Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

POV Yuna Hollander, Yuna Hollander Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, alternative outing scene, yuna just needed to pee and suddenly she's being confronted by the fact that her son's rival might also be his boyfriend, shane's so out of it he forgets his mom is literally right there, well done drugged-up shane, Drugged Shane Hollander, Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-15 Completed: 2026-02-10 Words: 2,363 Chapters: 2/2

the fall wasn't fatal

Summary

Yuna goes to the bathroom attached to Shane's hospital room. She overhears some things.

Notes

I remain too scared to write a proper hollanov fic so here's another outsider pov bc I like them

title from silver spoon by erin lecount

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

She's only gone a minute or so, is the thing. If she'd waited a moment, or got up a little earlier, she wouldn't have overheard anything. Yuna would've been in the room, sat sentinel next to her son's hospital bed.

Shane wouldn't have been able to forget about her presence, and Ilya fucking Rozanov wouldn't have thought they were alone. Wouldn't have held her son's hand. Wouldn't have caressed his face.

You scared me, he'd said, voice low, and soft, and oh-so-serious.

Shane had scared him. Ilya Rozanov. Had scared him by getting injured.

Sure, she'd seen the game footage. Of course she had. She was watching as it happened; phone already clutched tightly in her hand as she made her way out of the front door when the Coach had called about Shane's injury.

She'd watched it again. In the car on the drive over, convincing herself the hit wasn't as bad as it looked. While she waited impatiently for the nurse to confirm she was Shane's next of kin and could be trusted with his room number. In the hospital chair next to her unconscious son.

That was when she'd finally processed it. The way Rozanov… Hovered.

Shane went down and all the other players backed up - even Hayden, who'd thrown himself at Marleau instead of looking over at his friend - but Rozanov had stayed. He'd looked… Frozen. Like a deer in headlights. Waiting for the fatal impact and hoping it would never come.

He'd been worried. Sort of terrified, it looked like. Yelling something at the medics before letting himself get dragged away.

His gaze never strayed.

So, yes, she'd seen the footage, clocked the abnormal way her son's rival had reacted to him taking a bad hit. But it didn't mean she was prepared for what confronted her from the little en-suite bathroom tucked in the corner of Shane's hospital room.

The conversation had started predictably enough. It wasn't unheard of for captains to visit players in hospital after a bad hit. She probably wouldn't have expected such a show of sportsmanship from someone like Ilya Rozanov, but the act itself, the discussion of Shane's injuries, that wasn't out of the ordinary.

Yuna had decided to give them a moment to wrap up as she finished drying her hands.

Except, instead of hearing the murmurings of a goodbye and the click of the door, Shane's voice came through in a new tone. Softer and almost… Imploring?

Hey was all he'd said. Repeating it when he received no answer, stretching out the end until Yuna heard movement and a satisfied little yessss taking its place.

"Better," he'd said, and Yuna had stepped towards the door. She'd left it cracked open, unwilling to put a closed door between herself and her injured son, and she used that gap to get a glance at what her son had been asking for. What he'd wanted so much from Rozanov; what had apparently been so obvious that he hadn't even needed to say it out loud.

They were holding hands.

It was Yuna's turn to freeze. Her body tensing as her mind raced to fit these new pieces into the puzzle of Shane's life. A puzzle she'd thought she knew, back to front and upside down.

The pieces where he holds Rozanov's hand, tells him he'd been excited for last night - last night? - and smiles up at him, clearly under the influence but still aware.

He wasn't acting this way because of the drugs, at least not entirely. He was acting this way because…

Yuna pushes the door open a little more, taking a silent step into the doorway. It goes unnoticed.

"Will you come to my cottage this summer?" Shane asks, eyes squinting closed, mouth upturned, and voice almost sing-song in tone. The words come out in a rush, like he'd been holding them under his tongue for too long and they'd managed to break free and run.

Yuna steps fully into the room. No one's noticed her yet.

And by no one, of course, she means her high, injured, delirious son, and his… Partner, rival, boyfriend, something? Whose back is facing her.

Yuna has a fleeting wish that she'd worn heels today. That she could alert them to her presence through less pointed means. Less purposefully intrusive.

Shane's still babbling - don't go to Russia and come to my house and we'll have so much fun - and she knows she can't let this go on any longer. She'd already overheard far more than either boy had intended for her to know.

She remembers a time when Shane used to tell her everything.

Yuna clears her throat.

Chapter End Notes

I love david but I wanted this to be yuna-centric so he visited the night before (he was driving that's why yuna was on her phone she is not irresponsible) but he's out getting breakfast/coffee/lunch or something rn

chapter 2 is longer and mostly written so probably not far away :)

come find me on tumblr here!

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

The boys jump apart like they've been electrocuted.

Shane's heart rate spikes on the machine, and Rozanov's eyes widen almost comically large before darting towards the door.

Would he really leave Shane to deal with this alone?

Yuna is heavily judging her son's taste in men.

Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Instead of running, thankfully, he straightens his spine. He looks for all the world like he's preparing to go to war. Like he's preparing to physically place himself between Yuna and her son if he deems it necessary.

Huh.

"Mom!" Shane's exclamation is louder than he appears to anticipate, as he winces at the sound of his own voice. "When did…" He starts to question, trailing off with an adorably confused scrunch of his brow. "Mom," he says again, drawing out the final letter into a hum.

He makes a motion as if to lift his right hand in her direction before realising it's still caught up in the sling. He winces a little and glares down at the offending garment as if it's somehow at fault for his current predicament.

Yuna's chest warms at the endearing picture he makes.

She steps forward, placing her hand gently on his shin over the blanket in lieu of holding his hand. He'd reached for her. She'd heard something that couldn't mean anything less than his own accidental outing, and he'd reached for her.

Even as under the influence as he was, that had to count for something.

The hurt in her chest, lingering over his lack of trust - why hadn't he told me, why hadn't he told me, why hadn't he told me - is soothed slightly.

"Hi," he huffs out, sounding comforted and relaxed and closing his eyes against the world.

They spring back open a second later.

"Mom!"

He's far more lucid this time, and his gaze flicks between her and the silent Russian hockey player standing by the other side of his bed. They aren't holding hands anymore, but Yuna sees Shane's fingers twitch to the edge of the bed until his littlest is pressed gently against the side of Rozanov's leg.

Fuck.

She'd thought Shane was out of surprises for her. Even as a boy he'd craved routine, putting up a fuss at anything unexpected, anything not in line with The Plan.

He'd grown into that as a man. Kept his life as stable as it could be as an active hockey player. He liked the same food at the same restaurants. He liked to decompress at home, alone. He liked the routine of starting his mornings with a smoothie before exercising. He'd watch the same shows and films over and over. He washed his dishes at the same time every day he was home, jogged the same route, slept the same hours. She'd thought she could set her clock by him.

Yuna feels off-kilter, knowing there's been a routine of Shane's that she'd never known about.

Because this wasn't a new thing, for them. That much is obvious. The comfort he'd taken in Rozanov's presence ("Ilyaaaaa…" she hears distantly, echoing in her mind) can only be born of familiarity.

Dates flip through her mind like a calendar; all the games against Boston, the ones in Montreal, the ones away. The all-stars. Tampa, most recently.

She wonders how far back it goes. How little she truly knows about her son's life.

It's not even like the gay part is throwing her. They'd speculated before, her and David, and came to the conclusion that if it was the case, they'd let Shane come to them in his own time. And if not, then there was no need to corner him about his dating life, or apparent lack thereof.

But Ilya Rozanov?

There's a supercut of memories flashing through her head. All the times she'd talked badly about him to Shane. All the games they'd watched, celebrating his losses, all the fights they'd seen him start - "what an asshole" she'd say, shaking her head derisively.

Was that why, she wondered, why he felt he couldn't tell her?

Was he sat there, game after game, time after time, thinking of the boy who'd softly stroke the back of his fingers over his freckles and listening to his mother call him an asshole? A shit-stirring jerk? An arrogant little fuck?

Had he sat there and thought 'he's not like that with me' and said nothing?

Had he sat there and thought he couldn't even tell her he was gay?

The thought makes her feel sick.

"Hi, baby," she starts, keeping her voice soft, "I just stepped into the bathroom for a minute, remember?"

The way all three of them glance over at the bathroom door would be comedic to anyone else, she's sure. As it stands, both her son and Rozanov look a little sickly at the idea.

She knows the feeling.

"So, uh, you two are…?" Yuna's giving them the opportunity to jump in with a title, a descriptor, but they remain silent and awkward and so very uncomfortable. "Right," she switches tactics, the hand previously resting on Shane's shin rising to hold out in Rozanov's direction. "It's nice to meet you, officially, Ilya Rozanov. I'm Yuna."

She doesn't give a surname. Both because it's quite obvious, and she's trying to give him implicit permission to call her by her first name. That's what one does with their son's… Partner? Right?

His eyes flick to Shane, who appears both shellshocked and entirely out of it.

Yeah, I don't think he's gonna be much help right now, buddy.

"Is nice to meet you too, Mrs Hollander. H-Shane tells me good things. He loves you very much." Rozanov stresses the last line in particular as he shakes her hand. Firm but gentle.

"I love him very much too," she says, watching the Russian's shoulders drop a little.

No matter her personal feelings about the boy, she's at least vaguely aware of the political climate in Russia (and distinctly remembers the cold, standoffish, borderline cruel countenance of his father during draft season), so she can understand his initial hesitancy.

She's a little grateful for it, honestly. Proof of his care for Shane.

"This is nice," Shane mumbles, watching their hands as they separate. Yuna's not entirely sure she can agree with this sentiment, and based on the complicated expressions flitting across Rozanov's face, he's in much the same boat.

Shane's hand hasn't moved from where he'd pressed the side of his pinkie finger against Rozanov's leg.

Rozanov looks over at her son, whose spaced-out expression seems to land somewhere between sleepy and happy, and the fondness that flashes in Rozanov's eyes, in the tilt of his lips, speaks volumes.

He clears his throat a second later and it's gone without a trace.

"I should go, probably." He's looking at Shane as he speaks, but his eyes flicker in Yuna's direction and she knows he's hoping she won't try to convince him to stay.

Yeah, don't worry about that.

Shane lets out a noise, a quiet little hum of complaint. It's the same one he used to make when she'd refuse to read him another chapter after bedtime as a child. 'The book will still be there tomorrow, Shane,' she'd say, tucking said book under her arm as she pulled up his blanket, 'it'll wait for us to come back to it. Promise.'

Even then they'd mostly been about hockey. When her son loved something he did it with his whole being.

Did he love Rozanov? Would Rozanov still be there tomorrow?

It was all so much easier when she used to have the answers he needed, when she could speak reassurances with certainty for him.

Shane huffs out a disappointed sigh but then clears his throat, appearing to once again clue in to the fact that they aren't alone.

"Okay," he says.

Yuna sees his fingers twitch, before curling in on themselves away from Rozanov's leg.

She feels the loss like it's her own. A pit in the chest. A weight in the stomach.

How long had Shane been denying himself the simplest of touches with the man he has feelings for?

Rozanov turns to her then, tight almost-smile flashing across his lips. Polite, if a little awkward.

"It was nice to meet you, Mrs Hollander."

And then, in a move that tells Yuna more than anything else today, he touches the tips of his fingers to the bruising under Shane's eyes so gently he's barely making contact. But he is. In front of her.  On purpose.

"Feel better soon, Hollander."

It's a plea as much as an instruction.

And then he's gone, and Yuna is alone with her son. Her concussed, drugged, severely impaired son.

She could ask. One of the millions of questions racing around her head desperately. More than one. She could ask a lot of him right now, knowing he'd give more than normal. She could start to put the new puzzle pieces into place until the world felt less tilted once more, and she felt again like she knew her son, inside and out.

It's tempting.

She won't. She's already taken more than Shane was willing to give today, even if by accident. What kind of mother would it make her to take more on purpose?

No. For now, she would retake her previously abandoned seat next to his bed, and re-hold her only son's hand.

The one he'd used to hold onto the tiniest point of contact with Ilya Rozanov.

And she'd try not to cry.

Chapter End Notes

hudson played up the drugged-out act and in turn I played up his playing up so shane is like barely lucid here. sorry. I wanted to give yuna the time to process before he panics, so of course mr panic attack has to be quite out of it for that

 

come find me on tumblr!