the way Marlow and Rozanov were both nearly falling off their respective sides of the bed. He snapped a quick picture before heading down to the front desk to get a new room key for his and Hayden's room.

That night, despite the hangovers, lack of sleep, almost all of the odds, they beat Tampa 3-0. 

The game was supposed to beat a massacre. Tampa had gone to the semi-final round of playoffs the previous year, they were a tried and true physical veteran team that took a crazy amount of shots on goal each game, and the Centaurs just convincingly beat them.

Shane could have kissed Wyatt Hayes. He had been quite average for a goalie up until the Tampa game. Against Tampa though, he had been lights out.

After press finished, they headed straight to the airport to fly out for their next game, but as soon as they got back to Ottawa, Shane was gonna buy Hayes a fucking drink, or a car, or even a house, he was that hyped up after their win.

They split the next four road games 2-2 and came out of their gauntlet with a 3-13 record which effectively eliminated them from the playoffs, but Shane couldn't find it in himself to be that upset, because they were finally starting to click.

"Listen up, guys. Our chances at the playoffs are extremely low, and I know what the media has been saying, but we are not tanking." Wiebe told them in their first practice at home after the gauntlet finished. "I want you guys giving 110% every practice, every game, every workout. We're gonna play like we have nothing to lose, because we don't."

Shane could get behind that.

January 2011

Hockey players were very particular about their superstitions.

Shane wasn't sure exactly how this one had started. He still wasn't even convinced there was a correlation despite Marlow's insistence of that and causation, but he wasn't about to argue with or put a stop to it despite how annoying cleaning up the next day was.

Right after the road game, the team really had started to click, but better than that, they started to win. Also around that time, Marlow had declared, by royal Captain's decree of course, that they were only winning because they were hanging out after the games.

It didn't really make much sense to Shane, but Marlow had told him a hundred times not to think about it too hard.

So the Hollander-Pike and Marlow-Rozanov apartment had started to take turns hosting the team post game when they played at home. And tonight, after a nail biter against New York, was Shane and Hayden's turn to host. Shane had cleaned the apartment before they'd left for the game, and Hayden had picked up an ungodly amount of cases of beer from the store. And since they had a couple break days before their next game, it had been declared, by Captain's decree again, that they were going out that night.

Which Shane only agreed to because the less time they spent in his apartment, the less he would have to clean up the next day.

And that was how he found himself four drinks deep, singing a karaoke duet with Hayden in a bar in downtown Ottawa while his teammates cheered them on.

When he stumbled off the stage, Fleury clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Hey Hollzy."

"Yeah?" Shane questioned.

"Keep your day job, man." Fleury replied, barely managing to get the words out before he began cackling.

Shane shoved his hand off and murmured, "Fuck off," as he poured himself another pint of beer from one of the pitchers on their table. He looked around the bar, cataloguing each of his teammates and what they were doing, tuning out Fleury and Hayden as they started ribbing each other about their karaoke skills.

Dykstra and Chouinard were on stage, about to start their own duet.

Hayes was animatedly talking about something that could have been literally anything to Marlow, who was surprisingly nodding along completely entranced.

Dillon and Cooper, wingers from their third line, were in a heated game of darts with two girls.

Vegas was sitting with his back to the bar with a watchful eye on the crowd of his teammates, much like Shane.

And Rozanov was talking to some girl who was giggling and hanging off his every word. A very common occurrence when they went out. Shane rolled his eyes and kicked off the floor to walk over to Vegas.

"Hey," Shane said as he leaned on the bar next to him, turning to also face the crowd.

"Hollander," Vegas nodded his acknowledgement.

"Not hanging out with Carter tonight?" Shane asked.

Vegas huffed out something that Shane guessed was supposed to be a laugh. "Nope." He replied popping the 'p'.

Shane had always been one of the quieter hockey players, but Vegas gave him a run for his money. He rarely chirped, he barely fought, he put his head down, and put in the hard work. And even after being on a line with him for the past three months, Shane realized that he didn't really know much about him, other than that he was Carter Vaughn's little brother and had previously played for the Admirals.

A group of girls walked up to Marlow and Hayes, interrupting whatever they'd been talking about. It didn't seem unwelcome though because seconds later, they had paired off and started dancing along to the sappy love song duet Chouinard and Dykstra were singing.

Shane looked inquisitively over at Vegas, who seemed all too content to just watch the chaos in front of him and stay far out of it. He was struck by the thought that despite having the nickname Vegas, the city of chaos and parties and drinking, Vegas was the exact opposite. Maybe he'd gotten the nickname as a bit of irony?

"Why do they call you Vegas?" Shane found himself asking.

Vegas laughed bitterly. "When I played for the admirals, they couldn't call me Vaughn because they already had a Vaughn."

Shane nodded, "Makes sense."

"So, at first they called me Little Vaughn, but that was too long I guess." Shane tried to catalogue the emotions passing over the other man's face. Sadness, bitterness, maybe a slight bit of embarrassment. "They shortened it to LV."

Shane nodded in realization, "Oh, okay. Like LV for Las Vegas?"

"Sure, I guess. I mean, no actually. Not really." His jaw tightened. "It was just LV at first until one of the guys got the bright idea that they should call me Vegas because it was a perfect metaphor for my play style."

Shane nodded even though he wasn't sure he was really following. Las Vegas was bright, bold, flashy, and Carson Vaughn was fast and precise, but he almost always opted to pass rather than take a shot on goal. Not exactly what Shane would call flashy. "I'm not sure I follow..."

Carson made that bitter noise that was almost a laugh but mostly a scoff again. "Have you ever heard the saying, 'The house always wins'?"

Shane nodded.

"Well according to the Admirals, putting me in a game is like playing a Casino in Vegas. You think you've got a good chance to win, because I'm Carter Vaughn's brother after all, so I've gotta be decent, right? And then the house takes you for everything you're worth. And you keep trying because surely the odds are in your favor, I mean how could you go wrong with two Vaughn brothers, right? And you just end up disappointed." He ranted.

Shane let the information settle as he looked at Carson Vaughn in a new light. It turned out, Vegas was not some affectionate nickname given to him based on his own merit. It was something the Admirals had come up with to mock him. And then they had cut him.

"I can't believe they did that to you." Shane managed.

Carson spared him half a glance. "Yeah. I mean, it's whatever. I've been compared to Carter all my life, so."

Shane was suddenly overwhelmed and slightly emotional. He knew what it was like to bend under the pressure of expectations that you could never meet. He'd been doing it all his life. It was different, but similar, and finally maybe Shane had found someone who might understand a bit of what he was going through.

"I know what you mean." He blurted out, and then immediately, "Not that I've been compared to a brother or anything. I don't have any siblings. But the expectations and things. My mom is always on me about setting a good example, and it feels like the press always criticizes me more, and sometimes it just fucking sucks."

This time, Carson spared a longer glance at him.

"I'm sorry." Shane said, "I didn't know that's why they called you Vegas."

"Most people don't. It's not a big deal." Carson replied automatically.

"It is though." Shane replied immediately. "It is."

Carson appeared to hesitate. "I love my brother, I just hate that anything I do in my career has an asterisk next to it. If I score a goal, it's compared to the number of goals Carter scored. If I hit any milestone, they always bring up when Carter reached it."

It wasn't something that needed a response. Carson was just talking, and Shane was just listening, and maybe that was enough. Because Shane knew exactly what he meant. His whole career had been plagued with the same asterisk. First goal scored by Asian-Canadian in the NHL, first Asian drafted in the NHL, first this, first that. And for a moment, it felt like a small weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Well, there's no other Vaughn on our team." Shane finally said. And then Shane catalogued what looked like gratitude on Carson's face.

The next day at practice, everyone called him Vaughn. And the next week, Coach Wiebe gave Shane a jersey that had an A on the chest.

February 2011

Shane had been a little bit surprised when he was selected by the fans for the Allstar game. Maybe he shouldn't have been shocked, because Ottawa had been on a heater after all, but with the way the season had started, Shane wasn't completely sure he would make it despite his mother's assurance. And of course, Rozanov would also be at the Allstar game... but they would not be on the same team.

The league had decided on a somewhat gimmicky Europe vs North America theme, meaning Rozanov would be representing Russia playing for the Europeans, and Shane of course would be representing Canada on Team North America. Rozanov had been texting him posts from the hockey blogosphere all week, theorizing that Team Europe was going to destroy Team North America.

Shane had lifted his self imposed blogosphere ban to skim them before sending back 'Not a chance'.

They had developed a mutual respect and sort of friendship throughout the season, but Shane wasn't still completely sure he liked the guy.

He loved competing against him in practice, nobody pushed him quite like Rozanov did. He could handle going out with him every now and then even though Rozanov usually left with a different girl on his arm. And he could admit that Rozanov was a decent teammate despite most of the rest of the league hating him. Ottawa had not officially been eliminated from playoff contention yet, though the odds were very slim.

It had taken a while for Shane to notice that when his line was on the ice, there were few very few fights. None of him, Hayden, or Vaughn were fighters. In fact, the only time Shane had ever dropped his gloves was a particularly rough game where one of the Colorado players had illegally checked Vaughn into the boards, and before he could even take his first punch, he had been shoved back by Dykstra who had jumped in for him.

Rozanov's line, on the other hand, fought a lot. It seemed like any time Shane took a particularly hard hit and his line was switched out, Rozanov or Marlow, but usually Rozanov, ended up in the sin bin. Shane had thanked him once, after he had decked a guy that had tripped Shane into the boards, and Rozanov had simply shrugged it off and responded with, "Is just being a good teammate and teaching a lesson."

So yeah, they had formed a tentative friendship built on Rozanov fighting people who messed with Shane, and Shane buying his drinks at the bar afterward.

This year's Allstar game was in New Jersey for some reason, and Shane and Rozanov flew straight there together on a red eye from their road game in LA. They spent the first two hours of the flight watching separate movies. 

Shane felt a pair of eyes on him as the final few minutes of his movie wrapped up. As soon as the credit screen popped up, his right earbud was yanked out of his ear, and he sighed out, "Yes, Rozanov?" without even needing to turn to know the man was staring at him impatiently.

"What event are you competing in?" Rozanov asked.

"Accuracy." Shane replied automatically. He had been thinking about it for the past two days since he'd found out. He was pretty sure he could break the current record.

"Me too." Rozanov replied. "Guess I will extend my lead." He had the audacity to wink.

The count between them was currently sitting around 41-43 in Rozanov's favor. They updated it every time one of them scored a goal or won a scrimmage against the other in practice. 

Shane snorted, "Yeah, fat chance, Rozy." He replied.

"Is just a fact of life." Rozanov shrugged, "You are a good player-" He paused.

"Don't fucking say it," Shane threatened, already rolling his eyes.

Rozanov leaned in until he was inches from Shane's ear, "But I am better."

"You fucking asshole!" Shane exclaimed as he shoved Rozanov away from him, unable to stop the slight smile from spreading across his face despite pretending to be angry.

It had become a running joke of theirs.

Last week, they played Carolina at home and won 3-2 due to a hat trick from Shane. Rozanov had spent what felt like half the game in the sin bin for being a fucking menace. Shane had skated past him in the sin bin after scoring his third goal of the night on the Carolina power play, pointed at Rozanov and mouthed 'good' before pointing at himself and mouthing 'better'.

When they had switched off shifts nearing the last couple minutes of the game, Rozanov had responded, "You are lucky we are on the same team."

"You're the lucky one." Shane retorted, knowing it was a super smart reply.

"We'll see what you think when I win rooke of the year," Rozanov had simply shrugged.

"Asshole!" Shane exclaimed.

"I think you do not mind it so much." Rozanov winked, shrugging his shoulders before skating away.

Shane shook his head and muttered, "Fuck off." 

That seemed to be his default whenever dealing with Rozanov.

"How was your movie?" Rozanov asked, changing the subject.

Shane paused, contemplating it for a second. "Fine, I guess? How was yours?"

"Terrible." Rozanov replied without hesitation. "American movies are terrible. Russian movies are much better."

"Why do you watch them then?" Shane asked, "I know they have a couple Russian movies in flight."

Rozanov shrugged, "Is good for me. Helps with my English."

"I think your English is good." Shane replied easily.

"Hollander," Rozanov replied, giving him a deadpan stare, "You are fluent in two languages."

Shane shrugged, "I guess, but I learned both from a young age."

Rozanov hummed in acknowledgement. "Tell me, what is your favorite movie. I will watch it."

"It's not on here, but I have it downloaded on my laptop, here." Shane pulled his laptop out of his backpack, and pulled up the movie, connecting his earbuds and handing them to Rozanov. Rozanov wiped one off and put it in his ear before handing the other back to Shane.

"Can I put subtitles?" Rozanov asked.

"Yeah, hold on." Shane replied as he clicked them on and pushed play on the movie.

"What is it about?" Rozanov asked as the opening credits played.

"Umm, there's this guy who is stuck in a simulation kind of. His life is a tv show and everything around him is an actor, but he doesn't know it." Shane replied.

Rozanov nodded, "Sounds interesting."

Shane yawned, "Yeah, it's pretty interesting." He murmured, and a small smile spread across his face as Jim Carrey appeared on his screen.

He woke with a start to a bit of turbulence. The first thing he noticed was the subtle scent of bergamot mixed with something citrusy. Next was the steady warmth along the right side of his body. The third thing was the closed laptop on the tray table in front of him with a pair of earbuds neatly coiled on top. The fourth thing he noticed correlated very closely withthe second thing and consequently nearly made him jump out of his seat.

The warm thing he'd noticed was the right side of his body pressed into Rozanov's and his head on the other man's shoulder. He sat up immediately.

"Ahh, you are awake." Rozanov commented, and Shane felt his cheeks flush bright pink.

He was unsure of why. He had taken plenty of naps on Hayden and Vaughn during long flights back after road trips without being embarrassed. The current team group chat photo was one of Rozanov and Marlow leaning on each other while they napped on the bus on a drive back from Montreal. There wasn't anything unusual about this, except for some reason, Shane's nervous system wasn't understanding that.

"Sorry." Shane muttered, "Did you like the movie?"

"Is fine." Rozanov replied easily. "And yes. It was not so stupid."

Shane supposed that was as close to a glowing compliment as Rozanov would give to an American movie, so he smiled and nodded sleepily.

A quiet silence enveloped them for a couple moments before they both spoke at the same time.

"You-" Rozanov started.

"I-" Shane said.

They both stopped.

Shane nodded for Rozanov to go first.

"If you want to sleep more," he gestured down back at his shoulder with a slight nod, "Is long flight, and will be morning when we land, so."

Shane swallowed. He was tired, but for some reason, resting his head on Rozanov's shoulder was alighting his senses like he was on a live wire. And yet, "Okay."

He shifted lower in his seat and tentatively rested his head against Rozanov's shoulder, utterly aware of each and every sense and every contact point.

"You can relax." He heard Rozanov whisper, and he released the tension in his own shoulders. He felt a light, warm pressure on the top of his head and realized Rozanov must be resting his own head on Shane's. Something about it made him relax further, and his eyes finally drooped again.

The next time he woke was with the rough jolt of the plane as the wheels touched down on the tarmac, and this time he didn't apologize to Rozanov when he lifted his head off his shoulder. This time, he bit back a laugh looking at the way that Rozanov's hair was slightly messed up from the nap, and subconsciously reached up to pat down his own in case it was messed up too.

They filed off the plane and parted at baggage claim to head to different hotels. Before he walked away, he heard Rozanov call out to him, "Rivals again, for the weekend. Good luck, Hollander."

"Keep it. You'll need it." Shane called back and laughed as Rozanov clutched his chest as if Shane had shot him.

"Ouch, you wound me, Hollander." He replied, and Shane had simply shook his head as he loaded his bags into the car they'd called to take him to the hotel.

The Allstar game itself was a high scoring mess of offense with hardly any defense played, and Shane had never felt more patriotic than when Team North America outscored Team Europe.

He was also pretty damn excited when he had broken the accuracy record that Rozanov had broken less than a minute before. He skated over to the Team Europe bench and skidded to a stop right in front of Rozanov as they announced his winning time. "I think that ties things up, huh Rozy?" He asked as Rozanov groaned.

"You are the asshole now, Hollander." 

"Nope. Still you." Shane replied with a wink before skating over to celebrate with his team.

And if Shane got better sleep leaning against the shoulder Rozanov wordlessly offered him when they got on their flight back to Ottawa than he had the whole hotel stay in New Jersey, he purposely put it out of his mind and refused to think about what it meant. He catalogued it under the same file of things he didn't think about in his mind which included his silver medal at 2008 World Juniors and a certain set of blue eyes that didn't quite belong to Sarah, the girl from the bar after training camp.

Chapter End Notes

i know i said this last time, so don't hate me, but I promise interesting things are coming. i'm a sucker for the boys having good support systems and I got a little carried away with that this chapter, but next chapter will be so fun I guarantee you!!!! xoxoxo

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

March 2011

The conclusion of their 3-2 loss to Carolina marked the Centaurs official elimination from playoff contention at the end of March which was way better than any of them expected at the beginning of the season. Shane couldn't complain too much because according to Wiebe, "progress takes time", and the past year had brought a hell of a lot of progress. Plus, him and Rozanov were leading the rookie scoring leaderboard which was impressive considering they were on the same team.

The team showered, changed, and filed onto the bus for a late night drive to Nashville. Shane still roomed with Hayden during away games, but since they'd gotten back from the Allstar game, Rozanov had started sitting next to him on plane and bus rides. Shane had even bought one of those little adapters online that let you plug in two sets of earbuds so they could both be fully immersed in the movie that Rozanov always let him pick.

The only difference between this bus ride and their normal ones was that this one was much longer, and they weren't getting in to Nashville until three in the morning. Shane sat in the window seat, like usual, and waited for Rozanov to plop down next to him. When he finally got on the bus, trailing Marlow, Shane didn't see what he was holding until he sat and spread it across the both of them.

It was a tacky white and red blanket patterned with the Canadian flag. Shane burst out laughing and was immediately shushed by Dykstra and Chouinard who were already leaned all the way back in their seats with eye masks pulled down. "Sorry," Shane muttered half-heartedly as his eyes scanned the blanket covering his and now Rozanov's legs. "Where the hell did you get this?"

"Toronto. Very overpriced Canadian blanket I got when I flew here from Russia." Rozanov replied. "Was cold."

"And you just carry it around with you?" Shane asked incredulously, turning to look at the man next to him.

"Usually no, but today, yes." Rozanov replied, eyes looking elsewhere as his voice went soft at the end.

Shane inclined his head slightly in question, still staring at Rozanov with that incredulous, almost disbelieving look on his face.

"You are normally cold on the bus, yes?" Rozanov murmured, still looking elsewhere.

Shane couldn't help the laugh that escaped as a smile spread across his face, earning him another in sync shush from Dykstra and Chouinard.

"It is not big deal, Hollander!" Rozanov shrugged, throwing his hands up and finally looking at Shane.

Something warm settled in Shane's chest as he looked at the way Rozanov's cheeks almost seemed a little bit... "Are you blushing?"

"What? No." Rozanov replied harshly almost immediately, "Blushing is- no. Russians do not do this." 

Shane bit his tongue to hold in another laugh and attempt to stop the smile from spreading wider across his face. Instead of pushing it any further, he settled on a simple, "Thank you." 

"Whatever. Shut up, Hollander." Rozanov grumbled. "What movie are we watching today?"

"The Matrix. It's another one of my favorites." Shane supplied, connecting the adapter to his laptop and popping the CD in.

"Ah, so is probably boring." Rozanov said, nudging Shane lightly with his shoulder.

"Fuck off." Shane replied, half-heartedly shoving at Rozanov's shoulder before leaning a bit closer toward the armrest of the seat. 

Shane had seen the movie at least twenty times. The first time had been at the movie theatre when he was 8 years old. He hadn't really understood much of what was happening, but his mom had thought it important that he see someone like Keanu Reeves on the big screen as an example of the impact he could make one day. He hadn't really understood the movie until he was 16, and even then his understanding was rudimentary at best.

It seemed that every time he watched it, he understood or related to a new part of the film. And maybe that familiarity with it, that he now possessed, was the reason he found himself watching Rozanov and his reactions for much of the time rather than the actual screen itself. A smile spread across his face when Rozanov turned to look at him with wide eyes during the pill scene.

He laughed quietly when Rozanov reached out and smacked his arm in alarm when Morpheus sacrificed himself, and he settled with that warm feeling again when Rozanov grabbed his hand in shock at the first gunshot Smith fired at Neo. Shane squeezed his hand twice as he watched Rozanov's eyes turn glassy. 

When the end credits rolled, and the trance Rozanov had been in broke, they both glanced at each other and then down at their hands which were still linked. They dropped each other's hands quickly, and Shane noticed Rozanov subtly wipe at the corner of his left eye.

"Not so boring?" Shane whispered.

"Maybe not." Rozanov replied lightly, rolling his eyes slightly.

As the credits quieted and the movie ended, Shane was suddenly all too aware of the way his thigh was pressed against Rozanov's as the laptop set balanced between them. It was the kind of closeness he often shared with Hayden and Vaughn when they were watching movies. It wasn't uncommon for the three of them to lounge across the couch in Hayden and Shane's apartment, all sharing one blanket because Hayden was constantly spilling sauce on their other ones resulting in a revolving laundry cycle of blankets.

In fact, Shane was pretty sure he'd had Hayden's feet in his lap last time the three of them had watched a movie together while Hayden's head had been on Vaughn's chest. It was also a common occurrence for Dykstra and Chouinard to sandwich him after a particularly impressive goal and spin around with him locked in their embrace on the ice.

So there shouldn't have been anything different or special about the contact between him and Rozanov. And yet, Shane's thigh felt like it was on fire at every point of contact between them. He was probably just extra aware of Rozanov because he'd spent the past two hours watching his side profile, cataloguing every expression and reaction the man had made, and watching the way his lips had tugged up slightly in a smile when something cool was happening, or the slight way his bottom lip quivered when something scary was happening.

The air between them suddenly went stale as Shane leaned back in his own seat closer toward the window. He spared a quick glance at Rozanov who was already looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"All your favorite movies," Rozanov started, voice rumbling with the low volume he was attempting to maintain. "They are all about, um." Rozanov struggled, looking off to the side as he searched for the right word. Shane watched the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and his eyes narrowed. In the middle of the dark bus with only the glowing screen of the laptop illuminating his features, you could barely tell just how blue his eyes were. "People controlling the brain? Thoughts?" Rozanov tried.

Shane hummed slightly in agreement, "Free will?" He suggested.

Rozanov's eyes lit up as they snapped back to Shane. "Yes, that."

Shane nodded, "I think I just like seeing people that have all of these predetermined things happening to them, choices being made for them, and all... and just breaking free of that, you know?" He inhaled deeply, trying to roughly swallow down all of the expectations and responsibilities rising to the surface that constantly plagued him.

Rozanov tilted his head to the side as he fixed Shane with an intense stare. Shane looked away when it started to feel like Rozanov was reading every one of his deepest insecurities and most private thoughts as if Shane was an open book.

"You see you in them." Rozanov stated plainly, as if it were an undeniable truth with no consequences.

"No," Shane protested quickly, "I mean, maybe. A little."

Rozanov hummed lightly as if he were certain Shane wasn't done yet, and fuck him because-

"I just-" Shane sighed, "I'm not like you. I can't do whatever I want, start fights on the ice, say whatever I want, retaliate when someone says something I don't like...  because people will always be talking about me, and not in a good way normally. And my mom, she's always talking about all the kids looking up to me or whatever, but I know that really everyone is just looking, waiting for me to fuck up."

Rozanov looked at him quietly, not protesting, not agreeing, not doing anything but listening, really listening.

"It's like there are all these things I'm supposed to do or supposed to say, and sometimes I feel like I'm not doing any of it right." Shane stared at the back of the seat in front of him intently, managing to keep his voice soft and nearly managing to keep it from wavering as he continued, "Sometimes, it's like I'm not in control of my own life. I'm just putting on a show for people, entertaining them and being everything they want to see from me. It's the ad campaigns, the brand partnerships and commercial shoots, the overly practiced media responses. Did you know my mom put me in media training when I was 16?" Shane laughed darkly.

"And despite it all, if I was given the choice to change things? To take my life into my own hands and just be who I wanted to be, let people see me for who I really am... I don't even know if I could do it." He finished. He opened his mouth to start again, as if there was anything else to say. There wasn't. He closed it and focused on the worn pilling of the back of the seat in front of him, jaw clenched.

He could feel Rozanov's eyes softly burning a hole in the side of his head, willing him to look. He didn't turn.

Finally, Rozanov sighed. "I know what it is like, to not be who you really are." He finally said.

Shane's head snapped to the side to look at him, because what could Rozanov possibly be talking about?

Rozanov who chirped as naturally as he breathed. Rozanov who was spotted with a different woman every other week. Rozanov who fought when someone wronged him, who fought when someone wronged one of his teammates, who fought just for the hell of it because he was bored. Rozanov who other team's fans loved to hate, versus Shane who they simply just hated. And yet, when Shane looked into his eyes and saw the swell of emotion swirling around, he thought maybe Rozanov really did get it.

Shane nodded slowly, overwhelmed with the pure feeling trapped behind Rozanov's eyes.

"You do not have to pretend with me, Shane." Rozanov said and suddenly every particle in the air between them felt like it was supercharged with a thousand volts of electricity. Despite the stupidly obnoxious Canadian blanket, and the heat radiating off the man just inches away from him in waves, Shane felt the hairs on his arm stand up and a bone chilling, icy cold shot through his veins.

He was all too aware that he should probably say something in return, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Rozanov's and he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. The trance was broken when a sports car zoomed past them on the highway right past Shane's window. He managed to look back down at his hands, folded on his lap and mumble out, "Thank you," before a long yawn escaped him.

Rozanov shifted beside him, standing up in the aisle and tucking the end of the blanket under Shane's leg. "You should try to sleep." Rozanov said with a small, tight smile. "I need to call my brother back from earlier."

Shane watched Rozanov walk to the empty front of the bus and bring the phone up to his ear before ducking into a vacant row. He drifted off to sleep to the quiet but harsh Russian rumblings that he could barely make out.

April 2011

The last game of the regular season, and season as a whole, for the Centaurs saw Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov tied at the top of the Rookie goal race. And maybe the rookie defensemen from LA could theoretically be in the running for the award over either of them, but according to the most knowledgeable experts in the hockey blogosphere, this final game could potentially be the decider between the two of them for the Rookie of the Year award.

Shane was surprised by just how much he didn't care who between the two of them got it, as long as it was one of them. Their stats were in terms of goals and assists were nearly identical. And the discussion that had been had all season about determining Ottawa's identity as a team would likely also come into play in the decision about the winner. What play style would the judges reward?

Shane's methodical, careful, precision focused chess-like strategy of scoring goals? Or Rozanov's physical, flashy, intense brute-strength and sheer will style of scoring?

The end of the season had seen a new nickname given to the two. They had gone from hockey's next biggest rivalry from when they were in the juniors to Hurricane Ottawa, sometimes also lovingly referred to as Hurricane Hollanov in the locker room.

One of the local Ottawa reporters had been the first to coin the "Hurricane Ottawa" term, and it had taken off across the whole hockey blogosphere and general North American media. Almost every question Shane had answered in the media since they'd been eliminated from playoff contention had something to do with their incredible turn around in the second half of the season, something about how he felt being the first team out of the playoffs, and what he was most looking forward to about next season. The latter of which he always answered with some nonsense about how he was still focused on finishing out the regular season as strong as possible and would worry about next season, next season.

From the numerous posts he had read, Hurricane Ottawa referred to the unique way the play styles of the different lines complimented each other.

The Rozanov-Marlow-Fleury line hit hard, wearing teams down with their speed and force, frazzling them and putting them on edge, drawing out sloppy mistakes. They were the devastating storm that marked the start of the brutal beatdown Ottawa had laid upon their opponents in the second half of the season.

And the Hollander-Pike-Vaughn line? They were the eye of the storm. Their quick passes, lengthy time of possession, and strategic play set ups weren't flashy. They slowed the game down to a pace that the frazzled, desperate other teams struggled to adjust to. But their line was just as deadly as the former one, almost even more so. 

Because while Shane and Rozanov were tied in personal goals, Shane's line had a solid six more between Hayden, Carson, and the dline than Rozanov's did.

So Ottawa's identity had finally been determined as that of a natural disaster, and it was up to the committee to determine which part of the storm to reward.

Before the beginning of April, Shane had still had his sights set on the award. Sure, him and Rozanov were friends, but Shane had still wanted to win badly. Everything had changed though when Shane left his water bottle on the bench at practice. He'd drive all the way back to his and Hayden's apartment, and had been about to go to the gym for a light run to stretch out his legs from the day's brutal practice when he'd remembered he'd left it.

So he had driven all the way back to the rink to get it because he had the time, and he didn't want it to get misplaced or thrown out overnight. Call it a superstition or something.

He had pushed through the door to the rink from the locker room and heard the unmistakable clatter of a puck being deflected off a puck followed by an all too familiar accent calling out, "Good. Again."

He had watched for a few minutes from the shadows of the hallway leading out to the rink as Rozanov attempted shot after shot on goal, Hayes deflecting every one of them. He cleared his throat loudly as he walked over to the bench to grab his water bottle, and they both paused to look at him.

Hayes had busied himself collecting the deflected pucks that had scattered around the rink while Rozanov smoothly glided over to meet Shane by the bench.

"What are you doing here?" Rozanov asked him, breathing heavily.

"Forgot my water bottle." Shane replied, holding it up and shaking slightly. "What are you doing?"

"Just, you know, extra practice time with Hazy." Rozanov panted out.

Shane suddenly thought to offer him some water. He didn't notice another bottle around, and his was half full after all. He held it out to Rozanov who gratefully took it and squirted a long stream of water into his mouth.

"Spasibo." Rozanov thanked as he handed Shane's water bottle back to him, their fingers brushing slightly.

Shane smiled and nodded. That was one of the extremely, extremely few Russian words he recognized.

"Do you do this often?" Shane asked, gesturing his hand toward Hayes collecting the pucks.

"Eh, usually a couple times after practice." Rozanov replied, shrugging his shoulder and looking off to the side. Shane had started to notice it was something he did when he was trying to downplay things. Like when he'd brought the Canada blanket on the road trip with them for Shane.

"How long?" Shane asked.

"Not long." Rozanov replied dismissively.

"Rozanov." Shane said.

"Hollander." Rozanov replied back defiantly.

Shane sighed, giving Rozanov a pleading look.

"Fine, fine. Since mid November or something. Now put puppy eyes away." Rozanov groaned, doing that looking off to the side thing again.

Shane's eyes widened in surprise when he heard November and then- 

"Wait, that was when we started winning, right?" He asked incredulously as the gravity of what Rozanov's extra practice with Hayes had meant for their team.

"No, yes. Maybe. Is not big deal, Hollander. Hazy was just in his head a bit." Rozanov said dismissively again, waving his hand in the air for emphasis. "Now he is not."

"Rozanov, that's-" Shane trailed off, shaking his head. It hadn't just been the team bonding, it hadn't just been the sheer talent of the two of them, it had been the extra hours and work Rozanov had put in. Shane was absolutely going to go home and compare Hayes's stats before and after mid November when he got home. Before he could finish his thought and say just exactly what it was, Hayes cut in.

"Hollzy! You gonna join us or just keep distracting Rozy?" He called out, having resumed his position in the goal with a neat line of pucks for Rozanov by center ice.

Shane smiled as him and Rozanov in unision called out "Fuck off!"

"My gear is at home, but next time definitely." Shane promised before turning to go. He walked down the tunnel back toward the locker room and spared one glance back toward the ice where Rozanov was cheering obnoxiously having just scored a goal on Hayes.

He had arrived to practice early the next morning and marched straight into Wiebe's office. "You have to give Rozanov the A." He'd said before he could overthink it.

"I- what? Good morning to you too, Shane. Now, huh?" Wiebe had responded.

"Rozanov. The A. He's been practicing late with Hayes since November. He just, he deserves it." Shane had continued.

"Umm, I'm- okay. Uh, I'm a little confused. You know it's April, right?" Wiebe had stumbled. "We have five games left."

"I know, but he's- he should have it. The A." Shane said.

Wiebe sighed. "If you're that insistent-"

"I am." Shane interrupted.

"Okay, then we can finish the season with both of you as Alternates." Wiebe said, "And I'd been waiting until the end of the season to tell you this, but Marlow came in a month ago advocating for you to be Captain next year."

Shane's jaw dropped. "I- what?" 

Coach Wiebe grinned as if he were happy that the roles had reverse and Shane was now the speechless one. "We checked with some of the other vets on the team, just to see how they'd feel about it, because, you know. But they were all extremely enthusiastic and delighted about it."

Shane felt as if his world had just been flipped upside down. He knew his teammates liked him, but he had never considered they'd want him to be their captain. He wasn't the loudest, most energetic guy in any room, much less a room full of hockey players.

"Look kid, you and I both know you're a fucking good player. You're gonna be an Ottawa legend one day, you practically already are. You're also the most level-headed hockey player I've ever met, you have the highest hockey IQ on this team, and you're best person to speak with the officials for sure. Plus, your teammates fucking love you." Wiebe said, and Shane could feel his eyes start to water as the protests died on his tongue.

"Umm, thank you." He replied softly, sure his cheeks were turning a light pink color.

"Even with the whole competition, rivalry shit, Rozanov came in like the day after or Marlow or something to say he wanted you to have it too." Wiebe admitted, and Shane's cheeks burned. "So next season, you'll be our C and Rozanov, I guess, will be our A."

Shane had practically floated to the locker room after their conversation. And when Wiebe had presented Rozanov with an A jersey before their next game, his eyes had immediately looked for Shane. Shane had simply smiled and shrugged before pulling his own A jersey on.

Shane squirted a stream of water into his mouth, panting heavily as soon as he hopped back over the boards, finishing his shift. Rozanov's line was out, and they were already doing what they did best. The final game of the season saw them tied 1-1 with the goal coming from Marlow on an assist by Fleury, leaving Shane and Rozanov still tied in goals. It was a brutal game. They were playing Chicago who was fighting to secure a higher playoff seed.

Shane had no personal grievances against them, but he wanted to finish out the season strong.

His eyes trailed the game unfolding before him, watching a scuffle against the boards resulting in a sharp whistle as Marlow spat blood on the ice. High sticking, 4 minutes.

"Hollander, you're in." Wiebe barked out. The middle of a hard fought game was the only time Wiebe would call them by their last names.

Shane hopped the board and tagged Marlow out, skating over to join Rozanov's line on the ice. It was something they'd experimented a little bit in the past month during their games. And this was the epitome of what the rest of the team called Hurricane Hollanov. Shane nodded quickly at Rozanov who didn't give him one of his usual smiles. Locked in. Ready to win.

Play resumed and they were a blur of motion on the ice. Fleury was fast, the third fastest skater on the team, but even he could barely keep up with the storm that was the Hollander Rozanov power play. It was uncanny really how Rozanov was always right there when Shane needed to pass and how he could send the puck right to the crown of Shane's stick without even looking, like he sensed him.

There were 5 minutes left in the final period, and Chicago would be down a player for 4 of those unless they scored after the first 2 minutes of the penalty. So the priority was to hold the puck and keep it away from Chicago, then score right before their player came out of the box. They managed the first 3 minutes easily, unafraid to send the puck back around to Hayes, keeping their pace slower so Fleury, Dykstra, and Chouinard could keep up. But with 30 seconds left, Shane and Rozanov took off.

Shane was sure they looked like a force, and he was already looking forward to watching the game tape later despite the empty net, because he felt it. They were going to score. A quick sharp pass to Rozanov gave the perfect opportunity. He was going to score, and they were going to win, and then-

Rozanov whacked it right into the goal post. It was an easy shot that he could've made with his eyes shut, and for a split second Shane thought he fumbled it until the puck ricocheted right onto Shane's stick. He didn't think as he tapped it in.

Rozanov was on him, lifting him slightly off the ice, and then Fleury, and then Dykstra and Chouinard were wrapping their arms around him, squeezing tightly. Shane skated to the bench and Vaughn took his place. The team finished off the last minute of the game rather uneventfully, and then they were all crowding the ice celebrating and throwing their gloves and helmets every which way.

Shane tried to talk to Rozanov, but people were pulling him every which way, and then they were in the handshake line, telling a bunch of very angry Chicagoans good game. He didn't see Rozanov again until they had all showered, changed, he'd been pulled for media, and was finally back in the locker room discussing celebratory plans with the guys.

"Rozanov-" he started, but was cut off by an arm thrown around his shoulder.

"Hollzy. Beautiful fucking goal." Marlow exclaimed, "You're coming out, right?"

Shane nodded, and when he turned back, Rozanov had disappeared.

He didn't see him again until they were at the bar, and he was locked in a conversation, surrounded by Fleury and Chouinard. Shane groaned slightly as he took the tequila shot Marlow handed him, not even bothering with the pocket lime.

He talked to Hayden and Vaughn, made polite conversation with a group of girls Hayden wanted to go up to who seemed to be the only girls in the bar that didn't recognize them. He took shot after shot that Marlow handed him, engaging with the team all while keeping an eye on Rozanov who seemed to be dancing some kind of tango with him. Every time he got close, it was like Rozanov took two steps back into some other conversation, and the opportunity was ruined.

Shane knew the drinks were getting to him, and he should probably stop if he wanted to make brunch with his parents the next day. At first, he'd simply wanted to ask Rozanov why he'd let Shane get the goal. After shot number four, it turned into more of a confrontational thing. Shane needed to know why Rozanov had done that. By shot number six, Shane was angry. Because who the fuck did Rozanov think he was?

It had probably taken more skill to shoot the puck in such a way it would ricochet onto Shane's stick than it had to just shoot it in the goal. And why? Because what if he'd been wrong and Chicago had recovered the puck and scored and they'd lost. It was risky, it was reckless, it was everything Shane wasn't, but Rozanov was. He knew Rozanov read the fucking blogosphere, he knew he'd seen the posts placing so much weight on the final game to determine Rookie of the Year, so why the fuck did he let Shane score?

Yup.

Shot six had brought a lot of anger, the need for answers, and when Shane watched Rozanov slip out the back door into the alley, he decided he was going to go demand his answers. He mumbled some probably incoherent nonsense to the girl he was talking to excusing himself and then stumbled after Rozanov and out the door.

He was greeted by the faint smell of cigarette smoke and then was faced with a familiar image of Rozanov leaned back against the wall with a streetlight illuminating half his face as he blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth furthest from where Shane stood.

"I thought you quit." Shane blurted out, which hadn't been what he'd planned at all.

Rozanov took another slow drag before exhaling. "I did. Is only one, Hollander."

Shane marched up to him and grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth, so utterly aware that he was not acting rationally as he dropped it on the ground and stomped it out in the way he'd seen Rozanov do previously before bending down to pick it up.

"You know I have others, right?" Rozanov asked him.

"Why did you do it?" Shane blurted out.

Rozanov paused before turning his head forward to look at the brick wall in front of him. "I did nothing. I missed the shot."

"Bullshit." Shane spat.

"What, Hollander. You think I missed goal on purpose?" Rozanov asked, his voice raising slightly with anger.

"Maybe!" Shane replied, willing Rozanov to look back at him.

"And why would I do that?" Rozanov asked, finally turning. His sharp, blue eyes met Shane's coldly. Normally, they were beautiful in a soft, searching way, but Shane was struck by the thought that right now they looked beautiful in a dangerous way.

"I don't know, Rozanov! You tell me." Shane sighed exasperatedly.

Rozanov shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes as if Shane had said something ridiculous.

"Do you really expect me to believe after practicing with Hayes all season, you missed such an easy shot in such a perfect way?" Shane accused.

"Am not perfect, Hollander-" Rozanov groaned.

"Yes!" Shane exclaimed, "Yes, you are."

The quiet between them that resulted almost swallowed Shane whole. Shane opened his mouth and then closed it. He should have saved this for later when he was thinking more clearly.

"I wanted you to score." Rozanov said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. The rest of the city noise, the pounding bass from inside the bar, the distant whine of sirens in the background, the howling wind of the city night, the echoed chatter all faded to a quiet and the only thing Shane could hear was the heavy breathing of the man standing in front of him, and the fragile, soft words coming out of his mouth. 

And then he was mad again remembering their conversation from the bus to Nashville, because maybe Rozanov had done it because he felt bad for him after the whole tortured monologue about responsibilites and pressure and Shane never wanted pity from anyone. He especially didn't want it from Rozanov.

"Why?" He asked, his voice already coming out harsher than he intended, "Because you felt bad for me or something? You know, I can beat you too, Rozanov. We're 1-1 in World Juniors, remember?"

"Yes, Hollander, I know that." Rozanov said, his voice coming out almost strained now. "Look, why are you out here? Did you come to yell at me? We won."

"Just tell me why, Roz-" Shane said, stepping closer until there was barely a foot between them.

"I told you why, Hollander." Rozanov replied, not backing down from Shane's gaze as both of their breaths came quicker with the heat of the argument.

"No, you didn't. You just- it's because of the whole Matrix-Truman Show thing, right? Is that why you did it?" Shane asked, trying to reason something, anything for why Rozanov might've done it. He searched his face, scanning his expression. His eyes were still impossibly blue, cold, and dangerous. His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made him look almost angry, though his voice was portraying just simple frustration, and his lips?

They were tightened into a thin line with a slight frown, and Shane was struck by how much he missed Rozanov's smile. And then he was mad at himself for pushing, because he knew that he was the reason Rozanov's lips were so flat at the moment.

"I- no. That's not why, Hollander." Rozanov spoke as Shane watched his lips move. His voice was soft, much softer now.

"Then why?" Shane nearly pleaded, finally looking back up to make eye contact with Rozanov.

Rozanov took a deep breath that sounded like it almost pained him with how shaky it was, and then he finally broke eye contact with Shane, his gaze fluttering down slightly. Shane felt himself lean slightly closer to Rozanov as the wind blew behind him, noticing now just how close they were, mere inches separating their faces. He also distantly somewhere off in his dimmed senses noticed just how little he cared how close they were because somewhere during all of the flights and bus rides, being close to Rozanov had started to be familiar and comforting.

"You smell like tequila." Rozanov said softly, pulling back slightly to which Shane followed.

"Just answer the question, Rozanov." Shane whispered, suddenly aware that his words were slurring a bit.

"I wanted you to score," Rozanov paused, "Because I like when you are happy."

The words brought a realization that hit him like a bucket of ice water. Rozanov stepped back but placed a steadying hand on Shane's back as he swayed.

"Ah, you've had too much to drink." Rozanov questioned, cutting off Shane's protests, "Let's get you inside."

Shane was pretty sure his eyes were stuck widened in alarm as Rozanov sat him down at the bar, and he was only distantly aware of a cup of ice water being brought to his lips and Hayden's voice saying, "Buddy, are you okay?" He was very, very acutely aware of Rozanov's hand leaving his back and the cold air that took its place. The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of leaving the bar, being helped into an Uber, and then Hayden guiding him into their apartment and to his room.

"Try and drink some more water, Shane. I'll text David and Yuna to push back brunch a little." Hayden said.

His mind played the night back in flashes like an old film reel. The alley. The cigarette. Him. Rozanov. The mere inches between their faces. And the realization that Shane had wanted Rozanov to kiss him.

Chapter End Notes

I sit down to write these damn chapters and the next thing I know I've gone in a different direction than what I've planned, three hours have passed, and I am impossibly more in love with these characters and this story than ever before. I hope you guys are enjoying reading this story as much as I am writing it. I've fallen in love with writing Shane's POV and giving these boys supportive friends, I think.

Let me know your thoughts, love y'all, uh! xoxo

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

June 2011

Shane hadn't spoken to Rozanov since the bar the night of their last regular season game.

And he had hoped that maybe the time spent apart would make it easier to see him in Boston at the NHL Awards in June. Maybe the time spent apart would help him forget the way he had absolutely embarrassed himself at the bar. Because the more he thought back on it, the more he was sure that if Rozanov hadn't leaned back when he did, Shane would have closed the distance between them, and then he would have had to move to some remote coastal village where they didn't have cell service and surely nobody had ever heard of the NHL.

It had taken an incredible amount of effort and lying to Hayden and the rest of the team to pull off the massive feat of not running into Rozanov for two months when they lived in the same city, hung out with the same people, and had nothing to do other than work out or go out.

One of the weeks had been spent in Hawaii with his parents. Another two had been spent at the cottage in Ottawa, scoping out different plots of land in the area. He had actually purchased one last month and was in the process of finding a builder he liked to construct a cottage of his own.

The time he had spent at the Ottawa apartment with Hayden had consisted of waking up at 4 in the morning to work out at the Centaurs' facilities, spending half the day napping on the couch, and avoiding any and all mentions of team bonding that did not consist of him and Hayden and sometimes Vaughn on their couch, in their apartment, with the front door locked.

Shane had even gone to the trouble of securing his own flight to Boston a few days before the chartered one to the Awards ceremony, so that he would not have to worry about seeing Rozanov on the plane. 

He knew he was being a little bit ridiculous and maybe overreacting a moderate amount. He was never taking tequila shots again, that was for certain. And for all important intents and purposes, he was pretty sure that the alcohol had a major part in that weird little thought he'd experienced back in April. Even if he had run into Rozanov somewhere in Ottawa, it would have been fine. Especially with Shane being sober. Because he wasn't...

He couldn't be...

He'd had girlfriends before. He could appreciate a nice pair of boobs. He wasn't blind. Sure, he wasn't going off and picking up random girls at bars like a lot of his teammates did, but that was only because he had a reputation to uphold. Every time he thought about maybe asking one of the girls he chatted with when he was being a good wingman to Hayden to come home with him, he was only turned off imagining how his mother would lay into him if photos turned up in the press. That was the only reason. 

If not for that, he would totally bring a girl home.

All he wanted was to be Shane Hollander, amazing hockey player. Shane Hollander, Centaurs' star center. Shane Hollander, the guy who brought the cup back to Ottawa. He wasn't going to let some stupid drunken thought turn him into Shane Hollander, the thing guys hurl at each other as an insult in the locker room. Not that anyone in Ottawa did that, but he was certain there were some teams in the league that would.

So, he reminded himself that seeing Rozanov at the awards later was absolutely not a big deal. They would be seated next to each other and expected to be friendly and get along, they were teammates after all even if they were up for the same award. And it would be really nice to actually catch up with Rozanov and see what he had been up to.

Shane convinced himself that he was almost excited to see his former rival at the awards. It was absolutely going to be 100% totally fine.

He sat down in his seat for the awards show fifteen minutes early. He made casual conversation with the rookie defenseman from LA, Joe Smyth, who was seated to his left. He glanced down at his watch as the minutes ticked by without any sign of Rozanov.

Smyth probably thought Shane was neurotic with how many times he glanced down at his watch, and maybe he wouldn't be wrong. Where the hell was Rozanov?

The lights dimmed. Shane glanced around before pulling out his phone. He clicked his messages and scrolled all the way down to his thread with Rozanov. Their last text was Rozanov asking if Shane had gotten back okay. Shane hadn't responded.

He quickly typed out 'Where are you?' and hit send seconds before he heard the familiar rumble "Hollander."

His head snapped to the side, and there was Rozanov.

And fuck.

His normally slightly unruly curls had been slicked back, his suit was perfectly tailored, and the top few buttons of his shirt were left open, displaying the thin gold chain and cross that hung around his neck. As Rozanov lowered himself into the seat next to him, Shane was struck by the thought that he looked absolutely sinful, in like a bro way, of course.

"Rozanov," he whispered out. He would have said it louder, but all the noise in the auditorium had quieted to a subtle hum, and maybe Shane's vocal chords were betraying him a little bit.

He watched the slow smirk pull across Rozanov's face. "You have been a very hard man to find lately," Rozanov murmured, leaning in slightly so they could converse without bothering anyone else.

Shane felt himself drawing in closer too, eyes tracing and cataloguing every micro expression and shift on Rozanov's face. "I, uh, I've been busy."

"Have you?" Rozanov asked softly. Shane's eyes fluttered down to watch the way that Rozanov's tongue traced over his bottom lip. He held in what he was sure would have been an utterly embarrassing cross between a whimper and a whine and sucked in a deep breath. Reluctantly, he brought his gaze back up to meet Rozanov's. 

Rozanov's eyes had considerably darkened from their usual calm ocean blue to a more dangerous dark stormy sky. They were the most beautiful eyes Shane had ever seen, and the two months he had spent avoiding Rozanov had done nothing to erase or change that.

"Hollander," Rozanov spoke in a way that sounded like a threat, a promise, and a warning all wrapped up in one.

"I-" He started and immediately trailed off because what could he possibly say? What excuse could he even give? Like 'Sorry I never responded to your text and religiously avoided you for the past two months. I know it was shitty because you've actually become one of my best friends, and I've told you things I haven't told anyone else. I just got scared because I realized how much I wanted you to push me up against the wall in that alleyway and-'

No. He absolutely could not say any of that. So he fumbled his words, and searched for any plausible, reasonable excuse for why he would have disappeared off the face of the Earth the past two months. Vaguely, he processed the warm, steadying pressure of Rozanov's knee pressing against his own, tethering him back into his body. He was saved from having to answer when he received a quick, sharp elbow to his other side and jerked his head around to see Smythe subtly pointing at the camera man in the aisle who currently had his camera trained on them.

"Thanks," he muttered under his breath out of the corner of his mouth to Smythe as he focused his gaze straight ahead at the stage in front of him. Rozanov shifted his body away from Shane, having noticed the camera man as well. Shane was a little terrified by how much he missed the grounding, reassuring pressure of Rozanov's knee pressed against his own.

The words spoken by the presenters went in one ear and out the other as Shane desperately racked his brain for possible excuses as to why he had fucked off and disappeared right after the end of the season that didn't have anything to do with wanting to kiss Rozanov. But every time he reminded himself that he could absolutely not mention that night at the bar, he started thinking about what it would be like if they actually had kissed.

He focused on making his breaths come even as he watched the presentation of the bigger awards. When the camera man returned and focused on the three nominees for Rookie of the Year, Shane plastered a brilliantly white, brilliantly fake smile to his face, waving slightly and nodding as they announced his name as one of the nominees. He held his breath as the onstage presenter fumbled to open the envelope and pull out the card holding the winner's name.

And when they read out his name, he was mostly glad for the chance to get away from the intoxicating air around Rozanov that smelled faintly of cigarettes and strongly of bergamot, citrus, and thoughts he was absolutely not allowed to think. Smythe stood both to shake his hand and let him out of the aisle, and Shane shook his hand firmly and quickly before turning to Rozanov who was also standing.

Shane was aware that there were cameras on them from probably every possible angle. He was aware that everyone in the room was watching, waiting with bated breath to see how the two former Junior level rivals would interact.

Rozanov offered his hand with soft eyes and a small smile, "Congratulations, teammate." He whispered, and Shane heard it despite the roar of applause that was still going.

"Thank you." Shane managed back softly, holding Rozanov's gaze for just a few seconds longer before turning to make his way up to the stage and accept the award. 

He shook hands with the presenters on stage, accepted the plaque, and stepped up to the mic, pulling his brief pre-written speech out of his suit pocket. He drew in a deep breath.

"First, I want to thank my parents for teaching me the importance of humility and respect, and sacrificing all they did to get me to this point. I want to thank Coach Wiebe, my teammates, and all of the assistant coaches, trainers, and Centaurs staff for believing in me and helping me get to this point. I know that I could have never done this by myself. I also want to acknowledge my fellow nominees Joe Smythe, who had an incredibly impressive defensive season with LA, and Ilya Rozanov-" he paused for a breath, and let out a breathy laugh that was echoed back to him from the audience.

"Rozanov, umm, I couldn't have done this without you. You push me every single day in practice, have since we were still competing each other in Juniors." Shane paused to let the audience laugh. "Thank you to the committee for awarding me this honor. And finally, I'd like to thank the city of Ottawa and all of the fans who came out to our games. We're just getting started, and I hope to make you all proud."

He walked off the stage and was ushered to the press room where they had him answer a few questions about his new award. They didn't let him return to his seat as there was only one award left to present, and it was probably for the better. 

Shane walked into one of the bathrooms in the ballroom that had been turned into a celebratory gala style afterparty from the awards. He splashed water on his face and examined the reflection staring back at him. He looked so utterly normal despite the absolute chaos tearing up his stomach. He had almost convinced himself that the whole bar situation had just been a figment of his imagination, a product of one too many shots of tequila.

But after the way Rozanov had looked at him just over an hour ago, there was no use in pretending. Something was completely fucked up in his head, and he had no idea what to do about it.

The night had been a whirlwind of meeting people, accepting congratulations, being offered- and turning down- shots, and staying at least 50 feet away from Rozanov at all times. In fact, he hadn't even seen his former rival the whole night. The ballroom was that fucking big, and there were that many fucking people who wanted to talk to him.

And for that matter, Shane had barely strayed more than an arms length from his mom's side the entire night. Yuna was absolutely in her element, and Shane was pretty sure that she was going to be walking away from the night with about a half dozen or more players begging her to be their manager.

His face was starting to hurt smiling his way through a conversation with an investor of Toronto's team who he was pretty sure was trying to plant seeds of Shane defecting to them once he was eligible for free agency, thought that wouldn't be for a good number of years, when he was interrupted by a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Mind if I steal Hollander from you, Mr. Doyle?" A loud, confident voice spoke from behind him. Scott Hunter.

"Ahh, no problem I guess. Have fun tonight, Mr. Hollander. And remember what we talked about." Mr. Doyle said with an over exaggerated wink, shaking Shane's hand one last time before Scott Hunter was quickly steering him away.

"You're welcome, by the way." He murmured under his breath as he led Shane straight to the bar.

Shane gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded his thanks, not too keen on conversing with Hunter longer than he had to after hearing what Vaughn had been through during his time on the Admirals.

"So, uh, what would you say about some shots with me and some of the other old fucks?" Scott Hunter asked him with a wide, face-splitting grin.

Shane didn't want to be rude, and one harmless shot wouldn't bring him to the point he'd been two months ago, so he agreed, "Sure, man."

"Awesome!" Scott Hunter replied enthusiastically as his eyes lit up, and Shane suddenly had a hard time believing he could kill a spider in the locker room, much less come up with such a degrading nickname for Vaughn. "Rozanov wasn't so sure I could get you to agree."

Shane felt his mouth drop slightly open, and was glad that Scott Hunter wasn't looking directly at him. He wondered what the conversation between Scott Hunter and Rozanov had been like, how it had started, and what tone Rozanov had used when he'd said that. Rozanov probably said it because he thought Shane was boring. He was always calling him boring in the locker room. 

Shane followed Scott Hunter over to a more private section of the bar where sure enough, a group of veteran players were waiting along with Smythe and Rozanov.

"He agreed easily, Roz." Scott Hunter said boisterously with that same smile on his face, "Didn't even have to do any convincing."

Shane watched something that looked a little bit like hurt flash across Rozanov's face before it was replaced by a cool smirk. "Ah probably he knows you have one foot in grave, about to retire. Feels bad for you." Rozanov chirped easily, it was second nature for him after all.

"Man, fuck you, Rozanov." Scott Hunter replied quickly, though he was still smiling.

"Alright boys, what are we drinking?" An all too familiar voice asked. Well, not exactly familiar. Shane's jaw nearly dropped as his gaze settled on what seemed like a slightly shorter, but almost identical version of Carson Vaughn. It was uncanny, really, how much the Vaughn brothers looked and sounded alike.

There was a chorus of responses, but Carter Vaughn turned toward Shane, singling him out. "I think," he drew out the last syllable for dramatic effect, "We should let Mr. Rookie of the Year choose!" His voice gained in volume as he neared the end of the sentence, eliciting cheers from the rest of the vets.

Shane blushed slightly under all the attention as everyone turned to look at him. "I'm not picky," he replied, "Just not tequila, please."

He let the arguments about which liquor was best to take a shot of wash over him and forced a small, polite smile to rest on his face. Inside, his head was a mess of thoughts, his suit was starting to feel a bit too tight, and consequently, he was struggling to get a full lung's worth of air in. The discussion finally settled that whiskey was the least offensive option, and Scott Hunter ordered the round of shots.

Shane took his almost as soon as it was handed to him, stayed for an extra minute to be polite, and then excused himself to go get some fresh air. He walked out the large doors leading out to the rose garden that wasn't nearly as impressive at night as it was during the day. And he was finally able to breathe normally again as the noise and all the chatter from inside faded to a quiet, leaving him at peace with his own thoughts.

His peace and quiet didn't last for long.

"Hollander," his voice was soft, low, and quiet. He didn't need to be loud.

Shane resolved to keep facing one of the bushes with flowers he could barely make out. It wasn't just that he didn't want to face Rozanov right now, even though he'd known the second he'd excused himself from the group that Rozanov would follow. He couldn't face Rozanov right now.

He couldn't look at him with his perfectly slicked back hair, and his perfectly blue eyes, and his perfectly tailored suit, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what Shane needed like with that stupid fucking blanket, and the stupid, stupid way he had wormed his way into Shane's head and all of his waking, and sleeping, thoughts and refused to leave.

He could sense Rozanov standing just a foot behind him, he could practically feel his eyes burning holes in Shane's back. "Hollander," he repeated again, an impatient note to his voice now that came across almost pleading, but not demanding, and never forceful.

Shane drew in a quick breath to stop himself from doing something more embarrassing, like whimpering. He hated that his stupid eyes were betraying him. He could feel them beginning to mist with tears, and that was really the last thing he needed at the moment.

"Did I do something wrong?" Rozanov asked, and Shane turned quickly to look at him after hearing the almost desperate, wounded tone to his question. Rozanov was looking at him cautiously, as if he was worried that Shane would run if he moved too quickly or said the wrong thing.

"No!" Shane exclaimed immediately. "No, you didn't- I just, the season was a lot, and I needed some time to myself..." Shane trailed off, unsure whether Rozanov believed his answer. Shane wasn't even believing his answer. Probably because it wasn't true.

"So this has nothing to do with our last game?" Rozanov questioned softly. "You are not mad still I pass to you to score?"

"No, Rozanov! No." Shane reassured quickly, and he could see why Rozanov felt that way. From what he clearly remembered of that night, he'd been rather confrontational about the whole goal thing. "I mean, how could I be?" Shane questioned, laughing darkly, "It's the whole reason I got the award."

Rozanov took a careful, measured step forward. There was less than half a foot between them now. "Hollander, you know this is not the case."

Shane shrugged, "I mean, isn't it though?"

"Hollander," Rozanov said exasperatedly, "You score more goals than me. You have more assists than me. Your line has better production than my line-"

"Yeah, well, that's just because you spend a lot of time in the penalty box." Shane cut in. "And mostly, you're in there because..." he trailed off, "Because you're defending me." The end came out in a whisper, and Shane looked down at his feet, unable to take the intensity in Rozanov's eyes any longer.

"So if is not this, then what?" Rozanov asked softly.

Shane shrugged helplessly.

"We are friends, yes?" Rozanov questioned.

Shane nodded his head quickly.

"Then," Rozanov started, then sighed, "Why have I not seen you for months?"

Shane bit down hard on his bottom lip as he felt his eyes start to mist again. He would not cry over this. The only problem was that he wasn't sure if he could open his mouth and respond without a traitorous tear escaping.

"Hollander, please look at me." Rozanov pleaded, taking a slight half step forward until they were in almost the same position they'd been in in the alley two months ago, and Shane almost wanted to throw up even though he'd only had one shot this time.

He watched as Rozanov's hand slowly lifted from its place at his side and reached upward until there was one finger curling under Shane's chin and tilting his head up. They were so close that Shane could feel the air Rozanov exhaled brushing against his face, and all it would take would be a moment of brave stupidity and a couple inches leaning forward until his lips were pressed against Rozanov's. And from the glassy look in Rozanov's once again dark, stormy eyes, Shane was starting to think maybe Rozanov wouldn't push him away in disgust.

He suddenly felt drunk, and he let his eyes flutter shut.

"Shane!" 

His eyes snapped back open, and he jumped away from Rozanov as if he'd been burned.

"Shane, where are you?" His mom called out. 

He took two steadying breaths before stepping out from behind the rose bush and hurrying over to her. "Mom! I'm here." 

"Honey, are you okay?" She asked, "Did the party get too loud?"

"It's- no, I'm fine, mom." He replied with an unconvincing smile, he was definitely not fine. "I was just getting some air, and uh, talking to Rozanov." 

With that, Rozanov stepped out from behind the bush also. "Hello Mrs. Hollander," he said, waving awkwardly.

"Rozanov, I've told you to just call me Yuna!" His mom exclaimed, walking over to Rozanov to pull him into a slightly awkward, yet gentle hug. "How has your night been? I'm sorry you didn't win." His mom said almost a little too sincerely.

"Mom!" Shane exclaimed, rolling his eyes when she laughed.

"Is good. Everyone is very nice." Rozanov replied easily.

"Good." His mom said with an appraising look on her face, "Well, I just wanted to tell you that your father and I are heading to bed, Shane." She walked back over to him and gave him a hug, "Don't drink anymore, you know it's not legal here, and we don't want that getting out." She whispered to him before she pulled back.

"I wasn't gonna, mom." Shane defended honestly but also with a hint of annoyance.

"Okay, good boy." She replied, patting him twice on the cheek before she let him go completely. "Goodnight, I love you. Goodnight to you too, Rozanov." His mom said.

"Goodnight, love you," Shane mumbled back and then his mom was off. It didn't matter though, the moment had broken and been a sobering reminder of how in public they were. "We should probably go back inside," Shane said after watching his mom shut the door to the noise inside.

"Is what you want?" Rozanov asked, his voice a careful mask of emotion giving nothing away.

"Yeah, I guess," Shane mumbled quietly.

"What room are you in?" Rozanov asked.

Shane's eyes widened in alarm as he took in the nonchalant look on Rozanov's face as if he hadn't just said something completely insane. "I- what?"

"Is just to talk, Hollander." Rozanov replied quickly, "Not so easy... here." Rozanov looked around at the environment they were in, seemingly referring to all of the windows and people around, but Shane didn't want to get too ahead of himself, thinking about what all that would mean.

"Oh." Shane replied, his voice sounding small in his ears.

"Tell you what, I am in 1221. Come find me later, yes?" Rozanov asked.

Shane nodded slowly.

Rozanov nodded back at him as if to confirm, and then walked around him, giving a wide berth, and made his way back inside.

Shane wandered back into the ballroom, completely dumbfounded and unsure of what to expect. Rozanov had just been less than four inches from him, and it had almost felt like they had been about to kiss. But surely that couldn't be? Because for all of the utter confusion and mess that was going on in Shane's head, he knew one thing to be certain. Rozanov was straight. There were so many photos of him going home with different, beautiful women all over the internet. 

The more logical explanation for all of this, rather than assuming that Rozanov had wanted to kiss him, was that he wanted answers. He had given Shane the last goal to put him in the lead after all, and Shane had repaid him by avoiding him at every cost. Rozanov probably just wanted to know why.

He had barely been back in the ballroom for five seconds when he was being called and beckoned over by none other than Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn, who both must have had at least three more drinks since the last time Shane saw them, because they were slurring their words.

"Hey guys!" Shane greeted with a polite smile as he made it over. And great, this was a perfect distraction, because even if he wasn't planning on drinking anymore, this would give him more time to think about what had just happened and decide if he was actually going to Rozanov's room later to be grilled about why he'd been such a dick the past couple months.

"Hollzy!" Carter Vaughn cried, wrapping his arms around Shane once he got within reaching distance and placing a big, wet, smacking kiss on Shane's cheek. Shane resisted the urge to make a disgusted face while he subtly wiped his cheek against the sleeve of his jacket. "You," Carter said, pointing his finger into Shane's chest, "Are a good fucking dude!" 

Shane laughed, a slightly confused expression showing on his face.

Scott Hunter took notice and quickly jumped in, "Carson was telling us about you and the rest of the team."

"Oh," Shane replied, smiling. "Yeah, he's great. One of my best buds."

"He told me about the whole," Carter waved his hand in the air, "Vegas thing. It was fucking stupid man. Awful. Dumb. The worst." Carter Vaughn's eyebrows furrowed together in a way that Shane recognized. His brother normally wore a similar expression when they were in the middle of a tough game. "I didn't know. I didn't fucking know those asshole-"

"Okay, bud." Scott Hunter cut in, wrapping an arm under Carter's shoulders as he swayed on his feet. "We didn't find out until a month ago when Carson came to visit us in New York for the weekend. But, bag skates for all of 'em when we get back to training camp."

"Damn straight!" Carter exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. "Nobody fucks with my baby brother."

"Yeah, we share that same sentiment in Ottawa," Shane said with an easy grin as he felt his shoulders fully relax around the two. He'd spent the past few months thinking that Vaughn's team had been complete assholes, brother included, and had been guarded in talking with Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn earlier. He guessed it made sense that the top line wouldn't know the origin behind the degrading nickname, especially given that Carson had rotated between the third and fourth line when he'd played for the Admirals.

He engaged in easy conversation with Carter Vaughn and Scott Hunter about all things from junior league hockey to adjusting to the league to hopes and aspirations for next year that translated into good-spirited ribbing about potentially facing each other in the Olympics in a couple years. He found that he actually really liked the two of them, and it was clear that they had a solid friendship, much like his with Hayden, and maybe what he had had with Rozanov.

"This guy, right here," Scott said, smacking Carter on the shoulder, "Once got so drunk the night before a game that I'm pretty sure he was still drunk the next day when we played."

"Bullshit! I was not!" Carter cried in outrage, nearly sloshing the water he had switched to drinking all over the bar. "Plus, you're one to talk!"

"Oh come on, Vaughnny. You know I don't get sloppy like that." Scott retorted, rolling his eyes.

"You definitely do- holy shit." Carter interrupted himself as he looked off at something behind Shane. He whistled lowly, "Damn, Rozy."

Shane turned slowly, and his eyes found Rozanov in what looked like slow motion. He was standing across the room with his hands gently placed on the hips of one of the most beautiful women Shane had ever seen. She had glowing olive skin, curly auburn hair that framed her face perfectly, and the most beautiful, piercing eyes that Shane could make out even from across the room. Rozanov was looking at her and laughing with the most relaxed smile Shane had ever seen on his face.

And then she was pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth, and Shane almost got whiplash with the way he turned his head back around. He didn't need to watch it, he wouldn't.

Whatever small dash of hope or delusion that he had been holding onto that maybe Rozanov had felt something similar to what Shane had been feeling died right then and there. What an ironic twist of fate it would have been for Shane to go knock on Rozanov's door only to hear whatever noises would be coming from behind it. Maybe that was what Rozanov had wanted when he'd given Shane his room number. This was just some cruel form of payback for Shane ignoring him for two months.

Shane felt stupid. He wanted a sinkhole to open up at his spot by the bar, swallow him up, and close before anybody even realized what had happened.

"Oh yeah, that's his date. I met her earlier." Scott Hunter supplied, which really just made everything worse. Maybe Shane didn't like him so much after all.

He was such an idiot. Maybe he hadn't been as obvious as he'd thought, practically begging for Rozanov to kiss him. Maybe Rozanov hadn't noticed what a complete, absolute fool Shane was. He made the decision right then and there that he definitely was not going to be visiting Rozanov's room later to talk and face whatever humiliation ritual Rozanov had planned for him there. And he was infinitely glad to whatever higher beings were out there that he had not given Rozanov his own room number. He was even more glad, if that was even possible, that he knew from Hayden who knew from Marlow that Rozanov was flying straight back to Russia from the awards ceremony, so Shane wouldn't even have to worry about running into him in Ottawa at least until mid way through August since the start of training camp was not mandatory for international players.

"She's smoking." Carter Vaughn replied to Scott Hunter, still staring, and yup, that was enough of the two of them for the night. In fact, that was enough of everyone for the night.

Shane faked a yawn, accompanying it with a stretch to really sell things. "Well, I'm exhausted, guys. But was great chatting."

The two of them chorused "Goodnight," and "Don't be a stranger, Hollzy." 

And finally, Shane was able to make his great escape up to his room, where he promptly turned his phone off and buried it at the bottom of his suitcase. He took a quick shower, did his nighttime routine, and slipped into bed. 

The room was dark due to the blackout curtains, and the noise outside was distant and faint, yet Shane could not sleep. His mind was haunting him by replaying the two almost kisses that Shane was now sure only he wanted to be kisses. Shane reasoned that Rozanov probably didn't give a fuck about personal space, that's why he hadn't been bothered. He was European after all, and Shane was pretty sure that was a European thing.

The only piece of the puzzle that still didn't quite fit was why Rozanov had asked him to come to his room. He had said just to talk, but Shane figured it would probably be really fucking awkward to talk about their not-almost-kiss being why Shane had ignored him for two months in front of the girl he had apparently brought with him. And of course, he couldn't tell Rozanov about that, not then and especially not now, so there wasn't really a point in them talking anyway.

There was a weird feeling crawling into his chest and making itself at home. It felt kind of like a loss, though Shane wasn't sure what exactly he was losing. And somehow, despite the thick comforter of the bed and the surely expensive climate-controlled room, Shane felt an icy cold coursing through his veins and settling deep in his bones, one that couldn't be cured with extra blankets or upping the temperature on the thermostat. It was the kind of cold that was uncurable and unrelenting even in the middle of summer, and it was the type of cold he hadn't felt since before his first World Juniors tournament.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter <3 <3 sorry if it's not what you were hoping for (i'm not sorry) 🤭 also fun fact: i adapted part of shane's speech from T-Mac's (panthers) roty acceptance speech (nfl)

god i love to write from shane's pov, he's so complex and frustrating... new chapter coming soon! hugs xoxo

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

October 2011

Shane never went to Rozanov's room. And Rozanov never texted.

And if Shane spent the whole summer waiting for Rozanov to call or text or just do anything... that was between him and his childhood bedroom ceiling that had watched him stare at their text thread every other night.

He went through almost every possible emotion that summer. He started off with jealousy toward the beautiful woman Rozanov had apparently brought with him to the NHL Awards ceremony. He was jealous that she was important enough to him to be brought as his date, he was jealous that she could show him that type of affection out in the open without any backlash, and he was jealous that where he had brought his parents with him, Rozanov had brought a partner.

The jealousy faded into hurt. He was hurt because over the almost year they spent together as teammates, Shane had grown to really care for Rozanov as a friend, and he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone in feeling there was something between the two of them.

The hurt quickly faded into confusion because he also wasn't sure exactly what he was feeling, he just knew it wasn't like what he had ever felt for any of his other teammates, or for any of his prior girlfriends, for that matter.

The confusion turned into anger. He was angry at Rozanov, but mostly he was angry at himself. Because he knew he had this incredible generational talent and his parents had sacrificed so much to set him up for success in the NHL, and he was going to squander every opportunity they'd given him and ruin things for all the little kids that looked up to him... because he had a crush on a boy.

A boy who would never feel the same way.

And that should have made it easy to get over him. In a way, as the days went on, and Shane pushed to his physical limits working out, he almost convinced himself that he could hate Ilya Rozanov. And sometimes, often really, he did. 

He hated the way his stupid curls always looked perfect, even when he was drenched in sweat. He hated how expressive and beautiful his blue eyes were, a color that Shane used to wish he had when he was younger. He hated the way he could sometimes find constellations in the scattering of mole across Rozanov's back. He hated how effortlessly Rozanov commanded the presence of every room he was in and how charming he was when he wanted to be. He hated that Rozanov could go out in public, making out or going home with whoever he wanted, and the public would never bat an eye.

He hated how Rozanov always let him pick the movie. He hated how Rozanov had noticed Shane got cold on bus rides and brought a hideous Canadian blanket to keep him warm. He hated that Rozanov had put in extra hours for months after practice, working with Hayes and helping him be more confident in the goal, and hadn't said a damn thing about it to anyone.

But most of all, he hated that Rozanov could look him straight in the face, standing inches away, sharing the same breath and not feel a fucking thing. Especially when Shane felt everything.

Rozanov had gotten back to Ottawa halfway through training camp in the middle of August. Shane wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but a complete ice out definitely had not been it.

The air around the team was more serious than it had been the previous year. The team was slightly older now, with more experience under their belts, and nobody wanted to be the first team out of the playoffs again. When training camp finished, there was no big group celebration like there had been the year before, at least not one that Shane had gone to.

The scrimmage at the end of training camp had been more intense this year as well. Rozanov's team had won every single game. Not by much, but by enough. And the worst part was, Rozanov hadn't even spared him a second glance. It seemed their friendly "good" vs "better" bit from last year had been exhausted.

As they had geared up for the start of the season, a clear, implicit division solidified in the locker room. There was Shane's line and Rozanov's line, and they didn't mingle much. They were in separate groups during practice, and on the rare occasions Hayden convinced Shane to go out, it was just them, Vaughn, and sometimes Dykstra and Chouinard. It was almost like an invisible line had been drawn in the locker room between Shane's line and Rozanov's line.

They played their first three games on the road, and just like last season, they started with an abysmal losing record. 

So really, it shouldn't have been a huge surprise that at the end of the second period in their home opener game, they were down 3-1. Shane fought the urge to rip off his helmet and chuck it at the ground as they walked back to the locker room for a quick intermission. There were hot, angry tears of frustration stinging in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. The C on his chest was practically burning a hole right through him, and after every goal, when his gaze fluttered to the stands where his parents were sitting, he could practically see the worry and concern radiating off of them.

They were playing Buffalo, and it was fucking Buffalo, so they should have been up by at least two goals, and yet they were not. At least the losses they had started the season with had been to playoff teams, which wasn't a great sign, but they had all joked after that, at least those teams weren't Buffalo. It was embarrassing, humiliating, and utterly devastating because Shane had always imagined the team clicking beautifully and delivering a convincing win in his first home game as Captain, playing in front of the city he had grown up in, and at this rate, they were going to deliver a convincing loss instead.

His own personal impending crash out of doom was put on pause as soon as the door to the locker room shut.

"What the fuck is going on out there?" Coach Wiebe yelled, his face a mixture of fury, disappointment, and shame. He threw his head back and sighed as he pinched his nose and inhaled three deep breaths. "I-" He opened his mouth. He shut it. He opened it again. Shut it again.

Shane's face burned red with equal parts exhaustion and embarrassment as he looked around the room at his team. Vaughn had scored the only goal of the night with an assist from Hayden, and Shane already knew what the announcers and all the fans must be thinking.

"Somebody, please, for the love of god score a fucking goal." Wiebe huffed, and with that, Shane realized he had finished his piece. And he reckoned he should probably say something to motivate the team even though he really just wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep until the world had forgotten his name.

"Alright boys, listen up." His voice boomed, somehow dripping with confidence he didn't really feel. "I don't fucking care about what went wrong in the first period. And I don't fucking care about what went wrong in the second. We are better than this." He glanced around the locker room purposefully, holding eye contact with everyone on the team.

He looked away quickly when he locked eyes with a stormy blue pair.

"We aren't playing to our standard, but thankfully for us, we've got a whole period left to go. So let's go fucking fix that right now." He finished.

As far as speeches went, he could admit it was a pretty weak one, but the boys cheered and tapped their sticks on the ground nonetheless, humming with a sort of cautious optimism that Shane supposed was better than a certain pessimism.

As he skated up to center ice to take the face off, he knew he was playing distracted, which was one of the worst ways to play in hockey, but he couldn't help it. It had been easy to excuse his exhaustion when they'd been on the road as not sleeping well in hotel beds, but now that they were back, he knew it was only a matter of time until someone, probably Hayden, asked him what the fuck was wrong with him. And Shane wasn't sure he knew how to answer.

He hadn't missed the inquisitive look Hayden and Marlow had exchanged on the first flight where Shane and Rozanov had chosen to sit with their respective roommates rather than each other. And it wasn't like they were being super obvious or making a big deal out of the fact that they hadn't had a real conversation since June. They weren't flat out ignoring each other or anything. 

Shane had called Rozanov out for being a puck hog last week in morning skate, and Rozanov, in return, had replied that maybe Shane would hog the puck more if he wasn't so focused on passing to compensate for his weak backhand.

So yeah, they were on speaking terms... Just not very much speaking, and not about anything unrelated to hockey.

Shane won the face off, because it was Buffalo after all, and took off down the ice with Vaughn and Hayden trailing him just slightly. Shane sent a quick pass over to Hayden, already moving to his next mark, ready to accept the pass that would come from Vaughn. It was almost like a game of chess, and Shane's line was meticulously setting up their checkmate, which in this case would be a goal. When Shane finally saw his opening, he made sure to send the puck screaming into the net off his backhand.

Vaughn and Hayden patted him on the back as they skated back to switch off shifts. Shane pretended not to notice when Rozanov shouldered him as he skated out on the ice.

Buffalo's first mistake was expecting the slow, methodical chess game Shane's line had put them through when Rozanov's line skated over. Their second mistake had been trying to match them in intensity once they realized just how much more physical Marlow and Fleury liked to play. Their third and final mistake was assuming that Rozanov's line played a more offensive, aggressive version of chess, when really, they were the type to just flip the table.

Rozanov slipped the puck to the back of the net off a rebound from one of Fleury's blocked shots.

They ended up winning the game in overtime due to a beautiful goal, surprisingly from Dykstra, but the mood in the locker room was anything but excited afterward.

Shane showered as quickly as he possibly could and put his game day suit back on, knowing he would be pulled for press. He had just finished tightening his tie when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned to see Marlow had been the first to cross the invisible line in the locker room.

"Shane," he whispered, voice so low that Shane could barely hear him. "Come to my apartment when you finish media?" It was phrased like a question but spoken like a demand, and Shane knew he had no choice in this.

"Yeah," He replied just as softly, "Yeah, okay."

Marlow squeezed his shoulder once before letting go, and then Shane was left to follow one of the interns to the media room.

"Shane! Congratulations on the win..." The reporter trailed off, and Shane could already tell it was going to be one of those impossible questions to answer that sounds like an insult and a compliment all in one. "Obviously, you all had high expectations going into the season- and it's far from over- but when you struggle to beat a team like Buffalo, who finished last season at the bottom of the division, how does that make you feel?"

Shane gave a tight-lipped smile, "The great thing about the NHL is that every team goes into the season with a clean slate and a blank record. The team that won the Cup last year had failed to make the playoffs the year before. Buffalo is a great team, and they put up a good fight, but we were able to get a win for our fans here at home tonight."

The rest of the questions were more or less the same, and when it was finally over, Shane took his time walking to the car.

Hayden was already in the driver's seat, waiting for him. 

He tossed his bag in the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat and resting back against the headrest, reclining the seat slightly. It took five minutes of driving in silence before Hayden finally spoke. "Shane," he started, sighing. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" The hairs on the end of Shane's arms stood up straight. 

"Yeah, of course." He replied cautiously.

Hayden paused again for a long moment. "I just- you've been off dude. I barely heard from you all summer. We move back into the apartment, and all you really do is cook, clean, work out, and sleep." Hayden shook his head, "You don't even yell at me for not doing my dishes."

"It's fine, I don't mind doing them-" Shane started automatically.

"No!" Hayden interrupted, turning to look at Shane incredulously while they waited at a red light. "Look, I don't know if it's the pressure of being captain, or you know, wanting to have a strong second season, or something else entirely, but- fuck, I'm just worried about you, man. You're not acting like yourself."

Shane felt his jaw clench. He knew it was coming from a place of love and genuine care, but he really couldn't deal with this from Hayden and whatever Marlow had in store for him in just a few short minutes until they reached Rozanov and Marlow's apartment complex.

"I'm fine, Hayd, really." Shane said, trying to pour every once of sincerity he could into his voice. "I think I've just been having trouble sleeping or something lately." 

It was a weak excuse, a total cop out. He knew it, and he could tell by the frustrated glance Hayden shot him, that Hayden knew it too, but they pulled up to Marlow and Rozanov's apartment complex, and Shane unbuckled his seat belt and hopped out immediately. He didn't miss the way Hayden frowned.

He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting when he knocked on their front door and Marlow pulled it open. Maybe he had been expecting an intervention. He was sure Marlow and Hayden had noticed that things between him and Rozanov had turned frosty. And maybe an intervention would be good. Because Shane was still too angry, hurt, and much too proud to reach out to Rozanov, and he could only assume his former rival felt the same.

A part of him had also wondered if the whole team would be gathered in the Marlow-Rozanov apartment as they'd often done last season. He had imagined Marlow and Fleury giving him wide puppy dog eyes, begging until he agreed to go out.

So it was a slightly unsettling surprise when Marlow pulled open the door, welcomed them in, offered drinks, and Shane realized there were no other teammates hiding out, laughing, or chatting. And it was equally as unsettling when Shane asked, "Where's Rozanov?"

However, even more unsettling was Marlow's answer. "Who even fucking knows these days?" He muttered under his breath, exasperated. He said it with the sort of conviction one wouldn't have unless they had lived a reality more times than they could count on one hand. And yet, there was a weary note to his voice too. A mix of concern, exhaustion, and frustration.

"What do you mean?" Hayden asked hesitantly.

Marlow gestured toward the couch with one of his hands as he grabbed three beers out of the fridge. They settled on the couch, Hayden's unanswered question left hanging in the air. Shane watched as Marlow sighed, dragged one of his hands down his face, massaging the bridge of his nose and then the sides of his temple as if to ease a headache. He made a noise that was almost guttural and almost broken as he finally looked up.

It was a noise so unlike Marlow, who was always full of energy, passion, and positivity. Shane and Hayden exchanged alarmed looks.

"I don't know what to fucking do." Marlow started, and as he continued, Shane felt his blood run cold as if ice were coursing through his veins, and not in a good way.

Chapter End Notes

i apologize for the cliffhanger <3 answers coming soon mwahaha

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

"I don't know what to fucking do." Marlow took a deep breath and sighed. 

Shane wasn't sure he had ever seen the man look more distressed. He exchanged a brief sideways glance with Hayden.

"Roz, he's..." Marlow trailed off, biting his lip as if he were unsure how, or if, he should continue. "Ever since he got back from Russia, he's been different."

The statement hung in the air between the three of them ominously. Shane was sure Marlow wasn't finished yet, and he couldn't help but wonder if the difference had something to do with the fact that the two of them hadn't directly spoken to each other in months. Briefly and selfishly, he wondered if different meant sad because maybe he'd gone through a break up or something.

"Our walls are thick, but I hear him in the middle of the night. Late, or early, I guess." Marlow shook his head. "I have no idea what he's saying, it's all in Russian, but I can tell he's angry, arguing with someone or something."

"Okay..." Hayden drawled, and Shane could have smacked him with the indifference dripping from his voice.

Marlow took another deep breath, almost as if he'd needed to psych himself up for the next part, and then he dropped the bomb. "Look, he'll probably kill me for telling you guys this, but he's been making plans to go back to Russia."

"What?" Shane asked immediately, eyebrows raising in a mixture of shock and concern as he felt an icy chill rush through his veins. 

"What the fuck?" Hayden exclaimed almost at the same time as Shane.

"He can't- that's not. What?" Shane felt as if his brain was short circuiting because what possible reason could Rozanov have to go back to Russia?

"I know, I know." Marlow replied, holding his hands up. "I don't really know much of it, but he's been staying late after practice a lot lately to talk with the front office and Coach Wiebe."

"How could he even-" Hayden questioned, trailing off at the end.

"I don't know." Marlow supplied.

Shane felt the walls he had carefully constructed after the NHL awards and throughout the summer close in, dangerously close to crashing down. And suddenly, he felt like the worst person in the world because he'd been avoiding every possible reason he could have to interact with Rozanov for the past five months, and apparently something was going on that was so significant that he was considering moving back to Russia in the middle of the season.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a dick. But why are you telling us?" Hayden questioned, sounding like every bit the dick he was supposedly trying not to be. 

"I guess I thought maybe you guys could talk to him." Marlow replied. And though he said it to both of them, he looked only at Shane while he spoke. And Shane wasn't sure what the purpose of the look was, but if it was to guilt him... it worked.

"It's not like Shane and I are best friends with the guy. I mean, you're his roommate and best friend, Marlow." Hayden replied, oblivious to the looks being exchanged between Shane and Marlow in their stare down.

Marlow looked away to chuckle darkly, "Yeah, not too fucking sure about that last one right now." Marlow clenched his jaw, "I'm sure you guys have noticed he's not exactly the friendliest right now. And every time I try to talk to him-" Marlow paused, "He doesn't wanna talk to me. He's made that obvious. It's whatever."

Shane could tell from the look on Marlow's face that it was almost certainly not whatever. He wondered for a brief moment if Rozanov would even want to talk to him before realizing that it didn't really matter. Of course Marlow wanted him to talk to Rozanov. He was the captain after all. And he'd been doing a shit job of being captain so far. 

"I'll talk to him." Shane said. The words were out of his mouth before his brain had really even processed the thought. "I mean, I'll try. I bet it won't go any better than your tries, Marly."

Marlow smiled at him with gratitude. It was the first real positive emotion Shane had seen on Marlow's face since they had entered his and Rozanov's apartment.

"Umm, do you know where he is?" Shane asked almost stupidly.

Marlow let out a big laugh at that, one that almost sounded real save for the bitter note near the end. "That's the other thing. Fuck if I know these days. He's never really here anymore."

Shane sucked his lower lip in as he processed that piece of information. So he would talk to Rozanov. He had committed to doing that at least. Maybe he would be able to catch him after morning practice. Maybe he would be able to skip straight to the part about Russia and completely bypass the whole conversation they were supposed to have back in June when Shane had decidedly not gone to Rozanov's room. 

It was tempting to delude himself into thinking Rozanov had forgotten, or maybe that he just didn't care.

Either way, Shane would talk to Rozanov soon. Definitely soon.

They stayed and chatted with Marlow a bit longer, the topic awkwardly shifting to something else entirely. It was something about summer travels, Shane wasn't entirely sure because he wasn't fully paying attention. Around 11:30, Shane brought up that they should probably go because he was tired after the game they'd player earlier. He'd ignored the way Hayden and Marlow had made fun of him for being younger than them and yet somehow already a grandpa.

And when he fell asleep that night, his mind spun trying to reason why Rozanov would possibly consider moving back to Russia when he had such a promising career. He tried to remember if Rozanov had ever said anything that could indicate why.

Shane was pretty sure he'd never said anything positive or negative about Russia specifically. The only moment that stood out in his head was the bus to Nashville with the hideously obnoxious blanket when Rozanov had told him he knew what it was like to not be who you really are. Shane hadn't really known what Rozanov had meant by that or how he could relate. He hadn't pressed him on it, and now he wished he had.

Because maybe it would have provided a piece to this puzzle, given a clue, but now Shane had nothing except the loose promise he'd made to Marlow to talk to him.

The next few days passed by in a blur. It wasn't necessarily that he was avoiding Rozanov more so than it seemed maybe Rozanov was avoiding him. He didn't miss the pleading looks Marlow gave him in the locker room when they arrived for practice, and he really had been meaning to find time to talk to Rozanov, but his former rival had always quietly disappeared from the locker room when Shane got back from his shower.

He had spent a couple nights tossing and turning, running through his speech in his head. He had gotten to the point where it sounded casual enough not to come off rehearsed, but structured enough not to leave room for questions Shane didn't want to answer. He would tell Rozanov he was coming to him as a concerned captain and a friend, worried both for the sake of the team and Rozanov's own wellbeing and future in hockey. He would ask Rozanov why Marlow was insistent he was going back to Russia and try to figure out a solution from there.

It was simple. Easy. Or at least it should have been.

The team was waiting in the unforgivingly hard chairs surrounding the gate of the airport terminal. Shane was practically vibrating with anticipation, ignoring the questioning looks Hayden was shooting towards him every minute or so. He caught Marlow's eye and nodded at him. They'd arranged it quickly over text this morning. Right before take off, when the fasten seatbelt sign clicked on, Shane and Marlow would swap seats.

A slightly bitter taste circled in Shane's mouth as he reminisced on last season and how it wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary for him to sit with Rozanov. In fact, it would've been entirely unordinary for him to not, especially at the end of the season. He was scared, sure. And he was still a little bit overwhelmed by the strange fluttering in his stomach when he looked at Rozanov and thought about the alley or the rose garden. But there were more pressing concerns at the moment, the largest of which being that the Centaurs absolutely could not afford to lose Rozanov.

He glanced down at his Rolex, watching the smooth way the seconds slid by. Boarding should have started already. It wasn't unusual for there to be slight delays, with how much Shane flew, he had experienced quite a few of them. But there was something about the frustrated way one of the gate agents slammed down the phone that made him think maybe this wasn't such a usual delay.

His worries were substantiated when just moments later, the sharp, robotic voice of the gate agents cut through the air, silencing the previous casual chatter.

"Attention all passengers of Flight 8227 from Ottawa to Boston. All planes in Boston have been grounded and the runways are closed due to the Hurricane. Please visit the main desk in Terminal C for help with rebooking." A loud clicking sound reverberated through the terminal.

"Alright kids." Wiebe clapped his hands, standing up from his chair and wincing as he stretched out his legs. "Game is cancelled. Will probably be rescheduled sometime in December or January. Go home, eat some food, morning skate tomorrow is optional, and we'll practice in the evening at the regular time."

Shane felt his shoulders drop slightly from the tense position he'd been holding them in, a mixture of relief and blank. A few extra days of rest would be good for them before their next game against a Pittsburgh team that was on a hot streak.

He stood from his chair, knees cracking slightly as he bent to pick up his carry on. They would all have to stop at baggage claim to pick up their hockey bags that were probably being loaded off the plane as they spoke. He was looking forward to resigning himself to a quiet night, maybe watching a movie or two with Hayden when he heard Marlow's loud booming voice, dripping with a borrowed confidence.

"Boys, we got the night off, optional morning skate, you know what that means." He said, a wide grin splitting across his face.

Dykstra, Chouinard, Hayes, and Fleury were immediately nodding their yeses along with a couple of the guys from the third line.

"Hollander, Pike, Vaughn. You guys are coming." Marlow said without even looking at them, his voice certain and definite as if they had no choice in the matter, and Shane supposed they really didn't. "Everyone, drop your bags at home, and then come over to Roz and mine. No excuses." Marlow demanded as he clapped a hand on Rozanov's shoulder, squeezing as if that last part was really meant for Rozanov even though it was his apartment Marlow had just offered up.

"I don't know if that's-" Hayden started, his eyes carefully looking over at Shane.

"We'll be there." Shane interrupted, flashing a tight smile toward the team as they all cheered. It would be good. They hadn't all hung out together in a group since last season. In fact, Shane hadn't been out with all of them since that night at the end of the regular season. After that, he'd been in his era of avoiding all of the guys who had stuck around Ottawa in the season's conclusion so that he could avoid Rozanov and facing what that night in the alley had meant.

He was tired of running though. And he didn't have much of a choice not to be, because he needed to talk to Rozanov and figure out why he was apparently going back to Russia.

As they walked through the terminal, heading toward baggage claim, Shane couldn't stop his eyes from wandering toward Rozanov. And this time, he let himself really look at him.

The first thing he noticed was that Rozanov looked tired. Shane wondered if it had been another late of the angry yelling Marlow had mentioned. The second thing he noticed was that him and Marlow walked side by side, their steps synced perfectly, but they weren't saying a word. And once he thought about it, he realized he hadn't really heard much from Rozanov lately in the locker room, before or after practice, during weight training...

He had been so focused on himself, his own weird feelings, and avoiding him, that he hadn't notice the shift. He wondered if his teammates had, or if they too had been so caught up in their own lives and worries that they hadn't noticed the gradual way Rozanov had receded into himself, a quiet, stormy force that produced on the ice but so utterly unlike how he used to be.

He would talk to him. He would. Because now overpowering the fear and uncertainty was a genuine, anxious worry.

The club was sweaty and loud. Shane already felt the fabric of his tshirt clinging to his chest in a rather unpleasant way despite the fact that he was not dancing or doing anything to warrant it. The atmosphere of the club was enough to get him all flushed and uncomfortable it seemed. The pre drinks at Marlow and Rozanov's apartment had been brief, yet effective. They had all taken a few shots of what Rozanov referred to as Marlow's shitty American made vodka before calling enough Uber XLs to fit 23 large hockey players.

Shane had let himself be pressured into taking two shots, but since they'd arrived at the club, he'd stuck to drinking ginger ales. Even in the sanctum of the small VIP area that had been haphazardly constructed when the bartenders had seen the whole Ottawa Centaurs roster walk in, there was no real peace. Shane could already feel a light pressure forming behind his left eye as his eyes swept the room, surveying his teammates. 

Half where out on the dance floor, dancing with random women. The few that were taken were dancing with and on each other in some weird display of masculinity, bromance, and humor. The other half were sitting with Shane around tables that had quickly been pulled together and arranged for a big group, partitioned away from the main area of the club by some flimsily arranged stanchions.

Vaughn was telling some story about the cruise he'd gone on with his family right before training camp and how his elderly grandparents kept mixing his name up with his brothers and calling them Carston and Carster, when suddenly he felt a pair of large hands clap down on his shoulders.

"It's shot o'clock, motherfuckers!" Dykstra slurred in a way that made Shane think he absolutely did not need another shot. "C'mon, round up the team." He slurred as he walked off to the dance floor, dragging Chouinard away from the girl he'd been dancing with and pulling him by the collar to grab one of their rookie defensemen too.

Shane walked over to the bar, trailing behind Hayden and Vaughn as a large portion of the team gathered. He felt a warm, familiar presence fall in step with him and didn't even need to look over to realize it was Rozanov. He had been watching him from the corner of his eye all night. Rozanov had not gone off to the dance floor like usual, instead he had stayed seated, two tables down from Shane, quietly brooding while listening to whatever conversation Marlow and Hayes were entranced in.

Shane had stolen as many looks over at Rozanov as possible without making it obvious that he was watching.

Dykstra was doing a sloppy headcount as he leaned on the bar, talking to a very patient, and very amused bartender. "Umm, 13, 14, 15, uh fuck, did I already count myself or not? Ah, fuck it, I've gotta start over."

Shane swallowed down his protest that he didn't need, or want, a shot as he watched Rozanov push his way through the group, place a hand on Dykstra's chest and then shove him out of the way before leaning across the bar to whisper to the bartender. The bartender reached up to pull a bottle of clear tequila from the top shelf as Rozanov discreetly placed his card down on the bar, Shane tracking the movement with his eyes. He wondered briefly about the price of the shots, resolving to offer to split the cost with Rozanov later.

He winced slightly as he took his shot from Rozanov's hand, whether from anticipatory disgust at both the taste and the memories of the tequila or from the way Rozanov's fingers had brushed against his own for a few lingering seconds before he'd pulled back to hand a shot to Hayden and Vaughn, Shane wasn't sure.

Once everyone had their shots, Shane drew a deep breath in as Dykstra gave some drunken toast that didn't fully make sense, trying to psych himself up for the undeniably disgusting taste. Hopefully it wouldn't affect him much since he'd only had two other drinks and that had been over an hour ago. He clinked his shot against Hayden and Vaughn's and then tilted his head back, letting the liquid quickly slide down his throat.

He was surprised when he tasted none of the usual offensive bite of tequila. In fact, there was no bite at all, because it was water. He watched as his teammates winced and sucked on the limes that had been placed on the sides of their cups. He looked at his in slight confusion before glancing over to Rozanov who was already looking back at him. The second their eyes met, Rozanov looked away.

It was strange, careful, considerate, kind, and it sort of made Shane want to throw up with the way it made his heart flutter. He had been so focused on watching Rozanov that he hadn't noticed the bartender pour a shot of anything different. And Rozanov had been watching him, probably easily clocking the can of ginger ale on the table in front of Shane. And simply because he knew him, because he knew what he was like, and Shane had told him on one of their bus rides last season that he didn't like to drink much, Rozanov had helped him in a way that no one would ever know about but the two of them.

Shane's mouth was, thankfully, closed, but his entire body was still vibrating with shock and wonder, and maybe that was why he let Hayden and Vaughn pull him out into the center of the dance floor rather than back to the sanctity of the carelessly constructed VIP area.

And then they were dancing, if you could even call it dancing. Shane was reluctantly swaying from side to side to the beat of a song he didn't recognize as Hayden and Vaughn jumped up and down, shouting the lyrics at each other. It was brilliantly adorable and entirely overstimulating, but Shane decided to commit himself to staying for two songs before he would excuse himself back to the VIP area.

The end of the first song brough a gentle press to the crook of his forearm and he turned to see a pretty girl with brown hair and exquisite green eyes that was nearly as tall as him trying to get his attention. She was beautiful, but it was something Shane absolutely could not handle right now. He could see her lips moving, but couldn't quite make out the words from all the noise.

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested-" He started automatically, pausing once the girl threw her head back in laughter. 

She leaned in closer, "Your friend, the one with the pretty blue eyes, what's his name?" 

Her voice was soft and smooth, almost like honey.

"Oh, uh, Hayden." Shane supplied with a hesitant smile.

"What's he drinking?" She asked, emphasized by tilting her hand up to her mouth miming the action.

Shane let a wider smile stretch across his face, "Whatever has the most sugar probably. But hey, make him buy you something. He can afford it." He suggested.

"Well, so can I." She replied sassily, and Shane opened his mouth to say he hadn't meant to insinuate she couldn't, "Plus, how else am I supposed to stand out?" She asked with a wink and Shane felt a laugh bubble up.

And yeah, he liked her already. For Hayden, of course. "Dirty Shirley." Shane said. "He loves them."

"Thank you." She replied genuinely, releasing her hold on his forearm and turning for the bar. 

Shane turned back toward Vaughn and Hayden who were looking at him with wide eyes. 

"Did that chick just go to the bar to buy you a drink?" Vaughn asked incredulously, leaning in and yelling so Shane could hear.

"Not me." Shane replied, shooting a wink at Hayden before grabbing Vaughn's arm and pulling him away. He dropped him off with Hayes and Marlow who were all to content to scream lyrics at each other and jump in a circle, and then slowly pushed his way through the crowd back to the VIP area.

The sight of a familiar leather jacket slipping outside the door to the patio in the corner of the room caught his eye. And because he was tired of avoiding things and maybe just a little bit emboldened by the fact that Rozanov had been paying attention to him, noticing him too, he followed out the door and made his way onto the patio.

It was a familiar picture, almost too much so, when Shane stepped out of the door onto the small private area of the club, hidden in the space between a cluster of buildings. He watched Rozanov's puff of smoke materialize in the air as he blew it softly, marveling at the way the smoke curled back in on itself.

Rozanov, as usual, was like a vision. Shane thought briefly he could have been an angel with the way his jaw appeared to be chiseled out of marble, the sharpness of his cheekbones contrasted with the softness of his eyes. He was beautiful. The realization should have struck Shane with alarm, but it didn't, because it was true. An unarguable fact. Like the sky being blue, or Ottawa being cold in the winter, Rozanov was undeniably beautiful.

"What do you want, Hollander?" He asked harshly, without even looking in Shane's direction.

"I was just thinking-" Shane paused, suddenly feeling like a fish out of water and comically unsure of what he had been thinking. The pre-planned speech that he had spent the past few nights going over magically disappeared from his head, leaving him gasping and stumbling for words, "I was thinking we should talk."

It was weak and stupid and Shane knew that, but he had said it anyway and unlike in his dreams and ruminations late at night, he couldn't stop, rewind, and rewrite the moment until what came out of his mouth was perfect. Because he wasn't perfect, and neither was anything about the situation they were in. If things were perfect, him and Rozanov would still be on speaking terms, and he wouldn't be tossing and turning awake in bed at night wondering if he would show up to practice and Rozanov would already be gone for some unknown, unexplained reason.

Rozanov laughed, then took a long drag from his cigarette leaving Shane to watch the way his lips formed around it and his chest rose as he inhaled. When he finally exhaled the smoke, his voice was cold and harsh as he said, "So now you want to talk?"

Shane felt his cheeks flush lightly, hoping it could be explained by the slight autumn chill in the air. "Yes, uh, I do." He managed to stutter out.

Rozanov appeared to roll his eyes, though Shane couldn't be sure from the view of his side profile as Rozanov had still not deigned to turn to face him. "Well, maybe I do not want to talk now."

The words hit him sharply, almost like a slap would have. They felt loaded with a meaning far greater than what they simply translated to. They felt like a finality, an end

A this is it. This is all we will ever be.

Shane felt a sting of betrayal from his eyes as Rozanov started to appear a little blurry before him, and tried to strengthen his resolve. "Tough." He managed to say, his voice sounding normal enough, "Because I do, and I'm your Captain."

"Okay Captain," Rozanov replied, his voice spitting around the second word as if it were poison, "Then talk."

Shane hadn't exactly been expecting it, and he certainly hadn't prepared his next words. "Look, Marlow told me something about going back to Russia?" Shane asked, and this time the eye roll was painfully obvious.

"Is none of your business." Rozanov dismissed easily as if they were talking about clothes or the weather.

"Yes, it fucking is." Shane replied quickly, annoyance seeping into his voice at Rozanov's casual demeanor. "Are you leaving?" He questioned directly.

"Fuck, I don't know, Hollander." Rozanov exhaled, finally turning his body slightly to face Shane, the few feet between them somehow feeling like miles. "Maybe, yes. What does it fucking matter to you?"

"Of course it matters to me, Rozanov," Shane said, his voice pitching up slightly with anger now, "We have a real shot at the playoffs this year, and if you just go back to Russia, we're fucked."

Rozanov muttered something in Russian under his breath then spat, "Right, because it is always about fucking hockey with you, yes?"

"Yes. No. I mean," Shane groaned, "Yeah, it's about hockey. Rozanov, you're-" He paused, "-really fucking good. The best, probably. We'll fall apart without you." The last part came out quietly, and like Rozanov's earlier statement, carried a meaning far greater than what they would basically appear on paper with.

It was an admission and a reference to the past all at once. Calling Shane back to when they had been able to joke with each other, who was good and who was better. And now, they hardly ever talked. But Shane had known, maybe he had always known that Rozanov was just the slightest bit better. That he just had that natural, killer instinct on the ice. One that couldn't be taught, and rarely learned. 

Rozanov sighed too, his own anger deflating with Shane's quiet admission. "I don't want to go back." He admitted softly, "It doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter?" Shane asked quickly, confused and frustrated.

"My father is sick." Rozanov said, his voice flat with the tone of someone who was delivering a simple statement and not anything catastrophic or major. "He is dying, probably. Dementia."

"I'm sorry," Shane said softly.

Rozanov waved his hand in dismissal. "Is fine. He is not a good man." He sighed, "But my brother, he is an idiot. And an asshole. He will not take care of Papa."

"What about your mom?" Shane asked.

"Dead." Rozanov replied, voice wavering only slightly.

"Okay, then can you hire someone or something?" Shane asked, his voice raising slightly in an almost plead.

"No. That is not Russian way. If my father wasn't so sick, he would beat me for even thinking of that." Rozanov replied almost automatically.

Shane almost laughed at how ridiculous the thought was. Surely Rozanov wasn't suggesting that he should just put his whole career- hell, his whole life on hold until his dad died. He was frustrated, and he said so. "Rozanov, you can't just up and leave to take care of your father until what, he dies? And what? Put everything on hold until then?" Shane questioned incredulously.

"Is my duty as son-"

"That's bullshit!" Shane exclaimed. "You said yourself, you don't wanna go back, so don't go. Do you even like it there?"

Rozanov rolled his eyes, annoyance seeping back into his tone as he said, "Like it there does not matter."

"I think it does." Shane replied angrily, unable to stop his utter frustration at Rozanov's constant dismissals and seeming want to act like this wasn't a huge fucking life decision that could alter his career in the NHL.

"You fucking Canadians, I cannot." Rozanov exclaimed, throwing his hands up as he took a step closer. "You do not understand the duty to care that Russians have. Hiring someone is disrespect, shameful, if my father was in his right mind he would die from embarrassment at just the thought."

"So what? You're going to throw your career away?" Shane questioned, taking his own step closer so that they were standing a mere foot away from each other. 

"I can come back." Rozanov shrugged defensively.

"Yeah, after what? A couple months? A year? I mean, fuck, do you even know how long your dad has?" Shane was sure he was being a little unfair and a lot bit insensitive, but he couldn't stop himself from questioning the utter ridiculousness angrily.

"I don't fucking know. Why does it even matter?" Rozanov changed the subject, eyes staring harshly into Shane's own.

"Because-"

"And don't say anything that has to do with hockey." Rozanov warned, cutting Shane off.

"Rozanov." Shane said harshly.

"Hollander." Rozanov replied defiantly.

"There are people here who care about you. A lot. And don't want you to leave." Shane said softly.

"Like who?" Rozanov asked lowly.

"Marlow." Shane answered, knowing it was a cop out, watching as Rozanov's eyes looked down at the ground. "Wiebe, Hayes, Dykstra, Chouinard, La Fleur, Vaughn, Hayden..." Shane trailed off.

"Is that all?" Rozanov asked, laughing self deprecatingly.

"No. No, of course not." Shane said rolling his eyes, "Me, of course me. You know that-"

"I don't." Rozanov replied, his eyes looking up to meet Shane's. Shane could see it then. He knew he wasn't always the best at reading emotions. Yet, this one was written clear as day across Rozanov's face, so obvious that even Shane could tell. Hurt.

"I-" Shane faltered.

"Does not matter anyway. When it gets worse, I go back." Rozanov said with finality.

"Don't." Shane said. His voice was a command, a plea, a half hidden attempt at a beg.

"Hollander, I have to." Rozanov sighed, his voice laced with the annoyance of someone who had already made up their mind and was now fighting against a request that was long too late.

"You don't. We can figure something out, fuck, there has to be something-" Shane blurted.

"There's not, Hollander. I've talked with management and Wiebe, and they don't fully understand, but they know this is something I have to do." Rozanov replied, resigned to his fate. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his foot. He picked it up and tossed it in the trash can to the side before moving to walk back inside.

Shane was unsteady on his feet. Not from the alcohol, that had basically worn off by now. It felt like an axis shifting, his whole world tilting, and right before him, Rozanov was slipping away. Just a few steps away now and miles away at the same time somehow. And suddenly, nothing from before mattered. And Shane was mad at himself for wasting what could have been some of his last games playing with Rozanov over something so petty and stupid like heartbreak from seeing Rozanov with a date to an Awards ceremony.

Because he had seen Rozanov go home with plenty of women, God knows he could probably search Rozanov's name in the Ottawa Centaurs subreddit and find at least a dozen pictures. But none of it had mattered to him before, and what Shane hadn't wanted to admit was because he knew they weren't real. Someone who could be with Rozanov just for a night didn't matter as much, but someone who could be his date at an Awards ceremony, hold his arm, and meet his friends without anyone batting an eye. That was real, and that mattered.

Someone who got Rozanov in the quiet moments, the unimportant ones, the boring ones... that mattered. Someone who could sit next to him on a plane, or a bus, or in his passenger seat in the car. That mattered. Because then they could be exactly what Shane could be, but without any of the complications, implications, or consequences.

And Shane would never have him like that. Could never.

He had accepted that months ago, had accepted that he could only ever had bits and pieces of him, as a teammate and maybe eventually a friend once it hurt less, but he had never imagined he might lose the opportunity to have any of Rozanov. And now, with that possibility looming ahead on the horizon, everything else felt small and insignificant, and Shane wondered if maybe, just maybe, this once, he could let himself want, and let himself have.

But Rozanov was here, and he was walking away. Going back inside to the loud music, and all the chaos, and the watchful eyes where everything was real. And Shane wasn't ready for that yet, so he grabbed his wrist to stop him from walking away. "Rozanov-" He pleaded.

"There is nothing else to talk about, Hollander!" Rozanov exclaimed with all the exhaustion of someone who had not been sleeping well, his eyes flashed with a cross of annoyance and anger. "I will go back to Russia, and there is nothing-"

Shane kissed him.

Maybe later, he would lay awake in his bed, wondering why he had done it. Because it was stupid, and reckless, and they were out in public, and if he had taken just one more second to think it through, he probably wouldn't have done it. Not that it mattered, because there was absolutely no going back now in more ways than one.

He tugged on Rozanov's wrist, using the forward momentum from Rozanov's slight stumble to his advantage, cupped the sides of Rozanov's face with his hands, pulled him in, and kissed him.

For one terrifying moment, Rozanov stilled beneath him.

And then there was one hand cupping the back of his head, threaded through his hair, and another resting on the small of his back, pulling him impossibly closer, and Rozanov was kissing him back.

Shane wondered briefly how he had ever breathed before knowing what this was like and was certain that he hadn't really lived until this moment either. 

He had never been kissed like this. And it wasn't like he had much experience, but he was pretty sure he would never be kissed like this again. Because Rozanov was kissing Shane like he was oxygen and Rozanov couldn't breathe. And Shane was pretty sure he was nearing the point where he would no longer be able to breathe soon, but it would be worth it for this.

Rozanov broke their kiss for a moment, and Shane inhaled a shaky, deep breath as Rozanov whispered, "Hollander," into his mouth before he was leaning in to kiss him again. And this time, Rozanov was leading the kiss. Shane felt Rozanov's tongue press against his lips, seeking entrance to his mouth which Shane happily allowed, making what he was sure were embarrassing noises as Rozanov licked into his mouth needy, slightly wild, and in a way that Shane was sure he would dream about for weeks to come, maybe forever.

After Rozanov had kissed him thoroughly, he begin to place kisses along the side of his mouth, across his jaw, and down his neck. Shane gasped loudly when he felt Rozanov's teeth nip at the side of his neck before licking over it and covering it in sweet kisses which drew an embarrassing moan that made Shane blush as Rozanov lightly sucked at the spot where Shane's neck met his collarbone.

"Rozanov," He gasped in a way that was less of a word and more of a whine before Rozanov finally reconnected their lips. It was everything Shane had imagined and unsurprisingly way, way more. He could have lost himself in the kiss, lost himself in Rozanov, if not for the almost painful reminder that they were in public he felt when Rozanov rolled his hips slightly against Shane's, and Shane realized just how incredibly hard he was.

He pulled back regretfully. "We can't- I can't- we're in public," He stumbled, utterly aware of Rozanov's swollen lips, messed up hair, and almost drunken state that he was sure he matched.

Rozanov let out a laugh that sounded like it was laced with a cautious disbelief. "Right. Public." He echoed, his voice sounding distant and far away in Shane's ear.

His eyes were the perfect shade of blue. Not quite as light as the sky over the ocean, a bit darker, but not stormy like they were when he was mad. Shane decided easily that this shade of blue was his favorite color.

And despite having just reminded Rozanov that they were in public, Shane leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together, breaths intermingling and said, "Please stay." It was almost humiliating how desperate his voice came out, but he decided he didn't care, not if it got Rozanov to listen.

"Shane, you know I can't-" Rozanov started and stopped.

The way Rozanov said his name vibrated through his body, electrifying every nerve ending and setting him alight like a live wire. Shane decided he never wanted to hear his name ever again, not unless it was said by Rozanov.

"Look, I'll pay your asshole brother something ridiculous to just look after your dad, okay? I just- please, don't go back to Russia. Don't leave" Me. 

The unsaid word echoed in the air.

"I-" Rozanov paused, "That is maybe not so bad idea. Alexei is always demanding money anyway. But I will pay, not you. This is not your problem."

Shane nodded against Rozanov's forehead, hoping that this reinforcement would convince him it was, in fact, a great idea. His hands slipped down from Rozanov's shoulders, down his chest, fisting the fabric of his jacket in his hands and using it to pull himself closer. They stayed there, breathing together for a few long moments as the worry slowly seeped in.

Because now, a couple minutes distanced from the mesmerizing trance Rozanov's lips had lulled him into, Shane was struck with just how risky what he'd just done was. "You won't tell anyone about this, right?" He was blurting before he even had time to process it.

Rozanov chuckled lightly, the breaths brushing hotly against Shane's lips. "Hollander, I will not tell anyone." He assured, "But maybe if you want me to stay so badly, you should. Would not be able to go back to Russia then."

Shane felt a little stupid as his cheeks flushed slightly. Because of course. He should have known better. "Sorry," he said automatically, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't know why I- sorry," He apologized.

"Is okay." Rozanov said softly, "Was cute."

Shane opened his mouth to protest being called cute, but Rozanov shut him up with a kiss. This time, it was just a brief, sweet press of their lips together. Shane smiled into it.

"I guess we should go inside now before someone calls police on missing beloved Captain," Rozanov mused with a slight teasing note in his voice.

"Shut up," Shane muttered with his pink cheeks. He didn't want to go inside. If it were up to him, he would never leave this patio, but it wouldn't stay private forever. They were lucky to have gotten as long as they had. 

Shane took a step back and then another. 

Rozanov pulled the door open and gestured with his hand for Shane to go ahead first. He had barely taken five steps back into the club when suddenly there were hands on his shoulders and Hayden's face was in his own. 

"Shane! I've been looking for you everywhere. Where were you?" Hayden questioned.

"I-" Shane started.

"Nevermind. Doesn't matter. I just wanted to tell you, I'm going home with Jackie." Hayden blurted out quickly. Shane assumed Jackie was the girl from earlier and he almost laughed.

"Okay, man. Have fun, be safe." Shane said with a soft smile.

"Always." Hayden replied with a wink. "What about you? You're good? Gonna get home alright?" Hayden asked, worry clouding his eyes.

"Yes, dude. Now go! Don't keep Jackie waiting." Shane laughed. 

"Yeah, okay." Hayden nodded, eyes wide before turning and disappearing back into the crowd to go find Jackie.

Shane felt Rozanov's presence behind him before he turned to see him. There was a smirk already playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, so Ottawa's fifteenth best player will not be at your apartment tonight?" Rozanov questioned.

"Hey! That's my right wing you're talking about." Shane protested, "And we have more combined goals than you and Fleury."

"For now." Rozanov drawled, and Shane could feel the subtle question on his lips.

"Come over." Shane said decisively.

"You are not going to woo me first?" Rozanov asked, and Shane decided he liked the way Rozanov's mouth formed on words.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm calling an Uber." He pushed his way through the crowd and smiled as he felt Rozanov's hand press against his back, guiding him through the crowd. He was sure there were things to talk about still, he just couldn't fully remember what they were, and he wasn't sure that he cared in that moment. So for tonight, he would let himself get lost in Rozanov, and tomorrow he would figure everything else out.

Chapter End Notes

I always tell myself, 'this is gonna be a short chapter', and then I end up with a monstrosity that takes days to write. i hope you all are able to enjoy this despite all of the website crashes!! also omggggg they kissed <3

sorry again for the cliffhanger but i hope this made up for it!

Chapter 10

If kissing Rozanov was the easiest thing Shane had ever done, then not kissing him was the hardest. They sat a respectable distance away from each other in the Uber, though halfway through the ride, Rozanov placed his hand down on the middle seat between them, hooking Shane's pinky with his own. It almost felt like something out of a movie when Shane fumbled his keys, dropping them on the ground as he unlocked his and Hayden's apartment.

As soon as he shut and locked the door behind him, Rozanov's hands were fisted in his shirt, pushing him against the wall in the entryway. "Should we talk first?" Shane stuttered out, eyes dropping down to focus on Rozanov's still slightly swollen lips.

"Mmm, talk later." Rozanov shrugged, and then he was leaning in slowly as if giving Shane time to protest.

Shane surged forward and connected their lips, moaning at the way Rozanov opened the kiss almost immediately. It was a feeling sort of like floating, though Shane wasn't sure he'd felt more present in months. Rozanov's hand tangled in his hair, gently cupping his head as he pushed Shane further against the wall.

Shane moaned again when he realized Rozanov was just as excited as he was. It was a thought that had filtered through his mind way too often but he had never allowed himself to indulge in, but now with Rozanov standing right in front of him, pressing him into the wall and kissing him like nothing else in the world mattered, he could finally let himself want.

Shane slid his hands up to Rozanov's shoulders and used the leverage to flip the two of them so that he was the one pressing Rozanov into the wall. He slid his hands down his chest slowly until he reached the button of his jeans, easily flicking it open. He pressed a couple quick, open-mouthed kisses down the side of Rozanov's neck before dropping to his knees before him, nuzzling his head forward as he pulled his jeans down.

Shane heard a string of dirty words mumbled in a language he couldn't process as he kissed over the thin fabric. Another string of Russian words followed mixed with, "Fuck, Hollander," and then Shane was being hauled back up to his feet right as he'd been about to slip his hand into Rozanov's briefs.

Shane flushed as he slightly came back to himself. Rozanov pressed their foreheads together, slightly leaning his weight on Shane, and suddenly humiliation washed over him. He had never done this before, he didn't know what he was doing, and obviously he'd done something wrong for Rozanov to stop him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, urging Rozanov to open his eyes, look at him, and tell him he hadn't fucked things up completely.

Rozanov's eyes snapped open, looking at Shane incredulously. "Why are you sorry?" Rozanov asked hesitantly, stilling against him.

"I just- I've never-" Shane paused, "I don't really know what I'm doing. And if I was doing a bad job-"

Rozanov kissed him. "Hollander, fuck, no. Was perfect." Rozanov reassured, punctuating each word with a kiss. "But just in case Hayden comes home, we should move to bedroom, da?"

Shane's shoulders sagged in relief, and he couldn't stop the slight laugh from bubbling up. "Yeah, that's- yeah, probably a good idea." He bit his lip and grabbed Rozanov by the hand who slowly stepped out of his jeans and picked them up to carry to Shane's bedroom.

When Shane shut his bedroom door and locked it for good measure, he turned to see Rozanov sitting on his bed looking slightly nervous. He frowned, "Is everything okay?"

"You are sure you want this?" Rozanov asked, looking at him earnestly, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight filtering in from Shane's bedroom window.

Shane nodded, sitting next to Rozanov on the bed, and replied "Yes."

"Okay." Rozanov said with a small smile before leaning in slowly to kiss him. It didn't have the same fiery heat as before, but Shane sighed into it nonetheless. He followed as Rozanov laid back on the bed, climbing into his lap and kissing him back softly with a smile threatening to break through their kiss. He felt Rozanov playing with the hem of his shirt before pushing at his chest slightly to stop the kiss and remove it. Shane removed Rozanov's shirt too for efficiency.

They kissed again lazily for a couple minutes before Shane subconsciously rolled his hips against Rozanov's feeling that he was still hard which Shane guessed really shouldn't have been a surprise. He kissed along Rozanov's neck again, humming with a smile as felt the man's breathing stutter when he kissed over his pulse point, and this time when he reached for the waistband of Rozanov's briefs, he didn't stop him.

Shane pulled them off and watched as Rozanov's cock sprung up, slapping lightly against his stomach and already leaking a little. Shane's eyes widened at the sight of it, but he managed to keep himself from saying anything too shocked or fond that might give him away more than he already was.

He scooted down on the bed, suddenly nervous as he held the base in his hand, looking up at Rozanov hesitantly. "I've never-" he started.

"You do not have to. Is okay." Rozanov said immediately, hands reaching down to grab for him.

"No, I want to!" Shane said, halting Rozanov's movements, "I just don't know if it'll be, you know, good."

Rozanov smiled at that, "Hollander, whatever you do will be perfect."

Shane blushed.

"I'm serious." Rozanov replied, and this time the smile had dropped from his face and his eyes looked at Shane earnestly. "And really you don't have-"

Shane licked a stripe on the underside of Rozanov's cock, effectively shutting him up. He gave it another couple licks, testing it out, seeing what Rozanov tasted like and what he felt like on his tongue. Shane decided that he liked it.

He wrapped his lips around the head of Rozanov's cock, sliding down slowly until he reached the point where his eyes were watering slightly and he could feel Rozanov pressing against the back of his throat.

Rozanov bucked his hips up slightly, and Shane made a slight gagging noise he was shocked to find he didn't hate as Rozanov whispered, "Fuck, sorry."

He took it as his cue to move, slowly bobbing his head up and down with his mouth widened probably a little more than it should have been. Shane was pretty sure he was doing very a mediocre job, it was sloppy and wet, but Rozanov was muttering in Russian again, and when he swirled his tongue around the head, he suddenly felt Rozanov leaning up to push him off by the shoulder.

Shane watched in awe as Rozanov covered the head of his cock with his hand and came. He was a little disappointed that Rozanov had pushed him off even though he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about swallowing a whole mouthful. He watched Rozanov pant heavily, coming down from his high, before leaning over to Shane's bedside table to grab a tissue and wipe his hand off.

Rozanov discarded the tissue somewhere on the ground on top of a pile of their hastily shed clothes and then leaned up to kiss Shane. Shane relaxed into the kiss, making a noise of surprise when suddenly he was pulled down and flipped so that he was now lying back on the bed. Rozanov kissed a trail down his neck, chest, and over his abs before yanking his jeans and boxers off in one go.

Shane was painfully hard and almost certain he wasn't going to last long when he felt Rozanov swallow him down easily. He gasped loudly, "Oh fuck, Rozanov." Shane's hand flew down to tangle in Rozanov's curls, of only for something to hold onto, as he licked and sucked. It was messy, and wet, and Shane found that he absolutely did not care, because he had never felt like this before, and wasn't sure he ever would again. 

He moaned loudly as Rozanov tongued his slit before bobbing his head back down like a pro. Shane could feel himself right at the edge almost embarrassingly quick, but when Rozanov's eyes looked up to make eye contact with him, he knew he was done. "Roz, fuck. I'm gonna-" He started, yanking lightly on Rozanov's hair, trying to pull him off, but Rozanov stayed firmly planted with his mouth around Shane's cock as his eyes went starry and he emptied himself down his throat.

His eyes closed, and he threw his head back against the pillow as his orgasm overtook him, sure he was making all kinds of ridiculous, obscene noises. Rozanov sucked him through it, until Shane was whining with sensitivity. He flopped down on the bed next to Shane, curling his arm underneath him and pulling until Shane was resting on his side, curled into Rozanov's chest.

He breathed him in, inhaling in the space between Rozanov's neck and shoulder as he came down from his high while Rozanov placed a light butterfly kiss on his forehead.

Rozanov sighed loudly, "Fuck, Hollander. You sure was your first time?" He asked amused, and Shane buried his face further into Rozanov's neck, blushing and sure Rozanov was making fun of him.

"Shut up," he replied quickly.

"Am serious." Rozanov replied, using one hand to hook under Shane's chin and pull his head up until he was looking Rozanov in the face. "Was good." He said softly, placing a quick kiss to Shane's lips.

Shane smiled into it briefly before the implications of what they had just done came crashing down on him.

It was absolutely insane.

And sure, Shane had been thinking about kissing Rozanov for almost six months, but they were teammates for fucks sake, and they were hockey players. Hockey players who could absolutely not afford to be out in a league that was the ultimate boys' club. Shane was already the first Asian-Canadian, or Asian period, in hockey. He couldn't afford to be the first... not straight one too.

"Hey, hey. What is it?" Rozanov asked, placing a kiss in between Shane's eyebrows where his forehead had started to furrow.

He shrugged, rolling away slightly, "Nothing. 'M fine." He replied quickly, sitting up in bed and looking for his boxers, because all of the sudden he felt way too naked. He felt Rozanov watching him as he grabbed his boxers from the bottom of the bed and pulled them on quickly.

"Hollander," he said, his voice cautious and slow.

Shane turned to look at him. "You should probably leave before Hayden gets home."

Rozanov looked at Shane as if he'd just been slapped. And then his look changed to one of bewilderment, and Shane started to feel stupid. "Hollander- what? Didn't he say?- Okay." 

Shane suddenly wished he could hit a rewind button back to a minute ago when he had still been laying in Rozanov's arms with gentle kisses being pressed against his head. The air in the room shifted, suddenly filled with a tension that Shane couldn't quite figure out the reason for.

He felt a sudden need to explain himself, "Just because, I know he said he was going home with that girl, but you know how Hayden can be. And it would be really bad, like awful if he came back and saw you here, because you know how you are, and he would probably assume-"

"How I am?" Rozanov bristled, and Shane kicked himself for choice of words.

"Not that there's anything wrong with it!" He said quickly backtracking. He reached his hand out to grab Rozanov's arm, but the other man pulled back. "Just- I know you do this sort of thing all the time, and it's not special or anything-" He cut himself off, looking over at Rozanov with wide eyes, hoping that it had translated correctly that he hadn't meant to slut shame him or anything, but it was true at the end of the day.

Despite what Rozanov said about his blow job, it probably wasn't anywhere close to the best he'd ever had, or even relatively good for that matter.

"I- okay, Hollander." Rozanov said flatly, sliding out of the bed to pull on his clothes.

Shane wasn't sure what he had expected. He guessed it made sense that Rozanov was leaving, but it didn't stop the dull ache forming in his chest as he watched him stiffly dress again. "Wait," he said, the word slipping out before he could think over it more.

Graciously, Rozanov halted. "What?" He asked softly, his voice not unkind, but not warm either.

"You don't have to leave yet, just, soon maybe." Shane said smally and really wished they could go back to a couple minutes ago before he'd fucked everything up with his stupid brain and word vomit.

Rozanov gave him a tight smile. "No, you're right. Is probably better I go now. Papa or Alexei might call soon."

And Shane suddenly felt like a complete idiot in addition to being an asshole because the whole point of the night and talking to Rozanov had been figuring out how to fix things, and convince him not to go back to Russia, and now Shane was half certain he'd made things worse.

Rozanov was fully dressed now and headed for Shane's bedroom door.

"I'll walk you out." Shane said softly and almost a little dejected. They walked to the door in silence, stopping as Rozanov slipped his feet back into his shoes. "Umm, this was nice." He said awkwardly, looking at Rozanov standing in their entryway and brought back to an hour ago when things had been less complicated and all he'd cared about was getting Rozanov in his mouth as quick as possible.

"It was." Rozanov replied, offering him a hesitant smile. "Maybe you-"

"Maybe we-" could do it again. "Oh, you first." Shane said, laughing lightly as they started talking at the same time.

Rozanov smiled and nodded to him as if in thanks before looking down at the ground. "I have meeting tomorrow with Coach and management to talk about, uh, options. Maybe you can come with?" He asked softly, nervously, like there was any chance Shane would possibly say no to him. "You know, as Captain." He added quickly.

Shane smiled, because at least if Rozanov was asking him this, he hadn't fucked up that badly. "Yes." He said immediately. "Text me the time, I'll be there."

Rozanov nodded gratefully. "What were you saying?" He asked softly.

"Oh, uh, nothing. Just was gonna say maybe we could talk more about the Russia thing tomorrow, but you beat me to it." Shane said, lying easily.

"Okay." Rozanov replied. "Well, goodnight, Hollander."

"Goodnight, Rozanov." Shane said, undoing the deadbolt and opening the door.

Rozanov glanced at him hesitantly, almost unsure, before kissing him so quickly that Shane didn't have the chance to kiss back. "Okay, bye." Rozanov said, and then he was out the door, making his way down the long hallway to the elevator, and Shane was left wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

Shane had trouble sleeping that night, especially as he tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning with no sign of Hayden. The man himself, strolled into the apartment, fifteen minutes before noon when Shane was leaving to drive to the practice facility to Rozanov's meeting with management and Wiebe.

Hayden had a dazed look on his face along with a smile that looked like the same one he'd been wearing the previous night. "Shane, I think she's the one." Hayden sighed dreamily as he collapsed on their couch.

Shane laughed, "That's great, dude. Tell me about it later?"

"Where are you going, bud?" Hayden asked, finally looking over and noticing that Shane was slipping on his shoes with his jacket zipped up to the top already.

"Captain's meeting. Shouldn't be long," Shane replied with an easy grin, "There's a smoothie in the fridge if you want."

Hayden simply flashed a thumbs up, and miraculously began snoring on the couch in the next ten seconds. Shane supposed that was what happened when you get no sleep. He jogged down the few flights of stairs before hopping in his car and driving to the Centaurs facility in utter silence.

He wasn't big on listening to music anyway, and he was sure that his thoughts from the night would distract him from anything he put on anyway. He was nervous, of course, to see Rozanov. Unsure of what things would be like during the day time.

He wondered briefly if he would walk into the meeting room and everyone would look at him and laugh. He wondered if they would be able to tell that he'd had Rozanov's cock in his mouth just hours earlier. He wondered how Rozanov would greet him.

Would they go back to the way they'd been last season? Would things be like they'd been at the beginning of this season with them barely talking? Would it be something new entirely?

Shane wasn't sure of any of it, and the thoughts kind of terrified him. But losing Rozanov to his father and Russia terrified him even more, so he marched into the meeting room, three minutes early ignoring the slight look of surprise Wiebe gave him.

"Shane, umm, you're here?" Wiebe stated almost like a question.

"Rozanov asked me to come." He said, hoping the immediate internal wince he felt at the phrasing didn't show on his face.

Wiebe nodded slowly as if he were processing the information, but he didn't challenge it. "Okay then."

Rozanov entered the room a minute later, eyes finding Shane immediately and sending him a grateful smile as he sat down on his right. The owners and upper management filed in a few moments after that.

"So, Mr. Rozanov, are we still discussing the terms of your leave and what that means for your contract and salary, or can we assume Mr. Hollander's presence means you've changed your mind?" One of the suits from the front office asked, starting off the conversation rather bluntly with no time for pleasantries.

Shane suddenly wondered if Rozanov had an agent, and if so, why they weren't here for this rather important discussion.

"I-" Rozanov hesitated, his eyes darting over to Shane. Shane nodded to him in encouragement. "I do not think I need to leave. Anymore." Rozanov said, his words stilted as if they still felt foreign and sort of wrong coming out of his mouth.

The suits across the table exchanged skeptical looks, "Well, obviously that's what we prefer, but you seemed adamant last week that you needed to be back. Can we ask what changed?"

"I, um, talked to my brother last night." Rozanov said almost robotically, "We reached agreement."

Shane wondered what kind of agreement it was, and exactly what it was costing Rozanov.

"I am sorry to make trouble for no reason." Rozanov said.

Shane placed his foot on top of Rozanov's to steady him.

The rest of the meeting went by fairly quickly. It seemed everyone had places to be, and no one wanted to drag out the meeting, lest Rozanov change his mind. Shane was quiet throughout the meeting until Wiebe excused himself and it was just the two of them left, sitting in the Ottawa conference room.

Rozanov blew out a huff of air before massaging his forehead with both of his hands before dropping them to his sides. Shane watched him for a couple long moments, racking his brain for something to say.

He settled on, "Are you okay?"

Rozanov didn't answer for almost a minute, and Shane started to think he wouldn't, when he said, "Maybe no. Probably not."

He couldn't help himself from reaching out to grab Rozanov's hand under the table. Rozanov laced their fingers together and squeezed. "You can talk to me," Shane offered softly.

"My brother is selfish. An asshole." Rozanov sighed. "He thinks same of me, probably."

"Oh." Shane replied dumbly.

Rozanov drew in a deep breath and sighed. "He agreed to watch over Papa if I pay him monthly, and whenever he asks."

"I guess, that's good, right?" Shane asked. Rozanov gave him a quick, flat sideways look.

"It gives him control over me." Rozanov laughed bitterly, "And he hates me, probably. Because I am not there, and he is. And I kind of hate me too, because I am not there." He admitted, his head turned to the opposite wall as if looking at Shane was too much.

Shane wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure how to comfort Rozanov for something that was so completely far out of his depth and out of his understanding. All he knew was that he didn't like the way Rozanov's voice trembled, and he wished he would look at him again, if only so Shane could see those beautiful blue eyes.

He squeezed Rozanov's hand. "I'm glad you're here though." He said softly. Rozanov squeezed back. They sat there for what could have been five minutes, or maybe thirty, as the motion sensor lights went dark.

When Rozanov finally stood and pulled his hand from Shane's, he was surprised by the pang of longing he felt and the way his fingers ran cold. "Okay, practice soon. We should go before someone comes looking."

Shane nodded and followed Rozanov down the hallway to the locker room where a couple teammates had already started to arrive, taping their sticks and putting on padding. "Hey, umm," Shane heard himself saying before Rozanov parted to head toward his own locker. "Come over later. You and Marlow. Maybe we can all watch a movie, or something."

Rozanov looked at him with a small smile on his face that almost seemed a little sad. "Da. Okay." He replied softly.

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

sorry this took so long. My laptop is technically a tablet and the keyboard part broke so I had to write this typing on the screen LOL its rough out here. If there are many typos... I'm so sorry

December 2011

The Centaurs were on fire.

They had won eighteen of their last twenty-one games, losing two in overtime, and one late night west coast game due to time zones and sleep deprivation.

Shane was playing the best hockey of his life, and it had everything to do with Rozanov. They pushed each other in practice and spent most days after in each other's apartments with Marlow, Hayden, and sometimes, Hayden’s girlfriend Jackie, watching shows and getting way too competitive during game nights. Every now and then, Fleury and Vaughn would join them if they weren't too busy with their own girlfriends or other family obligations.

A week after the bar, Hayden made things official with Jackie, who Shane had actually become pretty close with. And every time he left their apartment to spend the night with her, Shane would text Rozanov to come over.

It was usually around 9 pm that Hayden would leave and Shane would text. Like clockwork, around thirty minutes later, Rozanov would show up and shove Shane up against the wall the second he locked the door. It was absolutely crazy, Shane knew that. There was no denying it, but every time he managed to convince himself what they were doing was too dangerous, and someone would find out sooner or later, he would see Rozanov shirtless in the locker room after practice and become utterly unconvinced.

Shane relaxed back into the couch, pulling the blanket Jackie gifted him that had been resting on the back across his legs and chewing on the strings of his hoodie as he pulled out his phone.

Hayden had left earlier that morning to go back home for the five day holiday recess the NHL afforded them. In fact, most of their teammates were already gone, either on vacation or off to celebrate with family.

Shane, of course, loved Ottawa, but even he could admit that there wasn't a ton to do here, and he didn't blame most of the guys for only living here part time.

He stared at his recent text thread with Rozanov.

It was completely innocent and unassuming, because Shane deleted every 'Come over' text as soon as he sent it. The last thing saved in their recent messages was a text from Rozanov asking if Shane saw some big trade between Toronto and LA for a defenseman and a couple late round picks for Toronto's star center.

Of course, Shane had already seen it when Ilya texted about it, but he had sent back a 'Wow' nonetheless.

He typed out a quick message and sent it before he could overthink it, and thirty minutes later, Rozanov was knocking at his door.

Rozanov pushed his way inside, immediately shedding his outer layers and kicking off his shoes. "Missed you," he murmured against Shane's lips before he kissed him.

Shane gasped into the kiss which Rozanov immediately took advantage of, slipping his tongue inside and licking the inside of Shane's mouth. He fumbled with the waistband of Shane's jeans, reaching his hand inside and gripping Shane firmly.

Shane took the opportunity to gasp out, "Yeah, me too," as Rozanov dropped to his knees, immediately taking Shane into his mouth, and fuck, if it wasn't the best thing Shane had ever felt. He threw his head back against the wall, eyes rolling up as he felt his dick sliding in and out of the warm, wet suction of Rozanov's mouth.

"Fuck, Rozy," he moaned, feeling himself close to the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Rozanov moaned at the nickname, sending a whole shockwave of vibrations straight to Shane's dick. He groaned as he threaded his fingers through Rozanov's hair and pulled him up.

Rozanov came willingly, settling his hands on Shane's hips and pressing him into the wall.

“You are so easy." The Russian man whispered teasingly against his lips.

"Fuck off." Shane replied instinctively, smiling slightly into the kiss.

They kissed lazily against the wall for a couple minutes before Rozanov pulled back to rest his forehead against Shane's own.

"Hi," Shane whispered, unable to stop the smile from widening across his face as he breathed in Rozanov's smell. He was slightly sweaty from all the layers he'd been wearing, but Shane could still smell his usual hints of bergamot and citrus underneath.

"Hi," Rozanov replied softly, breathing starting to slow from a clipped pant to more of a measured inhale and exhale.

"So you missed me?" Shane asked teasingly, laughing slightly when Rozanv rolled his eyes.

"Missed your mouth." Rozanov snapped back quickly with a slight glare but no real bite in his tone.

"Okay, sure." Shane replied, not pushing it as he leaned in to press a sweet, gentle kiss to Rozanov's mouth. He grabbed his hand and dragged him further into the apartment until they were standing over the couch. He tossed Rozanov the remote.

"Ooh, couch. Brave," Rozanov smirked, winking at Shane as he collapsed into the center of the couch, leaving Shane no choice but to cozy up next to him.

"Shut up." Shane said quickly, blushing. "Hayden left this morning." He clarified, resting his head on Rozanov's shoulder as he started flipping through the channels. Shane was struck by the thought that it was somewhat of a first for them. Usually, he hurried Rozanov to his room after the initial door kiss, afraid of Hayden coming back early and walking in on them.

It wasn't that he thought Hayden wouldn't be cool with it, the guy was his best friend after all. But two teammates hooking up was objectively weird even if you ignore the whole...gay thing. Shane would be pretty shocked if he ever walked into the apartment to find Marlow and Hayden making out, and he was, well, into dudes also.

Rozanov finally settled on some Hallmark Christmas movie that Shane figured his dad would probably like. He was still hard from Rozanov's greeting earlier, but he found that he kind of wanted to just exist in Rozanov's presence.

Despite all the weirdness from the beginning of the season, they had quickly settled back into their usual away game routine, though Shane made a much more conscious effort not to touch Rozanoz when they were sitting next to each other than he had last year. It was something about the whole hooking up aspect of it all that made him feel like people would be able to tell if they got too close.

They watched the movie in silence for a few minutes, Shane drawing circles with his finger on Rozanov's stomach while Rozanov massaged his shoulder with the arm he had wrapped around him and occasionally placed soft kisses in Shane's hair. Something about it felt strangely intimate.

"You are going home tomorrow, yes?" Rozanov asked suddenly, his voice interrupting their peaceful quiet. Shane didn't mind, he hadn't been paying much attention to the plot of the movie anyway.

He was pretty sure all hallmark movies followed the same formula that he didn't truly care for. They were nearing the end currently, in the middle of the third act break up.

"Mmm yeah, my dad is making his famous Chicken Parmesan, and we're gonna put up all the ornaments and tree lights tomorrow too." Shane smile turned to a frown, "Actually I think they waited for me to do that part because they just don't wanna do it themselves."

Rozanov laughed, it was a full, beautiful sound that warmed Shane to the core and shook him gently. "Sounds very fun, Hollander."

Shane frowned again, "What about you?" He asked carefully.

Rozanov paused, and for a moment Shane almost thought he wasn't going to respond, but finally he said, "What about me?"

"I mean, you're not going home are you?" Shane asked slowly and somewhat stupidly.

Thankfully, Rozanov didn't laugh at him. "Ah, no." He sighed, "There is not much for me at home right now. Plus, break is too short to make the flight worth, and even if it wasn't." 

Shane could feel Rozanov shrugging his shoulders almost carelessly.

"I do not think my presence would be welcomed." Rozanov finished.

Since the meeting in the Ottawa conference room, Rozanov had reached some sort of agreement with his brother to take care of their father. 

Rozanov refused to tell Shane how much he was paying his brother, and equally refused Shane’s offer to chip in. After all, Rozanov staying in Ottawa to play for the Centaurs was critical and crucial for their continued success and Shane’s own hockey legacy too.

Rozanov’s brother had only called twice while they were together. The first time, Rozanov had stepped out into the hallway to take the call, and Shane had been throughly ashamed that his main worry while Rozanov had been outside was that Hayden was going to come back and see him.

Not that it would have been unusual for Rozanov to be at their apartment hanging out, Shane could admit it had been stupid.

But all of those irrational worries had gone out of the window when Rozanov had come back inside with his eyes slightly red rimmed and his voice hoarse from yelling. 

That night they had just cuddled until Rozanov declared he had to go.

The next time Rozanov’s brother had called, Shane told him to just take it in his room. Rozanov had given him a blank stare until Shane had said.

“You guys talk in Russian, I won’t understand anyway.”

When Rozanov had jumped off Shane’s bed, staring out the bedroom window and yelling in anger, Shane had simply curled his arms around Rozanov’s waist with his back pressed to the man’s front and held him until he calmed down.

So with that response and after everything that happened the past few weeks, Shane felt guilty for even asking. "So you're just going to be alone on Christmas?" 

"Is not my Christmas, Hollander." Rozanov replied. Shane thought he remembered something Rozanov had told him about being Eastern Orthodox. He trailed his finger up on Rozanov's chest to circle the gold cross that Rozanov always wore.

Rozanov hummed positively as if Shane had gotten the answer write on a difficult test question. "Plus, Svetlana invited me to Boston to spend time with her, but is okay. I am okay by myself."

Shane frowned but said nothing, instead choosing to press a kiss to Rozanov's chest over his cross. He had met Svetlana briefly when they played Boston two weeks ago, recognizing her as the woman Rozanov had brought with him to the NHL awards ceremony.

This time, Rozanov had introduced her as his childhood best friend from Russia. Shane had felt incredibly stupid for being so jealous back in June and letting that fuck up their relationship for so long, until he watched Svetlana kiss Rozanov on the mouth in the club he’d let him, Marlow, and Hayden drag him out too.

It had turned into a lazy makeout between the two that Shane couldn’t take his eyes off of until it ended in a fit of giggles as if the two of them had been in on some big secret no one else was.

That night had been a brutal, but much needed reality check for Shane.

Rozanov threaded his hand into Shane's hair and turned his head to face him.

He kissed him slowly, but passionately. Shane kind of felt like Rozanov was trying to stick his tongue down Shane's throat. He let his hand wander down into the waistband of Rozanov's pants, stroking him slowly as he felt him firm up. Lately, Shane had mostly had Rozanov's cock in his mouth or inside him, but simply stroking him was an almost scary reminder of just how big Rozanov was.

Rozanov moaned into his mouth as Shane thumbed over the slit of his cock, gathering some precum on his hand to help it move.

They lazily took turns jerking each other off, making out all the while. Rozanov ran to the bathroom to rinse his hand and get a wet towel for Shane who was laying on the couch coming down from his high. The first movie had ended and another started that Shane was still hardly paying attention to.

Rozanov cleaned him off gently, walked to Shane's room to throw the towel in his hamper, and then rejoined him on the couch, laying back and hooking his arms under Shane's shoulders to pull him into his chest. They laid like that lazily with Shane positioned in between Rozanov's legs with his back against the man's front and his head laying perfectly in the spot between Rozanov's pecs. Rozanov switched between carding his fingers through Shane's hair and lightly massaging his neck and shoulders.

It was entirely domestic and scarily comfortable, but Shane couldn't imagine moving. He was distantly aware that it wasn't exactly regular friends, or teammates, with benefits behavior which was basically what they were, but it felt nice so he decided not to question it.

In fact, Shane tried not to question, or really even think about what was happening with Rozanov. Because every time he did, he went through the cycle of convincing himself how terrible of an idea it was. Which, of course, ended when he saw Rozanov shirtless, but then he would start an anxiety spiral about how sweet it was that Rozanov always let him pick the movie on the plane or bus, wondering if his future girlfriend, or more likely boyfriend in the very far, far future, would let him do that too.

Which, of course, would lead to him checking his forehead temperature with the back of his hand, checking if he had a fever because there was no way that he should be comparing a future partner to Rozanov, and there was even less of a reason he should be wondering what it would be like to actually be with Rozanov.

Because Rozanov was Rozanov.

And thinking about him like that was just asking to get your heart broken. And it would be terrible for team morale and chemistry if Shane let himself get his heart broken by Rozanov, so the simple solution was to keep his heart out of it.

Except it wasn't that simple, because Shane was pretty sure that sex with Rozanov had ruined him for sex with anyone else, ever. And maybe that was something he would take back one day when he was having sex with someone he was head over heels in love with, but in the present, Shane was pretty damn sure Rozanov had ruined him for anyone else.

And to make things even worse, Rozanov was sweet. It was in the way he still brought his stupid Canada blanket on road trips, and texted Shane before long flights to make sure to bring a hoodie for the plane. It was in the way he kissed Shane as he opened him up and sometimes through his orgasms too. It was in the way he would pull Shane close after he finished fucking him, whispering soft Russian words into his neck, cuddling him until Shane started to feel sticky and gross.

But Shane knew that Rozanov was still going out on the weekends with Marlow and some of the defensive players, saw the photos of him in bars posing for pictures with fans that were almost more boob than girl, and he knew that he wasn't special. He had also seen Rozanov making out with his ‘childhood best friend’ like it was nothing first hand.

Rozanov was a play boy, had been one since Shane had met him, and Shane would not let himself get caught up in falling for that and fucking up team chemistry.

So despite the bad idea of it all, and Shane's questionable ability to keep his feelings out of it, he had accepted that he was going to continue having mind blowing sex with someone who would only ever think of him as a fuck buddy.

It was a good arrangement.

Shane was sexually satisfied, he knew Rozanov wouldn't tell anyone, and he genuinely liked spending time with him. And maybe that was what spurred him into asking despite knowing it was bordering on too much.

"You should come to my parent's." He said, eternally grateful that Rozanov couldn't see the redness of his cheeks when he asked. "Like for Christmas, or Christmas Eve, or both. We have a guest room. You could stay if you wanted. Or you don't have to. You could even stay longer if you want. Or is that-" 

Shane was cut off by a large hand clamping over his mouth. "Hollander," Rozanov said softly, "I do not want to intrude-"

"You're not!" Shane tried to exclaim, though his voice came out sounding muffled. Rozanov lowered his hand. "You wouldn't be."

"But is your time with your parents." Rozanov replied, the tone of his voice indecipherable.

"Rozanov, I see them all the time. Honestly, they're probably sick of me. I'm sure my dad would love to have another body to work on his new 5000 piece puzzle, and my mom would be over the moon talking with you about hockey."

Rozanov was quiet for a moment. "You are sure?" He asked softly.

"Yes." Shane said quickly, maybe too quickly.

"Okay." Rozanov replied. "Then I come."

Shane let a wide smile spread across his face, comforted by the fact that he wasn't facing Rozanov. He hummed a positive note of agreement and then turned his head to the side, nuzzling his cheek againdt Rozanov's chest. His eyes were droopy, all tired out from his earlier orgasm, but the movie was still near the beginning even though he wasn't even sure if Rozanov was watching it. He decided he would just close his eyes and let them rest for a couple minutes.

He was awoken with a gentle tapping of his shoulder and a sleep drunk, "Hollander."

He blinked his eyes open slowly, taking in the TV that had long since been muted, still running some version of a small town Christmas movie, and lifted up slightly to turn to look at Rozanov, who also looked as if he had just woken up.

Shane swallowed down the initial panic at falling asleep out in the living room as he remembered that Hayden was home already. He tapped the screen on Rozanov's phone which was sitting on the coffee table.

3:12 am.

He stifled a yawn as he sat up from his position between Rozanov's legs and finally responded, "Was just resting my eyes." He mumbled.

Rozanov chuckled, it came out low, sleepy, and sexy, sending a jolt straight down to Shane's dick. 

Maybe that was what prompted him to say, "Stay. 'S late," he stood up and stretched, offering his hand down to Rozanov, pulling him off the couch with little effort. He tangled their fingers and sleepily dragged Rozanov to his room with barely enough energy to tug off his shirt and pull the covers back before collapsing into bed. He was basically sleeping as soon as his head hit the pillow, sighing happily as he pressed closer to the warmth encircling him.

Chapter End Notes

ugh love you guys so much, your comments give me life. sorry updates have been so sporadic!! I am in the process of moving states and this whole keyboard thing is fucking me up but gotta keep grinding. Let me know your thoughts and I'll try to have the next chapter out for y'all soon!

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

"Shane, baby, your room is spotless." His mom sighed from the doorway as he vacuumed under his bed for the second time. "And there's no way Ilya will be crawling under your bed." 

"He might." Shane replied stubbornly.

Rationally, he knew his mom was right, but that didn't stop him from vacuuming anyway, because Rozanov would be there for Christmas Eve dinner in an hour. And he would be spending the night in Shane's childhood bed in his childhood bedroom... with Shane sleeping on an air mattress on the floor. Or so his parents thought.

The loud, incessant humming of the vacuum cleaner clicked off. Shane turned quickly to find his mom holding the cord from where she'd unplugged it. 

She walked over to him, gently grabbing the handle of the vacuum from him. "Shane." She sighed, giving him a pointed look. He released his grip on it and hung his head.

Two days ago, Shane had woken up clinging to Rozanov like a monkey. He had been covered in sticky sweat at every point where they were touching, and he was a little surprised to find that he hadn't minded it all that much.

Rozanov had been laying on his back with Shane plastered to his body, basically on top of him, one arm hooked around under Rozanov's shoulder, and the other splayed across his chest. It was sweet and intimate and unlike anything they had really done before, in the sense that they had never woken up together.

Rozanov had been breathing deeply, chest rising slightly with every intake. Shane had lifted his head slowly, using his hand on Rozanov's chest as leverage to push softly up and out of his arms.

When awake, Rozanov was incredibly handsome, that was undeniable. That along with his charm left no wonder how he had such ease picking women up at the bar. But as Shane's eyes had traced the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the way his long lashes rested almost at the top of his cheek bones, he decided Rozanov was almost breathtakingly beautiful.

Rozanov's eyes had fluttered open, and then Shane had been caught staring into those pretty ocean blue eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Good morning," he had whispered softly, as if the moment between them was a precious thing that could be shattered with too much noise.

Rozanov had blinked a few times, seemingly confused with Shane on top of him. "You are staring," He had stated plainly, voice rough and low with sleep.

Shane had blushed, "Only for a minute."

Rozanov had leaned in to kiss him, and Shane had turned his cheek at the last moment, letting out a breathy laugh at the small noise of protest.

"Brush first." Shane had replied, unhooking his arms from Rozanov and rolling over to the side of the bed to get up.

"Hollander." Rozanov had said flatly, "You have had my cock in your mouth, and you will not kiss me?"

Yet, he had acquiesced to Shane's insistence on brushing teeth before kissing or letting things go further. And after a couple sloppy, still slightly sleepy blow jobs, Rozanov had left after promising he would drive to Shane's parent's house for Christmas Eve dinner and spend the night, so he wouldn't wake up alone on Christmas. Shane had insisted on that last part.

But now with the minutes slowly trickling off the clock until Rozanov arrived, Shane was rethinking that decision.

Because something about having Rozanov over for Christmas Eve dinner to meet his parents for the first time felt an awful lot more serious than the first time his parents had met Hayden or Vaughn. 

In many ways, it was similar. As far as his parents knew, Rozanov was his teammate and his friend, of course. And while they were always more than happy to accommodate Shane's teammates for dinner, they had been especially insistent that Shane bring him once he had disclosed that Rozanov could not go back to Russia for the quick recess.

However, it was also different in a couple of big ways. The first being that Shane had never had Hayden or Vaughn's dicks inside him. The second being that Shane hadn't ever worried what his parents would think of Hayden or Vaughn. Or what Hayden and Vaughn would think of his parents.

And that was his biggest concern currently, more so even than making sure his room was spotless. And he knew it was stupid because it shouldn't matter if his parents liked Rozanov, or if Rozanov liked them.

They should like each other as much as anybody liked their friend's parents, because that's all they were.

And friends was all they could ever be.

Maybe waking up in Rozanov's arms two nights ago had confused his nervous system. Maybe that was the reason his stomach was doing flips at the prospect of seeing his friend who he sometimes had sex with.

Shane walked downstairs to the living room after putting the vacuum away and joined his dad in the den where he was putting together a puzzle. Growing up, Shane had never really had the patience or time to work on a jigsaw puzzle, but he was thankful for the distraction it provided and the way he was able to let himself get sucked into it until the doorbell rang.

The shrill noise of it had him jumping to his feet, veins coursing with electricity as he walked to get the door. When he pulled it open, Rozanov stood before him bundled up in an Ottawa Centaurs parka with a duffel bag hanging off his shoulder and a bouquet of flowers clutched in his other hand.

"Hi," Rozanov said with a smile, his cheeks slightly rosy from the low temperatures outside.

"Hi," Shane replied, smiling back as he stepped aside to let Rozanov in.

It was kind of weird to not be pressed against the wall with Rozanov's usual greeting kiss, but Shane guessed it would have been weirder introducing Rozanov and his parents after something like that. He took an extra second to grin at Rozanov before rotating to face his parents who stood just inside the entry way together.

"Mom, Dad, this is Ilya Rozanov." He said confidently, despite the fact that this was the moment he'd been dreading for two days. "Rozanov, these are my parents."

His mom stepped forward first, arms outstretched to pull Rozanov into a hug as she said, "Ilya, honey, please call me Yuna."

Shane watched with a soft smile on his face as Rozanov paused before wrapping his arms around his mom, the one holding the flowers curling around her back slowly. He felt something warm and airy settling in his chest.

"Thank you for having me." Rozanov said politely when she pulled back, holding out the flowers, "I got these for you."

"Oh, sweetie, you shouldn't have." Shane's mom said smiling as she accepted the flowers from Rozanov while his dad stepped forward to greet him.

"Ilya, son, it's great to meet you." Shane's dad said kindly, his eyes softening as he stretched out his hand.

"Is great to meet you as well, Mr. Hollander." Rozanov replied.

Shane nearly melted at the way Rozanov's face softened when David used their handshake to pull him in for a hug.

"Mr. Hollander was my dad. Just David is fine." His dad joked, and Shane almost rolled his eyes at the amount of times he'd heard his dad make that joke.

"Okay, David," Rozanov said slowly as if he were testing the name out. Shane thought it sounded a little bit emotional.

"Shane, baby, take Ilya's bag upstairs and give him a tour. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes." His mom said, already turning to make her way back to the kitchen where Shane was sure she'd be pouring glasses of wine. His dad followed her, moving to go check on the food in the oven.

When his parents turned the corner, and they were finally alone together, Shane stepped forward and kissed Rozanov quietly.

"Hi," he murmured again, taking only a half step back, so they were still sharing the same air space.

"Your parents are very nice." Rozanov whispered, bringing his free hand up to rub Shane's arm softly.

Shane hummed in agreement.

"I missed you." Rozanov said softly, eyes tracing over all of Shane's facial features as if he were trying to memorize them. Shane couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

"You saw me two days ago." He replied.

Rozanov shrugged. "Still missed you."

Shane grabbed the hand that had been trailing its way up and down his forearm, "C'mon, let's go upstairs."

They raced each other upstairs, Rozanov complaining about how Shane had a head start and no bag to carry after he lost.

It was almost surreal seeing Rozanov in the room where he'd grown up. In the room where he had obsessed over hockey and repeatedly watched the highlights from the first time they'd met at World Juniors.

Rozanov looked around the room with wonder in his eyes, as if he were trying to learn all of its secrets. Shane shut the door behind them as Rozanov dropped his duffel to the ground, immediately walking over to the wall where his gold medal from their second World Juniors was hanging.

"Where is 2008 medal?" Rozanov asked, glancing at Shane with a sly smile.

"Shut up." Shane replied with no real heat in his voice. He sighed and admitted, "Somewhere buried in the closet, probably."

Rozanov just smirked and turned back to the wall containing various other trophies and awards Shane had won playing hockey over the years.

"So, my parents turned our old guest room into my mom's office, so she can work from home." Shane started, "So if it's okay with you, you can sleep here in my bed."

Rozanov turned at that, slowly stalking across the room toward Shane, grabbing his hips firmly and walking them backwards until Shane's back was touching the door. 
"Oh?" He questioned, one eyebrow raised as his eyes bore holes into Shane's soul. "And where will you sleep?"

"On an air mattress. On the floor. Here." Shane almost squeaked out, pointing his finger toward the bag containing the deflated air mattress in the corner.

Rozanov leaned in closer until their noses were just a centimeter away from touching. "I do not think we will be needing air mattress." He whispered, his voice low and rumbling in a way that sent shivers down Shane's spine.

"We can blow it up," Shane replied dazedly, "You know, for appearances." His voice came out shaky and unsure.

"I can think of something else I would rather blow." Rozanov said, his eyes darkening as he leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips against Shane's roughly.

Shane couldn't stop the high-pitched moan from escaping his mouth as Rozanov finally kissed him the way he usually did when they greeted each other with no one else around. Shane's hands flew up from his sides, one of them tangling in Rozanov's curls and the other circling around his back to pull him impossibly closer.

He felt Rozanov nip at his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth and pulling slightly, making Shane gasp before kissing him again but this time with tongue.

Shane was embarrassingly hard.

Rozanov pressed his thigh against the bulge in Shane's pants, eliciting another moan that he swallowed into the kiss. And then abruptly, Rozanov pulled back, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes trailed down to the very obvious tent in Shane's pants, and he had the audacity to wink.

"I was promised a tour." He said casually as if he hadn't just kissed Shane within an inch of his life.

"Fuck you." Shane groaned, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling and will his problem to go away. "You suck." He said, and he meant it.

Rozanov simply laughed before reaching around Shane to open the door. "I'll be waiting for my tour, when you are ready." He said, placing a quick kiss to Shane's cheek before walking around him and slipping back into the hallway.

"So, Ilya," His mom started as she cut at a piece of chicken with her knife. "When did you start playing hockey?"

Shane groaned, "Really, mom?" He asked, "We have a five day break from hockey, and you want to talk about hockey?"

Shane felt Rozanov kick him under the table. 

The two of them were sitting on one side across from Shane's parents. They had sat down for dinner a few minutes ago, and up until this point, it had been mostly pleasantries from Rozanov complimenting the house or the food, and his parents discussing the likely prospects of a white Christmas.

His mom shrugged as if to say 'duh'.

"I learn to skate when I was four." Rozanov replied. "Hockey, I started when I was six."

"That's when we started Shane too!" His mom said brightly.

From there, the conversation evolved into his mom almost quizzing Rozanov about growing up playing hockey in Russia. Shane found it was actually really interesting to hear Rozanov's description of what was important to his coaches, and the different play style he had learned in Russia versus how Shane had been taught in Canada. It made a lot of sense that they had been taught differently, given their two different, but complimentary play styles on the Centaurs now.

It was shocking to hear about how strict Rozanov's coaches had been, and the way they spoke to their players. It was a far cry from anything Shane had heard growing up. He couldn't even imagine how he would have reacted at twelve years old hearing some of the things Rozanov described.

His mom listened with fascination displayed openly on her face, nodding animatedly and asking follow up questions at all of the perfect times. And if Shane didn't know any better, his dad seemed almost equally interested despite normally zoning out during his and his mom's long hockey talks.

"When I was fifteen, I had flu so I skipped practice one day." Rozanov was saying, his eyes lighting up as he gestured wildly with his hands. "My coach showed up to my house next day, dragged me out of bed to practice, and made me bag skate until I threw up."

"Oh my god," His mom replied shocked and fascinated all the same.

"Then, he make me clean it up," Rozanov paused, "And then skate more for making a mess." He laughed after this.

"Wow," His mom gasped, "Ilya, that's-" she paused. "That's awful, honey."

Rozanov shrugged, "Was nothing."

It was always slightly surprising when Rozanov shared these small glimpses into how hard he worked. In practice and in the locker rooms, he always came across as so unbothered and relaxed. He skated drills with the sort of beautiful ease that came with being naturally gifted at what you do. And he was, but he was also extremely dedicated.

He had the exact same type of strict determination and fierce competitiveness that Shane did, he just kept it under wraps better. He couldn't keep it under wraps working on the jigsaw puzzle after dinner though.

The two of them somehow managed to make working on a puzzle into a competition, one that they were both displeased to discover that Shane's dad beat them at with ease, all the while saying, "Boys, it's just a puzzle. You don't need to make it a- oh, there's another piece- competition."

Dinner had been served with white wine, but Shane's dad had broken out his special vodka after.

Shane's insides had twisted at the way Rozanov's eyes had lit up when he had taken his first sip and declared it to be incredible, authentic Russian vodka. 

Shane's first sip had gone slightly different. He had spluttered and coughed after swallowing it, unable to stop from wincing. Rozanov had called him a baby for that. But now, sitting in the house he had grown up in, on Christmas Eve, working on a puzzle with his parents and Rozanov, and drinking extremely strong and potent Russian vodka, Shane was scared by how well Rozanov was getting along with his parents, and the fact that he could imagine this forever. Or rather, that some part of him wanted to.

Shane bristled at the thought, because that wasn't what was happening here.

It couldn't happen.

And even if it could, there was no way Rozanov would want to spend all of his future Christmas Eve's sitting on the floor of Shane's childhood home, putting together jigsaw puzzles with his parents. 

Boring, quiet nights were Shane's thing, not Rozanov's thing.

And sure, they both had one year left on their rookie deals, but there was no guarantee that Ottawa would be able to keep them both after next year, especially if they both went after their top market value.

It was something Shane had been thinking about for the past couple weeks, ever since Hayden had started talks with management about signing an extension, given that his contract was up at the end of the season.

This thing he had with Rozanov was temporary, so there was no use in getting attached or pretending it was anything more, even if his mom's eyes were sparkling as she watched Rozanov and his dad press the last piece into the puzzle together.

"Hey," Rozanov whispered to him while his mom went to grab the bottle of vodka from the kitchen to refill their glasses and his dad walked over to the storage closet to pick out a new puzzle. "Okay?" Rozanov asked.

Shane nodded and managed a smile even though everything was probably not okay, because he was starting to realize he liked Rozanov as more than just a friend and more than just a guy he hooked up with a couple times a week.

In fact, everything was absolutely not okay, because somewhere in the past month he had gone from liking Rozanov in a silly crush way that was exciting and thrilling to liking Rozanov in a much more complicated way that meant he was undisputably going to end up with a broken heart.

Chapter End Notes

okay so we're kinda making progress... finally starting to acknowledge our feelings, we love that!

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

They didn't retire to Shane's room until one in the morning. Midway through the second puzzle of the night, Shane's mom had put on Home Alone, which Shane had seen about a thousand times, but Rozanov apparently had never.

So, of course, they had to pause the puzzle to watch.

Shane felt himself watching Rozanov's face to see his reactions more than he watched the actual movie.

Rozanov's normally stoic face was animated and entranced as the movie went on. He stared at the screen with an almost childlike wonder in his eyes, and a part of Shane was upset that Rozanov hadn't had anything like this in his childhood. It wasn't fair, but another more selfish part of him was glad that he was getting to witness Rozanov watching the movie for the first time.

They trudged up the stairs, tipsy and uninhibited. Shane blew up the air mattress while Rozanov brushed his teeth, and half-heartedly made his way through his nighttime routine before hugging his parents goodnight and joining Rozanov in his childhood bedroom.

He felt Rozanov's eyes watching him as he made up the air mattress with sheets and a blanket. And when he looked up at him, Rozanov was watching with a pout.

"I thought you are going to sleep here." He said, gesturing to the bed.

Shane blushed, "Maybe, but we have to at least make it look like I slept on the air mattress." He frowned at the perfect sheet corners of the mattress and perfectly fluffed pillow.

"Oh my god, Hollander. You are so bad at this." Rozanov sighed as he stood from his spot on the bed and collapsed onto the air mattress, rolling around and messing up the perfectly neat job Shane had done at making it up.

He rumpled the sheets up as he stood and pressed an indent into one of the pillows.

"There." Rozanov said, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face as he turned to Shane. "Now come to bed." He commanded, grabbing Shane's hand and dragging him to fall onto the bed on top of him.

Shane looked down at Rozanov, smiling softly as the man below him leaned his head up for a kiss. Shane gave it to him, pressing a soft peck to his lips and grinning at the way Rozanov tried to chase his mouth when he pulled back.

"Hey, no funny business." Shane said softly, "My parents are down the hall."

Rozanov rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, Hollander. I know this." He grabbed onto Shane firmly, but gently, and rolled them over so that Rozanov was the one on top. "And I know how bad you are at being quiet." He murmured as he leaned in to kiss Shane again.

This time, the kiss was longer, with more feeling behind it than the previous one. Shane felt Rozanov's tongue swiping at the entrance to his mouth almost immediately, opening to grant him access as their tongues met in a passionate dance.

He felt his cheeks heat after a small moan escaped him when Rozanov rolled their hips together, feeling himself swell up embarrasingly fast. "Roz-" he sighed into Rozanov's mouth as the man's cold hands settled on his back underneath his shirt.

"Shh, relax Hollander." Rozanov whispered as he rolled them over slightly so that they were both laying on their sides facing each other. "I only want to kiss you."

They made out lazily for a while after that. It could have been two hours, or twenty minutes, Shane wasn't sure. All he did know was that he never got tired of it, and he didn't think he ever would.

That was the dangerous part about Ilya Rozanov. 

Shane never smoked, and he rarely drank. He wasn't even reliant on caffeine, unlike most of the Centaurs' players. As far as addictions went, before he'd met Rozzanov, the only thing Shane had ever felt reliant on was hockey. And then, the incessant sparking of a lighter that stood no chance against the strength of the Canadian winter winds, and a general manager who had possibly been smoking way too much of the good stuff, had changed everything.

Some days, Shane wished he could go back to the early days playing for the Centaurs before he had realized just how much he wanted to kiss his teammate.

This was not one of those days. 

Rozanov was addicting, intoxicating, and Shane wasn't sure he would ever get enough of him.

Which was scary and dangerous, because he could never really completely have Rozanov, for a multitude of reasons, and especially not as long as they were both still playing hockey. But for now, he could pretend.

Gradually, the kiss slowed down from its earlier fiery tempo until it was a mixture of shared smiles and sweet fluttery presses against each other's lips that turned into breathy laughs.

When they finally pulled back from each other, Shane spent a couple long moments simply staring into Rozanov's eyes, seeing the childlike light and sparkle from earlier still dancing in his pupils. He almost wished he could take a picture of Rozanov like this, flushed and a little sweaty, lips colored dark pink, expression soft and open.

"So, I am another, umm, mark on bed?" Rozanov asked with a flirty smile on his face.

Shane's eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to determine what Rozanov meant. Rozanov's face twisted in confusion too, realizing he'd used the wrong phrasing and trying to come up with the right one.

"Umm, like, you do this often? Like growing up?" Rozanov clarified.

Shane's mouth formed an 'o' as he understood Rozanov's earlier question. "You mean notch in my bed post?" Shane asked, almost incredulously.

Rozanov's eyes lit up even more, "Yes! That!" He exclaimed, grinning as if Shane had just found something he'd been searching for.

Shane blushed, "Umm, no." He replied, deciding that if Rozanov wanted any further clarification, he would have to pry that information out of Shane by asking follow up questions. And even then, Shane wasn't sure if he'd answer.

"You do not bring girls here? In secondary school?" Rozanov asked, and Shane tried not to get annoyed. Rozanov's tone wasn't judging or critical, it was more so innocent and curious, but that didn't change the fact that it was also nosy. "Or boys, I guess."

"No! God no." Shane sighed, rolling onto his back to face the ceiling so he didn't have to look at Rozanov while he responded.

"Why?" Rozanov continued to press curiously.

"What do you mean why?" Shane asked, unable to stop the irritation from seeping into his voice.

"I mean," Rozanov paused, "Surely there were people interested?" He phrased it as a question.

"Yeah, I guess, maybe." Shane replied, "I had a girlfriend, Jessica, but I never- we never-" Shane sighed. "It just wasn't-"

He cut himself off as he turned his head to the side to look at Rozanov who was watching him intently.

"I was always just so focused on hockey." Shane admitted softly, turning back to look up at the ceiling again. "I was a bad boyfriend probably."

"No-" Rozanov started, but Shane cut him off.

"Trust me, I was." He chuckled in a self depricating way. "She was nice, and pretty, and sweet. She tried to get me to go to parties with her, drink, dance, have fun, do normal high school kid stuff." Shane recalled.

"Maybe she was bad girlfriend." Rozanov's voice rang out, cutting through Shane's pause like a knife. His voice was even and measured, innocent almost, with no hint of teasing or mocking at all. "Maybe she did not try to know you at all."

Shane's breath caught and his pulse quickened at the way Rozanov stressed the word 'know'. He turned his head to the side, eyes wide, to look at Rozanov again. His eyes were earnest and bright, and for a second, Shane let himself fill in the blank with the words that hadn't been said.

He almost let himself imagine Rozanov implying that she hadn't really known Shane at all, not like he did.

He swallowed the thought down roughly as he turned to look back at the ceiling. It was boringly white and plain.

"Maybe," he agreed softly, "Or maybe we were just incompatible." The word hung in the air. It tasted kind of sour in Shane's mouth, and not for memories of Jessica, but for the hidden, subtle reason behind the two of them being incompatible.

"Incompatible." Rozanov replied, the word sounding choppy in his accent as he tested it out. "This is?"

"Not a match. Wanting different things. Not meant to be together." Shane filled in.

"Ah." Rozanov hummed in response.

And even though he hadn't asked or seemed to need anything further, the words bubbled out of him, "Because I-" he stopped, nearly choking on the words. "Because I'm-"

He jumped slightly as he felt Rozanov's hand cover his, squeezing it tightly. Suddenly, there were pinpricks in his eyes and the boring white ceiling was blurring. The air in the room felt thick, and Shane wasn't sure when the last time he'd gotten a full lung of air was.

"Hollander, is okay." Rozanov said, his voice closer now and edged with the slightest bit of concern. "Hollander, look at me."

The walls in the room seemed to impossibly be closing in. The room felt too small and way too large all at the same time.

He wasn't. 

He couldn't be.

It was practically a death sentence.

He tried to breathe deeply, but choked inhaling the air to fast, coughing as Rozanov pulled him up to sit with his back against the wall.

"Hollander, please. You are panicking." Rozanov said, his voice pleading now, "You need to take deep breath." He tried to command, though his voice sounded shaky and unsure.

And obviously, he knew that he wasn't like the rest of his teammates. That much had been clear in the past couple months since he'd started hooking up with Rozanov. But that was only ever supposed to be a temporary thing. Sure, he'd never felt for anyone else the way he felt for Rozanov, but Rozanov wasn't an option.

That was what Shane had been telling himself.

Rozanov was Rozanov. 

He was loud, bold, and beautiful. He had his pick of almost any girl he could possibly want. The thing with Shane was just convenient, in the same way the thing with Svetlana was convenient.

It was convenient for Shane too, because he didn't have to worry about making Rozanov sign an NDA because there was no way he could run off and tell anyone without sabotaging himself too. That's all it was. Convenience. That's all it was supposed to have been. And maybe Shane's feelings had crossed the line from convenient to something more a while ago, but that was okay because he was still sure in a few years when all had been said and done, the right girl would come along.

But as Rozanov had pressed him for information about his high school girlfriend, Shane realized it hadn't worked out, because it could never work out. And not because of Jessica. Because of him.

Because he had never felt that same spark with Jessica, or with any girl for that matter. And somewhere along the way, the spark had turned into a wildfire that was burning down Shane's forest of everything he thought he knew. And he wasn't sure if any spark would ever burn that bright again.

Even if it did, there would be nothing left to burn down. Because like almost everything in Shane's life, Rozanov had already claimed it all.

He was ice cold and maybe burning up at the same time. He could distantly make out Rozanov's increasingly desperate whisper pleas.

"Hollander."

"Hollander, please."

"Breathe, Shane, breathe."

He breathed. He sucked in a breath so deep that the air almost burned his lungs. Slowly, his senses came back to him as he returned back to his body.

Rozanov's hands were cupping his cheeks, face less than a foot away, looking at him with soft concern. He was surrounded by the now familiar citrus-y bergamot scent of Rozanov, and his breaths were coming easier now.

"You're okay." Rozanov whispered, thumb brushing softly along his cheek, hands refusing to let go.

He managed a small nod.

Rozanov's eyes searched his face, as if trying to catch a sign that something was wrong. After a few long moments, he sighed and his shoulders relaxed. He pressed a long kiss to Shane's forehead.

"Come, lay down." He said weakly as he pulled back the covers on Shane's bed and held them up for him to slip into.

Shane went quietly and easily, still calming from earlier with a slight embarrasment beginning to wash over him. It halted when Rozanov wrapped his arms around Shane and pulled him into his chest.

Shane buried his head in the space between Rozanov's neck and shoulder, melting into the bed as Rozanov's hands rubbed up and down his back, keeping him close.

"I think I'm gay." He muttered softly in a way that was barely audible, only sure Rozanov had heard at the slight stutter in the way his hands moved before resuming their lazy path up and down his back.

"Okay." Rozanov replied softly. It was simple and easy, not overly enthusiastic or artificially comforting, it was exactly what Shane needed to hear.

He kept his head pressed against the corner where Rozanov's neck and shoulder met, breathing him in slowly and deeply as his heart rate slowed to normal and his eyes began to droop.

When he finally pulled his head back to rest on the pillow, he mumbled, "Goodnight, Rozanov."

"Goodnight, Hollander." Rozanov replied quickly.

He vaguely heard Rozanov mutter something else in a language he wasn't entirely sure was English and maybe wasn't supposed to understand. He was too tired to ask him to repeat it, or to ask what it meant, and so he drifted off and slept safely wrapped up in Rozanov's arms.

Chapter End Notes

what do you guys think Rozanov said????

bit of a soft chapter for you guys <3 this fic is nearly fully mapped out (read: not done yet) and i will update the chapter count to reflect that once i fully decide how many chapters i need to finish this story. love y'all xoxo

Chapter 14

February 2012

Shane paced nervously across the floor of his hotel room, resisting the urge to check his phone for the fourth time and make sure he'd texted Rozanov the correct room number nearly thirty minutes ago.

It had been nearly two months since the last time they'd had any meaningful time alone together, and Shane was going out of his mind with need.

The end of the Christmas recess had brought a long stretch of road games, making it nearly impossible to be alone together given that they both had roommates. Shane had debated the consequences of requesting a roommate switch for the two of them to be together but ultimately decided it was too risky.

Shane had never been a big believer in New Years resolutions or the idea that a new year could bring about a magnificent transformation in one's lifestyle or habits, but his life certainly had changed after New Years, so maybe that belief needed reevaluating.

Since the turn of the New Year, it seemed like Jackie was in their apartment every time they were at home. And with Marlow often camped out in his and Rozanov's apartment playing video games, watching movies, or having the other guys over, Shane and Rozanov had quickly lost their usual meet up spot.

"Dude, if you're ever bothered by how much Jackie is here, just let me know." Hayden had told him one night, one of the rare ones where she hadn't stayed over.

And it wasn't that Shane didn't like Jackie. In fact, he actually really liked her, but it made it impossible for him to have privacy.

"You know I love Jackie, Hayd." Shane had replied with a tight, only slightly fake smile on his face.

"She's just been having roommate conflict, and I think me being over there all the time would make it worse." Hayden had sighed, kicking his feet up on the coffee table as he relaxed into the couch. "Honestly," he paused, "I've been thinking of asking her to move in with us."

Shane had choked on his ginger ale.

When he finally managed to stop coughing and take in a deep lungs worth of air, Hayden had asked, "Do you think it's too soon?" with a concerned furrow to his brow.

"No! It's not that- well, actually I don't know, maybe a little bit, but-" Shane had paused. He loved Hayden. Hayden was his best friend. And honestly, Jackie was perfect for him, but Shane hadn't exactly signed up to live with a couple. 

Hayden had listened earnestly, eyes wide and open as he patiently waited for Shane to find the words.

"Wouldn't that be kind of weird? For you two to live here, and me to live here too?" Shane asked softly.

Hayden's eyes had widened even more at that, "Wait no, buddy, you know I love living with you!"

"I know that, Hayd. Of course I know that." Shane had reassured, "But if you wanna live with Jackie, I wouldn't mind moving out. I mean, it's not like we can't afford to live alone." Shane had said, throwing in a joke at the end so Hayden knew he wasn't upset.

And he wasn't. 

Maybe if Jackie moved in, he could get his own place, finally have his peace and quiet and personal space back. It would certainly make it a lot easier to be discreet with Rozanov.

They had decided to table the conversation for later though, as Jackie's lease wasn't up for the next four months anyway. But Shane was almost excited at the prospect of looking for a place that he got to choose on his own, rather than one picked and decorated by someone else. He would always be grateful to Hayden for taking him in as a rookie, and obviously they had lived together well enough that they decided to do it another year, but living on your own was a part of growing up, and Shane could certainly afford it.

And so the past two months had gone by where the most physical contact the two of them had was sitting next to each other on the couch during movie night with Hayden and Marlow surrounding them, and the one bruising kiss Rozanov had pulled him into in the parking lot after a Captain's meeting after checking twice that no one else was around.

Rationally, Shane knew they could have gotten a hotel, and Rozanov had suggested it a few times. But they had both ended up agreeing that being spotted at a hotel in Ottawa where people knew they both had their own places would be suspicious. Maybe not for Rozanov, but certainly for Shane.

So this year, the Allstar game was more than just a chance to show off his skills and continue the win streak for Team North America, which despite his best efforts, they did not, in the theme that the NHL had decided, for some reason, to bring back.

Shane had retired to his room rather early, citing exhaustion from a tweaked shoulder a few games prior. He had then given it an hour and a half before texting Rozanov his room number.

And he wasn't necessarily mad that Rozanov hadn't shown up yet. Of course, Team Europe was thrilled with their win and had been celebrating as Europeans did, by consuming excessive amounts of alcohol. And Rozanov had scored the winning goal after all, so Shane was sure he was very popular.

But they hadn't fucked in two months, and in addition to extremely horny, Shane was starting to get impatient. And he thought Rozanov would be too, especially with the way he'd been sexting Shane just last night.

He wondered, briefly, if maybe Rozanov wouldn't come at all. Maybe seeing Shane wasn't a priority for him because unlike Shane, he had a plethora of options. All he had to do was go out to any Ottawa bar, and surely he would find someone drooling at the chance to go home with him.

His stomach twisted at the thought.

Maybe Rozanov hadn't come yet because he had only ever been interested in Shane due to the convenience of it all. And now with Jackie around all the time, and no regular, safe place to meet, that convenience had disappeared. Maybe, Rozanov had never really cared that much about Shane at all.

He was startled out of his negative line of thinking by a knock at the door. 

He quickly crossed the room in a few purposeful strides before pulling open the door to see a bright, smiling Rozanov.

"Hollander!" He exclaimed, arms spread wide as if for a hug as he stumbled into the room while Shane shushed him.

"Rozanov," Shane whispered harshly, "Oh my god, you're so drunk."

Rozanov frowned, "Am not. Russians do not," he waved his hand around in the air for emphasis, "Get drunk."

"Well, obviously you do." Shane replied smartly, sitting Rozanov down on his bed as he regarded him with a frown. "Jesus Christ, you're wasted."

"Am-" Rozanov burped, "Not."

Shane sighed, "How much did you have to drink?"

Rozanov counted on his hands, slowly raising his fingers as he remembered various drinks throughout the night, "-seven was beer from Miitka, eight was shot with Kuznetsov, nine was shot with Nilsson, ten was shot with Fischer and Weber-"

Shane stopped him once he passed ten, "I'm surprised you even made it up here." He commented.

Rozanov stopped counting drinks on his fingers and looked up at Shane with a dopey smile, "Wanted to see you."

Shane only melted a little bit as he sat down on the bed next to Rozanov. The anticipation had drained from his body, and all that was left was wanting to take care of his stupid, drunk teammate/rival for the weekend. Rozanov leaned into Shane immediately, humming as he relaxed his head against Shane's shoulder.

"Missed you," Rozanov added, murmuring the words into Shane's neck.

If Shane blushed at that, at least nobody was around to see it. "Yeah, I missed you too." He replied softly.

He felt Rozanov press a light kiss to his collarbone before sitting up. He turned to look at Shane, eyes wide and earnest when he asked, "Do you remember Christmas?"

Shane wasn't sure how he could have possibly forgotten Christmas, given that it happened just two months ago, and that they had spend the majority of the recess together.

"Of course I remember Christmas," Shane replied, confused as to why Rozanov was bringing it up.

"I miss sleeping with you." Rozanov said almost shyly.

And of course Shane missed that too, but Rozanov was in absolutely no state for that right now. 

"Roz, we can't do that now. You're literally so-"

"No," Rozanov interjected, cutting him off. "Is now what I mean." Rozanov furrowed his brows, searching for the words, "I mean, just, sleeping. You know, next to you."

Shane definitely melted and turned bright pink at that. "Oh." He said softly in response.

Rozanov looked down at the ground before asking hesitantly, "Can I stay tonight?"

Shane wanted to scream that yes, of course Rozanov could stay. But he settled for, "Okay, but shower first. You smell like alcohol."

Rozanov grinned and pressed a kiss to Shane's forehead as he stood, walking quickly to Shane's bathroom in a manner that resembled less of the stumble from earlier and way more of a controlled stride.

Shane clicked on the tv as the water turned on in the bathroom, putting on the highlights from the last game they'd played and pulling his notebook out of his suitcase to take notes. As he'd learned during the holiday recess, Rozanov's showers were never quick.

He felt his eyes drooping, blissfully aware that it was two hours past his regular in-season bedtime when he heard the water stop and minutes later, Rozanov walked out of the shower wrapped only in a towel.

"Hollander, do you have-"

Shane cut him off by tossing him a pair of clean, rolled up sweatpants he'd gotten out of his suitcase after realizing Rozanov didn't have any clean clothes with him. He averted his eyes when Rozanov dropped the towel to pull them on and then climbed into bed next to Shane.

"You act like you haven't seen million times before," Rozanov teased as he rested his chin on Shane's shoulder, seeming to have sobered up a little bit in the shower.

"Shut up," Shane muttered under his breath as his cheeks heated slightly and he finished scribbling down a note about the third line before closing his notebook.

"Bed time?" Rozanov asked.

Shane nodded, climbing under the covers as Rozanov turned the lamp off.

He stayed over on his half of the bed until he felt Rozanov's arm snake under his back and pull him closer until his head was resting on Rozanov's chest. He let himself relax into the hold and tangled their legs together before drifting off to sleep.

He woke to the sound of the door clicking shut, and the space in the bed beside him empty. For a moment, a negative feeling washed over him as he wondered why Rozanov had left without saying anything, but it was quickly alleviated when Rozanov appeared from around the corner, dressed in his own clothes and looking surprised to see Shane awake.

Shane tiredly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as Rozanov slipped back into bed beside him. "Where did you-" he started.

"My room." Rozanov filled in. "Changed and brushed my teeth, so I could kiss you when you woke up."

Shane felt his entire body warm as he looked at Rozanov with what he was sure were heart eyes. He pushed himself out of bed and to the bathroom to brush his own teeth and wash his face before walking back to the main room where Rozanov was waiting.

"So you brush your teeth, and I brush mine... means I can kiss you now?" Rozanov asked, smirking confidently.

Shane nodded as Rozanov stepped forward, one hand circling around Shane's back as the other cupped his cheek softly. Rozanov muttered something in Russian softly before kissing him.

It was a demanding kiss from the start. Rozanov walked them backward until Shane was pressed against the wall, tongue immediately seeking entrance into Shane's mouth. Shane moaned into the kiss as Rozanov's hands trailed down to cup the back of his thighs before pulling up so that he was holding Shane up, using the wall as leverage.

Shane hooked his ankles behind Rozanov's back as he kissed him fiercely.

"So good for me, Hollander." Rozanov murmured against his mouth, eliciting an embarrassing moan from the back of Shane's throat. 

Rozanov walked backward towards the bed, supporting all of Shane's weight as he gently laid back without disconnecting their mouths. It was heated and passionate, and Shane was already almost fully hard when Rozanov rolled them over so that he was on top.

Shane whined as Rozanov pulled back from their kiss, taking a second to look down at him. Shane felt like bare, like all of his emotions were laid out on his face, vulnerably displayed for Rozanov to see.

Rozanov slid two of his fingers into Shane's mouth, and Shane eagerly sucked them, drawing a loud groan from Rozanov. "Fuck, I missed this mouth." 

Shane held eye contact with Rozanov, who swore in Russian, as Shane continued sucking on his fingers.

"What do you want, Hollander?" Rozanov asked, eyes dark and voice rough as Shane moaned around his fingers. "Use words." He said, pulling his fingers out of Shane's mouth.

"You." Shane replied breathily, feeling drunk on Rozanov.

"Me?" Rozanov asked, light sparkling in his eyes as he taunted, "You want to keep sucking my fingers? Or do you want something else?"

Shane whined as Rozanov rolled their hips together, "Fuck, Rozanov. I want you to fuck me." He said, giving in.

Rozanov smiled, "Yes. This I can do," and then leaned back down to reconnect their lips as he tugged at the waistband of Shane's boxers.

The sex was incredible, as good as it always was with Rozanov. Rozanov fucked him on his back, kissing him and swallowing down his loud moans the whole time to be cognizant of their neighbors. They both finished rather quickly, but Shane hadn't been expecting to last very long after not being with Rozanov for the past two months.

Rozanov threw the condom in the trash and came back with a wet wash cloth for Shane, wiping up the mess and then tossing it to the corner of the room before flopping down beside him.

Shane felt his breathing finally start to return to normal as Rozanov tangled their fingers together, bringing the back of Shane's hand up to his mouth and kissing it. It was a strangely intimate gesture, but not one uncommon for Rozanov. In their months of hooking up, Shane had come to learn that Rozanov was extremely affectionate after finishing.

And though Shane would never complain about that, it was sometimes just a little bit confusing for his emotions. Especially lately.

"Hollander, I think you killed me." Rozanov stated plainly, still panting as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Fuck off," Shane replied with an eye roll and a slightly breathless laugh.

"No, am serious, Hollander." Rozanov replied earnestly, rolling his head to the side to look at Shane. He said something in Russian, then translated, "You are perfect, Hollander."

Shane laughed fully this time. "Okay, Rozanov. Sure, whatever."

It was definitely a compliment, and a bit of an ego boost. But maybe Rozanov said stuff like that to every regular hook up of his. And he wasn't exactly about to ask Svetlana to compare notes next time he saw her.

They laid there for a few minutes longer until Shane sat up to check his phone. He had a few messages from his mom, various emails from his subscriptions and brand partnerships, some explicit texts from the team group chat mostly ribbing him for losing to Rozanov's team, and a reminder about his flight in five hours.

He sighed as he disentangled his fingers from Rozanov's to respond to his mom's text asking how the weekend was and congratulating him that the accuracy record he set last year was still standing.

He felt Rozanov's chin come to rest on his shoulder and arms wrap around his waist as he scrolled through his email.

"Hollander, you are so boring." Rozanov groaned when he clicked on an article from an email the Toronto Star had sent him. He leaned back into Rozanov as he felt the vibrations from his words when he spoke throughout his body.

"Okay, Rozanov." He said, humoring the other man, "What else do you suggest I do?"

"Mmm, we could go on run?" Rozanov suggested. "They have nice park down the street, and I know you get grumpy without your morning exercise."

It was actually maybe a good idea. Shane had been planning to just get to the airport early, but there wasn't any reason they couldn't go run and epxlore Colorado. It wasn't like it would be weird to see teammates hanging out during the Allstar weekend.

He smiled and said, "Okay, fine. Now let me up so I can get dressed."

Two hours later, they were back from the run, moderately sweaty, and giving each other messy blowjobs in the shower as they washed off. Rozanov left briefly to go pack up his own room, and they met in the lobby to call an Uber to the airport together.

"Hayden's gonna ask Jackie to move in." Shane said while they waited for their ride.

"Oh?" Rozanov asked, eyebrow raised.

"I was thinking of getting my own place when he does that." He continued.

"You do not want to be subjected to Pike banging his girlfriend on couch?" Rozanov asked flatly.

"What? I- no!" Shane spluttered out while Rozanov laughed. "They're very respectful!" He exclaimed, causing Rozanov to laugh even more.

"Okay, so what is problem?" Rozanov asked curiously once he finally managed to stop laughing. "I mean, Jackie basically lives with you already. What is difference?"

Shane frowned, "I don't know, I guess I just kind of want my own space. Plus, it's hard to see you when they're both there all the time."

"So, you want to move out of apartment with your best friend to make it easier to fuck me?" Rozanov asked plainly.

"Jesus! Keep your voice down." Shane hissed, looking around for any sign of nearby players or fans that could be listening in. Thankfully, there was no one around. "And no, that's not the only reason." 

It was maybe one of the main reasons, the biggest one, probably. But Shane didn't exactly need to admit that to Rozanov. Getting his own apartment to make it easier to have sex with his teammate that he occasionally fucked would be rapidly crossing the line from chill and casual to serious and decidedly not chill.

"Hollander," Rozanov sighed, his voice softening, "You don't need to move for us to see each other."

"I mean, we haven't seen each other since Christmas though." Shane said, his voice coming out small.

"We see each other every day." Rozanov replied smartly.

"You know what I mean," Shane protested, rolling his eyes.

"I can kick Marlow out for a few hours. He would understand." Rozanov suggested.

"Marlow is the nosiest motherfucker I know." Shane replied flatly.

"Hotel?" Rozanov asked.

"Too public." Shane sighed.

"Well- never mind." Rozanov started and stopped.

Shane looked at him curiously. "What is it?" He asked.

Rozanov took a deep breath and said, "Is it end of world if Marlow and Hayden know?"

What the fuck.

Shane felt like he'd been doused in ice water. "What?" He asked.

Rozanov sighed, "See, this is why I said never mind."

Shane wondered if maybe Rozanov had lost his mind. It was crazy, utterly insane. The thing between them was already crazy and risky enough, and other people knowing would make it worse.

It would make it more real.

It would make it so that one day when it ended, it wouldn't just be something that Shane grieved alone, it would be something that other people knew about. And other people knowing about it would make it decidedly not casual. 

Shane determined Rozanov must have lost his mind, or had a temporary, extremely major lapse in judgement.

"Forget I said it." Rozanov said quickly, noticing the baffled look on Shane's face. "Was dumb."

Mind racing and thoughts elsewhere, Shane simply nodded in agreement, unsure of what else there was that he could possibly say in response. 

Their Uber pulled up before Shane had the chance to respond.

The ride to the airport was quiet, because there was no way they could discuss anything like what they'd been discussing in the car with another person who almost certainly knew who they were based on the wide eyes when they'd gotten in the car.

They were quiet checking their bags, going through the airport security line, and sitting at their gate. When they sat on the flight, Shane wordlessly offered Rozanov the earbuds and slid a movie into the DVD on his laptop.

They watched in silence, keeping their hands to themselves, and Shane tried not to be upset when Rozanov didn't press their thighs together underneath the computer like he usually did.

Maybe after thinking about it, Rozanov decided it was weird that Shane was planning on moving out and getting his own place to make it easier for them to fuck. It probably was weird, and a little extra. Shane wasn't sure why else Rozanov wouldn't have said a word to him since they'd gotten into the Uber. 

And sure, communication was a two way street, but Shane wasn't the one who had suggested that they tell their roommates, who were also their coworkers, that they'd been fucking for the past few months, oh and hey, by the way, would you mind leaving the apartment for a couple hours or putting on loud music, so we can have sex now?

Shane was mortified trying to imagine Hayden or Marlow's reactions to that. He had no doubt that they would be supportive, though extremely, confused. And at the end of the day, it was just another level of added realness to the situation.

Shane could accept that he was gay.

And he could accept that he found his very attractive, very bisexual teammate attractive.

He could even accept that maybe he had started to feel something a little more than casual for Rozanov.

But telling people would make that real. Telling people would give him something concrete to lose. And telling people would make it harder to deny that his heart was wrapped up in things.

All in all, telling people would make him look like an idiot when Rozanov decided he was tired of him.

When they made it to baggage claim, Rozanov finally spoke. 

"Look, Hollander. I am sorry, was not thinking." Rozanov sighed, "Please, don't be mad. I will not tell anyone, I promise."

Shane managed to nod and forced a smile on his face, "I know. It's okay."

Rozanov nodded and looked like he wanted to say something else, he settled on, "See you tomorrow at practice."

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

March 2012 

The end of the Allstars weekend brought about two road games, followed by two back to back games in Ottawa, followed by a long West Coast roadie. They ended up with a positive record despite the exhaustion and time zones, boasting an impressive 9-2-1 record since the Alllstar weekend.

The team had been so focused on securing a higher playoff seed, that they hadn't had time to do much else but train, compete, and sleep.

Consequently, Shane and Rozanov hadn't had a real, private conversation since the Allstar game, and it was starting to get to him. Especially because he was pretty sure that something was wrong with Rozanov.

Of course, Shane was focused on hockey. That was a given. But he hadn't been able to help himself from noticing that Rozanov's celebrations after scoring didn't seem quite as energetic as normal.

Where normally after scoring, he would yell obscenely, pumping his fist in the air and doing his best version of a three way chest bump on the ice with Marlow and Fleury. Lately, it seemed like his heart wasn't really in it. The chest bump had turned into more of a subdued bro hug, and Rozanov never really yelled much. He had hardly even chirped in the past few weeks since the Allstar game, which was the big indicator that something was wrong.

He still sat next to Shane on plane and bus rides, but where before they would watch a movie or talk, lately it seemed like Rozanov would go right to sleep after offering Shane the stupid, ugly Canada blanket, leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat and only sometimes letting his head fall onto Shane's shoulder when he was in a deep sleep.

Shane understood it, kind of.

He had been tired these past few weeks too. And it was always harder on road trips to find food that fit into his diet that wasn't just simple grilled chicken and vegetables. He missed his parents, and he knew Hayden missed Jackie, and he was ready to sleep in his own bed again.

They had gotten to the point in the road trip where the slightest inconvenience, like messing up the taping of his stick, or a teammate slamming into him too roughly during a celebration cause him to react in a way that was a little bit more aggressively than necessary.

And he wasn't sure if it was something simple like that bothering Rozanov, something with the easy fix of sleeping in your own bed and getting a little bit of space from your best friend who doubled as your annoying roommate sometimes, or if it was something else.

Something bigger.

Something more serious.

And something that Shane couldn't really ask Rozanov about with other people around.

He realized he hadn't heard Rozanov take one of those angry Russian calls in a while, not that they'd been spending all their time together, but he should probably ask how Rozanov's father was doing. And if his brother was keeping up his end of the arrangement.

Shane decided he would talk to Rozanov after the game, or on the flight tomorrow. Whichever ended up being easier, and more private.

They were playing their last roadie game before flying home the next day, and the locker room was tense. The guys who were coupled up were missing their partners, and everybody was just slightly sick of seeing their roommates faces every day of the past two weeks. 

They were also playing a critical game against Vancouver that could have major playoff seeding implications, given that they were currently just one game behind Montreal for the second seed in the East.

So when Hayden asked him to help him strap into his padding right as Shane messed up his taping for the second time that night, Shane snapped, "Hayd, fucking figure it out yourself. I'm kinda preoccupied." 

Hayden's eyes widened briefly before his eyebrows pulled together angrily, "Dude, what the fuck is your problem?" He questioned, crossing his arms over his chest with his padding dangling off his shoulders.

Shane hadn't meant to snap, he really hadn't, but he also hadn't been expecting Hayden's response. And something about it stirred something inside of him, something nasty, fiery, and angry. "Right now?" He asked, aware of the way his voice raised slightly on the last word, "You."

"Oh, me? Really, Hollander?" Hayden quipped back, practically spitting out his last name in a way that stung a little bit. Him and Hayden always called each other by their first names, it would be kind of weird not to given that they'd lived together for the past year and a half.

"Yes, you, Pike." Shane retorted, eyes darkening as he stood to look Hayden in the eyes, stick clattering to the ground and tape forgotten.

"Guys." Hayes tried to interrupt, stepping close to them as if ready to break up a fight.

"Stay out of it, Hazy." Shane warned lowly, not even sparing a glance to the goalie.

Maybe the fight between him and Hayden had been brewing for a couple of weeks now. Shane had been unreasonably, unusually irritable since he'd flown back from the Allstar game and it had everything to do with the amount of times Jackie had come up since then. And it wasn't that he had anything against Jackie, he really did like her, and thought she was a great match for Hayden, but he was jealous of his best friend.

He was jealous that Hayden could have Jackie over whenever he wanted without worrying Shane batting an eye. He was jealous that Hayden could ask him to step out of the room for an hour or two, so he could call his girl in private, torturing Shane by making him spend hours in a room, sitting on a bed next to a man that he couldn't touch without questions.

Because when Hayden did ask him to step out, Shane always went to Marlow and Rozanov's room. The two of them never questioned his presence, opting to simply hand him the remote, and let him choose what to put on, despite the fact that they all usually fell asleep halfway through it.

And then Shane would have to wake up in the middle of the night, laying dangerously close to Rozanov, and quietly leave to go back to his own room, so that things weren't weird when they woke up.

Thankfully, if Marlow had found it odd that whenever Shane came to their room, he always sat on Rozanov's bed, he hadn't said anything. There had been one night in San Francisco where Marlow had half-jokingly offered for Shane to spend the night in their room. Except the way he'd said it had been more like, "Damn Hollzy, can't believe Pike sexiled you... again."

Shane had laughed at that part.

"Actually, can you even call it sexiling if his girl isn't physically here?"

Shane had laughed at that part too.

"Anyway Hollzy, you're more than welcome to stay the night here and cuddle with Roz and I." Marlow had said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Shane hadn't initially laughed at that part. He had managed out a stilted chuckle though when Marlow had been attacked by an aerial onslaught of pillows that Rozanov had chucked at him from across the room.

Marlow hadn't brought anything along those lines up again.

In the present, Hayden cracked his knuckles as if he were actually considering fighting Shane in the locker room before a game that had major playoff implications. It was slightly ridiculous, but they were too far in for Shane to back down now, and he was seeing a mixture of red and green.

"Just tell me what your fucking problem is, Hollander." Hayden spat venomously at him, eyes looking as serious and dangerous as Shane had seen during the few times Hayden ever dropped his gloves on ice.

Shane really should have backed down. He should have shut things down, effectively throwing a bucket of ice water over the two of them by refusing to argue anymore. But he was angry, and he was jealous, and Hayden had been reminding him constantly the past few weeks of everything he was missing out on, and everything he could never have.

Because even if by some miracle he could have it without anything changing or anyone acting weird or looking at him differently, he could never have that with Rozanov, because Rozanov didn't want him like that.

"I told you, Pike! It's-" Shane started angrily.

"Enough!" Marlow's voice boomed and then he was pushing his way in between the two. "Save it for the ice. We have a fucking game to play."

Shane felt the fight drain out of his body after being scolded, and he sat back to the bench unwrapping his shitty taping job before starting to re-tape his stick. Most of the guys filed out of the locker room toward the ice for warm ups, and Shane kept his watering eyes trained on his stick as he wrapped it with calculated precision.

He was all too aware of the moment when the last of his teammates walked out of the visitor locker room, leaving him there alone with only Rozanov.

He fucked up the line of his taping again and threw his stick to the ground, screaming "Fuck!" as it clattered on the floor.

"Hollander, are you okay?" Rozanov asked quietly, his mouth wrapping around the words affectionately as he looked at Shane with open concern. 

Shane bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop the tears that were welling up in his eyes, threatening to overflow. He wasn't even exactly sure why or what he was crying about. He was homesick, he was annoyed with Hayden, he was stressed out about beating Vancouver, he was drowning under the self-imposed pressure and expectations for the upcoming playoff series, and he was completely and utterly confused about the man trying to comfort him.

He shook his head no.

He was aware of Rozanov's warm, calming presence sitting next to him on the bench, grounding him in reality with the thigh he pressed against Shane's own. He watched as Rozanov leaned down and gently picked his stick up off the floor, unwrapping the part Shane had messed up and carefully rewrapping it in the way Shane always did it. He let his head hang down as Rozanov wordlessly handed the stick to him and placed a calming hand on his back.

"Hollander, you are okay, I promise. It is just hockey game." Rozanov stated convincingly, leaning his side against Shane's in a sort of half hug. "And you are good at hockey." 

Shane made a small noise of protest, turning his head to the side.

Rozanov's hand firmly, but gently gripped his chin and turned his head slightly back to face him. He pressed a light ghost of a kiss to Shane's lips, "Shane, it's okay. You are okay, da?" He whispered softly.

Shane nodded slowly, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear the wetness and bring himself back to his body. He was fine. He was okay. And he could figure out whatever was going on with Hayden, whatever was going on with Rozanov, and whatever was going on in his own head after the game.

For right now, the priority needed to be winning.

He angled his body down slightly to take the face off against Vancouver's center who had been drafted first over all just a couple years before Shane. They were tied 2-2 going into the third period, and it had been a scrappy, hard fought game. 

Shane had scored their last goal to tie things up at the end of the second period off an assist from Hayden. In the post goal hug that followed, they had both started to talk at the same time.

"I'm sorry." They had chorused in unison, laughing slightly as the others skated up to congratulate them.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" Dykstra had exclaimed, whacking them both harder than necessary on their backs. 

"Good shit, boys." Vaughn had said with a careful glance between the two.

"Talk after?" Hayden asked when they skated to the bench for a brief intermission.

"Yeah," Shane had nodded vigorously.

"Hollander," the Vancouver center greeted with a curt nod as he leaned down, placing his own stick adjacent to Shane's.

The puck dropped, and Shane won the face off.

Vancouver wasn't a dirty team, unlike Toronto or LA, but they were certainly a physical team, intent on making sure that win or lose, the Centaurs would feel the effects of the game the next day. And Shane was starting to realize the beauty in toeing the line between a legal check and unnecessary roughness, because after the third time being slammed into the boards this shift, he knew he was skating slower than normal.

And maybe that was the reason he was just a hair late to receive the no look pass Hayden sent his way. And the Vancouver d-man that had been on him like glue the whole shift took advantage, sending the puck flying down the ice toward the Vancouver center who was eagerly awaiting to make them pay for the mistake.

A few short passes, and a couple highlight reel worthy maneuvers later, the goal horn sounded and the arena around them cheered. Shane panted as he skated toward the bench to switch off with Rozanov's line, having spent up his energy chasing down the puck to try and stop the mess he created.

He could tell from the way the Rozanov line practically hurdled over the boards, that they were ready to make Vancouver pay. And they did.

Within two minutes of being on the ice, Marlow scored off a beautiful assist from Rozanov, and they were tied again. And less than five minutes later, Rozanov scored on his own.

Wiebe sent Shane's line back in the game on fresh legs to prevent any goals from being scored and to hopefully win without going to overtime. And after his mistake from earlier, Shane wasn't going to make another one. And he didn't.

The mood in the locker room after was more relieved than excited, but Marlow still managed to convince some of the guys to go out to celebrate the win and their last road game before getting to go home tomorrow.

The guys who were going out agreed to meet in the lobby of the hotel at 10 pm, giving Shane just under an hour to take a second shower in their hotel room and talk to Hayden about their mini locker room fight.

He tugged an Ottawa Centaurs hoodie on over his plain white t shirt as he exited the bathroom, finding Hayden sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with his hands. He looked exactly how Shane felt.

"Look, Hayd. I'm sorry for snapping earlier, I just-" Shane paused, looking down at the ground. It was the nerves about the game, he was sure of it now, that had gotten him all fired up. And sure he was still a little annoyed about the whole sexiling thing, especially when all he wanted was to sexile Hayden from their own apartment, so he could have Rozanov all to himself, but at the end of the day, Hayden was his best friend.

And it wasn't fair to yell at him, to be upset, frustrated, and jealous, when Hayden didn't know what was going on, or have any indication why Shane would act that way.

"I don't know what came over me." Shane settled on. "This roadie has just been really stressful, and I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"I'm sorry too, Shane." Hayden said immediately, looking up at Shane with wide, guilty puppy dog eyes. "I wasn't expecting you to snap like that, and I think it caught me off guard. I know how much stress you're under as Captain."

Shane shook his head, "You don't have to apologize, Hayd. I should have never yelled at you in the first place."

Hayden stood up then, crossing the room to where Shane stood and placing his hands on his shoulders, "But I am sorry, dude. You're my best friend, and I've been so caught up in my own shit that I didn't realize how stressed out you've been."

Shane shook his head again, as if that would stop the traitorous tears that were pooling in his eyes for the second time that night.

"Shane, what's going on?" Hayden asked, voice laced with concern.

Shane drew in a shaky, deep breath. "There's just been so much lately, Hayd." He choked out. And when Hayden pulled him in for a hug, he broke.

His shoulders shook with his uneven sobs as he finally let the tears stream down his face. All the emotions from earlier, and the ones he'd been keeping at bay for the past few weeks caught up to him as he collapsed into his best friend's arms.

He was struck by the realization that he was lying to almost every important person in his life, besides Rozanov, and shocked to find himself wondering if maybe Rozanov's suggestion about telling Marlow and Hayden wasn't such a bad idea after all. He was struggling to remember why he'd been so against the idea in the first place.

Because with the way Hayden held him, muttering soft encouragements about letting it out, and it all being okay, Shane suddenly found it hard to believe that Hayden could ever turn his back on him, or be anything other than a soft, supportive golden retriever friend. And maybe if his best friend knew, he wouldn't have to hold so much in or worry about sneaking around and getting caught.

They stayed that way for another few minutes until Shane's overwhelmed sobs turned into soft, hesitant sniffles. He pulled back, "I'm sorry." He said softly.

"Nothing to apologize for, buddy." Hayden replied easily, "I always forget how much pressure you put on yourself."

His phone vibrated, displaying the time on the screen as 10:07 with Marlow calling impatiently. He swiped across to answer.

"Hollzy! You better not be fucking bailing!" Marlow's loud, obnoxious voice barked through the phone.

Shane managed a laugh, "Sorry, Marly. Lost track of time, coming down now." He hung up the phone and watched as Hayden threw on his matching Cens hoodie. "I thought you were staying here to talk to Jackie?" Shane questioned as Hayden pulled their hotel room door open.

Hayden shrugged, "She'll understand."

Shane smiled as they walked down the stairs together. The first task, figure out what was going on with Hayden, seemed complete. Now he just had to worry about what was going on with Rozanov, and what was going on with himself.

Somehow, Marlow managed to charm them all into going to a club rather than a more relaxing dive bar. Shane was lucky that Marlow had picked a more lowkey club, and that he was a highly recognizable professional athlete, or he was sure he wouldn't have been let into the club wearing a hoodie.

The club was loud and obnoxious, but not in an endearing way like Marlow was. And Shane pretty quickly decided that there was a very low chance he was going to have a fun time tonight.

The only saving grace was the large round booth in the VIP section they'd been let into on the account of being rich professional athletes. He was contented to listen in on a conversation between Hayden, Rozanov, and Hayes, something or other about some new album that Shane hadn't listened to, when he swallowed down the last sip of his beer.

He stood up from the table and managed to raise his voice above the music, "I'm going to get another drink, anyone want anything?" He asked, typing in his phone notes to get another beer for himself, a rum and coke for Hayden, straight vodka for Rozanov, and an apple cider for Hayes.

Shane pushed his way through the crowd to get to the bar, muttering excuse me's and sorry's before finally finding an empty pocket of bar to slide into and wait to get the bartender's attention. He read off his order and waited for the drinks while scanning the crowd. A couple of his single teammates were scattered throughout the crowd, dancing with various women. 

He made direct eye contact with Marlow, who seemed to be dancing in a circle of ladies wearing matching sashes, appearing to be on a bachelorette party of sorts. He laughed as Marlow danced his way out of the circle and over to Shane.

"Hollzy!" Marlow exclaimed, throwing his arms around him and stumbling slightly as the bartender set the drinks on the bar in front of Shane.

"Thanks," Shane said with a grin, handing over his card, "Could I also get a water for this guy?" He asked.

The bartender nodded, swiping his card with one hand while filling up a cup using the soda gun with the other. Shane pressed the water glass into Marlow's hand as he left a generous tip, before managing to carefully pick the other four drinks up.

Thankfully, Marlow's size cleared the path for him back to the VIP section, allowing him to make it back to the table without any bumps or spills and distribute the drinks.

Marlow eagerly jumped into the conversation, which had shifted from music to something else entirely, and began recalling his previous dance with the bachelorette party.

"They were fun as hell." Marlow exclaimed, diligently sipping the water Shane got him. "They made me take three shots with them!" 

"Yeah man, we can tell." Hayden said good naturedly laughing.

"And, some of them were single." Marlow said with a wink. "What do you say us single boys head back out there? Hollzy? Rozy?" He asked, and Shane nearly choked on his beer.

He made eye contact with Rozanov across the table whose expression gave away nothing.

"I don't know..." Shane trailed off, trying to think of a good excuse. Rozanov wasn't making things any easier by not jumping in.

"You should do it!" Hayden suggested, entirely unhelpfully, "You deserve to let loose and have fun, Shane." He added quieter, so that only Shane, and maybe Hayes, could hear.

"Yes, I support this!" Marlow encouraged, "It will be soooo fun! What about you, Roz?" 

"Hmm, I don't think so." Rozanov replied evenly, giving nothing away as he coolly sipped his vodka.

"Dude!" Marlow shrieked, throwing his hands up in the air. "Come on!"

"Not in the mood, Marly." Rozanov replied flatly, almost as if he were bored.

Marlow shook his head and sighed, "Dude, you're never in the mood anymore. I don't remember the last time I saw you pick up a girl."

Shane's stomach turned and his thoughts began racing.

That didn't make any sense.

That was literally Rozanov's thing. Picking up girls.

"If I didn't live with you, I'd think you had a secret girlfriend or something." Marlow continued as he began shaking his head, "Whatever, man." He sighed. "Hollzy, you'll go with me, right?"

Shane's thoughts were still going a mile a minute which was maybe why he agreed, "Uh, sure. Just, I have to, umm, bathroom. First. I'll be- uh, right back." 

Maybe the way he stood from the table and practically ran toward the bathroom was suspicious, but he didn't care. Because what did Marlow mean that Rozanov hadn't picked up a girl in forever? He knew the two of them went out together a lot in Ottawa despite the common sentiment that there wasn't much to do there. 

He had always assumed that Rozanov occasionally brought a girl back, or went home with a girl.

And despite his earlier thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad for a couple people to know about whatever weird thing was going on between him and Rozanov, when Marlow had suggested a secret girlfriend, Shane had felt as if he'd been doused in a bucket of gasoline and threatened with a match stick being waved in front of his face.

It had been a cruel reminder of the whole reason he hadn't wanted anyone to know in the first place. They weren't anything. They could never be anything.

And their friends finding out would just make it more real. It would give him something concrete and tangible, with words labeling whatever it was that they were doing, and that would give Shane something to lose.

He sent a quick thank you up to the sky that the small bathroom was empty when he pushed into it. There was one stall, two urinals, and barely enough room to move around, but at least there was cold, running water he could splash onto his face.

It only helped him calm down a little bit, but it solidified in his mind that his earlier thoughts about people knowing had been a temporary moment of weakness and maybe a slight bout of insanity. Because there was surely no way to clue Hayden, or Marlow, in on whatever was going on between him and Rozanov without it being clearly and painfully displayed on his face just how un-casual and very complicated things were for him.

And the ugly twist of jealousy in his stomach when Marlow had suggested that Rozanov join him on the dance floor to flirt with the bachelorette party had been a cruel reminder of just how un-casual things were for him.

Just as he was beginning to get overwhelmed with the sudden need to get out of the club, the door to the bathroom slammed open.

For a moment, him and Rozanov just stared at each other. And then they were both speaking at once.

"Hollander-" Rozanov started.

"You need to go home with one of those girls." He hadn't thought about it, hadn't planned it, and certainly hadn't been expecting it to come out of his mouth, and from the alarmed look of complete shock on Rozanov's face, neither had he.

"I- Hollander, what?" Rozanov questioned, eyebrows furrowed together in a cross between confusion and irritation.

"The bachelorette girls. The ones Marlow was dancing with." Shane supplied as if that provided any sort of clarification at all as to why he'd said what he said.

"Why are you saying this?" Rozanov demanded, eyes looking less confused, leaning more angry than irritated now.

"Marlow is getting suspicious," Shane suggested weakly.

"So the fuck what?" Rozanov exclaimed angrily, throwing his hands in the air. "Marlow thinks there is someone secret, so what?"

"So," Shane shrugged, looking at the wall beside Rozanov's head rather than make direct eye contact with him, "He can't find out."

Rozanov laughed dryly, "And you want me to go home with some random girl, so Marlow does not think I have someone."

Shane shrugged again.

"Hollander." Rozanov said.

"Rozanov." Shane replied.

"This is crazy," Rozanov sighed, running his hand down his face in exasperation, "You really want me to go fuck some random girl?"

Shane bit back his wince, and the ugly pang of jealousy he felt when Rozanov said the word 'fuck'.

Obviously he didn't want Rozanov to go fuck some random girl. In fact, on the list of things he wanted, that was probably down at the bottom along with other terrible things like a career ending injury or the Centaurs' plane crashing.

But eventually, it would happen. And maybe it would be easier if Shane was able to control the situation by deciding when, now, and where, here tonight, he would see it happen.

Maybe it would be easier to deal with if Shane just ripped the band aid off now.

"Sure," He eventually replied, looking Rozanov straight in the eyes as he did.

He wasn't sure exactly what emotions passed through Rozanov's eyes, he was distracted from determining them as a disbelieving laugh escaped Rozanov's lips. He spun on his heel and exited the bathroom.

Shane turned back to the mirror, splashed more water on his face, and wondered just exactly how badly he had just fucked up. Because as good of an idea as ripping off the bandaid and controlling the situation had seemed in the moment, the idea of walking back out onto the main floor of the club and seeing Rozanov dancing up against some girl was enough to make him want to throw up the two beers he'd had since arriving.

After a couple long minutes of psyching himself up to walk out of the bathroom, and a couple weird side eyes from people who had popped in and out to use the bathroom, Shane managed to walk back toward the VIP section with his eyes averted down to the ground so as not to see anything that was happening out on the dance floor.

With his eyes cast downward, he bumped into someone in the VIP section, spilling their drink on the floor.

"Shit, sorry." He muttered, eyes glancing up quickly to see none other than Rose Landry standing in front of him. "Fuck, oh my god. I'm so sorry." He said, his voice jumping half an octave with the realization.

She laughed lightly, "It's all fine, I promise."

"I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry." Shane apologized again.

"So you've said." Rose Landry replied with a sparkle in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. "If you want to make it up to me, you can buy me another drink."

Shane nodded immediately, "Yeah, of course."

He glanced up to where Hayden was sitting, alone now, looking up at him with wide eyes and his mouth hanging slightly open. He mouthed 'be right back' in Hayden's direction before following Rose Landry to the bar to buy her a new drink.

He realized he should probably introduce himself as they walked. "I'm Shane-"

"I know who you are, Shane Hollander." She cut him off with a subtle smirk. "I'm from Michigan, and I have three brothers. Hockey was a big deal in my house growing up."

Shane's mouth dropped slightly open, star struck at interacting with such a famous actress. She was in the movie he'd watched with Rozanov and Marlow just last week when Hayden had been talking to Jackie.

The thought of Rozanov caused his stomach to drop.

"And I'm guessing from the look on your face, you know me?" She asked.

He nodded as a space immediately cleared for them at the bar while multiple people did double takes. The bartender immediately asked Rose what she wanted, and Shane simply handed over his card.

"This is crazy." Shane muttered, "I literally watched one of your movies last week."

"And I literally watched your hockey game earlier tonight." She replied with a slight laugh. "Great goal in the second, by the way." She said with a wink.

"Umm, thanks." Shane replied delayed, processing that Rose Landry had just complimented him.

He vaguely registered the flash of a camera as the bartender handed Rose her drink, and Shane his card, before they walked back over to the VIP area.

"What are you in Vancouver for?" He asked lamely.

"Oh, just some reshoots." She replied easily, waving her hand in the air as if it were no big deal. "They're for the new X Squad movie that doesn't really make any sense, but hey, they paid me well." She laughed breezily.

"Cool," Shane replied. "I'm just here for the game." He added in a way that made him feel silly.

They made it back to the VIP area.

"Do you mind if I get a picture?" Rose asked, somewhat shyly, "My brothers are Detroit fans, but they think you're great. They'll be super jealous I met you."

"Yeah, of course." Shane said quickly, "Can I also get a photo, for my mom?" He added.

Rose looked at him and then threw her head back laughing, "Look at us. Asking each other for photos like crazy fans."

They took turns snapping selfies with their phones, Rose's eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, it was very nice to meet you, Shane Hollander. You'll have to show me around next time I'm in Ottawa." She said, offering him a polite side hug.

Shane wondered how often, if ever, she was in Ottawa. "It was nice to meet you too, Rose Landry. Good luck with the reshoots."

She offered him a radiant smile and then rejoined her group of friends while Shane walked over to slide into the booth across from Hayden.

"What the fuck, dude?" Hayden exclaimed in an enthusiastic whisper. "Was that Rose fucking Landry?"

Shane rolled his eyes, "Yes, it was. And keep your volume down dude, they can probably hear you over there!" Shane said, point emphasized by the giggles that followed.

He glanced at the empty seats next to Hayden hesitantly, wondering if he should even ask, or if it would just be setting himself up for hurt.

"Shit, oops." Hayden murmured, glancing sheepishly over at Rose Landry's table. "Is it weird to ask for an autograph?"

"What would you have her autograph, Hayd? Your sweatshirt?" Shane asked with a slight laugh.

"Fuck, you're right." Hayden sighed, "Oh well."

Shane hummed in agreement.

"Anyway, you wanna head out?" Hayden asked. "Marlow's somewhere out dancing, but Rozanov and Hayes left while you were in the bathroom. Roz said something about being exhausted from putting the team on his back tonight or some bullshit like that."

Shane almost fell out of his seat at the wave of relief that washed over him knowing Rozanov was not out on the dance floor making out with some random girl, or in an Uber back to her place already. 

But the relief was quickly replaced when he remembered how much he'd fucked up by telling Rozanov to go home with someone else when that had quite obviously been the opposite of what he wanted, and probably his worst nightmare.

"Yeah, let's go dude." Shane nodded, body suddenly weighed down with exhaustion.

Hayden ordered an Uber and they stayed at the table, slowly nursing their drinks while they waited for it to come. Hayden, it seemed, was feeling the same bone deep exhaustion that Shane was, and they both sat quietly.

Shane was certain that he had fucked up. That much was easy to determine. But how much he'd fucked up was yet to be seen. All he knew in his slightly buzzed, completely worn out, and utterly relieved state was that he had said something to upset Rozanov enough to leave the club early. He had a slight suspicion of what it was, but he was half a second away from falling asleep, and figured Rozanov probably already was asleep if he'd left the club when Shane was in the bathroom like Hayden had said.

When they finally made it back to their room, he barely managed to take his shoes off before collapsing into the bed. The exhaustion from the game and relief that Rozanov had not gone home with someone else mixing in his nervous system to knock him out like a drug.

"Goodnight Hayden," he murmured as his best friend clicked off the lamp.

Hayden made some sort of grunt noise back with his head already buried in the pillow that Shane guessed was supposed to be a goodnight as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

omg holy yap, am i right????

shane you stupid, dumb, beautiful man.

my prediction for the comments: OH MY GOD CAN YOU GUYS JUST TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS ALREADY???

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

"Dude!" Hayden shouted, banging on the bathroom door as Shane washed the shampoo out of his hair.

He had woken up ten minutes ago sweaty, sticky, and gross from the bar, still reeling from the events of the night before, and had promptly hopped in the shower.

"Doors unlocked if you have to piss, Hayd." Shane called out, grabbing the bar of soap to start washing off. The two of them had shared enough hotel rooms that being in the bathroom together wasn't that weird anymore, especially with an opaque shower curtain separating them. "Otherwise, fuck off. I'm almost done."

The door practically slammed open.

"Shane, look!" Hayden demanded excitedly as he thrust his hand into the crack in the shower curtain.

"Jesus, dude!" Shane exclaimed, jumping back slighlty and splashing the phone clutched in Hayden's hand with water. When he realized Hayden was simply trying to get him to look at the phone, his stomach dropped.

Displayed on Hayden's phone was a TMZ article with a huge photo covering the screen depicting him and Rose Landry deep in conversation from the bar last night. And though it had never been anything more than friendly, the photo had seemed to catch the exact moment where her hand had rested slightly on his forearm, her head tilted back with laughter as her strawberry curls bounced perfectly in the air.

Shane had to admit, it was a good picture of him too. There was an easy, casual smile spread across his face, the dim lights from the bar illuminating his face and highlighting his cheekbones perfectly. 

The two of them looked good together, the perfect vision of a movie star and athlete, and it seemed like TMZ thought so too.

'X Squad Actress Rose Landry Sparks Dating Rumors with Ottawa Athlete'

Shane groaned, "Oh come on, I'm just Ottawa athlete?"

"Calm down, dude. They mention your name further down in the article." Hayden replied casually, "But isn't this so fucking cool?"

"Uh, no. Because I'm not dating Rose Landry." Shane answered honestly. "Now get out! This could have waited until I was out of the shower."

"Yeah, yeah." Hayden dismissed, "We're not done talking about this though."

Shane tilted his head back and let the scorching water run down his body, wondering what it would take to feel clean. The events of the previous night played through his mind like a highlight reel, except they were more like lowlights. 

Rozanov's face flashed through his mind. The confused way he had looked at Shane when Shane had told him to go home with one of the bachelorette girls. 

The angry way Rozanov had looked at him when he doubled down on it.

The defeated way he'd walked out of the bathroom.

And now fully sober, he could admit that he had definitely overreacted and majorly fucked up.

Shane sighed and turned the water off, grabbing his towel from the hook right outside the shower curtain.

When he walked out of the bathroom, Hayden was waiting patiently sitting at the end of his bed. 

"You know the guys are gonna freak out about this, right?" Hayden questioned excitedly.

"You mean exactly like you are right now?" Shane asked flatly.

"Shane." Hayden said.

"Hayden." Shane replied.

"So you mean to tell me, there weren't any sparks or anything? Between you and Rose Landry?" Hayden asked. His eyes were wide and pleading, and he stuck his bottom lip out in a slight pout that made Shane roll his eyes.

"You are ridiculous, Hayden." Shane sighed, flopping down on his bed.

"I mean, it's not that crazy of a question, is it? She's famous, you're famous. She's hot, you're hot. It seems like you guys had good chemistry, why not?" Hayden reasoned, as if they were talking about some objective fact, like the weather or the score of a hockey game.

But it wasn't just some random objective fact, and it certainly wasn't simple. Rose Landry was beautiful, she was kind, and she seemed to know a decent amount about hockey. But Shane was gay. Completely gay. And completely infatuated with his teammate.

And of course, Hayden didn't know that. But-

"It is crazy." Shane mumbled, his voice so low he could hardly hear himself speak.

"What?" Hayden questioned, his voice going soft at Shane's tone.

"The question," Shane clarified, "It is crazy." He paused. He wasn't sure. He wasn't ready. But he probably wouldn't ever be ready. "Because I'm gay."

Hayden was silent for a long moment. And then two. Shane's heart was beating a mile a minute, he was practically going out of his mind with worry. Maybe Hayden was going to hate him. Shane had seriously miscalculated.

Maybe Hayden was going to think Shane was in love with him. And then he would really want Shane to move out. And he would probably tell the whole team, and then everybody would look at him differently. And it would become a whole thing and he would probably-

"Oh, okay." Hayden said casually. "That makes a lot of sense actually now that I think about it."

Shane paused, waited for the other shoe to drop. Waited for Hayden to continue and say all the things that he'd feared since he was younger and first realized he maybe found guys attractive. Hayden said nothing else. He just looked at Shane expectantly.

"That's it?" Shane asked hesitantly.

A look of alarm passed across Hayden's face. "Oh fuck. I mean, thanks for telling me, man. That's what you're supposed to say, right?" Hayden blurted out, "Sorry, I've never had a buddy come out to me before."

Shane stared in disbelief. And then a smile broke out across his face, and an almost hysterical laugh escaped his mouth. "You don't care?" He asked, still slightly on edge preparing for the worst.

Hayden shrugged, "Did you really think I would?"

The answer to that was complicated. Because on one hand, no, Shane hadn't thought Hayden would care. But on the other hand, yes, Shane had been irrationally terrified of Hayden's reaction.

Shane settled on, "Maybe."

"Well, I don't." Hayden stated simply, "I am curious what your type is though. Not that I personally know many gay guys I could set you up with, but I think Jackie has a couple gay friends, and now that I know, I'll definitely be on the lookout."

Shane's laugh took him by surprise, "Thanks, Hayd. But please, don't do that." He sighed, "I'm not planning on coming out out any time soon, and I wouldn't ask anyone to hide or stay in the closet with me."

Hayden leveled him with a suspicious look. "Is there already someone?"

"No!" Shane replied quickly, possibly too quickly. "Uh, no. There's not." He added, with his voice at a regular pitch and speed.

Thankfully, Hayden let it go. "Whatever you say, bud."

They spent the next half hour packing up all of their shit before heading down to the hotel lobby where a bus would be waiting to take them all to the airport. They were finally going home.

Shane was excited to see his parents, and to get to sleep in his own bed. But he was decidedly not excited, in fact he was actually very nervous to see Rozanov.

He didn't have to wait long for that last part.

Rozanov was sitting in one of the lobby chairs next to Marlow looking like he hadn't gotten any sleep the previous night. Even from across the lobby, Shane could tell the skin under his eyes was a light purple, and he looked like all his energy was focused on keeping his head up. Shane felt a sharp pang in his chest seeing Rozanov in such a state and wondered how much of it had to do with their conversation last night and how much of it had to do with whatever had clearly been bothering Rozanov the past couple weeks.

If they were the only two people in the room, Shane would've dropped his suitcase and duffel bag and ran right up to Rozanov to ask him what was wrong. But they weren't the only two people in the room, and as soon as the team took notice of Shane and Hayden's arrival, a slow clap started, punctuated by various wolf whistles.

"Rose fucking Landry, Hollander? Are you kidding me?" "Massive fucking pull, Hollzy!" "What are the chances you can get me an autograph, Hollzy?"

His teammates voices blended together, as they all looked to him, chirping and teasing, trying to pull all of the details and any bit of information possible from him. 

The one person who refused to look at him was the only person Shane wanted to talk to.

"Chill, guys." Hayden said loudly, his voice firm and ringing out across the lobby. "You're acting like fucking teenagers."

Rozanov's eyes were trained on the ground, and Shane's were trained on Rozanov. He was just short of begging, pleading the other man to look at him. And he would have if they hadn't been surrounded by their teammates who would probably be extremely confused.

The chirps calmed down a little after that, but not enough.

"So, how was it?" La Fleur asked him with a smirk on his face.

"How was what?" Shane asked dumbly, pulling his eyes off of Rozanov to look at Fleury.

"Dude." La Fleur sighed, "Rose Landry."

"Oh. She was nice, I guess. I don't know." Shane replied casually, "We talked for like five minutes max."

La FLeur groaned. "Hollander, you are so fucking thick sometimes. A girl doesn't look at you like that unless she's interested in you. I'm telling you, man. She was feeling it. At least tell me you got her number."

Shane noticed the way Rozanov stood and quietly excused himself, walking toward the lobby bathroom in the middle of Fleury's speech.

"I, uh, no man. I didn't," Shane replied somewhat distracted.

Fleury groaned. "Jesus, bro. You're fucking hopeless."

Wiebe called for them to start loading onto the bus, and Shane waited, dragging his feet to try and time getting on the bus right before Rozanov. He sat in the window, like usual, and watched as Rozanov continued walking down the aisle past him, all the way to an empty back middle row.

Shane debated the merit of getting up right then to go sit by Rozanov, but decided that he could wait until they got on the plane. Surely Rozanov wouldn't continue the avoiding pattern on the plane, especially given that they only had so many allotted seats, and with the general supersitions most hockey players followed, no one liked to mess with plane seat buddies.

After a long security line which led to a fairly quick boarding process, Shane almost audibly sighed in relief when Rozanov plopped down into the seat next to him. His shoulders filled with tension though as Rozanov immediately popped in a pair of earbuds and closed his eyes, music blasting so loud that Shane could hear it faintly pulsing even from his seat.

Rozanov seemed to be listening to some cross between heavy metal and screamo music that happened to be fully in Russian, and while Shane definitely wasn't any sort of music authority, he was pretty sure people didn't listen to that sort of music when they were happy, or even normal.

He leaned forward to see that across the aisle, Hayes and Marlow had already put on their neck pillows and eye masks and gone right to sleep, emphasized by Marlow's light snores. There was mindless chatter happening around them, everyone too wrapped up in their own worlds to pay the two of them any attention. He thanked whatever lucky stars were smiling down on him for that, and then he pressed his knee firmly against Rozanov's and covered the man's hand with his own.

Rozanov's eyes snapped open, and he looked at Shane with something that slightly resembled a glare, but was slightly too exhausted to appear threatening at all. Up close, Shane could see the light purple coloring under Rozanov's eyes and the way they made his blue eyes sparkle more clearly. The proximity also allowed him to see the little angry, pink bloodshot veins woven into the whites of his eyes. He resisted the urge to pull Rozanov into his arms.

"Are you okay?" He mouthed and watched as Rozanov's eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

Rozanov pulled the left earbud out, leaving it to dangle down at the side, broadcasting the heavy metal screamo Russian music just the slightest bit louder. "What do you want, Hollander?" Rozanov asked tiredly.

"Are you okay?" Shane asked, actually saying the words this time, though managing to keep his voice low.

Rozanov rolled his eyes, "Fine. Had long night of fucking bridesmaids in bachelorette party like you wanted, so a bit tired."

Shane ignored the pang of hurt and jealousy that shot through him. "Fuck off, Hayden told me you went back with Hazy."

Rozanov sighed and asked, "Disappointed?"

"What? No, I-" Shane started.

"Ah, right. Is fine, because you found movie star girlfriend to take the heat off, da?" Rozanov asked bitterly, his eyes staring into Shane's own harshly with no trace of usual warmth swirling.

"It wasn't like that. You know how the tabloids are." Shane hissed under his breath, "Stop being an asshole."

Rozanov laughed, and Shane resisted the urge to shush him. "Me? Asshole?" Rozanov questioned as if it were ridiculous. "No. That is you, Hollander."

"Look, I'm sorry-" Shane tried.

"Oh, great. You are sorry, and that makes it all better." Rozanov cut him off sarcastically. "Which part are you sorry about, Hollander? Telling me to go fuck some random girl? Or the fact that I did not do it-"

Shane put his hand over Rozanov's mouth. "Stop." He whispered, a hint of pleading bleeding into the command. "I know it was fucked up. I was scared, and it made me say something really stupid." He slowly removed his hand from Rozanov's mouth. 

Rozanov stared at him somewhat impatiently.

"I didn't meant it. I mean, I didn't really want that. And I'm sorry." Shane added quietly, hoping that Rozanov heard the sincerity in his voice.

Rozanov looked up at the overhead cabin, averting his eyes from Shane's and muttered, "Whatever, it's fine, Hollander."

"It's not." Shane said.

Rozanov shrugged.

"Come over after we land. We can talk." Shane suggested, "Hayden and Jackie will be super wrapped up in each other, and even if they see you, I'm sure they won't think anything of it." Shane left out the part about how Hayden may potentially think something of it, given what Shane had disclosed earlier. But Hayden had no way of knowing about Rozanov, so it would probably be fine.

"Hollander-" Rozanov started, averting his eyes downward.

"Look, I know something has been going on." Shane interrupted. "I've noticed it, on the ice, and off it too. Please, Roz. Talk to me." He pressed his knee harder against Rozanov's, willing him to look back up.

"Maybe," Rozanov sighed. A maybe was better than a no.

Shane nodded, "Okay, I can work with maybe." 

A small smile spread across Rozanov's lips at that.

"Movie? Or sleep?" Shane asked softly, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"Sleep." Rozanov replied, voice low and eyes already drooping.

Shane nodded and patted his shoulder, "Here," he offered, "Sleep now, talk after, okay?"

"Okay." Rozanov replied, instantly drifting off.

Shane stared at the back of the seat in front of him, rigid like a statue, unmoving for fear of waking Rozanov. Hopefully talking later would clue him into what was going on with Rozanov. All he had to do was get through an almost five hour flight with his mind racing, considering all possibilities and outcomes, wondering why exactly Rozanov had been so upset, why he hadn't slept with anyone as far as Marlow was aware in a while, and if his apology had been good enough.

There was only so many times he could go back and forth in five hours, convincing and unconvincing himself of undetermined things. But unlike usual, he didn't find himself doom spiraling, and it had everything to do with the calming, steady warmth pressed against his side, laying his head on Shane's shoulder.

Chapter End Notes

are they finally gonna talk next chapter??? hmm what do we think?

i am still unwell and screaming about the vanity fair after party looks. best look from connor in a while he was so munch munch munch yum yum and hudson ate as always

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

sorry this took so long guys! i was in kind of a slump after seeing some of the hate fellow writers in the community have been receiving

As always, deplaning and moving through the airport toward baggage claim was a slow process. Shane was practically vibrating with nerves as he walked, side by side with Hayden, who was practically vibrating with excitement, feeling Rozanov's steady presence behind him.

"Dude, I'm so excited to see Jackie." Hayden said, practically skipping through the terminal. "If we don't come out of my room for the rest of the night... I promise I'm exactly where I want to be."

Shane chanced a shy glance backwards. Rozanov was looking at him with tired eyes, shoulders tensed slightly. Shane flashed him a small smile, meant to be reassuring, and he relaxed. The bus ride from the airport to the arena passed both slowly and way too fucking fast. 

And when they reached the parking lot, Shane had to drag Hayden back by the collar of his shirt as they walked through the parking lot, because he'd almost gotten hit by a car. A slowly moving car, but Shane was pretty sure Coach would have been pretty pissed at him if he let his best friend get hit by a car.

And fuck, Hayden was really fucking oblivious.

Because despite a recent gay confession, he hardly batted an eye at the excuse Shane stumbled over for Rozanov riding back to their apartment with them rather than going with Marlow. And he also noticed absolutely nothing abnormal when Shane and Rozanov went straight into his room under the guise of "game tape review". 

"Yeah whatever man, sounds super exciting!" Hayden had managed to say before practically shoving his tongue down Jackie's, who had conveniently been waiting in the parking lot outside their apartment, throat in the middle of their living room.

Shane closed the door and sighed, leaning his back against it and closing his eyes as Rozanov strode across the room to take a seat on Shane's bed.

"So," Rozanov said slowly, looking at Shane cautiously, his eyes dark and guarded, yet still he looked incredible in the soft glow of the lamp light on Shane's desk.

Suddenly, Shane was struck by the thought of wanting to kiss him. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to cross the room, throw his arms around Rozanov, and kiss him until nothing made sense or even really mattered anymore, but he had promised they would talk.

"So," Shane replied, somewhat lamely, slowly walking over to join Rozanov on the bed, sitting so that their thighs were pressed together and their shoulders were brushing.

"You want to talk. So talk." Rozanov replied bluntly, eyes trained on the wall ahead, refusing to look over at Shane.

"I'm sorry." Shane said, the words falling out of his mouth before he had a chance to think, to elaborate. It was like his brain was playing catch up with his mouth and suddenly he was lost in a pile of guilt and regret, unsure how to drag himself out of it.

"Yes. You said this." Rozanov answered, his voice flat and still refusing to look at Shane.

"I know, and I meant it- I mean it." Shane replied earnestly, his voice sounding almost a little whiny to his own ears.

Rozanov sighed. "Is all you wanted to say, Hollander?" He finally looked at Shane, and Shane could finally see the pure exhaustion swimming in Rozanov's eyes.

"No." Shane replied immediately, his voice wobbling a little bit. He cleared his throat. "No." He repeated, more confident this time. 

Rozanov simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Are you okay?" Shane asked. "And I mean, like, really okay? Not just like whatever bullshit answers you give to Coach and Marlow, or me. Not this time. Please, just be honest with me."

Rozanov had started shaking his head, scoffing slightly before Shane had even finished speaking.

"And what would that do, Hollander?" He asked, frustration and condescension dripping heavily from his voice. "What fucking good does saying it out loud do?"

Shane felt the words like a knife twisted into his gut. Obviously something was wrong, obviously something had been wrong. That much he knew. Maybe just for the past few weeks, or maybe for the past few months. But he couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't do anything to help unless Rozanov talked to him about it.

"I don't know, maybe if you tell me what's going on I can actually help?" Shane questioned quietly, a razor's edge in his voice. "Maybe if you actually let me all the way in, I can help you figure things out."

"Oh yes, because that worked so well the first time." Rozanov replied and this time his voice was biting, harsh, and mean.

"Fuck you, Rozanov. You know I'm right. You were going to go back to Russia." Shane replied just as harshly, swallowing back the sting of Rozanov's words.

"And what would you have cared-" Rozanov started.

"Of course I would have cared!" Shane exclaimed. "What are you even talking about?"

"I am talking about because you did not seem to care last night where I go or what I do." Rozanov retorted, laughing darkly.

"And I'm sorry for that, Rozanov. I didn't-" Shane replied.

"Of course you didn't, Hollander. Because this is just- fucking what to you? How could I expect you to understand? You have perfect family, perfect hockey, perfect reputation, everybody loves you, even famous fucking movie star Rose fucking Landry."

"Rozanov, I'm gay-"

"So what? Fuck." Rozanov replied groaning. "Internet does not know that. To them, you are just perfect Shane Hollander with probably perfect movie star-"

"What is this really about, Rozanov?" Shane pleaded.

Rozanov shook his head, and Shane noticed a wetness to his eyes, barely holding on, threatening to fall. And suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the fighting words Rozanov had thrown at him, the way the initial ones had lashed him like a whip, not the way the following had been like pouring rubbing alcohol straight into an open wound. All that mattered were the unshed tears in Rozanov's eyes.

Shane swung one leg over Rozanov's and wrapped his arms around him as he climbed into his lap.

Rozanov stiffened briefly before throwing his arms around Shane and pulling him in close with his face pressed tightly into Shane's neck.

"My father is getting worse. My brother is an asshole. He calls me to ask for money, to tell me I am a disappointment, to tell me how ashamed Papa would be of me. And I know he is right, and still somehow, it kills me that I am not there." Rozanov murmured quietly against Shane's neck, his voice tickling softly as Shane rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"It kills me that my only escape from them, from Russia, from that life is the thing keeping me here. The reason I cannot go be a good son." Rozanov inhaled shakily, "My father is not a good man. My brother is somehow almost worse. I hate them. And I love them anyway. And I hate that I love them. I hate that I am not there. And I know I would hate it more if I was there. And I hate myself for that too." Rozanov finished quietly.

Shane's hand stilled on Rozanov's back, and he pulled back slightly to place a kiss on the crown of Rozanov's forehead, right below his curls. "I'm sorry," he whispered into his skin. "I'm sorry for making things harder."

Rozanov laughed quietly, "You make everything harder, Shane."

"I'm sorry-"

"No." Rozanov cut him off. "You never have to apologize, not for that." 

Growing up, Shane had always imagined settling down with a nice girl and having a relationship much like his parents. Something steady, something real, something where any random person could look at him and think, yeah, that's love.

And all of the movies and tv shows he watched had made him believe that it would be something grand. Something like fireworks. Something where all the stars aligned, and like a nuclear explosion, he would just know without a doubt that he was in love.

Maybe the movies had gotten it wrong.

Because Shane had been falling for a long time. And it wasn't anything dramatic or sudden, there wasn't a change in him or really how he felt. It was just a realization. One that had been there for a while, and one there was no use in denying now. He was in love.

And then Ilya pressed their lips together in a sweet, soft kiss that tasted almost a little bit salty from his tears, and Shane thought, maybe the movies had gotten it right after all.

It was like a live wire. His whole body tingled with electricity, want, need, and love. Everything made sense, and for a few blissful moments, everything in his head was quiet.

He moaned softly into Rozanov's mouth as their tongues danced together. He felt lighter than he had in days, and almost inexplicably he thought that Rozanov tasted like home.

They pulled back slowly, and Shane rested his forehead against Rozanov's as he tried to catch his breath, completely wrapped up in Rozanov's scent.

"Did you kiss Rose Landry like that?" Rozanov whispered, the air of the words brushing against Shane's lips softly.

"Rozanov-" Shane started.

"Ilya, please." Rozanov asked.

"Ilya," Shane said softly, "I didn't kiss Rose Landry."

"And I didn't kiss any of the bridesmaids." Ilya replied softly.

Shane felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips and he couldn't stop himself from pressing a quick kiss to Ilya's mouth. "I know. I'm glad you didn't."

"You asked me to." Ilya replied, nose brushing against Shane's softly.

"I was being really stupid." Shane admitted.

"Yes." Ilya replied simply.

Shane's mind flashed back to Marlow from the night before.

'Dude you're never in the mood anymore. I don't remember the last time I saw you pick up a girl.'

The thought of Ilya with someone else made him sick. It had made him sick when he'd suggested it too. It had been a completely, utterly stupid idea. Probably his worst.

"I don't want you to kiss anyone else."

The words were out of his mouth before he could think it through.

"Then I won't." Ilya replied as if it were the easiest thing in the world. And then Shane kissed him.

Chapter End Notes

this story will be wrapping up shortly, but i'm already playing with a couple new ideas for my next one. love u guys <3

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

"What the fuck?" 

Shane roused to a mildly alarmed voice. He wasn't sure who the voice belonged to. All he could process at the moment was the warm, steady presence plastered to his back and the soft puff of air tickling the back of his neck.

"Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck. That's- they're-"

Shane swatted his hand in the air as if that would make the voice shut up. An alarm? No. He had the normal, default alarm sound. A movie or tv show coming from the living room? But then why would it be so loud.

"Hayden, you need to calm down." A lighter, softer voice interrupted, and that was the one that made every hair on Shane's body stand up straight. Hayden?

His eyes shot open. Standing in the doorway to his room were Hayden and Jackie. Hayden's eyebrows were raised and furrowed together in alarm and shock, and Jackie had a softer, fond look on her face. Her hand was rubbing slowly circles on his back while his chest rose and fell abnormally fast.

It all came rushing back as he blinked his eyes open and finally registered that the steady, warm presence behind him was not just from a blanket, it was Ilya.

Because after their talk yesterday where Shane had confessed that he didn't want Ilya to kiss anyone else, they had proceeded to make out for a very long time on Shane's bed, exchange sloppy bow jobs, and then... and then?

Shane jerked away from Ilya, but was stopped by the large arm circled around his waist pulling him closer.

"Hayden," Shane said lowly, carefully, almost as if he were testing the name out in his mouth. That was all it took for the dam to break.

"Oh my god, Shane. What the fuck? What is happening? I- I don't know what I'm seeing right now. You're in fucking bed with Rozanov? Holy crap. Holy crap." Hayden rambled, his hands moving about almost crazily in the air. Jackie shot Shane a sympathetic glance in between trying to shush and get Hayden to calm down, and Ilya... well, Ilya was still fast asleep with his face buried in the back of Shane's neck.

"Hayden-" Shane tried, and of fuck, because this was what he had been worried about the entire time. And sure, Hayden had been great when Shane had come out to him, but this was it. The other shoe was dropping, had already dropped, and his best friend was about to hate him. Forget moving out so he could have more privacy with Ilya, he was going to have to move out- maybe of the country- because Hayden was taking this astronomically terribly.

"Shane, this is crazy. Crazy! Are you guys like? I mean, you're both shirtless, and in bed, and it's almost seven in the morning, and- Oh my god, are you guys naked? This is-"

"Hayden." Jackie snapped, voice loud, commanding, and slightly annoyed. 

Hayden closed his mouth quickly. 

"Shane just woke up. You're freaking him out. Go sit on the couch, let him get dressed, and then apologize for barging into his room without knocking if he decides he wants to talk to you after that horrendous word vomit." She scolded with an eye roll but a slightly fond smile on her face.

Hayden nodded his head, eyes wide, but his lips remained sealed shut as he spun on his heel to walk to the living room.

Jackie sighed, "I'm sorry about him. He's just shocked."

Shane managed to nod even though he kind of felt like he was about to throw up.

"Take your time." Jackie said with a small smile before closing the door behind her.

Shane took ten seconds to process everything that had just happened.

"Pike is gone now?" He heard a low, rumbly, very Russian voice ask from behind him. He nearly jumped out of the bed in shock.

"You were awake the whole time?" Shane hissed, wiggling to flip himself around in Ilya's arms so he could face him.

Ilya's eyes remained closed as a sleepy smirk settled on his face. "Yes. Was very funny. Also very annoying, but Pike cannot help that."

Shane groaned, "Fuck." He sighed out, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. "This is literally my nightmare."

Ilya was quiet at that. Shane opened his eyes to find pretty blue ones staring back at him hesitantly.

"I mean-" he started, "-just that he wasn't supposed to know. And he's terrible at keeping secrets, and fuck, he looked so freaked out, Ilya. What if he hates me?"

"Then he is homophobic asshole, and you move in with me and Marly, Shane." Ilya replied easily, as if it really were that simple.

Shane felt his shoulders tense up slightly in defense of his best friend. "He's not." Shane said confidently, "Not a homophobic asshole, that is. I, umm, came out to him yesterday. I told him that I'm gay."

Ilya's eyes widened slightly, a brief look of surprise crossing over his face. "You did?" He asked softly.

Shane nodded. "Yeah. He, umm, he didn't care. He actually offered to be on the lookout for, and ask Jackie about, you know, guys for me."

"Guys for you?" Ilya repeated, the words coming out of his mouth slowly.

Shane nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, so. I don't really think he's a homophobic asshole then."

"Oh." Ilya replied neutrally, finally retracting his arm from its position around Shane's back. "So you have nothing to worry about then. If he knows already. No nightmares?"

Shane internalized it. Hayden didn't care about him being gay. He offered to help set Shane up with people. Sure, he had a bit of an overdramatic reaction to seeing Shane and Ilya in bed together, but that probably just came down to shock at seeing two teammates sleeping together. If Shane had walked in on Hayden and Marlow shirtless and cuddling, he probably would have freaked out a little too.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. Everything is fine." He looked up slowly at Ilya who still had a neutral, unreadable expression on his face.

"Okay." Ilya said softly, rolling over to the side of the bed to stand. 

Shane watched with slight confusion as Ilya started collecting his clothes from the floor. "Are you going?" He asked, his voice sounding smaller than he expected.

"Yes. You should talk to Pike alone probably. Also, Marlow is maybe wondering where I am, so I should get back." Ilya replied as he dressed quickly and efficiently, pulling his coat on with his back to Shane.

"Oh, okay." Shane replied softly because he felt like he should say something. 

And it wasn't that he had been expecting Ilya to walk into the living room with him and sit on the couch holding his hand while he explained to Hayden (and Jackie) that yes, he's gay, and yes, him and Ilya have been hooking up, and no, nobody else knows so please don't bring it up to any of the guys like ever. No, Shane hadn't been expecting that, because that would have been crazy and way too couple-y, and they weren't a couple even though Shane was kind of in love with him. But he hadn't really expected Ilya to leave so soon.

"Hollander."

Shane looked up from the wrinkled spot on his bed where Ilya had just been laying to find him standing at Shane's bedroom door, bundled up with his travel bag in hand. And, oh. Ilya was really leaving.

"I called car, it will be here soon so," Ilya shrugged.

Shane snapped back into it. "Umm, right yeah, just give me a second." He jumped out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a Centaurs shirt from his closet before crossing the room to the door. He paused before opening, turning to look at Ilya who was looking at him expectantly. "So, I'll see you soon?" He asked.

Ilya nodded quickly, averting his eyes. "Yes."

Shane pushed open his bedroom door, and walked Ilya to the entryway, sparing a quick glance toward the living room where Hayden sat patiently with his hands in his lap, staring straight at the blank tv.

He returned his gaze to Ilya who lingered slightly by the front door. They looked at each other for just a moment. "Good luck," Ilya whispered softly, his voice low enough that Shane was sure Hayden couldn't hear given that he'd barely heard it himself.

He nodded, swallowing his anxiety. "Thanks. Bye Ilya," He said softly, resisting the urge to say something stupid like 'Text me when you get back, love you.'

"Bye Hollander." Ilya said, and then he walked through the door.

Shane flipped the lock and took in a deep breath. Time to face Hayden. 

The walk to the living room was short, but felt more physically demanding than bag skates at the end of a bad practice. Shane's body was vibrating with nerves as he sat on the section of the couch perpendicular to Hayden so he could face him. Jackie, he guessed, was somewhere in Hayden's room, letting the two of them have a private conversation.

"So," Shane remarked, cringing slightly at the awkwardness with which his voice came out. "You weren't meant to see that."

Hayden nodded, mouth still shut tight as if he were afraid of saying something he wasn't supposed to.

"Umm, Ilya- Rozanov and I, we're umm-" Shane paused. He wasn't sure how exactly to explain what exactly him and Ilya were. "I guess you could say, umm, that we are..." Shane paused again.

"Together?" Hayden asked, his voice squeaking out.

"What? No." Shane replied quickly. 

"You're not?" Hayden asked, confusion seeping into his voice.

"No, no we're not- that. We're just- umm." Shane trailed off. God, why couldn't he come up with an explanation for this.

Hayden's eyebrows furrowed together, "Really? Cause it looked like-"

"Hayden!" Shane exclaimed sharply, his voice coming out harsher than he'd meant it to. And it wasn't that he was frustrated with his friend, but the constant questions were making it hard for him to think. Hard for him to really concentrate and come up with something that made sense for what they were because they weren't together, but they weren't just hooking up. Shane couldn't say it that way because that would really just cheapen the whole thing and he didn't want to do that-

"Oh." Hayden cut in suddenly, his lips turning downward as he glanced at Shane with something akin to sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, buddy." Hayden said, his voice dripping with sympathy.

It was Shane's turn to be confused.

"Sorry? Why sorry?" He questioned, looking at Hayden with his head slightly turned to the side as if that would make things make more sense.

"I mean, it's Rozanov." Hayden responded, like that were explanation enough.

Shane saw red, "What do you mean, it's Rozanov? Look, I know you're not always his biggest fan because he's always chirping you, and yes, he's kind of an asshole sometimes, but he's really sweet, and smart, and funny, and he cares a lot about people and I-" love him. Shane cut himself off. Because explaining what was happening to Hayden? Yes, he'd meant to do that. But confessing the scope of his feelings when he hadn't even fully processed them on his own? He hadn't meant to do that.

Hayden's eyes flashed in alarm. "No! Fuck, dude no- I mean, is Rozanov an odd choice for you? Yes. Like, would I have set you up with him? Probably not, but I also didn't know he was into dudes like that too until this morning-" Hayden shook his head as if to clear the image from earlier, "I just meant like, you know how he is. Like clearly you're, you know, with him. And he doesn't do, you know."

Shane shook his head, "I don't know, Hayden. What is 'you know?'"

"Like, you're in love with him! And he doesn't do relationships." Hayden clarified, and oh. 

And maybe Hayden saw Shane's face fall because he continued.

"I mean, maybe he could! Have you guys talked about it?" Hayden said, talking way too fast for Shane to understand everything, "I mean, Marlow did say he never picks up anymore. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't remember when the last time I saw him with a girl was. Which is good, right?"

"Right." Shane echoed, his mind playing back the way Ilya had smiled at him last night when Shane had said he didn't want him to kiss anyone else. The easy way he had agreed. The way that Shane had been struck by the feeling, and had just known, that he was in love with Ilya.

"So, you guys haven't talked about what you are?" Hayden probed, glancing at Shane curiously.

"He said he wouldn't kiss anyone else last night." Shane said, his voice feeling far away. Because Ilya had said that, but then. But then.

"I mean, that sounds pretty much like exclusive to me." Hayden shrugged.

But then.

Hollander.

It echoed in Shane's mind, because Ilya hadn't called him Shane when he'd left. He called him Hollander.

Shane replayed last night in his mind. Had he done something wrong? 

All he remembered was kissing Ilya with everything he had, trying to convey all the love he had into their kiss which had turned into an hour long make out session which had turned into them grinding up against each other, swallowing each other's noises with their mouths, trying to stay quiet, which had turned into the sloppiest blow job Shane had ever given and Ilya babbling in Russian and burying his face in Shane's pillow to muffle his moans, and then-

Well, after that they must have fallen asleep. And then this morning, he called Hayden finding out a nightmare. Shane winced.

He hadn't meant it like that. And maybe it had come off wrong. But then...

Ilya had told Shane he could move in with him and Marlow if Pike was being homophobic. And Shane had told him he came out to Hayden, and he wasn't. And Ilya had look at him with bright eyes, but then-

In his defense of Hayden not being a homophobe, he told Ilya that Hayden had offered to be on the lookout for guys. And after that, well, that was when Ilya had left. And started calling him Hollander.

"Oh shit." Shane sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "I fucked up."

"What do you mean?" Hayden asked.

"I told him you offered to set me up with guys." Shane groaned. "And then he left."

"Oh. Oh." Hayden replied, cringing slightly. "Wait, so let me get this straight. He told you that you're the only person he wants to kiss last night, and then this morning you told him that I'm setting you up with nonexistent guys."

"Hayden!" Shane exclaimed, "That makes it sound terrible!"

"I mean, it is kind of terrible!" Hayden replied matter of factly.

Shane groaned, "That's not helping."

"Sorry bud, but-"

"No, I know. I know." Shane replied, "Fuck, I need to talk to him."

"Probably." Hayden replied with a shrug. "So, how long has this been going on?"

Shane sent Hayden a flat stare. "Not the time."

"You're right, you're right. Okay, go put a jacket on, and I'll get Jackie ready to go." Hayden said, standing up and ushering Shane off the couch and towards his room.

"What? Why?" Shane asked confused, staring at his best friend who was moving urgently.

"Because we're gonna go get your man." Hayden replied, as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

Chapter End Notes

oh shane, you sweet summer child. who caught onto why ilya was upset before shane did....

Chapter 19

Chapter Notes

Heyyyy, it's been a while... sooooo previously on every day is like a battle:

Ilya had told Shane he could move in with him and Marlow if Pike was being homophobic. And Shane had told him he came out to Hayden, and he wasn't. And Ilya had look at him with bright eyes, but then-

In his defense of Hayden not being a homophobe, he told Ilya that Hayden had offered to be on the lookout for guys. And after that, well, that was when Ilya had left. And started calling him Hollander.

"Oh shit." Shane sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "I fucked up."

"What do you mean?" Hayden asked.

"I told him you offered to set me up with guys." Shane groaned. "And then he left."

"Oh. Oh." Hayden replied, cringing slightly. "Wait, so let me get this straight. He told you that you're the only person he wants to kiss last night, and then this morning you told him that I'm setting you up with nonexistent guys."

"Hayden!" Shane exclaimed, "That makes it sound terrible!"

"I mean, it is kind of terrible!" Hayden replied matter of factly.

Shane groaned, "That's not helping."

"Sorry bud, but-"

"No, I know. I know." Shane replied, "Fuck, I need to talk to him."

"Probably." Hayden replied with a shrug. "So, how long has this been going on?"

Shane sent Hayden a flat stare. "Not the time."

"You're right, you're right. Okay, go put a jacket on, and I'll get Jackie ready to go." Hayden said, standing up and ushering Shane off the couch and towards his room.

"What? Why?" Shane asked confused, staring at his best friend who was moving urgently.

"Because we're gonna go get your man." Hayden replied, as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

Shane was practically vibrating in the backseat the whole way over. Jackie had offered him the passenger seat, but he just honestly hadn't really wanted it. Something about the cramped back seat of Hayden's car made him feel smaller, safer, less like the big exploding mess he kind of felt like inside.

And sure, he could have been wrong about why Ilya was upset, but he was pretty sure he wasn't. In hindsight, yeah it had been a pretty fucking stupid thing to say.

The worst part about it, was that Ilya and Marlow didn't live that far away, but Shane was counting every agonizing second in his head. 

And when Hayden finally pulled up to the front of their building, Shane hardly even noticed. He was so caught in his own head, his own feelings, his own craziness.

Because what if Ilya didn't forgive him? 

What if he decided Shane was too skittish and neurotic, too wired and stressed, too much to deal with? 

Because Shane loved him, and Ilya held Shane's fragile, delicate heart in the center of his palm, and all it would take to crush it, to break it into a million tiny little shards so indiscernible they would never be able to be put exactly back together, was a tiny little squeeze.

Hayden sighed from the driver seat, "Shane, buddy. Do you want us to come in with you?"

Shane hesitated while he considered it, but no. It wouldn't make any sense. It would just draw Marlow's attention even more to the fact that Shane was practically vibrating out of his skin, his hands were shaky, his eyes were slightly red rimmed, and he was as pale as a ghost despite his usual tanned complexion.

"No, Hayd. I think I just, need to do it on my own. And hopefully he listens, and doesn't hate me, and doesn't decide he's done with me, because I'm-"

"Shane," Jackie cut off sweetly from the front seat, "It's going to be okay. You're wonderful, just- be honest with him." She gave him a small encouraging smile.

Shane nodded as he gripped the door handle, "Right, right. Of course, I can do this." He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths, then opened the door.

"Go get your man, bud." Hayden said from the rolled down window with an encouraging smile.

The walk inside and to the elevators felt like walking through the seven pits of hell. Somehow, he was cold and sweating at the same time. Hopefully Ilya wouldn't care what he smelled like, because he was pretty sure it wasn't good.

When he finally made it to their door, it took a good couple minutes before he got up the courage to knock, and even then, it was a quick, barely audible thing. And the door took so long to open that Shane began to wonder if he needed to knock again.

But right as he raised his hand, Marlow opened the door a sliver with a tired look on his face, and his large body blocking Shane's view into the rest of the apartment.

"Hey Hollzy," Marlow said warily. "What's up?"

"Is Ilya here?" Shane asked, standing up on the tips of his toes to try and catch a glimpse into the apartment.

Marlow sighed and tightened his grip on the door. "Look, I don't know if it's a good idea…" he trailed off.

"Please, Marlow." Shane begged.

"He's upset." Marlow said flatly, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I know, and I-"

Marlow held up a hand to stop him, and then he stepped out of the doorway and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Shane bit his lip and frowned, because it didn't seem like a good sign.

"Look Hollzy, he came home upset, and he was ranting in Russian. I didn't catch most of it, but I did hear your name in there, and now, here you are, showing up, and I'm not an idiot. But whatever's going on, I think it needs to wait. Because halfway through his rant, he got a call from his brother. His dad doesn't have long, maybe a couple days, he said." Marlow paused as Shane drew in a sharp breath.

"Fuck," he sighed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

"He's packing for Russia." Marlow stated plainly, "So if whatever you're about to go in there and tell him is gonna make things worse or harder for him, then it needs to wait."

Shane contemplated. Could it wait? Should it wait? Would it make things worse to go in now and tell Ilya he was in love with him right before he flew to a country where being that was illegal? Probably.

But Shane couldn't live with himself if he let Ilya go through it all alone, thinking Shane was just happily letting Jackie and Hayden find guys for him.

"Please, Marlow." Shane begged again, his vision going blurry as his eyes got wet.

Marlow sighed and tipped his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine, but don't make me regret this." He said softly, and then even more so whispered, "And please don't break his heart."

Marlow opened the door, and Shane was met with the sight of Ilya, rolling his suitcase out of his room, hair messed up, eyes red and puffy. He was looking down at the ground.

"Okay, Marly. Ready to go." He sighed, and Shane's heart almost broke. He'd never heard Ilya sound so weak and defeated.

"Ilya," he whispered, the name falling out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Ilya's eyes shot up to meet his own, and then Shane was rushing across the entryway to meet him. He threw his arms around his neck and swallowed down the words.

He could wait until Ilya was back from Russia to tell him. 

"You're here?" Ilya stated in a way that made it seem like a question even as his own arms snaked around Shane's waist.

"I'm an idiot," He said, his words muffled by Ilya's neck. "I'm the biggest idiot in the world."

Ilya's arms tightened around his waist. "Yes." Ilya agreed softly.

Shane laughed wetly. "I'm sorry, Ilya. I'm so sorry." 

It was a blanket statement. Shane knew it. He hoped Ilya knew it too.

There were loads of things to be sorry for. Ilya's father, the foot Shane had so spectacularly shoved in his mouth an hour ago, letting Ilya walk out of his apartment not knowing what he meant to him.

He kept his face pressed tightly into Ilya's neck, hoping it would somehow help stop the tears flowing. He mouthed the words into his neck to practice the shape of them, though he didn't breathe sound into them yet. 

But at least he would know, with Ilya thousands of miles away in Russia, that he had impressed the words into his skin.

They stood, fused together in the entry way, for what could have been two minutes, or maybe ten. Shane had never had a great sense of time when he was in Ilya's arms.

Finally, they were interrupted by Marlow clearing his throat. "I'm glad we sorted this out, but Rozy, we have to go to the airport now or you'll miss your flight." He said apologetically. "Hollzy, you're welcome to come too."

Shane nodded quickly and reached around Ilya to find purchase on his roller bag. His other hand, unmistakably linking in Ilya's as a sign of support and love.

They were quiet in the car. Ilya and Shane sat in Marlow's backseat. Ilya had pushed the shoulder strap off to lay horizontally with his head in Shane's lap as Marlow navigated through lanes of traffic toward Ottawa International.

"I wish I could come with you." Shane whispered softly as his fingers mindlessly combed through Ilya's hair.

"Is not safe for us there, and you have games to win." Ilya replied softly, "But yes, I wish this too."

Shane leaned down to press a kiss to Ilya's cheek.

All too soon, Marlow was pulling up to the curb by departures, and Ilya sat up to reach for the door.

"Wait," Shane said, and then gently grabbed Ilya's face and pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft and slow, and Shane hoped it said everything that he couldn't yet. Marlow whistled lowly, and they pulled apart smiling, "Call me or text me if you need anything, and even if you don't, just- please."

Ilya muttered something soft and low in Russian, then said, "Of course, my Shane. I'll be back soon."

Shane kissed him quickly one more time for good measure, then slid out behind him into the curb to get into the front seat next to Marlow. Ilya waved at them as they drove off, and Shane's heart broke a little when he saw Ilya's shoulders fall slightly as he turned to walk into the airport.

He knew in his heart then, that he never wanted to watch Ilya leave him like that and go back to the place that had made him, and broke him, again.

"So..." Marlow said as they drove down the freeway, after a couple minutes of silence had passed since they'd dropped Ilya off.

And fuck, right.

But he'd already told Hayden, and he'd literally just kissed Ilya on the lips in front of Marlow, and suddenly, somehow, nothing seemed as scary as the thought of Ilya hating him forever because he couldn't be brave enough to tell him how he felt. 

And honestly, maybe having a few people on their side wouldn't hurt. Ilya had probably been right all along. 

Because Hayden hadn't been disgusted, he'd driven Shane to "go get his man".

And Marlow wasn't kicking him out of his car or calling him a slur, so that was probably a good sign. So, fuck it.

"I love him." Shane admitted, and only jumped slightly when Marlow slightly swerved the car in shock.

"Fuck, man." Marlow cursed as he righted the car in the lane. He shot a quick glance over at Shane, and Shane was delighted to see the wide grin on his face. "That's fucking awesome, bro."

"You're not surprised?" Shane asked with his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"I mean, yes and no." Marlow shrugged. "I've know for a while about Roz, and his crush on you, but I didn't think that you felt the same. But I mean, obviously, wow- love, go figure."

Shane blinked away his confusion, "Wait, what do you mean you've known about Roz?"

Marlow cocked an eyebrow that time when he looked over, "That he's an equal opportunist, of course. C'mon, Hollzy. I'm his roommate, we go out together literally all the time. It took me like two weeks to figure out he flirts with anyone with nice legs and a pretty mouth, regardless of gender- or well, sorry, he used to at least."

Marlow shot him a slightly apologetic look at that, and Shane tried to ignore the ugly, swirl of jealousy in his stomach. "It's fine," he bit out.

"I mean it seriously, though. It's been months since he last- maybe more, honestly." Marlow added, and the jealousy cooled a little bit.

And then- wait.

"You thought he had a crush on me?" Shane asked incredulously, his voice going all high pitched and nearly breaking on the last word.

Marlow barked out a loud laugh, "I mean, yeah."

And when he didn't continue, "Marlow! You can't just say that and not explain!"

Marlow snickered louder, "I don't know how to explain it really, Hollzy. He just looks at you with these heart eyes sometimes, it's cute."

Shane couldn't help the blush that spread across his cheeks. "Oh," he said fondly.

"Yeah, oh," Marlow replied, teasing slightly. "Anyway, glad you two figured your shit out."

The statement made Shane's head spin a little bit, "Wait, did he ever, like, talk to you about it?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Marlow assured him quickly, "I mean, he got home earlier in a pissy mood, but he didn't ever, like, mention you or anything."

Shane nodded and sat quietly as they crawled through the congested streets.

"It honestly kind of felt like we were in a game of chicken though," Marlow commented, "Like, I kind of knew, or guessed at least. And he knew I kind of knew, but he wasn't telling me anything. So I kept trying to drop hints to him, that I knew and was cool about it, like, I don't know, maybe that would make him feel more comfortable telling me?"

Marlow paused, and Shane waited for him to continue.

"Like the other night!" Marlow said, lighting up. "I said some shit about him never picking up, or a secret girlfriend or something." Marlow shook his head, "I don't know, I thought that if he knew I knew, maybe he'd just come out and say it, but whatever. The chicks in the bachelorette party were hot as hell."

Shane couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. It was raw, and almost self deprecating in a way because fuck, that fucking comment. Really, it had been the start to all of this mess.

But it had also sparked a level of honesty between them that Shane wasn't sure he would've had the confidence to bring up otherwise.

He thought back to the earnest look on Ilya's face when he promised Shane he wouldn't kiss anyone else.

"Marlow," Shane sighed softly, "You're a big idiot."

Marlow laughed, "Fuck you, Hollzy!" He exclaimed. "Roz keeps telling me you're secretly an asshole, I never believed him, but hey, maybe he's right."

Marlow pulled into a visitor parking space for Shane's building and put the car in park. He turned toward Shane with a serious expression on his face. 

"Take care of our boy, Hollzy." Marlow said seriously, about as serious as Shane had ever heard him be. "When he calls..." Marlow trailed off, "..make sure he knows he's not alone."

Shane nodded seriously, almost gravely. Because he would. And even if he wasn't outright saying it in exactly those words, he would make sure Ilya knew that the team loved him. Not as much as Shane did though, obviously. "I will, Marly." 

Ilya called him the next day, almost a full 24 hours later.

"Ilya," Shane breathed into the phone, clutching it tight in his head.

"Shane," Ilya replied softly, the pain and exhaustion evident even in just that one word.

"Did you sleep at all?" Shane asked somewhat shyly.

"Eh, yes a bit." Ilya paused, "No, actually. That was lie. I am exhausted."

Shane's face pulled down in a frown, "What time is it there?" He asked softly, even though he knew full well. He'd added Moscow to his world clock the second Ilya had left Marlow's car.

"Late, almost 11 pm." Ilya replied softly, "I have to go soon to call a car. Probably straight to the hospital."

"I'm sorry, Ilya." Shane said softly.

"No sorry. Hearing your voice makes it all better." Ilya replied in the honest way you do when you're too tired to lie or embellish. Shane's heart nearly fractured for him.

"I miss you already." He said softly.

"I miss you more, Shane." Ilya replied.

"Impossible." Shane said lightly and basked in the sound of Ilya's soft laughter from the other end.

"I have to go," Ilya said regretfully after a minute of silence, "But I will maybe call you tomorrow?"

"I will maybe answer." Shane responded, though they both knew he'd be waiting for the phone to ring. "Bye, Ilya."

"Goodbye, my Shane." 

Chapter End Notes

good to see you guys again!! here is the long awaited update! i'll be honest, i got caught up in life (and lowkey reading a lot of other fics ahaha sue me), but i'm trying to get this one out and finished for you all!! you might have seen my new cliff chronicles series which i got a little caught up in, but I told myself I couldn't keep writing that until I made some progress with this story, so voila!

okay, okay, you can throw your tomatoes at me for taking so long to update, I deserve it!! but mark my words, i will finish this fic.... soonish! anyway, love y'all, UH!!