Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Svetlana Vetrova, Hayden Pike, Yuna Hollander

Additional Tags:

Amnesia, Denial, Internalized Homophobia, Autistic Shane Hollander, Introspection, Hurt/Comfort

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of from the inside

Collections:

Uhhhh look away

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-04 Completed: 2026-01-25 Words: 15,785 Chapters: 4/4

forget me not

Summary

His mother stared at him, wide eyed and more than a little panicked. "Shane, honey, what do you remember?"

He searched his mind for a memory of this game, of the injury - but nothing came to him. The pain worsened, and he groaned, clutching his head. Fuck, that hurt.

"Shane, is okay. Don't hurt yourself more, please." Rozanov said. He moved his hand towards Shane's, trying to grasp hold of it.

Shane swatted him away violently, aghast. What the fuck was he playing at?

"Get the fuck off of me, Rozanov."

Both Rozanov and his mother gaped at him.

"Shane-" Rozanov tried again, but Shane wasn't having it.

He was beginning to panic. It was too much; the too-bright blue lights, his mother's panic, the constant beeping of the monitor, the big gaping whole in his memory, the godawful scratchy feeling of the cheap fabric of the hospital gown - it was all making him lose his fucking mind because it was making him itch and too hot and - and worst of all, Ilya fucking Rozanov was trying to hold his hand and call him sweetheart in front of his mom.

(post-book one, shane gets injured & forgets ilya)

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

this is a little different from my usual, so if you're subscribed to me for outsider pov or reveal fics IM SORRY more like that will be coming soon, but i hope you all enjoy this anyways! thanks to anyone reading :)

We didn't even kiss.

Shane pressed the backspace button until the text was cleared. 

Shane tried to open his eyes.

White. All he can see is white. 

He blinked, trying to push his head up so he can see properly. 

A sharp, grating noise pierced his ears; a familiar and steady beep, beep, beep.

Shane had been in hospital enough to recognise that sound. It felt familiar, here. The scratchy material of a hospital gown, the ache of his bones, the foggy, drifting feeling that told him that he was on some pretty good drugs.

He blinked again, his vision finally clearing a little.

Yep, definitely in hospital. He tried to sit up but immediately his arms gave out. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

"No, no, don't try to move, sweetie." The familiar tone of his mother's voice was like a balm. 

"Mom?" He tried to say. His voice cracked. He coughed, trying to clear his throat but it was too dry. He tried to speak again, to ask for water, but before he could, there was a glass being raised to his lips. 

A man spoke next. "Slowly. Slowly."

Shane choked. 

He knew that voice.

He'd know that voice anywhere. 

He coughed, spluttering, his windpipe on fire. 

"Shane-"

"Fuck." He heard Rozanov say. "It's okay, breathe -" Then he said something in Russian. 

He blinked, pushing himself up, ignoring the shooting pain that wracked through his body. Rozanov's face swam into view. 

What the fuck was Rozanov doing here?

His expression was unreadable to Shane; it wasn't one that he'd seen on Rozanov's face before. 

Then Rozanov lifted and hand up to gently stroke at Shane's cheek. Shane froze. "Shane-"

Shane's head reared back, trying to get away as quickly as possible.

This wasn't right. Rozanov was never, ever like this with him. Caring wasn't in their repertoire. They fucked, end of. Rozanov had made that perfectly clear.

And calling him Shane? Not to mention his mother was standing right there.

"What-" Shane croaked out. "What are you doing here?"

"How are you feeling?" Rozanov asked, ignoring his question. 

Well, two could play this game. Shane ignored him in turn. Thankfully, his throat had cleared and his voice came out stronger this time. "What are you doing here?"

Rozanov had the audacity to look confused. 

"What?"

Shane's mom moved closer to the other side of his bed.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

"My head - it hurts. My arm, too." Shane said. "What happened?"

He watched as she pursed her lips together and blinked tears away. She looked emotional, as she always did when he got seriously hurt. "You had a fall, on the ice. It was bad."

Shit. 

He racked his brain trying to remember the accident, but he found he couldn't even imagine the game that had preceded it. That, combined with the pounding in his head, was not a good sign. 

Then, he heard a sniffling sound. He turned to Rozanov, alarmed. Honestly, Shane hadn't thought the Russian would be capable of crying. He had always seemed so unshakeable, like nothing ever got to him. 

"Was it against Boston?" Shane asked. It was the only reason he could think of to explain why Rozanov would be at his bedside. Maybe it had been Rozanov that had wiped him out and that's why he was here. Still, it was weird. Shane knew there was something between them - a weird pull that kept them bouncing back to each other like magnets - but their history consisted of nothing more than some texts and a couple of fucks when they were in each other's cities. Nothing more. 

Even weirder; when Rozanov frowned, Shane suddenly noticed that there were a fair few more lines lining his face than Shane had ever seen. He looked - older. 

"What do you mean, sweetheart? Don't you remember? We were playing against Montreal."

Distantly Shane heard the beeping on the monitor quicken up. He glanced at his mom, searching for a sign that she'd heard Ilya fucking Rozanov call him sweetheart of all things.

But, no, her expression was only showing concern for him. There was nothing on her face to say that she'd just heard his arch-rival call him 'sweetheart'.

"No, I-"

Wait. Playing against Montreal?

The thumping in his head grew more intense as he tried to force the memories to return.

His mother stared at him, wide eyed and more than a little panicked. "Shane, honey, what do you remember?"

He searched his mind for a memory of this game, of the injury - but nothing came to him. The pain worsened, and he groaned, clutching his head. Fuck, that hurt.

"I don't know-"

"Shane, is okay. Don't hurt yourself more, please." Rozanov said.

Then he did something even weirder. He moved his hand towards Shane's, trying to grasp hold of it.

Shane swatted him away violently, aghast. What the fuck was he playing at?

"Get the fuck off of me, Rozanov."

Both Rozanov and his mother gaped at him, as if he was the one who'd done something insane.

"Shane-" Rozanov tried again, but Shane wasn't having it.

He was beginning to panic. It was too much; the too-bright blue lights, his mother's panic, the constant beeping of the monitor, the big gaping whole in his memory, the godawful scratchy feeling of the cheap fabric of the hospital gown - it was all making him lose his fucking mind because it was making him itch and too hot and - and worst of all, Ilya fucking Rozanov was trying to hold his hand and call him sweetheart in front of his mom. 

It was all just too much. 

His heart was racing now. "Are you fucking deaf? I said don't touch me."

What the fuck was Rozanov playing at, acting as if he gave a fuck about Shane? Shane knew better than to believe that. Rozanov couldn't even be bothered to respond to one measly text, and now he was calling him 'sweetheart' and trying to feed him water and hold his hand. And in front of his mom? Was Rozanov fucking crazy?

It was ironic that they were both looking at him like he was the crazy one.

"Er - I," Rozanov stumbled over his words, looking hurt and uncertain. His accent didn't sound as thick, even with the emotion choking his voice. But it was freaking Shane out seeing him like this - he'd only ever seen Rozanov looking secure in himself. "Shane. What's wrong?"

Okay, maybe Shane just had to say he was fine and Rozanov would go - whatever had happened, whether it was Rozanov's fault or someone else's, he would say he was fine, and Rozanov would be satisfied that his duty as captain had been completed. 

“Nothing. I’m fine, Rozanov, so you can go. You’ve seen me, I lived. You can go and tell everyone that you visited and apologised and we’ll say no more about it. Okay?”

Unfortunately, Shane's assumptions had proved incorrect because his reassurances only served to make Rozanov go pale faced. There was a sudden, visceral terror in his eyes that Shane could not comprehend.

”Shane-“

”Hollander.” Shane corrected.

Rozanov’s head reared back in shock. “Hollander?”

“I’m going to get the doctor.” Yuna said suddenly, leaving the room before Shane could beg her not to leave him alone with Rozanov when he was acting so unhinged. 

He eyed Rozanov suspiciously, trying to figure out Rozanov's game. 

”Shane, baby, what’s the last thing you remember?” 

Oh, that was the last fucking straw.

“Baby? Are you fucking insane?" He let out a scoff when Rozanov didn't respond, simply staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "Do you want everyone to know?" Shane hissed at him furiously. "Besides, when have I ever been your fucking baby?”

Rozanov reached out again and Shane shoved him. Hard. Which he immediately regretted as a white-hot shooting pain bolted through his torso, ripping the air from his lungs. He let out a feeble yelp.

Rozanov suddenly looked frantic with worry. “Shane, please-“

"Just stop! Whatever the fuck this is, just stop it and leave me alone." Shane said. He was sick and tired of whatever this was. He pursed his lips together and muttered, half under his breath. "It’s not hard for you, usually.”

Rozanov turned his face away but Shane caught a flash of his hurt, crumpled up expression. 

But before Shane could think anymore on that, the door opened and both the doctor and his mom slipped inside the room. 

The doctor smiled, clearly hoping to be reassuring. “Hi, Shane, how are you feeling?”

Shane wanted to say ‘shit’, and tell everyone to fuck off, because he was in pain and he was too hot to think properly and the blankets felt fucking awful on his skin and Rozanov was calling him baby and sweetheart and Shane as if he’d done it a thousand times before, as if he hadn’t ignored Shane’s texts for months after telling him in Sochi that they were nothing and that Shane was boring. As if Rozanov hadn’t practically kicked him out the Vegas hotel room without even a kiss. 

But Shane didn’t say any of that because, unlike Rozanov, he hadn't been raised to be a complete asshole to people who didn't deserve it. Besides, he was Canadian. It wasn't in his DNA to tell innocent doctors to fuck off, no matter how much he wanted everyone to just go away and let him sleep until everything made sense again.

“Okay. Head hurts. Shoulder’s fucked.”

The doctor nodded. “You had a nasty accident, Shane.” 

Shane watched cautiously as the doctor moved around to his bedside, gently pushing past Rozanov so he could examine Shane. He began asking questions about what hurt and asking Shane to wiggle his fingers and toes and flashing a light in Shane's eyes to check his pupils. 

At the bright light flashing in his eyes, he flinched. He'd always been sensitive to bright lights when he was overwhelmed and he was one second away from a full meltdown if that doctor didn't get that fucking light out his eyes right now. 

Then, Shane felt a light, soft squeeze of a hand on his. A calloused thumb stroked the back of his hand soothingly. Immediately he felt himself calm slightly, the touch grounding him. A second later it was gone. Rozanov had yanked his hand away, looking at Shane warily, as if recalling what had happened the last two times he’s tried to touch Shane.

Good, Shane thought viciously, pretending he wasn't itching to reach out and pull Rozanov's hand right back into his own.

"What do you remember, Shane?" The doctor asked.

Shane shook his head uncertainly. It was too vague to even know where to begin answering that question. 

"Do you remember the game?" Rozanov asked. "It was Ottawa against Montreal."

Shane tried to think, but nothing came to him. It was strange - Ottawa barely ever played against Montreal because they were usually kicked out of the running early. And why would Rozanov be here if it wasn't against Boston?

He felt his brows furrow as he tried to unthread the complex, tangled web of information he was being given. 

Eventually, he simply shook his head. Rozanov pursed his lips together and blinked furiously, as if trying to hold off tears. 

"What's the date, Shane? Do you remember that?"

No, he didn't. Shane winced. Thinking was too hard right now.

"Is okay. Take your time." Rozanov said. 

He tried to remember what he had been doing before all this. Had there been a game? He didn't remember one.

In fact, the last thing he remembered was... Vegas. 

Why had he been in Vegas again? His brain was foggy. It felt like he was swimming through thick mud trying to get the answers.

He glanced at Rozanov.

A memory came back to him. Them on stage. The flash of the bright lights. Rozanov taking selfies of them. The bathroom. His forehead on Rozanov's shoulder. The smell of cigarettes and Rozanov's aftershave. Genetic. The penthouse. 

See you next season.

We didn't even kiss.

"4th June, - um, 2014?" He glanced at the doctor, trying to read on his face whether that was close enough. 

He heard a gasp. His mother's hands flew to her face as her face crumpled. 

Shane looked at her, alarmed. "Mom-" He tried to reach out to hold her hand, give her some comfort, but the pain was too much and he was beginning to panic. "That's not right, is it?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, Shane. It's not."

"When?"

"Calm down, Shane. Please. It's okay." The doctor's voice was gentle and soothing but it couldn't do anything to prevent the sheer panic whirling in Shane's chest.

"When?"

"Mr Hollander, please try to remain calm."

Shane tried to slow his breathing to satisfy the doctor. "When?"

"2024."

Oh, God.

Ten years. 

His breath quickened and almost instantly his chest felt constricted and sore, as if he'd just ran a marathon. Ten years. God, he couldn't remember ten years of memories. He was fucking thirty three.

He could feel himself hurtling towards a panic attack. He'd only ever had a few, but he knew the symptoms by now. He was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that Rozanov was still in the room. 

"Get him out of here!" He couldn't let Rozanov see him like this. "Why the fuck is he in even in here?"

His mother tried to placate him. "Shane, baby, calm down."

"No, is okay. I should go." Rozanov said the words quickly, and almost sprinted out of the room, the door banging loudly behind him. 

"I don't understand, how was he allowed in here in the first place? Don't hospitals have rules about family only, I mean, fuck-"

Yuna studied him. "Shane. You should know, Ilya-"

"Ilya?" He repeated incredulously. "Ilya?"

She pursed her lips. "I think we should discuss this later, honey. Just lay back down, please."

"No, no - what were you going to say?" He had to know what on earth had happened in the last decade for his mom to call Rozanov, Ilya.

Fuck. 

Did she know?

His chest was tight with sick anxiety as he waited for her to respond. He searched her face, trying to read any hint, but as usual he couldn't. 

When she spoke, it was soft and hesitant. "He's part of our family now, Shane."

Shane reared back. "What?"

"You two - he's here because he's family. Your family-"

Shane's heart sank. She knew. She knew.

"Rozanov is not my family-"

She bit her lip.

"What?" He knew he was being pushy but he didn't care. "What?"

"Shane, he's your husband."

Husband.

No, no - this couldn’t be true.

No.

Whatever this was with Rozanov it was just a fucked up, dirty habit. A phase he would grow out of one day - once he finally found the right woman. 

It was never meant to last.

"No. No. I'm not - I'm not gay." Shane fumbled the words. "I'm not gay -"

Yuna's lips trembled as fresh tears tracked down her face. "Oh, honey, it's okay-"

"I'm not!"

Yuna turned to the doctor, who was standing there looking extremely uncomfortable. "Can we please have a moment?"

The doctor nodded and left the room. "I'll come back to check on Shane's progress later."

"Thank you." Yuna nodded. 

Then she turned her attention back to Shane. "Shane, honey. I know. I know you two have been seeing each other since rookie season, it's okay-"

Shane felt faint. This was his worst nightmare, his mother knowing about this - whatever this was. 

She held his hand. "Shane, it's okay. I promise, baby. I know you're gay because you told me, and it's okay. I love you so much, baby. Nothing will ever change that."

Shane felt the tears coming now, hot and salty over his lips. Fuck. A sob burst out of him. It was all too much. His head was still pounding and he felt as if he would explode if he had to deal with one more thing. Only a second ago he'd been begging for the truth. Now, he just wanted to bury his head in the sand. He didn't want to learn anything more about his future. 

"I'm tired." Shane mumbled. He didn't want to deal with this anymore. 

"Okay. Please just rest, sweetie." His mom stroked the skin under his eye, across his freckles. He felt warm at the familiar touch. "It's okay. I'll be right here, and your dad is on his way. Just rest. We'll talk more later okay?"

Shane closed his eyes and let himself drift. 

Chapter 2

When he's finally released from hospital, he’s told that his husband had left some clothes for him to change into. Apparently his uniform had been binned on arrival because it had been in tatters and covered in blood. 

Idly, he told himself that he’d have to let the team manager know that it would need replacing before the next game. It took him a second to realise that he didn’t who that was now, to remember that he no longer wore the Montreal colours. 

He’d been visited by both his parents over the last few days, and they’d filled him in on the basics of his life. Him and Rozanov were married and living together in Ottawa. They both played for the Ottawa Centaurs - information which had sent him spiralling because he couldn’t comprehend that his career had gone up in flames.

Worst of all, they'd told him that him and Rozanov had gone public with their relationship. That everyone knew about them. About him.

They’d been cautious not to tell him any more than that, not wanting to overwhelm him.

The doctor had said it was perfectly fine to tell him about his life from before, even a good idea - that learning things about himself might help to jog memories - but Shane agreed with his parents. Too much, too quickly had already given him a panic attack and he wasn’t looking for a repeat of that. 

When he was ready to go, he’d left the room to see Rozanov waiting outside. 

It was the first time that Shane had seen the man since the first day when he’d woken up. When his parents had visited, they’d told him that Rozanov had been sleeping on the chair outside the room.

They’d asked everyday if Shane would allow him to visit, but Shane had refused. He had been in too much pain - and trying to comprehend that he’d lost ten years of his life. Seeing Rozanov on top of all that would have been too much to handle.

He studied the man in front of him, seeing him properly for the first time without the haze of the drugs. He looked older, but still - good. And he definitely didn’t look ten years older.

Briefly Shane wondered if he looked very different now, after ten years. 

“Hello.” Rozanov said. 

“Hey.” Shane muttered. 

Wordlessly, Rozanov held out a hoodie and Shane tugged it on, grateful for the warmth. Apparently it was summer here in Ottawa, but Shane knew well enough that it could still be chilly here even in the dead of June. 

Not for the first time since he was told about Rozanov and Ottawa, he thinks ‘what the fuck made Ilya Rozanov move to Ottawa?’

Logically, he knew it was for their relationship. They'd gotten married and settled here.

But that couldn’t be it, surely - how could Shane be enough for Ilya Rozanov - lover of parties, women, and sports cars - to live in Ottawa, city of civil servants, museums, and little else. 

He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

He followed Rozanov across the parking lot, a pit of nerves bubbling in his stomach. His mom had told him earlier in the week that the doctor had recommended he go back to his home and try and rest in a place that would feel familiar enough that it might help remind him of things. So, Rozanov was going to drive Shane home. To their house. Where they lived. Together.

Because they were married.

Husbands.

In fucking Ottawa. 

Where they played for the worst team in the fucking league.

Apparently it was better now, according to his parents, but he wasn’t sure if they'd only told him that to keep him calm.

Again, Shane liked Ottawa, but he couldn't picture anywhere less suited to the Ilya Rozanov he knew - the one who had a garage full of fancy, garish European sports cars, who loved clubbing, and women, and who'd gone viral on twitter in 2013 for doing lines off a girl's tits.

Shane watched as Rozanov clicked his car keys and got into a sensible looking Jeep that he had to assume was Shane's because the Rozanov he knew wouldn't be caught dead in it. 

"Is this my car?"

"No. Is mine."

Shane pulled a face. 

Rozanov sighed. "I know. Is so boring and ugly."

Shane wrinkled his nose. "Then why did you buy it?”

"Is good in the snow."

Right. Ottawa.

He got in the car, ignoring Rozanov's attempts to help him as he tried to pull his seatbelt on with one hand. As the pulled out of the car park, Shane kept his eyes firmly fixed away from Rozanov, focusing on the sign reading 'Ottawa General Hospital'.

The drive took no time at all, which Shane was grateful for because the awkward silence in the car had been killing him.

The two of them entered the house and Shane felt awfully, suddenly alone.

He'd never spent more than five minutes alone with Rozanov without them tearing each other's clothes off, which he couldn't exactly do now. What on earth was he supposed to say? 

He glanced warily at Rozanov out of the corner of his eye. Thankfully, Rozanov wasn't looking at him.

Apparently they had a dog. 

Rozanov's face broke out into a genuine smile. "Hey, Anya, baby."

He crouched down and started kissing the dog and scratching her under the chin making noises at her. 

Shane was frozen. He'd never seen Rozanov smile like this before. He'd seen him smirk or laugh, but never this; a big, warm, loving smile.

The dog turned her attention to Shane, nuzzling up against his leg.

Rozanov tugged on her collar, gently pulling her away. "Anya, baby, be careful."

"We have a dog?" Shane didn't know what else to say. He immediately regretted it - obviously they had a dog, the dog was right in front of his fucking eyes - and braced himself for a typical sarcastic chirp from Rozanov. 

"Yes, this is Anya."

Was that it? No teasing? No, rolled eyes and 'obviously'?

Shane hesitated but leaned down to stroke her soft fur. "How old is she?"

"Eight."

Rozanov stood and lead him to the big open plan kitchen and living room. Anya followed behind them, nudging both of them with her cold, wet nose. It was cute.

Shane hesitated, standing in the middle of the room. He wiped his hands on his legs awkwardly, unsure on how to stand. Apparently, this was his home, but it didn’t feel like that to him. It was like walking into someone else’s house. 

God, this was awkward. Shane hated small talk; he never knew what to say, and it was even worse with Rozanov, who was always so relaxed and confident and always seemed to know how to talk to anyone. And now Shane felt even more unbalanced, because they had an entire decade of history that Rozanov knew and he didn't.

"Are you hungry?"

Shane shook his head.

"How are you feeling, Shane?"

What a question. Shane had no idea how to respond. He was feeling too damn much to even identify one single emotion. And his body was battered. His arm was sore and twinged every time he moved it in a certain way. He felt like an invalid. And his head was still pounding. 

"Do you need anything? Painkillers, a drink-"

Shane shook his head. "I think I just want to sleep. Where-"

Rozanov studied him. "I show you."

He followed Rozanov through the house until they reached a room that was clearly their bedroom. 

Shane took in the dark navy bedsheets, the cream walls, the two bedside tables.

One was cluttered with crap. The other only had one non-fiction hockey book, a lamp, and an alarm clock. That was clearly his.

It looked like a standard married couple bedroom.

There was even a gold framed photograph of the two of them in suits - it looked like they were in the backyard at the cottage. And it was freaking him out.

This was like seeing irrefutable proof that they actually were married. That this was real.

"Um- I. Maybe I should sleep in a guest room or something-"

Rozanov shook his head. "Is okay. You should be around familiar things right now. Doctor said is good for running your memory."

Shane huffed a laugh. "Jogging?"

Rozanov let out a long groan. "This language is so fucking stupid. It has been years and I still hate it"

Shane smothered a smile. This was a Rozanov he recognised, at last.

"Well. Good night."

Shane stared at him. Was Rozanov not staying?

As if he could read his mind, Rozanov said, "I am sleeping in guest room. See you tomorrow, Shane."

Shane nodded, watching him leave.

"Good night, Rozanov."

He couldn't sleep. His mind was running too much.

A few moments after Shane had gotten into bed - trying not to think too hard about the fact that this was the bed he shared with his husband, Ilya fucking Rozanov - Rozanov had come into the room with a few things that Shane had left in the locker room before the accident. There was a whole bag of things, but Shane could only focus on two things.

His phone, which was dead, and a gold wedding ring.

He'd held it gingerly, as if the thing was going to come alive and bite him. He'd found he couldn't bring himself to put it on, so he'd simply said thank you and slipped it onto the small dish on his bedside table that also held his watch and glasses. 

He'd tried his best to ignore how devastated Rozanov had looked, but it clearly hadn't worked because here he was at one in the morning still unable to sleep. 

His brain kept repeating the imagine of Rozanov staring at the ring in the dish, his expression pained and his eyes growing wet. 

Instead, he decided to distract himself with his phone, which was now thankfully fully charged. As soon as he turned it on there were an influx of messages waiting for him. 

Hayden
Are you okay??

Hayden
Call me when you can.

Hayden
Heard from Roz, hope you feel better soon, bud. Love ya.

Hayden
Keep me updated when you can.

Rose
Please call me when you’re feeling up to it. Love you. 

Who the hell was Rose and why was she telling him she loved him?

J.J
Hope you get better soon dude

J.J
No one can keep Hollzy down for long!

Mom
We’ll be round in a few days to check on you. Call if you need anything, honey. 

Dad
Love you, kiddo. Call if you need us.

Harris
Me and Troy are only a phone call away!

Hayes
Get well soon!! We need you back asap Hollzy

Svetlana Vetrova
Get well soon, Hollander.

Who was this? The name sounded Russian - maybe it was someone from Rozanov’s family? Shane guessed Rozanov’s family was now his. Come to think of it, he realised he knew absolutely nothing of Rozanov’s family. 

There were also a bunch of messages from a group chat labelled ‘Centaurs Forever', which he ignored for now.

He was already feeling overwhelmed, especially thinking about anything to do with his new team. He thought he’d be with the Metros forever.

And it hadn't escaped his notice that the only two Metros to text him were Hayden and J.J.

But he couldn’t think too hard about that right now. 

No, Shane’s current priority was to find out all he could about how on earth he’d ended up married to Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

Yes, fine, they fucked. And it was great. Better than with anyone else Shane had been with.

But that was it. How did it go from Rozanov ignoring his texts for half a year to them getting married?

Shane was determined to find out.

First step. The 'Lily' thread. It took him a second to realise that it would obviously not be under Lily anymore. No, the name was 'Ilya' with a red heart emoji next to it. 

He scrolled through the messages, his heart racing.

The most recent two had simply said:

Ilya
Can you pick up milk on your way home?

Shane
Anything else?

Ilya
I love you.

Shane
Not what I meant but...

Shane
я тебя люблю.

Then above that there was a lot of back and forth of outgoing calls, ‘where are you’ texts, selfies being exchanged, 'love you' texts. All the typical texts you would expect to see between husbands.

Shane’s brain was exploding.

With shaking hands he went to the next most informative area: the camera roll. 

There were a fair amount of pictures of them at the rink, surrounded by a group of guys he didn’t recognise but whom he assumed were his new teammates. A few pictures of his parents. Tonnes of their dog, Anya. Even more of Rozanov. 

Selfies Rozanov had sent to him, screenshotted and saved to his camera roll.

Pictures of them together; in bed, at restaurants, with the Pike kids, at the cottage, on the ice.

One of him and Rozanov in their gear on the rink. Rozanov was licking his cheek and instead of looking disgusted, as he should have been, he had a huge smile plastered over his face. 

He’d never seen himself look so happy to have his picture taken.

Long gone was the perfect, ad-appropriate smile that he plastered on for media and interviews.

No, this was real. 

He felt a bit sick. 

Then, he spotted a locked album. His stomach swooped at the sight; he knew he probably shouldn't look, but he just couldn't help himself.

In the end, his curiosity won out. 

It unlocked at his face ID - which, wow - and immediately the first video began to play.

The screen was black at first, so he didn’t exactly know what to expect, but the lock on the album made him suspect he shouldn't be watching. 

He watched anyway. The black screen shifted and colour filled the screen.

A moan filtered through the phone's speakers, loud and sudden.

A chill went down Shane’s spine as he immediately recognised the sound of his own voice. He couldn’t tear his gaze away as the screen played the video and he came onto the screen. 

He thought of his mother telling him he was openly gay and married to Rozanov. His immediate denial. 

It was hard to deny it when looking at himself like this. 

Heat punched in his gut.

He really shouldn't be watching this.

He watched for a few seconds before he couldn't take it anymore. He frantically turned the phone off and slammed it onto the bedside table, closing the draw with a bang.

He turned off the lamp and forced himself to lay down, ignoring his racing heart. 

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

The next morning, he could barely look Rozanov in the eye. 

He'd woken up early, not knowing where he was. When it all came flooding back to him, he'd silently panicked in his room until Rozanov had knocked on the door and he'd realised he'd have to leave his room and face the music at some point or another.

So he got ready for the day, trying not to snoop anymore - being nosy had burnt him enough already - but it was almost impossible to move through the house without being repeatedly reminded of the fact that him and Rozanov were now married. 

The Russian learning workbook on Shane’s bedside table, the huge photo of the two of them in tuxes exchanging rings hanging in the hallway outside their room, the two toothbrushes in the holder.

The way Rozanov was cooking in only pyjama shorts when Shane walked into the kitchen.

“Morning.” Shane said hesitantly. 

”Morning, moy lyubimyy.”

Shane blinked. “What does that mean?”

Rozanov’s face twisted into something sour. He ignored the question, turning back around to continue making breakfast.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine."

Rozanov snorted as if he didn't believe it. "Fine, he says." Then he muttered to himself in Russian.

Shane stood frozen, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Should he sit? Did Rozanov expect him to leave or stay?

Rozanov, on seeing him hovering awkwardly, rolled his eyes and simply said, "Sit."

Shane sat and watched as Rozanov fussed with breakfast. Shane was oddly transfixed, and not even by Rozanov's back muscles - which were admittedly a little distracting - but by Rozanov doing something as human and normal as cooking.

It was bizarre to see Rozanov in this context. Sleepy and comfortable and domestic. They'd only ever seen each other on the ice or in bed.

Even more strange, Rozanov seemed to be making a healthy smoothie - something that Shane would make himself - full of greens. It was odd. Shane had been under the impression that Rozanov would rather die than drink kale for breakfast. Had Rozanov really changed so much?

Then, he poured it into a glass and pushed it across the kitchen island counter to where Shane was sitting. 

"Here."

Shane looked at it and then looked back at Rozanov, not comprehending. 

Rozanov had made him breakfast.

Rozanov had made him his breakfast smoothie. 

What the fuck was this?

Rozanov seemed to understand that he was confused. "This is what you insist on drinking for breakfast everyday, even though breakfast should be eaten.”

"Says who?" Shane said. He needed Rozanov to take the bait, needed Rozanov to chirp at him and make fun of him - to do something familiar.

"Says the world, Hollander." Rozanov pretended to gag. "Water vegetables for breakfast is - how you say... sacrilegious."

Shane's eyebrows rose. "Jesus. Big word for you, Rozanov."

Rozanov smiled. "David taught me. We read New Yorker together now."

Asshole. “Whatever.” Shane rolled his eyes.

David. It was freaky hearing Rozanov call his dad by his first name.

Rozanov studied him as he sipped his smoothie. “Is okay?”

Shane shifted under the scrutiny. He was not used to Rozanov watching him so intently outside of sex or hockey. 

“Yeah. It’s good.” He hesitated. “Thank you.”

Rozanov nodded, then began getting eggs and bread out the fridge. “Is nothing. How is your head?”

”Okay.”

”Your arm?”

What was with all this mother-henning? This was worse than Yuna had been when Shane had been sick as a kid. 

”Fine.”

”Did you take your medication this morning?”

Shane eyed him. Rozanov wasn't looking at Shane while he had been asking all these questions, apparently trying to seem nonchalant.

"Yes."

Rozanov didn't say anything more as he plated up copious amounts of bacon, fried eggs and toast before smothering it in ketchup. Gross. 

"And my breakfast is the disgusting one? That is vile."

Rozanov pouted. "What is wrong with bacon and eggs?" 

"I'm talking about the fact it's swimming in ketchup, actually."

Rozanov made a show of covering his next bite in ridiculous amounts of ketchup and chewing loudly. 

Shane made a face. "You're disgusting."

Rozanov spoke with a mouth full of food, but grinned. "You love it."

Immediately Shane's grin slid off his face. Rozanov seemed to notice, as his own smile faded and he glanced down at his plate as if he couldn't bear to keep looking at Shane.

You love it.

You love me, it seemed to imply.

Shane needed to move.

He grabbed the rest of his smoothie and made his way through the open-plan lounge.

He tried to ignore the feeling of Rozanov's eyes on his back as he walked away, but it was impossible; he felt hyper aware of the other man's presence. 

Shane studied the apartment. He’d not seen it in the light. It was light and open with lots of greens and brown wood. It reminded him a lot of his cottage, actually.

Except there were hints of Rozanov everywhere. A painting of a flashy car, books with Cyrillic lettering on the spines. And the most damning; pictures of the two of them - everywhere.

More pictures of what Shane assumed was their wedding. Photos of Rozanov with his parents. Rozanov with Jackie and kids that Shane assumed were Hayden's.

The two of them lifting the Stanley Cup, together, in the Centaurs team colours. 

He sat on the sofa and finished his drink. As he leant back, something hard was digging into his back. He rummaged around in the sofa before pulling out a small, pocket sized bottle of lube. He looked at it, aghast.

Really? Sofa lube?

Jesus Christ. 

“What is that?” Rozanov asked as he sat down next to him.

Shane flushed and shoved the bottle back into the sofa cushions. “Nothing.”

Rozanov just looked at him. “Okay.”

Shane couldn’t look Rozanov in the eye. 

“Are you okay, Shane?”

Even just hearing Rozanov calling him Shane was too much. He stood from the sofa abruptly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. 

"Obviously fucking not, Rozanov." He was pissed off and overwhelmed and it was all Rozanov's fault. "Nothing is okay. Nothing."

“Shane-“

”No! Just - No... I’m in my own fucking house and I don’t recognise any of it. We play for Ottawa! They're fucking awful! I’ve lost ten years, Rozanov. And - I just don’t understand…" He blew out an unsteady breath. "We’re married. I mean, what the fuck? It doesn’t make any fucking sense and-”

And he’d thought this was just a phase. He’d thought in ten years time he’d finally be normal; able to settle down and have a real family.

He cut himself off before he said anything more. He didn’t want to hurt Rozanov.

Clearly, they were married. That was a fact. Though Shane didn’t understand how, they were. And Shane didn’t want to say anything he’d regret. 

Shockingly, Rozanov laughed. “Sometimes I do not know how either. You are right, it does not make sense. But does it need to?"

Shane bent over and pushed his hands into his hair, not knowing what else to do.

Rozanov moved closer to him, extending his hand out as if to reach for Shane’s hand. 

No. Shane stumbled away, and then tried to cover up his reaction. From the expression on Rozanov’s face, he’d failed.

”Sorry.” Shane said, suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

”Is okay. Is not your fault, Shane.”

“I know. I’m still sorry. However it happened, we’re -“ He couldn’t quite bring himself to vocalise the word 'married'. “I know that. I do. I just need to catch up a little.”

Rozanov nodded. “Yes. I will help you get there. We will fix this. Together.”

Shane didn’t know how to react to Rozanov being so genuine and open, so he said nothing.

“Do not worry, it will be okay. I am here.”

“I know. I know.” Shane blew out a breath. “God, I’m fucking thirty three!”

Thankfully that broke the tension and Rozanov laughed. “This is your concern now?”

“Yes! This morning I found a grey hair! A few weeks ago you called Hunter an old crone for being twenty eight!"

"Ah, I forgot about that. He was very mad." Rozanov grinned. “Is okay, Shane. We are young thirty, don’t worry. Hunter was born a thousand years old.”

Shane rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. 

Then, he yawned, suddenly exhausted.

Since he'd woken up it had not taken much to drain his energy, and he hated it. 

As if Rozanov had read his mind, he reached behind him to pull a dark green fluffy blanket and gave it to Shane.

It was much heavier than Shane had expected and he let out an 'oof'.

"Why is this so heavy?"

"Is weighted blanket. Your favourite." Rozanov explained. "You look tired, you should sleep. You are still recovering."

Shane nodded, suddenly too tired to do anything but agree. He pulled the blanket over him and sighed in relief as the weight settled over him, ensconcing him in warmth.

It took only seconds for him to fall asleep. 

A few days passed in a similar fashion. After that first day in the apartment, he'd asked Rozanov to walk him through his daily routine. He wanted to follow it to the letter, hoping it would help him remember something.

Unfortunately, a lot of it he wasn't allowed to do just yet. He was banned from the rink until further notice, which he hated. Thankfully light physical activity was allowed, which was a relief because Shane knew without some physical outlet he'd go crazy within a matter of days.

So, he spent his days working out, drinking familiar smoothies - that are admittedly not that nice. He even practiced Russian vocab, because Rozanov had said it was something he did every single night without fail.

He found this to be the worst task of everything; firstly because he sucked - as he couldn’t even remember how to say ‘hello’ or ‘thank you’ and the textbook was quite advanced - and secondly because it always ended with him thinking about the fact that he was spending his evenings learning an entire new language for Ilya Rozanov. 

In the end, however, it’s watching TV that helps him remember his first memory. He'd been watching an old ESPN episode on himself.

Rozanov had been teasing him for being so self-obsessed, but Shane was determined that if he couldn't remember anything, he'd learn it instead.

Then, they'd put up a photo of him in his Metros jersey, sweating but euphoric, lifting the Stanley Cup above his head as the crowd roared behind him. 

Suddenly, he remembered thinking ‘I finally fucking did it’. Then, immediately after, ‘I wonder if Rozanov is watching’. 

He jumped up off the sofa, too excited to contain himself. “I remember something. Rozanov!”

Rozanov appeared a second later. "What?"

”I remember -" Shane pointed to the screen where he'd paused the episode on the photo of himself. "I remember winning the cup.”

Rozanov smiled. Shane faltered at the sight. He'd never, ever seen Rozanov smile like that. 

“I remember texting you, do you remember?”

Shane remembered champagne popping and being sprayed all over him. He remembered his first instinct being to text Rozanov. 

He nodded.

Rozanov’s eyes got misty. “Do you remember anything else?”

Shane thought for a moment, trying desperately to clutch onto anything else. "No, sorry.” 

Rozanov let out a breath, his smile dimming. “Okay.”

Shane didn't want to see it go. ”But I think the doctor was right. I saw the photo, and they were talking about the game, and then I remembered.”

Rozanov nodded, suddenly looking serious. ”Okay. So we watch more.”

That was how they ended up wasting the day away on the sofa, rewatching old games.

Shane had decided that they would start with games from 2015, trying to jog the early memories first. 

Frustratingly, he doesn't end up remembering anything else, though he got hints here and there- flashes of deja vu. 

But it was almost worth it, because he gets another snippet of the Rozanov he remembered, as he repeatedly chirped whenever Scott Hunter appeared on screen.

Apparently, Hunter was now retired, and according to Rozanov, that day couldn't have come any sooner. 

In a weird way, he liked this Rozanov more. It was familiar. Safer. Shane supposed it was partially because it had been ten years and partially because of the stress of the accident and the ensuing amnesia, but he'd barely recognised the Rozanov he'd seen over the last few days. Instead of teasing or smirking or making everything into a sexual innuendo, he was nice and it was freaking Shane the fuck out.

He spent his days taking care of Shane; making him his smoothie for breakfast, checking he'd taken his painkillers on time, holding ice packs on Shane's back where he couldn't reach when the bruising got more painful - and Shane couldn't handle it.

He forced himself to refocus his thoughts as he watched himself bend down at centre ice, preparing for a face off. It was bizarre to see himself on the screen, doing things he couldn't remember doing.

He watched himself skate with the puck, before scoring a goal. The camera focused in on him as the pundits went wild. He studied his own face, searching for something that would remind him of this game. Nothing.

Instead, he simply watched himself skate back to the centre wearing that familiar blue uniform with the 24 splayed across the back. 

"Why did I leave?" Shane asked suddenly.

It had been a question that had been hovering in the back of his mind ever since he'd found out that he now played for Ottawa. A lot could happen in ten years, yes, but Ottawa were pretty much the laughing stock of the MHL. Why on earth would Shane get traded there? Had it even been his choice? What if he wasn't any good at hockey anymore? Maybe this was thirty three for him, washed up and untalented and demoted to the worst team in the North American continent.

Logically, he knew these worries weren't true; he'd seen the photo of himself and Rozanov lifting the Cup with the Centaurs, but he couldn't help but fill in the gap with his anxieties.

"I just don't understand. Ottawa is the worst team in the league. Why would I leave the Metros for them?"

Rozanov studied him, looking uncertain. "Just watch the game, Shane."

"Why won't you tell me?"

Rozanov sighed, suddenly looking exhausted. "Another time, okay? I am tired today."

Shane wanted to push but he could tell that Rozanov wasn't in the mood. 

He ended up giving himself a headache trying to force himself to remember. It probably didn't help that he'd been watching the screen all day. 

"I'm going to bed, I can't - I'm not remembering anything." Shane stood and stretched, ignoring the twinges that sent all over his body.

Rozanov just nodded and turned off the TV. 

Shane could tell he was pretending he wasn't disappointed. Shane pretended he didn't notice.

He spent the following morning watching more games until he gave himself another headache. 

When he woke from his nap, the smell of tuna and melted cheese hit him and his stomach roiled at the assault of smells. He felt nauseous and starving all at the same time. 

He walked into the kitchen to see Rozanov, only wearing black sweatpants and he was cooking…tuna melts?

Inexplicably his chest felt suddenly warm. Then, panic. He didn’t understand why he felt this way, he just did. 

”Hey?” Shane said, getting Rozanov's attention. "You cooking?"

Rozanov glanced up at him, looking hopeful.

"Yes. I make us tuna melts for lunch."

Shane just stared blankly. He felt as if this was some sort of test, but he couldn't remember anything but the vague feeling of panic.

Rozanov looked back down at the food. “This is first meal I make for you. Remember?”

“No.” Shane shook his head again, trying not to feel guilty for the immediate disappointment in Rozanov’s eyes. “Tell me.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

The next weeks passed slowly. He was simultaneously bored out of his mind and surprised by how much he was enjoying Rozanov's presence.

A few memories returned had returned to him over the last few days. 

Rozanov in a swimming pool, playing with kids Shane didn't recognise, pretending to drown from a shark attack.

Shane watching Rozanov and his father do puzzles together.

Shane meeting Rose Landry and thinking 'I finally like a girl'.

Rozanov looking smug next to Yuna and saying, "I told you I'm her favourite now."

Waking up and seeing Rose sleeping beside him.

Scott Hunter saying, "You're starting to sound like him," on the ice and the sheer blinding panic that had followed.

When he'd asked Rozanov about it, Rozanov had let out a shocked laugh and said "That's what he said to you?". Apparently Shane had never mentioned what had caused him to tug his gloves off for the first time. 

But everything that had returned to him was all in bits and pieces, and in complete disorder. There was no context to the things he remembered, only the memories themselves and a few flashes of the emotion he'd felt. He was struggling to fit them together, to be able to see the full picture of his new life.

It wasn't enough. He wanted to know more, now.

And he missed the ice. He was still limited on how much he could do, so Shane had spent a majority of the week watching old games on the sofa, attempting to jog his memory, and attempting to stick to his routine as much as possible.

Rozanov, on the other hand, was impatient and clearly cared little for the doctor's advice, as he tried constantly to pull Shane out of his routine. When Shane didn't remember anything from a game, Rozanov would switch off the TV and get Shane to play a video game that had Rozanov on the cover. 

During the week, Rozanov did other random things that he thought might help Shane remember. He showed Shane pictures from their wedding. He got Shane to play a warm up with a football in the back garden. For an entire day, he wore a hideously ugly palm-tree print shirt that Shane wanted to burn.

They also spend a lot of time cooking together. Apparently it had been something they'd liked to do together before.

One thing they don't do, however, is fuck. 

They hadn't even kissed.

It was one of the things that Shane found most jarring; being around Rozanov and not immediately ripping each other's clothes off. He'd never expected that they would become one of those couples, who barely touched each other after a few years of marriage. Not that he'd imagined being married to Rozanov. But if he had, he wouldn't have pictured this. 

He'd also expected fights to be a recurring event. However, apart from Shane's meltdown, they'd not fought once. He hadn't expected things to be so... easy. 

There had been a few close calls, but they were pretty much all from Shane getting frustrated. In his normal life he was already the type of person to get easily overwhelmed or frustrated even he couldn't achieve something, so the days where no memories came back at all were tricky for him to deal with. And Rozanov hadn't helped by treating him with kid gloves all the time.

There had only been one close call from Rozanov, when Shane had seen a picture of Rose and had vaguely remembered that they'd dated. Rozanov had immediately snapped, “Ah, so you remember Rose fucking Landry but not your husband?”.

He’d apologised afterwards, saying that he knew it wasn't Shane's fault. He couldn't control what he remembered. But Shane could tell that Rozanov wasn't as apologetic as he'd said he was. Rozanov had been in a sour mood for the rest of the night and had gone to bed without even saying goodnight. And there were a few times similar to this where Rozanov would go eerily quiet for days at a time.

But that had been the only time. Apart from that, Rozanov pretty far from the man that Shane knew. Well, some parts of him were. Thankfully, as Shane had recovered and his physical injuries had gotten better, the chirping asshole side of Rozanov had re-emerged. 

But a lot of him was still unrecognisable to Shane. 

Rozanov being good with kids was a shock, for a start. He'd barely believed it when he'd gotten flashes of Rozanov in the pool playing with the kids, but it had triggered a few other memories that had confirmed it. One of Rozanov with Hayden's youngest, Amber. He'd been rocking her gently, singing her a Russian lullaby. Another of Rozanov visiting the kids next door to give them signed Ottawa jerseys after they'd put a sign up outside their house to cheer Rozanov on at the playoffs.

Another side to Rozanov that Shane could not even begin to wrap his mind around was how well Rozanov seemed to know him. He always seemed to know when Shane was beginning to get overwhelmed, and always seemed to know how to calm him down. He knew Shane's ick for food touching on the plate, his aversion to certain fabrics, when to explain things in movies that Shane hadn't understood. 

He made Shane's smoothies every morning. He suffered through the terrible films that helped Shane fall asleep. He watched insane amounts of hockey footage just in the hope that Shane would remember one thing from ten years worth of things. 

And, as much as it pained Shane to admit, he was funny. He made Shane laugh when he needed it. Bantered with him and teased him when Shane was getting too serious, too in his own head. He knew exactly how to pull Shane out of his own thoughts. 

In light of all this, he found that - when Rozanov finally had to leave for an away game in San Francisco - he didn't want Rozanov to leave. But he could never, ever admit that. Firstly because it was too humiliating to even consider admitting to Rozanov that he'd miss him. And secondly because it had taken two weeks to finally convince Rozanov that Shane was well enough for Rozanov to re-join the team. 

It was strange, because he’d been used to being on his own outside of the season. He spent his summers completely alone, except for a few visits from his parents, and that was fine with him. He'd enjoyed it, in fact.

Now it had barely been two days and Shane had to admit he actually missed Rozanov being around.

He decided to watch the game. It wouldn't be starting for another hour, so he watched the pre-game interviews while he was waiting. It surprised him to find out that Troy Barrett of all people was on the Centaurs, and that he seemed friendly with Rozanov. Even with as much of an asshole as Rozanov could be, he'd never been a bully - not like Shane knew Dallas Kent and Troy Barrett were. He guessed things change in a decade.

Finally, the game began and he watched Rozanov play. He was still wearing the number 81, but it was disorienting to see him in colours other than black and yellow.

But as soon as Rozanov stepped on that ice, Shane forgot about that. Because he was exactly the same.

Fast and brutal, dominating the ice.

Just as good a decade later - better even.

And the way the team played around him was unbelievable. He'd never seen the Centaurs look so good on the ice. 

He could almost believe what his parents had told him about how the Centaurs were no longer the worst team in the league.

He watched, desperately wishing he was there to see it in real life, to be beside Rozanov on the ice. He'd imagined it, once or twice, what it would be like to play alongside Rozanov. He knew now that his imagination would never compare to the reality. 

He watched as Rozanov stole the puck from the opposing centre and immediately pass to Barrett. Rozanov was blindingly fast, a step ahead of everyone else. Barrett passed the puck back to Rozanov just in time for Rozanov to check another player out the way and grab the puck, slinging it straight into the goal. The crowd roared. The camera paned to the crowd, showing a bunch of fans showing off their 'ROZANOV' jerseys.

Then it panned to Rozanov who was grinning as his teammates hugged him and patted him on the back. Shane watched with huge eyes as Rozanov lifted a gloved hand to blow a kiss to the screen. 

"For my husband."

Shane had spent the last hour on the sofa, twisting his phone round and round in his hands as he stared at the black screen. 

The second that Rozanov had said those words, Shane had panicked. He didn't even really understand why, but it all felt like too much. 

A few weeks ago - or what felt like a few weeks ago for him - he'd been convinced that this was just a weird phase he was going through. That one day he would get himself out of the twisted situation he'd found himself in with Rozanov. It was just physical, he'd told himself. A release. That maybe he was bisexual, or on the scale somewhere, but that he could ignore that part of himself once he'd found the right woman. 

But he wasn't sure he could deny it anymore. 

Things had changed, clearly. And he could see how he'd come to love Rozanov, he made Shane laugh, and he took care of him, and he knew the sex had been good from that video he'd seen. The video he couldn't stop thinking about. 

He opened his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes, staring at the 'Ilya <3' icon. 

Should he call? 

No, Rozanov was probably busy celebrating with his team after their win. No. Shane shouldn't interrupt that. He'd been enough of a burden for Rozanov already these past two weeks, Rozanov deserved to have some down time without Shane bothering him. 

He swiped back out to his contact list. He still wasn't ready to talk to Hayden or J.J, or to read any of the messages in the Centaurs group chat. Just thinking about leaving the Metros had his chest constricting - that was his team, his second family. He didn't want to know what had happened to make him leave, and he couldn't let his brain run rampant trying to come up with theories, either.

He scrolled through his texts until he found someone he actually did want to speak to. Rose. 

He'd remembered a few things about Rose. That they'd dated, briefly. That they were now friends. He'd asked Rozanov more about it, and apparently she'd been the last person Shane had dated before him and Rozanov had actually gotten together. Shane hadn't pushed any further, however, after he'd seen the unhappy look on Rozanov's face. 

Shane
Hey, Rose. Whenever you're free I would love to chat.

Did that sound awkward? He was sure it did, but he had no idea how to talk to her. They seemed pretty friendly going from the text messages in the thread above, but he didn't remember that. 

A minute after it had been sent, his phone rang. Shane answered immediately. 

"Shane, oh my God, I'm so happy you texted - are you okay?"

Shane was blown away by the concern in her voice. He knew they had stayed friends after their break-up, but Shane had assumed it was more of a casual, text-every-so-often friendship. Not many ex-girlfriends would be this friendly with their ex-boyfriend who now had a husband. 

"Hey, Rose. I'm -" He paused, unsure what to say. The question wasn't easy to answer.

"Sorry, stupid question. I'm an idiot." Rose said. "Of course you're not okay. Sorry."

Shane laughed suddenly, but it came out wet. "No, it's okay."

"Fuck, I've upset you already, God Ilya is going to be so mad at me-"

Shane laughed again, disbelieving. "It's really fine, Rose, I swear."

"Okay."

Shane hesitated. "In answer to your question, though - um. I've been better."

Rose laughed, sounding a little tearful herself. "I'll bet."

The line was silent for a moment.

"How are your injuries?" Rose asked. 

"Okay. I still get headaches pretty often but the sling came off last week and I've been doing physio to help my arm."

"Of course you have." She sounded amused, though Shane didn't really understand what was funny about that. 

"How's - how's your head? I mean - your memory? Unless you don't want to talk about it." She added quickly.

Shane huffed a laugh. "Um - that's actually why I called."

"Okay?"

"I've been getting bits back here and there, but it's slow going. And I have ten years to catch up on, I mean - fuck - it's... a lot."

"I know."

"So I've been trying to jog my memory. You know, watching games and stuff. But obviously it's not just about hockey. Rozanov is apparently a big part of my future, and -"

"And you want to know why?"

It was so nice to be understood so easily. "Yeah."

She paused for a moment and the line went silent. Shane closed his eyes and waited. 

"I still don't know the full story of how it started, you've always been private about that - which I totally get. But I'll start from when I knew you. Which was around 2017 - I think, God, I don't exactly know, my memory is terrible." She paused and then gasped. "Oh my God, I did not just say that. Forget I said that."

Shane burst out laughing. 

"Stop! I'm so sorry, Shane." But she was starting to laugh too. "God, me and my big mouth."

"It's really fine."

"Anyway. We started dating, and - well I could tell that your heart wasn't really... in it. So I asked you, you know, if you were gay."

Shane's heart squeezed. It was one thing to start thinking it, another to hear someone else say it out loud so plainly. "And?"

"And you kind of didn't really say anything. So I knew... then that I was probably right. So I asked if you'd been with a guy, and if it had been better, and - well, you said it was better."

Shane felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. Hearing that he'd admitted it to someone - he knew he couldn't lie to himself any longer. 

He was gay. 

He choked back a sob, furiously wiping at his eyes and trying to regain control over his emotions. 

"Shane? Are you okay?"

He coughed, clearing his throat, but when he spoke his voice was still thick. "Yeah, it's just..."

"A lot."

Shane nodded even though she couldn't see. "Yeah. A lot."

Now that he'd fully confronted the fact that he was gay, he suddenly wanted Rozanov to stay far, far away, because he knew the second Rozanov came back Shane would be in trouble. 

It was like a damn had broken. He couldn't stop thinking about that crooked smile. The way his hands felt on Shane's body. The video that Shane had now watched eleven times. 

In a valiant effort to distract himself, he'd invited his parents over to visit. 

It was great to see them again, if a little painful. He hadn't seen them since the hospital, when he'd been high on painkillers and more concerned about taking in the news that he'd lost ten years worth of memories. Now, he had no distraction from the fact that they were older. 

Seeing Rozanov age ten years hadn't been as shocking, going from his twenties to his thirties. It wasn't a huge jump, especially due to the fact that you could barely tell - of course that asshole would barely age. But, his parents had gone from their fifties to their sixties, which was a more significant growth. So it was somewhat bittersweet to see them. 

At dinner he tried not to stare at their faces but failed and spent the dinner cataloguing all of the ways they'd changed in the last ten years.  

"I'm sorry I haven't texted." Shane said suddenly. 

"Don't worry about us, honey." His mother smiled reassuringly. "You just need to focus on getting better. The team misses you, I'm sure."

Shane nodded. "Did you watch the game last night?"

Immediately, Shane's dad began clearing the plates, clearly realising it was hockey talk time and making a quick escape before things got intense, as they always did with Yuna and Shane and hockey.

"Of course! Even without you, we had to cheer on our other son." Yuna smiled. 

Shane felt his stomach churn. "You guys are close, then?"

His mom nodded. "Of course, he's your husband, Shane. Besides, we probably spent more time with him than you when he first got traded."

"What?" Shane's mouth fell open. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when he first got traded to Ottawa, you were still playing for Montreal. And you played for them for a few years after Ilya moved. Even though it was better for you guys, being only two hours away from each other, obviously you were still very busy, and well - Ilya only really had his team here. He didn't know anyone else in Ottawa, so he used to come round to our house a lot."

Shane couldn't imagine it, Ilya Rozanov willingly spending time with Shane's normal, boring parents. Without Shane. "What? Why?"

Shane's mom laughed. "Oh, Shane."

Shane was silent for a beat, trying to comprehend everything his mother had just told him. He couldn't imagine Rozanov voluntarily hanging out with his parents. If Rozanov thought Shane was boring, what on earth would he have in common with Shane's parents? 

”What is it, honey?” 

“I just don’t understand how this happened. We’ve never been, like - I mean, all of a sudden I’m married to Ilya Rozanov! Why? I just don’t understand why him?” 

But what Shane really wanted to ask was, why had Rozanov chosen Shane?

From what his mother had said, once Rozanov had moved to Ottawa, he'd only really had his team, Shane's parents, and Shane - and sometimes he didn't even have Shane. And it wasn't like there was anything else in Ottawa for Rozanov. No nightlife, no fun bars. The roads were often too snowy for anything less sensible than a Jeep. 

And he knew Rozanov liked women, so why choose the hard path?

Rozanov could have chosen anyone else. He was model gorgeous, rich, fit, famous, funny... he could have gotten anyone he wanted. He could have dated models or actresses and stayed in Boston. He could have settled down and had kids. 

He didn't need to choose this - this life of hiding and secrets, of never letting people truly in. Shane didn't have that option. As a gay hockey player, any relationship he had would be secret. But Rozanov didn't need to choose this. 

So, why?

Why choose the life of hiding their relationship for years and of moving to fucking Ottawa - which Shane was still sure that Rozanov secretly had to hate.

“That’s funny." Yuna said. "I remember when I found out about you two, I asked you why you couldn't have found a nice man in Montreal."

“And what did I say?”

“Nothing." She shrugged. "But I realised... you two need each other. You didn't want a nice, simple man, you wanted him. And he wanted you."

Shane didn't know what to say. "Even though he thinks I’m boring?”

Yuna just smiled. “Oh, don’t let him fool you, he loves it.”

After that, he'd decided he needed to talk to Hayden. After his parents, Hayden was probably the person that knew him the best, and he'd been texting a lot even with Shane ignoring him, so Shane assumed they were still friends.

Hayden picked up after one ring. 

"Shane!" Hayden said, sounding relieved. 

"Hey, sorry I haven't called."

"Dude, don't apologise!" Hayden said. "I know things can't be easy right now."

Shane sighed. Understatement of the year. "Yeah, not really."

"How are you feeling? How's the head?"

"Better, I think."

"And your arm?" Hayden asked. 

"Getting better. Still twinges sometimes, but not bad, considering."

"Good. You're remembering some things though, right?"

"Yeah-" Shane frowned. "Wait, how do you know that?"

"Ilya texted me and Jackie."

"You text Ilya Rozanov." Shane said flatly. "And you call him Ilya."

Hayden laughed on the other end. "Oh, now he complains about it! I can't win with you, dude."

"Whatever." Shane huffed out a laugh. "Look, I actually called because I have a question."

Hayden mock gasped. "Not to catch up with your best friend? Rude!"

Shane rolled his eyes. "Hayden."

"Joking. Go ahead, ask."

"Why did I leave Montreal?"

Hayden went silent for a beat. 

"How much do you know?"

Shane sighed. "Basically nothing. I've been rewatching old games to try and get my earlier memories back, and Rozanov has mostly been telling me stories about - um. Our relationship. He doesn't really like it when I mention the Metros."

"God, it's weird hearing you call him Rozanov again. Almost like old times." Hayden sounded smug.

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hayden. Focus."

"Sorry."

There was a long pause.

"Hayden?"

"Well, I can only really explain what happened from my point of view, okay?"

"Okay."

Hayden took a breath. "So, you told me about you and Rozanov first, after you came out as gay to the whole team."

His chest twinged. He was still getting used to it, and he still didn't love hearing it.

"And... I-" Hayden paused. "I did something stupid. I was filming this video - a stupid fan thing - and it caught you and Rozanov in the background, you know - making out."

Shane's stomach twisted. 

Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Shane." Hayden said desperately. "You've heard that before, but I guess technically you haven't - I don't know. I'm still sorry about it."

"It's fine." It wasn't - not really - but Shane just wanted him to keep talking. "So, what happened?"

"It went viral, everyone found out about you guys. By this point Rozanov had already moved to Ottawa for a year, and you guys had announced you were friends, but it was still a shock for everyone. The team... they didn't take it well. Then, you tripped on the ice... and Ottawa beat us. The team-"

"They accused me of cheating?" Shane guessed. "Fuck."

Tears were beginning to fall. Fuck. Fuck this.

"I just want to say... I never, ever thought for a second that it was on purpose."

"Thanks, Hayden."

"You okay?"

Shane sniffed. "Honestly? Not really. I mean, I kind of hated him and now he's my husband? And apparently he moved to Ottawa for me? I just don't understand how - or why..."

Hayden was silent for a moment. "Look, I don't know what to tell you, man. I still kind of hate the guy, to be honest, and I don't know much about the ins and outs of your relationship, especially anything before 2017, but even I know that he loves you. Like really loves you. The rest... you'll have to ask him."

When Rozanov returned a few days later, Shane was practically vibrating with anticipation. 

Whatever the reason Rozanov had decided that Shane was apparently worth this life of hiding and giving up his career, Shane didn't need to remember. He didn't need to remember his past to know that Rozanov was a good man, a man who - according to everyone around him - loved Shane unbelievable amounts. 

Shane couldn't return that feeling, not yet - there was still to much missing - but he didn't want to be the cause of any more suffering for Rozanov. He knew his denial of his sexuality and their relationship couldn't have been easy for Rozanov, but he'd been so patient with Shane, doing everything to take care of him. Shane wanted to show Rozanov that he was grateful for it. 

So, he texted Rozanov to check when he'd be getting home, and was cooking dinner ready for Rozanov's arrival. He'd even called his mom to ask if she knew what Rozanov's favourite meal was. 

Shane was just setting the table when he heard the key in the lock. Rozanov appeared seconds later, looking exhausted and rumpled from travelling. 

Shane thought he'd never looked so damn good. 

"Hi." Shane said, suddenly feeling strangely nervous. "I made dinner."

Rozanov took in the sight before him and he grinned. "I am very lucky man."

Shane blushed. 

"I haven't put the pasta in yet, I was waiting for you so it didn't get cold."

Rozanov nodded. "I will go shower. Thank you, moy lyubov."

Shane wanted to devour him. 

He turned quickly, and put the pasta in the pot. He listened as Rozanov headed to the bathroom. 

Shane took a breath. 

Shane put the plate of chicken parmesan in front of Rozanov.

“I watched the game.” Shane said, not wanting the silence to linger for more than a moment. “You were… amazing.”

Rozanov smiled at him. 

"I'm sorry." Shane said suddenly. Rozanov tried to interrupt but Shane cut him off. "No, I really am. I've been so focused on myself, I didn't really think about how hard this must have been for you. And, I'm sorry."

Rozanov's eyes flooded with tears. "No, Shane, moy lyubov, it's okay."

”No. It’s not okay. I’ve been so selfish-“

”No.”

“Rozanov, I know this can’t be easy. Just admit it!”

”Fine. Is not easy. I feel like you don’t even know me anymore. You think I am same asshole from all those years ago. You do not see me, you see him.”

Shane nodded. 

“But is not your fault, Shane. How could I fault you for getting injured, huh?”

Shane shrugged. “I just -“

”Listen. Yes, I am upset. But I am upset for you more than anything. It must be so hard for you not knowing your own life.”

Shane blinked, trying to stave off tears.

”But you are strong. And I am here to help you get better.”

Shane nodded and reached over the table to cover Rozanov’s hand with his own. 

“I should tell you - some days I have bad… some days are bad. I have - I have depression.” Rozanov wiped a few tears that had escaped. “But if I am sad, is not your fault, okay?” 

Tears leaked down Shane’s face and immediately Rozanov leaped up to come and sit next to Shane, putting his arms around him. 

Shane pushed him away weakly. “No, no. I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you! Stop!” 

Rozanov smiled. “Always a competition with you, hm?”

Shane frowned, pulled out the embrace and forced Rozanov to lean against him, hugging him tightly. “It’s my turn to help you, now, Rozanov, stop fighting it.”

Rozanov huffed a laugh. “Always trying to beat me. You win, Hollander.” 

Shane laughed wetly. "I guess I've been a pretty shitty husband, huh?"

Rozanov shook his head into Shane’s chest. "Never."

A week later, Shane woke to silence. 

He crept around the apartment, until he found Rozanov in the spare bedroom that he'd been occupying for the past weeks.

”What are you doing in here?” 

Rozanov didn't move. "Today is not good day for me.”

”Okay.” Shane reaches out to stroke Rozanov’s hair. It felt weird to be so gentle and actually affectionate with the guy who he’d thought just saw him as a fuck buddy, but everything he’d seen so far had convinced him otherwise. And Rozanov was sad, he couldn’t sit here and do nothing. 

Shane pursed his lips. “Have you taken your meds this morning?”

Rozanov nodded and pulled the blanket over his head.

”Okay.” Shane whispered. “Okay.”

Somehow Shane knew exactly what Rozanov needed. It was as if, even though his mind had forgotten, his body remembered for him. 

He gently got into bed next to him and brought his arms around him.

A few days later when Rozanov was feeling better, he suddenly asked. “How did you know about my medication?”

"What?"

"You asked if I took my meds."

Shane frowned. He’d not thought of that. “I guess you must have told me.”

Rozanov shook his head. "No.”

”Then I guess I remembered by myself.”

Rozanov smiled, bright and wide, and it felt like winning the goddamn Stanley Cup.

Chapter End Notes

i kept changing things when editing so i’m now not completely happy with how things ended up but hope everyone enjoyed :)

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

When Rozanov had asked Shane whether it was okay for Svetlana to come and visit for a few days, Shane had agreed easily.

He’d never met the woman before, but Rozanov said she was a childhood friend from Russia, and that she knew Shane well enough. Besides, he knew that the last few weeks couldn't have been easy for Rozanov. Shane couldn’t say no to his one request.

The name itself rang a bell in his mind, but it was like the rest of his knowledge of her was just on the tip of his tongue. He'd never heard of her back in 2016, but he recognised the name from his text messages. 

Then she’d arrived, all long legs, smooth brown skin with a mass of gorgeous curls. She was wearing stylish black knee high boots with jeans and a knit jumper that hung off her shoulders.

In short, even Shane could see that Svetlana was stunning.

Rozanov had wrapped her up in a huge bear hug as they spoke in rapid Russian. 

Shane had watched the familiarity in which they touched each other and frowned.

They were a little more familiar than Shane had expected.

He found himself spending the night swinging wildly between wanting to hate her and finding he couldn’t.

She was too lovely to hate. She asked questions about his injury, reminded him of the times they'd met, and spoke hardly any Russian to keep him included in the conversation. But still, he found himself struggling to be around her and Rozanov. 

He could admit to himself that he was jealous but there was no way in hell he was going to let either of them know that, so he headed to bed early, using a headache as an excuse.

Only five minutes after he'd gotten into bed, Rozanov came in with a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol.

"How's your head, Shane?" Rozanov's face was full of concern. 

Shane immediately felt guilty for lying. Maybe saying headache wasn't the best cover considering everything that had happened.

"Fine." Shane said. Then, because he couldn't hold it in any longer, "Svetlana- did you two..."

Rozanov raised his eyebrows at him in question. 

“What is it, moy lyubimyy?”

Shane squirmed. "Did you guys ever hook up?”

"Ah, yes. We were fuck buddies for long time.”

Shane was suddenly choking with jealousy at the thought of someone else with Rozanov. It was irrational; he knew Rozanov had hooked up with plenty of others during their time together, but he couldn't help it.

Also, they were married. So, yes, Shane knew he was being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t shake it.

He wanted Rozanov to be his. To sleep in their bed, together. 

"Who taught you that word?"

Rozanov smirked. “You.”

Shane tried to ignore the possessive thrill that gave him.

"I'm going to sleep." Shane said abruptly. 

Rozanov looked momentarily surprised by the sudden change in mood. "Okay. Good night, Shane."

But Shane didn’t go to sleep. Instead he lay awake and thought, twirling the wedding band he'd fished out of his bedside drawer round and round on his finger.

He blinked awake. The sun was in his eyes as it rose. He groaned and turned, burrowing his head in the covers before falling back to sleep. 

He dreamt of sunset. Rozanov’s thumb brushing over his own. The sand in his toes. 

Shane stared at the ring.

He’d changed his mind almost six times by now. He’d been ready to leave his room for almost half an hour by this point, but instead of leaving and starting his day, he was twisting himself into knots over the little golden band he was holding between his fingers. 

He hadn’t noticed it on the first day but now the engraving of I.R inside the ring was permanently etched in his mind.

He wanted to wear it, to remind Svetlana that he was Rozanov’s husband. But it was petty and ridiculous and he knew it, which was why he had spent almost half an hour debating whether or not to put it on. 

He jumped and dropped the ring on the floor as he heard a sudden knock on the door. 

“Shane?” Ilya’s voice floated through the door. “Are you still sleeping? Is almost ten.”

Shane hurriedly grabbed the ring off the floor and slid it on, rushing to the door and opening it. “Hey, sorry, I’m up.” 

Rozanov grinned. “I was worried. You asleep until ten? That is real cause for concern, I think.”

“Whatever.” Shane rolled his eyes, playfully shoving Rozanov. It immediately turned into a tussle and Shane ended up embraced in the strong grip of Rozanov’s thick biceps. Shane couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Rozanov’s middle, his palms sliding up the familiar muscled ropes of Rozanov’s back. 

He felt Rozanov’s body shudder. A shaky breath was exhaled into Shane’s ear. Shane suddenly felt his heart thumping in his throat, tight and quick. 

It was too much… too good. 

Shane moved backwards slowly, sliding his palm up up to Rozanov’s chest to push him back slightly. Shane needed some space, it was too much. 

Rozanov seemed to understand, immediately providing a little more space between the two of them. But he didn’t back off completely. Instead he covered Shane’s palm with his own, stroking the skin there. 

Rozanov’s thumb brushed his finger and Shane suddenly remembered his new jewellery. 

Rozanov’s face broke into a small, pleased smile, but he said nothing of it. 

Shane wanted to kiss him, desperately. 

Kiss me, he thought. Kiss me. 

Instead Rozanov hummed and said, “I am making breakfast for you and Sveta. Come.” 

When Svetlana left the room to take a phone call, Shane took a chance. “I want you to sleep with me tonight.”

Rozanov’s head snapped up so quickly Shane immediately regretting opening his mouth.

”What?”

Shane blushed, hard. “I mean, just sleep. In - in our bedroom. You know, to get things as close to how they were before. I think it will help me remember.”

“I’m sure, moy lyubimyy.” Rozanov smirked. 

Shane was sure his flush had grown even darker. He couldn’t look Rozanov in the eye.

”Don’t worry, we will only sleep. We have a guest here and you are not quiet.”

Shane was simultaneously relieved and extremely frustrated.

It was disorienting because from what he remembered their relationship was only sex, so it shouldn’t be a big deal for them to fuck.

But he knew it wasn’t the same for Rozanov, who would be fucking his husband, not his rival.

It wouldn't mean as much to Shane, but it would mean everything to Rozanov. 

However, he still felt immensely satisfied when they go to bed and he gets to pull Rozanov into the room with him in front of Svetlana. 

"Good night." Shane said to Svetlana, closing the door behind him and Ilya. 

He turned around to find Rozanov grinning at him. "Ah."

"What?"

"Now I understand. Why ring come back out. Why you want to share bed. You are jealous." He smirked, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"No!" Shane denied immediately.

Rozanov's smirk deepened, and Shane tried to pretend he didn't find it horribly hot. "Is okay, moy lyubimyy, is very sexy."

"I'm not jealous!"

Rozanov patted the bed next to him. "Come sit."

Shane sat, huffing slightly. 

"Is okay. I was very jealous of Rose Landry."

"You were?"

"Yes, even though you are extremely gay-"

"I'm not extremely gay-"

Rozanov ignored him. "I was still jealous because she… she got you in public. She got to wear your jersey to games, and go with you to restaurants, and kiss you when she wanted. She could take photos of you and keep them. We - we did not do this. Photos were impossible for us. For years I only had the selfies from vegas… they were only photos of us and I hated it.”

Shane reeled from the sudden depth in the conversation. This was real; Rozanov opening up about how he felt.

”You kept those?”

Rozanov snorted. “Yes. Is very embarrassing. You have teased me many times about fact that I would transfer them from old phone to new phone for years.”

Shane gaped. “You… what?”

Rozanov shrugged, smiling. “Yes, even then, I… I could not get you out of my mind.” 

Shane’s mind was reeling. He felt like he’d been plunged into freezing cold water, his entire system shocked and his ears ringing, unable to understand what he was being told. 

He didn’t understand anything. 

From what he remembered from Vegas, Rozanov didn’t give a fuck about him. Shane’s text had gone ignored for six months and Rozanov had only broken the silence to fuck him and practically kick him out the penthouse when he was done with him.

The words Rozanov was saying now couldn’t be true. It had to be him looking back with rose tinted glasses; making things more romantic in retrospect because they were now married. 

The Ilya Rozanov Shane knew would never say these things. 

Shane had never been so confused. He was terrible at reading people’s emotions, and expressions were often a minefield to comprehend. But everything in him told him that the Rozanov he remembered in Vegas did not care for him the way the current Rozanov claimed. 

But the photos…

Whatever Rozanov was saying now might not be true, but he’d still kept the photos. He’d even transferred them from phone to phone. 

That had to mean something. 

Svetlana left on the Friday, telling them she was heading back to Boston for a club night she’d booked with some friends. 

After she’d left, Shane and Rozanov were sat on the sofa, watching a shitty reality TV show that Shane didn’t understand at all but Rozanov seemed to enjoy. Somehow it  did not surprise Shane at all that Rozanov enjoyed the ridiculous drama of reality TV.

He glanced at Rozanov. Did he secretly miss that life? Was he desperate to go out and party with Svetlana?

Shane knew Rozanov thought he was boring. Now Rozanov was boring too.

Why?

“Did you have plans this weekend?”

Rozanov glanced at him, as if trying to figure out where this was going. “No.”

“Did you want to go out?”

”What?” Rozanov looked baffled. “Do you?”

Shane shrugged. Obviously not but he didn’t want Rozanov to know that. 

“We’re in Ottawa, where would we go?” Rozanov laughed. “There’s nothing here.”

That was true, Shane knew well enough that his hometown had nothing to boast for entertainment except hockey or museums.

“I just don’t want you to get bored!” Shane burst out suddenly. “I know you must find this boring - this isn’t you! I mean, who are you? You din’t want to go out? What do you want to do? You’ve done nothing but hang out with me and go to practice for weeks now, why? I don’t get it!” 

Rozanov pushed himself up suddenly, the blanket falling off his shoulders and onto his lap. He reached out towards Shane’s hand. "Shane, what is wrong?"

Shane sat up too, suddenly ready to confront this once and for all. "You! You’re what’s wrong. You're all wrong-"

"What?"

"This isn't like you. I just don't understand. You must be bored! How is this good for you? This marriage makes no fucking sense. You love Boston, the night life, the women. Don't pretend you don't! And I'm supposed to believe you're happy, like this? In Ottawa, with me? No sports cars, no parties, no fun. Just us?"

Rozanov slowly grabbed his wrists and pulled him to sit back down. "Shane."

"Don't deny it. You could have had an easier life with Svetlana.” Shane blinked, his eyes feeling wet. He glanced down at his lap, watching his fingers pick at his nail beds. “And you definitely wouldn’t be bored with her.” 

"Shane, listen-"

“I just don’t understand.” Shane murmured. “Why sacrifice so much? You moved to the worst team in the team in a city you probably hate, for what? Me? I just don’t- I mean, the last thing I remember is fucking Vegas! We don’t- we just fuck. You didn’t even text me back for six months. How did we get from there to here? I just- I’m just… confused.”

Shane blew out a breath. He had nothing else to say but the silence was killing him. 

He chanced a look at Rozanov.

Rozanov was staring at him intensely, as if the pieces were all falling into place for him. “That’s the last thing you remembered?”

Shane nodded. “Leaving the penthouse was the last thing I remembered when I woke up.”

Ilya’s face twisted into something sour.

“Oh, Shane.” Rozanov sighed. Shane blinked again, fighting back the humiliating sting of tears. He didn’t want Rozanov to see him cry.

Rozanov’s hand came up to cradle Shane’s face. His thumb stroked the skin under Shane’s eye where his freckles rested. Shane’s skin prickled at the unfamiliar, gentle touch. 

Then, Rozanov pulled him in and kissed him. 

Shane sunk into it without another thought. 

In fact he didn’t have another thought until Rozanov pulled away, and then the only thought that came was that he needed more, more, more, more-

Shane moved back into Rozanov’s space, but before he could recapture his husband’s lips, he spoke. 

"Yes, Ottawa is sometimes boring, and I always say you are most boring man in Canada-" Rozanov laughed as he said it but it immediately got Shane’s back up. He frowned and, of course, Rozanov noticed it. He couldn’t hide anything from this Rozanov; it was like he was fluent in everything Shane. He was uncomfortably transparent. 

"Wait.” Rozanov said. “Just listen. Yes, Ottawa is boring. You are boring. You like ugly, practical cars and reading books that put me to sleep, and you care a little too much about hockey, and I love it. I love you."

Shane stared.

Rozanov shifted. "In 2017, we spent two weeks at your cottage, doing nothing. Just relaxing, me and you. I loved it. I did not miss the clubs or the women once. It was - it was best two weeks of my life."

Shane raised his eyebrows dubiously. 

"Trust me." Rozanov said, almost amused. "Yes, in my twenties I loved to party. I still do, sometimes. But I come from a very - not boring family. My childhood was never quiet, or boring. My brother, he loved coke and vodka and women. My father was the same, not boring or predictable. My mother..." He cut himself off, looking emotional. "What I am trying to say is - I wish my family had been a little more boring, like yours. You understand?"

Slowly, Shane reached out to hold Rozanov's hand.

Rozanov blinked at his hand, staring at hit as if he couldn't believe it was real. Yet again, he found he could barely recognise this Ilya from the Rozanov who'd told him they were nothing, told him to leave, that he was boring, but he now realised that he'd been an idiot to wish for the old version of Rozanov.

This Ilya Rozanov loved him, body and soul, and Shane suddenly realised he wouldn't get tired of that feeling even after a thousand years of it.

Things got a little easier after that. 

The first time he called Ilya by his name it was like a damn broke and Ilya couldn’t stop touching him. He was touchy and affectionate constantly and it was overwhelming in the best way. It was bizzare to be touched by Rozanov in a way that wasn’t inherently sexual, but as the weeks went on Shane got used to it. 

Shane began to remember things without prompting. 

Some of the things he remembered he thinks he would rather have forgotten. Like the numerous times people have walked in on them having sex. His mother calling them ‘lovers’.

The world finding out about them. 

His team accusing him of cheating to let Ilya win.

J.J telling him to fuck off.

His coach benching him for being with Ilya. 

Other things he remembered were better, though. Him and Ilya cuddling on the sofa. Them at the cottage, him sitting on the dock and Ilya swimming up to him and saying “Gimme kiss,” in a sweet, goofy way that Shane now knows is the true version of Ilya. Ilya making fun of him. Ilya selling his sports cars for him. Moving to Ottawa for him.

When he attended an optional skate with the Centaurs, Ilya is thrilled to see he remembered almost all of his team members. 

Shane almost slipped on the ice and Ilya almost lost his damn mind. But Shane doesn’t care because it reminds him of a hospital monitor and Ilya saying, “you scared me,”. 

He watched Ilya with the team and remembered what an amazing captain his husband was. Better than Shane ever was. He seemed to inspire a real love from the team that made Shane emotional to witness. 

He remembered watched Ilya with the rookies and thinking Ilya would make a great dad.

Shane also remembered secretly researching into adoption. This was one memory he didn’t mention getting back to Ilya. 

Things weren’t perfect. His memories were returning, slowly but surely, but they were still fractured. The memories come back from all different times in their history. It’s not linear by any means. 

Some days this was easier to deal with than others. Other days Shane got so frustrated and overwhelmed it was almost impossible to navigate. But Ilya was always there for him, even when Shane lashed out. Which made Shane feel even worse. But it was impossibly difficult to navigate life sometimes, when he had a memory of something in his life without the context that preceded it. He was still fumbling around his own life. 

But still, despite everything, every time he remembered something, he immediately told Ilya and Ilya would beam every time and tell him how proud he was, how much he loved him. 

And Shane was suddenly desperate to say it back. 

He dreamt of the cottage. 

Ilya saying 'I love you', emotions making his voice thick and choked as he said it.

Ilya telling him about his mother and saying "She would have loved you. Like I love you."

He woke Ilya up gently.

Ilya blinked blearily. “Shane? Are you okay?”

”Yeah, sorry, I’m fine.” Shane whispered. "I'm sorry about your mother. I wish I could have met her." He took a breath. “I love you, Ilya, so much.”

Ilya blinked rapidly, no longer half asleep. "You remember?"

"Not all. But enough. And I think that even if I didn't remember, I'd still love you."

Chapter End Notes

never again am i posting a fic that’s not already 100% completely finished because i am so terrible at finishing things istg it almost killed me to complete this… and yes i am aware i’m a drama queen

hope y’all enjoyed the last instalment! <3

Works inspired by this one

Find Your Way Back to Me by yhut2013