Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Irina Rozanova

Additional Tags:

in which i give irina rozanova a wife, in which i also give ilya rozanov a much easier life, i felt like doing something nice for him after spending months putting him through the horrors, so i gave him DEB, this is literally the fluffiest thing i have ever written in my life, i forgot how little conflict was in this until i was editing it, and then i was like damn should I make things a little less perfect? and the answer is no, sure homophobia exists in this universe but is ilya bothered by it? NO, Suicidal Thoughts, all VERY glossed over and in the very beginning of the fic, yet another fic that could have been 100k but im being smart and keeping it reasonable, but i did sort of want to write about ilya and his two moms forever, Irina Rozanova Lives

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-13 Words: 11,322 Chapters: 1/1

Ilya Rozanov's Two Moms

Summary

Irina survives, flees with Ilya to Boston, and marries a woman named Debbie.

Ilya's life looks a little different, after that.

Notes

This fic was a Shower Thought that wouldn't stay in the shower. I got out of the shower and immediately wrote the first couple of lines on my phone lmao. I just think it would be neat, idk!

I gave Shane kind of his ideal situation in Shipping up to Boston, and this feels very much like a sibling of that fic, to me, in the sense that it's a bit unrealistically sweet, but who cares? It's my fic!

When Ilya is twelve years old, his mother nearly kills herself. 

(He doesn't find this out until years later).

She almost goes through with it, but her husband must have seen signs, because the pills she was going to use disappear from the hidden place where she has been squirreling them away for months.

(Neither of them ever find out that it was actually Alexei who found them and flushed them down the toilet).

Ilya supposes, later—once he has heard the barest, most careful parts of the story that Irina consents to tell him—that she must have cast about for other options. Sometimes he understands how she must have felt (he doesn't tell her this part until he is thirty, happily married to Shane Hollander, and comfortably medicated), so he expects she probably combed through the house, looking for anything she could use instead. But pills would have been easiest, for her. She probably didn't like the idea of leaving a mess behind, and she has never been able to stomach the sight of blood. Even when she would care for Ilya's minor injuries as a child, she would have to make her eyes go fuzzy and indistinct as she cleaned and bandaged them. Ilya always thought that was so sweet. His mama. 

They don't talk about why she made the decision to leave Russia soon after that. They don't talk about whether she tried to bring Alexei too, so much his father's shadow already (she did; he helped them escape. Another thing that Ilya won't learn until years have passed). Ilya trusts his mama more than anyone else, and so he goes with her when she asks, especially because he can see that she's desperate. When they get to America, to Boston, Svetlana and her mother and her aunt are waiting for them at Logan Airport, welcoming them to America. Svetlana is holding a big sign that says Ilyushka with hearts all over it. His name is written in some sort of glittery pink paint. He slips out of his mother's hold and runs to hug Sveta, and she looms over him the way she has been doing lately, because she won't stop growing, and Ilya has yet to catch up. He doesn't mind, this time, because it makes him feel safe. He's beginning to think, with frightful hope, that they might have just left Russia for good.

 

---

 

Yelena, Svetlana's aunt, is Sergei's sister, but everyone knows that Sergei lost her in his recent divorce from Madeline, Svetlana's mother. Yelena lives less than a five minute walk from the enormous brownstone that used to be Sergei's and now houses Madeline, Svetlana, Ilya, and Irina. Yelena accompanies Svetlana whenever she goes back to Russia, so she still has many connections there, and Ilya has met her before, though sparingly; his father has never liked her. This is probably because she’s amazing, and because she thinks Ilya’s father is a “fucking loser” (something she says almost immediately when they get into the hired car to take them from the airport to Svetlana’s house. Irina flinches and shushes her, maybe still too fresh from leaving him, but Ilya and Svetlana both giggle in the backseat.) 

It’s easy to like Yelena; she’s very direct. She comes over to the brownstone all the time and tells them all about how much she enjoys living in Boston, and how much she prefers it to Russia. Ilya has heard the jokes some people make about Yelena to Sergei, about how American and mannish she has become. They tease Sergei like it makes him less of a man because Yelena has taken over running his various car dealership businesses now that Sergei is back in Russia, but Sergei has never joined in, and it always made Ilya like him a little more. Maybe made him jealous. He has always been so sensitive to the things his father says to and about him, but Sergei just rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively, like Grigori's words mean nothing. 

(Ilya assumes that Sergei doesn't know about what his wife and sister are doing with Irina and Ilya, but later he will discover that Sergei is the one who got them the papers to get them out of the country, and that he for the next few years will play the part of outraged friend of Grigori’s while secretly funneling money and information to Irina through Yelena. It's possible Grigori is the only person surprised when Madeline and Sergei end up remarrying a few years later.) 

If it was up to Madeline, Ilya and Irina would live with them forever, but Irina starts making uncomfortable noises about not wanting to burden them almost as soon as they settle in. Yelena says she will handle everything, and she follows through on that, though Ilya can tell that his mama hates becoming deeper and deeper in debt even to these friends who love them. Yelena finds them a lawyer, and she brings them to all of their immigration meetings, and she tells them all the right things to say to make sure that everything proceeds smoothly. Ilya is used to downplaying abuse from his father—is used to not thinking words like abuse at all, really—but Yelena pulls him aside and tells him that any detail he gives will be helpful to his mama’s case, and of course it is the right thing to say. Ilya tells them everything. 

Irina still has her fading bruises, and Ilya has a few of his own, and there are plenty of people willing to confirm their stories. Ilya doesn't really pay attention to the proceedings, mostly because Irina won’t let him. He and Svetlana have never spent so much time together, and it's exciting for her to show Ilya all of her favorite places in her neighborhood. Mostly, Ilya forces himself to try and enjoy it without complications, and he tries not to think about the other stuff, the bad stuff, the stuff he's afraid he will have to go back to, some day, because being on his own with just mama and Svetlana and Madeline and Yelena feels too good to last. 

In Moscow, Ilya's family was wealthy, but Irina doesn't have a lot of money, and it’s quickly clear that they won’t be able to afford much in Boston. Yelena has a realtor friend, because she is the sort of person who has friends everywhere, and this realtor friend leads Irina and Ilya through the cheaper parts of the city, showing off these tiny little apartments as if they are grand palaces. He has a strange, dry way of speaking, very fast and funny. Ilya’s English is still not very good beyond the basics, but he understands more of the realtor’s jokes than his mother does, and he dutifully translates them so that she can laugh as well. The realtor's name is Donny, and at one point he says my boyfriend and does not pause or flinch or look ashamed for having admitted it, and Ilya feels something terrible swirling in his chest. Relief, partially, but also a terror that this will all be taken away, and that he will have to go back to a place where a word like that isn't possible. 

Irina practices her English constantly, picking it up faster than Ilya has ever seen her do anything. It's such a relief to see her so motivated after the last year of sad listlessness that plagued their every interaction. Ilya supposes that it's the relief of not being back there with his father, and only later will understand that she's also just relieved to still be alive, and grateful, and desperate to stay that way. Ilya is worried about when he will have to start school, and so he practices his own English just as hard, picking it up much more quickly with Svetlana to help him. He and Irina practice together at night, imitating the words of the characters in the American shows they watch together, making each other laugh with their terrible attempts at American accents. Donny keeps telling them both that their English gets better every time he sees them, which makes Irina smile with pleased pride, and Ilya loves Donny fiercely for saying it. 

Yelena offers Irina a job at one of Sergei's car dealerships. The dealership is one of many car dealerships along a stretch of road they call the “Route 1 Automile”, a bit south of Boston, and so Donny shifts their apartment hunt a little further in that direction, where the apartments are a big larger and a bit cheaper because they're further outside the city. They finally find an affordable place in a neighborhood called West Roxbury, in an ugly, boxy apartment building. Their tiny balcony looks out over a wide, tree-lined street, and Ilya knows how much his mama likes to sit and drink her coffee and people-watch, and so he's not very surprised when she chooses it. She starts the process of enrolling him in school, and Ilya aches to ask about hockey, but he doesn't dare. He's afraid to sound ungrateful, or like he wants more, when she has already worked so hard to give him this. 

 

---

 

Sergei is the one who eventually pays for his hockey camps and his gear and his continued participation in travel teams, though this is another thing that Irina and Ilya will find out much later. Yelena pretends the gift is from her, and Irina almost rejects it, because Svetlana's family has already done so much for them. But Yelena is a very no-nonsense woman. She likes to say she has lived in Boston too long, and that she is now both Boston and Moscow in one, which means she's a woman who gets her way. Ilya never finds out what she says to Irina to get her to accept the gift. He's a little afraid to ask and ruin it. He wants to play hockey so badly. 

“You'll see, mama. I'll be the best player in the world for you, and then I will buy you a house, and ten cars, and anything you want. Anything.”

Irina laughs and kisses his cheeks and calls him an eager little sunbeam, and he thinks maybe she doesn't believe him, which is silly of her, because he's going to do all of it. 

 

---

 

They meet Debbie O’Brien two months after they have moved into their new apartment. Ilya has noticed her before, because she's always outside working in her pretty little garden in the afternoons, and she usually waves at the kids when they get off the bus. Some of them who have lived in the apartments for longer call her Miss O'Brien, because apparently she used to be a teacher at the elementary school, and some of them had her when they were younger. She's a hairdresser now, and works mostly out of her house, which Ilya knows because she does the hair of the kids in the apartment building for free. Irina keeps saying she has to make an appointment for Ilya—whose hair is at a length that probably would have seen him beaten by his father and mocked mercilessly by his brother, if they were still at home—but always looks a little flustered when she thinks of it, and then forgets. Debbie is tall, with long, curly red-brown hair that she usually keeps in a braid. Her skin is always a little bit red from the sun, and she wears a straw hat when she's gardening. She reminds Ilya of a cartoon drawing of a farmer, the kind in children's books.

She lives alone in her little house, a few houses down from the apartment building, and Ilya finally meets her for real one day when he's getting off the bus in the afternoon. His schoolbag breaks, the heavy books ripping through the cheap plastic. Ilya is blinking with tired annoyance down at his papers and pencils and books scattered on the sidewalk, and then there is this woman laughing helplessly from where she's weeding next to her white picket fence. 

“Oh, kid, your face,” she cackles in her smoker’s voice, in her very Boston accent. “One second, sweetheart. Wait right there.”

She darts inside and then comes right back out again with a much sturdier brown leather bag, something a grownup would carry. Ilya thanks her as she helps him pack everything away, and she calls him such a polite little man, which he expects to hate, but doesn’t. By the time they’re finished, Irina has made her way down the street, because she always watches Ilya get off the bus from the balcony. When she sees what Debbie has done, she thanks her profusely, and Debbie demurs, blinking down at Irina with pleased surprise. 

Irina invites Debbie up for some tea to say thank you. 

By the time Ilya turns fourteen, Debbie and Irina are all but married, and Irina and Ilya move into Debbie's house. 

 

---

 

Ilya isn’t necessarily bothered by having two mothers, in part because he can tell that some of his teammates want him to be bothered, and he can tell that Irina worries he'll be bothered, and Ilya never likes to do the expected thing. He also isn’t bothered by it because it helps him immediately feel more comfortable about the nameless things he has long suspected about himself. When he kisses his first boy, his second year of high school, he knows for sure. He goes home and tells Irina and Deb immediately. Deb laughs at him with her loud, pealing laugh, which is his favorite, and he laughs with her, still a little giddy. Irina kisses him on the forehead. 

“Thank you for telling us, my sweet boy,” she coos, like he's still twelve years old, or maybe six. 

“I don't think you'll be surprised to hear we're cool with it, Little Man,” Deb points out dryly, but she kisses him on the forehead too, just to make sure he doesn’t think she’s really teasing him. 

Ilya thinks he might be the luckiest person on the planet, to have two mothers who love each other and love him. Irina was so careful introducing the idea of her and Deb dating that it makes Ilya’s stomach hurt to remember it, to know that he caused his mother any sort of pain because she feared, maybe, that she hadn’t gotten him away from his father in time. Like some of Grigori’s poison would have seeped into him, and he would hate her for loving a woman. Ilya has done everything since then to make sure that she understands that he loves Deb too, and loves her especially because she makes his mama so happy. Grigori has no power here, across the ocean. He has no power in Ilya’s heart. 

There are times Ilya can tell that Irina is worried that he will resent her if she doesn't acknowledge his father, or maybe it's just that she thinks she should feel guilty for taking him, still, even though Ilya is so happy to be away from his father and brother that sometimes he wakes up panicking that he'll be forced to go back there, even though he knows he won't. He always tells his mama that she and Deb are more than enough, and he hopes that she believes it. He starts referring to Deb as his other mother almost as soon as she and Irina are officially together, because he wants Irina to understand that he likes it this way. Loves Deb and her loud laugh and her hairdresser gossipy tone of voice and the fact that she's terrible at math but loves helping him with his homework so they can both get better at it. Sometimes people are surprised when they realize that Ilya has only known Deb since he was twelve, because they both act like she raised him, but Ilya always shrugs them off. 

“If you had my father as a parent, you would want to forget him, too,” he always says. 

 

---

 

The night of the draft is the happiest night of his life. He suspected it would be, or maybe hoped is a better way to put it. As soon as he knew that Boston would have the first pick, he knew he needed to be that first pick, and he knew that he would be. He had been prepared to move away from Irina and Deb, knowing that he would be able to support them with his salary and pay them back for their years of supporting him, but it would have been difficult. He doesn't like to be away from his mother for long, and so it feels like fate, in the end, to be rewarded for all of his hard work. 

He feels a little sorry for poor Shane Hollander, who clearly expected to go first, and who looks faintly miserable every time Ilya sees him for that entire night. Ilya considers introducing himself a few times, but Hollander is always standing with his parents on either side like watchful guardians. Ilya's own mothers are with Svetlana, taking advantage of the open bar and making incredibly brutal comments about the various coaches and GMs and other assorted old men with mostly terrible haircuts around the room, so Ilya is currently avoiding their side of the room, and is sticking with his agent—a friend of Yelena’s named Maria who only isn't drinking with the others because she's a professional, though she does keep sighing through conversations with the various Boston staff who keep introducing themselves. 

Irina, Deb, and Svetlana all separately warned him to behave and not immediately ruin his first impression with the stuffy old men who run the league, but Ilya is terrible at listening to instructions, and so he finds himself laughing and charming the wives of several of those stuffy old men, and then being as honest as he wants to be when the Boston GM asks him what he's most looking forward to. 

“Staying close to my mamas,” he replies, watching the man’s face for a reaction as he says it. He hasn't exactly been shy about his upbringing, but he wants everyone he speaks to tonight to know that he's not just going to be not shy. He's going to be loud about it. He's not going to hide either of his mothers away. The GM gives him a knowing smile and claps him on the shoulder and asks Ilya to point them out so he can introduce himself. Ilya grins back at him, happy with the sincerity he hears in the man’s voice, and points him in the right direction.

“I am sorry for anything they say,” he says as the GM walks away. “They are probably very tipsy by now!”

As Ilya turns away to find someone new to talk to, he spots Hollander watching him. It dims Ilya's mood immediately, not because Hollander looks particularly unfriendly (although he does), but because he looks sad. Not sad about the draft, Ilya doesn't think. He has a nose for these things. 

Hollander's parents are busy talking to the Montreal coach and a few other men Ilya doesn’t recognize, and so Ilya takes advantage of the opportunity and sidles up, offering Hollander a water that he snags from a passing waiter. Hollander sniffs it suspiciously, which makes Ilya smile for some reason. 

Satisfied that Ilya isn't trying to get him in trouble, Hollander takes a nervous sip and then apparently remembers his manners and sticks out his hand. 

“Congratulations,” he says. He smiles wryly, like he's trying to decide if he's more impressed or upset. “You deserve it. You're a great player to watch.”

“Ah, you have been watching me play?” Ilya asks, grinning savagely. Hollander looks taken aback, as if he has been accused of something. Oh yes, Ilya is correct about this one. He knows it. This is good. Hollander has a cute face, and adorable freckles, and pretty eyes, and he's a fucking demon on the ice, and Ilya already couldn’t wait to play against him, and now Hollander is standing in front of him and can’t stop looking at Ilya’s lips. This night really cannot get any better.

“Oh, I mean, yeah, I watch everyone,” Hollander says guilelessly. “I'm kind of, like, obsessed. With hockey.”

He adds those last two words desperately to the end of the thought, and Ilya hides a smile in his sip of water. 

“Mm, me too,” he says. “Maybe that's why we are so much better than everyone else.”

“Well,” Hollander admits with a huff of a laugh, peeking to his left, clearly to make sure his mother doesn't hear. It makes Ilya smile again. “Maybe.”

“No false humility with me, Hollander,” Ilya murmurs quietly, leaning in closer to make sure Hollander hears it, and of course taking note of the way Hollander immediately flushes pink when he does. “We are the only two worth anything.”

Hollander looks like he wants to argue for the sake of politeness, but he doesn't. Just looks at Ilya with frank, stupid want. Fuck. Ilya is nearly giddy with the unexpected excitement of this discovery. 

He beckons at Hollander, leading him away from the safety of his parents, who have yet to notice that he's not with them anymore. Yes, Ilya and Hollander are the same age, but he still feels a bit like a creep stealing a child away from his protectors. Ilya worries, a bit, when he sees the way Hollander's shoulders start to come down the further he gets from them, and he hopes Hollander is just tightly wound, and not actually afraid of them. Ilya plans to pretend that he hasn't been watching Hollander's games and his interviews just as obsessively as Hollander has probably been watching his, but he has been watching Hollander obsessively, and he knows Hollander talks about his mother and father often, always with that naive, loving smile on his face. So Ilya probably is just projecting because of his own unfortunate memories of his father. Hollander is probably just anxious around his parents because he wants to make them proud because he loves them so much, or something, and not because he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he doesn’t.

“Come, meet my parents,” Ilya says. “And my Sveta. You'll want to fall in love with her, probably, but don't do it. She's too high maintenance.”

He says this last part loudly for Svetlana's benefit as they approach, and she gasps in outrage.  

“Ruining my chances before I could even meet him,” she groans. She sticks out her hand, and then pulls Hollander in for a cheek kiss when he tries for a polite handshake. “Don't listen to him. I'm obsessed with you. So is he, by the way.”

“Fuck off! She’s a liar. Don't listen to her.”

“So why do you have a whole folder of videos on the office computer named ‘Hollander’?” Deb asks, betraying him immediately when she sees an opportunity to be funny. This is a trait she and Ilya share, so he can’t be too mad about it, but still. Hollander barks a surprised laugh. Ilya scowls. 

“Stop trying to scare him off! I was doing research on the opposition. This is Deb, Hollander. She is my ma.” He drawls the word in imitation of Deb’s Boston accent, like he always does, which makes Deb laugh as she shakes Hollander's hand. “She doesn't know who you are, because she doesn't give a shit about hockey if I'm not playing.”

“He's not lying, sorry,” Deb agrees cheerfully. “And I tune him out when he talks about you, so.”

“I don't talk about you,” Ilya insists. 

“Okay,” Hollander replies. His smile looks more real than it has any other part of the night, and he shakes Deb's hand politely. 

“And this is my Mama,” Ilya continues, bringing Irina away from the bar, grabbing her by the backs of her shoulders and turning her around. She's mid-sip of a brand new, nearly-overflowing cocktail when he does, and she laughs as some spills over her fingers. 

“Relax, you brat. Oh! He's handsome, isn't he?” She has luckily spoken in Russian, but then ruins it by saying to Hollander, in English, “I knew you were handsome from the interviews Ilyushka is always watching over and over again, but you are even cuter in person!”

“Oh my god,” Ilya groans loudly. Hollander grins even more incredulously. He looks like a man who has accepted that he's on a runaway train and that there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Uh, thank you, ma'am,” he says. 

“Ma'am,” Svetlana laughs. She wedges herself next to Hollander and throws an arm across his back. “Do you want to talk with me about all the things Montreal needs to do to win the cup in the next three years?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sort of. Do you want to talk about that?”

“I have a lot of notes,” Svetlana says, steering him away from Ilya, shooting a gleeful, triumphant glare over her shoulder as she does. “Starting with Oleson. He is too old. You will need a better winger than that, once they put you on the first line.”

“Oh, I know. I think the first…” 

Their voices fade as they melt into the crowd. Ilya isn’t worried. He leans back against the bar between his mothers, watching Svetlana fruitlessly attempt to seduce Hollander with her hockey talk. It’s a good angle. Ilya will give her that. Hollander looks more animated than he has all night. 

“She's barking up the wrong tree with that one, I think,” Deb drawls quietly. 

“Definitely,” Ilya agrees. Irina chokes a little on her drink. 

“Really?” she asks. “You think so? Why am I always the last one to notice these things?”

“Hun, it took you six months to realize I was flirting with you, and I was bringing out the big guns early,” Deb says. “Maybe just trust me and Little Man on this one.”

Ilya, who towers over Deb now but still secretly enjoys being called Little Man, grins knowingly in Hollander’s direction. Hollander seems very absorbed in his discussion with Svetlana, but he also keeps stealing furtive looks back at Ilya, and Ilya understands exactly what that means. 

 

---

 

Maria forces Ilya to mingle a bit more, which he does while always keeping an eye on Hollander and Svetlana. He's not the only one watching them; he sees Yuna Hollander spot her son at one point and smoothly elbow her husband in the ribs without breaking stride in her conversation with the commissioner. Hollander's father looks surprised when he spots Hollander, and then confused, and then a little impressed. 

Svetlana is eventually pulled away to talk to someone who played with her father, and Hollander immediately makes a beeline for Ilya, which makes Ilya feel something he can't put to words, yet. Like a storm of beetles has invaded his intestinal tract, but in a good way. 

“Is Svetlana like your girlfriend?” Hollander asks when he reaches Ilya, all intense nerves. 

“What? No. She wishes.” At Hollander's confused, slightly withering look, Ilya amends, “that was a joke. We are best friends, from childhood. Relax, Hollander.”

“Okay. Sorry. I didn't want…I thought it might look weird. I didn't want you to think I was, like…I have a girlfriend.”

That is a surprise. Ilya looks at him, one eyebrow raised. Looks at Hollander's tense shoulders and the furrow between his brows and the desperate eagerness in his eyes that he probably hasn't even begun to understand he feels. 

“Okay,” Ilya says, probably too gently. Hollander luckily doesn't notice to get defensive about it. Ilya clears his throat. “Svet will get over the heartbreak.” He claps Hollander on the shoulder, relieved when Hollander seems to go a bit more loose at the touch, apparently also relieved by Ilya's easy acceptance of his girlfriend's existence. “Maybe we can get someone to give us a real drink.”

“What? No. Come meet my parents.”

Ilya is surprised by the demand, but it's only fair, he supposes.  He's maybe a little bit nervous, but he follows Hollander and tries to look polite. Deb spots him from across the room and gestures at him to stop slouching, and he does, though he makes sure to roll his eyes big enough for her to see it, too. 

Yuna Hollander looks surprised to see her son leading Ilya over like a child who has found a stray dog on the street and is going to beg to keep it. She's polite, though, and she shakes his hand and tells him congratulations, and just like Holllander, he can tell that she both means it and doesn't mean it at the same time, but he doesn't really mind. He tells her that he's happy to be first pick because it means he gets to stay with his mothers, and boom. Heart slightly melted. David Hollander even goes “aw”.

Ilya holds his own in his conversation with the Hollanders. They're much more polite and much less embarrassing than his own parents, so of course he needs to wave his parents over so that they can embarrass him further. He's not sure why he's doing this to himself. Deb immediately starts complimenting both of them on their hair, because that's how she always breaks the ice, and Irina again says the thing about Shane being handsome, and then says, “I can see where he gets it from! What a beautiful couple!” And Ilya gets to do his humiliated groaning act while the Hollanders both go from politely amused to genuinely amused, and then everyone has become friends. Ilya is feeling pretty fucking good about it, other than the Hollander having a girlfriend thing. That part sucks. 

 

---

 

He regrets not getting Hollander's number that night, but he chickens out, thinking of Hollander's aggressive stance and the insistent way he said I have a girlfriend. Ilya knows how homophobic their sport is, has heard plenty of terrible things from teammates who either don't realize or don't care about Ilya's mothers. He knows that Hollander has probably been given shit for his race already, and probably doesn't want to be targeted for liking dudes, too. Ilya gets that. A girlfriend is probably good for him. Hopefully she's good to him. Maybe Hollander is good enough at self-denial that he won't even notice what he's missing. He can get away with mooning after Ilya occasionally with those lethally beautiful eyes of his while pretending his girlfriend is enough for him. Not everyone has the ability to notice what those kinds of looks mean. 

But Ilya is not Hollander. Ilya didn't really date in high school, but he did hook up, and he sees no need to not continue that. He's not in denial about anything, and he likes going on casual dates, likes sex, likes the comfort of knowing where he stands with people. He doesn't need a girlfriend to force himself to pretend that's all he wants. He hooks up with girls, mostly, but he still likes guys, and he wants to hook up with guys, too, and he doesn't want to have to be afraid of it, the way Hollander looked so afraid of it that he has probably hidden his own desires even from himself, which seems terrible and miserable and not Ilya's style at all. He was afraid, back in Russia, but he's not Russian anymore. He's American now, with citizenship and everything, and he lives in Massachusetts now, where his mothers were able to get married legally just as soon as Irina got her divorce, and why should he have to hide who he is? He's the number one draft pick, the best player in the world, and he has two mothers, and he likes dick. Okay! Who cares?

He takes that energy to his first season with the Raiders. After one of his first games, after he scores both of their goals and helps them to a win over the Admirals—Montreal may be their rivals, but Boston vs New York beef is eternal no matter the sport—he’s pulled for media, because they want him to say cocky asshole things about New York to feed the Boston sports fans, and he gives the interview sweaty and shirtless, incandescently happy to be there. 

“What's your favorite part about living in Boston so far?” asks one reporter, who must not know anything about him. Ilya laughs a little, gives a look to the other reporters like, is this guy for real?

“I have lived here since I was twelve years old,” he answers, feigning real offense. “What, because I still have an accent, you think I just got here? Pfft. I am more Massachusetts than you, probably. Ignore how I just said ‘Massachusetts’. I still say that weird.” Laughter, as he expected. “Of course my mama had to pick the hardest state to say when we moved here. Let's just say Boston. I am more Boston than you. I know the best places to eat. I know the better ways to avoid traffic. Note I said better. I know the secret is that the traffic will always be bad. I am wicked Boston, kid.” More polite laughter at his very bad attempt at a Boston accent, because no matter how much time he spends attempting to imitate Deb, he's still pretty bad at it, which really is half the joke anyway. He knows what he's going to say only half a second before he says it. “I mean, I have two mothers! I am bisexual! What is more Boston than that?” He expects to feel terror at having said it out loud, but he doesn't. Only giddy pleasure at having made the leap. No going back now. “But, to answer your question, my favorite part of living here is that we all must be loyal to Dunkin Donuts even though I think we all secretly agree it’s just okay. I think Honey Dew is better, maybe.”

Predictably, everyone goes a bit insane at that, possibly even more than about the bisexual thing. 

Well, okay, they go pretty batshit about the bisexual thing, too. 

 

---

 

His agent is unsurprised with him, and only mostly annoyed that he couldn't have at least said Starbucks was better so they could chase a lucrative sponsorship deal. Ilya does an apology tour with some Dunkin corporate people that social media finds hilarious, and then two days later he's filmed drinking a Honey Dew iced coffee on his way into TD Garden, giving a wink to the camera, the red straw hanging out of his mouth instead of Dunkin pink and orange, and everyone accepts that he's doing a bit, and they love him even more. 

Lots of people are on his side about the Honey Dew thing, because it's even more regionally specific than Dunkin, and people love feeling like they are in the minority about this sort of thing. The truth is that Ilya doesn't care what kind of iced coffee he drinks; he just needs as much of it as possible, even in the winter, which is, in his opinion, the most Massachusetts answer. But it works as a distraction, and it makes people like him even more, and that was the whole point. 

His agent fields some calls from the commissioner, apparently, only telling him the barest information, like that Crowell is unhappy with him. Unfortunately for Crowell, Boston's team immediately loves him. Everyone from the social media team to the coach to the fucking goalie can't stop talking about what a value add he is, not just in terms of skill but in terms of personality. A couple of the guys say homophobic things, but they are all far worse players than him, and they learn quickly not to be homophobic out loud, to his face, because he has much more hurtful things to say to them than they have to say about him. They care about their lack of ice time and their zero sponsorships and the fact that they don't have connections with luxury dealerships on the Automile, whereas he doesn't care that he sucks dick. So if they say something about him being a cocksucker, okay? What's the issue? Yes, I suck cock sometimes. You want tips on how to play fucking hockey so you don't end up being sent back down to Providence?

He picks up, girls mostly, still, but some guys, too. He goes to all the clubs with his team, and a few of his new friends even agree to come with him to Ilya Rozanov Night at a gay club called Machine, which is very exciting, especially since it's sponsored partially by Honey Dew Donuts. When he's asked about it, a few days later, he winks at the camera and says it was a great time. Cliff Marleau can't stop talking to the media about how friendly everyone was at the club, and how he's also coming around on the Honey Dew thing. He's immediately Ilya's best friend on the team. 

Maria is already working on making his first appearance at the Boston Pride Parade a massive deal. She has decided that if he's going to lean into it, he might as well jump in with abandon. Full cannonball. Ilya thinks that's a pretty good strategy, and it’s the strategy that allows him to have the most fun, so he embraces it. 

His mothers are obviously very proud of him, though Irina gets that furrow between her brows that gets more pronounced in basically half of the conversations he has with her, and it gets even more pronounced the first time she sits down with him and asks him if he’s sure. 

“It’s too late anyway,” he says, trying to sound unbothered, but that just makes her look even more furrowed and sad, and he feels guilty for doing it to her. “Mama, I’m not worried. I don’t ever want to go back there. I know my father will probably have some things to say, but it isn’t like we ever talk. If he calls and tries, I will hang up on him, like I always do.” He hasn’t spoken to his father in three years, at this point. They used to talk on the phone sometimes, because Ilya felt obligated to give him a chance, but he doesn’t feel that anymore. HIs father is nothing but an unfortunate memory of a time in his life when he thought he knew the limits of what his life was going to be, and he’s grateful every day that he’s no longer in that place anymore, all because of his mama. 

“Okay, my sweet boy,” she sighs, and she pulls him down by his shoulder so that she can kiss him on the forehead, the way she likes to do. “I will be behind you for everything. You know this, right?” 

“Of course I do,” he replies. He’s surprised she even has to ask. 

 

---

 

The first game he plays against Shane Hollander is in Montreal. He's expecting Hollander to avoid him, afraid that someone will see something in him if he's too close to Ilya, maybe, and is pleased when Hollander immediately skates up to him during warm-ups, approaching with his hand out to shake. Ilya takes it gladly, grins at him. 

“Hello again, Hollander,” he says, hopefully hiding his relief. Hollander had been so tightly wound, on draft night. So clearly afraid of telegraphing something that he didn’t realize he was projecting like a bat signal for Ilya specifically. Ilya is glad he didn’t push it, that night, because Hollander looks so unburdened by his fear now. 

“Hi,” Hollander says. He sounds a little breathless, which is unfortunately very interesting, and potentially distracting. Ilya hopes his mothers aren’t watching yet. If the cameras are on them right now, Deb will already be texting him devastating chirps, and Irina will probably text something like he’s so handsome on the ice, too, don’t you think? “Um, I just wanted to…it was really brave, what you said. Did, I guess. What you did. Um. Coming out.” He says this last part quietly, in an undertone, and Ilya doesn’t bother to hide his amused smile. Hollander scoffs, embarrassed. “Shut up. I’m just…” 

“Is okay,” Ilya says, putting him out of his misery. “I didn’t feel very brave. Just felt like the obvious thing to say. I don’t want to spend my whole life pretending I’m something I’m not.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course not,” Hollander says, shameless, as if he’s probably not planning to do exactly that, unless Ilya can convince him it’ll be worth it to accept the truth. “I just mean, you know, with the league and stuff.” 

“Eh, what do I care about the league? I am the best player in it, and people are obsessed with me.” 

Hollander scoffs, rolls his eyes, starts to turn away. 

“Okay, asshole,” he says, but fondly enough that Ilya takes a risk. 

“If I was really brave, I would have asked for your number on draft night,” he says. Hollander freezes, looks at him with those big, beautiful eyes, incredulous. Then he skates off, back to his team.

He looks back over his shoulder twice before he gets there. The second time, he’s even smiling a little. Ilya knows what that means, too.

 

---

 

He’s not surprised to have a private message waiting for him on Twitter from Hollander, after the game. A phone number, and then an address, and instructions on how to get into the building. Ilya is apparently not the only brave one. 

 

---

 

Hollander opens the door to his stairwell looking a bit confused about everything, like some horny demon took over his body and made him send those messages and now he can't figure out why Ilya is here, but he lets Ilya up, tells him to take his shoes off at the door, and then they stand in Hollander’s tastefully lit apartment, staring at each other. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend anymore,” Hollander blurts. Ilya bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely. Everything about Hollander cracks him up, for some reason. He’s so tense all the time, so perfectly poised in interviews, so fucking good on the ice. The way he talks when it's just the two of them, it's like he's always trying to shoot Ilya with his mouth, or like he has held back his real thoughts for so long that any time he opens his mouth to speak to Ilya, it all rushes out at once. 

“That’s probably good for both of you,” Ilya says, and Hollander scowls. 

“Shut up, don’t be an asshole.” 

“You invited me over to fuck, Hollander. I don’t think I’m being an asshole if I’m glad you don’t have a girlfriend.” 

“Well, yeah, okay,” Hollander admits, annoyance deflating instantly, leaving what looks like poorly hidden anxiety in its place. “I, uh. I mean, I’ve never…obviously, I’ve never.” 

“Hollander, relax,” Ilya says, and then he kisses him. 

He’s expecting Hollander to be a very shy kisser, hesitant, probably a bit sweet, without meaning to be. Overwhelmed, perhaps, but maybe that’s just Ilya being too confident in himself, which is not unusual. Instead, Hollander throws himself into the kiss with as much abandon as he threw himself into keeping up with Ilya during the game, which is so immediately thrilling that Ilya wants to cackle aloud, but he can't, because Hollander is trying to inhale him completely, gripping the back of his head tightly, fingers twining in his hair. It hurts, bruising where his blunt fingertips dig into Ilya's scalp and sharp where he's pulling at Ilya's curls, but it's the exact kind of hurt Ilya craves, and he melts into the kiss. 

“Holy shit,” he says afterward. “Hollander. You know we don't get points for any of this, right?” 

Hollander glares at him incredulously, but he's standing so stiffly that Ilya knows he must be anxious, genuinely thrown by the comment, and so Ilya hauls Hollander in by the front of his sweatshirt and kisses him again, just as filthy, and revels in the way Hollander goes so soft and boneless in response. Yes, okay, Hollander is definitely into men, and definitely into him, and he's pulling Ilya close, and Ilya is glad he waited, and didn't push on draft night. He smiles into the kiss to think of Hollander rushing to tell him that he didn't have a girlfriend anymore. Smiles wider to think of how brave Hollander must have felt, opening up Twitter and finding Ilya's account and sending him those messages, not knowing if Ilya would respond. Hollander's hands are shaking with his desire, and Ilya feels stronger than he has ever felt in his life. Somehow, it's more heady than it was for that entire club to be chanting his name on a night specifically designed to celebrate him. Somehow, Hollander's perfect mouth and perfect hands and perfect eyes are making him feel more sure of himself than anything else ever has. 

Hollander almost immediately drops to his knees, which surprises Ilya, genuinely. It's just like being on the ice with him; with all the tape Ilya has watched, he should know Hollander perfectly, should know his every move in advance, but in the game tonight, Hollander was always doing what Ilya didn't expect, and it was fucking thrilling then, and it's even more thrilling now. Ilya's head slams hard back against the wall, and Hollander pauses in the act of pulling down Ilya's sweatpants to check on him. 

“I'm fine. Fuck. Keep going,” Ilya begs him, hearing just how uncool he sounds now, his voice wavering slightly with his want. Hollander gives him another once-over, but he listens, focused like he's trying a new play for the first time. He eyes Ilya's cock like it's Ilya's face, across from him in the faceoff. Ilya tries not to laugh, but he can't help it. Luckily, Hollander doesn't seem to notice, or at least understands it's not meant to be insulting. Ilya is just very charmed. He's even more charmed when Hollander starts sucking his dick, obviously.

Hollander is enthusiastic and eager to learn, and he looks far too pleased with himself when Ilya has to stop him fairly quickly because he's getting too close, and he doesn't want it to end yet. Ilya keeps feeling like he must be dreaming, like this can't possibly be real, which makes him feel even less cool. He's used to being the one making people feel special.  He's not used to being on the other end of it. 

“Can we...can you…can you fuck me?” Hollander asks. Blurts, really, like he had to force it out before he could swallow it back and go back to pretending he's not aching for it. He blushes afterwards, scowls when Ilya laughs, but he goes soft again when Ilya pulls him in for another gentle kiss. 

“Of course, if you want,” Ilya says. “I want this very badly.”

“Oh, okay, good. I've been, uh. Doing some googling, so. And I've…you know, not with other people, but…I've been, uh. I have a…”

“Hollander, stop,” Ilya says, resting his forehead briefly against the side of Hollander's head. “You've been practicing? For me?”

“Well not for you specifically,” Hollander says. His voice has a bit of a strain to it, though, and so Ilya knows that was a fucking lie. What did he do to deserve this? The mental images alone might kill him. 

“Okay,” Ilya says, and Hollander glares again, hearing the doubting tone. Ilya smiles and kisses him, knowing that Hollander will allow it, and won't be able to stay angry. He's right, naturally. Hollander is not so difficult to figure out. 

Ilya tries to pretend to be cool about the whole thing, because he wants Hollander to feel comfortable, and not like this has to be a big deal, but it's probably humiliating how not cool Ilya is, as if he's the one hooking up with a guy for the first time. It's a lot of pressure to make sure it's good for Hollander, not just because he wants Hollander to want him again, but also because he wants to make sure that Hollander doesn't regret choosing Ilya for this, doesn't want to be a story Hollander will tell people later about how terrible his first gay experience was. Ilya's own first time with a man was sort of fumbling and awkward, neither of them as experienced as they pretended to be, and Ilya feels weirdly protective of Hollander about it. Like he thinks Hollander deserves something a little nicer. 

He expects Hollander to be the type to get annoyed with constant check-ins, but he's glad to be wrong, and that Hollander always manages to say or whisper or whimper yes when Ilya asks if he's okay. He's also glad that Holander is better at making eye contact when being fucked than he is at any other time, because Ilya likes to look into his eyes, likes to make sure he sees nothing but pleasure and awe and all sorts of things that he never dreamed he would see on Hollander's face. Ilya is glad that he took the time with this, worked Hollander open slowly and took longer than Hollander probably preferred, because Hollander looks so blissed out and comfortable and like he's realizing that his bravery in sending Ilya those messages was the exact right choice. 

They shower together, after, mostly on Ilya's insistence, because he can tell Hollander is getting uncomfortable once he has come down from the bliss of it all, but he doesn't want it to end yet. He doesn't want Hollander to feel like he's rushing out. He still doesn't even have his fucking number, and obviously he's going to need it, because he wants to do this again as soon as possible. Hollander looks a little scandalized with himself, and he can't seem to figure out where is safe to look while they shower, which makes Ilya laugh at him, which makes Hollander start splashing him and complaining, which makes him normal again. They kiss again at the front door, and then again on the steps, and Ilya both times considers going back in, but he eventually tears himself away, and he goes back to his hotel feeling happier than he has ever felt in his entire life, which is really saying something. 

 

---

 

He's asked a lot about Russia, in the lead-up to the Olympics, and it's annoying, but people eventually stop asking when he's brutally honest with them and complains about how the Olympic committee maybe should not have chosen a country where it isn't safe for every athlete to participate. That gets his agent a rather furious call from Crowell, and more calls from other people whose names Ilya doesn't recognize, but she tells him to keep saying what he wants to say, because more companies have been reaching out for sponsorships, and it definitely outweighs the negativity, and so Ilya is more than happy to do that.

He and Hollander fuck whenever they see each other now, which is nice. Ilya keeps tabs on Hollander in a way that is probably even less normal than his family computer collection of all of Hollander's game tape. He checks the tabloids and the fucking hockey blogs and scrolls through the Metros subreddit, even, looking for any hints of Hollander hooking up with other people. Not necessarily in a jealous way, he doesn't think, but he just wants to know if he has any competition. Maybe Hollander is less gay than Ilya thinks he is. Maybe he will start to think it's more important to be “normal” than to be happy. Half of Ilya's teammates are married by twenty and expecting their first kids, and that seems like such a Hollander thing to fall into without even wanting it. Because it's just the thing hockey players are supposed to do, and Hollander is the hockey player.

Instead, Hollander speaks very earnestly in an interview about being glad to be chosen for the Olympic team but being disappointed that he won't get the chance to play against Rozanov, because Rozanov is “the best”. He says it's a “shame” that Rozanov can't feel safe enough to go home. He says that it's “disgusting” that anyone would think him being bisexual would make him any less of a phenomenal player. Ilya watches this interview maybe fifteen times. His parents both send it to him with lots of exclamation points. He definitely doesn't cry when he watches it too late at night. 

It's not like everyone has been perfect, but there has been much more support than not, especially because Ilya keeps winning games and keeps being Boston's cocky new toy. He doesn't mind this, especially because he uses his sponsorship money to buy a beautiful house for his parents in the suburbs, where he can have a room with them always. He spends most of his time in his apartment in the city, but he loves making the drive out to his parents’ house, seeing the evidence of how happy he has made them in every cozy room. Loves eating dinner with them and hearing about their days. 

He buys Deb a better location for her hair salon, and he buys both Deb and Irina nicer cars, though they refuse to let him buy anything flashy. Deb hires more stylists, and then Ilya buys the storefront next to her shop so she can expand. Irina starts working there with her, tired of the Automile and relieved to no longer feel like she owes everything to Yelena, though of course Yelena has always insists that she doesn't. 

So what could it possibly matter what some fucking idiots think about him? He reads what they say about him, sometimes, but it really doesn't ever touch him. He proves them wrong. He blocks his father and Alexei both, and it is an immediately peaceful feeling to know that they can't reach him if he doesn't want them to. 

He does regret missing the Olympics. Scott Hunter says in a statement that he’ll be happy to play alongside Ilya “next time”, which feels nice, maybe, even though Scott Hunter is annoying. It's still nice that he's being supportive, and having the support of two of the best players in the league opens the floodgates for the slightly less good players to start posting their own statements. Crowell must be fucking shitting himself, which means that Ilya loves it. 

 

---

 

Hollander is the one who sends him the press release from Garrett Foley. Ilya sends back who tf is this lol? But clicks on the link anyway. It's an NBA player for Chicago who has decided to come out as gay and share that he's been in a relationship with the same man for the last ten years. He cites Ilya as his inspiration for coming out. 

Foley is far from the last one. A few Olympic athletes come out as soon as they head back home, citing Ilya and resentment fostered during their time in Sochi, the realization that things are much worse in other countries, and that they can maybe make a difference in their own, comparatively safer homes. A couple of skiers, some figure skaters, a snowboarder. Three football players (European) and one football player (American). He's only a kicker, but still. Kind of a big deal, according to Deb. Ilya doesn't give a fuck about American football, so he'll trust her on that one. 

There are more, obviously. Of course there are more. But not all of them are safe to come out, and so they write anonymous letters to various publications, and they promise their support in whatever way they can offer it. Ilya definitely doesn’t scour any of those articles for hints of Hollander. 

It’s obvious that the athletes who are coming out first are sure of their reception with their teams and their people. Half of Garrett Foley’s team posts supportive messages, some of them very big NBA stars. The WAGs embrace his boyfriend, posting pictures of all of them hanging out. The same thing is true of the American football kicker. His team’s biggest star, one of those few quarterbacks whose name Ilya actually knows, posts a long, supportive message on Instagram in which he shares the information that his late brother was gay. They are people who feel safe coming out, even though they also have to know how difficult it's going to be. Ilya is afraid, at first, that maybe he has made it look too simple. Just because he doesn't give a fuck what the homophobes in the league think about him, that doesn't meant that everyone else is going to find it so easy to survive.

Two more hockey players come out: a goalie from Seattle, and Ilya's own teammate, Ryan Price. He's sheepish about it when he talks to Ilya one day after practice, face flushing almost as red as his hair, and when he posts a quiet, tasteful statement on his Instagram later that week, Ilya is pleasantly surprised when almost the entire Raiders squad reacts positively. Marleau decides to officially come out as “curious” and spends the next two weeks defending himself in every interview by listing various celebrities and going “who hasn't thought about sucking his dick?” until coach bans him from speaking to the media. 

Irina collects the names of gay or bi celebrities and athletes, and she's constantly presenting them to him, like she thinks she has to matchmake.

“I'm worried you're lonely, my sweet boy,” she says, and she glares at Deb when Deb fails to hide a laugh. 

“I think he's doing okay, sweetheart,” Deb says with a wink for Ilya, which makes Ilya groan. 

And yes, sure, Ilya is doing fine in that department. Deb isn't wrong. But the truth is that Ilya does unfortunately think about Shane Hollander way more often than he should. He knows himself enough now to know that it's a full blown crush. Pathetic to have a crush on someone he barely ever speaks to and rarely even sees, but he does have a crush. Every time he has the chance to see Hollander, even if it's just for a few hours, he drops fucking everything, and it's getting harder to pretend to himself that it's not exactly what it is.

 

---

 

Boston wins the cup that year, in part because Ilya refuses to let them lose, refuses to let anyone say that he isn't the best player in the league (sorry, Hollander). He needs to win the cup because he couldn’t go back to Russia and win a medal, and he needs all of those fucking assholes to eat their words. 

It's important, he knows, to show that the team is behind him completely, and that he's not a different person just because every single gay friendly company has him doing ads for them now. It's important to prove to Crowell and the fucking league and fucking Russia that you actually can be really fucking good at hockey and sucking dick. Like, they're not mutually exclusive. 

And of course he does prove it to them, and he dedicates his cup win to his mothers, and he tells every reporter who wants to talk to him that he won a cup for them, and for himself, and for every gay athlete who was pushed out before they got a chance. 

Three weeks later, Scott Hunter announces his engagement to a man. 

Two weeks after that, Shane Hollander posts a tasteful, probably-mother-written statement about being gay, thanking Scott and Ilya specifically for paving the way. It's easier to be brave when someone else has taken the first leap, he/Yuna writes. Ilya is the fifth person to like the post on Instagram. He's the first person to comment. 

Hollander calls him almost immediately. 

“Gross,” he says. 

“What?” Ilya asks innocently.

“The panting emoji? You fucking creep.”

“I was expressing my support.”

“Jesus Christ. I'm hanging up.”

“What are you doing this summer?” Ilya blurts. 

And Hollander, because things just keep going Ilya's way, doesn't hang up. 

 

---

 

At the start of the next season, Ilya is beset by reporters for a chat in the locker room after their opener. He answers several questions about his very sexy goals, several questions about what the plan is for this season, and then a few questions about all the other athletes who have come out over the summer. Ilya has gotten a little better at not looking so smug about things like this, but he knows that they like a little arrogance on him when he reminds him that he was the first. 

“But, yes, seriously: I am very happy to have made a difference, no matter how small.” He can imagine Shane somewhere rolling his eyes, watching this, which is half of why he says it. “I think, if not for my mama, I would not have said what I did. I would have been afraid. There are still so many hateful people in the world, and a lot of them like hockey, apparently. I don't read any comments anymore, stay off social media mostly. It's probably good for me anyway, to avoid it. But I would rather deal with this than live afraid forever because of what a bunch of idiots think of who I love.”

“And is there anyone special?” 

“My agent told me I should be mysterious, so I will just do this.” He winks into the camera, and the reporter laughs politely, as he had known she would. Shane better be watching this. 

“You've been very open about your sexuality and how your mother inspired you into following your dreams to the MLH,” says another reporter. “And you've just come off a banner season. Was it important to you to prove yourself?”

“Yes, of course,” Ilya admits, though he should probably just wink again or something. “Until my mama brought me here, I thought there were certain ways I had to live or act, and I thought it was useless to be anything else, and now I know better. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to prove people wrong, you know? Even if they are stupid. I like to know that there are boys like me who will watch this and understand that being gay, being bisexual, being whatever, it doesn't matter. If you play good hockey, you play good hockey. Look at this league alone! Being at least a little gay makes you the best at hockey! It’s just statistics!”

More laughter, and Ilya preens, knowing his phone is probably vibrating out of his stall with Shane’s texts. 

“What would you say to those kids, if they're watching now?” asks another reporter, surprising him with her sincerity, her earnestness.  He surprises himself by imagining himself at nine or ten years old, how he would feel if he was watching his older self on TV.

“Well, I would say that there is nothing to be ashamed of. I remember thinking it was shameful, when I was younger, but that was only because I was surrounded by very stupid people. Don't listen to those stupid people in your lives. You are not shameful, okay? I don't want to make it sound very easy. There is still a long way to go. It can be scary, sometimes, listening to the way people talk about it. There are a lot of evil people in the world. But you are not one of them.”

He would love to end on that note, but another reporter shoves a microphone in his face before he can try and get away. 

“Has there been any pushback in the locker room?” the reporter asks. Ilya looks at him, genuinely confused. 

“About what?” he asks. General laughter from the reporters. 

“No!” yells Marleau from his stall. “The answer is no!”

“I think he's asking if we're homophobic,” Conners puts in as he walks by, and he leans way too close into the mic and says, “no”, before he heads to the showers. 

“Some of us are,” St Simon mutters darkly. “Not me! To be clear! But of course there are some assholes. But who cares?” 

“Yes, exactly,” Ilya says, snapping his fingers at St Simon. “When they become the best player in the league, maybe I will care what they think about me. Probably not. Most of the team is very good. Only a few jokes about me checking them out in the showers, but they don't make those jokes anymore, because I told them all they are too ugly for me, and I hurt their feelings. I would never check them out in the shower, to be clear, because it's rude. My mamas raised me better than that. But also, the ugly thing is true. Maybe, maybe, hypothetically…”

“Roz, don't do it,” Marleau groans. 

“Hypothetically, if I was in the shower with Shane Hollander?”

“Nooooo,” Conners groans. “Don't say that on TV!”

“It's a joke,” Ilya says as some of his teammates boo him openly. 

“You told me those jokes were homophobic!” cries one of the rookies. 

“Yes, when you make them.”

“Oh, come on,” Marleau says.

“Yes, okay, fine, I should not make those jokes either.” He looks into the camera. “Sorry I think you're hot, Hollander.”

“Can't wait for Hollander's response to that one,” Marleau mutters.

“Okay, okay, end your little broadcasts on the nice thing I said about kids growing up, not the shit about Hollander. I really was joking about that. We are friends. Hopefully he will think it's funny.” He makes a face indicating he very much knows that Shane won't, to more laughter. 

“So it's not an open call to Shane Hollander?” one reporter jokes. Ilya shrugs, winks at the camera. 

“I'm working on it,” he says, in enough of a joking tone that hopefully no one will take it seriously except the one person he really means it for. 

 

---

 

As predicted, he has many texts waiting for him when he finally gets out of the shower. Irina has texted him please stop sexually harassing that nice boy on television. Deb has texted him I knew you were weird about that kid, and Shane texted his thoughts all through the interview, finally ending on you're not working on anything! You already had me!

Ilya smiles a little as he types his answer: yes hollander but what if I want to keep you? im playing the long game now. And then several innuendo emojis that will hopefully make it sound less threatening and/or serious, if it turns out Shane isn't into it. 

Shane sends back a selfie: his middle finger is partially blocking his face, but Ilya can see the softness around Shane's eyes, and he can see the way Shane’s mouth is turned up in a smile, just a bit. Still a little incredulous, but like he's finally starting to understand that Ilya means the things he says. (Eventually, Shane will tell him that he was right about this, and that this was the exact moment he realized that Ilya might actually be serious, because Ilya really does know Shane better than anyone else, and started knowing him really fucking early, and this is something that will continue to annoy Shane for the rest of their lives together, which Ilya enjoys very much).

For now, Ilya just stares at the picture for long enough that it would probably be humiliating if anyone noticed it, before he finally locks his phone and puts it back down. His smile doesn't fade for a long, long time.