Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Zane Boodram

Additional Tags:

Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Protective Shane Hollander, Worried Shane Hollander, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Secret Relationship, Relationship Reveal, Good Friend Zane Boodram, Non-Consensual Drug Use

Language:

English

Series:

Part 8 of love-a-nov (hollanov one-shots)

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-06 Words: 2,139 Chapters: 1/1

always there when not all's fine

Summary

At some point during the drive, Shane's anxiety spikes in a new direction. All night, it’s been hyper focused on Ilya―something Shane does not want to look deeper at, considering the phone call he was woken up with and the fact that Ilya was, in fact, in trouble. About halfway to Ottawa, however, it shifts.

Zane Boodram knows it’s Shane who is coming. He knew Shane’s voice; was not surprised when Shane answered the phone instead of some unknown ‘Jane’. Zane Boodram knows. 

Notes

Trigger warning: Contains mentions of roofies.

Shane feels ridiculous. He is ridiculous! This has happened before―Ilya has a game and goes out to celebrate a win with his team―and Shane has been perfectly fine with the silence of his phone. He doesn’t need Ilya to text him every night. In the past, he hasn’t even minded if Ilya doesn’t text him until well after the celebrations end. So it all feels a little ridiculous that tonight, for some reason, he’s anxious.

He can’t stop checking his phone, whether it’s for a text he knows isn’t there or to scroll through the Centaurs’ Instagram stories. Every time he refreshes the feed, he feels even more ridiculous. It doesn’t help his anxiety and yet, he continues doing it.

When the clock strikes eleven, he convinces him to stop and go to bed. It’s already past his usual bedtime and clearly this current routine is not helping him calm down. He might as well sleep it off.

He goes through his regular nighttime routine with his phone unlocked at his side. Until the very moment he lays down in bed and pulls the covers up, he keeps refreshing the feed. With the lights off and the blankets covering him, it’s a bit easier to convince himself to put his phone down and sleep. He sets it on the nightstand―closer than usual―and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know how or when he falls asleep, but he’s jolted awake what feels like minutes later. His phone is ringing loud and with a familiar tune. Shane answers as soon as he can free one arm.

“Ilya?” He knows it’s Ilya. ‘Lily’ has a distinct ringtone that Ilya set himself.

“Uh, no, it’s Bood,” a man on the other end says. “Listen, how soon can you make it to Ottawa?”

“Two hours,” Shane says, already on his way out of bed. “What happened? Where’s Ilya?” 

“He’s safe,” Bood says, “but he’s not really… Do you want me to tell you now or after you get here?”

“Now,” Shane demands. He doesn’t bother changing or packing a bag. Zane Boodram is calling him from Ilya’s phone at―he checks the clock―just past midnight.

“We think he was drugged,” Bood says, and it sounds careful. “He’s pretty out of it, but he’s with us.”

Shane wants to know who ‘us’ is, but he doesn’t ask. It’s not important. Some guys on the Centaurs―maybe even the whole team. Shane doesn’t really care so long as one of Ilya’s teammates stays with him until Shane can get there.

“I’m gonna stay with him until you get here,” Bood says, unprompted. Shane feels something ease in his chest. “Drive safe, Shane.”

Shane almost doesn’t say goodbye before hanging up. He does―just barely―and then he’s flying down the dark streets of Montreal faster than he would usually go.

He does drive safely. He doesn’t floor it like Ilya does in his fancy cars, and he doesn’t go careening around corners. He does, however, push the speed limit perhaps too far and makes it to Ilya’s home in Ottawa in an hour and forty minutes. If he’s asked, he’ll say it was the lack of traffic.

At some point during the drive, his anxiety spikes in a new direction. All night, it’s been hyper focused on Ilya―something Shane does not want to look deeper at, considering the phone call he was woken up with and the fact that Ilya was, in fact, in trouble. About halfway to Ottawa, however, it shifts.

Zane Boodram knows it’s Shane who is coming. He knew Shane’s voice; was not surprised when Shane answered the phone instead of some unknown ‘Jane’. Zane Boodram knows. 

Shane knows Ilya hasn’t told his team about them. He would never out Shane like that―especially not without telling him―which means only one thing: Bood noticed something and figured it out. Shane needs to know what almost as badly as he needs to see Ilya. If there was something Bood saw that led to him knowing, then Shane needs to fix that. They can’t risk more people seeing the same thing and figuring it out.

When he finally pulls up outside of Ilya’s house, the worries about Bood disappear. The front door is unlocked which is good because Shane flies through it without stopping to find his key.

“Ilya?” he calls. 

“Here.” It’s Bood who replies, and when Shane rounds the corner to see Ilya on the couch, he understands why. 

There’s a very quiet, very slurred stream of muttered Russian falling from his lips. It’s too quiet for Shane to hear until he crouches down in front of Ilya who is laying on the couch, head by Bood’s thigh. He’s curled in on himself, eyes closed tightly, and Shane’s heart breaks. 

“Has he been like this all night?” Shane asks. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Ilya.

“It’s alternated between that and your name,” Bood tells him. “Don’t think the other guys thought he was saying anything other than ‘Jane’, though, so your secret is still safe.”

He says it gently. Kindly. Shane appreciates it. In the morning, once the drugs are out of Ilya’s system and he’s okay, Shane will worry about the Bood thing.

“Did… Do you know…” Shane doesn’t know how or what to ask to know if Ilya was hurt in any way. Ilya won’t remember in the morning; not with how out of it he is right now.

“He came to us when he started to feel weird, I think,” Bood says. “Showed up with a frown, said his head hurt, and didn’t really say much else until it kicked in. He’s alright. Just loopy.”

The relief is so overwhelming that Shane’s eyes start to sting.

“Thank you for staying with him,” he whispers to Bood. “And for not, you know, freaking out. About me.”

“Always happy to help a brother out,” Bood says. “He’s got my number. Call if you need anything.”

Bood stands and Ilya’s reaction is instant. His eyes fly open and he flails before curling in on himself even tighter than before. Shane’s hands are immediately on him.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s okay. It’s me. Shane.”

“Shane?” Ilya echoes. His eyes land on Shane and he frowns. “You are real?”

“Yeah, baby,” Shane says, combing his fingers through Ilya’s curls. “I’m real. How are you feeling?”

Ilya’s answer is in Russian which isn’t that surprising. Fortunately, it’s very short and Shane can gather the meaning when the words make Ilya’s eyes tear up. He reaches a shaky hand out to clutch at Shane’s shirt and doesn’t let go even when they make their way to the bedroom. 

Shane helps him change out of his clothes and makes sure that, when he tumbles into bed, he doesn’t hit his head on the nightstand or roll too far over. Already dressed in his sleep clothes, Shane follows right after.

“Go to sleep, Ilya,” he says softly. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

It doesn’t take long for Ilya to pass out, and Shane wonders if he’d been forcing himself to stay awake before. It’s much harder for Shane to fall asleep. He sleeps fitfully―jolting awake every time he starts to doze off. When he does manage to sleep for a bit, his dreams are strange and unsettling. Through it all, he doesn’t leave the bed and Ilya doesn’t move an inch.

When Ilya does wake, it’s long after Shane has given up on sleeping. He watched the sun creep into the room and has spent the rest of the time watching Ilya. The slow rise and fall of Ilya’s chest is reassuring along with the soft puffs of air he feels against his neck whenever Ilya breaths. Both stop sharply when Ilya wakes―just for a second―and Ilya’s entire body tenses.

“Hey, it’s me,” Shane says softly. He combs his fingers through Ilya’s curls. “Just me, Ilyusha.”

Ilya softens immediately. He melts against Shane, burying his entire face in the crook of Shane’s neck and letting out a soft groan. He says something in Russian that’s too muffled and slurred for Shane to understand, but he’d rather remain clueless than ask Ilya to move.

“How are you feeling?” Shane asks.

Ilya mutters something again that is equally impossible to understand. When Shane asks him to repeat it, he does.

“Headache.” He turns his head just enough to uncover his mouth but keep his eyes shielded from the sunlight. “Body hurts.” 

“I’m sorry.” Shane presses a kiss to the first part of Ilya he can reach. “I’ll get you some water and medicine.”

“No.” Ilya clings to him. “Do not go.”

“I’ll be right back,” Shane promises.

“No!” 

Ilya flails when Shane tries to shift away. His eyes fly open and he reaches frantically for Shane. It’s more than enough to convince Shane to give up on his quest to get water and ibuprofen. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, settling back onto the bed. “I won’t go.”

Ilya is quick to curl around him again. Shane is happy to let him.

Hours later, when Ilya’s head stops hurting so much and he finally agrees to let Shane get up and use the bathroom, he asks about last night. He’s curious about how much Ilya remembers; maybe he remembers something Bood didn’t.

“Just flashes,” Ilya says. He’s hugging Shane’s entire arm to his body as they sit on the couch. “There was man at bar who bought me a drink.” His English is worse than usual, but Shane doesn’t care. “I drank. Left. Was dancing with… Hayes? Don’t remember. Someone. I started to feel weird so I went to group. After―don’t remember.”

“Bood said you stayed with them,” Shane says. He hopes it reassures Ilya like it had him. “He stayed with you until I got here.” 

He doesn’t say the obvious out loud: Bood knows. Ilya hears it all the same.

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “You did not want them to know and then I get drugged and―”

“Hey, no, this is not your fault,” Shane interrupts. “Bood―I think he already knew. Before this. And I’m glad, okay? I’m glad because he knew to call me and didn’t make it a big deal. It’s okay, Ilya.”

There are tears in Ilya’s eyes and Shane can see them despite the way Ilya tries to tuck his face down and hide. 

“I am still sorry,” Ilya repeats. “I scared you.”

“Yeah, you did,” Shane agrees very gently, “but I’d much rather know and be here than find out somehow later. It’s okay, Ilya. We’re both okay.”

They stay on the couch for the rest of the day. Slowly, Ilya grows back into himself. He isn’t completely back to normal, but he smiles when Shane tries to make a joke and follows Shane into the kitchen when it’s time to eat. They shower together in the evening and Ilya listens to anything Shane says. By the time they fall back into bed that night, Ilya isn’t as tense. The next morning, it’s like nothing ever happened.

They joke the whole morning―pushing each other in the kitchen as they cook and going for a run down a nearby trail. Shane tries not to eye him worriedly, but it seems like Ilya truly is back to himself. He’s only a little more clingy than normal when it’s time for Shane to leave.

“I will call you as soon as I’m home,” Shane promises, pressing a kiss to both of Ilya’s cheeks. “And in the morning. Call any time if you need anything, okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Ilya says with a huff. “I am adult. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Ilya.”

“I will call, lyubimii,” he says. He plants a smacking kiss to Shane’s forehead. “I promise I am better, but I will call.”

“Good.”

Shane hovers for a moment, debating. He’s not sure why; there’s never any question about whether he’ll kiss Ilya goodbye. It takes only a breath for him to drag Ilya’s lips to his and kiss him soundly. When he pulls back, they’re both breathless and flushed.

“I love you,” Shane says firmly. “Call me.”

“I love you too.” Ilya’s grin is fond and wide. “I will call you.”

Ilya holds true to his word. It’s the middle of the night and he can’t sleep so he calls Shane just like he promised he would. It ruins Shane’s sleep schedule and he’s exhausted when he arrives at the rink the next morning, but it doesn’t matter because Ilya called him. Ilya let him help when he was hurting. It’s a win that Shane will take any day, even if it means his teammates tease him about a non-existent hook-up until he finally leaves the arena.