Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Oblivious Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Whipped, Flirting, they’re idiots your honor, Autistic Shane Hollander, Failed Seduction, romantic comedy of errors, Fluff and Humor, Miscommunication but make it funny, the rizzard of oz has no spells left, 5+1 Things, Canon What Canon

Language:

English

Collections:

🏒hollanov🥅

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-17 Words: 2,394 Chapters: 1/1

read between the lines

Summary

"I am flirting with you," Ilya said. "I have been flirting with you for literal months. Intentionally."

Shane stared at him.

"I like you," he said. "Romantically. I have for a long time - "

"Wait," Shane interrupted. "You were being serious?"

Ilya has a plan. It involves flirting, proximity, dates-that-aren’t-dates, strategic jealousy, and an unreasonable amount of patience.

Shane does not notice any of it.

Or: Five times Shane completely misses the signs of seduction, and the one-time Ilya stops being subtle.

Notes

1

Ilya was not a subtle person by nature, but he could be when he wanted to. This was, unfortunately, all about Shane Hollander.

They were alone in the locker room now, most of the team already headed out. Shane was staring at his phone; his brow furrowed in serious concentration.

Ilya leaned in, invading Shane’s personal space just enough to count, and let his elbow rest casually on the bench behind him.

“You know you’re the most attractive guy on the team, right?”

Shane looked up, startled, then broke into a smile. “Oh - thanks! I think the new strength coach really helped everyone.”

Ilya nodded slowly, because if he opened his mouth right now, something completely unhinged might escape, like I am flirting with you, you magnificent brick wall. Instead, he straightened up and told himself the situation was still salvageable.

A few minutes later, Shane stood to grab his bag, stretching his arms high over his head. 

“You look good today,” Ilya said, his tone casual, his eyes very much not.

Shane glanced down at himself, as if checking for food stains. “New detergent.”

Ilya wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it now. Shane, mistaking this stare for confusion rather than desperate longing, helpfully added, “It’s hypoallergenic. Less irritation.”

“I am not talking about your laundry.” 

“Oh.” Shane smiled again. “Still - thanks.”

Ilya felt something inside him give a quiet crack, like ice under the weight of stupidity.

He tried again, because he was nothing if not stubborn. 

“No,” he said, slower now. “I mean… distractingly good.”

A promising flush crept up Shane's neck. 

“Sorry,” Shane said, sounding genuinely concerned. “I’ll try not to.”

Try not to.

Ilya closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Shane was already turning away, entirely sincere and completely unaware that he had just given Ilya a romantic concussion. 

2

Ilya adjusted his entire game plan. If words were just bouncing right off Shane’s dense skull, then he would switch to the universal language of body language. 

They were walking out of the rink together when he put the new plan into action. When Shane drifted a little too close to the wall, Ilya reached out and placed a guiding hand at the small of Shane’s back.

“Thanks,” Shane tossed over his shoulder, as if Ilya had just held open a heavy door.

Later, in the locker room, Shane stood frowning at his reflection, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was sitting all wrong, twisted and folded in on itself in a way that Ilya knew would quietly torment Shane for the rest of the day. Ilya's fingers lifted the fabric, smoothing it down.

Shane looked up, startled. “That helped.”

Ilya tried again when they passed a water bottle between them later, letting his fingers drag slowly against Shane’s.

Shane just smiled, unbothered, and took the bottle. “Careful,” he said, nodding at their hands. “Sweaty.”

Ilya had to look away to stop himself from laughing, or maybe crying, into a nearby locker.

“You’re very tactile,” Shane added a moment later, his tone thoughtful and not unkind.

“Only with people I like,” Ilya said, the words heavy with meaning.

“That’s nice,” Shane said. “The team must really appreciate that. Makes for a good atmosphere.”

Ilya just stared, speechless, as Shane turned back to his bag, rummaging through it as if he hadn’t just emotionally vaporized Ilya with a single sentence. 

3

Ilya had agreed to this dinner with the secret understanding that finally, something would click for Shane.

They were out together. Alone. In a proper restaurant with golden lighting and flickering candles on the tables - because Ilya had personally chosen the place, and he was, if nothing else, a man of intention.

He held the heavy wooden door open for Shane.

When they reached the table, he pulled out Shane’s chair. 

Shane blinked up at him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Ilya said, letting his smile soften in a way that was supposed to telegraph meaning, romance, something.

It did not.

They ordered. Ilya complimented the cut of Shane's jacket. Then the warm sound of his laugh when the flustered waiter brought them sparkling water by mistake.

Halfway through the meal, Shane leaned back in his chair. "You're being really nice today."

"I am always nice," Ilya said, the words carefully measured around a clenched jaw.

Shane laughed. "Yeah, but this is, like… extra nice."

The food was excellent. The conversation was effortless, flowing between them like always. Ilya watched him the way a sailor might watch a deceptively calm sea - with fondness and the certain knowledge that he was one wrong move from going under.

This was so undeniably a date it might as well have been printed on the menu. Surely Shane had to see it now.

Fortified by a sip of wine, Ilya leaned forward just enough to close the space between them, and said, "You know, if this were a date, I’d say it’s going really well."

Shane’s face broke into a wide smile. "Yeah! We picked a great place. The food’s amazing."

Ilya felt the air leave his lungs as definitively as if he’d been body-checked. 

He paid the bill, of course. Shane protested with a, "Hey, man, we can split it," but relented after a single, "I insist," thanking Ilya with such earnest gratitude it was clear he still viewed this as a generous friend hangout, and not the most failing seduction attempt of Ilya’s entire life.

Outside, the night air was cool and sharp. Shane shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "That was fun. We should do this again sometime."

"Yeah," Ilya managed, his voice strangled with fond despair. "Sure. As friends."

Shane nodded, looking genuinely pleased. "As friends."

4

Ilya really hadn't wanted to resort to this, but these were desperate times, and Shane Hollander had officially backed him into a corner.

If Shane was incapable of recognizing flirting when it was aimed directly at him, then maybe he’d recognize it when he saw it aimed at someone else. 

They were out with a handful of teammates after a game, the kind unremarkable bar with sticky floors and music that was more vibration than melody.

Ilya, meanwhile, launched his operation. He found a willing participant across the room - a friend of a teammate who was clearly enjoying the attention - and laughed a little too loudly at his jokes. He leaned into his space, a hand resting on the bar near his arm. He was, in short, performing a masterclass in public seduction.

And he made certain Shane had a perfect view of the whole spectacle.

He was watching, alright. With the detached interest of someone observing a mildly interesting bird at a feeder. There was not a tense muscle in his body. 

“You’re in a really good mood tonight.” Shane said when Ilya finally broke away and rejoined him. 

Ilya felt a crucial part of his spirit wither and die on the spot. “You could say that” 

“That’s good. It’s important to unwind.”

Ilya stared at him, waiting for the penny to drop. “You’re not… jealous?”

Shane’s brow furrowed. “Why would I be jealous?”

It was in that moment, with a dawning horror, that Ilya truly understood. Shane Hollander wasn’t just bad at recognizing flirting. He was immune. It passed through his perception like a neutrino through the earth - without interaction.

From a few stools down, a teammate who had been watching the entire tragicomedy leaned over. “Bro,” he said, nodding pointedly at Ilya. “Just so you know. Rozanov is flirting with you. Like, a lot.”

“No, he’s not,” Shane said, shaking his head with affectionate certainty. “He’s just friendly. That’s how he is.”

Later, long after Shane had wandered off to debate the merits of different foam roller densities with a defenseless trainer, Ilya found himself slumped against a high-top table. 

The same teammate sidled up again. “Hey, man.”

Ilya didn’t lift his head. “What.”

“I just wanted to say,” the guy continued, patting Ilya’s shoulder, “I am so sorry. He’s a lost cause.”

Ilya exhaled and tipped his head back to stare at the water-stained ceiling tiles. “You have no idea.”

5

Ilya decided, with the finality of a man closing a doomed business, to stop. He would give Shane the gift of personal space and see what happened.

The experiment lasted twenty minutes.

They were on the ice after practice, doing cool-down stretches in that lazy way. 

From the corner of his eye, Ilya saw Shane glance over. There was a clear expectation in the look - waiting for Ilya to materialize at his shoulder. When none of that happened, Shane’s expression shifted to a confused frown.

Finally, Shane skated over, his movements uncharacteristically hesitant. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Shane hovered. Ilya could feel the uncertainty radiating off him. “Did I… do something wrong?” he asked finally.

The words punched straight through Ilya’s carefully constructed reserve. 

“Of course not,” Ilya said, the answer coming too fast. 

“Oh,” Shane said. “Okay.”

He finally skated away, but it was slow. He glanced back over his shoulder once, a look that was clearly hopeful - like he expected Ilya to follow any second.

Later that night, they found themselves alone in a quiet corner of the players’ lounge, most of the gear packed away.

“There’s someone,” Ilya said, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. “Someone I really care about. More than I probably should.”

Shane considered this. “That’s scary,” he said, his tone understanding. “But I think you’ll figure it out. You’re good at that.”

Ilya just stared at him.

“You know,” he said, his tone absurdly light, “if you ever asked me out, I’d say yes.”

He let it hang there, the least joke-like joke in human history.

“Haha, good one, Rozanov.”

Ilya forced his own smile, feeling it strain at the corners. “…Yeah. Joke.”

+1

Ilya lost his composure in the hallway outside the locker room. They were alone, or as alone as you can ever be in a busy arena. Shane was in the middle of a detailed breakdown of their new recovery protocol when Ilya stopped walking so suddenly that Shane nearly walked right into his back.

"I am flirting with you," Ilya said, the words dropping into the space between them like stones.

Shane blinked, his sentence trailing off.

"I have been flirting with you," Ilya continued, his hands rising as if to physically illustrate the months of frustration. "For literal months. Intentionally."

Shane blinked again, faster this time. "...Oh."

Ilya exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose and gestured vaguely between their chests. "This. This right here is the entire problem."

He took a step forward, gently but firmly guiding Shane backward by the shoulders toward the open door of a nearby equipment room. He ushered him inside the quiet space, shut the door, and leaned back against it, suddenly hyper-aware of the frantic drumbeat of his own heart.

"I like you," he said plainly. "Romantically. I have for a long time."

Shane stared at him. 

Ilya nodded, already bracing for the polite rejection, the friendly deflection. "And before you say - "

"Wait," Shane interrupted, his voice unusually small. "You were being serious?"

Ilya let out a breathless laugh that held no real humor. "I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life."

A spectacular blush spread across Shane's cheeks and down his neck. He looked at the floor, then back at Ilya, then at a stack of towels in the corner, as if they might hold the answer. "I thought you were just… being very European. Or something."

Ilya closed his eyes for a long second. "I am going to have to pretend that it did not hurt."

"No, I mean - " Shane rushed on. "I like you, too. I just… I didn't know that's what you were doing."

Ilya stared at him, disbelief warring with a wild hope. "I said it. Multiple times."

"You joked!" Shane countered.

"I flirted!"

"I panicked!"

Ilya dragged a hand down his face. "Please do not tell me you thought my flirting was just… a regional quirk. Like thinking poutine is balanced breakfast."

"I thought you were just like that with everyone," Shane admitted. "You're… confident."

"I am not like that with everyone," Ilya said immediately. "I had a multi-phase plan."

"A plan?"

"Yes!" Ilya gestured expansively. "Compliments with subtext. Touching. Dinners that were obviously dates. Even tried to make you jealous! Went through a whole withdrawal of affection."

A choked laugh escaped Shane. 

"I adjusted my approach repeatedly!" Ilya barreled on. "Nothing worked. You thanked me for my romantic advances as if I were boosting team spirit!"

"I thought you were boosting team spirit!"

"I held doors for you!"

"You're polite!"

"I said, 'if this were a date'!"

"And we did pick a good restaurant," Shane said, with such retrospective appreciation that Ilya could only stare.

Then he laughed. A shoulder-shaking laugh that dissolved the last of his tension. "You are the most unbelievable person I have ever met."

Shane took a tentative step closer. "I just… I wish you'd said something clearer. Sooner."

Ilya pointed an accusing finger at him. "Literally did. With my mouth. Using words."

Shane smiled then - an apologetic smile that finally held a glimmer of understanding. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Ilya's hand, this time with a clear intent.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not great with… signals. I miss them."

"I had noticed," Ilya said, his voice dry but his grip tightening.

Just outside the door, a triumphant, echoing whoop cut through the quiet.

"TOLD YOU!" a voice bellowed from the hallway.

Another teammate chimed in, "ABOUT DAMN TIME, YOU MORONS!"

Shane jumped, ducking his head as his ears turned pink. Ilya just shook his head, squeezing Shane's hand again as a dizzying wave of relief finally crashed over him.

He leaned in, letting his forehead rest gently against Shane's. "For the official record," he murmured, "I would like to take you on a real date. A stated, declared, unambiguous date."

Shane's smile was bright and a little shy. "Okay," he said, his thumb stroking the back of Ilya's hand. "But maybe… for future reference? Just lead with that."

Ilya closed his eyes, a real smile spreading across his own face for the first time all day.