Rating:

General 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, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

Fluff and Humor, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Established Relationship, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Good Friend Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Relationship Reveal, Pre-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), author has beef with british cars, Anxious Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Suffering Hayden Pike

Language:

English

Series:

Part 6 of The Hollanov Fluff and Humor Files

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-17 Completed: 2026-04-19 Words: 10,941 Chapters: 3/3

Practical My Ass

Summary

Shane Hollander's Land Rover has never failed him... until it does. On the side of the highway. In a blizzard. With Ilya Rozanov sitting shotgun, like this is all perfectly normal.

Now he's freezing, spiraling, and seconds away from being rescued by the one person who absolutely cannot find out he's secretly dating Ilya.

Or, Shane discovers that British engineering is no longer practical, especially when Hayden Pike is involved

Notes

Wow! Look at this! Another fic? I have too much time on my hands. Oops!

Anyway, this idea came into my head in the middle of the night, as usual! So please enjoy whatever I just created :')

By the way, this is set during the winter after the cottage, so their relationship is already established, but Hayden doesn't know about them... yet!

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Shane likes to think he’s made good decisions in life. Playing hockey is one of them for sure. Building the cottage near his parents’ house is another, definitely. Going to the bar and meeting Rose Landry was peak character development. Introducing himself to Ilya Rozanov on that faithful day in Saskatchewan was, if Shane had to be honest, questionable, but it all worked out.

So, yeah. Shane thinks he’s done pretty well. 

But the best decision he’s ever made? It’s not something people can usually guess right off the bat. It’s actually much, much simpler than anyone could have expected. 

It’s actually buying his car. His good, reliable, and practical Land Rover. And Shane will die on this hill until the end of time. 

His car has never once failed him. It’s been with him through the thick of mud, through the cold-ass winters in Montreal, through early morning drives to practice when the roads were still half-frozen and the sun hadn’t even bothered to show up yet. It has gotten him from one destination to another with no issues whatsoever. It has been with him through practically everything life has thrown at him. 

Shane may not admit it out loud to anyone, but he thinks he loves his car as much as he loves his boyfriend. And Shane would rather drive off four hundred kilometers into the middle of nowhere than let Ilya know his actual feelings about his car. 

Because Ilya has made his feelings about his precious Land Rover very clear. 

He clowns the car every chance he gets. Calls it an “old man car” with a straight face. Says it looks like a refrigerator on wheels. Claims it has “the personality of beige paint.” Once, he even patted the hood and said, “Do not worry, little fridge. One day, Shane will let you retire.”

Shane pretends it doesn’t bother him.

(It bothers him.)

It bothers him in the way only Ilya Rozanov can bother him – a very specific, very targeted kind of irritation that somehow makes Shane want to argue and kiss him at the same time. Not that he’d ever admit that either.

But he’ll never say any of this out loud. Not when Ilya looks so smug every time he gets a reaction. Not when Ilya insists his Porsche “has soul,” even though it sounds like a demon being exorcised every time it starts. Not when Ilya acts like he’s doing Shane a favor by even sitting in the Land Rover, as if the car should be honored by his presence.

So Shane keeps his mouth shut. He keeps his dignity and his love for his car private.

And he keeps believing – deep in his soul – that his Land Rover will never, ever let him down. 

He trusts his car. He has faith in this car. The car has carried him through snowstorms, late-night drives, and the occasional emotional crisis. This car has seen him at his worst and still turned on the next morning. This car is the one stable, reliable thing in his life.

Which is exactly when the engine makes a noise that can only be described as a dying moose gargling gravel. 

What the fuck?

Shane’s hands tighten on the wheel. He looks down at the dashboard and sees symbols he’s never seen in his life lighting up all at once. That is… unusual. That is very unusual.

He eases onto the brakes, pulse hammering, and guides the car toward the shoulder on the highway, flicking on the emergency lights. “Uh… this is new,” he says, voice cracking just a little. Or maybe a lot. He can’t really tell. His ears are ringing.

Ilya, sitting in the passenger seat, doesn’t even look up from his phone. Not even a glance or even a flicker of concern. “Your car is making death rattle.”

Shane grits his teeth. “It’s not a death rattle.” 

He turns to see Ilya raise an eyebrow, looking all too smug. “Mm. Very healthy. Very alive.”

Shane fights the urge to whack that grin off his face. He really does. He can practically feel the impulse in his arm. But the car begins to lurch before he can do anything too impulsive. Ilya should consider himself lucky, Shane thinks. If the car hadn’t chosen this exact moment to reenact its own death scene, Shane might have committed a crime.

Once they’re fully stopped, Shane puts the car into park, and already, he feels his soul leave his body. 

He can’t believe it. His car – his precious, British Land Rover – has… failed him? 

Shane thinks he’s dreaming right now. There’s no way this is real. Absolutely no way. Because if it’s real, then that means–

Oh God.

As reality sinks in, he realizes, with dawning horror, that he and Ilya are now stranded on the side of the highway, almost seventy kilometers from Montreal. 

And, because the universe hates him, the weather forecast predicts a massive snowstorm in – Shane checks the time – twenty minutes.

Ilya finally looks up from his phone, completely unbothered, as if they’re not about to freeze to death in a ditch. “Congratulations,” he says, deadpan. “Your car has chosen perfect moment to break down.”

Shane takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes. Deep breaths, Shane, he lectures himself. You’re fine. You’re composed. You’re not about to have a breakdown in front of your boyfriend who already thinks your car is a sentient refrigerator.

With a little more composure – fake composure –  he reopens his eyes and stares out the front, sees the first snowflake drift down on his windshield and melt instantly, and he thinks he’s going to pass away on this highway. 

Beside him, Ilya shifts loudly in his seat. “You are breathing very dramatically,” he observes.

Shane doesn’t look at him. He can’t. His dignity is hanging by a thread, and Ilya tugging on it with one comment will send him spiraling into the abyss. “Ilya,” he manages to mutter, voice thin. “I think… I think my car just died.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then, in the most unhelpful tone imaginable, Ilya says, “Yes, is very dead.”

Shane presses his forehead to the steering wheel. “I’m going to lie down in the middle of the forest.”

“You will freeze,” Ilya says, placing a warm hand over the nape of his neck and rubbing it in a slow, steady motion that is absolutely not helping. “Also, you will look stupid.”

Shane groans. Loudly. “I already look stupid.” 

“Mm, yes,” Ilya agrees, completely sincere. “But you do not need to add more.”

Shane lets out a noise that is somewhere between a whimper and a dying kettle. He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t because if he does, he might start screaming, or he might start confessing his undying love for his car, and neither of those options is acceptable. 

At least not in front of Ilya.

Eventually, Shane does lift his head just enough to glare at his very unhelpful boyfriend. “You’re not helping.”

“I am helping,” Ilya insists, still rubbing slow circles at the nape of his neck, almost like he’s soothing a distressed animal, which, Shane argues, he kind of feels like one. “I am keeping you alive.”

“That’s debatable,” Shane mutters.

“If I was not here, you would be lying face-down in snow already.”

Shane opens his mouth to argue, but another snowflake splats against the windshield, followed by two more, then five, then a whole flurry. The storm is rolling in fast, and Shane thinks the universe has fully committed to ruining his afternoon. 

All Shane can do is stare at it, feeling very much defeated. “We’re going to die out here.”

“We are not going to die,” Ilya says. “We are going to sit here, call someone responsible, and wait.”

“I am responsible,” Shane mutters, eyebrows furrowing, and suddenly he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince his boyfriend that or himself. 

“Your car is dead.”

“That’s not my fault!” 

“Mm,” is all Ilya manages to let out, which is somehow worse than the actual argument. 

Shane slumps back in his seat, staring at the dashboard with laser-focused eyes, and thinks about how his car has betrayed him. Perhaps on purpose. Maybe it did. Maybe this is karma for every time he bragged about how reliable his Land Rover was. Maybe–

Ilya’s hand squeezes the back of his neck, warm and grounding. “Shane,” he says softly, “breathe.”

Shane does so ever so slowly and begrudgingly. And it helps, just a little. The panic loosens its grip on his ribs. His shoulders drop half an inch. His vision stops tunneling.

Then Ilya ruins it because, well, he’s Ilya Rozanov. 

“We should call Hayden. He’s in Montreal, yes?”

“No,” Shane says immediately. “Absolutely not. He’ll never let me live this down, and…” he looks at his boyfriend, dread pooling in his stomach. “And he doesn’t know about us… yet.”

Ilya shrugs. “Then we die here.”

Shane buries his face in his hands. “Why are those the only two options?”

“Because,” Ilya says, already grabbing his phone from the center console, “I am cold.”

Shane snatches the phone out of his hand. “Fine! Fine. I’ll call him. But you’re not allowed to say anything. No comments or any of your smugness.”

“I am never smug,” Ilya declares smugly. 

Shane glares at him, but his dignity is too fragile right now to argue. He unlocks his phone and looks for Hayden’s contact information. With a heavy sigh, he taps on it and waits. 

He’s actually hoping Hayden doesn’t pick up, because then Shane can say he at least tried contacting his friend. He thinks dying out here in the middle of the road will be better than having Hayden see that he’s been hanging out with Ilya. 

The phone rings once. 

Twice. 

Three times.

Shane silently prays to every deity he’s ever heard of. Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up. Please, for the love of–

Click. 

“Yo, what’s up, buddy?” Hayden answers, sounding far too awake for someone who should absolutely be ignoring him right now. “Everything okay?”

Shane closes his eyes. Of course. Of course Hayden just has to pick up immediately like the good friend he is. Of course this is all happening to him at once. How can life be this unfair? What has he done to deserve this? Well, except for buying his now-not-so-reliable Land Rover. 

“Uh,” Shane says weakly, voice cracking like he’s a teenager. “Funny story.”

Beside him, Ilya leans in just enough to be heard. “Tell him car died.”

Shane slaps a hand over the microphone. “Stop helping,” he hisses. 

And suddenly – he’s right back there. Back in the cottage. Back when Hayden called him at the worst possible time, when Shane was flustered and breathless and trying to pretend he wasn’t with Ilya then, either. Back when Ilya gave him one of the best blowjobs of his life. Oh God. This is literally déjà vu.

“I am helping,” Ilya whispers, absolutely not helping. 

Hayden’s voice crackles through the phone. “Shane? Why do you sound like you’re being held hostage?”

Shane forces a laugh that sounds like he’s being strangled. “No reason! Totally fine! Everything is fine!”

He hears Hayden sigh. “Where are you?”

Shane hesitates. He considers lying. He considers hanging up. Maybe he should just toss his phone into the middle of the road and let a semi-truck run it over so he can pretend none of this ever happened, then maybe he’ll wake up from this horrible, horrible nightmare. It’s gotta be a nightmare, right?

But the snowstorm is getting worse. And Ilya is giving him the look that says be responsible and I’m cold, and if you don’t call for help, I will drag you into the forest myself.

Shane swallows, feeling sweat bead at his hairline despite the freezing air. “Uh… the highway. My car… died.”

There’s a short pause. 

Then Hayden says, “Send me your location. JJ’s with me, by the way. We’ll come get you.”

Shane’s stomach drops to the floor of the car. JJ too? Oh, perfect. Fantastic. Why not invite the entire league while they're at it. 

“Okay,” Shane says weakly. “Thanks.”

He hangs up and immediately drops his forehead back onto the steering wheel. “I’m going to pass away,” he mumbles. “Right here. In the snow. Just let me go.”

Ilya pats his shoulder. “You will not die. You will suffer, but you will not die.”

“That’s worse.”

“Yes, but at least you will not be alone.”

Shane brings his head up and looks at Ilya. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” Ilya says simply. “Because I am here.”

Somehow, despite the terrible predicament that they are in right now, Ilya being here with him right now does make him feel better, even if it’s just a little bit. 

***

The snow keeps falling, thick and relentless, until the world outside the windshield looks like a blank sheet of paper. Shane keeps checking his phone every thirty seconds, as if Hayden might magically teleport instead of driving. 

Shane looks over to Ilya, who’s sitting way too calmly, hands in his lap, like he’s waiting for a dinner reservation instead of a roadside rescue. Seeing Ilya so calm like this only makes Shane’s anxiety skyrocket, and he lets out a groan. “They’re going to be here any minute. Oh God. Oh God. Why did I call him?”

Ilya turns his head slightly, one eyebrow lifting. “Because you do not want to freeze to death.”

Shane presses both hands to his face. “I would rather freeze to death than have Hayden see me like this.”

“Like what?” Ilya asks, genuinely curious.

Shane gestures wildly at the entire car, the snowstorm, the universe. “Like– THIS. Stranded. Pathetic. With you.”

“You say that like it is insult.”

“It’s not–” Shane groans again, louder this time. “I just mean he’s going to ask questions. And I’m going to panic. And you’re going to say something weird, and then I’m going to panic more. And then JJ’s going to show up and he’s going to stare at me with those big judgemental eyes–”

“JJ does not have judgmental eyes.”

“He does when he’s confused!”

Ilya shrugs. “He is always confused.”

Shane slumps back in his seat. “Exactly, and now he’s going to be confused about this.” He waves a hand between them. 

Ilya looks down at the space between their seats, then back up at Shane. “We are sitting in car. This is not suspicious.”

Shane lets out a strangled noise. “Everything is suspicious! Everything! The universe is suspicious! The snow is suspicious! You’re suspicious!”

“Da, is true.” Ilya nods thoughtfully. 

Shane stares at him, horrified. “You’re not supposed to agree with me!”

Before Ilya can respond, headlights appear through the swirling white, cutting across the snow like a spotlight. 

Shane’s heart stops. 

“Oh no,” he whispers, “they’re here.”

Ilya nods. “Yes.”

Shane grips the steering wheel like he’s bracing for a nonexistent impact (because his car is dead). “I’m not ready.”

“You will never be ready.”

The headlights pull up behind them. A truck door slams, and then another. Footsteps crunch through the snow. 

Shane squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay, okay. Act normal.”

Ilya tilts his head. “Define normal.”

“NOT THIS!” Shane hisses, gesturing at himself, at Ilya, at the entire catastrophic situation. 

Too late.

There’s a sharp knock on the driver’s side window. 

Shane jumps so violently he hits his head on the ceiling. 

Hayden’s face appears through the glass. He’s red-cheeked, snow-dusted, and he’s wearing the expression of a man who already knows he’s about to regret everything. 

Shane rolls down the window with the energy of someone opening the door for a police raid. 

Hayden leans in. “What the hell happened?”

Shane opens his mouth. 

Nothing comes out.

Absolutely nothing.

His brain has left the chat. It has packed its bags, caught a flight, and is halfway to another continent.

JJ appears behind Hayden, peering over his shoulder. “Dude. You look like you’re about to faint.”

Shane tries again. “Car died. On highway. In snow. Help…”

JJ blinks. “Wow. That was… not a sentence.”

Hayden squints past Shane and sees Ilya sitting in the passenger seat. 

He freezes.

JJ freezes.

Shane freezes.

Ilya lifts a hand in a polite little wave. “Hello.”

And all Shane can think is I am going to die right here in this car. Found frozen in his now useless Land Rover with his secret boyfriend, like some tragic cautionary tale about pride, hubris, and British engineering.

He can’t believe he said this car was “practical” a few months ago when he picked Ilya up from the airport.

Practical. 

Practical my ass.

Chapter End Notes

This is a lesson to everyone. Don't buy Land Rovers...

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

As I was writing, I realized this was getting way too long, so I have decided to add another chapter :') I will be posting the last chapter as soon as I can!

Hayden doesn’t know what he’s supposed to expect. All he remembers is how fucking terrified Shane sounded over the phone – breathless, shaky, like he was reporting a crime instead of a car problem. And now here Hayden is, parked behind Shane’s Land Rover in the middle of a snowstorm, staring at the hazard lights blinking weakly through the snow. 

JJ is beside him, fogging up the window with every dramatic exhale. “Dude,” he says, squinting at the silhouette of the Land Rover. “This looks bad.”

“Yeah,” Hayden mutters, killing the engine. “No shit.”

He sits there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to piece together the phone call. Shane had sounded… off. Well, more off than usual. 

Hayden sighs, long and tired. “Okay, let’s go see what happened.”

He shoves open the door, steps into the storm, and immediately gets slapped in the face by a gust of icy wind. Hayden trudges forward, boots crunching through the snow, shoulders hunched against the cold. 

The closer he gets to the Land Rover, the more annoyed he becomes. The car looks fine from the outside – no smoke, no dents, no obvious signs of Shane having driven it into a ditch. Which means whatever happened is probably something stupid. But Shane is his friend, and he loves him, so he deals with it. 

Hayden reaches the driver’s side window and knocks. Hard. No point in being gentle. 

Inside, Shane jerks so violently he smacks his head on the ceiling. 

Jesus Christ.

Shane scrambles to roll down the window, fingers fumbling. When the glass finally lowers, Hayden is greeted by a face that looks pale, sweaty, and deeply, profoundly guilty. 

“What the hell happened?” Hayden asks. 

Shane opens his mouth. 

Nothing comes out. 

Not a word. Not a sound. Just pure panic radiating off him.

JJ leans in behind Hayden, peering over his shoulder. “Dude. You look like you’re about to faint.”

Hayden is about to agree when he notices movement in the passenger seat. He squints past Shane, expecting maybe a pile of blankets. Instead, he sees a person. 

A very large person.

A very familiar person.

Ilya Rozanov?!

And he’s sitting there like he owns the place.

Hayden freezes.

JJ freezes.

Shane freezes harder.

Rozanov lifts a hand in a polite little wave. “Hello.”

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

He blinks once. Twice. A third time, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating from the cold. 

Nope. Rozanov is still there. In Shane’s passenger seat. In a blizzard. Looking like this is the most normal Tuesday of his life. 

Hayden drags a hand down his face. “Okay…” he says slowly, because someone has to say something. “What the hell is going on?”

Shane makes a noise that sounds like he’s being strangled by his own anxiety. “The– the car died.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out,” Hayden says, deadpan. “Why didn’t you call a tow truck?”

Shane flinches like the words physically hit him. “I didn’t think we needed one. I just… needed a jumpstart.”

Hayden stares at him. “That’s it? You called me out here in a blizzard because you needed to jumpstart your car?”

Shane nods, and Hayden notices that he looks way too miserable. 

And then, because the universe hates Hayden, Rovanov decides to contribute. “Battery problem,” he says calmly from the passenger seat. “Simple. He calls you.”

Hayden turns to him, incredulous. “I’m not roadside assistance.”

“You are competent, yes?” 

“That’s not the point.” Hayden lets out a long and exhausted sigh. “You know what? Whatever. Let me get the cables.”

He turns and trudges back toward his truck, boots sinking into the snow, muttering under his breath about idiots and frostbite and how he should’ve stayed home with Jackie and the kids. He’s still reeling in the fact that Rozanov is sitting in Shane’s car right now. Hayden wants to ask what the fuck is going on, but the blizzard is getting worse, and he just wants to go home, so he makes a mental note to interrogate Shane later.

He reaches his truck, grabs the door handle, and pulls it–

It doesn’t move.

Huh?

He tries again, harder this time.

Still nothing. The door doesn’t even wiggle.

That’s… weird.

A cold spike of dread shoots down his spine. He pats his pockets.

Empty.

No keys.

His stomach drops straight through the snow and into the earth’s molten core.

No. No, no, no, no–

He tries the handle again, like maybe the truck will take pity on him this time. It doesn’t. It just stares back at him with the cold, unblinking judgment of a machine that knows he’s an idiot. 

Behind him, JJ calls out, “Everything good?”

Hayden’s brain is screaming. His pulse is in his throat. His hands are starting to shake, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the cold, from the panic, or from the sheer cosmic unfairness of this night. 

He turns his head just enough to shout back, voice tight and strangled, “No!”

JJ jogs back towards him. “What happened?”

Hayden inhales through his nose, trying not to lose his mind in front of witnesses. “I left my keys in the truck.”

There’s a beat of silence.

A long one.

Then JJ says, “Dude. Dude… DUDE!”

“Don’t,” Hayden warns; he feels like he’s already lost eighty percent of his will to live. 

JJ ignores him completely. “How do you forget your keys in the truck? In a blizzard? While rescuing someone else from their own stupidity?”

Hayden shoots him a glare. “I was distracted!”

“By what?” JJ throws his hands up. “The snow? The cold? The fact that Shane sounds like he was being held hostage?”

Hayden points a finger at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to help,” JJ says. “I’m trying to understand how you managed to make the situation worse.”

Hayden groans into his hands. “Shut up.”

JJ pats his shoulder, entirely unsympathetic. “No, really. This is impressive. Like, Olympic-level disaster.”

“JJ.”

“Hayden.”

“Stop.”

Hayden sees a grin growing on JJ’s face and thinks JJ was sent to him by the devil himself. Because of course JJ is enjoying this. Of course JJ is thriving in chaos. Meanwhile, Hayden is standing in a blizzard, locked out of his own truck, with Rozanov sitting twenty feet away like a smug Russian gargoyle. 

Hayden groans. “I swear to God, if you say one more thing–”

“I’m just saying! You came out here to rescue Shane, and now you need rescuing. That’s comedy gold.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I hate you so much.”

JJ beams. “There he is. That’s my guy.”

Hayden briefly – and warmly – contemplates homicide.

But the wind is picking up, and his fingers are going numb, and he can’t stand out here arguing with JJ forever, so he turns and stomps back toward Shane’s car, humiliation clinging to him like frost. 

When they get back to the Land Rover, Shane’s looking up at them with wide, terrified eyes. Hayden wants to feel bad for him. He really does, but he can’t – not when he’s now locked out of his own vehicle and the universe is clearly out to get him.

Shane’s voice wobbles. “What… what happened?”

Hayden exhales through his teeth. “So… funny story.”

JJ jumps in immediately, sounding way too delighted for a guy who is also stranded on the highway in the middle of a blizzard. “Hayden locked his keys in his truck.”

Shane’s soul visibly leaves his body. “No. No, no, no – Hayden, please tell me he’s lying.”

Hayden shakes his head. “I wish he was.”

Shane’s breathing goes uneven. “Oh my god. Oh my god. We’re gonna freeze. We’re gonna die out here. They’re gonna find our bodies in the spring–”

“Shane,” Hayden snaps. “Stop spiraling.”

But even as he says it, Hayden feels a weird tug in his chest. Because this – this panicked, wide-eyed, borderline hyperventilating version of Shane – isn’t the Shane he knows. On the ice, Shane is a machine: calm, collected, and focused. He’s the guy who can take a slapshot to the ribs and still make the next play. He’s the guy who doesn’t flinch when a 6’4 defensemen tries to flatten him into the boards.

But here? In a dead car on the side of the highway?”

He’s unraveling like a cheap sweater. 

And Hayden wants to feel bad for him. He really does. But it’s hard to muster sympathy when he is also freezing, also stranded, and also locked out of his own goddamn truck because apparently tonight is sponsored by the gods of humiliation. 

“Shane,” Hayden tries again, softer this time. “Breathe. We’re not dying.”

Shane does not breathe. If anything, he spirals harder.

“I can’t– Hayden. I can’t… this is bad. This is really bad. We’re stuck, and it’s cold, and your truck is locked, and my car is dead, and–”

And then Rozanov moves.

Not dramatically. Not even loudly. He just shifts in his seat and begins to reach out and place a hand on Shane’s shoulder. Big, steady, warm. His fingers curl just slightly, grounding. 

“Shane,” he says, low and even.

Shane’s entire body reacts in an instant. His breath stutters, then it slows. His shoulders drop, and his eyes flick up to meet Rozanov’s. 

And they just… look at each other.

For a second too long.

For a second that makes Hayden’s brain go static. 

Shane inhales before letting out a soft, shaky exhale. His whole posture softens, like the storm racking inside his body just shuts off. 

“Um,” Shane murmurs, dazed. “Sorry. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Rozanov nods once, thumb brushing once against Shane’s shoulder before he pulls his hand back. “Good.”

Hayden stares, and he knows JJ is also staring. In fact, he believes the snowstorm is staring too. 

Because… what the hell was that? 

Since when does Rozanov have the superpower to calm Shane down?

Why does it work? 

Why did it work THAT fast?

Why are they looking at each other like that?

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!

Hayden’s voice comes out higher than intended. “I–what– how did… what just happened?”

Shane immediately looks anywhere but at Hayden.

Rozanov just shrugs, maddeningly casual. “He listens.”

Hayden’s eyebrows shoot up. “To YOU?!”

Rozanov’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Apparently.”

Hayden feels JJ elbow him, the latter whispering, “Dude… they’re weirdly close.”

Hayden has no idea what to do with that information. None. Zero. His brain has lost all signal. 

He points vaguely at the two of them, words tripping over themselves. “Okay. No, no, we’re circling back to that later. Right now, we need to–”

“Call tow truck,” Rozanov finishes for him, smug as hell. 

Hayden closes his eyes and thinks about what he's done in life to deserve this. He is so, so confused. And cold. And most of all, he is so done.

Before long, Hayden forces his frozen fingers to work and dials the tow truck company. JJ stands beside him, bouncing on his heels like he’s witnessing the funniest entertainment show instead of a slow-motion catastrophe. 

When the dispatcher picks up, he sounds almost bored, and warm, and indoors, which feels like a personal attack. 

Hayden explains the situation, gives their location, and refrains from yelling at them to please hurry the fuck up. 

The dispatcher hums. “Alright, we’ve got a truck in your area. He’ll be there in a bit.”

“A bit?” Hayden repeats, voice cracking a bit because he’s desperate. 

“Roads are rough tonight,” the dispatcher says casually. “He’ll get to you as soon as he can.”

Hayden wants to scream. It’s the first time he considers pulling out the I am an NHL player card, but instead he settles for a strangled, “Okay. Thanks.”

He hangs up soon after that.

JJ looks at him. “So?

Hayden can only stare into the blizzard. “He’ll be here in… a bit.”

“Cool. Love that for us,” JJ snorts. 

They stand there in the wind, in the cold, in the middle of nowhere – two grown men slowly turning into popsicles. The silence stretches long enough that Hayden starts to wonder if frostbite can kill a person out of spite. 

Then Rozanov leans over Shane and rolls the window down a few more inches, snow blowing in around his unimpressed face. 

“You two freeze on purpose?” he asks. 

“What?”

Rozanov gestures at the swirling white hellscape. “Is cold. You two are standing outside like idiots. Come inside the car.”

Hayden opens his mouth to argue, but he has no argument. He is, in fact, freezing his ass off. JJ is visibly shivering, and Shane’s watching them with his big, worried eyes, probably afraid that they’ll collapse in the snow. 

Hayden and JJ exchange a look. Then, finally, Hayden sighs. “Fine.”

They climb into the back of the Land Rover, awkward and stiff and covered in snow. The heater isn’t running, but at least it’s not open-air Antarctica out there. 

The silence that follows is thick.

Shane is staring at his knees. 

JJ is staring at Hayden.

Hayden is staring at Rozanov. 

And Rozanov is staring straight ahead like he’s the only normal person in the car.

Hayden lasts exactly ten seconds before he breaks. He leans forward between the seats, eyes narrowed. “Okay, so, someone needs to explain what the hell is going on.”

He simultaneously sees Shane immediately go rigid and Rozanov’s mouth twitch. Then he hears JJ inhale sharply, probably bracing for the drama to unfold.

Hayden gestures wildly between Shane and Ilya. “So that–” he points at where Rozanov touched Shane’s shoulder “–was not normal. That was not a normal reaction. Shane was having a meltdown, and you just…” he snaps his fingers “–fixed him. Like magic.”

Shane makes a wounded noise. “Hayden!”

Rozanov quirks an eyebrow. “Like magic?”

“I don’t know what else to say! What is even happening?”

Shane sinks lower in his seat while Rozanov looks all entirely too pleased with himself. 

Hayden runs a hand down his face with a sigh. “Can someone just please explain. Preferably the one who isn’t actively enjoying my suffering.”

“I–I can explain,” Shane mutters. 

Rozanov makes a soft, derisive sound. Shane sends him a glare, then turns back to Hayden. 

“It’s just– okay, sometimes I get… overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed,” Hayden repeats, “You? The guy who once played through a sprained ankle because you didn’t want to be dramatic?”

Shane’s voice cracks. “This is different!”

“How?” Hayden demands. 

Shane opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He tries again, but still, there’s nothing. Hayden almost feels bad. He’s never seen Shane like this before. In fact, right now Shane looks like he’s trying to manually reboot his own brain. 

That’s when JJ leans in and whispers, “Our Captain’s glitching.”

“I’m TRYING, okay?!” Shane groans out loud. 

Rozanov pats Shane’s knees, slow and deliberate. “He is not good with words.”

Shane jerks away, mortified. “ILYA– stop helping!”

And that’s when Hayden’s brain detonates. 

Did Shane just… 

He points an accusatory finger at Shane. “Hold on. HOLD ON. Back up. Rewind. Since when do you call him Ilya?!”

He watches in real-time the moment Shane freezes. Rozanov does not. The latter looks like he’s trying not to smirk, which only makes Hayden even more on edge.

“Oooooooh my god,” JJ gasps beside him, eyes going huge. 

Hayden ignores him. He continues to stare at his friend, and he can’t stop his mind from racing. “No, seriously. When did that start? Because I’ve been calling him Rozanov for years. You have been calling him Rozanov for years. But now? You just dropped Ilya like it’s NORMAL.”

Despite the temperature getting lower in the car, Hayden feels like things are heating up. He has so many questions. 

Too many. 

His brain is practically doing laps.

Shane looks like he’s about to say something again when Hayden’s phone suddenly rings. He snatches it out of his pocket, glances at the caller ID, and his heart practically leaps.

It’s the tow truck company. 

Finally. Salvation. Escape. A chance to get out of this emotional escape room from hell. He immediately answers the phone, nearly dropping it in the process, and he’s praying that they’re calling to let him know the tow truck’s nearby. “Hello? Yes? Hi, please tell me you’re close.”

There’s a pause on the other end. A long one. Hayden already feels his face fall.

“So… unfortunately, due to the heavy snowstorm, the tow truck might get to you a bit later,” the dispatcher says calmly. 

Delayed. 

No…

No, no no no no. 

“H-How much longer?” Hayden manages to utter, his voice sounding way too fragile. 

“Hm, maybe an hour? Or two? It’s hard to predict due to the snow.”

“Oh… okay,” Hayden says. “It’s–”

His voice cuts off. Because he can hear it, hear how thin it sounds, and how close it is to breaking. 

He swallows hard, tries again. “It’s fine. Totally fine. We’ll… we’ll be here.”

He hangs up before the dispatcher can say anything else.

Silence engulfs the car.

All Hayden can do is stare straight ahead, eyes wide, his breath becoming more shallow.

An hour.

Or two.

In this frozen metal coffin.

With them. 

He finally turns to the others, voice barely above a whisper. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

JJ winces. “How… while is ‘a while’?”

Hayden laughs, and everyone turns to look at him like he’s gone mad. He can’t blame them. It’s not a healthy laugh. “An hour,” he murmurs, “or two… or maybe forever. Maybe we die here. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how I go out – cold, confused, and third-wheeling a relationship I didn’t know existed.”

Shane lets out a choked little sound. “We’re not– it’s not– Hayden, please–”

“No!” Hayden snaps, the dam finally breaking. “No, I am freezing, I am locked out of my truck, and apparently I’m the last person on earth to find out you two have… whatever THIS is.”

The words hit harder than he expects.

Shane flinches like he’s been slapped. His mouth opens, then closes, and something in his expression crumples – not embarrassment this time, but something smaller. Sadder. Like Hayden’s reaction actually hurts.

Hayden doesn’t realize he’s not prepared for that. He’s not prepared for any of this, but especially not the look on Shane’s face right now. 

Before he can even process it, Rozanov shifts again in his seat, and he’s looking back at him now with narrowed eyes. There’s a quiet, controlled tension surrounding him that wasn’t there a second ago. 

He looks… protective. 

Hayden feels it immediately – the temperature in the car drops another ten degrees.

Rozanov’s voice is low, edged with something sharp. “No need to yell at him.”

“I’m not yelling at him–”

“You are yelling,” Rozanov interjects calmly. “And you are being dramatic.”

Hayden sputters. “I’m dramatic?! You– you– you’re the one who–!”

For once, JJ doesn’t jump in with commentary. He’s staring between the three of them, realizing that the tension in the car is high. 

Shane sinks even lower in his seat, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on his hands. “Can we… can we not do this right now?”

The plea is soft. Small. And it guts the entire argument.

A heavy silence falls over the car.

Outside, the wind howls. Snow is pelting the windows, and the temperature feels like it has dropped another degree. 

Minutes pass, and no one speaks.

Eventually, JJ shivers violently. “Okay, “I’m sorry, but I’m losing feeling in my toes. We need to– we need to huddle or something.”

Shane nods, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It’s getting colder.”

Rozanov is the first to move. “Back seat. All of us.”

Hayden wants to argue. He really does. But his fingers are numb, and his teeth are chattering, so he just groans and follows.

They all squeeze into the back – awkward, cramped, limbs everywhere. JJ is pressed against the door. Hayden is wedged between JJ and Shane’s knees. Rozanov settles on the other side of Shane like he belongs there.

At first, it’s just uncomfortable.

But then the cold gets worse.

Shane starts shivering – small, involuntary tremors he tries to hide.

Rozanov notices instantly. 

He shifts closer and puts an arm around Shane’s shoulders. He pulls him in, slow and steady, like it’s instinct. Shane melts into him without hesitation, and instantly, his breathing evens out, his shoulders relax, and he leans into Rozanov like he’s done it a hundred times. 

Hayden watches it happen. 

He watches the way Rozanov’s hand rubs slow circles on Shane’s arm, watches the way Shane’s fingers curl into the fabric of Ilya’s jacket, watches the way Rozanov’s expression softens into something that’s – for once – not smug or sarcastic, but something warm, quiet, and real. 

And Hayden’s brain just… stops.

Like someone yanked the plug out of the wall.

JJ is still frozen beside him, eyes huge, breath fogging in the cold air. Even he seems to understand that whatever they’re seeing is not casual. 

This is something else.

Something big and all too intimate.

Hayden’s voice comes out small. “So… does Lily know about this?”

Shane stiffens next to him. “Huh?”

Hayden blinks at him. “Lily. Boston Lily. You know… the one you text all the time? The one you’re always smiling at your phone about? Come on, bud, I’m your best friend, you don’t think I haven’t noticed?”

Shane looks genuinely confused. “Hayden, what are you–”

Rozanov snorts. A sharp, involuntary, very unhelpful snort.

Hayden whips his head at him. “What are you laughing at, Ilya Rozanov?”

Rozanov’s mouth twitches. “Nothing.”

“No, no, don’t you dare,” Hayden says, pointing at him. “Don’t you dare be cryptic right now. What does that even mean? Why are you laughing? What do you know about Lily?”

Rozanov raises an eyebrow. “Everything.”

JJ’s jaw drops. “Wait– what?”

Hayden feels his intestines do a somersault. “What do you mean everything? How would you know anything about–”

He stops.

He stares.

He looks at Shane, tucked under Rozanov’s arm. 

He looks at Rozanov himself, who is absolutely failing to hide a smirk. 

Then he looks at the way Shane’s phone – the one he texts Lily on – is currently peeking out of Rozanov’s jacket pocket.

And then it hits him.

Like a puck to the face. 

“Wait,” Hayden mutters, voice cracking.

Rozanov’s smirk deepens. 

“Wait,” Hayden says again, louder this time.

Shane looks terrified. “Hayden–”

Hayden points at Rozanov, eyes wide, horrified. “YOU–”

Rozanov tilts his head, smug and serene. 

“ARE–”

Shane hides his face in his hands. 

‘BOSTON LILY?!”

“Uh, what the hell is happening?” JJ asks, but Hayden ignores him. There are bigger things that matter right now. 

Shane tries to mumble, “Hayden, please–”

But Hayden is gone. His body is projected elsewhere, somewhere in the galaxy. He is seeing the universe from above. “Oh my GOD,” he gasps. “You… YOU’RE LILY. You’re the Lily. The Lily from Boston. The Lily who– who–”

Rozanov shrugs, completely unbothered. “Da, yes. I am Lily. You finally figured it out.”

Shane lets out a mortified groan. “Ilya, please stop talking.”

Hayden is staring at them. He’s not sure if he’s witnessing a miracle or a crime. “I can’t– I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. BOSTON LILY IS IL–”

Rozanov cuts in, calm as ever. “Yes.”

Hayden’s jaw drops, and suddenly, he’s looking at the ceiling. Because maybe if he stares long enough, then God will intervene. 

Unfortunately, he has no such look. 

He finally manages to say, “I– I need a second. No, wait, I need like several seconds.”

Shane looks like he’s about to fold in on himself. “Hayden, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Like this?” Hayden sputters. “Like… in a blizzard? In a dead car? While you’re cuddling with the man whom I just found out wasn’t your actual rival for the last decade?!”

Shane winces. “Okay, when you say it like that–”

Rozanov cuts in, voice low and steady. “He is overwhelmed.”

Hayden snaps, again. He feels like he’s snapped more times in the past hour than he’s ever had in his entire life. Not even having four kids has made him snap this much. “I AM AWARE.”

But Rozanov isn’t talking about him. He’s talking about Shane, whose fingers are clutching the fabric of Ilya’s jacket like he’s afraid Hayden’s reaction is going to rip something important away from him. 

Rozanov shifts closer, subtle but unmistakably protective. “You do not need to defend yourself to him.”

Shane quickly shakes his head. “Ilya, it’s fine–”

“Is not fine,” Rozanov says, quiet but firm. 

Hayden bristles. “Okay, hold on. I’m not attacking him.”

Rozanov raises an eyebrow. “You are loud.”

“I’m loud because I’m confused!”

JJ, who has been silent for a record-breaking minute, whispers,” This is… wow.”

Shane finally manages to lift his head a little bit and look Hayden in the eyes. “Hayden… please don’t be mad.”

Hayden's chest tightens. He’s sure as hell wasn’t prepared for that, for Shane to look at him like he’s scared.

He exhales, long and shaky. “I’m not mad. I just feel… blindsided. And cold. And maybe a bit concussed from emotional whiplash.”

Shane’s mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but doesn’t trust himself to.

Hayden rakes a hand through his hair. “Just… explain it. Please.”

Shane nods, swallowing. “Okay, um, so… we were never really rivals.”

“What?”

Shane shrugs helplessly. “Not the way people thought. We chirped, sure, but… it wasn’t hate.”

Rozanov hums. “Was good challenge.”

Shane continues, voice small. “Well, after my accident on the ice during our game with Boston, I invited Ilya over to my cottage for the summer. And then… we decided to be exclusive.”

JJ makes a tiny squeak. “Exclusive.”

Shane blushes. “Yeah.”

Hayden doesn’t know what to say, so he opts to watch them – the way Shane leans into Rozanov, the way Rozanov’s hand steadies him, the way they fit together like this isn’t new, like this isn’t fragile, like this is something they’ve been building for a very long time. 

And something in Hayden softens.

Just a little.

He sighs. “Look, I’m not… thrilled. I’m not gonna pretend I am. This is a lot. And I’m cold… and tired… and I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating.”

Shane’s eyes drop. 

“But,” Hayden says, softer, “if you’re happy… then I’ll deal with it.”

For a moment, the car is quiet.

Shane’s breath catches – a tiny, hopeful sound he tries to swallow down. His shoulders loosen just a bit, like Hayden’s words unclench something inside him.

And that’s exactly when Rozanov decides to (unfortunately) open his mouth.

“Did not realize,” he says mildly, “that we needed your blessing to be together.”

Hayden’s head immediately turns toward him. “That’s not–”

Rozanov lifts an eyebrow, the picture of smug serenity. “Is good to know you approve, though.”

“I DIDN’T SAY I APPROVED!”

But Rozanov isn’t done. He shifts just slightly closer to Shane, a subtle, protective lean that Hayden absolutely notices.

“You worry too much about his opinion,” Rozanov murmurs to Shane, low and grounding. “You do not need permission.”

Shane’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into the warmth. 

“Oh my God!” Haydens says defensively. “I’m TRYING to be supportive.”

Rozanov shrugs. “You are dramatic.”

JJ, who has been silently absorbing this entire exchange, finally says, “Wow. He’s… really like this all the time, huh?”

“Yes,” Shane mutters. 

Hayden glares at Rozanov. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“Still, thank you.”

Shane lets out a helpless little laugh – tired, embarrassed, but real – and Rozanov’s hand immediately finds the back of his neck, thumb brushing gently, grounding him.

Hayden sees it. He sees the softness, the steadiness, the way Shane melts under that touch like it’s familiar. 

He has to admit that he was not expecting this when he was on his way to rescue Shane earlier. In fact, if someone had told him an hour ago that he’d end up trapped in a dead Land Rover, in a blizzard, watching Shane curl into Rozanov like it was the most natural thing in the world, he would have laughed… or cried, or maybe both. He thought he was coming to jumpstart a battery or maybe even tease Shane about his dead car. What he did not think was that he’d be walking straight into a secret relationship reveal, a full emotional meltdown, and the realization that “Boston Lily” was actually Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

It’s a lot.

It’s almost too much, and yet… here he is.

Chapter End Notes

This fic was really just supposed to be about Shane's car breaking down and Ilya clowning him, but then of course I had to add in a sprinkle of drama and chaos because... why not? Anyway, hope you guys enjoy :)

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Thank you to all who were waiting for this chapter to come out! I wanted to release it earlier, but I added an extra scene at the end that I wasn't originally going to add, and I kept going back to edit it.

Hope you guys enjoy :)

It is too cold. 

Not “uncomfortable” cold. Not even “annoying” cold. No. This is the kind of cold that makes Ilya question his life choices, his career, and why he ever left Moscow if he was just going to freeze to death in Canada anyway.

And it’s all because Shane had to buy his terrible, terrible car.

“You just had to buy Land Rover,” he mutters. He’s too cold for sarcasm, too miserable for restraint, and too in love with Shane to say anything harsher.

Shane, shivering under his arm, makes a wounded little noise. “It’s… a good car,” he says, but it comes out weak, thin, and absolutely devoid of conviction – like even he doesn’t believe himself anymore. 

Ilya snorts. “You do not even sound like you believe that.”

Shane groans, curling deeper into him. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” Ilya says, “car is embarrassment.”

Hayden, from the other side of the backseat, wheezes. “Thank you! Finally someone says it.”

JJ nods violently, teeth chattering. “Yeah, Cap, that was the saddest ‘good car’ I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Ilya can only agree, loudly and internally, because he’s too goddamn cold to say anything out loud.

This is pathetic. All of it.

He, a Russian hockey player – a man who grew up skating on frozen ponds, who has survived Siberian winters, who has played through injuries that would make any normal man cry – is freezing. His bones are freezing. His eyelashes feel like they’ve grown icicles. His ass is absolutely fucking numb. Even his soul has left his body and is probably hovering somewhere above the dashboard, shivering.

And all of this is because Shane Hollander – the man Ilya loves with a level of devotion that is frankly embarrassing – decided to buy a car that is essentially a very expensive, very British, very useless metal coffin. He hates this car with passion. He hates it with the kind of intensity he usually reserves for bad referees and overtime losses. 

But then Shane makes a tiny, miserable sound and burrows even closer, tucking his freezing face into Ilya’s neck like he’s trying to merge with him for warmth. 

And Ilya’s heart… flutters.

Actually flutters.

He loves Shane. He loves him so much it’s stupid, and he loves him so much he is willing to die in this ridiculous refrigerator on wheels.

He still absolutely despises this car. 

Shane sniffles in his neck. “It’s not… that bad…”

Ilya looks down at him – at his red nose, trembling shoulders, and the way he’s clinging to Ilya like a human space heater – and thinks I would set this car on fire if it would warm you up.

Out loud, he says, “Is worst car ever made.”

Hayden nods aggressively. “Agreed.”

“Honestly, Cap, even my mom knows not to buy a Land Rover,” JJ adds. 

“Why are you all bullying me?” Shane whines.

Ilya pulls him closer, tucking Shane’s head under his chin. “Because you deserve it.”

Shane sighs, defeated. “No I don’t.”

Ilya kisses the top of his head. “No. You don’t.”

But the car does. 

The car deserves every insult known to man, deserves to be mocked, condemned, and possibly exorcised, and absolutely deserves to be launched into the sun. 

And if they survive this night, Ilya is personally dragging Shane to a dealership and making sure he never buys anything this stupid again – even if he has to physically carry him inside.

Because he loves Shane.

And he hates this car.

Both things can be true. 

***

An hour later, they’re literally huddled together.

Not in a cute way or a “team bonding” way. No – this is pure, desperate, survival-instinct huddling. Four grown men mashed together like penguins in a nature documentary. 

Ilya is pretty sure he can feel Hayden’s knee in his kidney. JJ is half-sitting on someone’s thigh – possibly his, possibly Hayden’s, possibly the car’s, but who the fuck knows anymore. And Shane is plastered to his front like a human sticker.

It is miserable.

It is humiliating.

And it is the closest he has ever been to three people at once, and he hates it. 

He also hates that it’s working. Barely.

They are still freezing, but now they are freezing together, which is somehow both better and worse. 

Hayden groans into the side of Ilya’s shoulder. “I swear to God, if we survive this, I’m never letting Shane pick a car again.”

JJ nods, forehead pressed to Hayden’s arm. “Yeah. He’s banned. Lifetime ban.”

“I didn’t know it would die…” Shane whines weakly. 

Ilya snickers, breath fogging in the air between them. “Of course you did not know. You did not do enough research.”

Shane makes a tiny, offended noise. “I did so much research!” 

“Not enough,” Ilya says immediately, which makes Shane try to pull away in embarrassment, but he can’t, because they are all glued together by sheer necessity. 

Ilya tightens his arm around him anyway. “Do not move. You will let cold in.”

JJ shivers violently. “Boys, I can’t feel my legs.”

“I can’t feel my soul,” Hayden mutters rather pathetically.

Ilya can’t feel anything below the waist, but he refuses to admit that out loud. He shifts slightly, trying to get blood back into his limbs, and the entire human pile shifts with him like they’re one organism. 

Shane’s nose is still buried in his neck, freezing and damp. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“For what?” Ilya asks.

“For… all of this.”

“Is not your fault,” Ilya assures him.

Hayden snorts. “It’s absolutely his fault.”

JJ nods. “One hundred percent.”

Ilya shoots them a glare. “Shut up. He feels bad.”

Shane makes a tiny, miserable sound, and Ilya’s heart does that embarrassing flutter again. He presses a kiss to Shane’s hair – partly to comfort him and partly because his lips are so cold they might fall off if he doesn’t keep them moving. 

“Ugh. Disgusting,” Hayden gags. 

JJ whispers, “Honestly… it’s kinda sweet.”

Ilya ignores them both because he’s cold, he’s suffering, and he’s questioning every decision that led him to this moment.

And then–

Headlights sweep across the snow outside. 

All four of them freeze. Well – freeze more.

Hayden whispers, “Is that–?”

“Civilization?” JJ gasps. 

Shane lifts his head half an inch, eyelashes frosted. “Please… please let that be the tow truck…”

Ilya can hear the boots crunch through the snow. A shadow approaches the passenger side, the handle jiggling. And then the door yanks open.

A blast of Arctic air slams into them.

The tow truck driver stops dead. Absolutely motionless. His eyes go wide as he takes in the sight before them: four hockey players mashed together in a dead Land Rover like a single, shivering creature with too many limbs sticking out of it.

The driver finally manages, “... What in the hell?”

Hayden, voice hoarse and dramatic, lifts his head an inch. “Please. Help us. We’re dying.”

“We’re like… one degree away from cannibalism,” JJ says, still trembling.

The driver stares at them for a long, stunned moment, then he mutters under his breath, “I am not paid enough for this.”

JJ points weakly at the dashboard. “It’s the Land Rover’s fault.”

The driver nods, as if that explains everything. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”

Ilya feels vindicated.

Shane, however, makes a dying noise. “Stop bullying my car…”

The driver snorts. “Son, that thing ain’t a car. That’s a cry for help.”

JJ starts laughing so hard that he’s shaking, which makes their human pile also shake. 

Hayden groans. “JJ– JJ, STOP– my ribs–”

“I c-can’t,” JJ wheezes, still laughing hysterically. “He– he roasted the car–”

The driver just shakes his head with amusement, snow swirling around him. “Alright. Enough comedy hour. Let’s get you penguins out of here before you freeze solid.” 

He reaches in and tries to grab Hayden first, but Hayden does not move. None of them move. They are, in fact, stuck together.

“Are y’all… glued together?” the driver asks, eyebrow raised. 

“No,” Hayden responds. “We’re just– cold. And… compressed.”

The driver sighs. “Okay. One at a time. Slowly, like you’re untangling Christmas lights.”

He starts peeling them apart, gently prying JJ off Hayden, then Hayden off Ilya, then Ilya off Shane – each separation accompanied by a chorus of groans, cracks, and one dramatic yelp from JJ. 

Once they’re all out, Shane slumps forward, knees wobbling, and Ilya catches him before he face-plants into the snow. 

The driver gestures toward the tow truck cab. “It should be warm in there. Get moving before you all turn into popsicles.”

Hayden starts moving first, muttering curses as he trudges through the snow, shoulders hunched and movements stiff. JJ follows behind him, still giggling uncontrollably, his laughter echoing thinly in the freezing air as he stumbles after Hayden. 

Ilya tries to walk, but Shane immediately leans into him like a man whose skeleton has decided to check out for the night. His full weight drops against Ilya’s side, forcing Ilya to adjust his grip and haul him upright before he folds into the snow. 

Shane clings without meaning to, his steps uneven and dragging, shoes barely lifting off the ground. Ilya ends up half-guiding, half-towing him across the icy path, one arm wrapped firmly around Shane’s waist to keep him from collapsing again. 

Together, they shuffle toward the tow truck, leaving a crooked trail of footprints behind them. 

The driver is watching all of this with a baffled shake of his head. “Weirdest damn rescue call I’ve ever had,” he mutters, and Ilya can’t even disagree.

By the time they reach the tow truck, all four of them – thawing, miserable, barely functional – climb into the cab, finally leaving the dead and terrible, non-practical Land Rover behind like a fallen soldier that no one will ever miss.

***

The tow truck’s cab is blessedly warm. 

Although it’s not the warmth that comes in an instant. Instead, it’s the kind of warmth that creeps in slowly, thawing fingers first, then toes, then the rest of the body that had gone numb enough to feel like someone else’s limbs. The heater rattles loudly, blowing out air that smells faintly of dust and old coffee, but none of them care. It’s heaven. 

Hayden takes the front passenger seat, slumping into it like a man who has aged twenty years in the last hour. His hair is still crusted with frost, tiny white crystals clinging to the ends. His gloves steam on the dashboard, and he looks exhausted, furious, and deeply, spiritually offended by the entire situation.

Ilya takes the middle seat in the back. JJ’s wedged between Ilya and the passenger side door, and his face is pressed against the window, fogging it up in seconds. His shoulders are still shaking with leftover laughter, but the warm air in the cab has finally stopped making his teeth chatter. 

Shane sits to Ilya’s left, and the moment they settle, he leans heavily into Ilya’s side, his body sagging with the kind of bond-deep exhaustion that comes from cold, adrenaline, and humiliation. His head drops onto Ilya’s shoulder without hesitation, his breath warm against Ilya’s jacket. Within moments, Shane is asleep, completely wiped out. 

The cab settles into a thick, heavy quiet – the kind that comes after chaos, when everyone is too tired to speak and too cold to think. The snow is coming down faster than ever, but the heater in the cab feels like their salvation. 

They’re thirty minutes into the drive when Ilya can practically feel the moment Hayden’s brain finishes thawing. The moment the warmth sinks in enough for him to start thinking again. 

Hayden turns in his seat, slowly and suspiciously, like he’s about to interrogate a suspect in a crime drama. His gaze lands on Shane asleep on Ilya’s shoulder. Then on Ilya’s arm around him, then on JJ, who is absolutely no help, because he’s already watching with wide, eager eyes.

Ilya meets Hayden’s stare calmly. He’s been expecting this, waiting for this.

Hayden inhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. Then he says, voice low and deadly serious, “So you and Shane, huh.”

Ilya allows himself the smallest, most self-satisfied smile. Of course Hayden has questions, and of course Ilya has answers. 

“Don’t smile at me like that,” Hayden says.

But Ilya doesn’t stop smiling. He can’t help it. Hayden’s too predictable, even on ice. This moment was inevitable. “I see you have questions,” Ilya says smugly. 

“Well… obviously!” 

“Okay, so ask then,” Ilya teases, mouth curving into a sly smirk. He’ll never understand why Shane’s best friend is Hayden. The man’s not even that good of a hockey player, and Ilya thinks Shane can do so much better. But whatever, because for Shane, he can deal with it. He can deal with anything. 

Hayden leans over the seat. “Okay… well, Shane mentioned you guys became exclusive this past summer. Wanna elaborate on that?”

“Da, is true, what more you want me to say about that?” 

“I mean… I remember Shane started texting ‘Lily,’ which now I know is you, pretty early in his career. So you’re telling me you guys had a thing going on since then?”

Ilya shrugs with the shoulder that isn’t being used as Shane’s personal pillow. “Hm, yes, you can say we had something going on. You want details?”

Hayden nearly chokes. “God, no!” He goes silent for a second, then – as if a horrifying thought has just struck him – he starts leaning over the seat even more. “WAIT. A. MINUTE. If Shane started texting you early in his career–” he starts counting on his fingers “–then you’re telling me you guys had a thing going on… SINCE ROOKIE SEASON?!”

Ilya wants to correct him, tell him that he and Shane actually started hooking up since the summer before, but he’s not sure if Hayden’s tiny little brain can handle that information right now, so he shuts his mouth. 

“Um, sir,” the driver of the cab interjects, looking quite annoyed, “can you please lower your voice a bit, and sit back down in your seat?”

Hayden stares at the driver with eyes that are nearly bulging out of his sockets. “I’m SORRY, I kind of just made a mind-breaking discovery.”

The driver clicks his tongue. “I understand, but please lower your voice.”

Hayden slumps back down into his seat, and it looks like he’s taking a minute to breathe and comprehend the entire situation. Meanwhile, Ilya looks down and sees that Shane is still fast asleep on his shoulder, and he smiles, warm and gentle. He’ll probably get reprimanded for revealing the timeline of their relationship to Hayden and JJ, but seeing both of them trying to process it all is quite priceless. Ilya’s happy to be a witness to both of their brains malfunctioning.

Ilya almost forgets about JJ, who hasn’t really said anything yet about the whole thing, when JJ clears his throat and asks, “So then what was that whole Rose Landry fiasco thing about?”

At the mention of the actress’ name, Ilya instantly feels his chest tighten. It’s not that he has anything bad to say about Rose – she was the one who got Shane to accept his sexuality – it’s just that the time Shane was dating her was also a time when Ilya was going through a whole luggage of emotions. He knew he liked Shane back then – liked him more than just a fuckbuddy – but the situation he was in made it impossible for him to actually pursue him. And when he did try to pursue him… well, that was a whole disaster in itself. 

“Is complicated,” Ilya finally says, voice steady. “At that time… he did not know he was… gay, and he kinda freaked out.”

“WHAT?!” Hayden exclaims, earning another glare from the driver. He apologizes quickly, then turns back to Ilya. “After all those years – after God knows what you two were doing – he didn’t know that he was–”

“Yes,” Ilya confirms for him. 

“That’s fucking hilarious.” JJ laughs.

Finally, Hayden mutters, “Jesus. Honestly, the whole team had been pretty surprised when the news came out that he was dating Rose Landry. We thought he’d be happy about it, but he actually seemed more upset than anything. Guess we know why now.”

Ilya remembers that time, remembers how awful he felt. Knowing now that Shane also wasn’t having a good time made his heart flip. 

Back then, it had felt like the world was tilting under his feet. Shane dating Rose had been everywhere – headlines, interviews, photos – and every time Ilya saw it, something inside him twisted so sharply he thought it might tear. He’d told himself he had no right to feel that way. They weren’t together. They weren’t even talking properly. He was drowning in his own mess and trying to keep himself from collapsing.

And Shane… Shane had looked happy in the pictures, but Ilya had known better. He’d known Shane’s real smile, the one that reached his eyes. The one that softened his whole face. The one he saved for Ilya. 

The smile in those photos hadn’t been that.

Still, Ilya had convinced himself Shane was moving on. That maybe it was for the best. That maybe Shane deserved someone uncomplicated, someone who wasn’t dragging around a lifetime of baggage and fear. 

But now – hearing Hayden say Shane had been upset, not happy – it hits Ilya like a punch to the chest. Shane hadn’t been fine, hadn’t been moving on. Shane had been hurting too. And somehow, that makes the memory ache in a different way – softer, sadder, but also strangely comforting. Because it means he hadn’t been alone in it. Not really.

Ilya glanced down at Shane, still asleep and warm against his shoulder, and something in him loosens. The past still stings, but it no longer feels like a wound. 

He shifts slightly, letting Shane rest more comfortably against him.

If only they’d known back then what they know now. If only they’d been brave enough to say it sooner. But they got here anyway, and that, Ilya thinks, is what matters.

“You know,” JJ says, bringing Ilya out of his thoughts. “I think him dating Rose was my fault.”

“Huh?” Ilya and Hayden say at the same time. 

Ilya eyes JJ warily. “Explain.”

“I was the one who asked Shane to come out with me that night when Rose was there. If I hadn’t asked him, then he probably wouldn’t have… you know, broken things off with you,” JJ says. 

“Ah, then I will make you pay for that,” Ilya says it as a joke, but JJ still flinches and scoots half an inch away like Ilya might actually throw a punch. Ilya softens immediately. “Is okay. Him dating Rose was probably the best thing that happened to our relationship.”

“Dude… what?” JJ says, voice judging. 

Ilya shrugs, gentle but matter-of-fact. “Was painful, yes. But also… necessary. He needed to figure out who he was, and I needed to figure out what I wanted.”

JJ stares at him, baffled, then he throws his hands up. “You know what, I don’t really get you two, but if my Cap’s happy, then so am I. Right, Hayden?”

Hayden lets out a long, suffering sigh. “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you, Rozanov, that I like the idea of you dating my best friend.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Okay, never said I liked you either.”

“UGH, Jesus, you drive me fucking insane!” Hayden yells.

Ilya’s just smiling with his usual smirk. 

Hayden points at him. “I know Shane makes many questionable decisions. You’re one of them, by the way. But, honestly, after today, I think the one decision that he’s ever made that I will never stand by is…”

Ilya raises his eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Is… him buying that stupid Land Rover,” Hayden finishes. 

And as if Shane can hear someone talk shit about his precious car, he immediately wakes up, rubbing his eyes. “W-What’s going on?”

“Is nothing, sweetheart,” Ilya assures, “We are just discussing what car you should get next.”

“My next… my next car?” Shane blinks blearily. “But, I like that car.” Then, as if remembering he nearly froze to death in it, he mutters, “Actually, you know what… that car was not fucking practical.”

Ilya can only strongly agree. 

Chapter End Notes

I'm not going to lie, the ending was really, really difficult for me to write. I kept having to read it over and over again to make sure I was getting their characterizations right, but even after going over it so many times, I still feel like I didn't do them justice.

Anyway, that is the end! Thank you all SO much for reading and leaving kudos and comments. It means the world to me that there are people out there who are actually enjoying what I spew out :') I love you all, and I will continue to do my best to put out more fluff and humor Hollanov fics. Thank you guys again <3