Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Rose Landry & Miles, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates, Bodyswap, POV Rose Landry, Asexuality Spectrum, Aromantic, Rose Landry & Miles Are Best Friends, Queerplatonic Relationships

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of You Know Where I Am, You Know Where To Find Me

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-24 Words: 9,279 Chapters: 1/1

Love Is Not A Choice (Sophisticated, Manipulated remix)

Summary

This is really not the Hollywood classic fall in love, get married, get a home and/or kids, and get best friends scenario. But honestly, who gives a shit?

Or

Sometimes your perfect romantic partner is the very gay guy who takes you dancing every few days and watches the same movies as you and is a hilarious texter, but graciously goes and has sex with men while leaving you alone.

Notes

Part of this is dedicated to one of my RL best friends. My attraction to GNC folx had been well noted for years before I discovered my own genderqueer label. She’s never been anything but supportive in all my fandom leanings, and knew exactly what the fuck she was doing when she texted me ‘you know Connor has androgynous modelling shoots, right?’

When discussing this ‘verse with my HR buddy, I mentioned a few times that I should do a Scott&Kip one, because I wanted Shane and Ilya to have a queer experience of this world build, but that it would have to be a PWP because I didn’t really have much to SAY about Skip. They’re important to the HR ‘verse, but prior to getting my longtime GF, all my queer experiences were very Sasha coded, ie: recreational drugs and fooling around with friends/groups of friends. Scott is possibly the least understandable character in the show to me. Eventually I decided to go in a very different queer direction. I have a feeling that this is going to be controversial but oh well.

Rose wakes up to the custom tone of Miles’ phone call. He’s one of the five that can push through a Do Not Disturb. Dad, of course, in case there's a family problem. He’s always been the parent who delivers news, delightful or miserable, we’re going to Disneyland and Grama died both. John in case the problem is something Mom and Dad shouldn’t be looped in on, they’ve got thirty years plus of sibling secrecy pacts between the four of them. Rachel, her agent, in case something crazy and damaging happens to her brand. Xinyan, who isn’t necessarily her best friend, but it’s close, and while she’s backpacking through New Zealand right now to rejuvenate between projects, keeping the weirdest hours and wifi capabilities, a two am phone call is better than no phone call.

And Miles. Rose doesn’t think for a second before accepting what Dollop ringing out means, thumb automatically landing on the green circle without opening her eyes. She’s made too many calls over her expansive career to not know where every button is, sight unseen. Shane might have a lot of routines she doesn’t share, but her phone rides the edge of this vintage 2000s dresser and has since the day Noah built it for her in woods class. A+, of course, he’s always been great with his hands. Rose cuts off the upbeat tone halfway through the ring, and doesn’t move further. She’s a good listener, even off speaker, and Miles is loud. It’s really not necessary to hold the phone to her face. She just wonders why he’s doing this. Miles doesn’t call. He texts when bored -ie, constantly, no matter the circumstances or company- and lets himself in when he’s done. He doesn’t need to call, he knows she’s going to wake up the minute he crawls into her bed. She’ll want at least a detail or two about his night before they fall asleep together.

“Bitch, wake the fuck up,” a voice hisses down into the phone the second the line connects.

It’s Miles as a contact, the only one with Dollop as compared to Xinyan’s more lofty Departure and John’s soothing Seedling. But that’s Shane’s voice. Did he and Miles run into each other somewhere? Is that why Miles was excited enough to call? Rose didn’t know Shane was filming a commercial today. Figures Yuna would use the day off from the league to propel another part of his career.

Except it’s weird to hear Shane say something like that. Miles, yes, he’s fully embraced the faux-misogynistic high camp vernacular for as long as she’s known him, but Shane’s not like that. He has an image laid in stone by Yuna that would never allow for him to be cancelled because someone heard him call a woman a bitch or slut out of context. But a few months ago Shane told her about a MLH voice cloner some creepy Reddit hockey bro cobbled together. His hockey robot press voice. Rozanov’s thick Russian accent. Pierre Deschamps’ French. Henry Beauregard’s Southern drawl. Jack Mercer’s incomprehensible Newfie. Rose had sympathized at the time, no stranger to how supposed fans think they have the right to parts of your body. But all tragedy is comedy with time, especially if you shoo it away with witty cynicism and high ball glasses, and Rose is frankly not surprised that Miles would think it funny to download the app.

“Bitch I am about to give you the messiest news. And you cannot be mad at me about it. This is a Sutherland Fasto level situation.”

Rose winces. They don’t usually invoke that name. It’s only for the most serious of insane gossip. At least it explains the stupid voice app. He’s trying to take the edge off of something that’s about to piss her off.

“I’m Shane Hollander.”

Before Rose can gasp a what, Miles continues with his truly epic level gossip. “There I am, sneaking out of Mr Beau’s bedroom, because as nice as it was he’s not a guy I need the number of. I’m tugging my tanktop back on the middle of the living room like ‘bitch, did this pretty knockoff shrink from sweat’, when in the pale light of the tv set to a stock market channel that he never turned off-“

“Ugh,” Rose grunts. There are a lot of lame men in the world, and finance guys rank high.

“I said I’m not gonna call, girl, give me a break, he was six four,” Miles fights. He does like his men tall, Rose knows all about that. “Anyway, in the light I notice, damn, I’m fuckin’ white! Except no, as I stop to selfie check that’s not quite it. I’m Asian, because I’m Shane fucking Hollander. It’s March third, and I’m Shane fucking Hollander with a boyfriend. This is crazy.”

Miles has known Shane is gay for a while. He always seems to know who in any given room might have even the smallest sliver of queerness. And even if he hadn’t figured it out by himself, the very fact that he dated Rose for two months was a sign. With some self reflection Rose can admit she kinda sorta on purpose extensively dates men who are putting up, well, not red flags, but rainbow flags, from the get go. See, the thing is she doesn’t really actually wanna have sex that much. Like it can be fun, if it’s good, but endlessly hanging out and occasionally getting around to fucking is actually so much better. The relationships never last, because Rose inevitably feels a little guilty about the guys, who are clearly scared and closeted, so she always ends up letting them know what she knows, and then they ditch her to follow their truths. Shane is just the latest in a pattern Miles has witnessed her follow since high school.

“I made it out of there, but now I’m panicking. I’m literally hiding behind a tree waiting for the Uber.”

Okay, this is officially too much information to accept while laying down with her eyes comfortably shut. Rose makes to sit up, and immediately feels it. Her centre of gravity is off.

“I don’t know who his beau is. I don’t know who my beau is. I’m coming over. You've got to help me figure it out.”

It says how stressed Miles is that this isn’t a text or ten. That this hasn’t waited until he had already used his key to slip in to her house and bed to shake her awake and scream about the math of five to seven Grindr hookups a week times how many weeks since last PQ Day. How's he supposed to know which encounter of the no strings sex-fest type Miles is consistently drawn to was his destined perfect partner, and how to contact them again. Because he can’t just not get in contact, despite hating strings. Even if their individual perfection looks like a vastly open relationship with infrequent rejoining, it’s still something. It’s still enough to grant Miles and his beau, as he calls his hookups, a Power Quad.

Except Rose knows something. She knows one thing, which doesn’t necessarily have to mean the second thing, except she’s suddenly certain, and if that much is true it logically has to mean the third.

Rose is a man. On the day of our lord March third, she’s a man. Ilya Rozanov, if her vanity mirror across the room as she sits up can be trusted. She'd ask herself how she didn’t notice the moment she woke up, but the answer is pretty obvious. Sometimes Rose kind of disassociates from her body. Every day she plays Wonder in another X-Squad movie and it takes seven hours to apply paint and plastic so she can be a beautifully textured blue shapeshifter. Every time her team wants her to go to a party and forget she’s hungry or thirsty or tired or has a headache, because those aren’t good looks for the paparazzi. Whenever they want her to drop the name of the dress designer like the fabric isn’t terrible and the shoes don’t hurt. When one of her boyfriends has worked up the nerve to initiate sex and she has to go through with it. It’s not enough depersonalization for a diagnosis, probably, but whenever Rose wakes up it takes her active thinking to place herself back in her body. Usually Miles slotting in in front or behind her to spoon helps quicken her recentering, but his vocabulary alone, not even in his voice, wasn’t enough, and the gap left made noting the difference take abnormally long.

So she’s Ilya Rozanov, and Miles is Shane Hollander. It could be a coincidence. March third is a big day for a lot of people every year. Shane could be months on the down-low with some queer nutritionist he couldn’t tell her about who will fit into the image obsessed world Miles and his non- monogamous boyfriend exist in. And maybe kissing Calethia Nurberry for that cameo in Give Me Those Wings To Fly was close enough to love for destiny’s sake, and she and Calethia both know enough about the MLH to entertain Rozanov and whatever supermodel he has currently on his arm. But those hypotheticals are stupid. How could some quasi-athlete and supermodel matter, when Shane and Ilya have been competing since the 2008 Prospect Cup? When every time one of them wins something, the other wins the next? When Hollandry started trending on Twitter enough that Rachel had to let her know about the spiteful antis who preferred Shayden or Hollanov, Rose had spent half a day on Tumblr, reading into the classic best friend ship vs enemies ship manifestos. Hard to believe Hayden’s four children are dolls. Less hard to believe Rozanov lingered on the ice when Marlow took out Shane because he cared.

But if that’s true, if she’s Ilya to Miles’ Shane, there’s only one thing that can mean. That it’s her, and Miles. And that’s fucking weird. The universe doesn’t work like that. Her fanbase is not going to appreciate that, all the romantics who want her to be a BAMF the whole movie but kiss in the third act. Neither will Miles’, all the affluent queers who want to see one of their own succeed. Rachel, and Darrin on Miles’ side of PR, are going to rip their fucking hair out.

And still, all of that is nothing compared to what Shane is going to face, already a minority in an extremely white neurotypical het sport. And all of Shane’s shit is nothing compared to Ilya’s, if he’s publicly bisexual with a Russian passport. That level of spit in your face defiance gets you murdered behind closed doors.

Are you on speaker? She types with Ilya’s larger fingers, skin suddenly crawling with awareness of the danger. Rose has donated to the Trevor Project, and the Ali Forney Center and the Rainbow Railroad. She’s had a decade and a half of being an ally, she’s intellectually known for a long time the perils so many beautiful men and women and GNCs face.

“Why the fuck would I be on speaker?” Miles angrily whispers into the phone. “I’m trying to caper myself out of this neighborhood before Shane gets caught leaving a man’s house. Now is not the time for multiple voices.”

I can’t talk
Not on the phone
You need to come home

“Bitch, I am trying,” Miles snarls at her. Rose doesn’t take it personally. He’s pretty much always giving off prowling jaguar energy. Mad or happy or excited, he always wants to have the shiniest claws, the most gleaming fur.

Miles hangs up when the Uber pulls up, and Rose gets up to get dressed. The oversized tshirt she was sleeping in is a comfortable fit now, Rozanov’s chest filling out the core of it while his arms strain the sleeves. It’s bottoms that are harder to figure out, no pants in her walk in or Miles’ armoire of spare clothes that come close to accepting Rozanov’s truly remarkable ass. Rose knows a lot of people who would pay a lot of money to have an ass half as fine. In the end she goes with a simple circle skirt with an elastic waistband. She’d never damage Ilya’s masculine presentation by wearing it anywhere she could be papped today, but considering they’ll be spending the next twenty hours inside with the curtains closed, her and Miles hiding for their PQ’s safety, as Ilya and Shane are definitely doing in Boston and Montreal, it’ll be fine.

Once she’s successfully dressed, Rose’s next step is to crush some ice in the blender that never leaves her counter. The frozen cubes of limeade mix perfectly with the gold rum to make a thick slush, and a second blend of blueberries and a few more cubes makes the perfect second layer of flavour. While she and Miles have both long since learned the etiquette of drinking in LA, expensive shots at the club and champagne at premieres and wine over Michelin dinners, they both agree that alcoholic slushies are the best drink when allowed to choose. They know a dozen variations between them, and Miles will be happy to be greeted with one when he comes in. They might need the alcohol, given what they have to talk about.

It’s a natural sound, hearing her front door open. Technically speaking, Miles has his own home, out in Brentwood. It’s just, why waste time there when Rose is here, and her house has better amenities? Not every project can be another X-Squad film; they have to spend more than an acceptable amount of time alone in other cities, or countries. The nights they have together in LA, it only makes sense they schedule commitments to not interfere with hang out time. Most evenings they start out together, the dual suns of which many of their combined contact list choose to orbit on any given night. At some point Miles will depart for his hookup, and Rose will party a little more then head home. Dancing is more fun when you have a partner who is guaranteed to not roofie you while bringing back drinks. Rose will dance with men and women, gay boyfriends and straight strangers and any amount of fluid-for-pay coworkers. Networking can be dancing just as much as getting lunch or sitting for an interview. No one has ever been more fun than Miles. On occasion he’ll spend the night, if the guy is hot enough to require morning shower sex with. But nine times out of ten Miles will find his way into her bed in the wee hours of the morning, and the tenth he’ll be over with breakfast pastries, sunglasses keeping the morning out of his delicate eyes.

For having last seen Miles merely a few hours ago, he’s certainly more disheveled. His jeans are unzipped and riding low to try to contain the kind of hockey ass Hollywood usually only sees from filler injections. And she understands the tank problem now. It’s a gorgeous bespoke piece, primarily red satin with thick lace comprising the yoke and shoulders. Gorgeous, even if Miles sourced it in a resale market, but not made with fabrics that stretch. It’s quite possibly fully cutting off the circulation to his upper half.

“Holy. Shit.” Miles says with blown wide eyes as he takes her in, probably not looking much more pulled together.

“Yep,” Rose replies, shaking her half drunken slush at him. The other is waiting in the freezer, but he can help her finish this one first.

“Bitch, what the fuck? Isn’t their whole marketing strategy that they hate each other?” So it’s not just her jumping to conclusions. He sees it too. They won’t know for sure until they can contact the boys -Shane, really, it’s not like they can just slide into Ilya’s DMs- but Miles’ first impression was hers, and that makes all of this so much more likely.

“Uh huh,” Rose agrees. She hoovers a vast portion of the blueberry lime drink up her straw, then once again holds it up for Miles to claim. He’s busy for a moment, wriggling out of his tank in a way that leaves Rose fairly sure she didn’t imagine the ripping stitch sound. The pants get peeled off next, Shane’s thick legs barely contained. Once he’s in his underwear -which are strained at the hems too, but there’s nothing else unless he wants to be nude, Miles is not a boxers kind of guy- Miles grabs a throw blanket. Only when he’s wrapped up from head to shoulder to ankle does he crash into the couch beside her, and poke his hand out of the fleece for the slushie.

Miles slurps down most of what’s left, and Rose isn’t surprised. It’s thirsty work, trying to not get papped or fan-stalked while visibly demonstrating a secret that could ruin all their careers. Rose adores Miles, and Shane, and has a feeling that Ilya is going to live up to all his media hype as a fun, melodramatic guy, but generally speaking this is totally fucked.

“Damn, that’s good. Get the other one,” Miles orders, only an inch left in the first cup.

Rose does, retrieves it and puts it on the fuchsia painted coffee table, one of many instances of Miles’ maximalist decor scattered around her house. At this point she has almost as many pieces as Miles’ actual home. She doesn’t take another sip quite yet, and once he places his empty cup on one of the resin embed coasters he doesn’t pick it up either. It’s the promise of more alcohol once they talk about this head on, really, not current alcohol.

“You’re okay with this?” Miles asks, sharply darting his hand between them. The gesture is all him, even if his actual hand would be manicured in a colour bright against his complexion. Rose doubts Shane’s nails have seen polish a day in their life. Maybe, maybe, if a particular soda brand required a certain amount of closeups, but even then only a clear coat meant to conceal and refine.

“You okay with this,” she tosses back immediately. Miles is the one losing his vagabond status. He lives for no strings. Breathes it in, the freedom of enjoying the glory of another man for exactly as long as he wants to before exiting gracefully. There can’t be more strings than the universe making them half of a PQ.

“I’ve got everything I want, honey. A day with you, an evening with a beau, a night with you. If my fans don’t get that, they’re truly no friend of Dorothy.”

Rose smiles with a bit of a smirk. “There is a storied history of the fag hag.”

“It’s institutional, babe. But are you okay with this? It’s not most women’s happily ever after.”

That deserves a scoff if anything does. “Happily ever after? Tell me we wouldn’t have the most spectacular wedding of the decade.”

“Main article of every publication,” Miles nods his confidence.

“Tell me we wouldn’t have the most architectural white picket fence. Tell me our adopted dog wouldn’t have its own Insta.”

“Hundred thousand followers, easy,” he agrees.

Rose buries her face in her hands, then lifts it to be honest. “I don’t wanna be cancelled for saying I’m not like other girls, but Miles, come on. You know I’m different.”

“The umbrella is wide enough to shelter us all. I think it can handle holding a PQ of an aromantic, a grey-ace, a gay man and a pan man.”

“You think he labels as pan?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “If he fucks that many women in public, but his soulmate is a gay man, no way he doesn’t fuck the entire rainbow of people behind closed doors.”

Rose can concede the point. Though it takes a second for her to really think about it, his face intrinsically tied to hockey, being the generational talent of the Metros, Shane has enough likeness branding to be a show biz professional. Ilya really can’t beat the only dates models allegations, past or future, and it’s well known that modelling is one of the top fields for androgynous, gender pushing individuals.

Miles continues his reflections. He eyes her from messy curls to bulging arms to the way her circle skirt drapes over his dick, because commando was the only option available. “You are so hot it’s actually stupid. I literally never would have guessed Shane could have such aesthetic appreciation.”

“He hired a stylist,” Rose attempts to defend.

“I know, and they’re the most basic bitch in the world. Zero star Yelp review.”

“Not everyone can be as glamorous as you. He’s a hockey player.”

Miles does not accept that as an excuse. In a life where his acting didn’t catch the right eye at the right time, he probably would have been a stylist, or at least a fashion influencer on Insta. “A, it’s literally Bland Betty’s job. Do better. Earn your money. B, if Shane can handle wearing only underwear on prime time commercials and across YouTube, he can handle some brocade. C, it’s clearly not all players. When I met Ilya when you were dating Shane, he was dressed impeccably. A wee bit club trash, but-“

“But we were literally at a club.”

“Mmmhmm,” Miles agrees. “Can’t get mad at a pageant queen for wearing sequins.”

Rose plucks up the second cup. The drink gets more limey as the slush melts, but never enough for the proportions to fail. She enjoys her sip, and then passes it directly to Miles’ hand extending out of the blanket.

“I want to chew on something,” she whines.

“Yeah, okay.” Miles hauls himself to his feet. The blanket slips a little as he does, gathering in wrinkles around his neck. The cocooning is a normal thing for Miles, but usually his head is close shorn by a barber worth the tip Miles leaves him. Shane’s hair is a new texture, and full of static electricity as the blanket falls, standing airily on end. It’s cute. Rose would take a picture, if she could.

Miles returns with a charcuterie of snacks. Dried mango and pineapple. Veggie straws. Gingersnaps and chocolate chip cookies. Yogurt cups of three different flavours, for dipping. They gnaw at their favourites as Miles airplays the most recent Evan and Katelyn video to the tv. It’s a nice bubble of mellow. The eye of the storm after the shock of the information blast and before the turmoil their other half is sure to throw onto the table once they get involved.

When the married couple’s video comes to an end -years of videos together and nary a mention of a PQ, either the other couple is still a mess or the PQ arrangement is to stay out of each other’s channels because it’s Storror or Corridor Crew or Smosh or someone else who’d pull panels at VidCon- Miles shifts back to his reccomendeds. They have many of the same thumbnails, but many of them Rose hasn’t actually watched yet. Normally she’d be all for an unhinged summary of Gossip Girl, or a Drawfee random shape challenge, or Dan and Phil, but she’s tired. There’s a reason why she went home, leaving Miles to his fun.

“I’m going to text Shane.”

“Better you than me.” Miles technically has Shane’s number, Rose is pretty sure, no way they haven’t gotten to that base level of networking after being a year of occasional appearances at Rose’s events. But she doubts they talk. Shane needs more tone tags than Miles is usually ready to offer.

Text or FaceTime as soon as you get this
It’s gonna be okay

In the end she goes simple. Enough to let Shane know avoidance is not going to be an acceptable response. Enough to let him know she knows just how complicated this is, just how messy, but that she’s not mad and she’s got his back. If she tried to sell anything bigger over text he probably wouldn’t absorb it. He’s not big on eye contact, but he often reads body language better than words, and offering FaceTime supports that.

Rose quickly adds Shane to the Do Not Disturb work around. Canopy sounds fitting. They’ll nap until then. It won’t be longer than a nap. Shane keeps routine hours, hours they don’t see unless a call sheet demands it. Miles accepts her hand for leverage off the couch, and they brush their teeth without looking too hard in the mirror. There’s an intimacy to see the hockey couple doing something so basic together, even if it’s only their images. Rose wants to save that realness for their actual first sleepover, at hers, or the cabin in the summer, or whatever hotel in whatever country they’re able to arrange their schedules for. None of them are strangers to important milestones having to take place in random hotels.

The phone rouses her at four am this time. Seven, Montreal time. They untangle from each other, Rose tugging her rucked up shirt to something less thirst trap, more respectable, as Miles once again gathers the blanket around him. It’s a FaceTime, so Rose is careful to situate the camera at a good angle. It’s probably best Shane doesn’t realise the indecency they’ve been reduced to; commando & skirt, and an artful wrap just barely preventing full nudity. It would stress him out. She knows before she accepts the call that Shane will have managed to make himself look properly ready for the day before even considering communicating.

It’s not too strange to see herself on the other side of the screen. Rose has spent a lot of time watching herself. Hazard of the business, needing to know exactly what each inch of her body looks like on camera. Her frame wasn’t hard for Shane to accommodate, he’s just in a Metros tshirt, torso down similarly cropped out, although she has to assume he’s in pants, which is better than they’ve both fared. Shane’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail, a style she rarely if ever displays, dislike reinforced by too many negative comments as the internet seems to agree that it’s not her best look. But it’s entirely possible all the loose hair is driving him crazy. He’s got texture issues most people don’t, and just because he’s not in his own body doesn’t mean the brain doesn’t hold onto patterns.

“Hey. It’s Shane. But I guess you’ve figured that out.”

“Yeah,” she replies easily. It’s not going to help if she’s a dick about his semi stilted reactions. “I’m Rose. Miles is you.”

Shane nods, internalizing the new parameters. For the next day, he has to trust Miles with his secret. Trust that Miles won’t use his body in some way that’ll violate Shane’s terms of service, all the things he’s agreed to be for Yuna and the sponsors and the fans. Rose hopes he’s not too scared. In the other times they’ve met since Rose promising she wouldn’t tell Miles, her best friend has never held back on flirting. Subconsciously Shane should know Miles knows, and has kept it back from any of the gossip channels Miles has access to.

“So, is there somewhere you want to start?” She can take over the conversation if he needs her to, but Rose has the feeling Shane has things he needs to say.

“I just don’t- Is Miles bi?”

“Not particularly, honey. I can drum up enough aesthetic appreciation to act with chemistry on screen, but for myself? Not in the least. I like men like you like men. Truly immaculate taste, Shaney,” Miles answers, eyeing Rose’s current form theatrically.

Shane frowns as the easiest explanation for the structure of their Power Quad is struck from the shortlist. There’s a touch of relief too. Rose isn’t sure if that comes from Miles officially giving him the thumbs up for the assignation with his multiple season rival, or just the autistic contentment of correctly recalling Rose calling him gay and not being the root of some social blunder.

But Shane wouldn’t be Shane if he just let things lie. His current goal is an explanation and he doesn’t have one yet, so he must persist. “Are you, uh, trans?”

It’s a fair logic leap. If Miles only likes men, and destiny says he likes her, she must be a man. And it’s not like Rose hasn’t pondered it once or twice. Dysphoria would be a reasonable explanation for the depersonalization; pure not wanting to be in her body. But that’s never seemed right. A lot of people have had a lot to say about her femininity, and it’s never felt like misgendering. Yes, she has responsibilities that can come off performative, but not like that.

“No,” she answers simply. Maybe one day they can get into a sweeping debate about gender expectations in both their fields. Miles and Ilya would certainly have their own perspectives on the situation, cultural points of view that don’t necessarily align with a white American female and a biracial Canadian. Today, right now, is not the time to get into it. Not when the single word has Shane frowning in confusion as he crosses another line off his mental list.

“Did you… do drugs and get curious?”

Rose understands that logic leap too. Shane wouldn’t be the first of her exes to need to get drunk to attempt something with a gender they’re not into. Rose herself has used alcohol to cushion things. And of course he thinks that she and Miles fucked at least once to end up fated together. That’s what couples do, all of society has made that very clear.

“I did not do drugs last night. Miles, did you do drugs last night?”

“Ripped one line halfway through the night to counteract some of the booze. Barely affected me,” Miles answers honestly. “Definitely not enough to have me knee deep in pussy.”

“Oh my god, don’t say it like that,” Rose cackles. She pushes Miles, forgetting she has Ilya’s strength and sending him halfway across the bed.

It’s a sign of how confused Shane is that he doesn’t lecture either of them about the confirmed drug use. Typically he’s very my body is my temple and yours should be too. “I don’t understand. How can you be the perfect couple?”

“Rose is demisexual, at best. And by at best I mean at most, because sexual attraction isn’t best, something you need to strive for,” Miles immediately clarifies.

“Ace spectrum, probably. Definitions are hard.” If Rose could define it fully it’d be something she could advocate for on a variety of platforms. But identity politics have razor wire edges at her level of famous, and one slip and she’s pissing off allies, not just misogynistic bigots she doesn’t need the money of.

“That’s, like, you don’t want to have sex?” Rose knows that if they were texting Shane would be looking it up before responding, but FaceTime doesn’t allow for delays like that.

“Based on your befuddlement I see things are going well with Ilya? No more endless jerking off?”

“Um. Yeah. We’ve been together a while. The sex was never the problem. It’s always been-“

“Not a problem,” Rose repeats when Shane can’t quite make it there. It’s a word important to him, a word with shared history. Sex with her was a problem, sex with Ilya isn’t. Good for him.

“Yeah. There’s been other things,” Shane admits. Rose has been under the impression that she’s been his queer sounding board for a while now, but she doesn’t know any of these ‘things’ that have kept Shane and Ilya apart. She will be digging, later. “But we’ve been dating since last July. So I guess that’s why the PQ triggered this year. Unless it was on your side. But you’ve been friends and coworkers since high school, right? So unless that’s changed significantly… So you have, like, a platonic bond?”

Rose decides to lay it as bare as she can. “You know what I want in a romantic partner?”

“Someone who is secretly funny,” Shane jokes.

“Bitch, ain’t no secrets here. I make her ruin takes. The blooper reels are epic,” Miles declares. And he’s not wrong. The deleted scenes of X2: X-Squad United are fucking hysterical.

“Humour, yes. And I want someone who can go dancing every night. Be fun with me. Someone isn’t intimidated by my job, or my paycheques, or my fans. I want someone who isn’t thrown off by change, but can still insist on the little, important routines. And I want someone who will go have sex somewhere else and leave me alone. Miles and I have been friends since we were fourteen and we’ve never had sex. We’ve made out once. It’s perfect.”

“And you know what I want in a romantic partner?”

“I couldn’t say,” Shane admits to Miles.

“Someone who isn’t in love with me,” he answers flatly. “Dual A-spec universe assigned marriage is fuckin’ perfect, if you ask me.”

“Rose? Can I tell Ilya? Or you tell him? I think it’ll help him calm down.”

“He’s upset?”

“He’s pacing the condo. If we don’t get it together he’s going to start jogging up and down the stairs.”

Rose ignores the obvious, that Ilya is currently in Shane’s condo, that they took the MLH holiday to meet up, to focus on the emotions of it all. “To be honest, I thought it would be you.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Shane replies. Even he can admit he has a tense disposition. A bundle of nerves everywhere except on the ice. A lifestyle change this big should be throwing him off. “Except you’re my friend. And yes, I get that all PQs are friends. That’s the entire fucking point. But it’s different, having something pre-existing. I think that’s why he’s so upset. Russia was not a great place for him. But he has this best friend, Svetlana, a Russian-American with dual citizenship. They’ve been assuming it’ll be them for at least since puberty, probably their whole lives. And instead it’s me, and my ex.”

“Yeah but just because their thing was friends with benefits,” because Rose knows of Svetlana Vetrova, Weston has opinions of Sergei’s daughter being papped with one of the best players in the league, “doesn’t mean ours will be. He has nothing to be jealous about. Plus you’re gay!”

Shane sighs. “Ilya always says ‘not so gay you can’t fuck Rose Landry’, even though it only happened twice, and it was bad, he knows that. But if he knows you don’t even like sex, he’ll get we’re not compatible for once and for good.”

“Oh yeah, Shane? Need something robust?” Miles teases.

“What? Shut up,” he grits out.

“No, no, not making fun. Me too. Can’t get to sleep without an orgasm clearing the pipes.”

“Um, wow, okay. I’m gonna go-“ Shane nods his head to the left.

“Yeah, for sure. I can talk too, if he wants to hear it from me.” Rose isn’t under any impression she’ll be acting out Jolene in the next ten minutes. Ilya Rozanov might murder another person, but he wouldn’t beg. And it’s beyond the point anyway, because he doesn’t fucking need to. All Rose wants from Shane is the same level of best-friendship they currently have. Maybe slightly tighter, in that she now gets gossip she wasn’t cleared for before. Nothing for Ilya to get upset about.

Shane wanders out of frame, his phone still propped up on the coffee table in a way that contains the entire couch. Rose and Miles stay quiet in the minutes he’s away, unwilling to be overheard saying some catty thing that’ll make everything more awkward. TikTok, Insta, and replying to texts are all delayed for the same reason. Things are complicated enough without adding some tropey misunderstanding. And then noise comes from off screen, before rapidly getting closer.

It’s Shane and Ilya both. Shane hasn’t changed from his first appearance as Rose, except possibly his hair is more neatly tied. Shane seems like the kind of girl who would remake or rebraid a ponytail every five minutes. Ilya’s vibe couldn’t be more different. Bold and wide to Shane’s tightly fastidious. It’s funny to see Rozanov’s swagger in such an opposing body type. Sure, they’re A list actors, capable of building any kind of character, but it’d such an extreme choice for Miles to make.

Ilya crashes down onto a cushion and a half, manspreading while bracing his currently manicured hands on his lithe legs. Rose doesn’t have to glance down at herself to see the way Ilya carries himself with about a hundred pounds more muscle, and hands the size of garbage can lids. He leans forward to make eye contact across the country, Miles’ face intense as he says, “You do not want to fuck Shane.”

It’s just barely a question. It’s so much more, a proclamation and a hope and a disbelief. Rose has a feeling that they might be unpacking this subconsciously for a while, even if on the surface they clear it up in the next few minutes. Shane doesn’t seem like the cheating type, but Hollywood is rife with open relationships and on again off again flings. If Shane tried with her while hovering in something with him, Ilya probably has a lot of feelings about their public adoration vs being closeted.

As much as Ilya’s words are layered with emotions, Rose tries to keep hers as blunt and dense as she can. There needs to be no purchase for context in what she says. “No, I really don’t.”

Ilya keeps eye contact with a brutal stare for a moment, then nods slightly. “My dick says you are crazy. My head knows you are allowed to like what you like. Or not like what you don’t like.”

“While I understand the sentiment of your dick, because your boyfriend is goddamn stunning, that’s not what it’s like for her,” Miles steps in.

“What’s it like?” Shane asks, always needing more information to accurately parse his loved ones. Most people Shane doesn’t care about, outside of how they’re relevant to him, which is only different for him compared to the rest of society in that he’s worse at hiding it. For the people that make his list, his love language is planning, and you can’t plan without information seeking.

It’s a dumb metaphor, but it’s the clearest one that comes to mind. Even if she did have years of gender and sex theory under her belt, Shane and Ilya definitely don’t. Better a basic metaphor than spouting lofty theory. Rose opens her mouth and attempts. “It’s like chewing a packet of grape Hubba Bubba. It’s a nice sensory hit in a few different categories. And there’s the little blown bubble climatic explosion built in. But the second it’s over, who cares? You didn’t need it. It’s not gonna be memorable. You can’t even remember how you arranged to have it. It’s fine, but completely frivolous, and not something you give an ounce of thought about having again.”

“That is… not how sex feels for me.” Ilya shakes his head slowly as he responds.

“I’m aware. I’ve been on film for a decade post puberty, guess how many times I didn’t get my man by the end, at varying levels of undress? Everyone likes sex. I’m just …not everyone.”

“And what is what you said you are? A-spec or something?” Shane asks Miles.

“A-spec is a whole bunch of things. What I am, is aro. Aromantic, if you want to drop an extra syllable or three. Immune to the bear trap of romantic love.”

“Isn’t that what everyone tries though? Until they can’t sustain it.”

“Okay. A, generally speaking, for your future meeting more queers, don’t question their self appointed labels. People work on those. It’s fuckin’ rude. B, not everyone has whatever Oscarbait wackass situationship you’ve had. There are tons of people happy to love right away. C, even if ‘everyone’” Miles air quotes, “goes down the hookup to relationship pipeline, very few are revolted by the more smitten party making a move. Anxious, attracted, confused, secretly thrilled, sure. But actively grossed out, like someone’s hocked a loogie onto your new Jimmy Choos? Yeah, I’m well aware I’m in the minority.”

“We are in love forever. You two are not in love, gross, apparently, but you are still forever. Is simple.”

Rose can’t help the way her eyebrows raise on her head. If it wasn’t for the poor grammar of someone speaking an additional language, Ilya could be on stage, no problem. There’s such conviction in everything he does, and it draws the eye. Rose can see how he fits with Shane, a man equally as determined but naturally much flightier.

“I'm not sure it’s simple, but it fits. It fits us. And as a proud diva, let me tell you, the perfect bespoke suit is far more pleasing than an everyman one.”

“Ilya and I are creating a charity to show people we can be friendly. The Irina Foundation. It’s just the first step in changing the narrative, but it’s an important one,” Shane outlines. “If you showed public support, it could be a way to get us all in one room.”

Clever of Shane. Ilya is the weak point of their Power Quad connections, intimately tied to Shane but in a way where they’re expected to revile each other, and nothing to her or Miles. Given Ilya’s penchant for clubbing, a meet cute from that direction could be believable for them, and her publicly maintained friendship with Shane could bridge that gap. But it’s an angle that leaves so much room for speculation and gossip, why are they doing thises and who’s dating whos. It’d be messy, a state Miles thrives in while Rose and Ilya can happily hold their own, but Shane’s not messy. Hanging their meeting on something serious and socially responsible is far better for both his brand and his mental wellbeing, and they all care about him enough to concede.

“What’s it for? I mean, yes, obviously. But I should probably let my accountant know why I’m dropping five figures,” Miles asks.

“It’s going to be a kid’s hockey camp that raises money for mental illness and suicide prevention.”

“Yessss, divas. Let me know when the fundraising gala is and we’ll fly down in our regalia, a hundred k burning in my pocket,” Miles replies immediately, practically pouncing on the idea. Rose, knowing exactly why, slings an arm low around his back and tosses her head onto the contour of his shoulder under the blanket. She won’t say anything if he doesn’t, but it’s important that he get a hug right now.

“That’s too much.”

Ilya elbows Shane. “No, no, Hollander is dumb. We will take every charity dollar.”

“Okay but why? That’s a lot of money.”

Miles twists his face in a moue. It’s not often Rose gets to see Shane’s features look so bitchy. “Oh, it’s sob story time now, is it?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. At least it’s too early for mascara,” he jokes, gesturing Vogueishly to his face. “So, as with many early adopters to the queer lifestyle, I hooked up with my best friend a lot in high school. I don’t do boyfriends, permanence isn’t something I desire from the people I fuck, but I maybe would have tried for him. Except Cole was only fun and nice sometimes. Sometimes he was fun but arrogant and mean and reckless. And sometimes he was nice, and so sad. He couldn’t control it, it was just how he woke up that week. And he couldn’t handle the pressure of maintaining a standard life, so he just ran away one day. Packed a bag and stole a credit card and was gone. His fucking parents never bothered with a diagnosis, or even an attempt at a referral, but in hindsight it was pretty fucking clearly bipolar type one.”

“That’s horrible. And he never made contact?” Shane asks.

“The money I made on Stained Frame I spent on a private investigator. He didn’t find him.” Miles sighs. Rose squeezes him a little tighter. “I’d like to believe that he built a new identity, got himself a found family, some artsy queers who recognise neurodivergence more than his shitass parents ever did. But I don’t know. I can’t ever know.”

“This is terrible, not to know,” Ilya mutters.

“I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. If giving you money is what it takes for someone to call a hotline instead of trying to deal with it themselves, I'm happy to drain the account. It’s not like I won’t make it back. Fall 2018 is going to be very busy for me.”

“Well, that is the future. Cannot meet cute until the Hollanders set up all the paperwork. For today, what do you want to do?”

“We’ll find an isolated place to take today’s Insta pics, and text them,” Shane offers. He knows how many impressions Rose is supposed to gain in a day.

“That’s okay. We won’t say who, no pics, no outing, but we’re not going to feign normalcy today. We want fans to know,” Miles answers for the both of him, knowing her stance without having to ask.

“Why.” Shane bluntly asks. Ilya, too, is tense. Being outed is probably close to their worst nightmares.

“We have different types of fans. Our fans will notice, and care, if we’re not seen at our normal LA spots. Especially on March third. And they don’t like what they perceive as being lied to. Laying out a boundary of privacy is more likely to yield it than trying and failing to hide. The moment a fan thinks they need to be an armchair detective, it’s a scandal.” Rose has been in the business long enough to know that.

“Is not true for us. Our people; fans, team, management? Would demand to know it.”

“Okay, that’s fine. It’s not the first and won’t be the last time that our media strategies are different. As long as we’re all cool with each other, know what this really is, we can tell whatever lies we need to.”

Rose knows Shane doesn’t like lying very much, but sometimes it’s important. More than once before he came out to his parents he’d lamented lying about who he is. It’s sweet and wholesome of him. Brave too, if Yuna now knows her baby Metros Captain is dating Rozanov. But it’s also bullshit. They’re all four of them performers, workers of the public sphere, and lying is just acting believably. Rose doesn’t hang much moral weight on it, and even less so when it revolves around survival.

“So what does that mean? Practically speaking?”

“Shane likes plans,” Ilya says. It would be more of a jab if he wasn’t clearly besotted by the trait.

“You hide all day at Shane’s, curtains drawn. We’ll hide here, same. By noon Miles will make a post about wishing our pastry place did Door Dash. They’ll ask why we’re not picking it up like we usually do, hashtag not sponsored, and we’ll explain we’re respecting the privacy of our less famous PQ members. The speculation will run rampant, but no one will figure it out by mining Insta for Miles’ hookups or my spotted withs. Most will be too busy with the queer labelling arguments anyway.”

“Gotta be the right kind of gay, right?” Miles sneers indifferently, like he’s not about to commit to days and weeks and years when things inevitably pop up in a random interview of being questioned. It’s part of why Rose loves him so much, the skill he has in letting invasive things roll off his back.

“That’s the verbal taken care of. As for physical, anyone stalkery enough to send a drone won’t get shit because the curtains will simply be drawn,” Rose finishes.

“Bad fans do this to you?”

It’s hard to tell just how outraged Ilya is through his constantly intense voice -Rose idly hopes Miles is taking notes on the lengths his body can go- but Rose is tired of it. All her family has shit to say too. There’s a reason ‘can handle fame’ was a key component of her ideal PQ list.

Thankfully Miles gets it. With a casual shrug he comments “that, or some of the scummier paparazzi. You’re surprised about the surveillance?”

Ilya lets out a harsh scoff. It’s the dramatic breath of someone with something to say, Rose knows that. And sure enough, a moment later he slumps back on the couch like he’s just so unaffected, while replying, “just impressed it is so high tech. In Sochi I had no drones, just suspiciously dressed men following me.”

Shane bristles into a completely upright posture. “What?”

“You knew Sochi was not a good time for me, Hollander.”

“Yeah but I didn’t know people were following you,” Shane rebuts.

Ilya shrugs, and it visibly drives Shane a little crazier, but Rose gets it. There’s only so much outrage you can retain about social interference before you either accept it or fight it. And there are some situations in which you just cannot fight it. Being a bisexual Olympian in Russia is no doubt one of those times. “People were following all Russian contestants. Making sure we kept up Russian ideals. And didn’t get guilty conscious and report doping. Or you think I usually watch athletes from nosebleed section?”

“So when you said you didn’t want to talk to me? It was-“

“I did not want to talk. Knew you’d ask stupid questions, like how I was doing after loss to Latvia. But yes. Also to prevent getting you or I arrested.”

“Oh my god! You couldn’t have said something?”

“I said ‘not here’,” Ilya answers, gesturing emphatically. Rose, obviously, has little to none of the background, but there’s no doubt that Ilya is underplaying it, which has Shane about to blow a gasket. Miles tilts his phone just slightly towards her, screen still totally out of view of her phone’s camera. In his text messages he’s typed an unsent popcorn emoji. Rose tries her best to not snicker.

“Oh. My. God. More than that, Ilya! You are such an asshole!”

“It is fine. I am not there. Will never be there again. Boston is safe. Canada is safe.”

“You’re never going back to Russia?” Miles asks. It’s not a road Rose would go down right now. Not when Shane is clearly stressing over context Miles didn’t have, over a topic Rose doesn’t know anything about and can’t help chat him calm from. Not when Ilya is downplaying the fear and danger after bringing it up himself, maybe more triggered than he thought he’d be with his remark. But Miles has never been and will never be the more circumspect of them both. He puts less importance on Shane’s calm, on Ilya’s control, and more on getting the gossip.

“My mother is dead. Irina.” Rose recognises the name instantly. There’s a sad story there, naming a mental health initiative after a passed loved one. They might hear it later, like when Shane and Ilya hold their first press conference, but Rose is certainly not interrupting to ask now. “My father is dead.” That one Rose knows about. Weston, second eldest and a huge Boston fan whenever they’re not playing Detroit, had a lot to say last year about Rozanov coming back to the League so soon after tragedy. Except maybe it’s not tragedy, so much, based on the tone switch in Ilya’s voice. In Miles’ voice. Those two tones are Miles playing very different characters, night and day. “I have blackmailed my brother into never leeching off me again.” And yeah, that sounds like proof that the Rozanovs aren’t hot shit. “Sveta lives mostly in Boston. There is nothing for me in Russia. I hate it there.”

“Honestly, that is so valid of you. My parents aren’t dead, and it’s a Democratic state, but I never want to go back to Oregon. My mom is still in Book Club with Cole’s mom, like the time that’s passed is an excuse.”

“Miles is a grudge holder,” Rose adds.

“Same,” Ilya agrees.

“Bitch gets it,” Miles points at the screen dramatically. “Some people deserve hate.”

“Fucking Dallas Kent. Will find PQ one day in prison,” Ilya mutters. Rose wonders what he knows, what hockey knows, that the public doesn’t. Toronto’s not liked in the Landry house, a bunch of dirty playing jerks, but prison?

“I can and will be delving into who the fuck that is, later,” Miles says, a gossip hound even in fields he knows nothing about, though he might be more focused now that the sport matters to his PQ, “but to finish for now, Mom is too forgiving of enemies, and Dad can’t stop himself suggesting I get a real job, because it’s a looks based career and people don’t like elderly queens. As if Ian McKellan doesn’t exist. So fuck birth homes. We’ll make our own. And the next time Boston plays LA, you can come over. Show a pretty boy what a sweaty man looks like.”

Rose can’t contain it this time. She bursts into a giggle, and shoves at his arm. “Miles, quit being terrible.”

“Next time we play the Dukes, you and Rose both in VIP box, wearing Rozanov jerseys. Fans can put them side by side with the Montreal jersey pics. Can see a whole team of sweaty men, then,” Ilya suggests.

There's a lot to unpack there. Miles is non-monogamous as a core trait, but he’d put his Power Quad on rotation, if they wanted. Do they want? Ilya’s papped nightclub history would say yes, he is absolutely the type to sleep with his PQ, nevermind just indulge in a bit of March third kinkiness, but has he even been photographed much this season? Maybe he’s just genuinely trying to divert Miles’ attention to his coworkers. Does Shane want? He said no the first time Rose offered, at dinner, but he’s never firmly put his foot down on Miles’ flirting. Maybe knowing he can have both, not just the man he wants most, will end up in him getting wild.

And there’s the clear jab at Shane and Rose for entering the WAG pipeline with a personalized jersey, even if they dipped out shortly after. But is he still jealous, or does he really just want to integrate them into the most important part of his life? It could be a scandal and a half, her and Miles showing up one day, depending on how much the public already knows. Which Hockey Player Is On Rose Landry’s Leash would be just the beginning of the headlines.

The thing is, she and Miles both would. They're both the type to be so publicly dramatic, and she thinks Ilya needs passion. He’s spent what sounds like most of his life in shitty, hateful situations. He could probably benefit from people adoring him obnoxiously outloud. It’s probably what drew the halves of their PQ together, because intense platonic love is just about the easiest thing in the world, to Rose. To Miles, as long as certain lines don’t get crossed. Let Shane do the wooing. Let Ilya do the grand gestures. They'll just be flaming pillars of support.