Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Temporary Amnesia, Medical Inaccuracies, Pre-Relationship, Fluff and Humor

Language:

English

Series:

Part 7 of Hollanov fics

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-12 Words: 2,566 Chapters: 1/1

Forget about it

Summary

“You are very beautiful,” the man said. “What is your name?”

“Oh,” Shane said, feeling his mouth drop open. “Wow. You’re beautiful too. I was thinking that before you woke up. I’m not just copying you,” he added, quickly.

The man beamed at Shane. “It is okay to copy. I know I have good idea.”

or

Ilya and Shane both have temporary amnesia. At the same time. Together.

Notes

So this happened bc my discord group was chatting about temporary amnesia fics and someone (maybe me? idk) had the brilliant idea of what if they both had temporary amnesia at the same time, together?

When does this fic happen? Have they started fucking or are they enemies-without-benefits? Why isn't Shane more worried lusting all over Ilya in front of his mom? 🤷 It's not that kind of fic

Shane woke with a pounding pressure in his head he recognized as the result of a concussion, the pain held at bay by drugs but the feeling remaining. He blinked, trying to orient himself. He was in a standard hospital room. He’d known that before he opened his eyes from the whirring of the machines and the smell of antiseptic, but it was confirmed when he opened his eyes; everything was beige and white, ugly pastel-patterned curtains drawn over the window, an array of machines set up around him, softly blinking.

The lights were dimmed— because he had a concussion or because it was night, he didn’t know. In the hallway, there was a faint sound of people talking. A curtain had been drawn in the middle of the room, and Shane assumed it was his mother in the other bed, sleeping; she always came when he got injured. His dad couldn’t always make it, but his mom, with her contract work, was more flexible.

He pushed the curtain aside and was surprised to see the figure was too big to be his mother. Another patient? Shane craned his neck, trying to see. There were machines flashing and whirring and beeping there too.

Shane usually got a private room, he thought, although he couldn’t remember, at the moment why. The other patient— a man— was asleep. His eyelashes, brushing the skin of his cheeks were a light brown, Shane noticed, matching his curling hair. His skin was so pale it seemed translucent, dotted with dark moles here and there, tinted blue in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” Shane murmured, moving to sit up without thinking about it, only to be jerked back, painfully, by the tube in his arm. He hissed in a breath and it must have been enough to wake the sleeping man, who blinked up at the ceiling, looked around, frowned and said something in what Shane thought was probably Russian.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t speak Russian.”

The man looked at Shane. Shane looked at the man.

“I speak English,” the man said, with a heavy accent. “A little.”

“Oh,” Shane said. “Um, hi. You’re in a hospital. We’re both in the hospital, I guess. I mean. Obviously.”

The man nodded, then winced and put his hand to his head. He was wearing a pretty gnarly bandage on his forehead and had bruises under his eyes.

“You are very beautiful,” the man said. “What is your name?”

“Oh,” Shane said, feeling his mouth drop open. “Wow. You’re beautiful too. I was thinking that before you woke up. I’m not just copying you,” he added, quickly.

The man beamed at Shane. “It is okay to copy. I know I have good idea.”

He was arrogant, Shane thought, but Shane didn’t really care.

“What is your name?” the man asked again. “My name is Ilya. Ilya Gregorovich Rozanov. But you can call me ‘Ilyusha’,” he added with a flirtatious wink.

“Oh,” Shane said, feeling his face heat. “Um, nice to meet you, Ilyusha. I’m Shane Hollander. You can call me ‘Shane’.”

“Shane,” Ilyusha murmured, then added something in Russian that sounded like a compliment. “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“Oh,” Shane said for like the millionth time. He tried to think of something he could say about himself. His head was starting to ache, but he didn’t think that was what Ilyusha had meant. “I play hockey,” he remembered.

“Me too,” Ilyusha exclaimed, trying to sit up and then giving up after a moment. “I am very good hockey player.”

“So am I,” Shane said. “I think. I think I was drafted? To the NHL?” Shane was very certain he was in the NHL, but he couldn’t remember what team he was on at the moment.

“I think I am too,” Ilyusha said.

“Oh,” Shane said. “You don’t remember? I guess you got your bell rung?” He smiled and leaned back on his pillows. “You have to be careful. If it happens too much it’s bad for your head. My mom’s always so worried. Is your mom worried?”

He rolled his head carefully so he could look at Ilyusha, who picked at the blankets a little.

“My mom is dead,” Ilyusha said, after a minute.

“Oh.” Now Shane felt bad. “I’m sorry. I’m… that’s terrible.” He couldn’t help thinking how he’d feel if his mom died. “You must miss her so much.”

“I do,” Ilyusha agreed, somberly. “Every day I miss her. I am going to win a cup for her.”

“You should!” Shane agreed. “I can help you. Or, no. Maybe we’re not on the same team? Do you know what team you are on?”

Ilyusha thought about this. “I think I am on the Bears,” he decided.

“I don’t think I’m on the Bears,” Shane said. “My mom hates the Bears. She’s a Voyageurs fan, you know. I like the Centaurs.”

“The Centaurs?” Ilyusha asked, skeptically.

“I’m from Ottawa,” Shane explained.

“Oh, it is cold there,” Ilyusha said, thoughtfully. “Maybe I am there before?”

“Only in the winter,” Shane said. “Aren’t you from Russia anyway? Isn’t it cold in Russia?”

“Only in winter. You like to dance? Maybe I take you dancing?”

Shane shook his head and then winced. “I don’t think I like dancing.”

“Dancing is so fun,” Ilyusha pouted. “You go dance with me, Shanezhka.”

“What is Shane…j … uh… Shane-ze-kh…?” Shane asked.

“Shanezhka. It is…” Ilyusha hesitated. “Little name?”

“A nickname?” Shane suggested.

“Okay. ‘Shanezhka’ is like your name, yes, but is also cute little bun, because you are cute little bun.”

“I am not a cute little bun,” Shane said, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes, you are cute and little and cheeks fat like a bun.”

“My cheeks aren’t fat!” Shane exclaimed, his hands shooting up to cover his cheeks, then wincing as the action pulled on his IV line.

“Yes, but in cute way,” Ilyusha said. “Like I want to bite.”

“You want to bite my cheek?” Shane asked, feeling his face growing red.

Ilyusha looked at him, considering. “Yes,” he decided. “It is not all I am bite. Also I think your shoulder. Maybe your hip? I can not see it, I do not know if it is good to eat.”

Shane felt his whole body growing hot and he tried not to squirm.

“Maybe you bite me too, hmm? Or maybe you are too sweet to bite. Maybe you just kiss?”

Shane had a sudden, vivid, image of him kissing Ilyusha; his red lips, his pale neck, down what looked like it might be a well-muscled body. His cock. Maybe Ilyusha had a cock as beautiful as the rest of him. Shane’s whole self seemed to be burning now. What was wrong with him?

“Honey!” someone cried and, of course, it was Shane’s mom. She rushed to his bedside, looking at Ilyusha with a puzzled expression before focusing back onto Shane. “How are you holding up?” she asked Shane.

“Okay,” Shane said. “My head aches.”

“Of course it does,” his mom said, brushing his hair away from his face, gently. “Poor baby. Maybe I should go find the doctor?”

“This is Ilyusha,” Shane told her, gesturing at Ilyusha.

“I know who Ilya Rozanov is,” Shane’s mother said, sounding more concerned. “Shane, what year is it?”

Shane squinted up at her, feeling even more fuzzy. “Year?” he asked.

“What team do you play for?” she pressed.

“Team?” Shane repeated. “I’m in the NHL, I’m pretty sure.”

Shane’s mom frowned. “I’m getting the doctor,” she said.

“Your mother is pretty,” Ilyusha said, sounding a little wistful. “She is nice?”

Shane considered this. “She is bossy,” he said. “But she loves me and is always trying to help me.”

Ilyusha sighed. “My mother was very nice.”

Shane frowned at Ilyusha. He wished he could give him and hug, but he was attached to so many machines. “I want to hug you,” he said.

“I want you to hug you,” Ilyusha said. “No. Uh. For hug me? It is nice.”

“Yes,” Shane said, wistfully.

His mother bustled back in, trailing a doctor and a nurse. They both looked tired.

“Mr. Hollander,” the doctor said, briskly, while the nurse went over to Ilyusha’s side and started doing nurse-y things. “Mr. Rozanov. It’s good to see you are both awake.”

“I don’t understand why Shane doesn’t have a private room,” Shane’s mom cut in. “He’s on private insurance.”

The doctor took a clipboard from somewhere and flipped through it. “Unfortunately, what with the measles outbreak and the seasonal flu we’re short of rooms. Mr. Hollander and Mr. Rozanov have similar requirements for security and similar injuries and it makes sense to room them together until a private room becomes available,” the doctor said, in a tone that suggested she would not be arguing about it further. “Any concerns you have can be taken up with hospital management. Now, Mr. Hollander, your mother is concerned you might have some temporary memory loss. Can you tell me the date?”

“I don’t want to change rooms,” Shane said. “I like being in a room with Ilyusha. He’s pretty.”

“Your preferences have been noted,” the doctor said, evenly. “The date?”

Shane frowned, then shrugged.

He was then subjected to a barrage of questions about who the prime minister was and how he was feeling while the nurse took his vitals and they shined lights in his eyes and tested his reflexes.

“Moderate concussion,” the doctor said. “Memory loss isn’t uncommon, and he’s on some strong painkillers at the moment. If the memory loss persists beyond a few days we’ll reassess.”

The doctor turned to Ilyusha and began asking him questions, while Shane’s mother adjusted his pillow and then settled down on the chair beside him.

“Ilyusha’s mom is dead,” Shane told her.

“Oh?” she asked, looking up from his phone. “Your team doctor should get here shortly.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “He’s all alone.”

Shane’s mom looked over at Ilyusha. “Someone from his team will come for him,” she told Shane.

Shane drifted off a little bit after that and when he woke up there were men in suits talking to his doctor.

“Shane!” one of them exclaimed, and then looked a little sheepish when Shane winced.

“Hi,” he said and looked at his mom.

“Looks like you’re out for a little bit,” one of the other men said. “We’re just discussing longer term care options with your doctor.”

Shane looked over, but the curtain was drawn between Ilyusha and him.

“They want to keep you in the hospital for observation for another day and then release you to home care— we’re going to get that set up for you,” the man in the suit continued.

“What about Ilyusha?” Shane asked.

The men in suits looked at each other, confused.

“Oh, that’s a friend of his,” his mom told him. “You can talk to Ilyusha soon,” she said, patting his arm. “Let’s let Shane sleep?” she suggested to the men, and they all filed out.

Shane looked at the curtain, but it was still there. He squinted at the curtain and willed it to move of its own volition, but sadly he still didn’t have Jedi powers.

A moment later his mom came back in. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“Can you open the curtain?”

His mom gave him a look, then sighed. “I’ll ask Rozanov if he’d like that,” she said.

“His name is Ilyusha,” Shane told her as her head disappeared around the edge of the curtain. A moment later, Shane’s mom pulled the curtain back and there was Ilyusha, looking over at him and smiling.

“Shanezhka,” he said. “I am so sad now I see your beautiful face and is better.” He reached out a hand, but Shane was too far away too touch him.

“Ilyusha,” Shane sighed. “Are you okay?”

“Concussion,” Ilyusha said.

“Oh,” Shane said. “Me too. I hate it. It’s so boring. I’m already bored.”

“Not bored with you here,” Ilyusha said, smiling.

“Oh,” Shane said. “We both have concussions. We could recover together?”

“Mr. Rozanov has to go back to Boston, honey,” Shane’s mom told him.

“No,” Shane said. “No, Boston is so boring, Ilyusha. Stay in Montreal with me!”

“You don’t want to come back to Ottawa?” Shane’s mom asked. “Stay with your father and me until you recover?”

“Can Ilyusha come?” Shane asked. “We have a guest room. Or he can stay in my room with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Rozanov has his own people in Boston,” Shane’s mom said.

“No,” Ilyusha told them. “No people. Sveta is too busy and teammates too busy. Will be all alone.”

“See?” Shane pushed. “He’s going to be so lonely!”

“We’ll see,” Shane’s mom said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

“Ilyusha,” Shane said, craning his neck to try to see past his mom. “You want to come to stay with me? We can recover together.”

“Stay with pretty boy? Of course I want.”

Shane’s mother covered her eyes and sighed. “We’ll discuss it later, okay?”

Shane frowned. ‘Discuss it later’ always meant ‘no’. But Shane wanted to stay with Ilya.

“Mooooooooom,” he whined. “Ilyusha will be alone! He’ll be so sad! Please can we keep him?”

Shane’s mom bit her lip like she was trying to keep from laughing. “He’s an NHL player, not a puppy, Shane.”

“I can be puppy,” Ilyusha said. “Woof, woof.”

Shane laughed, delighted, then winced when laughing made his head ache.

“Okay,” Shane’s mom said. “We’ll actually discuss it later. Mr. Rozanov’s team might want him to recover in Boston.”

“Boo,” Shane said.

“Now, please go to sleep?” she asked, and Shane was very tired.

“Okay,” he said. “Good night, Ilyusha.”

“Good night, Shanezhka,” Ilyusha murmured back.

.

Shane’s head was killing him. “Ugh,” he said. He opened his eyes and then winced and closed them again.

“You awake?” someone asked to his right.

Shane turned and squinted one eye open. Someone was lying on the bed beside his. Ilya Rozanov was lying on the bed beside his.

“I wish I wasn’t,” he said.

“Yes,” Ilya Rozanov agreed.

“What happened?” Shane asked, trying to think. They’d played the Bears in a home game. Shane remembered talking to the team in the locker room, heading out onto the ice then… God, his head hurt.

“Accident,” Rozanov said. He was staring up at the ceiling. “Collided on ice.”

“Oh,” Shane said, but something was niggling at him. “Ilyusha?”

Rozanov turned his head to look at him and his face broke into a wide grin. “Hi,” he said.

“What?” Shane said, then covered his hands. “Oh my god.”

“You said I was pretty,” Rozanov teased.

Shane vaguely remembered that. “You said I was beautiful.”

Rozanov smiled. He had a wonderful smile, wide and soft. “Yes,” he said.

“Oh,” Shane said, staring at him.

“You invited me to your house,” Rozanov reminded him. “For recovery together.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, feeling a little breathless. He licked his lips. “You, uh, can still come if you want to. Uh. Recover.”

“Stay in guest room?” Rozanov asked, in a teasing tone?

“Oh my god,” Shane exclaimed, “my mom was there for that.”

Rozanov laughed, quietly, the way you laughed when you had a cracked ribs or a concussion. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I will come.” He smiled at Shane and Shane felt warm all over. “Maybe.”