Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Injury Recovery, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, name kink

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of Hockey boys 🏒

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-22 Words: 1,277 Chapters: 1/1

Heart outside my chest

Summary

Ilya’s visits Shane in hospital.
It’s not just the drugs that make the conversation between them a little too honest.

Notes

I watched episode five (my babies 🥺) and wrote this.
Hopefully y’all like my take on the hospital scene 🥹

Ilya peeks through the small window in the hospital room door; spying on Shane where he’s tucked up in the scratchy-looking hospital bed sheets, looking tired and injured and so fucking small Ilya wants to scoop him up into his arms and never let go.

He doesn’t do that of course because of injury, but the urge is so strong he has to stuff his hands into his jacket pockets just to stop himself from kidnapping his injured Canadian rival who is his favourite person on the whole planet.

Shane spots him before he can sneak away and beckons him in excitedly. Like they are friends, lovers. Not rivals. Bozhe moy, he does not make it easy. Ilya exhales, steeling his shoulders. Pushes open the door.

”Heeeeyyy,” Shane says, and it is obvious he’s on the good drugs. His dark eyes are slightly glazed and his face is soft like playdoh. No tension making his forehead have that cute little frown mark between his eyebrows, he sometimes gets when he’s trying so hard to pretend.

“Hello.” Ilya nods at him in greeting; swallowing down the panic he’d felt seeing Shane lying on the ice. Barely moving. The memory of finding his mother dead, flitting in and out over the crumpled form of Shane. So fragile, so still. Holding Ilya’s heart in his hands and he doesn’t even know it.

”Ilya.”

He hums. Heart skipping a beat like it does every time Shane Hollander says his name like that. Like it means something. “You are alright?”

”Half left.” Shane giggles at his own stupid joke, wiggling the fingers of his left hand as if that makes it even funnier. Ilya cannot stop the smile spreading across his face. So in love with him it hurts.

”Mr Comedian.”

”I like making you smile,” Shane says. And fuck, these drugs make him honest. Too honest. Ilya isn’t sure he can handle it.

”I’m not smiling,” he chuffs, forcing his face to a more somber expression.

Shane snorts, wincing a moment later, rubbing his temple.

”Don’t hurt yourself more, asshole.” Ilya steps closer; reaching out hesitantly to stroke over Shane’s cheekbone. His skin is so soft. The freckles so pretty. Like specks of cinnamon that only get more lovelier the longer he looks at them.

”S’just a concussion and fractured collarbone. I’m fine, Ilya.”

Ilya sniffs. “I was worried. You went down so quickly. So heavy. Like sack of kartofel. I—“ his voice cracks and he scrubs a hand over his face, averting his gaze, blinking away tears. He has cried too much recently. “I did not know if you would get back up again.”

Shane covers Ilya’s hand on his cheek, curling their fingers together. “I’m tougher than I look. Plus I can’t leave you to terrorise everyone else in the league, now can I?”

”What you saying, Hollander? You pull my focus? You are my leash? Like I am dog?”

”No. No. Though you shook water at me like a dog in Tampa.” He smiles to himself getting lost in the memory for a moment. Ilya can’t look away. (When can he ever?) “No, I meant - Just that I think you like me - just a little - and everyone else annoys you less when you spend your time flirting with me or trying to annoy me instead.”

Ilya purses his lips and hums. Shane has no fucking idea how right he is. Or just how much better Ilya’s life is - how brighter his days are - with him around. “You are okay, I guess,” he sniffs.

Shane beams at him. “Sorry our plans for last night fell through.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing fondly. “You are in hospital. That is an acceptable excuse for why we did not fuck last night, Hollander.”

”Call me Shane,” he pouts. “I like it when you call me Shane.”

Ilya heaves out a sigh. “Shane. It is not safe. I shouldn’t be here as it is.”

”But you are.”

”Hmm. Found it hard to - uh - keep away.”

”Good.” Shane nuzzles his cheek into the curve of Ilya’s palm, and it takes every bit of Ilya’s willpower to stop himself from cradling Shane’s perfect freckled face and kissing him right here where anyone could see. “I am sorry we didn’t fuck though. I was looking forward to you making me scream your name.”

”You are - ah - good at doing that.” Ilya swallows thickly; digging his nails into his palm to stop his dick getting hard right there in the sterile hospital room. “Very loud. Very moany. Wake up whole neighbourhood.”

“No, I don’t. You’re such an asshole,” Shane huffs.

”You do moan a lot though.”

”Yeah? And?” Ilya admires how Shane muddles on through despite how his cheeks go red like a tomato. “You love it.”

I love you, he thinks. Seeing the beats of his heart reflected in the gentle flutter of Shane’s long eyelashes. “It is good to know I fuck well, yes.”

Shane flips him off, making sure not to move his right arm in the careful prison on his sling. “I was going to ask you something, but I don’t know if I will now you’re being an asshole.”

”I’m always asshole. You should ask me.” Ilya should leave before a nurse finds them. His feet stay exactly where they are. His hand still cups Shane’s baby-soft cheek. There’s bruising across the bridge of his nose and around his eyes and Ilya hates it. “Ask me, Shane.”

Shane wets his lips; breaths getting shallower as he hovers on the edge of exhaustion. “I was going to ask…Will you come to my cottage this summer?”

”Shane—“ Ilya’s knees threaten to buckle.

”It would be good. We’d be alone. Could have two weeks together at least. No one else around. Just us.”

Ilya looks at him and there’s nothing he wants more than to be able to look at him for every minute of every day. Spend his whole life with him. See him in the morning and go to bed curled around him. It is dangerous though. It is not something two men hockey players like them should want. Or are allowed to want.

”I don’t know,” he hedges.

”Please. Please, Ilya. I miss you too much when you’re not there.”

He knows Shane wouldn’t say that so easily if it wasn’t for the pain medication in his veins, but still, it means everything to hear it. He should tell him no though. It is safer.

”I’m not saying yes, but…I am also not saying no. Maybe. Okay?”

Shane nods sleepily; barely able to keep his eyes open. “I can deal with mayb—“

He falls asleep before he can finish speaking. Ilya stares at him for a long, long moment. Memorising every line, every freckle. Every patch of skin he’s kissed.

Presses his lips to Shane’s forehead and stays there for a few ragged breaths, tears spilling silently down his cheeks. “You scared the shit out of me, Shane Hollander,” he whispers roughly. “Don’t ever fucking do that again, okay? I love you too much to be in this world without you. So get better. Because I need you to get better.”

He kisses him one last time and then leaves, scrubbing at his face. Avoiding the nurse that was on their way to check on Shane by a few seconds. Ilya stuffs his hands in his pockets and storms out of the hospital, into the bracing fresh air outside, knowing every step away from Shane hurts like hell.

Shane’s question about the cottage rolling round and round in his head the whole time, along with his answer.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.