Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Jackie Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Harris Drover, Original New Jersey Shield Characters, Jackie Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Original Character, Svetlana Vetrova, Troy Barrett

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Leaves the Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros, Autistic Shane Hollander, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Disordered Eating, Not explicit but Shane's definitely got it, Wawa used as a plot device, Fuck AI, Author hates AI, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs Therapy, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Hayden Pike's a million children, Shane Hollander Speaks Russian, well eventually he will! But he is learning !!, Internalized Homophobia, Hayden Pike Bashing, like slight bashing they'll make up but he must pay for his crimes first, Happy Ending, Minor Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Shane Hollander is Obsessed With Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Implied/Referenced Suicide, OF AN OC CHARACTER SHANE AND ILYA ARE HAPPY HERE, except for Ilya's depression, inaccurate depictions of US Geography, playing fast and loose with traffic laws here a little bit

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-06 Updated: 2026-06-08 Words: 95,397 Chapters: 18/30

things go to hell (now that i've found it)

Summary

Shane gets outed to Montreal a lot earlier than he originally planned to (aka never). The plan he and Ilya made needs to change drastically, as Shane finds himself the one trading teams instead of Ilya. Some things stay the same, but some things change.

Chapter 1: calm before the storm

Chapter Summary

Shane smiles before leaning over the counter and kissing him. It’s one of their softer kisses, quick and sweet, and Shane pulls away before it can be anything more than a lazy morning kiss.

“I love you,” He breathes. Ilya goes to respond and is interrupted by a series of loud knocks at his front door.

He looks questioningly at Ilya, who stares blankly at him in return. He slowly crosses to the front door and opens it to reveal a frantic-looking Hayden.

Chapter Notes

hey y'all! I fear this idea got buried under my skin. Make sure you have work skins turned on for the translations! You should just have to hover over it! Hope y'all enjoyyyy! Kudos and comments are appreciated!

Shane wakes up slowly, arms wrapped around a warm presence he instantly identifies as the love of his life. His right arm is tingly with pins and needles from where it sits firmly clutching Ilya, but Shane suspects that Ilya’s left arm will feel similar when he wakes up. They are tangled together tightly. Like a set, Shane thinks do not separate. 

There was a story that Yuna used to tell him. About humans with four arms and four legs who got separated and were forced to walk around to find their other half. Shane doesn’t know if he believes in soulmates, but he thinks that he and Ilya look like a four-legged creature like this. Finally finding their other half. Finally whole. 

Shane’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he presses a light kiss to Ilya’s head. When he opens his eyes, the sunlight streaming through the window cuts across Ilya’s face making him seem like he’s glowing. Shane feels himself smiling before he’s aware of it. He looks peaceful like this. Glowing, content, and calm. It’s rare to see Ilya Rozanov so calm. He’s been happy, yes, after he won the cup, and he’s been smug–is usually smug– and he smiles. But Shane has never seen him so peaceful. It’s beautiful. Shane feels his heart swell as he looks at him. His boyfriend. His boyfriend. It feels like too small a title for someone he’s loved since he was eighteen. Maybe he didn’t know it was love then, but it was. 

“You are staring,” Ilya states sleepily with his eyes closed, effectively interrupting Shane’s train of thought.

“I’m not staring,” Shane says, like a liar.

“I can feel you staring, Shane,” Ilya says and cracks an eye open and smiles his smug smile when he catches Shane’s eye. “See something you like?”

Shane lets out a small laugh at his antics, and Ilya rewards him by rolling them over so Shane is looking up at him. 

“Are you laughing at me, Hollander?” Ilya says. But he’s smiling widely, so it’s really not that intimidating. 

“I thought I was Shane, Rozanov,” Shane rolls his eyes. He’s also smiling, though, has been smiling the past two weeks, really, so he’s sure it lacks any of the bite that is present in his usual chirps. 

“And I thought I was your boyfriend, but here you are, laughing at me,” Ilya replies. And well, Shane just has to kiss him for that. And then again. And again.

Kissing Ilya has always been one of Shane’s favorite things. Maybe even more than hockey. Well, maybe tied with hockey. Ilya starts smiling into the kiss and it ends up being more breathing in each other's air than kissing. They stay there for a moment, smiling and breathing and in love, before Ilya gives him a short peck and starts kissing down his neck. He bites at a particularly sensitive spot and Shane short-circuits at the thought of his teeth leaving a mark. Yours, yours, yours, he thinks.

“Yes, mine,” Ilya replies. Oh, so then he said that out loud. Ilya kisses him again before lying down and resting his head on Shane’s chest. 

“Get off of me,” Shane says, “I need to get up.” Secretly, he wishes Ilya wouldn’t. Wishes he didn’t have to go for a run in the mornings and could stay right here. But he needs to stay in shape for the next season. If he doesn't, who knows what could happen?

“You're so comfy though,” Ilya whines and nuzzles deeper into Shane’s chest. Maybe he will find a way behind my ribs so I can carry him with me forever, Shane thinks. And then reprimands himself because that’s a little fucked up to think. 

“I need to go on my run, Ilya c’mon.” He says instead of what he wants to say. Please ask me to stay here, please stay here, and be here when I wake up every morning. Stay. He tries to mentally send to the man lying on his chest. Maybe it works, because Ilya sighs and looks up at him through his lashes. Pleading and very hard to say no to. 

"You don't have to go on your run. Shane, мой малыш, ( my baby,) go back to sleep. If you need cardio, I can make it up to you later," Ilya speaks softly, pressing soft kisses to his face and neck as he speaks.

“Maleesh?” Shane tries to repeat, and Ilya smiles at his truly terrible attempt and slowly corrects him until he gets it right. “What does that one mean?”

“I’ll tell you if you go back to sleep.” And Shane sighs a long, drawn-out sigh and reluctantly nods. Ilya makes a pleased hum before settling back down on top of him. Shane’s phone buzzes, and he blindly reaches for it and turns it off, and then brings his arms around Ilya. As he closes his eyes, he faintly thinks he can hear Ilya say “It means baby,” but it gets lost as he drifts to sleep. 

Shane wakes up alone. It’s the first thing he registers as he slowly moves around on the bed. He strains his ears a little bit and hears the faint sound of what sounds like music coming from the direction of the kitchen. He slowly makes his way over to find Ilya cutting up fruit and singing to himself. Shane leans against the wall and watches him with a smile. 

“I can feel you staring at me,” Ilya says and looks up from where he is currently cutting a kiwi, “always with the staring.”

Shane pushes himself off the wall and leans over the counter to grab a mango from where they sit in a bowl. 

“Why are you cutting up fruit? Also, where did you get this?” Shane asks as he steals a kiwi slice that Ilya had just finished cutting. Ilya lightly smacks his hand away, but hands him another one when he bats his eyes at him.

“Well, I wanted to make you something for breakfast, and you won’t eat carbs-”

“I eat carbs-”

“You eat weird carbs. Anyway, you eat your weird, boring food, so I’m making you fruit.” Ilya says and pops a grape into his mouth. Shane looks at him fondly. “What?” Ilya asks after a moment. 

“You love me,” Shane says smugly 

“Hollander, I thought we established this. Did you get another concussion?” Ilya puts the knife down and tries to reach for Shane’s head, but he bats his boyfriend's hand away. 

“No, I know, I just,” Shane trails off for a moment and looks away before continuing, “You’re cutting up fruit because you wanted to make me something in my diet, and I-I didn’t think I’d get to have this. To have someone who loves me like you. To have you at all, I guess. I don’t know, it's stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ilya responds quickly, and Shane smiles before leaning over the counter and kissing him. It’s one of their softer kisses, quick and sweet, and Shane pulls away before it can be anything more than a lazy morning kiss. 

“I love you,” He breathes. Ilya goes to respond and is interrupted by a series of loud knocks at his front door. 

He looks questioningly at Ilya, who stares blankly at him in return. He slowly crosses to the front door and opens it to reveal a frantic-looking Hayden. 

“Shane, thank God, you weren’t picking up any of my calls or texts.” He says and steps into the cottage, toeing his shoes off before turning to face Shane again. 

“Yeah, I turned my phone off, sorry,” Shane responds. Hayden nods, but the nervous look that he had on his face when Shane opened the door remains on his face. Suddenly, Hayden’s eyes widen, and he looks up at the ceiling. 

“I would ask why, but I get it now,” Hayden says and looks back at Shane, seemingly not meeting his eyes. Shane is very confused and tells Hayden as such. Hayden raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I didn’t know Boston Lily was over.” Suddenly, Hayden’s demeanor switches, “Why didn’t you tell me Lily was over! Now I finally get to meet her! Wait, can I meet her? Is she still here?”

Shane’s brain is trying really hard to follow the conversation, but he’s honestly lost. “How do you know that Boston Lily is here?”

Hayden looks pointedly at him for a moment. When that gets no response, he gestures to his neck. Shane blushes and puts a hand to where Ilya was using his neck as a chew toy this morning. This is why they didn’t leave marks during the season. Shane sighs. 

“Look, Hayd, the thing about Lily is–” But Hayden ignores him and starts walking into the kitchen, and Shane follows quickly behind him. 

“I know you guys had like an off period and then there was Rose Landry, but dude. You can’t tell me you two aren’t anything, I mean you–” Hayden cuts himself off as he walks into the kitchen and spots Ilya, who is still plating fruit, looks up in surprise. “You look like you’ve been mauled by a bear…” Hayden trails off, looking at Ilya and Shane in rapid succession. Ilya smiles. 

“Actually, Pike-”

Shane is going to kill him. He cuts him off with a strained “Ilya.” Ilya grins the stupid smirk he does whenever he manages to rile Shane up and puts his hands up in mock surrender. And Hayden’s jaw drops. 

“Oh my god, Rozanov is Boston Lily?” Hayden yelps. Ilya gives him a look over his shoulder, it’s a kindness, an ‘I will play this as just friends if you want.’ And the thing is, Shane, does want. He doesn’t want to be walked in on with his boyfriend again. But it’s a little too late for that now. And Shane kind of doesn’t want to hide this from Hayden anymore. Well, he can’t actually hide this from Hayden anymore. Contrary to Ilya’s belief, Hayden is not an idiot. And anyway, Ilya is the love of his life, his boyfriend, his forever. They were going to get introduced eventually.

“Yeah, yeah, he is,” Shane confirms. Ilya’s lips quirk up in a half smile. Hayden processes for a moment, talking to himself. 

“I mean, it kind of makes sense, you were always seeing her whenever we played Boston. Lily…Ilya. Oh, that’s not even subtle, am I an idiot?” Hayden pauses for a minute before whirling around to stare at Shane. “Wait, Shane, you're gay?”

Ilya, politely, hides his laugh in his hand as Shane glares at him. He breathes for a minute. If he had a nickel for every time someone walked into his cottage in the past week and saw him and Ilya, he’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to make him lose his mind a little. 

“Yeah, Hayd, I’m gay.” He says and smiles thinly. Hayden groans.

“I can’t believe you’re dating another player. I can’t believe you’re dating Boston Bear. I can’t believe you’re dating Rozanov. Wasn’t there like a nice guy in Montreal?” Hayden groans out. Ilya’s face falls behind where Hayden is standing, and Shane frowns. Why is it that every time someone finds out about him and Ilya, they think he’s an asshole and Shane “deserves better”? Shane doesn’t want to know what better looks like. He already has the best. He has Ilya. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t really look. I wanted Rozanov.” Shane responds sharply. Ilya’s face softens, and he shoots a small smile at Shane. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just processing. It’s Rozanov.” Hayden says, then suddenly, “Oh fuck.”

“What?” Shane and Ilya speak at the same time.

“I messed up. I mean, the reason I came over-” Hayden cuts himself off as he tries to collect his thoughts. Shane stands frozen as a million different scenarios float through his head. Jackie is in the hospital, Hayden is dying, Someone found out about him and Ilya, and now they have to retire from hockey-

Shane feels the spiral cut short as Ilya wraps his arms around his waist. He shoots him a grateful smile and leans his head back to rest on Ilya’s shoulder. 

“What happened, Pike?” Ilya says. It’s a little mean and overprotective, but Shane will let it slide for now. 

“Fuck I think it’s better if you just read it,” Hayden says and hands over his phone. 

Of all the things Shane is expecting, the team group chat is not one of them. It looks like a standard conversation, Drapeau inviting the team over for a barbecue, and people RSVPing. Until someone asks if Shane will be there. Hayden had responded that “Shane’s bf is staying over his phone is probably off.” Followed by several texts of jokes and questions from other players. After a couple of messages, it was clarified that it was a typo. But the damage is done. It appears that no one on the team believes Hayden. One of his biggest secrets has just been outed to his team because of a typo. And now he has to decide what to do.

“Oh fuck.” Shane swears. 

“I’m so sorry, Shane,” Hayden rushes out, but Shane shakes his head.

“Just let me fucking think. It was a typo, Jesus Christ,” Shane replies and shrugs Ilya off his shoulder. On one hand, he could deny everything; it was a typo after all. On the other hand, everyone in the chat is already acting like it wasn’t. Shane dreads opening his phone to the texts he knows he has to answer. 

“You’re freaking out.” Hayden points out as Shane continues to pace in the kitchen.

“I’m not freaking out.” He argues, and Ilya makes a noise of disagreement.

“You’re kind of freaking out.” Ilya points out, Shane shoots him a glare at his words. Traitor. 

“Ok, let’s calm you down. What are five things-”

“Hayden, I will kill you. For the love of God please shut up,” Shane cuts Hayden off and stops pacing, “I’m fine. Everything is fine. This is…like my second worst nightmare, but it will be fine. Fuck.”

“Shane. It will be ok.” Ilya tries to reach for him, but Shane brushes him off. 

“This is a fucking nightmare. And I can’t wake up from this one, Ilya. I have to do something.” He reasons and falters. Ilya takes the opportunity to grab Shane and pull him to his chest. Shane sighs and hits his forehead against Ilya’s chest several times. This is the fucking worst.

Chapter End Notes

мой малыш-my baby.

I do think Shane would have a nuclear-level panic attack at getting outed twice in a week, but I also believe he is incredibly emotionally repressed and would wait to be alone because why would anyone want to see that?!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the first chapter! This chapter and the next are just a lot of domestic Hollanov. I fear my pen got away from me.

Chapter 2: the aftermath

Chapter Summary

Shane starts to deal with the aftermath.

-----------------------------------
The thing is, Shane has always thought he was going to retire in Montreal. He’s spent his whole childhood watching his mom praise them and wanting to be just like them. He’s had dreams of his jersey getting retired here. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants everything to go back to how it was before Hayden showed up at his door yesterday. He wants to retire a Voyager, he wants to be a Voyager, he’s always wanted to be a Voyager. But he can’t turn back time, and he can’t make himself think that the environment is going to magically get better. He’s already muted the Montreal Voyagers chat after too many jokes at his expense. If they’re that confident behind a screen, who knows how they’ll feel in person. He’s their captain. He should be better than this. This shouldn’t be getting to him. He wants to stop thinking about this. He wants Ilya. 

Chapter Notes

Shane leaves Theriault's office with a newfound desire to crash his car into the nearest tree. He didn’t even get an opportunity to say anything in the goddamn chat and was still called by management to meet with Theriault. During the meeting, he was asked if it was true. It’s hard to believe that Shane has to clarify this over a typo in a group chat, but he decided to tell the truth. Apparently, that was a mistake. He’d been “strongly urged” by Marcel, the social media manager, and Theriault to “keep this to himself” and tell the team it was a typo. It was a typo. But it’s also true. Sometimes people are gay and happen to be hockey players. When Shane argued that the team already thought he was gay anyway, Marcel brought up getting him a girlfriend to convince them. Needless to say, Shane left the office without listening to the rest of the conversation and with a less-than-hopeful outlook on the management of the Montreal Voyagers. 

He shuts the door of his car and groans. He rubs his eyes and scrolls through his contacts until he finds who he needs. He needs advice. And selfishly, he needs someone who will only think of Shane’s feelings and outcome to any solutions he brings up, and there’s only one person he trusts to do that. The phone rings three times before the FaceTime call goes through. 

“Hiya stranger!” Rose Landry’s voice echoes high and happy throughout the car. She’s smiling at him and waves from her penthouse. It’s almost enough to get him to forget about his problems. Almost. 

“Hey, Rose,” Shane replies dejectedly. 

“Uh oh. I thought you would be happier seeing how you’re spending time with your boyfriend.” She sings at him, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“How do you know I’m with my boyfriend?” He asks, but a smile tugs at his lips anyway. He missed her infectious enthusiasm about his love life. About his life, really. 

“I was hoping, considering it looks like you’ve been used as a chew toy recently,” She muses, and Shane lifts his hand to cover the hickey that is prominently showing on his neck. Well, that probably didn’t help his meeting with Theriault then. Rose continues, “You should consider getting checked for rabies. Or checking to see if he’s a vampire because damn!”

“He’s not a vampire,” Shane responds. He can’t say he hasn’t thought about it throughout the past week.

“No comeback for the rabies joke I see.” She hums and laughs when Shane glares at her. 

“I don’t have rabies, Rose.”

“Okay, okay,” Her face softens, “what’s wrong?”

Shane explains the situation, and Rose listens with nothing but total attention. It’s hard to tell her what truly happened without also spilling the beans that he’s dating Ilya Rozanov, but he manages. 

“I can’t believe they want you to keep it quiet. That’s so…weird,” Rose says after a couple of minutes of her staring at him in shock. 

“That’s not even the worst part, Rose,” Shane starts, then pauses, he sighs, and mumbles, “They want me to get a beard.”

“What the actual fuck?” She speaks a little too loudly. Her hands fly over her mouth in shock. After a beat, she removes them and looks at him quizzically.

“You wouldn’t actually do that, would you?” She asks. 

“No,” Shane answers quickly, a little louder than he intends to. “I mean, maybe I would have considered it if this happened a year ago, or hell, six months ago. But I can’t– I don’t want to do that now.”

“Because of the boyfriend?” Rose asks.

“I love him, Rose. I don’t think I could pretend to even like someone that isn’t him.” Shane declares and swallows roughly around the hurt that seems to lodge itself around his throat. He needs her to understand. 

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?” He says, voice barely above a whisper. The only acknowledgement that she heard him is the nod she gives nearly immediately after he speaks. 

“Okay,” Shane pauses, breathes, and then continues, “My boyfriend is Ilya Rozanov.”

He’s prepared for a lot of things, but he is not prepared for her to immediately yell, “Oh my fucking God?!” and start laughing at him. 

“Wait. That, lowkey, makes so much sense for you, though. Aw Shane. I’m so happy for you!” She speaks. It feels really nice to tell someone he’s dating Ilya, and their first reaction is not a variation of “isn’t there someone nicer?” It’s almost a relief that she’s happy for him. He laughs, and then she’s laughing, and they both just laugh with each other for a moment. 

“Was he the guy you’ve been with before?” She asks after she catches her breath. He nods, and she smiles warmly at him. 

“I’m really happy for you. Well, obviously, the situation you found yourself in now sucks ass, but I’m really happy you get to have this.” She speaks softly and warmly, and all of a sudden, Shane wishes she were here so he could hug her. 

“I don’t know what to do, Rose,” he says instead, going back to his problem. 

“I mean, you don’t have to stay there,” She voices and lets her voice trail off. 

“But, Ilya and I, we made a plan. Next year, Ilya will be a free agent and could get traded to Ottawa,” Rose makes a face that Shane kindly chooses to ignore at that, “and then we would be close enough to be together all the time. If I get traded, this pushes everything back! And where would I go? If I go to Ottawa, then there’s no way Ilya can go there. They won’t have the cap space for both of us.”

“Well, first of all, don’t go to Ottawa because it’s fucking Ottawa,” Rose starts. Sometimes Shane forgets that she’s a hockey fan. “And second, do you really want to stay in this environment just so Ilya can get traded to fucking Ottawa. Seriously, Shane.”

“But the plan–” He starts to say, but Rose cuts him off.

“Screw the plan, your safety is more important! I’m sure Ilya would agree with me,” she says, pauses, and then narrows her eyes at him. 

“Have you talked to Ilya about this at all?” She asks, and Shane looks away. 

“I kind of just got in my car and called you. I needed someone who would just see my side of things. I love Ilya, but he’s too close to this right now, so I needed an outside perspective.” Shane explains. Rose frowns.

“I think you’re kind of taking away his choices for him, Shane. I think he would rather you be happy and physically safe from a team that, at the very least, wants you to get a beard rather than be yourself,” She responds. 

Shane sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. His phone is going to die if he keeps sitting here talking, and he needs to get home soon. 

“But the plan,” he mutters desperately. Rose sighs and tilts her head at him. 

“You can make a new plan. But first you have to talk to your boyfriend.” 

She’s right. He knows she’s right, and she knows that he kind of hates her a little bit for it right now. Shane makes up an excuse about hanging up, and Rose threatens him with bodily harm if she doesn’t hear back from him soon. He starts the car and begins the drive home.

The thing is, Shane, has always thought he was going to retire in Montreal. He’s spent his whole childhood watching his mom praise them and wanting to be just like them. He’s had dreams of his jersey getting retired here. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants everything to go back to how it was before Hayden showed up at his door yesterday. He wants to retire as a Voyager, he wants to be a Voyager, he’s always wanted to be a Voyager. But he can’t turn back time, and he can’t make himself think that the environment is going to magically get better. He’s already muted the Montreal Voyagers chat after too many jokes at his expense. If they’re that confident behind a screen, who knows how they’ll feel in person? He’s their captain. He should be better than this. This shouldn’t be getting to him. He wants to stop thinking about this. He wants Ilya. 

Shane pulls into the driveway without really remembering the drive back to the cottage. He opens the door to his car and walks into the house, feeling like he’s watching himself from outside his body. He watches himself walk into the kitchen and find Ilya putting a plate into the microwave. He was watching the Pike children after an accident this morning left Hayden and Jackie desperate for a babysitter. How long was he on the phone with Rose for? How long did he drive home for? When he left the meeting, it was mid-afternoon. Shane blinks his eyes, and when the blurriness clears, he realizes that Ilya has moved to stand in front of him, looking at him with anxiety written all over his face. He’s talking to me, Shane realizes. He forcefully shuts his eyes and breathes, letting Ilya’s voice bring him back to the present. 

"-Сладкий? (Sweetheart?) Shane? Shane? Are you okay?” He sounds worried. Of course he’s worried, you moron, you just walked into the kitchen in a daze and started blinking a bunch, Shane thinks as he takes it in. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were watching the kids?” He asks, but moves to draw him into a hug anyway. 

“Ah, yes, Pike’s seven million children. I was watching them this morning. I got back an hour ago. I think I am the favorite Uncle now.” It’s a meager attempt to get Shane to react, but it works. He huffs out a breath, and the laugh that Ilya breathes out is more relieved than amused as he kisses the top of Shane’s head.

“You can’t be the favorite Uncle after one day,” Shane responds, a little muffled from where it lies smushed into Ilya’s neck. 

“Uh, of course I can. I paint their nails, I braid Ruby’s hair. I have tea parties with Amber.  They love me. They told me so themselves," Ilya replies in mock offense. He sighs in false contemplation and then continues.

“Although I wouldn’t blame them for favoring you. You’re my favorite after all.” It’s sweet, and Shane attempts to laugh, but it comes out more like a sob. Shane tries to collect himself. 

"What happened, мой котик? (my kitten?)" Ilya whispers, tilting Shane’s head up off his neck so he can look him in the eye. 

“What does that one mean?” Shane asks instead. Ilya sighs and raises his eyebrow. 

“Don’t think I don’t know you are dodging the question, Hollander.” 

Shane looks away from Ilya for a moment to compose himself before starting to speak. 

“It was bad, Ilya. Like really bad. They want me to get a beard–a girlfriend so that the team ‘believes I’m straight’.” Ilya tenses at Shane’s statement. Shane continues, grabbing onto Ilya’s arms to keep them around him. 

“I’m not going to do that, obviously. They’re just not supportive. At all. And basically, everyone in the chat except for J.J and Hayden is just being…” He trails off

“Assholes?” Ilya finishes. Shane grimaces but nods. “Give me names.” 

“Why do you want their names?” Shane glares at his boyfriend, who shrugs and smiles at him.

“So I can kill them.” His easy response, at Shane’s continued glare, he compromises, “So I can check them super hard the next time we play them.”

Shane should not find that hot. Why would he find his boyfriend, his really insanely strong, attractive boyfriend, wanting to hurt people for him, hot? That would be ridiculous. And immature. Unfortunately, Shane is seemingly both ridiculous and immature. His stomach swoops, and heat slowly starts to pool in his stomach. And by the look on Ilya’s face slowly transforming into a smirk, Ilya knows it too. Shane rolls his eyes at him and turns his head to the side. 

“I don’t know what to do, Ilya,” Shane confesses, deciding to start the conversation. Ilya is quiet for a moment, as if hesitating on what to say. 

“Do you have to stay in Montreal?” Is what Ilya settles on, Shane sighs.

“Ilya, the plan! If I get traded, it messes everything up!” He replies

“Shane! Your safety is more important than the plan! You can make a new plan. If you are not safe here, you need to leave,” Ilya says immediately. His voice rising, Shane groans.

“That’s what Rose thought you’d say.” Shane turns around and looks up at him. Ilya’s eyes sharpen as he responds

“Oh, you talked to Rose about us?” He says coolly. Shane rolls his eyes at his boyfriend. He doesn’t really understand why he’s jealous of Rose. Shane is gay after all, but he supposes he’s a bit of a hypocrite—although he is justified in his jealousy–considering his reaction every time Svetlana was brought up. 

“Don’t be jealous, Rozanov,” He says, and watches as Ilya’s eyes spark at the tone. 

“I am not jealous of Rose Landry,” Ilya drawls, “Why would I be jealous? I am hot, blonde, and have a boyfriend who is the best hockey player in the NHL.”

“Not second best?” Shane raises an eyebrow

“No, you’re upset, would be bad manners to be mean to you when you already have a rough day,” Ilya trails off. Shane pushes away from him, but Ilya grins wildly and grabs his wrists to pull him close again. 

“You’re always mean to me,” Shane says flatly, but his eyes flitting from Ilya’s eyes to his lips makes Ilya smirk and raise his eyebrow

“Hmm, I think you like that though, no?” He responds lowly, butterflies fly down Shane’s stomach at a speed that should be alarming. He is anything but alarmed. 

“I do not,” Shane protests, tilting his head down and looking up at Ilya through his eyelashes. Ilya moves closer

“And now you lie to me, too? After already trying to derail this conversation with your pretty freckles, and batting your eyes at me like you want something.” Ilya clicks his tongue at him. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He asks. He’s so close all Shane would have to do is move a breath closer and they could be kissing. Ilya’s grip tightens on his wrists, and Shane feels himself gasp lightly. His gaze is now stuck on Ilya’s mouth, which is fixed into a sly smirk, one that makes Shane feel like an animal being hunted. He likes it. He’s always liked it.

“Anything you want,” Shane breathes out, and feels, more than sees, Ilya’s breath hitch as he slowly walks Shane backwards until he feels his back hit the wall. 

“Anything I want, huh?” Ilya whispers into Shane’s ear. Shane nods violently, and Ilya pushes his wrists above his head, now holding them up with only one hand. His other hand snakes down Shane's face, resting his thumb on his lower lip. 

“Answer me, Shane.” He breathes. 

“Yes,” Shane gasps out, “please.”

“Well then,” Ilya drawls, “I want,” he pauses, his hand trailing down from Shane’s lip to his chin, holding him in place, forcing him to meet his eyes. Shane wonders what he looks like right now. Considering Ilya’s grin, he can’t assume he looks anything dignified. Ilya steps closer to him before continuing to speak. 

“Shane Hollander, I want you to talk to me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane says as Ilya lets go of his wrists. Ilya pecks him, and when Shane follows his lips, Ilya raises an eyebrow at him and steps away. 

“Talk to me, and I will fuck you after.” He reasons. Shane glares at him.

“What if I don’t want you to fuck me later?” Shane says. He’s lying; he always wants Ilya. But he moves his gaze away as though that will sell the ruse. It doesn’t.  Ilya looks at him skeptically. 

“You will, you are easy for me, Hollander.” He says easily in reply. 

“Fuck you,” Shane spits out. Iyla sighs.

"Maybe later. Shane, мой хоккейная шайба, (my hockey puck,) talk to me.” Ilya pleads with him. “I want to help.”

“You’re helping by being here. I just don’t know what to do, Ilya.” Shane sighs and runs his hands through his hair, tugging harshly. 

“You know what to do, you just don’t want to do it,” Ilya responds. Shane hates that he knows him so well. He tells him as such, and Ilya smiles warmly at him. 

“What is real problem, Shane? I know you. You can make a million more plans for your future in one night,” Ilya says, leaning against the kitchen island. Shane rounds the corner to be close to him, and Ilya hums happily when Shane links their pinkies together. 

“I always wanted to be a Voyager. I mean, ever since I was a kid, all I wanted to be was a Voyager. I’m their captain! How can I just throw it away?” He says, tears prickling the back of his eyes. He quickly blinks them away to avoid crying. It’s stupid, he knows people get traded or leave. Shane just didn’t expect that he would be one of them. Ilya contemplates his words. 

“I’m sorry.” Ilya notes. Shane goes to pull away, but Ilya threads their fingers together, “I know that this isn’t what you wanted. Or planned. You are allowed to be sad about it, I just…I don’t want you to stay somewhere unsafe for me.”

“You’d do the same,” Shane protests weakly, and Ilya lifts an eyebrow as he stares at him. 

“I am here, aren’t I?” Ilya’s lips curl into a small smile, and Shane smiles despite himself. 

“You are,” he says. They stand in silence for a moment, Shane going through any other options, Ilya doing the same. 

“Ok. I have to waive my no-trade clause. Where could I go to be close to you? Or where our plan would make the most sense?” Shane starts, and Ilya snorts out a little laugh. 

“See, you are already planning, you’re a natural, ” he says, smiling wide and leaning forward to bat his eyes in a way that suggests he wants Shane to kiss him. He does. Shane then starts to pace to start thinking. 

“Rose was saying that maybe you don’t go to Ottawa…because it’s ‘fucking Ottawa’ I think were her exact words,” He talks aloud. Ilya’s eyes soften. 

"Мой Зайчик, (My bunny, )I don’t care that Ottawa is the worst team in the league. I mean, I care a little bit, but I just want to be with you,” Ilya comments, and Shane pauses. He doesn’t expect that, or he doesn’t know what to do with it. Shane kind of agrees; he wants to be with Ilya, too, obviously, but he also doesn’t want to go to Ottawa either. Although…

“Even if I went to Ottawa, they wouldn’t have the cap space to get you as well, and then we’re further apart than we are now,” He sighs and starts pacing again. Ilya considers this and then speaks hesitantly.

“There’s always…Boston.” 

“Ilya, they definitely don’t have the cap space for us both,” Shane says immediately, but Ilya continues on.

“Imagine it, though. The both of us. The best players in the league. Together. We would be unstoppable.” Ilya snakes his arms around Shane, stopping his pacing. Shane closes his eyes and pictures it. 

Him and Ilya together on one team. If the All-Star game proved anything, it proved that they would be incredible together. They already are incredible together. But on the ice? It’s a whole other beast. Ilya’s ability to just find him translates to the ice perfectly. The rest of the NHL would hate them. But they’d probably have a guaranteed Cup for at least two or three years. Maybe more. But. But if they were together on one team, there’d be more risk to someone finding them out. Shane just got outed to his team; he couldn’t handle going through it again. Selfishly, he doesn’t think he would be able to handle sharing a locker room with Ilya yet. Not without everybody knowing he was in love with him. And that wasn’t something he wanted people to know yet. He wanted it to be his. Be theirs. For at least a little while longer. 

He must take too long to respond because Ilya’s arms loosen around him. 

“I was kidding,” He says lightly. But there’s a tone to his voice that means Shane probably messed up. 

“I wish we could play together,” Shane states, “I want that more than anything. Ilya, I love you. I love playing with you. I just don’t think it’s possible yet.”

“Because of cap space?” Ilya snaps

“Among other things…” Shane trails off. Ilya’s brows furrow. 

“Like what?” he asks, huffing an angry breath out and staring at Shane. 

Shane pauses before sighing a long, drawn-out sigh. Ilya is so going to make fun of me. He thinks and then accepts his fate. “I don’t think I could share a locker room with you without everyone knowing we…you know?” He forces out. Ilya pauses and then laughs. Loudly. Fucker, Shane thinks.

“You don’t think you can see me in a locker room without getting hard?” Ilya teases, and Shane groans. Although he hadn’t really considered that part, and it may be a very real problem. 

“No, I just meant. I like you. I like kissing you and being close to you. I don’t think I could hide that if we’re together all the time on the same team,” Shane gets out. Ilya stops laughing and looks at him so carefully, like Shane just reached into his chest and gave him his still beating heart. Shane would. Ilya stays frozen for a moment, then drops his head. 

“I wish you could be in Boston,” He says, and continues before Shane can protest, “But you’re right. I don’t think I could hide the fact that… I love you.”

Shane chuckles wetly and wonders when he started crying. He pushes his hands into his head harshly and groans, but Ilya gently guides his wrists down so they lie at his side instead. 

“Ok. In the morning, you call your agent and waive your no-trade clause. You find a new team that is close to Boston, and in the off-season we stay together here, we can still start the Mental Health Charity, and that’s how we stay close in the media. Maybe we started talking at a stupid fancy event and kept in contact then. So it’s no longer weird for us to be friends,” Ilya observes. Shane looks up at him in wonder. Ilya making a plan is really hot. Actually, maybe it’s just Ilya. 

“When did you get so smart?” Shane asks, wonderstruck. Ilya smiles and kisses his forehead. 

“It’s your mother's brain rubbing off on me,” He says, then smiles deviously, “That’s not the only thing-”

“Alright enough.” Shane cuts him off, but he doesn’t move. Ilya waits a minute before continuing, rubbing comforting circles on Shane’s back. 

“And maybe one day, in the future, you'll come home to the cottage, and I will be out on the dock. And the moon will be out, and all the stars too,” He starts.

“So, it’s a clear night then?” Shane mutters

“Yes, sure, whatever,” Ilya groans, then flicks his ear lightly, “Do not interrupt. Anyway, I am out on the dock. And the dock will be filled with candles.”

“That sounds like a fire hazard. What if you knock one of them over? Now we have a fire to put out,” Shane interrupts. This time, he expects the flick and gracefully does not yelp. Not even a little bit.

“You are taking all of the romance out of this situation, Hollander. Fuck.” Ilya complains. Shane laughs and kisses Ilya’s neck. Ilya’s hands find his hair and start playing with the strands, and he closes his eyes while he continues to talk. 

“There will be candles on the dock. And it’s not a fire hazard because we will be on the water,” Ilya opens one eye to squint it at him before he closes it again, satisfied that Shane will not interrupt him, “And you see me on the edge of the dock. And when you meet me there, I will get on one knee. And I will say,” Ilya pauses and blinks his eyes open, Shane looks at him with nothing but pure adoration, eyes a bit teary. Ilya smiles sweetly back at him. 

“Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can get my Canadian citizenship faster. And you will say yes because you would be so bored if you weren’t able to play the best hockey player in the league.” He finishes. Shane giggles, shaking his head but keeping his eyes on Rozanov. 

“No, I would say yes because I love you,” he says, “Also, I thought I was the best player, Rozanov.”

“Hmm, no. I was just being nice.” Ilya whispers and leans forward to kiss Shane. Shane pulls away in faux offense.

“If you’re being an asshole, I don’t want to kiss you,” Shane whispers back. 

“False, I am an asshole to you, and you always want to kiss me,” Ilya responds, but Shane stares at him for a moment. Ilya’s face falls at the prospect of Shane being serious, but  Shane just rolls his eyes before kissing him quickly. 

“Like I said, you are easy for me,” Ilya sings-songs as he pulls away. Shane laughs at his antics. Ilya lingers by him for a beat, then slowly walks deeper into the kitchen. He quickly restarts the microwave and looks at Shane before cocking his head. “Do you want me to warm you up leftovers as well?”

“Not really,” Shane admits. Ilya narrows his eyes. 

“Ah, so you ate on the drive home?”

And, well, no. Or at least Shane doesn’t think he did. But the thought of eating something right now makes his stomach twist in knots. It’s not as bad as it was earlier. Now that he has a plan in place. But he’s anxious about said plan, and he wishes he could call Farah tonight. In fact, he might do just that. He tells Ilya as such, but he gets cut off.

“No. You need food, either takeout or leftovers. But you had a long day, and need to relax before you make all these decisions. Also, you need to call Yuna before you call Farah. She will kill you if she finds out you left Montreal from Twitter, I think,” Ilya decides. And yeah, that’s accurate. But it does not help the nausea in Shane’s stomach. 

“I’m really not that hungry,” Shane replies. 

“Then have some of mine. We can share. It is whatever you made last night, so I know it is in your bird food diet.” Ilya says, and Shane just nods. This isn’t a battle he’s going to win anyway. 

They eat in relative silence. Shane picks at the vegetable and pasta dish he made the night before. Ilya lets him take a lot, maybe too much. Shane thinks absent-mindedly, resolving to stop stealing his boyfriend's food. But Ilya just stares at him expectantly after he doesn’t take a bite. Once the plate is cleared, Ilya stands up to do the dishes, and Shane puts his head in his hands. 

“I’m sorry I ate your dinner, you can like, order takeout, I guess? I’m really sorry,” He apologizes. The sound of the sink stops suddenly, and he hears Ilya wipe his hands on a towel before he leans on the island, his body next to Shane’s. 

"Do not apologize for eating мой любимый, (my love,)” Ilya says. Shane shakes his head

“No, I said I would only-” he starts but Ilya cuts him off. 

“Do not apologize. Can I tell you a secret?” he says. Shane nods his head. “I got McDonald’s on the way home from watching Pike’s millions of children. So the dinner was mainly for you anyway.”

He says it so casually. Like he did it without thinking. Maybe he did. Shane doesn’t know what to think. He keeps his head down. Processing. He hears Ilya go back to washing the dishes, drying them, and putting them away. At a certain point, Shane lifts his head to see Ilya’s back. He watches his shoulders move under his fitted white shirt. It’s soothing, to watch him move and put things back in their place. To watch the way the muscles ripple under the fabric. Ilya pauses after a break of silence and tilts his head to the side, pauses, then laughs. 

“Are you staring, Shane?” He asks, his voice low. Shane’s eyes widen. 

“Yeah,” He responds quietly. He doesn’t know how Ilya can just sense where he is. His head hits the island with a soft thunk, and before he knows it his head is gently being lifted to look into cool blue eyes. Ilya looks at him curiously. 

"I didn’t say you had to stop looking, Shane,” Ilya says. Shane wants to bite him. Ilya looks at him for a moment before a slow, easy grin takes over his expression. “What would you like, мой котик? (my kitten?)” He asks

“What does that one mean?” Shane mutters, eyes transfixed on Ilya’s eyes and his lips. His mind is a current loop of Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. 

“Is that what you would like?” Ilya says, and Shane shakes his head. Ilya waits expectantly. 

Shane is very rapidly losing the thread of this conversation. He very briefly remembers a wall, and promises for after they talked. Well, they’re technically done talking, right?

“You said… after” Is what he lands on. Ilya looks very confused, his mouth parts in a confused what, which is very hot and not helping Shane at all right now. Can’t he tell what Shane is referring to? Ilya just raises his eyebrows and waits for Shane to continue. Shane goes to turn his head away but Ilya just turns him back to him. 

“Earlier, against the wall,” He makes out slowly, and Ilya’s smile turns wolfish. 

“I did, didn’t I?” He muses, “Is that what you want?”

Shane nods. Tomorrow, he will call Farah and his mom, and he may no longer be Shane Hollander of the Montreal Voyagers. But for now, he is Ilya’s, and he dutifully follows him as Ilya pulls him up the stairs to their room. 

Chapter End Notes

Guys. I thought this one would be angstier but nooo, hollanov took my pen and said "fuck you we're in love," so. Do I think that either of them are emotionally mature to talk about their own feelings? no. Do I think Ilya would tease the fuck out of Shane until he talks? yes. In any context. Updates after this may be a little slower as I really want to make sure I'm getting everything right.

Сладкий-honey
мой котик-my kitten
мой хоккейная шайба- my hockey puck
Мой Зайчик- my bunny
мой любимый-my love

Shane you're so funny and dear to my heart. Your comments and kudos mean the world!

Chapter 3: the call(s)

Chapter Summary

Shane had called Farah approximately 4 hours and 32 minutes ago, and he was already losing his mind as he waited. He had called his mom first, of course, and while she was upset, she understood, and said something about contacting sponsors if need be. Farah was surprised. Even more surprised since Shane had to stumble his way through coming out again. But she had merely spoken in support and asked if there was any place he was particularly for or against. Shane simply said he preferred somewhere on the East Coast, and that had been that.

Since then, Shane had gone for his morning run (a longer route this morning to clear his head), showered, and made himself a breakfast smoothie. Ilya was still asleep when Shane last checked, but Shane knows he won’t be for too much longer. He’s washing out the blender when he feels strong hands surround his waist, and Ilya’s head is resting on his shoulder. He leans into the touch for a moment, and Ilya presses two barely there kisses to his neck before standing up.

Chapter Notes

Sorry for the delay everyone! I know the next couple chapters are gonna be a bit slow moving as school+my job(s) are being a lot rn, and I like to finish ironing out the next chapter(s) before I post. I appreciate all of your comments and kudos so much!

Shane had called Farah approximately 4 hours and 32 minutes ago, and he was already losing his mind as he waited. He had called his mom first, of course, and while she was upset, she understood, and said something about contacting sponsors if need be. Farah was surprised. Even more surprised since Shane had to stumble his way through coming out again. But she had merely spoken in support and asked if there was any place he was particularly for or against. Shane simply said he preferred somewhere on the East Coast, and that had been that. 

Since then, Shane had gone for his morning run (a longer route this morning to clear his head), showered, and made himself a breakfast smoothie. Ilya was still asleep when Shane last checked, but Shane knows he won’t be for too much longer. He’s washing out the blender when he feels strong hands surround his waist, and Ilya’s head is resting on his shoulder. He leans into the touch for a moment, and Ilya presses two barely there kisses to his neck before standing up. 

“Good morning,” He says, his voice still raspy and low from sleep. Shane hums in response and moves on to drying the dishes he was working on. Ilya doesn’t move far from where Shane is standing but starts to root through the fridge to make breakfast for himself. It’s a little heartbreaking to think that Ilya won’t be around every day after he leaves to go back to Boston. And while Shane would like Ilya to stay at the cottage longer, Ilya needs to go back to take care of some things. But Shane wishes that Ilya could stay. That this could be their lives everyday for the rest of time. Shane finishes putting the cups and dishes back in their places and turns to find Ilya’s eyes on him from where he stands leaning against the wall. 

“What are you staring at?” Shane asks, slowly starting to move closer. 

“There’s this boring hockey player with beautiful freckles and a weak backhand who is blocking the bowls,” Ilya replies, waving his hand to gesture at Shane. Shane scoffs. 

“My ‘weak’ backhand scored more goals than yours last season,” He snaps back and steps closer to Ilya as the man smirks at him. 

“Did it?” Ilya’s voice takes on a mocking tone, and Shane smacks his chest in retaliation. 

“You’re such an asshole,” he says and rolls his eyes. Ilya scoffs at him. 

“Yes, this is old news, Hollander. Everyone knows this already. Is your mediocre hockey playing catching up to your brain now?” Ilya snakes his arms around Shane’s neck to rest on his back and brings one up his face, tilting it ever so slightly up. 

“Why do I like you again?” Shane mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t move from where Ilya is holding him. 

“You love me because I am hot, and best hockey player in the NHL, am very good at sex, and I have a massive-”

“Ilya,” Shane warns. 

“Heart. Massive heart. What did you think I was going to say?” Ilya says mischievously, eyes twinkling, letting Shane know he’s absolutely full of shit. He leans forward to kiss Shane, and Shane moves his head away at the last second. 

“Morning breath,” He chastises, laughing a little bit at the somber expression Ilya makes after. Shane pecks Ilya on the cheek for his troubles before slipping out of his embrace. Ilya rolls his eyes, sighs, and then goes to get a bowl from the cabinet Shane was standing in front of. He also grabs his sugary cereal from where it sits in the pantry, and Shane rolls his eyes as Ilya reopens the fridge to get the milk. 

“You’re really eating that stuff?” Shane says, watching Ilya pour a healthy serving of Lucky Charms into a bowl. 

“Well, you certainly aren’t, and I don’t want it to go bad after I am gone,” Ilya trails off and puts the Lucky Charms back in the pantry. Shane grabs the milk and puts it away as well before turning to join Ilya at the table. 

“I can’t believe you have to go back so soon. It feels like you just got here,” He remarks a little somberly, playing with a loose thread on the hem of Ilya’s shirt. Pulling it and pulling it until it snaps. Ilya hums around a mouthful of cereal and slips his hand into Shane’s so Shane can play with it instead. 

“I wish I could stay longer,” Ilya starts, “But I have to go back early to set up some things for pre-season.” 

It’s understandable. And Shane would usually be in the same boat. He usually would start planning his training and upping his workouts to be ready for the season. Now he’s anxiously waiting for a call that may not come today. As if sensing his frustration, Ilya hums in thought. 

“Have you called Yuna and Farah yet?” He asks, squeezing Shane’s hand. Shane nods and lets go of Ilya’s hand so he can put his face into his hands on the kitchen island. 

“I hate waiting.” He whines, and Ilya puts a hand on his back and leans in close

“You know, there are things we could do to make the time pass quicker,” Ilya whispers. 

“Morning breath,” Shane replies nearly immediately

“Why is the first place you go to my cock, Hollander. You have a very, very dirty mind. We must alert the press,” Ilya says. Shane looks up incredulously as Ilya uses his hands as a megaphone, “Reporters, Paparazzi, listen up: Shane Hollander is a freak!”

Shane hits his arms away. “I am not a freak, you dick,” He protests, and Ilya’s eyes widen comically at him. 

“There you go, talking about dicks again,” He says, throwing his arms up, and Shane rolls his eyes. 

“Shut up,” Shane groans out, but he’s smiling. Ilya smiles back at him and shakes his head. 

“But then I would be denying you the pleasure of my voice, and I know how much you like to hear me speak.” His voice is lowered, and it drives Shane a little crazy. 

“I think I like it better when you’re not talking, actually,” Shane retorts, and Ilya’s grin grows wilder as Shane has fallen right into his trap. 

“Ah, so you would prefer me to be doing something else with my mouth then?” Ilya drawls, and suddenly they’re so close Shane can feel Ilya’s breath ghost over his lips. His eyes trail down to Ilya’s lips and how they part slightly in his smile. Suddenly, nothing sounds more appealing to Shane. He nods quickly. Ilya makes a disapproving noise. 

"Tell me помидор, (tomato,)" He says quietly. Shane opens his mouth to speak and is cut off by his phone ringing. Ilya groans and says, “If it’s Hayden, ignore it.”

It’s not Hayden. It’s Farah. Shane shows his phone to Ilya, whose eyes widen. Ilya takes his empty bowl and goes to the sink to start washing it, and politely pretends not to eavesdrop as Shane picks up the phone. 

“Good afternoon Shane!” She says cheerily, and Shane can hear her clicking at her computer in the background. He greets her in what he hopes is also upbeat, but by Ilya’s quiet snort, it appears he did not pull that off. He shoots a glare at Ilya’s back and turns around to ignore him. 

“I wanted to let you know that a trade offer went through. I know it’s a bit fast, but everyone was really trying to get their hands on you!” She laughs a short and professional laugh, “I mean, every team from Buffalo to Boston was trying to snatch you up!” 

At the mention of Boston, Shane straightens up unconsciously. There was an attempt for them to play together. Holy shit. Shane resolves not to tell Ilya. He would be insufferable. Secretly, there’s a little part of Shane that is a little upset he didn’t end up going to Boston. No matter how much he doesn’t think their relationship could be hidden, he does like playing with Ilya. Ilya is the only person who can really challenge him on the ice. It makes him a better player, and playing every day with him? Well, it would be the peak of his career. Farah keeps talking about trade deals and who wanted him for the fairest deal that Montreal agreed to. She talks a little about cap space and his new salary, which is a little higher than his current one (but not by much), and then she finally tells him where he’s going. 

“New Jersey?” Shane replies incredulously and whips around to face Ilya. Ilya, who is already googling something frantically on his phone and moving closer. When he gets close enough, he tilts his screen towards Shane. It’s the distance between New Jersey and Boston. 

“Three hours?” Shane whispers and whips his head towards Ilya. That’s two whole hours shorter than now. That’s…doable. Ilya looks at him with a wide grin, and Shane is sure he is sporting a similar one. 

“What’s three hours?” Farah asks, confused. Shane looks at his phone in shock and then realizes she can’t see him because this is a phone call. Fuck. It’s ok, he can fix this. 

“Uh, sorry, my mom just texted me uh a place she wanted to visit with me before I move,” He says unconvincingly. Ilya mouths what looks like “bad liar” at him, and Shane swats him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Oh. Okay,” Farah says slowly. There’s an awkward silence for a moment in which Shane convinces himself that she’s figured everything out. “I know it’s a little late notice, but the Coach–his name is Ellis Aplin, I don’t know if you’ve ever come across him– is starting some pre-season scrimmages in a little over a month to test some positioning of the team,” She continues. 

“Uh, yeah, I can get down there. Obviously, I want to make a good impression on the team,” He gets out once she finishes talking. A month is not a lot of time to find housing and move all of his things, but he supposes he’ll have to talk to his mom about that as well. 

“Perfect! I’ll let him know! Have a good one, Shane. And, I’m proud of you, I hope you know that,” She says softly before hanging up the phone. Shane is frozen for a moment, letting the news and the knowledge wash over him. 

“I’m a New Jersey Shield," Shane mutters aloud to himself. It doesn’t feel real yet; he doesn’t know if it ever will. He shoots a short message to the family group chat (which now includes Ilya), and she thumbs up the message, no doubt already contacting movers and googling the area.

“Well, there are worse options. You could be a Montreal Voyager, I hear they’re all talentless assholes,” Ilya drawls out from behind him. 

“You’re not funny.” Shane glares at Ilya as he turns around. 

“I am very funny. I have many people who tell me so,” Ilya counters, taking a step closer. 

“Oh yeah? Who?” Shane asks, taking a step closer as well. 

“They don’t have to say it, I just know,” Ilya says. He’s close enough that Shane would barely have to reach out to touch him. 

“Oh yeah? How do you ‘just know?’” Shane replies sarcastically, and he nudges his way closer until they’re practically chest to chest. 

“I am so funny that people fall to the floor.” Ilya’s eyes twinkle as his hands slowly trace up Shane’s sides to his shoulders. 

“What?” Shane asks, and Ilya just smirks. 

“You fall to the floor for me all the time, don’t you?” He replies and lightly presses on Shane’s shoulders. Just like that, Shane starts to move down. And then he has a thought. 

“Oh fuck am I going to have to sell the condo?” He thinks out loud. Ilya tries to keep a straight face for all of three seconds and then laughs so hard he falls to the floor and brings Shane down with him in a fit of giggles. 

“You, ah, you have to sell your sex condo!” He makes out between bursts of laughter, pulling Shane close to his chest and keeping him there. 

“It’s not a sex condo!” Shane protests. Unfortunately, this has the opposite effect and causes Ilya to laugh harder. It takes longer for him to calm down as each time he stops he looks at the look on Shane’s face and laughs again. After a couple of minutes, Ilya calms down and stares at Shane softly while running his fingers through Shane’s hair. 

“Are you done?” Shane grumbles, but it makes Ilya’s smile widen again, and Ilya kisses him on the nose. 

“My Shane, I think maybe you are the funniest, when you say things like that,” He says softly. 

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Shane protests, but accepts the kiss he gets after speaking anyway. 

“I know,” Ilya says, so close to Shane that his breath meets Shane’s cheek, “That is why you are funniest.” And Ilya keeps Shane close, both of them descending into a comfortable quiet.

They lay there for a while, entangled on the floor of the kitchen, Ilya holding Shane tightly in his lap and Ilya pressing absent-minded kisses to the crown of his head as he softly hums a distant melody. It’s peaceful and calm, and Shane feels grounded and secure for the first time in days. He wishes they could always be this intertwined. He wants Ilya to climb into his ribcage and take the space of his beating heart. He wants their breaths to always intermingle, and for this new routine they made at the cottage to never change. But he also wants them to play each other on the ice over and over again, challenging each other the best way only they know how. He wants to win a Cup and hold it over Ilya’s head and say, “Who has a weak backhand now?”  He wants to keep getting better and be the best hockey player in the NHL. He thinks he can. He thinks they can. He thinks they can only keep getting better and better and make their way to the top together. Ilya repeats the song he’s been humming from the beginning, and Shane lifts his head from where it’s been smushed into Ilya’s neck and looks at him inquisitively. 

“What are you humming?” He asks softly, pressing a feather-light kiss to Ilya’s neck, careful not to interrupt the song. Ilya finishes out the phrase in a quiet hum, then smiles an almost watery smile. 

“It’s a lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was very little,” Ilya answers, his voice wavering a little. Shane rewards him with a small kiss to the cheek, and Ilya captures Shane’s lips in his. 

“Will you teach it to me someday?” Shane asks breathlessly when they break apart. The smile that Ilya gives him in return is brighter than the sun, Shane thinks. He would bask in its warmth forever if he could. They trade slow, sweet kisses on the kitchen floor as Ilya slowly teaches Shane the melody. 

He’s just finished the first phrase when both of their phones go off at once. Shane’s with a phone call, and Ilya with an alarm. It’s the alarm that Shane set last night for him. He needs to start packing to catch his flight back to Boston. Shane’s face must fall with the realization because Ilya takes one look at him and pulls him into a harsh kiss. 

“I could push my flight back another day,” Ilya suggests, barely moving away from Shane, face just a breath away. His voice is a little raspy, and Shane is a little obsessed with it. He’s a bit obsessed with Ilya, really. Ilya raises his eyebrows, and Shane’s heart nearly skips a beat. He wants that, Shane realizes with a start.

“Really?” Shane asks wistfully. It’s a horrible idea, really. Shane needs to call his mom and real estate agents, and he needs to start packing. Ilya has to get back to Boston and start running drills, and all of this is so they can go back to playing hockey. Closer to each other than they’ve been in forever. It’s making Shane a little on edge if he's being honest. The alarm starts up again, and Shane’s phone keeps ringing. 

“Who is calling you?” Ilya asks instead, and they slowly disentangle themselves from each other and trod over to their phones. 

It’s Hayden. Shane picks up the phone, confused. 

“Hey Hayden, what’s up?” he asks. Ilya rolls his eyes at Shane’s words and presses a loud kiss to his cheek before scrolling through his alarms and threading their fingers together. Shane rolls his eyes fondly and is then caught off guard by Hayden’s hurt tone. 

“What’s up? What’s up is you're leaving the Voyagers, and you didn’t tell me! You certainly didn’t tell JJ. What the hell, man! I thought I was your best friend! I thought you trusted me,” Hayden rushes out. Right. Shane knew he was forgetting something. Between the calling and the morning routine and the Ilya of it all, Shane had forgotten to let his best friend know he was waiving his no-trade clause and moving. Sensing he needs a minute, Ilya presses a light kiss to Shane’s hand and smiles at him, before he makes his way up the stairs to the bedroom to pack his suitcase for the plane ride home. 

The kitchen is quiet, save for the quiet sounds of Shane’s footsteps as he walks around it. It’s a difficult situation; on one hand, he should have told Hayden and JJ before the news hit the tabloids. But. But they couldn’t have thought he would stay right? Especially Hayden. Especially now that Hayden knows. 

“You know I couldn’t stay there, Hayden. I’ll call JJ later to apologize, I really meant to tell you both sooner, I just got…caught up,” Shane explains. Hayden huffs a breath out through the phone. This is why Shane hates phone calls. There’s no way to see the facial expressions someone’s making, and it makes it harder to determine if he’s said the right thing or not. The silence stretches for a moment, it goes for so long that Shane considers saying something again–although he can’t imagine what. 

“Yeah,” Hayden says, breaking through the silence, “I just thought. For the longest time, I thought we would retire as Voyagers together. I can’t really imagine you not being one of us.”

“Yeah, well, I wish the rest of the team felt the same way,” Shane replies before he can think better of it. Hayden sighs again. 

“Yeah, me too.” He mutters. But they both know there’s only so much wishing you can do before you know the stars you’re counting on aren’t listening. Shane doesn’t really know what else to say. He doesn’t know if there’s anything else to say. He doesn’t want to hang up, though. He doesn’t want to go upstairs and see that Ilya’s going to Boston, and start the long agonizing task of packing. He doesn’t want anything to change. 

“So how’s Jackie and the kids?” He asks, and Hayden makes a short laugh. It’s a bit choked, though, like he’s close to tears. Shane doesn’t know. He hates phone calls. 

“She’s uh, she’s good, man. And the kids are good. We took them to the zoo. Man, Amber really tested Jackie’s patience today,” Hayden says, “She did not want to leave the otter exhibit at all.” 

“Yeah, kids will do that, right?” Shane laughs. Hayden’s kids are cute. He likes being the fun Uncle. He really likes Ilya being a fun Uncle. It’s a little unfair that he hasn’t seen Ilya interact with the kids yet, but he’s heard from Jackie that they really love him–much to Hayden’s disappointment. 

“How’s Rozanov?” Hayden mumbles after a pause. It makes Shane do a double-take. He didn’t think Hayden wanted to know. 

“He’s actually packing right now,” Shane remarks, “He has to go back to Boston today.”

“Oh no,” Hayden says sarcastically. There it is. Shane thinks. Maybe Hayden hears it in the sudden awkward silence because he mutters a small apology. 

“He’s good, though. It’s been really…good. To have him here,” Shane confesses. Hayden makes a very long, pained sigh through the phone. 

“I’m…happy you’re happy,” Hayden admits, “even if it’s with fucking Rozanov.” 

There’s nothing really left to say after that. They stay on the phone for a couple moments longer. Exchanging more pleasantries and promises to stay in touch. Hayden offers to help Shane pack in a few days, which Shane is more than happy to accept. He hangs up the phone and treads up the stairs to find Ilya holding a black t-shirt in his hands. Unmoving. 

“Hey, you ok?” Shane speaks softly, breaking him slowly out of his trance. Ilya turns to look at him and holds the shirt out to him. 

“You keep this?” He asks. It takes Shane an embarrassingly long time, and Ilya turning the shirt over to reveal the yellow ROZANOV on the back for him to recognize the shirt as one he’d accidentally taken back to his apartment after a hook-up. 

“Do you…want it back?” Shane says, confused. Ilya shakes his head quickly. 

“No. I don’t ever want you to give it back ever,” He responds. Ilya crosses the space between them and kisses Shane. Hard. “I think you should wear it.”

“What? Right now?” Shane mumbles once he has a minute to breathe. 

“Mhm. Yes. Now. All the time. But right now, yes,” Ilya says, kissing Shane between every word. 

“Why?” Shane asks. 

“I think you should put it on. I think you should wear this shirt. And just this shirt,” Ilya explains in that low voice that drives Shane crazy, “And I think you should wear your glasses.” 

“You’re fucking crazy, you have to go in like two hours, and we both have to pack,” Shane reasons, but he’s moving towards the dresser where his glasses lie. 

“So we have an hour,” Ilya states. And, well, packing can wait an hour, Shane supposes. 

Chapter End Notes

помидор= tomato

спокойной ночи малыши-is the Lullaby Ilya hums. Literally means Good Night Children, I actually know this from my mother lol. In the 1990s it was played as a good night kids kind of thing so I’m just gonna say his mom knows it. Would that be time accurate? Not super but it's gonna be for this purpose.

Going through these chapters thinking "How am I gonna cockblock Shane and Ilya this time," My b guys. Will try to not let it happen again.

I know New Jersey is an actually wild choice but I have a vision I promise.

Chapter 4: the new jersey of it all

Chapter Summary

Shane’s apartment in New Jersey is nice, he guesses. It’s a 25-minute drive away from the practice facility and arena, and it sits a couple blocks away from a main street. It’s nice, a little quiet, and colorful. Currently, he sits on a chair in the kitchen, debating about opening and going through one more box before he leaves for the first scrimmage of the pre-season. A lot of his furniture was simply shipped out from his last apartment, and he had hired movers to help move a lot of it in. Unpacking the simple things however was taking Shane longer then he expected. And the box on his kitchen table had no label, Shane had no recollection of who had packed it and where it was supposed to go. But he had delayed it long enough, he supposes, and retrieves the box cutter from the drawer he keeps it in

Chapter Notes

Shane has finally moved! Hope you guys enjoy!! Your comments and Kudos have been making my day, and I'm glad y'all are trusting the vision.

Shane’s apartment in New Jersey is nice, he guesses. It’s a 25-minute drive away from the practice facility and arena, and it sits a couple of blocks away from a main street. It’s nice, a little quiet, and colorful. Currently, he sits on a chair in the kitchen, debating about opening and going through one more box before he leaves for the first scrimmage of the pre-season. A lot of his furniture was simply shipped from his last apartment, and he had hired movers to help move it in. Unpacking the simple things, however, was taking Shane longer than he expected. And the box on his kitchen table had no label. Shane had no recollection of who had packed it and where it was supposed to go. But he had delayed it long enough, he supposes, and retrieves the box cutter from the drawer he keeps it in. 

He carefully opens the small box, and a picture frame lies on top, flipped so he can’t see the photo. He reaches inside to flip it around, and his breath catches. The photo is of him and Ilya at the All-Star game, smiling at each other after Shane had just scored off an assist from Ilya. Ilya is kissing his helmet. They both look so happy. They look in love. It’s beautiful.  Shane sets it down carefully and looks back in the box. There’s another picture frame–flipped again–and a note that is folded under it. He picks up the second picture frame. It’s another photo of him and Ilya, but from the cottage. He remembers that day. His mom and dad had come to visit for dinner, and afterwards they all hung around the lake. Ilya and Shane had stayed in long after his parents had gotten out, splashing each other and racing to the rocks and back. In the photo, Shane is sitting on a rock in the water, his face framed by his hands, looking over at Ilya. Ilya had just come up for air and was looking at Shane. It’s almost domestic and sweet, and it has Shane wishing that he were back at the cottage with Ilya. Even though shortly after this photo was taken, Ilya had dragged Shane back underwater with him. Which was no easy feat, yet Shane went along anyway. 

Shane shakily sets it down on the table next to its neighbor and unfolds the note. 

Dear Shane, 

I realized as we were packing that you didn’t have any photos of you and Ilya. I wanted you to have something to decorate your apartment with. And I wanted you to have a piece of him to take with you. I hope you don’t mind that I took the second photo; you both just looked so happy. I’m really proud of you, and although it’s not much, I hope you like the photos. Let me know if you need the number of the interior designer again!
Love you,
Mom

Shane puts the letter down and stands up while he grabs the frames. He puts both of them on the nightstand by his bed. He debates sending a photo of them to Ilya, but ultimately takes a photo of them and shoots off a message to the family group chat. 

Thank you, Mom, he writes. 

She quickly responds with an ‘of course’. His dad emphasizes the message, and Shane laughs lightly to himself. It’s nice to have the support from his family for him and Ilya. It might have taken them a minute, but he knows his parents adore Ilya. He wonders if Ilya can feel it too. It does take a moment for Ilya to see the message and respond, but he likes the photo and immediately tries to FaceTime Shane. 

“Hi, Ilya,” Shane answers happily as he hits accept. Ilya smiles brightly at him through the phone, his hair a little messy as he gets ready for the day. 

“Turn the phone around,” He says, “I want to see.”

“I already sent a photo,” Shane grumbles, but flips the phone around to show where they sit on his nightstand. He sees Ilya pause as he takes in both of the photos. 

“Do you think Yuna will send me one too?” Ilya asks hesitantly, his eyes flicking back and forth between the photos. 

“Probably, if you ask,” Shane replies, glancing at the watch before continuing, “I have to go to practice,” 

Ilya pouts as Shane turns the camera back to face him. 

“Fine,” He whines, “If they’re bad too, tell me. I’ll kill them.”

“You can’t kill people, Ilya, but I will. Call me later?” Shane agrees, and Ilya nods before blowing a kiss at the camera. 

"I love you, мой дорогой, (my dear,)” He says, and a smile finds itself on Shane's face. He misses Ilya; he didn’t know how hard it would be to go back to only seeing each other a couple of times a year now that he gets to have this with him. It’s like he’s finally allowed to feel all of these things he’s been hiding for so long, and the thing he most desires is just out of reach. Maybe it’s just him feeling this way. 

“I love you too, Ilya,” Shane replies. He hangs up the phone, and the screen goes dark. Shane sighs as he makes his way downstairs. He wants to get to the rink early to get used to the ice and make a good impression on the team. He’s a little nervous, honestly. It’s been a while since he’s had to get used to a new team, and while Coach Aplin seems nice, you never really know. He thought he knew where he stood with Montreal; he’s been wrong before. He grabs his keys and goes to start the drive to the rink. 

When Shane enters the locker room, he’s surprised to see that he’s not the first person there. It’s specifically why he left 45 minutes early. A man sits down already in his gear, tying his laces. He turns around when the door opens, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“When Coach said we were getting Shane Hollander, I didn’t know if I believed him or not. Names Garret Walker, some of the guys call me Walker or Garret, so whichever one works,” The man–Garret introduces himself. Shane slowly puts his belongings down, and when he’s done, he sees Walker’s hand out for a handshake. He takes it. 

“Yeah, uh, Shane Hollander. But you already knew that,” Shane says. To be honest, he didn’t really pay attention to the New Jersey team before being traded. They were fine, but they weren’t good. Not like Montreal, not like Boston. Not like him and Ilya. He’s been researching them, though, and Garret Walker is the new captain of the Shields. He was drafted two years before Shane and has been with New Jersey for four years now. 

“What are you doing here so early? You don’t have to be on the ice for another…thirty minutes.” Garret pulls out his phone to check the time and looks up at him, confused. Shane smiles thinly. 

“I could ask you the same question,” He says, starting to move to get ready. He hears Garret laugh shortly behind him as Shane pulls his shirt off. 

“I guess so, I like to get here early to get some more training in. I really want to win a cup this season, you know?” Garret explains, then pauses, “I guess if you’re here for the same reason, that makes sense.”

“Why does it make sense?” Shane asks, finishing pulling on his jersey. It’s a little jarring when he sees the white of the jersey in the corner of his eyes. It’s weird to think he’s no longer a Voyager and won’t ever wear the blue that he’d gotten so used to. He starts to get his skates, and he sees Garret gesture at him in reply. 

“You’re Shane Hollander, dude. You know that, right? You’re like the best player in the NHL. I mean, you’re insane. I can’t imagine you’re not working for it all the time. Speaking of working for it, I gotta get your workout routine because I mean, you’ve seen yourself, right?” Garret rambles. Shane’s mouth ticks up a little involuntarily. Garret’s not wrong; he does work hard all the time. He’s glad it apparently pays off. 

“I can send you my reps and schedule, but I also diet,” Shane explains as he finishes tying his skates. 

“Aw damn. What kind of diet?” Garrett looks at him questionably as they make their way out of the locker room and towards the rink. 

“It's a macrobiotic diet,” Shane explains, “So like mostly plant-based, whole grains, no sugar, that kind of thing.”

“Damn, I can’t imagine having Wawa again,” Garret laments, and when Shane looks at him curiously, Garret’s eyes widen, “Don’t tell me you’ve never had Wawa before?”

Shane shakes his head, but as he opens his mouth, Garret steamrolls ahead. 

“Dude, I am going to change your life tonight. Now come on, I’ll tell you about the team.” And he takes off around the rink. Shane shoots out after him. Garret tells him about the team, and Shane mentally tries to categorize them in his head as they take a lap. 

Practice is brutal, but nice. Aplin is nice and welcomes Shane to the team before they start drills. However, it becomes harder and harder to hold his tongue during scrimmages. Jaye, their goalie, seems to notice his brows furrowing, and the next thing he knows, Jaye motions to Walker and whispers something in his ear. Before Shane goes in, Walker spins his head around to look at him. 

“Shane, what are you thinking?” He asks, tilting his head at him, “C’mon, I know you’re thinking of something over here.”

“Uh, I don’t want to overstep,” Shane explains. It’s true. He does have a lot of thoughts. Their offense is fine, but they could move faster if they changed how they were distributing their weight a bit. And the team chemistry is good, but it could be better if they develop more ways to communicate across the ice than just looking. He’s been trying to hold his tongue, he’s not the captain of this team–not yet, anyway–and he doesn’t want to get a reputation for taking over. 

“You’re not, I’m asking,” Garret explains. Shane takes a deep breath and explains everything he’s been thinking since they started the scrimmage. It’s…different than Montreal. The team listens actively, Wes–one of the new rookies– seems to take mental notes in his head. And when they start a new scrimmage, the change is immediate. People are clapping him on the back, asking for more details on some of his critiques, and Garret fist bumps him for God's sake. It’s such a stark contrast to the cold professionalism he’d been getting used to in the past couple of weeks. To the limbo he’s been expecting. It’s strange, but in a good way. He enters the locker room like a weight is being lifted off his chest. He might like it here. He picks up his phone and sees several texts waiting for him from Ilya. 

LILY

i miss you

r mouth*

ok you are silent so the team must be good.

i did mean to text i miss you. 

i also miss your mouth though

Shane rolls his eyes in fake exasperation and quickly types out a response. 

                                                                                           JANE

You’re insatiable.

But the team is good. Practice was good.

Fun, I mean. 

I miss you too.

Ilya texts back immediately which lets Shane know that he’s also done practice for the day. 

LILY

i googled that word

i think you are the insatiable one mr. round three

i am glad the team is good

Bubbles appear to indicate that Ilya is typing for a long time. They disappear and reappear, and Shane debates texting a response before he finally sends the message. 

LILY

i love you

Shane is about to respond when Garret interrupts his train of thought by shutting his locker with a little more force than necessary and turning to face him. Shane jumps a little bit and puts his phone face down on his locker. 

“So, Hollander, are you ready to have your life changed?” Garret says, and a couple of others gather around him. Wes and Jaye look specifically interested. 

“I guess? I just have to talk to media before I leave,” Shane answers. He’s been told to talk to Harriss, the New Jersey social media manager, and he wanted to take a couple of photos to fully announce Shane as a Shield. Shane knows he won’t be the only new member of the team; there have been a couple of rumors of players becoming free agents, but his trade announcement has gotten a lot of buzz. His mom had sent him a couple of articles about it. 

“That’s ok, I can convince some of the rest of the team to come with us in the meantime,” Garret says cheerily, patting Shane on the back lightly. Maybe he could make some friends on this team. Garret reminds him of Hayden a little bit, reaching out when he first started with the Voyagers. 

“How are we changing his life?” Jaye asks, taking off his hockey gear. He sounds a little skeptical, like Garret does this a lot, maybe he does. Shane can admit that he's a little uneasy about the prospect of hanging out with this team out of the blue. He’s supposed to call Ilya later, and he doesn’t want the mental routine he’s made to change. But he also doesn’t want to be seen as a flake or unreliable or any of the other things people might think if he doesn’t go. He mentally reminds himself to look up wherever they go to find something within his diet to get.

“I’m taking him to Wawa for the first time,” Garret announces proudly. It gets a few side eyes and light laughs from the team. Wes, who had been silently observing up until now, scrunches his face in confusion before protesting. 

“Why aren’t you taking him to Quick Check?” At the response, Garret whirls around to face Wes, betrayal etched deep into his face. 

“Excuse me, rookie?” Garret pauses, finding his words, “Why would I take him to Quick Check when Wawa is just three minutes farther?”

Wes looks at Garret like he’s being dumb, and Shane has no idea what they are talking about. 

“Because Quick Check is obviously better…” Wes trails off, and the locker room falls silent. Jaye looks back and forth between Wes and Garret. Garret laughs lightly at Wes’s statement, before seeming to realize he’s serious. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you. Quick Check sucks ass.” Garret’s tone is low, as if talking to a scared animal. Jaye rolls his eyes in the corner but seemingly chooses to stay silent. Shane also chooses to stay silent, but mainly because he has no clue what they’re talking about. 

“If it’s so good, why aren’t there any in New York? Ever think of that? There’s Quick Check’s upstate,” Wes replies. 

“Oh, and the five people who live upstate must be so happy with that,” Garret says sarcastically, glaring and crossing his arms at Wes. Shane had previously thought his new team was nice, or at least mentally stable. He is quickly reevaluating that thought. He picks up his phone and responds with a quick ‘I love you’ to Ilya before finishing taking off his gear. 

“At least upstate they won’t be eating garbage,” Wes comments nonchalantly. Garret clicks his tongue before responding quickly. 

“And garbage would still be better than Quick Check.” At Garret’s words, Shane quickly heads for the showers, desperate to leave this building. Or at the very least, leave the main part of the locker room. 

Before Shane rounds the corner, he hears Wes shout “Oh, you sick fuck!” before the bickering fades to white noise. Shane tries to ignore the noise while he showers, but he keeps hearing bits and pieces of the argument. It sounds lighthearted, though, and by the time he finishes up with the media and is ready to go, Wes and Garret are laughing at each other. He really can’t believe how different the locker room here is from Montreal. Wes manages to catch up with him and practically makes him pinky promise to go to Quick Check another time. Wes is a good kid, Shane thinks, as he makes his way to his car. 

And Shane will maybe not admit this to Wes. But the smoothie he ends up with is pretty good. He thinks he’s going to like it here.

Chapter End Notes

In my heart of hearts, I do think Shane would be a Wawa supporter, and that's how I feel about it.

Also, yes, Harris is here! I really do think Troy and Harris are important for Ilya and Shane, so they will be sprinkled around. I know people don't always love OC's, but there's literally not a single mention of NJ in the Game Changers Universe, so I had to kind of run with it.

The next chapter is going to be from Ilya's POV, and I'm really excited for that. Love y'all dearly <3

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

The game is like any other game. Ilya is laser-focused like he is any other. Boston is up 1-0, but that’s not a great lead, especially since it’s only the start of the second period. Especially because it’s against Shane Hollander. Ilya’s team has been determined all night, though their focus is in line with their captain’s. Ilya mentally prepares himself for the puck drop and smiles when he makes eye contact with Shane from across the ice. Shane smiles back at him, his real smile, not the fake one he uses for social media and interviews. It’s the smile that has seemingly been reserved for Ilya. It’s one of Ilya’s favorite things. Playing against Shane is always good, always challenges him, and pushes him to play better. He doesn’t think there’s anyone else who challenges him like this. It’s part of why he loves him, he thinks. The push and pull of how they can challenge each other in one breath and slot together like puzzle pieces in another. 

---
READ CHAPTER NOTES !!

Chapter Notes

First of all, sorry about the wait, guys! Life is so hectic right now, and all I can think about is Hollanov but time is fleeting.

Second of all, some content warnings!

Ilya does in fact have depression, and some of his dreams (the first one absolutely) reflect that. There is nothing graphic (and won't be in this fic, I don't trust myself to write that in a way that can come out correctly, but I'll always let y'all know here (and the tags)) but there is some death mention, as well as one off mention of Ilya's dad being the worst and hurting him. Again, nothing graphic just be aware.

I hope you guys enjoyyyy

The game is like any other game. Ilya is laser-focused like he is any other. Boston is up 1-0, but that’s not a great lead, especially since it’s only the start of the second period. Especially because it’s against Shane Hollander. Ilya’s team has been determined all night, though their focus is in line with their captain’s. Ilya mentally prepares himself for the puck drop and smiles when he makes eye contact with Shane from across the ice. Shane smiles back at him, his real smile, not the fake one he uses for social media and interviews. It’s the smile that has seemingly been reserved for Ilya. It’s one of Ilya’s favorite things. Playing against Shane is always good, always challenges him, and pushes him to play better. He doesn’t think there’s anyone else who challenges him like this. It’s part of why he loves him, he thinks. The push and pull of how they can challenge each other in one breath and slot together like puzzle pieces in another. 

“How’s losing going, Hollander?” Ilya asks as they meet in the middle of the rink. His tone is cocky and low in the way that he knows drives Shane insane, and the skeptical eyebrow raise that Shane shoots him back makes him a little giddy. 

“I don’t know, I think you can answer the question in a couple of minutes, though,” Shane responds, a slow smile making its way across his face. Ilya loves that he can turn Shane a little bitchy. He thinks Shane knows he loves it. It’s hot. Sue him. 

“Oh, are you going to finally start playing?” Ilya taunts, gesturing to Shane’s hockey stick. Shane rolls his eyes, and Ilya grins wildly. He wants to kiss him right now, in the middle of the ice. He wants, and wants, and wants so much he feels greedy with all that he’s been getting. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him. They’re not that far apart. But he doesn’t. He keeps his hands to himself, so no one knows about them. Even though the task feels like it takes all of his effort. 

“I think I can make a hat trick before the game’s over,” Shane states, smiling confidently. Ilya wants him so bad his teeth ache with it, “Don’t you think so?”

Ilya scoffs in return. 

"You can certainly try моя любовь, (my love,)" He remarks, tapping their sticks together lightly. Shane rolls his eyes. 

“My blood, my soul, my life,” Shane says under his breath as the ref gets closer. The words throw Ilya for a second; he recognizes them, but he can’t for the life of him recall where. A distant memory tugs at the back of his brain, but it’s gone before he can really make sense of it. 

It feels like not enough time has passed between them when the puck drops. Shane wins it, and they’re both off. It feels like there’s no one else on the ice. Just the two of them. Shane and Ilya. Hollander and Rozanov. They dance around each other, both trying to grab the puck from each other. All of a sudden, when Shane looks back at him, the smile on his face drops, and Ilya feels someone barrel into him before he’s falling. 

It feels different. He’s been checked before, of course, he has, but not like this. He feels like he’s falling and falling before he hits the ice. He hears a distant abort of a yell that he knows, just knows, comes from Shane. He can’t really feel the pain, but he can’t get up. He feels himself shifted, and out of the haze in his eyes, he sees blue and white. Shane

“Ilya, C’mon Ilya,” Shane repeats, brushing his hair out of his face. It’s safe here, Ilya thinks, smiling sweetly up at him. His comfort is short-lived as he remembers where they are. In the middle of a game, surrounded by thousands of people who are watching them. 

“Shane, you have to move,” He weakly gets out. It’s hard to speak, which can’t be a good sign. Ilya thinks he may die like this. It feels like he’s dying. Everything feels faded and out of focus. But he doesn’t want to die with Shane ruining himself for him. He needs to get Shane to safety. “They are going to know,” 

“I don’t fucking care,” Shane spits out. Shaking his head violently, it’s such a difference from how he’s carefully and softly running his fingers through Ilya’s hair. It’s nice, in a weird, twisted way. Shane wants to comfort him as he dies among everyone. It’s not a bad way to go out, he thinks, and lets out a chuckle that has him coughing wetly. His eyes flutter shut, and when he opens them, Shane is in front of his face. 

"Ilya. Stay awake. I love you. моя кровь, моя душа, моя жизнь, (my blood, my soul, my life)" Shane says, his Voyager jersey slowly turning crimson out of the corner of Ilya’s eye. It's weird, though. Shane isn’t on the Voyagers anymore. And Shane doesn’t speak Russian. However, the Russian doesn’t sound out of place in his voice. It flows easily, as if he had been speaking his whole life. It’s then that he remembers where he’s heard the words before. From his mother. It was one of her sayings. 

моя кровь, моя душа, моя жизнь. (my blood, my soul, my life.)

My blood, my soul, my life. 

The world fades away until it’s just him and Shane, and the saying bounces around in his head–his mother’s words in Shane’s voice–as that fades away too. Ilya’s eyes close. 

And then he wakes up. 

Another dream again, then. 

Ilya doesn’t know when he started dreaming of dying. Probably shortly after he found his mother after her “accident.” They don’t happen often, but sometimes they plague him. Shane, however, is a new feature in them. The dreams have shifted, warped from their usual random fantasies of car crashes and drowning, and his father, now always includes Shane on the ice, holding him carefully as he dies, in front of everyone. His mother’s phrase is new, too; he hopes it doesn’t last, but he’s not hopeful his psyche will listen to him. If Ilya told anyone, he suspects they’d tell him to see a shrink. And he’s not crazy. He’s not. But. Sometimes he is sad, and not the regular kind of sad. A bone-deep melancholy that consumes him. And he’s so tired that no amount of caffeine can help. Shane helps, sometimes, the reminder that Shane loves him—that anyone loves him—helps, sometimes. He wishes he were back at the cottage. Boston is very lonely without Shane.  He wishes, not for the first time, that he could talk about Shane with someone other than the man himself. He doesn’t want to betray his trust, but Shane has so many people who know now. Ilya has only himself. And that’s not to say he wants them not to be a secret. He knows the dangers, has seen how a team reacted to a queer player, let alone two players dating. He knows he will never be able to go to Moscow ever again. Maybe he wishes the world could be better for them. But it seems like a fantasy right now, like his dreams.

Ilya stretches out on the bed in his room. The sheets are cold underneath him. He used to have silk sheets, but he knows Shane doesn’t like the texture. He’s never said anything, but Ilya knows how to read him. The bed is too small for one person, Ilya thinks to himself idly. This used not to be a problem; he would go out and find someone, usually dark-haired and freckled, and he wouldn’t wake up alone. But lately, he doesn’t want anyone else but Shane. Not lately. He’s always wanted Shane. But now he has him, and he is selfish and insatiable and wants Shane all of the time. No one else will ever compare, he thinks. 

There’s a loud couple of knocks at the door. Ilya doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to get up; he’s so tired. He hears the doorknob rattle and a low, muffled curse before the door clicks and opens. Ilya closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep. There are only a couple of people who know the code to this apartment anyway. And he knows Shane is busy with his team. Footsteps trek through the apartment and get louder until they stop at the foot of his bed. 

“Get up,” Cliff Marleau says, yanking the comforter off of Ilya’s face. Ilya opens his eyes to glare at him, but Cliff simply crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. 

“Fuck off,” Ilya groans out, reaching to grab the comforter from where it sits at the edge of the bed. Cliff grabs it again, holding it above his head. 

“We have a team breakfast to get to. Let’s go,” Cliff announces, unmoving from where he stands in the room. Ilya scoffs and closes his eyes again. 

“I’m not going,” He mutters, curling into himself. He does not see the pillow Cliff launches at him coming. He sits up with a shout. Cliff just raises his eyebrows at him. 

“Roz, you’re the captain, you’re going. Get dressed.” Cliff turns around and makes his way to the window, where he opens the blinds. Ilya groans. Unfortunately, Cliff does see the pillow Ilya throws at him and promptly launches it right back at him. Ilya rubs his eyes harshly and slowly makes his way off the bed. 

“Why are you even here anyway?” Ilya asks, stretching his arms behind his head. His back cracks as he stretches and treads across the room towards the closet. Ilya pauses to look at Cliff, and Cliff gives him a look over his shoulder. 

“Your girl texted me,” He answers. Ilya’s eyes furrow. Technically, Svetlana knows about his off days. She usually tries to get him out of the house on those days, and he wouldn’t put it past her to text his teammates in her absence. But he hasn’t texted her in a couple of days. She’s been busy back in Russia. Gathering some of his things to bring back, as well as handling some business with her father. She’s a good friend, and he misses her, but he hasn’t had much to say lately. 

“Svetlana is just my friend Marleau,” Ilya drawls, picking a shirt from his closet and throwing it on the bed. Cliff sighs a deep sigh. 

“I know she is. Not Svetlana. The one from Montreal. Jane,” Cliff says, crossing over, “She said that you were acting weird and I should go check on you. And she was right, dude, you look like shit. Are you ok?”

In the back of his mind, Ilya might question how Shane knew something was wrong, or even more pressing, how the hell he got Marleau’s number. But mainly, he’s feeling a kind of childlike wonder. Shane knew something was wrong and reached out to Marleau to make sure he was ok. He loves him, he really does. But right now it feels like tenfold. He wants to call Shane, or see him, or touch him, or kiss him. Something. It feels like a feeling solidifies in his heart, that he won’t want anything else ever again. That he never wanted anyone else in the first place. Shane is it for him. He wants Shane to be his, permanently. He wants to drive to New Jersey, find Shane, reach into his chest, and give him his still beating heart. It feels like the kind of thing that Shane would keep. On his dresser next to his glasses and his pictures of the two of them. He already keeps so much of Ilya’s heart anyway, he could have it physically if it was possible. He might be a tad too obsessed with Shane, Ilya thinks mildly, before shaking the thought away. He could never be too obsessed with his person. His. Ilya shakes himself out of a daze to find Cliff raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Damn, you are whipped, Roz,” He comments, throwing jeans on the bed as well. Ilya furrows his brows. 

“What does 'whipped' mean?” Ilya asks, making his way back to the bed to start changing. 

“It means, like, you’re obsessed with her. Totally in love,” Cliff explains. Ilya nods. 

“Ah. Yes, I am totally whipped for my Jane,” He says brightly. Cliff snorts and exits the room, offering Ilya his privacy. 

Ilya throws the shirt over his head and grabs his phone from where it sits on his dresser. There are a couple of texts from Svetlana that he scrolls through, mostly confirming that Shane was worried about him, and ten from Shane, all varying from “Hey, you were a little out of it last night,” to “Fuck it, I’m texting Marleau.” He hears Svetlana’s messages of worry and lets her know he’s ok before switching back to Shane. 

JANE

Hey, are you ok?

You were kind of out of it on the call.
You’re probably asleep right now, sorry. 

Sorry I know it’s late. 

You know I’m here for you, right? 

The honesty thing didn’t just apply at the cottage. 

I guess I’m just worried about you. 

Rose says to reach out to someone, but Svetlana just said you get like this sometimes.

Fuck it, I’m texting Marleau to check on you. 

Sorry if you see this and are totally fine. 

LILY

why do you have marleau’s number?

Ilya brings his phone as he finishes getting ready for the day. But it doesn’t take long for Shane to reply. 

JANE

I was worried about you, asshole.

JANE

why?

JANE

You made a joke last night, and I don’t know.

I got a weird feeling. 

But you’re, ok?

LILY

marleau didn’t tell you?

since apparently you have his contact

JANE

Yeah, but I want to hear it from you. 

LILY
i’m okay

sorry i worried you

я тебя люблю (i love you)

JANE

Don’t apologize. 

I love you too.

Ilya closes his phone with a trace of a smile on his face and puts it in his pocket as he makes his way down the stairs. Cliff is leaning against the wall, texting, and glances over at him. 

“You tell your girl you’re ok?” He asks, and Ilya nods. He wants to talk, but he’s just still so exhausted. It’s definitely an off day. But he’s already up, so he might as well go to the team breakfast and bond with his team. He wants to win another cup with this team. But he also wants to be closer to Shane. And there are a couple of places he could play and do what he loves while also being closer to him. So maybe, at the end of this year, when he becomes a free agent, he won’t resign with Boston. But he wants to win them another cup. And so he goes. 

The team breakfast is fine. Everyone is loud and talkative, and Laurie, the team social media manager, manages to get a couple of good shots of them all smiling for once. Ilya is still quiet. Everyone is talking enough for him, and all he can think about is going back to his room. He’s starting to double down on practices next week. He should rest while he can. He opens the chat with Shane but can’t think of a message to send that won’t worry him. He doesn’t want to worry Shane. He just misses him. Laurie takes the empty seat next to him and gives him a light smile. 

“What’s up with you? You’re usually all over everyone,” She observes. Ilya barely looks up from his phone. He tries to keep a good relationship with everyone on the team–including the coaches and doctors, and everyone on staff–but the black hole in his chest doesn’t seem to care about that right now. 

“I’m just tired, I think,” He answers, giving her a fake smile. She doesn’t seem to buy it and motions instead to his phone. 

“Who are you missing?” When Ilya tilts his head at her observation, she continues, “You keep looking at your phone and scrolling, and you have that sad, daydream kind of look on your face.”

She’s not wrong. But it’s not like Ilya can tell her the truth about Shane. Not here, not in front of so many ears. Laurie is persistent, though, and so he tells her a half-truth.

“My uh…my person. Jane,” He starts, and suddenly can’t bring himself to finish. There’s so much that he could say he misses about Shane. His laugh, his presence, his boring routines, him. Not her. Not the lie he needs to sell. Secretly, he is scared of someone finding out about him and Shane. He’s scared that the all-encompassing feelings wrenched deep into his heart are obvious and too much and will scare Shane off once they no longer have to hide. He doesn’t think the reaction would be good either. Neither of them is like Scott Hunter, something that can be profitable but never really affects the game. They’re both players from different backgrounds. It would probably be like Montreal, but worse. He could never go home again, he could never visit his mother again. But he doesn’t have the energy to lie right now. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Oh, the Montreal girl?” She asks lightly, but intrigued. Ilya is aware that the team knows about Montreal Jane; he has heard the chirps over and over about how Montreal Jane has ‘tamed’ him (which secretly he laughs at, just because he only fucks one person now doesn’t mean that one person isn’t also a freak). He didn’t know that knowledge extended beyond the team, though. 

“Not Montreal anymore,” He huffs out a small laugh. Laurie smiles excitedly at him. 

“Oh! Is she finally a Boston girl now?” She asks. Ilya’s smile becomes a bit more real. 

“No, but she’s closer than Montreal.” Is his reply. He doesn’t know if revealing where Shane lives now would be giving away too much. He doesn’t know much of anything right now. It would be better to say less, he supposes. Live on the half-truths a little longer.  

“Well, at least she’s no longer in Montreal. Fuck Montreal,” She whispers the last part, holding out her glass to him, like it’s a secret toast and not a sentiment shared by most of Boston hockey fans. 

“Fuck Montreal,” he repeats quietly, clinking his glass with hers. They lapse into a comfortable silence, and Ilya listens to the rest of the conversations happening. Filing away any interesting tidbits mentally as stories to share later on. 

When Ilya gets home, he makes his way to his room and collapses for a moment. His eyes feel heavy, so he closes them and drifts. 

He doesn’t dream of dying this time. But Shane is there. In his dreams, when he opens his eyes, the space behind him is occupied. Weight slung around his back as their legs are tangled with the others. Shane’s breath hits his lips when he turns around to face him, and even though he’s not fully awake, Shane still smiles when Ilya’s arms circle around him to pull them together. Ilya kisses his cheek softly, just to see Shane’s eyes flutter open and the smile on his face grow wider. It’s sweet and domestic, and Ilya kisses him over and over. Slow and languid, like they don’t have anywhere to be but with each other. And they don’t. Shane trails his hand down Ilya’s arm until he gets to his hand, interlocking their fingers before bringing it to his face and kissing his ring finger. If Ilya focuses, he can see a gold ring there. Oh. Ilya never thought he would be the type to get married. Or maybe he never thought he would be allowed to marry the one person he wanted to. But here, in this dream, with Shane and him and a ring on his finger, he wants. More than anything. Maybe more than a cup. 

When Ilya blinks his eyes open he feels almost disappointed that there’s not the subtle weight of a ring on his hand. He vaguely wonders if a couple of months into dating is too short of a time to propose. He wonders if Shane would want that with him, marriage, a ring, forever, permanent. He thinks he does. Remembers the half-joking conversation in the cottage kitchen. But he knows it’s a lot. Knows he’s a lot. So he doesn’t know. 

He slowly filters back to his awareness when he wakes up again and can faintly hear his phone buzzing next to him on the pillow. He blindly grabs it and checks who it is. It’s Shane. Ilya sits up so quickly his head rushes. 

“Hey,” He says, a little out of breath as he answers the phone. Shane smiles from where he sits in his apartment. He looks a little flushed, and his hair is damp; he just got out of the shower. He looks good. Happier than he was in Montreal those few days. Ilya is so in love with him that his heart hurts. 

“Hi, Ilya,” Shane whispers lowly, his eyes going soft as they try to take Ilya in through the phone. Ilya’s eyes get stuck somewhere on the journey between his eyes and his freckles and his mouth, and all he wants is to reach out and touch. Run his fingers through Shane’s hair and pull him closer until he doesn’t remember what it’s like to not feel his skin on his. 

“I miss you,” Ilya admits honestly. The honesty is worth it to see Shane melt. Sometimes he doesn’t understand how Shane doesn’t know how he feels about him all the time. It seems like everything he feels is pouring out of his chest and his brain every time he looks at Shane. But then he remembers a Tampa conversation at a bar about compatibility, and Shane’s routines, and he thinks he gets it, a little bit. 

“I miss you too,” Shane responds, then perks up to grab something out of the camera's frame to show off. He’s so fucking cute, Ilya thinks. And I get to have him. When Shane returns into Ilya’s line of sight, he’s holding one of his jerseys. There, in the upper right corner, is a capital ‘A’. It’s a little shocking, Shane just joined the team after all, but Ilya isn’t surprised. Shane is a natural leader, and Ilya knows he could help whip any team into shape. After all, he did it with the Voyagers.

“Wow, only Alternate? It seems your leadership skills are failing,” Ilya says instead. He sucks a breath into his teeth and shakes his head. Shane raises an eyebrow, but a grin is tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, and how many Cups have you led Boston to? Oh right, only one,” Shane retorts quickly. He tilts his head towards the screen and waits for Ilya’s reply. The next time he sees him Ilya is going to ruin him, Ilya thinks. He loves it when Shane chirps. 

“Ah, but I will win another.” Ilya shrugs, “You are in New Jersey.” Shane’s mouth drops in offense, and he folds the jersey before putting it back in its place. 

“Hey! Jersey is not so bad. There are some good things about it,” he defends from off camera, poking his head on screen to point at the camera to get his defense across. 

“Oh yeah? What are the good things?” Ilya asks. He is curious. Shane has said the team was good, but he had thought Montreal was good too. Ilya has made a private vow for the first game against Montreal that they won’t be able to score once. That they never even get close to thinking that they can do anything without Shane. It’ll be worth it. He has a desperate need to destroy them. And he will. Shane sits back down on his bed and distracts himself from his momentary planning of demolishing the Montreal Voyagers. 

“Well, there’s this, like, place we go to after practice to grab food now, which isn’t so bad,” Shane starts out. Ah, yes, Ilya had heard all about the locker room debate. He’s glad Shane is getting out of his comfort zone. With friends, with food. Even if it’s just a little bit. Ilya hums noncommittally at Shane, and Shane gives him a warm smile before continuing. 

“It’s also closer to this absolute asshole. Don’t know if that’s a good thing though,” He trails off, and Ilya laughs. 

“It definitely is a good thing. Could be closer, I think,” Ilya observes. Shane tilts his head at him. 

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Push the states closer?” He asks, a laugh creeping into the edge of his words. It’s a genuine question, though, Ilya knows. 

“There are a couple teams closer than Boston, I think.” Ilya decides to test the waters. Shane’s face morphs into one of slight confusion, like he’s doing mental calculations of where in his contract Ilya is. Where Ilya could go. 

“Right now?” Shane asks, confused. And the answer right now is no. The closest he could possibly get is New York, and they’re at capacity right now. But eventually, he could. Next year, he could.

"Not right now, малыш, (baby,)" Ilya confirms, and Shane lets out a sigh that’s half disappointed and half relieved. Ilya gets it. They both want to be closer; distance is harder now that they both are each other’s, but realistically, there’s more of a chance Ilya would end up farther away. There’s a short silence as they both take each other in. 

“I wish I could touch you,” Shane admits after a moment of silence. Ilya lets out a small huff and grins wickedly. 

"I don’t understand how people think you’re so innocent if this is how you act, мой капитан, (my captain,)"Ilya says lowly, drawing out the end of the sentence to see Shane flush and his freckles pop. 

“Captain, really?” Shane asks, raising his eyebrow at Ilya. Ilya leans back, mock scandalized. 

“You know Russian now?” He demands in mock offense, Shane rolls his eyes at Ilya’s antics, but Ilya knows he likes it. 

“I can figure out context,” Shane retorts, his mouth twitching in the attempt to keep his face neutral. 

"Oh, really? So then, if I said ‘ Ты моя любовь на всю жизнь’, (You are my love forever',)you would know what I said?” Ilya questions, raising both eyebrows. Shane sighs.

“No. Obviously not. What is it, like an insult?” When Shane asks the question, it’s soft. Although Ilya knows Shane wouldn’t know, a small part of him wishes he did. It’s conflicting. He would love to share the language he is most comfortable in with him. Although, like this, he is able to hide his heart if he needs to. 

“Maybe it is, you will never know,” Ilya starts, “As punishment-”

“Whoa, punishment?” Shane yelps, bringing both of his palms up and jumping back a bit. Ilya wants to hold them down. He knows Shane thinks it’s hot that he can toss him around, even though they are roughly the same height and size, and Ilya thinks it’s hot that Shane wants him too. Ilya lets out a merciless, small laugh at Shane’s antics. 

“You will like this one, I know you. I will say a phrase in Russian, and if you get it wrong, you take off a thing of clothing,” Ilya explains. Even though they are separated by a screen, Ilya can see Shane’s pupils dilate. 

“I’m not gonna know them,” Shane protests lightly, but his breath hitches in the beginning, and it gives him away. Ilya smirks at him. 

“That is the point, Hollander, yes?” He taunts. Shane glares at him. There’s no real heat behind it, and if he could see them, Ilya knows Shane’s hands would be twitching, aching to touch. He aches too, after all.

“You’re an asshole,” Shane says hotly, but he’s already tugging the sweatshirt he’s wearing over his head, folding it, and setting it to the side. 

“Yes, and you are boring. You love me anyway,” Ilya replies, watching intently as Shane sets the camera to a better vantage point for him. Shane pauses and turns towards him, and gives Ilya a warm smile. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he confirms softly. Ilya’s heart does stupid, sappy things at that. He wants and wants and wants. And although they are separated by a screen, for now, he will have him here. Until they are reunited next. 

“Good, pants off next.”

Chapter End Notes

I hope you guys enjoyed! Your comments and kudos make my life! Excited to see how she's unfolding.

моя кровь, моя душа, моя жизнь-My blood, my soul, my life.
я тебя люблю-I love you
Малыш-baby
Ты моя любовь на всю жизнь-You are my love forever

I love these two so dearly, Ilya and Shane love each other so much. Rahhh. Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 6: ilya and restraint (or the lackthereof

Chapter Summary

“I know a lot of you have been confused for why I pushed you so hard this week,” He starts, a couple guys nod curtly and Cliff raises an eyebrow at him, “I know that you all think without Shane Hollander Montreal is weak. And you’re probably right.” There’s a couple laughs.

“But, this is our home ice. And I don’t want Montreal to have any lead on us in our state. Get the fuck up, and we can beat them so bad they will be scared to verse us again. They should be scared, yes? Then let’s fucking win.” Ilya smiles wide as he speaks. Looking out among the rest of the team, he makes sure he makes eye contact with each one. He believes in them, is the thing. He knows that they’re good. He hears the cheers from the rest of the team as he looks around. Cliff claps him on the back and shoots him a smile. Ilya feels like his body is sizzling. He thinks he must be a live wire, sparking and itching for something to catch fire.

Chapter Notes

Hey everyone! A little bit of a content warning, some homophobic language is used by a player from Montreal. Be aware!

The locker room is deadly silent. It has been ever since Ilya walked in. Today is another game of the season, and Boston is playing Montreal. It’s a home game, which means Ilya feels the need to win boil over in his blood. Not that he doesn’t always want to win, because he does. But against Montreal in his state? It becomes a need, not a want. Ilya had been pushing everyone harder, to everyone’s confusion. After all, Montreal lost their first game–and nearly every game after–without Shane heading the ship, their new center crashing and burning, and Hayden clearly was not used to having to actually lead without Shane. Ilya had loudly grumbled about Hayden being the new captain, but Shane had quickly reminded him that “That’s literally how Alternate Captain works, Ilya,” and Shane had some hope that Hayden being the captain could maybe shift things positively. Ilya personally thought that he had too much faith in his friend, but kept that thought to himself. 

Anyway, Ilya had been pushing Boston hard in all of their practices leading up to Montreal. It had gotten to the point where Marleau had asked if Ilya was in trouble with Jane. Telling Marleau that Jane had moved did not clear up his confusion. Ilya was determined; however, he needed Boston to be in perfect shape for the game. So when he walks into the locker room a little late, already a rarity for the captain, face stony and determined, it descends into a scary silence. Ilya changes in silence before turning to face the team. He doesn’t have a good explanation for the behavior, but he can at least provide a pep talk to get his team in the same mindset.

“I know a lot of you have been confused for why I pushed you so hard this week,” He starts. A couple of guys nod curtly, and Cliff raises an eyebrow at him, “I know that you all think without Shane Hollander, Montreal is weak. And you’re probably right.” There are a couple of laughs. 

“But this is our home ice. And I don’t want Montreal to have any lead on us in our state. Get the fuck up, and we can beat them so bad they will be scared to verse us again. They should be scared, yes? Then let’s fucking win.” Ilya smiles wide as he speaks. Looking out among the rest of the team, he makes sure he makes eye contact with each one. He believes in them, is the thing. He knows that they’re good. Whenever he gives one of these talks, he likes to think he’s the opposite of his father. He knows he would be disappointed in how he leads his team. ‘Развалюха (Wreck)’ Ilya hears in his father's voice, ‘поддержку нужно заслужить, а не получить просто так. (Support must be earned, not given)’ But he can feel the difference on the ice when he shows them that support. And he needs them to connect with it tonight. He hears the cheers from the rest of the team as he looks around. Cliff claps him on the back and shoots him a smile. Ilya feels like his body is sizzling. He thinks he must be a live wire, sparking and itching for something to catch fire. He’s not too worried about the game, but more so about the fact that he will do something so violent that someone will pick up on his love for Shane. Love and violence are so close, he thinks. After all, what has his family taught him but a closed fist or open palm for a promise of safety?

He makes his way onto the ice slowly, taking in the roar of the crowd, keeping his eyes on his team but narrowing his eyes when he catches sight of the Voyagers on the ice. It’s a little odd. His body is used to playing the Voyagers and seeing Shane in the blue and white and red jerseys. Not seeing him here is different. Not playing him with Montreal is weird. He knows Shane is playing Philadelphia today, yet he keeps expecting to see him out of the corner of his eye. 

Time moves sluggishly as he warms up. He ends up making eye contact with Hayden for some reason, and Ilya gives the most awkward half-smile he’s ever done in his life. Fortunately, Hayden is just as awkward and copies the gesture. Ilya manages to shake the awkwardness away and drags his finger across his neck. Hayden flips him off in response, thankfully, and the moment is broken as he laughs quietly to himself. And maybe a little at Hayden. 

Ben Tucker, Montreal’s new center, skates to the center of the rink with all the undeserved confidence of someone who has carried his team. He does not deserve this confidence, Ilya thinks; he does not deserve anything. Ilya meets him in the center and pointedly does not meet the wicked grin that is shot his way. 

“I know you’re used to playing Hollander, but I’m not him. I’m, well, different from him,” Tucker says. Ilya gives an unimpressed sigh and raises an eyebrow. 

“What, you are slower? Have shitty hand-eye coordination?” Ilya bites out. His blood fizzes dangerously underneath his skin, but he mentally slams a lid over it. He will not drop his gloves before the game starts. He won’t get a fight penalty before the puck drops. 

“Nah, I’m better than him, that’s what the coaches are saying,” Tucker boasts, slowly getting into position. Ilya politely does not break his stick over Tucker’s head. How the coaches can reduce someone to no value over who they like to fuck he will never understand. He valiantly hopes someone cuts Theriault’s brakes. 

“It does not seem like your last game went that well for you. Maybe start playing hockey instead of riding the coach's dick, yes?” Ilya’s tone is far sharper than he means to come out. The bitterness is barely contained, springing from his voice and harshly landing as Tucker’s eyes sparkle, which only lets Ilya know he is going to say something truly stupid. 

“I bet Hollander would know about that, being a fairy and all.” 

In a stunning display of maturity, Ilya doesn’t drop his gloves right then and there. He doesn’t even wait to take them off before swinging and hitting Tucker clean in the jaw. As Tucker recovers, his gloves hit the ice. It’s barely a fair fight. By the time refs have broken the two up, Tucker is carted off to medical, missing a tooth and bruises blooming across his face, while Ilya grins bloodily as he skates to the penalty box. 

Ilya miraculously manages to get sent back to the penalty box twice more, much to his team’s (and coaches') chagrin. He does try to restrain himself, but it seems that everyone wants to use Hollander as a chirp, expecting Ilya to join in on their vitriol. It doesn’t help that Hayden tries to shoot him a barely hidden thumbs-up or a smile whenever he passes the box. In the end, Montreal and Boston remained tied at 0-0, and after a firm talking to from his coach, reminding him to please, for the love of God, do not get into a fight again, Ilya is sent out for overtime. So is Tucker. 

Ilya doesn’t spare him a glance at the final drop. Tucker doesn’t say anything. Hasn’t since Ilya had struck him silent. Ilya doesn’t waste a glare on the man before the puck is dropped. Ilya wins the face off and takes off like a bullet. He needs this win; no matter how satisfying the crack of his fists has been, he needs to win. For himself. For Shane. He fakes a pass and hurls the puck into the net. It goes in. Boston wins. Bodies slam into his affectionately, and the crowd roars. Ilya winces slightly at the twinging of his ribs. Getting into three fights was maybe not the most medically sound decision he could’ve made. But he’d do it again. 

When he gets off the ice, Laurie is waiting for him with an exasperated look on her face. He grins at her, and she shakes her head. 

“Media is requesting you,” She warns him, and he shoots her a small glare that she rolls her eyes at. 

“Are you not the media?” He questions, and she quirks a smile at him and shrugs. 

“This is what you get for picking three fights, the people want to know why,” She remarks, leading him down to the locker room before he is fit to speak to the press. He drags his heels a little and sighs in aggravation. 

“Montreal is a bunch of assholes, they deserved it,” He defends, and Laurie puts her hands up placatingly. 

“I’m not saying they didn’t, but you could get a one-game suspension, the press is gonna want to know why,” She answers. Ilya groans and makes a so-so gesture with his hands. Maybe he did go too far. They both stop by the locker room entrance, and she side eyes him curiously, she shoots him a small smile. 

“What is Jane going to think of this?” She asks playfully. 

“Ah, Jane is boring,” Ilya grins wryly, “I will probably get a lecture. But it was worth it.”

The press is predictable, and Ilya stumbles through a bland PR apology to Tucker, Comeau, and Drapeau that immediately becomes irrelevant as he continues to insult the Voyagers for their disastrous playing and subsequent loss. Laurie looks vaguely like she is trying to explode him with her mind at that. No doubt trying to think of ways to placate the media. Ilya doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel guilty for any of the punches he had thrown. He wishes he had hit them harder, in fact, and he knows that the apologies he’s spitting out don’t come off genuine. Before he leaves, his coach pulls him aside to tell him that he received a one-game suspension. He attempts to smother the small smile fighting to make itself known. Since there were two days before his next game and three before Shane’s home game, he had already been planning on diving down to see him. By the narrow of his coach's eyes, he's not very successful. He promises it won’t happen again. And it won’t. No other team will ever make his blood boil like this again. 

Ilya makes his way to his car and sighs. He has a three-hour drive to New Jersey, and Shane had only responded to the message he sent to inform the other man that he was on his way with a thumbs up. Usually, there would be more communication. Long distance has been killing the two of them after finally being able to be together the two had been texting and calling constantly. And while there is a lot of phone sex, they do enjoy just talking. Distantly, Ilya wonders if Shane is actually upset with him for fighting his previous teammates. The thought bounces around his skull as he pulls out of the parking garage and begins to gnaw at him. Before he can let the feeling ruminate, his phone rings. He picks it up, expecting it to be Shane, but instead Jackie Pike’s voice rings high-pitched and delighted through his ears. 

“You must be feeling pretty smug, Rozanov,” She croons through the phone. Ilya huffs a laugh at her. 

“I don’t know if you saw, but I apologized, so if anything, I feel guilty,” He says sarcastically, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He wonders absently if he should feel guilty. If the violence that snapped out of him was just the only other option, because if he didn’t, he would have said something stupid and sappy, and his heart would leap out of his throat to ruin his and Shane’s career. And if he did say those things, the ever-present hum of Shane, Shane, Shane, that had lodged itself behind his ribs when he was 18, he wondered if Shane would see that and realize that it’s too much. That Ilya is too much. On the phone, Jackie sighs lightly, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh yes, my mistake. I guess when you said that Tucker ‘was too busy googling his name to ever be good at hockey’ I figured you had some mixed feelings about it,” she observes. Ilya hums, flicking his turn signal and changing lanes. 

“Well, that’s not entirely true, I’m not even sure he knows how to read,” He comments, his lips quirking up into a smile as Jackie laughs loudly through the phone. 

“Listen, I wanted to ask you something,” She says after catching her breath, “you know how you’re going down to Shane’s a couple of days earlier, and Shane’s playing Montreal in a few days?”

“Yes, I am aware,” Ilya replies, stifling a curse as someone in front of him cuts him off. 

“Well, I was wondering if you would want to watch the kids for a day? Hayden and I might stay in New Jersey a day later and go into the city. Shane said to ask you, and if you guys have plans, it’s totally fine, I’ll just bring them, but I wanted to ask just in case,” She rambles. Ilya pauses for a moment. He really does enjoy watching the kids; they’re cute, and they like him, and sometimes he feels like he is seeing the future. His fingers tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel as he considers. 

“Probably is fine, if it’s only for a day,” he responds after a moment, and Jackie makes a pleased noise. 

“Perfect! Seriously, thank you so much, you two are life savers,” She gushes. 

“Yeah of course.” Ilya smiles, he does like Jackie. She’s a good friend to Shane. Maybe even to him. Jackie is silent for a minute and then startles when he curses loudly at the driver in front of him. 

“Oh my god, drive safe! I’ll see you in a couple of days!” She says, and Ilya responds in kind before the phone call ends and he’s back to brooding in his own thoughts. 

Ilya lasts only a couple of seconds into the drive before his thoughts drift back to Shane. He wonders if the reason he answered Jackie and not him is because he saw the fight. He groans, and turns the music on loud. It doesn’t stop the spiral, but it does make it easier to focus on something else. He spends the rest of the drive debating if Shane will turn him away once he arrives. 

Ilya pulls up to Shane’s new house, and a flicker of hope rings in his chest as he sees the lights on. He knocks on the door and waits, dread creeping into his mind the longer he stands on the porch. Shane opens the door and ushers Ilya in, taking his bags and turning away so Ilya can’t analyze his face. Shane puts the bags by the kitchen and breathes a moment before turning to face him. That can’t be good, Ilya thinks, mentally berating himself. 

“A one-game suspension? Really Ilya?” Shane asks, his voice low in a way Ilya usually doesn’t hear. He clenches his eyes shut and resigns himself for the couch. Or worse, a fight that will end with him alone again. A pit opens in his stomach that threatens to rip his heart into shreds. Ilya feels his eyes sting and keeps his eyes closed so Shane doesn’t see them. He misses the way Shane’s pupils are dilated as he steps closer and closer to Ilya. 

“I’m sorry, Shane, I-” Ilya’s words are cut off as Shane yanks him into a harsh, desperate kiss. Ilya loses himself to the feeling, kissing Shane back with a fervor. He lets himself be walked backwards into the wall, and threads his fingers through Shane’s hair, pulling. He swallows the sounds that Shane makes. A tear makes its way down his face and he kisses Shane harder to hide the fact. When he pulls away, cursing his need to breathe, his eyes track Shane’s face, confused. 

“Shane, What?” He questions, breathless. Shane lets out a small grunt and starts attacking his jaw, slowly making his way down his throat. 

“So fucking stupid,” Shane says between kisses, his voice wrecked, “why are your clothes still on?”

Ilya lets out a small laugh that has Shane glaring up at him. Ilya drags him back up to kiss him harshly, and Shane whines. 

“I thought you were mad at me,” Ilya confesses with a whisper, pulling away, and Shane chases his lips. 

“No, why would I be mad at you? That was really hot,” Shane defends, kissing him and kissing him. Shane tugs at Ilya’s shirt, and Ilya takes it off. Grinning at his boyfriend. 

“Yes, I can tell,” Ilya tugs Shane’s shirt over his head as Shane continues kissing his way down his body. 

So it turns out that Shane is not mad about Ilya fighting his prior teammates. Not even a little bit. Ilya’s head hits the wall as he snakes his hand around Shane’s head and under his jaw. As Shane looks up at him from where he kneels on the floor Ilya feels his heart stutter. His guilt abolished, Ilya thinks maybe he’ll break Tucker’s leg next time. 

Chapter End Notes

Развалюха-means wreck, but it's like, not slang, but used to berate a child who is incredibly slow, clumsy, lazy, or falling apart. meant to mean like he's useless and broken
поддержку нужно заслужить, а не получить просто так.-support must be earned, not given

Guys I'm gonna be honest, this chapter took me so long to get out of my head, but I think the concept of Ilya driving to Shane's, going "oh my god he's so pissed," and Shane is at home trying and failing to stop himself from jumping him is very funny.

I love you all so dearly, thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos mean so much to me! Hollanov is the first time I've been inspired to not write straight up angst, and I really appreciate all of your kind words and thoughts!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter mwah!

Chapter 7: the baby trap problem

Chapter Summary

Shane turns to Arthur who has found it appropriate to fall asleep against the arm of the couch. He moves a bit closer, so he can be sure he’s breathing right, and when he looks up Ilya’s eyes meet him from across the house. Shane’s mouth goes dry at the sight. Ilya holds Amber softly, swaying as he smiles brightly at Shane, a song being sung under his breath. It’s one of the hottest things Shane has ever seen, and he vaguely wonders if he can convince Jackie to leave Amber here longer, or if there’s another way for them to acquire a baby on short notice.

Chapter Notes

The apartment is quiet, Shane notices as he moves through the kitchen, making himself breakfast after his morning run. It’s been a couple months since the move, and it feels more like home now. Especially with Ilya visiting for the week. He has a game tomorrow, having sat out of Boston’s previous game against Buffalo that the two had watched. It was a close game, with Boston eventually winning 3-2, and Ilya had grumbled the whole time about how it would have been better if he was there playing. Shane agreed, but he was also quietly glad that Ilya was here with him. He liked watching the game with Ilya, their feet tangled together while Shane had traced patterns on Ilya’s arm absent mindedly. Yelling at the TV when they disagreed with a particular play, and joking about the other team's weak defense. He’s reminded of their cottage days, the abundant happiness radiating off of the both of them as they move through their time together. Often ending with the both of them wrapped up in each other, trading kisses and touches in the sanctity of Shane’s room. And although it’s no longer a novelty, the wonder hasn’t stopped for Shane. He still laughs at the jokes that Ilya makes that aren’t really funny, but are because Ilya is saying them. He still reaches out for him whenever he can. Ilya is still the first person he wants to tell about everything. And Ilya wants him back. Ilya still slips into soft-spoken Russian that makes Shane wish the lessons he’s been secretly taking were more effective. He’s learning, really, but it’s not coming as easily to him and it’s frustrating to not understand them. 

He mentally walks through the alphabet as the blender whirrs to life, stopping to repeat it when he misses a letter. He’s been picking up speaking ok, going through the basic conversations before he goes to sleep, but his reading is lacking. He mentally chides himself for not picking it up faster, as the blender continues to sound. When the blender stops, and he’s gone through the alphabet three times, he feels a familiar pair of arms come around his waist and a sleepy huff of air at his ear. 

“Why are you up so early?” Ilya whines into his ear, resting his head on Shane’s shoulder, his hands playing with the hem of Shane’s shirt. Shane smiles as he moves slowly to pour the smoothie. 

“You don’t have to also be up, you know,” He says leaning back into Ilya. Ilya takes his weight with a hum, shaking his head into his neck. 

“You’re using the blender, it’s loud,” Ilya complains, but it’s soft, smushed into his skin. Shane slowly moves to put everything away with Ilya following, still attached to him. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” Shane shrugs and Ilya squeezes him tighter at his words before letting him go. Shane sighs fondly as Ilya places a smacking kiss to his cheek. 

"Don’t apologize Любимый, (love)" Ilya murmurs. Love, Shane’s brain supplies, raking through lessons and late night googles. He smiles brightly. He wants to get to a point where he can talk to Ilya, and Ilya won’t be able to hide his heart, not from Shane. The way Shane tries not to hide his from Ilya. He wants to always have this, wants to always have Ilya. He rolls the pet name through his brain a couple times, and frowns. 

“Hey, do you want me to call you, like a pet name?” Shane asks, slipping out of Ilya’s hold to sit at the table. Ilya follows him over and scooches his chair closer until there’s barely any space between them. Shane loves him. 

“What are you talking about?” Ilya responds, hooking his ankle around Shane’s as he leans on the table, his head resting on his hand as his eyes take in Shane. Shane doesn’t know what Ilya sees but his expression melts into a soft smile, relaxed and delighted. His eyes crinkle in a way that makes the blue radiate. Maybe it’s just him. What did I do to deserve you like this, Shane thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

“You call me all these pet names all the time. And I…I really like them. I was just thinking, as your boyfriend, should I call you something too?” Shane thinks aloud, his hands tick where they sit on the table. He doesn’t know if he’s doing this wrong, maybe Ilya doesn’t like pet names, maybe this is one of those things he should’ve just known to do. His fingers drum a bit anxiously on the table. He feels Ilya slide his hand closer, and Shane happily uses it as a distraction and grasps them with his own. 

“You can call me whatever you want my Shane,” Ilya says, slow and syrupy sweet and Shane feels his heart seize. He can imagine a future where he and Ilya can do this every morning, limbs tangled and pressed together doing arbitrary tasks. There’s something missing in the picture, Shane thinks as he traces Ilya’s fingers with his hands. Picking at them and tangling them with his own, he flicks his eyes to see Ilya watching him with amusement. 

“Okay my Ilya,” Shane responds smiling and squeezing Ilya’s hand. Ilya laughs lightly, the sound bouncing out of his mouth and lodging itself somewhere deep in Shane’s ribs. An exact hit, like the goals they’ve been making all season, sharp, precise and fast. And Shane feels it spread through his body like warmth. Like love maybe. Bigger and bolder and all encompassing as he watches Ilya’s head fall out of his hand to bring himself closer to Shane. 

“You mock me?” Ilya questions, but the way his eyes flit across Shane’s freckles and are full of light and warmth and iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou and it makes Shane’s smile widen. 

“Who, me?” He deadpans, using his free hand to point to himself. Ilya gasps, high and fake, but keeps their hands tethered together. Shane feels his leg being tugged at by Ilya’s ankle, pulling him closer. 

“Don’t pretend you’re innocent with me, Hollander,” Ilya mutters lowly, shooting him a shit-eating grin. 

“Don’t be an asshole, Rozanov,” Shane says, lips pulling up into a smile. 

Ilya says nothing but raises his eyebrows at him while Shane rolls his eyes back. Ilya sighs dramatically but kisses his face just the same, first the right side, then the left, before capturing his lips sweetly. He tastes minty, and Shane knows Ilya had started brushing his teeth before walking downstairs just so he can kiss him, but it’s nice to have the confirmation. Shane hums into the kiss, and before he can deepen it, Ilya pulls away and goes to the fridge. 

“What time are the children arriving?” He asks, grabbing yogurt and looking at it as if it will turn into the full fat version. It does not, and Ilya dutifully goes to grab a spoon. 

“Uh soon, I think? Hayden said once he and Jackie wake up they’ll head over and I know he needed the rest after the game yesterday.” Shane responds, retrieving his phone from his pocket to double check his texts with Hayden. The game against Montreal had been a hard-earned win, with Wes assisting Shane on the winning goal. It had been weird, seeing as all of his previous teammates ignored him on the ice, with some of them still sporting bruises from their game against Ilya, but the silence only helped Shane focus, really. What helped extra was seeing Ilya in Shane’s seats, sporting a baseball cap and sunglasses, but watching the game nonetheless. Watching him. It had made Shane feel like he was floating, to know Ilya was there watching him. And he made sure Ilya knew it when they had made it back to the apartment. 

“Ah yes, Montreal’s 14th best player should rest well, surely that will help him in the next game!” Ilya snarks, sitting back down and resting his hand on Shane’s neck while he rehooks his ankle so their legs can be tangled together. Shane snorts but swats Ilya’s arm. 

“That’s not funny,” Shane admonishes, hiding his laugh behind a cough. Ilya turns to face him. 

“Oh really? You laugh because it’s not funny?” He questions, his eyes finding Shane’s, a grin gracing his face. Shane’s eyes don’t leave his either, holding it for a second, and then another, until he remembers he should probably answer. 

“No I’m laughing because that’s a funny statement coming from the second best player in the league” Shane retorts, his eyes sparkling, and Ilya lights up.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were talking to yourself!”  He says, waving around his spoon as he talks. Shane turns his body to face Ilya more, tilting his head. 

“I have more goals than you right now asshole.” Shane points out.

“If I played last game I would be closing the gap,” Ilya defends, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, dragging Shane’s leg over towards him. 

“Oh the game you got a suspension from because you instigated three fights? That one?” Shane pretends to ponder, bringing up his finger to point it at Ilya accusingly. Ilya snatches his hand and brings it to his chest, right over his heart. 

“Oh now it’s a problem,” Ilya moves his hand higher by his face, and throws his head back, “but other day it ‘that was soo hot Rozanov please please fuck-” Shane cuts him off. 

“You said I was the best player in the league once,” He changes directions, snatching his hand back. His ears start to feel warm as he vaguely remembers what happened after Ilya arrived at his apartment. He’s not entirely wrong, if a bit exaggerated. But Shane would never admit that to him.

“I never said that. You were having bad day.” Ilya startles Shane by tapping him on the nose once. Shane’s face scrunches and he huffs out a breath. 

“So, what was it? You never said it or I was having a bad day?” He remarks, yanking his leg back from where Ilya was holding it hostage. 

“No no no, was sweet nothings, boring conversation,” Ilya waves off, but his foot keeps tapping Shane’s ankle. Shane stubbornly refuses to move it. 

“Fuck off,” Shane crosses his arms and looks away, but he’s smiling, and his eyes keep going back to where Ilya sits. Ilya rolls his eyes. 

“No no fuck me please,” Ilya chides lightly, his grin growing cheshire like out of the corner of Shane’s eyes. 

“I hate you,” Shane says with absolutely no heat behind it, turning his head over and locking eyes with Ilya. 

“Hollander fucking kiss me already, Jesus,” Ilya responds, teasingly outraged, as he leans over and captures Shane’s lips in his, nipping at them until Shane complies to deepen it. It becomes less of a kiss and more sharing air as Ilya melts into a smile, and Shane smiles back. He gives Ilya a peck and pulls away. 

They both lounge comfortably after that. Finishing their respective breakfast (which Shane defends no less than twice. A smoothie is breakfast he adheres) and bickering about different teams they think will make it to the playoffs. Shane is in the middle of a truly well crafted argument, he thinks, about Detroit not making it when the doorbell rings. Ilya jumps up and races to the door, greeting Jackie enthusiastically. Jade and Ruby rush at him happily, laughing as they hang off his legs. Jackie smiles at them as Arther trails slowly behind them. Jackie attempts to hand over Amber from where she’s clinging to Jackie’s front but Ilya ushers her inside first. 

“Thank you guys so much again, me and Hayden really appreciate it,” Jackie sighs as Ilya takes Amber from her. Shane glances at the door, half expecting Hayden to be there as well. 

“Hayden’s waiting for me outside. Here’s some money for lunch and everything later. Again, I can’t thank you enough,” Jackie gushes, reaching in her pockets to hand over some bills , Ilya pauses tilting his head and staring at the closed door of Shane’s apartment. 

“He didn’t want to stop in before you two left?” Shane questions lightly. Arthur has reached the couch by this point, attempting to climb up the sides. 

“He really wanted to get ahead of traffic,” Jackie explains apologetically, her eyes flicking softly to where Ilya stands cradling Amber. Shane nods slightly. He understands, but he also wonders if Ilya is part of the reason why he’s not here right now. He forces himself to focus on making sure Arthur makes it safely onto the couch cushion next to him. 

Jackie says her goodbyes, leaving the girls' bags on the kitchen island and kissing both Ilya and Shane on the cheek before she departs. Jade and Ruby last a total of five seconds before clamoring loudly towards where Ilya stands against the island in the kitchen. 

“Uncle Ilya! Uncle Ilya!” Ruby bounces over wrapping her hands around his free one. The other supports where Amber sits on his hip. Shane can’t bring himself to look away. 

“Can we draw? Please?” Jade draws out the please, batting her eyelashes at him. As if he would ever say no to them, Shane thinks as he watches a warm smile grow on Ilya’s face. 

“Why of course мои звёздочки,” Ilya says softly gesturing with his head to their bags. The girls rush over with glee. 

"Why of course мои звёздочки, (my little stars,)" Ilya says softly gesturing with his head to their bags. The girls rush over with glee. 

“What does that one mean?” Ruby asks, dragging her bag over to the chair. 

“Zoz-dough-chi,” Jade says slowly, joining the table across from where her sister sits. 

“Ah, close,” Ilya corrects, “Zvozdochki. It means my little stars.” 

The girls nod at him and Ruby mouths the word a few times, clearly trying to commit to memory. Shane sounds it over in his head. Filing it away for later pondering. He turns to Arthur who has found it appropriate to fall asleep against the arm of the couch. He moves a bit closer, so he can be sure he’s breathing right, and when he looks up Ilya’s eyes meet him from across the house. Shane’s mouth goes dry at the sight. Ilya holds Amber softly, swaying as he smiles brightly at Shane, a song being sung under his breath. It’s one of the hottest things Shane has ever seen, and he vaguely wonders if he can convince Jackie to leave Amber here longer. 

“Can I draw you and Uncle Shane on the ice Uncle Ilya?” Jade asks hesitantly, Ilya pads over to the table.

“Ooh yeah! I want to draw them too!” Ruby squeals, Jade pouts but Ilya sets Amber down at the table as she stirs and the twins fall silent. 

“Of course you can draw us,” Ilya grants, looking over at Shane again. Shane smiles as Ilya sits down in between the girls, handing Amber a piece of paper and a colored pencil. 

Shane sits quietly, split between making sure Arthur is sleeping peacefully, and watching Ilya and the girls giggle. It kicks his ribs and jumpstarts his heart and he wants so badly. He’s afraid it shows on his face. How badly he wants this in a future where they wouldn’t have to hide, and could come home together, and somehow there’s a kid with Shane’s freckles and Ilya’s hair waiting too. The idea floats around his brain and takes root, almost finished, missing a vital piece. He muses it around with his mind, trying to find what feels wrong, but it feels just out of reach. He gets up to grab a glass of water and glances at the table. Jade is scribbling out a truly interesting stick figure with a hockey jersey that Shane only knows is Ilya by the bright blue that she uses for the eyes and the number 81 on the chest. She starts to write out the name and starts with an ‘H’ which Shane thinks maybe six-year-olds really don’t know how to spell but when she follows it with an ‘O’ it clicks. His breath hitches as Ilya tilts his head towards Jade’s drawing, pointing at the letters. The pieces click magically into place, the images from earlier feel complete now, with the solid image of matching rings on both hands. He’s frozen in place, imagining Ilya at an altar, or maybe the backyard of the cottage, that he almost misses Ilya correcting Jade. 

“24 is Hollander, 81 is Rozanov,” He explains softly, pointing to the drawing “I don’t know if you got me confused with second best in league,”

Ok. So maybe Rozanov isn’t quite ready yet. That’s ok, Shane can wait. And plan, in the meantime. He watches as Jane and Ruby lock eyes, communicating wordlessly as Jade goes to fix her drawing. 

“And what is this?” Ilya turns towards Ruby. Her drawing isn’t much better then Jades, some stick figures and a truly impressive drawing of what looks like an animal, but could also be a shrub. 

“It’s a dog!” She giggles at him.

“How silly of me. Why don’t we add a second one so the first one does not get lonely,” Ilya suggests, his eyes flick to where Shane stands watching. Shane tilts his head. 

“We’re not getting two dogs Ilya,” He scolds, Ilya rolls his eyes, like he expected that answer. 

“Ah, but one is okay?” Ilya turns and pouts at him. Shane moves closer until he’s standing behind Ilya and leans down until he’s right next to his ear. A dog would be nice, if their schedules weren’t so crazy. But the idea rolls around in his head nonetheless, catching onto his visions of their future and he sighs. 

“Don’t push it,” He says, standing up and ruffling Ilya’s hair. Ilya looks at him lovingly, and it takes a lot of willpower for Shane to not lean over and kiss him senseless. He looks away. 

“He doesn’t know that one is what I wanted,” Ilya whispers connivingly to the girls at the table once Shane has walked away, but he’s speaking loudly enough that Shane hears it anyway. Amber laughs delightedly, and Ruby starts on a tangent about what kind of dog they have to get. Ilya listens with rapt attention, and Shane has to look away before he traumatizes Hayden’s kids.  

Shane sits back down on the couch next to Arthur and fixes the blanket that had fallen off of him in his sleep before Shane groans. He forgot the water. 

The rest of the day continues mostly the same, with Ilya indulging the twins, Amber or Arthur on his hip, as Shane joins in laughing when they poke fun at him, bringing them all together. They sit outside for a little, the older girls and Shane running around with a soccer ball as Ilya watches, cheering with Amber and Arthur sitting on his lap. Arthur doesn’t speak much throughout the day, but he does manage to copy Ilya’s eyebrow raise back at the man once, which causes Ilya to lose it, and will probably give Hayden gray hairs. Later, when Hayden and Jackie arrive at their door to take them home, Shane scoops up Arthur to spin him around before placing him in Hayden's hands. He ruffles Jade and Ruby’s hair as Ilya plants an exaggerated kiss on each of their heads. Shane shares a smile with Hayden as he takes Amber from Ilya, giving her a short squeeze before she is put down and waddles over to her parents. Hayden returns the smile but doesn’t explain his absence from earlier. When the door is finally closed, Ilya is looking at him with a dopey expression. 

“I think I proved I am the favorite.” He shrugs, speaking low and sweet and Shane laughs loudly at him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Shane shoves at Ilya but lets himself be tugged closer when Ilya grabs at his arm. Shane leans forward and grazes Ilya’s lips with his own, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s neck as they sway together in the entryway, trading kisses back and forth. He yawns when Ilya leans forward again and the pair giggle. 

"Shall we go to bed мой родной? (my soulmate?)" Ilya asks, pressing featherlight kisses to his cheek, warm and loving and chaste. 

“Hey, I want to call you a Russian nickname,” Shane mumbles sleepily, briefly forgetting that learning Russian was supposed to be a secret. He blinks himself more awake. Ilya is silent, and after a moment Shane pulls slightly back to meet his gaze. 

“I guess an easy one for you would be Ilyusha,” He says, his eyes a little watery, but crinkling in a way that suggests he’s happy. Shane smiles and rolls it through his head and mouths it into Ilya’s skin to make sure it sticks. 

The pair stumble upstairs, with Shane stopping them several times to kiss Ilya sleepily against the banister or wall. He tries to push the warmth he’d been feeling all day into Ilya, deep and permanent. He thinks it works with the way they’re both smiling into each other by the time they both reach the bedroom. As they slip under the covers Shane leans into Ilya. 

“Goodnight Ilyusha,” He hums, and Shane feels Ilya’s grip tighten, bringing him closer. 

"Спокойной ночи, солнышко, (Goodnight, sunshine,)" Ilya responds, sleepy and tired and Shane loves him so deeply he wonders if this is how it’s supposed to be. The feeling lays over him comfortably, filling his stomach with warmth, fondness overwhelming his system. So big he doesn’t think there’s words to describe it. So he says nothing, twisting around to wrap his arms around Ilya as well, pressing his face into his neck as they both drift off to sleep. 

The next day Ilya and Shane wake up at the same time, which is a rarity, but not surprising since Ilya does actually have a game tonight against New York. A game that Shane has decided he wants to see. He hasn’t told Ilya, wanting to surprise him, so he’s been carefully avoiding the topic, not trusting himself to lie. They both go out on a morning run together, Ilya following Shane through the neighborhood and around the winding paths at first. Shane keeps looking back, as if to make sure Ilya is behind him, and eventually Ilya huffs and moves faster so they can run next to each other. 

“I bet I can make it back to the house first,” Ilya muses, shooting Shane a crooked smile. Shane rolls his eyes.

“You don’t even know how to get back,” Shane explains, a little exasperated. Ilya looks at him considering this. 

“Hmm, sounds like you are too slow,” He shoots back quickly at Shane. Shane shoves Ilya playfully in return and Ilya looks at him dramatically dropping his jaw. 

“I am not slow asshole,” Shane defends. Ilya narrows his eyes and attempts to shove Shane back. It does not work and Shane laughs lightly at him. Ilya focuses on the street ahead of them. 

“Prove it then.” And Ilya takes off, turning down the next block. It’s the wrong turn, they’re going to have to turn around and run an extra five minutes. Shane smiles to himself and takes off after him anyway.

When Ilya leaves for the game, Shane kisses him how he wanted to all day yesterday, sinfully slow, all teeth and tongue and desperate. Ilya reluctantly pulls away when Shane suggests that Ilya will be late. 

“You do this to tempt me, yes?” Ilya grumbles as Shane kisses down his neck, unmoving from where he stands by the doorway. 

“You really should leave soon,” Shane mumbles unconvincingly as he continues his assault, moving back up to brush his lips against Ilya’s. 

“You are really not helping with that,” Ilya complains, narrowing his eyes when Shane pulls away, swaying closer to him. 

“Goodbye Ilyusha,” Shane says, breath hitching when Ilya rushes forward to capture his lips on his own again. Ilya really will be late if they keep this up, and Shane reluctantly forces himself away from Ilya’s lips.  

“Bye my Shanya,” Ilya mummers and kisses his cheek, and slips through the doorway. Shane sits anxiously on the couch and sets his timer for forty five minutes. He needs to leave to make it to the arena, but can’t leave too early, lest Ilya get suspicious. He flicks through some text messages while he waits, there had been some team hangouts he had missed while Ilya was here, preferring to spend his time with him. A few texts from Garret and Wes catch his eye. 

GARRET WALKER

Hey man, we missed you last night!

SHANE

Haha, sorry I couldn’t make it!

GARRET WALKER

Don’t sweat it dude!

I know you were busy. 

Hey, the Boston vs NY Game is today.

Do you think Rozanov is back?

SHANE

I mean it was only a one game suspension so I would assume so, why?

GARRET WALKER

Just wondering, he took a couple hits against Montreal

Didn’t know if that took him out 

He’s probably fine though

SHANE

Yeah, I’m sure he’s ok.

Shane closes his chat with Garret and switches to the one with Wes, it’s been nice to get close to a team again. Garret had welcomed him into the team with open arms and he and Wes had been quick to warm up to him. It reminded him of Hayden reaching out when he first started with the Voyagers. 

WES CONBOY

hey shane, garret and i were thinking of getting dinner at some point. 

would you wanna join? i know you’re by montclair so if there’s anywhere you like…

SHANE

That sounds fun. I’ll take a look and get back to you.

Shane grins as he closes the chat. The timer he set starts to go off and he startles, throwing on a hat and sunglasses as he leaves the apartment. Double checking that it’s locked before he gets in the car. 

Ilya plays incredibly. He enters the rink and smiles confidently as his team warms up. He doesn’t see Shane, not yet, and Shane smiles to himself as he watches him hype himself up. The game is hard, with the Admirals putting up a hell of a fight. The first period has the Admirals with a 1-0 lead and Shane stops himself from rolling his eyes when Scott Hunter makes the first goal. He respects Hunter, but he doesn’t want him to win, his heart rooting for Ilya as long as he’s not playing against Shane. Ilya finally starts scanning the crowd before he goes in for the second period. He locks eyes with Shane, and Shane watches as he freezes, his face fighting a smile. Shane smiles back and gives a small wave, and watches as Ilya lights up. He wins the face off and plays with a newfound power. Boston wins 3-1.

Once the game is over Shane waits a full ten minutes before he heads to the tunnel, where Ilya stands, still in his gear, fidgeting, as if seeing Shane was a hallucination.  

“A little rough in the first period don’t you think?” Shane says casually, but his grin gives him away. Ilya rushes towards him and drags him into a bone crushing hug.  

“What are you doing here?” Ilya asks, his voice full of wonder as he takes his helmet off, pulling Shane deeper into the tunnel. Shane follows him, taking half a step back and keeping his head down. 

“I wanted to watch your game,” He replies as Ilya tugs him in a secluded corner. Ilya leans against the wall with a smile that hasn’t seemed to drop since he spotted him. 

"я тебя так сильно люблю, (I love you so much)" Ilya mutters. He doesn’t move closer, as if to be careful of possible people passing by. But there’s no one, and Shane feels a bolt of electricity shoot down his back. It would be devastating if anyone saw them, but the hallways seem to be deserted, and the fact that someone could catch them is a little riveting, he thinks. Shane weighs his options and after scanning the area thoroughly quickly gives Ilya a short kiss. He can’t stop smiling, neither can Ilya. 

“When do you have to go?” He asks, leaning his weight into the space next to Ilya. 

“I have a hotel room for the night, we fly out tomorrow morning. What are you thinking, Hollander?” Ilya responds playfully, his eyes twinkling. 

“Would you want to spend the night with another player?” Shane presses his arm into Ilya’s, purposefully not meeting his eyes. 

“Marleau wants to spend the night?” Ilya says, aghast, Shane shoves him. 

“Shut up,” He grumbles, Ilya laughs and slowly links their pinkies together. It’s thrilling, the little touches, stealing them in this small corner. Shane could get high on this, bottle up the feeling and drink it every time missing Ilya becomes a physical ache. He smiles widely at the thought, and he can feel Ilya’s eyes on him. He’s sure if he looked over Ilya’s eyes would be lit up, the brightness in the blue that always seems to be within reach for Shane. 

“Oh you mean you? I guess I could be open to that.” Ilya says softly, the sarcasm that would usually be in his voice fades out when Shane looks up to meet his eyes. He’s smiling and his eyes are bright just like Shane knew they would be, he’s beautiful, Shane thinks. He takes a deep breath before fully linking their hands together. 

“Yeah?” He leans more onto Ilya, he can feel his breath on his lips. He wants to kiss him. It’s dangerous to be this close in public, but with Ilya’s eyes on him like this it’s almost exciting instead of terrifying. 

“Yeah,” Ilya confirms, closing the distance. Shane startles, but doesn’t break the kiss. They lazily make out for a moment, and when Shane pulls away he closes his eyes and breathes out happily. 

“I’ll see you at home,” Shane promises, kissing Ilya a little harsher after the man nods and Shane makes his way back to the car. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Laurie staring at Ilya with wide eyes. 

Chapter End Notes

As always, translations below.
Любимый-Darling/Love
мои звёздочки-my little stars
мой родной-technically родной means native, but it translates to like my soulmate
Спокойной ночи, солнышко- Goodnight my sunshine. Get it...because the kids are the stars but Shane's the sun...
я тебя так сильно люблю-I love you so much

RAHH SHE'S HEREEEE!! Also finally both boys wanna be married...if only they would realize the other wants to too. This is like a lot of fluff but I hope you guys appreciate!! You'll also notice I added the chapter count! I finally finished the outline and everything should be pretty much good, I would love to try to finish this soon and try to update twice a week but I don't want to promise anything because my personal schedule is actually ridiculous right now. I'm so glad you guys like this story as I really Do Not Write stories that much (especially not happy endings, which trust this one does have one) and this has been so fulfilling, actually skill-wise. Shane and Ilya are taking me to so many wonderful places. I love you all dearly and your comments and kudos make my day! MWAH!

Chapter 8: ilya makes a friend

Chapter Summary

“So I couldn’t help but notice,” Laurie starts after a long moment of silence, blinking quickly as if to reassure herself she wasn’t hallucinating. Ilya tenses as he straightens up subconsciously, maybe if he stands perfectly still Laurie won’t be able to see him, and he won’t have to have this conversation. He says nothing, staring off to where Shane has left. Laurie takes a cautious step forward, searching Ilya’s face, although he avoids her gaze. She sighs. 

“Y’know I thought if Hollander was going to be dating another hockey player, I kind of figured it would be Pike,” Laurie says and when Ilya meets her eyes she’s wearing a shit eating grin. He gapes at her. 

Chapter Notes

second upload of the week babyy! She's a bit short and sweet but I didn't want to leave people hanging with Ilya and Shane being caught and what happens after. Enjoy!!

“So I couldn’t help but notice,” Laurie starts after a long moment of silence, blinking quickly as if to reassure herself she wasn’t hallucinating. Ilya tenses as he straightens up subconsciously, maybe if he stands perfectly still Laurie won’t be able to see him, and he won’t have to have this conversation. He says nothing, staring off to where Shane has left. Laurie takes a cautious step forward, searching Ilya’s face, although he avoids her gaze. She sighs. 

“Y’know I thought if Hollander was going to be dating another hockey player, I kind of figured it would be Pike,” Laurie says and when Ilya meets her eyes she’s wearing a shit eating grin. He gapes at her. 

“What the actual fuck, Laurie,” Ilya shudders at the mental image and then he feels himself burns with jealousy for a second. He knows Shane wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know if he likes people thinking Shane would be better off with Hayden. He wouldn’t be. Shane should only be with me, Ilya thinks possessively, then shakes the thought off when Laurie gives a short laugh. 

“Thank God you’re not having a stroke.” She rolls her eyes and steps a bit closer to him, and Ilya's head hits the brick wall. He watches as she slides next to him, leaning back against it to match him. 

“Why would I be having a fucking stroke,” He replies dryly, his throat tight. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t not want to talk about this. He is struck still with the sick feeling of deja vu from when David had walked in on them in the cottage. It’s a cheap reconstruction though. For one, Ilya knows Laurie, kind of, but he doesn’t know how she’d react about this. He had figured David would be ok, well would be ok with Shane being gay, he’s still a little shocked he and Yuna had been warm and welcoming to Ilya. 

“You were staring off into the distance saying nothing. I had to make sure I wouldn’t have to call 9-1-1.” Laurie doesn’t turn her head when she speaks and Ilya is selfishly grateful he doesn’t have to look at her. Ilya nods tightly. His chest feels funny, the relief that he has someone who knows floods through his veins, some of the weight slowly shifting off his back. The undercurrent of that relief though, is the fact that someone knows, and he hasn’t really had to deal with this. He’d been present when David and Hayden found out, sure, but they weren’t his, it had hurt less knowing they didn’t think he was good enough for Shane. And while he doesn’t know Laurie that well, it will hurt when she thinks this. If she thinks it. Same thing.  

“You can’t tell anyone,” He starts, and he can practically feel Laurie roll her eyes at him. He doesn’t feel panicked, thankfully, instead he feels detached from himself. Emotionless almost, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. So he closes his eyes and tries to  breathe evenly and pretends to ignore the thinly veiled concern in Laurie's reply. 

“Oh yeah, I was thinking it was going to be my next post, twitter will have a fucking field day,” She bites sarcastically at him, but her hearts not in it, he can tell. He sighs, agitated. 

“Is serious Laurie. No one can know,” Ilya snaps. He’s not mad at her, knows she’s just trying to get him out of his head, but he’s not in his head. He’s barely in his body at this point. He turns his head to face her and meets her concerned gaze. He opens his mouth to apologize but she shakes her head.

“Sorry. Hey, why don’t we go to my office ok? It’s a lot more private than…this,” She says softly, the ‘hallway where you two were making out’ goes unsaid. Laurie turns and starts the short walk to her office after Ilya nods. 

It’s not a long trek to her office, but in the time it takes Ilya manages to shake himself out of the blissful nothingness he’d been feeling. She opens the door and motions for him to sit down. He sits down opposite her desk and they stare at each other, each not knowing how to start. Ilya clears his throat but isn’t sure how to start this conversation.

“So…Montreal Jane,” Laurie trails off, clearly not knowing what to say either. Ilya sighs lowly. 

“Yes,” he says. He fidgets with his hands, turning his face down so he doesn’t have to see her reactions. 

“Is Shane Hollander?” She emphasizes his name, like he doesn’t know who that is. Like that isn’t the whole reason they haven’t told anyone. Like that isn’t the reason they’re in this mess right now. 

“Yes,” he confirms, picking at a hangnail and not lifting his head.

She waits a beat, rolling it around in her mind, probably thinking about their past interactions. It’s silent in the office, besides the buzz of the air conditioning, and Ilya’s leg starts to shake in a way that his father had long since berated him for. Перестань ёрзать (Stop fidgiting), he thinks, trying and failing to still his moving leg as his mind buzzes with what Laurie could say. 

“You guys are terrible at fake names, that is like a direct rhyme,” She says, breaking the silence. She sounds genuinely concerned, and Ilya cracks a lazy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“And yet no one has figured it out.” He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow at her. She stares back at him unimpressed. He doesn’t add anything to that and she scoffs.  

“Um, I beg to differ.” Laurie looks at him quizzically, and Ilya rolls his eyes. 

“You walked in on that,” he points out, and her jaw drops, eyes widening incredulously. 

“You were making out in a hallway!” She yells pushing her chair back and standing up. She then quickly turns and makes sure there’s no one outside the office. There’s not, Marleau’s on press and everyone else is eager to get home, but he appreciates the gesture.  

“It was a very private hallway,” Ilya defends weakly, his grin faltering slightly. She’s right of course, but Shane started it, surprising him at his game, kissing him first, looking like that. 

“No it was not! Exhibit A!” She gestures to herself. Ilya feels himself start to laugh, and then watches as Laurie’s face morphs into a laugh as well, falling back into her chair. The two laugh for a moment, and Ilya feels the low thrum of anxiety melt away. 

“So it’s okay?” He doesn’t mean for it to slip out of his mouth. But the words fall out, tripping out of his mouth hopelessly and landing on Laurie’s desk harshly. He wishes silently that maybe Laurie will pretend the question never came, but he doesn’t hold out hope, turning his eyes down to his lap. Laurie softens, her smile turning warm as she leans over the desk.

“Ilya, of course. And, it makes sense, kinda, in a way,” She says, leaning back into her chair, Ilya raises his eyebrow. That’s not what he expected. 

“It does?” He asks, and Laurie smirks back at him. 

“I mean, maybe I only saw like three seconds and you guys looked happy. Like really happy, like maybe a couple seconds away from joyfully committing public indecency kind of happy,” observes, her smile turning knowing and Ilya does not blush because Russians don’t blush. But he does feel his face warm, remembering the feeling of Shane’s lips on his.

“He does make me happy,” He tells her honestly. It’s not like they would’ve actually fucked in the hallway anyway, and Laurie doesn’t seem too traumatized all things considering.

“Then I’m very happy for you. If he ever hurts you I’ll kill him,” She responds, pointing at him seriously at the threat. Ilya makes a so-so gesture. 

“I think he might have a physical advantage on you there,” he comments, while Shane doesn’t fight often, he’s strong, and has a good couple inches on her. He appreciates the sentiment though, one that Svetlana had issued about “Jane” after she had found out they were serious, and his heart warms as he thinks Laurie may just be a friend he can have in Boston. 

“I’m not afraid to play dirty,” She grumbles under her breath, and Ilya laughs delightedly. 

“Okay Laurie,” He trails off with a laugh, and she grins at him. He matches her grin and she rolls the chair she’s sitting in to sit next to him, leaning her head onto his shoulder. 

“If you ever go public a lot of people are going to be disappointed” She mentions off-handedly and Ilya startles. Right, of course, he should have known. 

“What? Why?” He asks, shrugging her off of her shoulder, she narrows her eyes at him. 

“Well, because of Shane,” She shrugs and starts digging through her jeans pocket to find her phone. 

“Why because of Shane,” He repeats. It scares him a little, to think that maybe Shane’s fears aren’t unfounded. That maybe New Jersey won’t be good for him.That maybe Ilya isn’t good for him. Although the last one is Ilya’s fear instead of Shane’s. He straightens up to try to catch Laurie’s eye as she unlocks her phone. 

“Have you seen him?” She responds, her face turning vaguely concerned as she turns to look at him. Ilya, much like the Admirals tonight, is completely lost. The thread of the conversation has slipped through his hands and he truly does not know what Laurie is talking about. 

“Have I seen him? What kind of fucking question is this?” He demands, baffled. Laurie turns her phone to a recent ad shoot of Shane’s, Calvin Klein, Ilya had hounded him over for all of the rejected photos. That was a good night. And morning. And week. 

“Like, he’s hot, Ilya. A lot of people think your boyfriend is stupid hot,” She says, scrolling through tweets of people commenting on the shoot. All positive, some positively eager, and all causing a flare of jealousy in Ilya’s chest. It’s irrational, he knows, but he feels covetous, wanting to gather Shane in his arms and chant mine over and over until the fire under his skin eases. 

“He is,” Ilya says smugly, and Laurie rolls her eyes at him. 

“Yeah, this one was a good shoot, he was all people talked about for weeks,” she comments, scrolling through the photos on her phone. Ilya hums. What were they saying? He wants to ask selfishly. He knows Shane is hot, it’s a known fact of the universe, the sky is blue, the grass is green, Shane Hollander is fucking hot. And he’s in love with him. Ilya burns with the feeling as it attempts to rip itself out of him, cutting through his chest until his heart plops out and lands on the desk. He shouldn’t ask. He doesn’t get to be jealous of other people knowing Shane is hot. And he’s definitely not. But Shane is his. He wants to scream it. 

“Was he?” He asks instead, attempting for nonchalant but apparently missing by a mile as Laurie turns to look at him with her eyebrows raised. 

“What, are you jealous?” She asks, stifling a laugh. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny, and looks away.

“No,” He lies, she rolls her eyes at him and straightens up. Waiting until he gets the hint and turns her way. He’s reminded, faintly, of his mother, and quickly shakes it off his brain and pushes it deep into his mind. Now is not the time. 

“Ilya, I’m also gay,” She says seriously, and Ilya pauses. Ok, so he may be a little bit of an idiot, here. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” He says, aiming for seriousness as well, but the end tapers off into a small laugh. Laurie rolls her chair back. 

“Now get out of here, your boy’s waiting for you,” She says, gesturing to the door. Ilya smiles and goes to make his leave. He pauses once he exits the room and hastily opens his twitter app. People sure love Shane alright, and maybe it would feel better to love Shane loudly as well. Under a fake name of course. He chuckles to himself as he rushes through getting ready. His boy is waiting for him after all.

Chapter End Notes

Перестань ёрзать-Stop fidgiting

Possesive Hollanov you have a hold on me I can't lie.
I hope you guys enjoyed! I love reading your comments and I really like where this is going thus far! As you can see, I also updated the fic rating for some future chapters that are planned out. Love you all lots <3

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary

Shane would not call himself an impatient person. He waited for Ilya after all, although, part of that was his own unwillingness to believe he could be gay, which was already a problem, but also that he was in love with his arch rival, and as soon as he did figure it out completely he did invite him to his cottage and now they’re here. So maybe he’s not the most patient person. But he’s not necessarily impatient! Regardless, Ilya is taking a long time to get back from the UBS arena, and Shane is totally fine about it. He assures himself it was just traffic, and not any of the scenarios running through his head that Ilya had got into a car accident on the way home, or got into an argument, or something deeply terrible happened. The anxiety wraps itself around his sternum, and his breaths feel weighed down when he reminds himself that he needs to breathe. He feels itchy with the need to do something like get in his car and drive back just to check on him, or maybe he should’ve stayed with Ilya in the arena, regardless of how fucking stupid and risky that was, but so was kissing him in the hallway. 

Chapter Notes

Enjoy everyone!! I really really love this chapter actually, so I hope you all do too!!

Shane would not call himself an impatient person. He waited for Ilya after all, although part of that was his own unwillingness to believe he could be gay, which was already a problem, but also that he was in love with his arch rival, and as soon as he did figure it out completely, he did invite him to his cottage and now they’re here. So maybe he’s not the most patient person. But he’s not necessarily impatient! Regardless, Ilya is taking a long time to get back from the UBS arena, and Shane is totally fine about it. He assures himself it was just traffic, and not any of the scenarios running through his head that Ilya had got into a car accident on the way home, or got into an argument, or something deeply terrible had happened. The anxiety wraps itself around his sternum, and his breath feels weighed down when he reminds himself that he needs to breathe. He feels itchy with the need to do something like get in his car and drive back just to check on him, or maybe he should’ve stayed with Ilya in the arena, regardless of how fucking stupid and risky that was, but so was kissing him in the hallway. 

Headlights cut through his window, and he feels the stress dissipate into the air easily. Ilya’s fine. He knew he was fine. He thinks if something happened to Ilya, like really happened, he would feel it. Like a sharp stabbing cut into his heart where their two beings are connected. He would feel it. He would have to. It’s the only thing that makes sense. He hears footsteps hit the pavement from the driveway as they move quickly to the door, and he laughs to himself. This fucking dork. 

“Were you running?” He asks as Ilya enters the door. His hair is disheveled, and his shirt is backwards. Ilya scoffs, although he looks a little out of breath. 

“No,” Ilya huffs, an obvious lie, crossing the distance until there’s barely a centimeter between them. Shane feels his face crack into a smile, and he throws his arms around Ilya, shaking his head. 

“You’re ridiculous,” He mutters, but the sentiment rolls out of his mouth fondly, and Ilya slides his arms around Shane’s waist, pulling him closer as they stand in the living room. 

“You came to watch my game,” Ilya says, with an unrestrained wonder that reminds Shane of a kid in a hotel gym years ago asking him if Boston was nice. He’d wanted to kiss Rozanov then. Filled with an unrestrained ache to lean over and see if slotting their lips together would fix the parts of him that felt wrong. He didn’t do it then. But he can now, and he wants to. Always wants to kiss or touch him. Shane leans back into Ilya’s hold so he can position himself lower, tilting his head up to look at his boyfriend through his lashes, and Ilya’s breath hitches. Got him.

“Did I? I don’t recall,” Shane drawls as Ilya threads a hand through his hair, pulling him close so their noses are touching. Shane watches as Ilya’s lips pull up into a smirk and has to suppress his own smile. 

“You’re acting very smug for someone who didn’t practically hump my leg in the hallway like an hour and a half ago,” Ilya mutters dark and slow, and his fingers lightly tug at Shane’s hair. Shane loves how easily Ilya can read him, flipping through his brain like chapters until he finds what he’s looking for. It’s thrilling. Shane shudders as he feels the hand not in his hair slip under his shirt. 

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Shane muses, tilting his head to the side when Ilya noses at his neck. Ilya hums unconvinced as he brings his head closer to Shane’s ear, nipping at it lightly. 

“It doesn’t?” Ilya confirms, and Shane lets himself be led backwards towards the couch slowly. Ilya’s hand continues to wander, tracing patterns on his back as they move, more soft than sultry. It’s not different, but it is, the touching just to touch. Just to feel each other as they exist in the same space. It sparks something down Shane’s spine, electric and warm, and possessive. 

“No, I have a boyfriend, and it’s very serious,” he says, lowering himself to lie on the couch, and Ilya follows him. Ilya tilts his head at him for a moment, looking at him, his pupils dilating as he leans closer to hold himself on top of Shane. 

“Oh, it is?” Ilya asks, his hand moving to frame Shane’s jaw, his thumb pressing into Shane’s lip. Shane feels a crack in the center of his brain, warmth and love oozing down leisurely throughout his body, reminding him of a future where they could do this all the time. Coming home after a game and kissing and touching just because they can, a solid weight on each of their hands. Forever.  

“Yes, insanely serious, I think we’re going to get married soon.” The words are about as subtle as a plane crash as they leave Shane’s lips. Tumbling out of his mouth as the thought strikes him. Shane feels more than sees Ilya freeze for a split second, not long enough to mean anything more than him processing the words, but long enough that Shane thinks maybe. Maybe Ilya knows. Maybe Ilya knows about the future he clings to with a grip so tight it leaves indents on his hands. But the maybe flies off when Ilya’s thumb presses down harshly on Shane’s lip. 

“And what would he say about me being here?” Ilya questions, a little mean. Shane usually loves it when he gets like this. It’s not real, not really. But Shane wishes he had asked more about the married part. Wishes he could slowly feed the scraps of his heart to Ilya until he understands that Shane wants him forever. He doesn’t know how to say it. But he tries anyway. 

“I want you here,” Shane whispers. It’s not part of the roleplay, but it is. Ilya’s smirk ticks more like the fond smile he only gives to Shane. Shane pushes himself up as Ilya’s hand retreats, not wanting to be separated. Ilya’s smile quickly turns back into a smirk. 

“You do? What about your boyfriend?” He demands softly, leaning down until Shane can feel his breath mingle with his own. He pulls back when Shane tries to close the gap, and Shane barely suppresses a groan. By the delighted upturn of Ilya’s lips, Shane doesn’t think he succeeded that well. 

“Ilyusha, please,” Shane mutters, and is rewarded by Ilya pulling him into a bruising kiss. Shane is quick to kiss him back, his hands slipping under Ilya’s shirt to pull him impossibly closer until there’s no space between them. Shane sighs softly as Ilya’s lips move with his own, his hands pulling at Shane’s hair until he’s soft and malleable between him. When Ilya pulls away, Shane chases him back, kissing him just as fiercely. Ilya lets out a surprised low sound, and Shane is obsessed with it.  If this is the kind of reaction he could get when he speaks Russian, he decides he needs to get more fluent fast. 

“I need to breathe, Shanya,” Ilya tells him when he pulls away a second time, his voice raspy and weak, as Shane rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the couch. Ilya regards him with soft eyes, tugging his shirt over his head, and Shane is reminded of how they got here. 

“I can’t believe you ran to get to the house,” He laughs lightly, and Ilya pouts at him. 

“I was taking a while to drive home, and  I know how you worry,” Ilya explains, leaning down to kiss Shane’s cheek. Shane turns his head so it lands on his lips instead, then pulls back with a frown. 

“I worry a normal amount,” Shane protests, staring Rozanov dead on when he raises an eyebrow at him.

"Shane, мой любовь, (my love, )you thought I got into a crash when I took fifteen minutes instead of five,” Ilya says, his hands drifting to play with the hem of Shane’s shirt as he explains. Shane scoffs.

“You were texting while driving!” he defends, which, in his opinion, was a totally rational fear. Shane starts to sit up to make his point, and Ilya pushes him down, keeping his hand on his chest. If Shane needed to, he could push Ilya off. He’s strong; he would have to be to be playing like he is, but he likes it when Ilya pushes him around like this. Holding him down and pulling him to follow. And so he just glares up at Ilya.

“I sent one thing! And it took thirty seconds!” Ilya groans, not moving his hand. That had turned into a small fight after Ilya had come home that night, but Ilya had promised to stop texting while he was on the road at the end of it, so Shane considers it a necessary evil. Shane deepens his glare, turning its attention to the hand that is pinning him down. 

“You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of my house,” He bites out, the words not quite digging in to its victim, instead bouncing off lightly as Ilya pouts at him. Shane rolls his eyes again and drops his head back. The pressure on his chest is gone, all too soon, and Shane grunts as Ilya flops onto him, grabbing his face and lifting it so he has no choice but to look Ilya in the eye. He wouldn’t want to look anywhere else anyway. 

“Hollander, no, I’m sorry, I love you even though you worry a lot!” Ilya continues to pout, pressing soft kisses onto his cheeks, Shane sighs a very long sigh, and looks at Ilya pointedly. 

“A normal amount, Rozanov,” He emphasizes and grabs onto Ilya’s wrists, threading their hands together and squeezing them. Ilya nods emphatically at him. 

“I love you even though you worry a normal amount!” He says just as enthusiastically, and Shane groans and goes to pull away. Ilya clicks his tongue and pushes Shane's wrists to the top of the couch, holding them there with one of his hands, while the other slowly trails down his arm. Shane tries to move them, but it’s to no use. Ilya is used to this, and so is Shane. Ilya leans closer and smiles at him warmly. 

“Fuck you,” Shane mutters but it’s warm and Shane feels like maybe this is also giving his heart away. The words quickly morph into an I love you every time the phrase enters Rozanov’s vicinity. Ilya grins sharply at him, his canines glinting in the soft lighting of the living room.   

“Yes, that is the plan,” He responds, capturing Shane’s lips in his again. Maybe Ilya knows that the fuck you’s and asshole mean I love you. Maybe he can peel back the protective layer and see the words carved into the wood there for what they are. A confession without ever speaking it. Shane can read Ilya like that, too. The fuzzy, giggly feeling that trembles in his stomach that happens when Ilya calls him boring goes in his own file for Ilya. The words slowly turn into an I love you as the years have gone by. Ilya kisses Shane like how they play on the ice, hard and fast and to win, and Shane gives as good as he gets, trying to shove the endless tidal wave of affection that rises up his throat down Ilya’s own. Forever, he thinks, we could do this forever if you want. Then Ilya pulls back to bite harshly at the juncture where Shane’s neck meets his shoulder, and Shane stops thinking for a while. 

As they lounge in the bedroom, after Ilya had righted Shane’s head back on his shoulders and pulled an earthshattering orgasm or two from him on the couch of all places, after showering together and trading lazy kisses between the two, Ilya shuffles closer to where Shane lies. Shane smiles as Ilya’s arm wraps around him. 

“Thank you for coming to the game,” Ilya says, kissing the back of his head, and Shane turns his head over to peck Ilya back. He smiles fondly at his boyfriend, slowly moving to where Ilya can lay his head on Shane’s chest, and Shane can thread his fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah, of course,” Shane responds softly, his eyes caught on the blonde strands falling through his fingers. Ilya seems content to lie there and listen to Shane’s heartbeat, and the only noise in the room is the even breathing. After a minute, Ilya turns his face, his chin slightly digging into Shane’s chest, but Shane doesn’t mind it. He would take the slight pain every time if it meant Ilya could stay here, with him. 

“Did you take notes?” Ilya asks groggily, like he was just about to fall asleep. Shane racks his brain for any indication of what they’re talking about, but finds absolutely nothing. 

“What?” He replies, his hands stilling from where they sit on Ilya’s head. Ilya grins wickedly at him, and Shane resigns himself to whatever thought is about to leave Ilya’s mouth. 

“Well, you watched the game of the best hockey player in the league. Do you want any pointers?” Ilya quips, his tone nonchalant, but his eyes sparkling. Shane just stares at his idiot boyfriend and sighs fondly. 

“I hate you,” He replies, flicking Ilya square in the forehead. Ilya squawks at the contact and immediately flicks Shane back in the arm. Shane flinches, and Ilya takes the opportunity to lean forward, shifting around until he’s holding himself right above Shane’s head. 

“No you don’t,” He murmurs in the dark of the room, like it’s a secret. It is a secret, actually. They can’t do this outside of the house, or the walls of hotel rooms, or Ilya’s apartment. Shane can’t ever say he doesn’t outside of those walls, because no one would believe him. Even after the Irina Foundation announcement, there was disbelief that sparked because why would Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov ever be cordial? The love they share is trapped under their skin, pushing and clawing at the veins it’s chained in, and Shane doesn’t know how to make it stop. Lying and holding back in public is second nature, a routine he’s become so lost in that he doesn’t know who he is without it. He doesn’t know if he’s marketable without it. And he doesn’t really care about that, not really; all he wants is to play hockey. But people care. The league cares if they can sell an Asian Canadian kid to the public, split Shane’s soul up between sponsorships, brand deals, and games, so people will watch and pick him apart like vultures. It’s bad enough he’s not white, not the norm, but he’s also queer. He is what everyone pokes fun at, and what he didn’t want to be. And to top it all off, he’s in love with another player. He’s Canada’s Golden Boy, calm and polite and a role model, but it’s all a lie. He’s not calm, hasn’t been in a long time, especially after he realized the frantic tugging at his chest was pulling him towards the love of his life, who was not only a man but his rival. He’s polite, but only out of habit, he doesn’t fight often, but he wants to sometimes, wants to kick and scream and drop his gloves, and the rare moments he gets to are good. It scares him. And he doesn’t think he’s a role model. Lying about himself his whole career will do that. 

But here, in this apartment, with the moon streaming through the window and Ilya holding himself so gently over Shane, the love can spill freely from his pulse, and the persona he wears sheds off easily. He doesn’t have to be perfect. Ilya wouldn’t want him to be. He just has to be. How could he ever hate someone who loves him so deeply and truly like Ilya does? So when Shane speaks next, it’s more serious, and honest, and flowing out of his mouth so quickly he doesn’t even have to think about it. 

“No, I really don’t,” He whispers, as if the sound will carry outside the closed window and onto the grass outside. Ilya kisses him tenderly before lying back down on his chest, pressing a kiss directly on his heart. Shane resumes playing with his hair and thinks back to the lullaby Ilya had sung for him once. Shane had tried looking for it once, on a night after his Russian lessons, when he missed his boyfriend so much he needed something of his. He hadn’t been able to find it, but the melody had haunted him, and he finds himself shakily humming it now, watching as Ilya positively melts into him. 

“This is nice, I will miss this, back in Boston,” Ilya mumbles into Shane’s chest. His hand had slipped under Shane’s shirt, tracing circles and relaxing patterns into the skin below. 

“Me too,” Shane answers, frowning as he thinks about the fact that Ilya will be flying back to Boston tomorrow, and depending on when the flight is, Shane might not be able to spend the morning with him either. They’re seeing each other more than they would have if Shane had stayed in Montreal, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It’s never enough. 

“Do you think,”  Ilya starts out, his hands pausing as he takes a breath, deliberately not looking at Shane as he speaks, “Do you think the plan still works if I get traded next year?  Or does one of us have to stay?”

“What?” Shane asks, a little thrown by the change in pace of the conversation. Ilya still won’t look at him, and Shane knows why, knows the emotion heavily etched on Ilya’s face is something Ilya doesn’t want him to see. 

“The plan you made, with the foundation and everything. Do I have to stay in Boston for it to work?” Ilya continues, his hands going back to tracing patterns on Shane’s skin. But they tremble, and the circles aren’t as neat as they were before. Shane tugs at Ilya’s head lightly, enough for him to turn to face Shane. His eyes are a bit watery, the shine of it bringing out the blue. 

“I thought you liked Boston,” Shane says instead of "yes, you should move closer, stay here, please stay with me, I never want you to leave," that threatens to jump out of his prefrontal cortex. Banging at the walls of his brain so loud he worries Ilya will hear the desperate pleas. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Ilya responds, his nails accidentally catching on the side of Shane’s waist, lightly scratching the skin, as he turns away again. It’s as soothing as it is shocking, and Shane knows he’s lying. Shane hopes that it’s not like Montreal, that Ilya is safe. But he selfishly wants Ilya like this, nearby enough that he could see Ilya all the time. Ilya could leave for a game without Shane feeling like a piece of him is gone, too. He doesn’t know if that makes him a bad person, wishing the downfall on a team that Ilya had been drafted too just so he could see him more. 

“You guess?” Shane prods, lifting his eyebrows and tilting his head slightly forward. Ilya rolls his eyes at him. 

“It’s nice, I like it,” He mutters, sounding like he’s saying the opposite. Shane wishes he would say what he really felt sometimes, so he wouldn’t have to wade through the tones and context clues of a conversation like he was trying to find gold in the water. It’s annoying and everything could just be solved if people just said the exact thing all the time. 

“But?” Shane nudges Ilya’s leg with his own, and Ilya opens his mouth to speak and pauses. He narrows his eyes at Shane 

“Don’t make me say it,” Ilya groans, dramatic as ever, and Shane loves him, he really does. But the thread of this conversation has been in so many directions, and it’s late enough that Shane doesn’t have the brain capacity to grasp onto the knots it's shaping itself into. 

“Say what?” Shane asks, exasperated, closing his eyes as he lies against the pillow. He can feel Ilya’s eyes on him, a comforting weight landing on his face. 

“Hollander,” Ilya breathes, and the softness of it forces Shane’s eyes wide open. The words are laced with the addictive warmth of iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, and Shane idly wonders why the hell anyone would turn to drugs when Ilya can make him feel just as high with just his name. He tugs at Ilya’s arm so he can move closer. 

“Rozanov.” Shane cradles Ilya’s jaw in his hands, pressing his lips against Ilya’s in an attempt to pass along the feeling. It’s not enough, won’t ever be enough, but it’s late, and Ilya has a plane to catch in the morning, so Shane pulls away. 

“You’re ruining my image, you know,” Ilya purrs, not sounding at all like he minds, and Shane loves him so much. Wants to tighten his hold on Ilya and stitch them together, never to be separated. It would make playing difficult, but that would be okay, Shane thinks. 

“How am I ruining your image?” He prompts, not breaking eye contact while Ilya’s eyes dance along his freckles. He doesn’t know why Ilya loves them so much, Shane loathes them a little. The smattering of spots reminds him of another way he has to be touched up, opting to cover them in his older advertisements, but Ilya had whined and grumbled so much he doesn’t anymore. Shane smiles, and Ilya’s eyes lock onto his own automatically. 

“You make me soft,” Ilya admits, and Shane is a little surprised that it’s an admission. Ilya isn’t weak, at all, he’s one of the strongest people Shane knows. But he doesn’t bring his walls up as much around Shane, and he hasn’t truly existed as an asshole in Shane’s mind for a long time. Ilya is different than Rozanov, a character created to shield himself for profit. And Shane has known the Ilya part of him intimately for not nearly enough time as he’d like. But he knows it. It has never been a hidden aspect of their relationship. Just like Ilya knows Shane as well as Hollander. And so Shane laughs a little. 

“Okay, baby,” Shane scoffs sarcastically, looking down to see Ilaya looking at him with his jaw dropped, and a surprised expression on his face, like Shane had just sucker punched him in the stomach, then told him that Buffalo had won the cup.  

“Shanya,” he says seriously, and Shane automatically feels a grin settle on his face at the pet name. 

“What now?” Shane sighs affectionately, threading their hands together again. Sometimes he feels like he needs Ilya to touch him. Not even in a sexual way. Just proof that he’s here, that they’re here, really. It’s nice, he rationalizes, to feel his skin on his like this. 

“You cannot do this to me, I will get heart attack and die, and then your biggest opponent will be Scott Hunter, and he has one foot in the grave already,” Ilya rushes to explain. And Shane can’t help it. He barks out a laugh. It flies around the room as Shane squeezes Ilya’s hand. 

“He’s not that old.” Shane defends weakly; it’s not a very good defense, punctuated by the lilts of laughter he can’t seem to stop. Ilya plays along anyway, like he always does.  

“Every time I play him, I feel like I age fifty years just by association,” Ilya deadpans, and Shane lets himself have one more huff of laughter before he pulls Ilya’s face closer to him. 

“Is that why you didn’t score until the second period?” Shane innocently questions, and Ilya’s hand spasms in his. Shane isn’t too focused on that though; his eyes caught on the dip of Ilya’s cupid's bow. Wanting and wanting. 

“I barely played until the second period,” Ilya defends under his breath, inching closer to Shane unconsciously. Shane hums unconvincingly. 

“Itching to get another one-game suspension, baby?” He mutters against Ilya’s lips before they meet. Kissing him deep and slow, just to kiss him. It’s short-lived, Shane really is tired, although he faintly wishes they could go to sleep like this. Connected in this way, even though breathing might be an issue. 

“Stop that,” Ilya whines when Shane pulls away. Chasing him slightly, but he must notice the sleep clouding Shane’s eyes, so he stays a couple inches away. 

“What am I doing?” Shane knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“You call me baby, and kiss me like that, and look at me like that and give me heart problems.” Ilya kisses down his neck and resumes his previous position of resting his head on his chest, right above his heart. 

“You should see a doctor about that,” Shane muses, and Ilya shakes his head into his shirt, his hands coming to rest around his waist.

“No, I think that’s just love,” He says. 

Shane lays there, hearing Ilya’s breath start to even out as he falls asleep, and his heart breaks that he won’t get to do this tomorrow. That every time they have each other there will always be an expiration date. The soft touches and kisses will always come before a separation. A goodbye will always be said here. Even if neither wants to speak the words. They have to. Except…

“Where would you go?” Shane asks aloud, jolting Ilya slightly. 

“What?” Ilya mutters confused, trying and failing to wake himself up fully. Shane flushes slightly, the tips of his ears warming as he mentally chides himself for waking Ilya up. He soldiers on regardless. 

“If you became a free agent next season?” Shane presses, and he sees Ilya roll the question around in his brain. 

“I don’t know, somewhere closer? After everything with the charity is finalized we can see each other more, but I liked seeing you at my game,” He answers, his accent a little heavier in his sleepy state. Shane decides that he can plan more in the morning, exhaustion settling over him. 

“I liked it too,” He agrees, sliding his arms around Ilya so they can hold each other, his eyes flutter shut and he smiles when Ilya settles back onto him. Pressing his face into Shane’s neck and sighing comfortably. 

"Я тебя люблю мой солнышко, (I love you my sunshine)" Ilya mumbles into his skin, Shane feels his eyelashes brush over his neck and hugs Ilya even tighter. 

“Goodnight baby,” he responds. 

Shane waits in the stillness of the room until he’s sure Ilya is asleep before he speaks again. The breaths come out slow and even against him. He tries to will his heart to stay steady, as though his heart jackrabbiting will wake the sleeping man. Shane worries at the skin of his lips for a minute, trying to string together conjugations and the words that he’d spent hours looking at and solidifying into his mind. 

"Я тоже тебя люблю (I love you too) Ilyusha.” The pronunciation is probably terrible, and if Ilya was awake he might tear Shane apart for it. But it’s whispered into the quiet night instead, and Ilya doesn’t hear it, instead choosing to nuzzle further into Shane’s neck. Shane waits, testing if Ilya will wake and realize what was said, but he doesn’t and Shane is quietly relieved. He wants it to be perfect, when he tells Ilya he loves him in his own language. He says it again, and then again, perfecting the diction until he feels satisfied, and then finally he lets himself fall asleep, dreaming of an Ilya who won’t have to leave in the morning.

Chapter End Notes

мой любовь-my love
Я тебя люблю мой солнышко-i love you my sun
Я тоже тебя люблю Ilyusha-I love you too Ilyusha

I love that they are both just like pathetically down bad for each other. I appreciate your comments and kudos so bad actually <3 writing these two over doing a presentation. Who needs sleep I got hollonav bb

Chapter 10: the montreal game

Chapter Summary

Shane can take a chirp, the love of his life is Ilya Rozanov for God’s sake, but they weren’t even sensical. A mutter that Shane could barely catch when he would get ready for a face off, the only words he’d catch was the thanking of a God he knew they didn’t believe in that he wasn’t their captain anymore. Or an insult thinly veiled as a question chucked at him when he stole the puck about if his “boyfriend had left him yet”, or the non-original slur that was hissed under their breaths whenever he passed. Not Hayden or JJ of course, but everyone else. Everyone else. It grated at him, throughout the game, and what had hurt more is that he didn’t do anything about it. Just kept playing and ignored it. He wanted to. Wanted to drop his gloves and hurt the people who gave him his career. The people whose wedding he attended, and children he’d held. And he couldn’t. Not yet anyway. He’d barely started playing for Jersey and if he just started fighting people the second he arrived he’d tank his reputation. But it got to him.

--
Read chapter note for warning!

Chapter Notes

THIS IS WHERE THE INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA TAG COMES INTO PLAY HEY HI HELLO
ok, so there is use of a slur and if you would like to skip that part it's after the "He missed a shot" until like "Hey Hollander'"
Spoilers but: Shane calls himself a slur in an attempt to feel better because of how he was treated during the game and an attempt to self-identify, but it doesn't work.

take care of yourselves !

Shane looks into the mirror of the locker room and suppresses the urge to sink his fist into it. He shouldn’t be this upset. They had won the game. Not easily, the Shields only won by one point after the game had gone to overtime, but they still won. Barely. It’s not Shane’s fault. But it feels like it. He hadn’t played his best, and while they had beaten the Voyagers, it didn’t feel that way. It was different this time. For starters, they weren’t quiet. The last game New Jersey had played against Montreal had been shortly after their encounter with Ilya, and with so many people injured they hadn’t wanted to risk more. This time there was no holding back from them, and they made sure Shane knew it. They didn’t check him more than usual, no, nothing that would actually get them a penalty. But they just kept saying shit. 

Shane can take a chirp, the love of his life is Ilya Rozanov for God’s sake, but they weren’t even sensical. A mutter that Shane could barely catch when he would get ready for a face off, the only words he’d catch was the thanking of a God he knew they didn’t believe in that he wasn’t their captain anymore. Or an insult thinly veiled as a question chucked at him when he stole the puck about if his “boyfriend had left him yet”, or the non-original slur that was hissed under their breaths whenever he passed. Not Hayden or JJ of course, but everyone else. Everyone else. It grated at him, throughout the game, and what had hurt more is that he didn’t do anything about it. Just kept playing and ignored it. He wanted to. Wanted to drop his gloves and hurt the people who gave him his career. The people whose wedding he attended, and children he’d held. And he couldn’t. Not yet anyway. He’d barely started playing for Jersey and if he just started fighting people the second he arrived he’d tank his reputation. But it got to him. 

He missed a shot. He missed a fucking shot. It should have been easy too. Wes had provided an assist and right as he caught it Comeau had been after him, which he could handle. But the words ate at his brain, chewing at his senses and when he took the shot, it missed. It hadn’t helped the anxiety that had been chasing him the entire game. He’d felt the thrum of it start when he had to miss a pre-game ritual. Usually Shane, Wes, and Garret would go to Wawa a couple hours before the game. Just to relax, and shoot the shit. And Shane hadn’t been able to go, because he had a call with Reebok about a contracted shoot. He should’ve scheduled his time better, because maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have missed. The insults from earlier crowd him, whispering against the back of his neck as they continue to repeat. An endless loop of hatred, not even hatred that he’s unfamiliar with, mind you. But he’d never been this cruel after leaving Ilya’s apartment in Boston, or earlier in his teens before he’d gotten himself his first girlfriend. The words hiss their vitriol in his brain, and maybe if he says it, he’ll feel better. Maybe it will cut through the fog in his brain and he will finally be able to just think. Shane steels himself with his hands on the sink and looks himself in the eye. 

“Fucking fag,” He whispers at the mirror, watching as the words leave his lips. They feel foreign in his mouth, something he never dared to say, and he can’t help but feel branded by it. Scorched, as the feeling burns through his body, the anxiety not dissipated and the fog not clearing. He just hears the disappointment louder. And he can’t even look at himself and say it’s a lie. He feels his eyes start to water and he angrily blinks them back. He shouldn’t cry, not about this, not here. Especially not here. He takes a few breaths and schools his face into something neutral before he goes to get dressed. 

“Hey Hollander!” Wes calls as he enters, looking down as he ties his sneakers. Shane’s mouth feels like it's made of cotton, but he should answer. He should be able to present himself normally, they won the game. It doesn’t matter what he’s thinking, or the words that his mind likes to berate him with are loud now. It doesn’t matter. They won. 

“Yeah?” Shane responds, his voice more controlled then he feels. He tugs his shirt over his head. The fabric rests uneasy on him, and he fights the urge to scream. He should’ve dropped his gloves. At least that would’ve been easier to explain. Fuck. 

“We didn’t get to grab food earlier but would you want to go now? You know, since we won and all?” Wes extends the invite at him, cheery and warm. Garret nods at him from where he sits across from Wes. An olive branch, Shane thinks, for what happened tonight. 

“I would, but I want to spend some time with Hayden before Montreal flies back.” It’s not a lie. There was some vague understanding of plans thrown into the chat between Shane, Hayden, and JJ. JJ was unfortunately busy, although Shane hadn’t been able to really talk to him after he told him he was transferring. Not without spilling the whole damn thing. So it was awkward. Hayden was free, although there were no concrete plans. Shane doesn’t want to throw a wrench into the night. He doesn’t want to eat really, the game making his stomach turn at the idea, maybe he just wants to sit in the silence of his apartment and rewatch the game with Hayden, see what he can work on. Unfortunately this doesn’t deter Garret and Wes at all. 

“Bring him along! The more the merrier right?” Garret exclaims, and Shane pushes the groan down his throat painfully. 

“Uh, I’ll ask,” He says, pulling his phone out to send Hayden a quick text. 

SHANE

Hey, some of the guys want to grab food, you down?

It doesn’t take long for Hayden to reply. Really it only takes a couple of seconds, Shane barely finishing getting dressed when his phone dings, lighting up to reveal Hayden’s contact. 

HAYDEN

Sounds good!

The more the merrier right?

Well great. Now he can’t say no. Not that he was expecting Hayden to say no, but he wished deeply in the back of his mind that he would. He punches in his reply. 

SHANE

Cool, I’ll let them know.

HAYDEN

Cool!

Who are these new New Jersey Friends? Lol. 

SHANE

Oh, it’s Garret and Wes. I think Garret can drive?

HAYDEN
I can drive! Got a sick rental. 

SHANE

I’ll pass the message along. 

“Uh Hayden said he can join. He also offered to drive if that’s cool?” Shane looks up to meet Garret’s eyes who breaks into an easy smile. 

“Hey, no sweat off my back,” Garret replies, “I’ll meet you outside when you're ready,” and with that Garret swiftly exits the locker room. Wes starts to get up as well, making his way to follow Garret before stopping and cautiously turning around to face Shane. 

“Um, thanks for the assist,” He says, before practically speed walking out of the room. Right, Shane had helped to assist Wes’s first goal during the overtime. Shane blinks, Wes already long gone before he can attempt any kind of response. 

And then it’s just him and his thoughts. Fucking stellar. He takes his time changing, replaying the past hour and trying to calibrate what he can focus on when he goes to practice early the following week. Maybe he should just try to keep his emotions off the ice. He doesn’t understand why the insults shook him so hard. Maybe it’s because he knows them so well. Maybe it’s because they’re true. The soft buzz of his phone distracts him as he’s pulling his sneaker on and he nearly brains himself on the bench trying to reach it. It’s from Ilya, who was apparently watching the highlights after his own game. 

LILY

that was quite the shot huh

SHANE

I don’t want to hear it

LILY

what did they say to you

SHANE

What are you talking about?

LILY

you were in your head during game

what did they say to you

SHANE

I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.

LILY

i know

sorry

why didn’t you fight back?

SHANE

I just got here.

LILY

and they are homophobic assholes yes?

hit them

would not be the first fight you've gotten into

SHANE

I’ve held their children. I’ve been a groomsman at their wedding.

They made me who I am.

LILY

no 

SHANE

Ilya.

I get it.

LILY

i do not think you do

you made yourself the best

not them

you

with your boring diet and workout routines and practicing

you did it

if they cared about you that much they would not say such things to you

SHANE

And that makes it ok to fight them?

LILY

it makes it

what is the word

like understandable but not

SHANE

Justified?

LILY

yes 

it makes it justified

SHANE

Yeah, I guess.

LILY

you are not satisfied with that?

you want more?

SHANE

Fuck off

LILY

no i don’t think i will

if you hit them next time i will reward you

SHANE

That feels unethical.

LILY

you like when i’m unethical

SHANE

That doesn’t even make any sense.

What would my reward even be?

LILY

i guess you will have to find out

я тебя люблю (i love you)

SHANE

You’re annoying.

I love you too.

Shane smiles to himself as he exits the locker room, turning his phone off as he attempts to school his expression, trying to keep it neutral so Hayden doesn’t suspect Shane was talking to Ilya, so that way he doesn’t have to try to explain it away, or lie, to Garret and Wes. When he exits the locker room, Wes, Garret, and Hayden are waiting for him in an awkward kind of silence. As he makes eye contact with Hayden, though, Hayden raises his eyebrows at him and gestures to his phone. 

“Boston Lily?” He says. Shane vaguely wonders how the hell Hayden knew, and also wonders if he brought it up just to get rid of the silence surrounding the four of them. Either way Shane tries to ignore Hayden with the sheer hope that maybe his new teammates will ignore the statement. 

“Who’s Boston Lily?” Garret asks, smirking, like he’s a shark who just caught a scent of blood in the water. Wes’s ears perk up as well, and Shane resigns himself for a small interrogation of questions he doesn’t want to answer, on the way to a hangout he doesn’t really want to go to. Shane opens his mouth to respond but Hayden beats him to it. 

“Shane’s friend,” he replies, digging through his pockets for his car keys. Shane nearly loses the neutral expression on his face. Lily isn’t his friend. Lily has never been his friend. Hayden knows this. Hayden has spent the longest time teasing him about being in love with Lily, or meeting up with Lily, or one of the many things like that. It’s weird that he’s calling him–her, whatever—Shane’s friend now. A rock starts to settle in Shane’s stomach. 

“You were doing a lot of smiling for Lily to be a friend.” Wes observes, turning to Shane and looking at him imploringly. Okay, so maybe his attempt at a neutral expression did not go as well as he thought it did. Maybe he just can’t help himself with Ilya. Shane debates calling out Hayden but the rock that was nestling into Shane’s intestines nearly doubles in size when he thinks it, so he decides to just carry on. 

“She’s my uh, girlfriend, so,” Shane awkwardly reveals. Hayden finally finds his keys and gestures for them all to follow him. Shane is eternally grateful for the distraction of Wawa and finding Hayden’s car to not have to continue this conversation. They all walk in silence for a while, before Garret slows his pace to match Shane’s. 

“Lily, really?” He deadpans, almost smiling, but he speaks quietly, so Hayden and Wes don’t really hear it from where they are ahead of them. Shane frowns, he can’t imagine what Garret could be finding wrong with Lily now. 

“What’s wrong with Lily?” Shane checks, glancing over to try to figure out if Garret’s face has any clues. It does not, and Garret isn’t meeting his gaze either, staring straight ahead. Garret shakes his head quickly at the question, his face becoming momentarily panicked. 

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with it. Interesting name is all,” Garret frantically rushes out. And then they end up at Hayden’s car. It’s a nice truck, Shane supposes, but it’s not super interesting. Maybe Ilya would know more about it, but more than likely he’ll just make fun of it, and then Shane will feel bad for agreeing. He should text him anyway. He tries to figure out a subtle way to take a photo of Hayden’s car when Garret darts to the front seat quickly. Hayden shoots Shane a betrayed glance that only falls further when he hears the click of Shane’s camera app but Shane is honestly too exhausted to care, so into the back with Wes he goes. 

“So, how long have you been dating Lily?” Wes attempts to ask quietly but in the silence of the car it’s heard loud and clear. Hayden snorts. 

“Don’t bother, he won’t even tell me when-”

“A while. Kind of,” Shane cuts Hayden off. It’s short, and a little uneasy, but he doesn’t want Hayden to accidentally say something that will get him into deeper shit. 

“See,” Hayden huffs in the driver's seat. Garret rolls his eyes at him. Shane fights the urge to sigh deeply. He supposes that’s not an incredibly clear answer, but it’s very obvious that Hayden is trying to prove something to his teammates. 

“I mean we weren’t exclusive for a while but we are now,” Shane clarifies, and he notices Wes' small encouraging smile at him out of the corner of his eye. Wes is quiet, Shane had noticed over the past couple months. He’s quiet in a way that reminds Shane of a shy kid almost. Not that Wes can’t chirp, he’s a Jersey native after all, but he keeps to himself. Shane had taken the rookie under his wing a little, helping him with his speed and puck handling a bit before practices, when Wes had arrived right when Shane had. 

“Well if she’s stuck around for a while she must be pretty special,” Garret voices from the front seat, finding Shane’s eyeline from the mirror. A smile tugs at Shane’s lips lightly as he makes eye contact for a second. He appreciates Garret’s enthusiasm and support. Although, he’s unsure if Garret would continue that support if he knew the truth about Lily.  

“Oh special is a word alright,” Hayden mutters, flicking the turn signal, and changing lanes, looking over his shoulder. 

“Hayden,” Shane snaps. Why his best friend has decided he needs to make those kinds of jokes right now Shane is unsure, and he’s a little sick of it. 

“She makes you happy?” Garret asks gently. 

“Yes. I love…her.” The yes comes out easier than breathing. Obviously, Ilya makes him happy. No one will ever make him happier. He almost slips up, pausing to make sure he doesn’t accidentally out himself in the car on the way to fucking Wawa. 

“Then I’m sure she’s great, man.” Garret nods at him from the front seat. Hayden rolls his eyes, and Shane resists the urge to ask Hayden why the fuck he’s acting like a jealous girlfriend as if he hadn’t waited in the car when Jackie dropped off the kids last time. He politely keeps the comment in his mind, but when he sees Hayden’s eyes widen he faintly worries that he said it outloud.

“I’m sorry I made it awkward,” Wes apologizes under his breath. Shane shakes his head quickly. 

“Wes, it’s fine, seriously,” Shane reassures him, making sure to turn his head towards the other man until he gets a small nod from him. Shane nods back, and then lets his head hit the seat with a soft thunk. 

The car descends into small talk, about the game, how the refs are blind, and Shane lets himself drift within his thoughts, which seem more than happy to drift towards Ilya. He misses him painfully right now, wanting nothing more than to go home and find him in his bed, even though he’s states away. Ilya knows how to get him out of his head when he’s like this, and unfortunately their schedules don’t line up until the upcoming gala for the Irina Foundation in a month. But Shane lets himself pretend. Pretends when he goes home he’ll open the door and Ilya will be sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone on god knows what, but he’ll look up and his face will melt into the soft smile Shane has seen more and more often. Shane would probably grumble about the game and let Ilya take him apart again and again until he’s settled enough to talk about it. Well, some of it, he doesn’t know if anyone needs to know about his breakdown in the locker room. That was humiliating enough. And then he could just cuddle with his boyfriend and pretend that he’s not desperately trying to translate the pet names and small bursts of fond Russian that Ilya likes to mumble when they get soft with each other. 

Shane’s daydream is cut short when the car parks. He looks up at the familiar red sign and unbuckles his seatbelt slowly. Hayden is waiting outside the car with a slight apologetic expression on his face. Shane bumps his shoulder into him lightly when goes to pass him, to tell him that everything is forgiven. But Hayden follows close behind him anyway.  And well, if he pretends that Hayden buying his smoothie will help Shane to forgive him, then that’s between Shane and God, anyway.

Chapter End Notes

я тебя люблю-I love you

ugh, sorry for the late upload guys, I've been so sick, so screens are difficult for me to look at rn.
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one is way less hurt and more comfort. I also won't apologize for the slight Hayden Pike bashing here, I have had beef with him since my dinner with Hayden, but they will talk it out eventually.

I love your comments and kudos and you all bring me life while I am under the weather! Love y'all <3

Chapter 11: ilya and the quest for sainthood

Chapter Summary

Shane Hollander in a suit should be fucking illegal. It’s taking a lot of willpower for Ilya to not jump his bones in the middle of this very nice, very crowded, gala. See objectively, Ilya knows that his boyfriend is attractive. He was Cosmopolitans Hottest Player, thank you very much, and the amount of thirst tweets he sees now that he’s online more would agree. Objectively, Shane is hot, Ilya knows this. Subjectively, Shane in a suit makes Ilya’s mouth dry as soon as he sees him and he wants to fuck him four ways to Friday now. Personally, Ilya thinks he should be granted sainthood for the insane amount of patience he’s currently displaying. Or at least a blow job. He’d settle for a kiss from the man currently torturing him. And Shane knows what this is doing to Ilya too. Which is the worst part. Every so often, Shane’s eyes will wander to find him, always finding him, and his eyes turn dark and wanting. Ilya had almost managed to talk to him earlier too, when someone had run up to him to talk about the Foundation. And Shane politely laughed into his hand at Ilya’s scowl. Traitor, Ilya thinks loudly at Shane, who can’t actually hear him, but looks over anyway and offers a subtle wink. Ilya resists the urge to smile. 

Chapter Notes

Shane Hollander in a suit should be fucking illegal. It’s taking a lot of willpower for Ilya to not jump his bones in the middle of this very nice, very crowded, gala. See objectively, Ilya knows that his boyfriend is attractive. He was Cosmopolitans Hottest Player, thank you very much, and the amount of thirst tweets he sees now that he’s online more would agree. Objectively, Shane is hot, Ilya knows this. Subjectively, Shane in a suit makes Ilya’s mouth dry as soon as he sees him and he wants to fuck him four ways to Friday now. Personally, Ilya thinks he should be granted sainthood for the insane amount of patience he’s currently displaying. Or at least a blow job. He’d settle for a kiss from the man currently torturing him. And Shane knows what this is doing to Ilya too. Which is the worst part. Every so often, Shane’s eyes will wander to find him, always finding him, and his eyes turn dark and wanting. Ilya had almost managed to talk to him earlier too, when someone had run up to him to talk about the Foundation. And Shane politely laughed into his hand at Ilya’s scowl. Traitor, Ilya thinks loudly at Shane, who can’t actually hear him, but looks over anyway and offers a subtle wink. Ilya resists the urge to smile. 

Instead, Ilya is half-paying attention to whatever player is attempting to talk his ear off with some small talk about hockey. Who could care about hockey presently when Shane is in a suit looking like that? Ilya certainly does not. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to thank you and Hollander for starting up this whole thing, I think it’s a really great cause,” Troy Barret says, reaching out a hand. Ilya just barely catches the end of the phrase, his ears picking up when he hears his boyfriend's name spoken. He shakes his hand and narrows his eyes at the man across from him, when he actually processes who’s standing in front of him. 

“You are not someone who I expected to be here Troy Barret,” He drawls, and sees Troy’s eyes widen. Ilya knows that there had been a small falling out between Troy and Dallas Kent, but Ilya hadn’t heard anything on the reasons why. The two usually were attached at the hip. Like two annoying pricks of a feather or whatever the phrase was. 

“Uh, why not?” Troy asks, his hand still suspended from where he had held it to shake Ilya’s hand. Ilya gives him a once over and tilts his head and watches as Troy flushes slightly. Interesting. 

“I didn’t know you believed in mental health, I thought it ‘made you a pussy’.” Ilya watches as Troy winces at the words and surprisingly how he immediately settles his expression. 

“Yeah, I uh, I don’t believe that,” Troy stammers out, his hand dropping to his side awkwardly. Ilya raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief, trying to mentally calculate how many of Troy’s chirps were just thinly veiled hatred. He wasn’t as bad as Kent, obviously, but he followed him around like a baby duck, so they were often assumed to be pretty similar. 

“Is that what your fight with Kent was about?” Ilya says nonchalantly, and watches as Troy tenses. Neither one talks for a moment, Barret seemingly trying and failing to find the words to explain, and Ilya watching him squirm.

“Me and Kent aren’t friends,” Troy settles on, which makes Ilya roll his eyes, the two have been well documented friends for the better part of the last couple years. 

“Oh yeah and Scott Hunter isn’t old,” Ilya scoffs his eyes trailing off to where Shane is talking to someone new. He vaguely remembers them as the New Jersey social media manager, but he can’t remember the name. Something with an H maybe? Troy huffs frustrated from where he stands in front of him. 

“We’re not friends anymore,” He defends, and well, that really is interesting. What could Dallas Kent have done to make them fight like this? There’s been nothing in the news tablets about him lately, and while he’s an asshole, that’s not exactly news worthy. Especially in the hockey world. 

“What, you finally realize he’s a fucking dick?” Ilya sarcastically quips, but he hopes Troy answers. He’s not as intolerable, without his misogynistic counterpart. The sheepish annoyance reminds him of Shane almost, although, no one could be Shane, maybe he’s just trying to find pieces of him in everyone. He wouldn’t be surprised, even though Shane is a couple feet away he can still feel the distance. And isn’t that pathetic. 

“Something like that,” Troy laughs, but it sounds more anxious than funny. Troy groans before rubbing his eyes harshly. “God this has been the worst week of my life,” he mutters under his breath. And that makes Ilya pause. 

“Is that why you’re here? Bad week?” Ilya hones in on the statement. He is curious, after all, and although he wants to have something to tell Shane about at the end of the day, he also kind of cares. Trading gossip about their teammates or anyone in the league has been a good conversation to satiate the two of them when they call. Ilya is currently waiting for an update on Garret Walker, who finally asked out a girl he apparently had been pining over forever. But none of that is as important as Barret tensing again, his hands falling back to his sides. And Ilya cares, he realizes, he cares about whether or not Troy is ok. That is, after all, what the foundation is about, right? Troy sighs deeply. 

“I didn’t mean to say that,” He admits quietly. Ilya mentally tries to derive a way to continue the conversation without Troy spooking. He doesn’t want to push him, but there’s something there, something familiar almost, about him. He can’t put a definite picture on it, but there’s a kinship almost, a familiarity he can’t name. 

“Well you did, so. It’s been a bad week?” Ilya prompts, his eyes flicking across the crowd to find Shane again. He’s in the same conversation as he was before, the dark blonde hair being thrown back in a laugh at something Shane was saying. Shane’s eyes find his, as though he could feel him staring from across the room. Ilya feels his face soften as he sends him a small smile. Shane reciprocates, his eyes twinkling in the warm lighting, and Ilya wants nothing more than to go over and kiss him, but he knows he can’t. He stares at Shane for so long that he doesn’t realize that Troy hasn’t actually said anything for a couple minutes, and when he wrenches his eyes away from where Shane is standing Troy is watching him with inquisitive eyes. 

“Are you actually friends with Hollander?” Troy asks, and Ilya feels himself tense. 

“What?” He spits out bitterly. 

It’s still weird, the fact that people don’t believe that he and Shane could be friends. It hurts a little too, digs at him in the same spot where the “he deserves better than you” thoughts live. Scooping his arteries out and replacing them with something heavy that tastes bitter when the words bully their way down his throat. He swallows them anyway, hoping that Shane won’t see them, or won’t believe them. 

“Like, is this a PR move or something? I thought you guys hated each other,” Troy notes, and something hurt and angry snarls its teeth deep in Ilya’s chest. 

“Yes, I made a mental health foundation named after my dead mother for PR,” he drawls. For his credit, Troy seems genuinely apologetic at the words, grimacing and shaking his head. His hands tick nervously at his side, and Ilya briefly wonders if Kent was his shield more than his mentee. 

“Sorry, you guys just seem pretty close for people who just became friends,” Barret apologies, following Ilya’s eyeline to where it falls on Shane again. Ilya doesn’t know how to answer that. ‘Well I’ve actually been in love with him for years now,’ isn’t an appropriate response, and also undermines the whole cover of them recently becoming friends. 

“Why do you care?” Ilya asks, attempting to keep his voice even. Maybe it’s a little harsh of a question, but Troy doesn’t seem deterred by it. He turns his focus to Ilya and shrugs, gesturing over his shoulder vaguely. 

“I don’t know, he’s like a hockey legend,” Troy is silent for a beat and when Ilya raises an eyebrow he quickly continues. “Obviously you are too, Hollander is just…another level”

It’s a true statement, obviously, Ilya knows this. No matter how many times he says he isn’t, he does believe that Shane is the best hockey player in the league, that’s why it makes it so much fun to challenge him. To beat him, especially. Ilya can recognize the hero worship for what it is, although the statement is wistful enough that a spark of jealousy blazes through him. He squashes it quickly though, instead nodding at Troy. 

“Don’t I know it,” he mutters under his breath. Troy must hear it though, because his eyes start to narrow and tilts his head. Before he can say anything, however, a hand taps Ilya’s back, a hand he could recognize anywhere,  and Ilya has to fight the smile that threatens to take over his face as Shane stands behind him. 

“Hey Rozanov, mind if I steal you for a second?” He says, all polite and sweet and Ilya wants to drop to the floor right here. Steal me for all the seconds, everyday, forever please, he thinks desperately, do you hate this distance as much as I do? You’re right here and I can’t do anything about it. Ilya tampers the thought down and instead watches as Troy makes eye contact with someone over Ilya’s shoulder. The man standing next to Shane. Troy is flushing slightly, Ilya notes.  Oh. Okay then. Suddenly he feels a tap at the back of his heel, and when he turns over Shane is looking at him expectantly. 

“No, of course not Hollander. Barret, this is…” Ilya steps to the side and trails off, motioning to the tall man standing next to his boyfriend. Shane glances at him confused, and Ilya just winks. 

“Harriss, uh Drover,” The man introduces himself, holding a hand out that Troy takes cautiously. Ilya steps backwards and smiles devilishly at Troy, who looks at him wide eyed and a bit scared. 

“Yes, you guys should talk,” Ilya says before walking towards the door. 

Shane speeds up a little bit to catch up with him, and they walk side by side towards the hallway. Ilya itches to reach out and connect their hands, to do something, the pain is worse now that they’re really together. The hiding is worse now that he knows he’s allowed to want this. It feels torturous to be denied Shane in his arms just because there’s a roomful of people. He understands it, of course, knows that the league won’t support them, knows he needs a better visa so he won’t get sent back to Russia if they ever went public, but fuck it still hurts. 

“What are you doing with Barret and Harris?” Shane asks when they make it to the hallway. Leaning his head against the wall with his throat exposed and Ilya has to remind himself that he can’t lean down and crash their lips together. 

“Testing a theory,” He responds, going to lean against the wall as well. Ilya idly wonders if he can get Hollander to kiss him again like in Boston. When in a semi-public hallway and all that. Shane turns to look at him, and Ilya can almost pretend they’re in Shane’s apartment, trading stories from the night, and Ilya would be able to hold him without it being a problem. 

“What theory?” Shane follows up, and Ilya opens his mouth to speak but stops himself. They’re not actually in Shane’s apartment, there are people and journalists only a couple feet away concealed behind a door. 

"I’ll tell you later мой котёнок. (my kitten. )What did you want to talk to me about?” Ilya turns away, not trusting himself to hold himself back from Shane. Shane makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat when he does and Ilya curses himself out in his head. He turns back to find Shane’s eyes on his, dark and a little dangerous considering where they’re standing. 

“You guys looked like you were having a fun conversation, I just wanted to check in on you, and see how you’re doing.” Shane definitely meant for it to come out nonchalant and casual. Fortunately, for Ilya, it bypasses casual completely and lands somewhere between desperate and possessive. Ilya’s lips curl into a smile as he regards the man in front of him/ 

“Are you jealous?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. He loves when Shane gets jealous, when he gets possessive and clingy and has to fight to hold himself back. It delights him, to know Shane wants him, to feel almost owned in that way. 

Shane is quiet, huffing out a breath and turns away from Ilya. It’s cute and Ilya finds himself moving closer to Shane unconsciously. 

“No,” Shane says thinly, and Ilya smugly laughs, seeing through it. He nudges his feet over, pressing it against Shane’s shoe lightly. Ilya watches intently as Shane fights a smile and presses his shoe back.

“Aw, you are,” Ilya purrs, and watches as Shane rolls his eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up Rozanov,” He responds, almost embarassed and well, Ilya can’t have that, can he? 

Ilya spares a glance around the hallway, and after a minute of it being blissfully empty, he  pulls Shane a little further down the hallway, turning left around a corner and lightly centering Shane back against the wall. Shane goes willingly but his head stays down, eyes drilling holes in the floor. Ilya sighs, lifting Shane’s head so Ilya can see his eyes. They flit around his face, stopping for a moment on his lips before they finally land on Ilya’s eyes. Ilya can’t stop himself from smiling, and he leans his head in closer. 

“Hollander, you want to know what I’ve been thinking of?” He whispers, his thumb finding its way to Shane’s bottom lip. Shane raises both of his eyebrows at him, and huffs out a breath. 

“You’re gonna tell me anyway,” He mutters, nipping the tip of Ilya’s thumb. 

Ilya lets the hand drop and fall down the front of Shane’s suit. It’s white and fitted, and Shane looks so beautiful that Ilya feels reverent with the need to kiss him. He needs Shane to know that there will never be anyone else. That Ilya wants him. To give himself over to Shane and have Shane give himself back forever and ever. Ilya lets his hand trail over the thin fabric and watches as Shane’s chest rises and falls under it. 

“You look so pretty in this,” Ilya whispers. It comes out softer than he intends it too. The words drenched in the affection he’d been attempting to shove down his chest the whole night. Ilya opens his mouth, to say what he doesn’t know, a joke probably. But Shane beats him to it. 

“Really?” Shane asks, genuinely, like he doesn’t know he’s the most beautiful thing Ilya has ever seen. Will ever see. Ilya doesn’t know how to respond without cracking his ribs open and revealing how truly and irrevocably in love with him he is. So Ilya smiles, stepping closer to where Shane stays against the wall, his arms settling on his waist.  

“Yes, really, would look even better off, I think. Been thinking of all the ways I could take it off.” Ilya leans closely when he talks, he lips inches away from Shane’s ear, and he watches as Shane shudders at his words. 

“I wish this thing was over,” Shane complains lowly, his arms snaking up Ilya’s own suit, squeezing his arms and continuing to trace patterns along his back. 

“Oh yeah?” Ilya steps closer, pulling his head back so their lips are inches from each other, teasing. Shane tugs at him to bring him closer, and Ilya has to steel himself to continue standing in place instead of kissing his boyfriend in the hallway. Shane huffs, tugging again, and Ilya has to close his eyes to not meet Shane’s. He knows once he looks into those brown eyes he’ll fold, and if Shane is not practicing restraint, then he has too. 

“Ilyusha,” Shane whispers, and Ilya makes a high embarrassing noise in the back of his throat before giving in and kissing Shane slowly. It’s short, sweet and not enough. Ilya pulls away before Shane can deepen it. He doesn’t want to leave this corner of the hallway. Unfortunately, this is their gala. 

“Don’t say that and expect me to stop,” He warns, and Shane rolls his eyes like Ilya is the one being unreasonable. Which is absolutely ridiculous because Ilya isn’t the one who is looking at him like that, and who is currently trying to move Ilya’s hands under his shirt. 

“I don’t want you to,” Shane admits, leaning forward to connect their lips again. Ilya pulls back, because they’re still in the hallway outside of a very public ballroom, and while Laurie had been very accepting, Ilya very much does not want a repeat of someone walking in on them again. And in his heart, he knows Shane doesn’t either. Knows that once the heady feeling of sneaking away fades, Shane will be anxious to get back inside. But for now, he can flirt with his boyfriend for a little while until it fades.  

“Oh?” Ilya says, kissing Shane lightly before pulling away, his hands soothingly rubbing up and down his back. Shane glowers at him and tugs him into a much harsher kiss that Ilya can’t help but groan into. He tries to break it but Shane digs his hands into his hair and tugs him closer. It’s desperate and rough and almost makes Ilya’s heart break when he realizes it’s because they won’t be able to interact until they go home. Ilya clutches Shane close but forces himself off after a moment. 

“Please, baby,” Shane begs, his head against the wall, his throat bared like he wants Ilya to take his pulse between his teeth. He looks at Ilya between hooded eyes that look vaguely glassy and Ilya groans.  

He privately thinks Shane is a dirty cheater for this. It’s a totally unfair usage of his eyes, and pet names that Shane knows drives him crazy. He has to take several steps back and turn away from his boyfriend before he does something stupid like rip the suit off of him. 

“We can’t do this here Hollander,” He says, like a reasonable man, his eyes closed. He hears shuffling behind him, and then Shane is wrapping his arms around him. 

“I could say they’re bruises from the season.” and Ilya really does deserve sainthood for not immediately leaning in and marking him right then and there. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my Shane?” Ilya jokes, but it falls flat when he turns his head and finds Shane’s pained expression. He maneuvers the both of them around until Ilya can wrap his arms around Shane as well. Shane doesn’t talk for a minute, and Ilya almost prompts him, before Shane takes a breath and mutters angrily into his neck. 

“I just, I wish we could be closer during this stupid gala.” 

Ilya wishes they could too. Wishes they could walk back into the ballroom hand in hand and no one would bat an eye at the two of them. But they can’t. They have to settle for the stolen time they’ve always had, and Ilya doesn’t know how to fix that. Doesn’t know if he can, really, so he decides to pivot the conversation to one that he knows will rile Shane up. 

“So you were jealous?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Shane’s head, and he feels the hot breath of Shane laughing against his neck. Shane lifts his head, but he still looks hurt.

“Yes! Fuck, fine. Yes," he admits. And Ilya raises an eyebrow at the man in front of him, moving his hand so he can caress his cheek. Shane smiles into his hand, and Ilya noses closer until there’s barely any space between them. 

“Shane, you know I only want you, right?” Ilya says slowly, like he’s talking to a scared animal. Not that he thinks Shane is scared, but maybe he doesn’t know, maybe Ilya hasn’t done a good enough job to show that all he ever wanted was him. Shane scoffs at him

“I know you’re mine, I get that.” Ilya will never tell Shane the sick thrill that shoots through his nervous system when Shane says that. “but I want to hold your hand and I can’t because of the stupid public, and other people get to smile and make you laugh and it’s fucking idiotic,” Shane continues. 

“Only a couple more hours until we can go home.” Ilya reminds him, and Shane sighs, playing with his hair and breathing heavily. 

“I miss you. Is that dumb? You’re right here and I miss you,” Shane confesses quietly, a blush making itself known across his face. And Ilya’s heart breaks and knits itself together in the same breath. Because of course he does, of course Shane loves him as much as Ilya loves him back, of course the distance is breaking both of them.  

"Not stupid мой помидор, (my tomato, )I miss you too,” Ilya reassures him. He wants to do more than offer placating words. But he can’t really think of a way that would guarantee them safety and the ability to be out and in the open without marrying him. And somewhere in the back of his mind Ilya doesn’t know if Shane would want that with him. With the dreams, and his moods, and every broken thing that Ilya is. He doesn’t know if Shane would want to be shackled to that forever. But he wants it. Selfishly he wants Shane to link them forever, intertwining their veins until there’s no part of him that isn’t Shane’s. 

“We have to go back in,” Shane announces, untangling their arms, and Ilya stops himself from making a wounded noise. Shane sounds upset, is upset, and Ilya knows there’s nothing any of them can do about it now. But he wishes he could. Wishes he could take care of Shane desperately, the feeling pounding on the inside of his chest. Screaming, really, little shouts of ‘please let me help you here, please let me,’ that he tries not to let seep through his skin. 

“Ok, Shanya, I love you,” Ilya says instead, furthering the distance between them, and he gets the displeasure of watching in real time as Shane slowly pulls his walls up again. 

“I love you too Ilya,” Shane whispers, and he looks like he wants to kiss him, and Ilya would, but then Shane is turning around and gone. Ilya sighs to himself before counting to thirty and following him. 

The rest of the gala is fine. Boring, but fine, Ilya busies himself with talking to anyone who comes up to him, his eyes always tracking where Shane is, who appears to be doing the same. A couple times, he catches Troy and Harriss talking still, and he has to taper down a smile in the middle of talking to some donor about training camps. By the end of the night he swings by to where Yuna and David are talking with another donor and is able to say a quick hello and goodbye, catching up with the two of them,  but Shane is nowhere to be found. 

The ride home is quiet and lonely and Ilya wishes that they didn’t have to take separate cars to this event. Ilya spends the drive wondering if Shane had already left, or if he was going to be the first one home. Fortunately, when he turns into Shane’s apartment, Shane’s car is already parked. Ilya hastily puts the car into park, and makes a mental note that he’l have to re-do it in the morning because this is certainly not the best parallel park job ever, but he can’t really find himself to care when he opens the door and Shane is leaning against the kitchen island, still in the suit that has been plaguing Ilya’s night. 

Ilya crosses the room in three easy strides and pulls Shane into a bruising kiss by his suit jacket. Shane sighs into it, and hastily unbuttons Ilya’s jacket, pushing it off of him. Ilya tries to pour all of the affection he hadn’t been able to let out throughout the night into the kiss, gripping onto Shane and not letting him go. 

“Been thinking of this all night,” He says once he pulls away to breathe. Shane looks up at him and smirks before kissing him again. Leading the two of them to the couch and pushing Ilya down. Ilya goes willingly, pulling Shane down onto him, kissing him and kissing him. 

“Oh I’m sure you have,” Shane says as he peppers kisses onto Ilya’s face. Ilya pauses from where he had been attempting to get Shane out of his jacket, propping himself up by his elbows as he meets Shane’s gaze. 

“What is that supposed to mean,” He asks, raising an eyebrow as Shane sits back, trying to move Ilya’s hands back to where they were. When Ilya doesn’t move he grunts, displeased, and leans close to kiss him again. 

“You think I look hot in this,” Shane says, softly connecting their lips. Ilya hums and continues slipping the jacket off of his shoulders. He presses his lips close to Shane’s ear next. 

“I think the word I used was pretty,” He whispers, reveling in the shudder and light blush on Shane’s cheeks at the words, his freckles popping out deliciously as Ilya kisses him again. 

“Do you not want me to take it off then?” Shane pulls away, and Ilya pouts spectacularly as Shane stands up. 

“No, No, No, Hollander you can’t do this to me,” Ilya whines, scrambling to sit up and grab onto his boyfriend’s wrist. Shane looks pleased when he turns over his shoulder and Ilya vaguely wonders if he’d just fallen into Shane’s trap. He’d fall willingly every time, so he’s not super worried. 

Ilya tugs on Shane’s wrist again, pulling him back down on the couch and settling over him, finally getting the jacket off until it's just the white silk shirt that is sitting over Shane’s skin. It’s beautiful on him, and Ilya takes a moment to appreciate the view. Shane, flushed and smiling, underneath him with his eyes crinkled as his hands reach for him. Ilya trails his hand across his chest, watching as Shane’s breath hitches as it passes over the fabric. It’s quiet in the house, nothing but the breaths of the two of them and the rustle of fabric. Shane looks up at him and smiles so brightly that Ilya decides he would go through a million stupid galas just to get this expression at the end of it. 

“I missed you,” Shane says, his hands making their way down Ilya’s body, and well, Ilya just has to kiss him again. They kiss like that for a while, slowly, hands wandering, just enjoying each other’s company. Although Ilya decides he didn’t enjoy it enough when Shane’s phone rings shrill and high on the coffee table. Shane moves back and reaches for it. 

“Shane, baby, малыш, don’t pick up the phone, come back,” Ilya complains, even though Shane hasn’t really moved from under him. Shane knows it too, raising both of his eyebrows at Ilya and waving his phone at him. 

“I’ll put it on speaker,” Shane amends, and Ilya lifts his head up and sighs deeply. Shane responds by lightly pushing his shoulder. Maturely, Ilya does not gasp dramatically at his boyfriend, because that would be immature, and petty, and so Ilya deliberately does not do this. 

“Or you could come over here and-” Ilya attempts to grab Shane’s phone out of his hand but Shane twists out of grasp, picking up the phone and looking pointedly at Ilya. 

“Hey Hayden, what’s up?” He says brightly, like Pike has not taken away Ilya’s chance to fuck his boyfriend on the couch after not being able to talk to him all day. 

“You are the worst,” Ilya declares, but Shane rolls his eyes and kisses him sweetly, so he supposes Shane isn’t actually the worst. Ilya follows Shane down until he’s laying on top of him, his head cradled in between his ear and shoulder, so he can hear the phone call. 

“I can’t believe you did this,” Hayden starts out, and Ilya thinks that that’s a pretty strong start to a phone call, his eyebrows furrowing as he attempts to think of anything Shane had done in the past couple of days but draws a blank. 

“What are you talking about?” Shane asks, and as Ilya strains his ears he can faintly hear Jackie laughing in the background. He relaxes against Shane then, deciding there’s no actual danger if Jackie is clearly laughing loudly in the background. 

“Not you, Rozanov, but you’re dating him so I’m blaming the both of you” Hayden groans, and that’s a little unfair, Ilya thinks, because they are two separate people. But he doesn’t deny the spike of happiness that thrums though him at the thought of someone thinking of him and Shane together. 

“Hayden what happened?” Shane asks again, anxiety creeping into his tone. Maybe he doesn’t hear Jackie in the background, or maybe he remembers another time Hayden had come barging in with news. Either way, Ilya decides to calm him down and presses a kiss into his neck, and then another, and another. Shane relaxes for a moment, before remembering he’s on a phone call and swats at Ilya noncommittedly. Ilya rolls his eyes but stops, before moving to sit up. 

“I tried talking to Ruby, and we were talking about clean up time and she looks me dead in the eye and says ‘why would I listen to Montreal’s 14th best player?’” Hayden admits. 

Ilya laughs so hard he falls off the couch. Shane laughs too, first at Hayden’s statement and then at Ilya, and they both don’t stop laughing for a long while. And look, maybe Ilya had used a chirp or two when they were watching the kids but he didn’t expect them to actually pick up on it. Ilya laughs harder as Shane collects himself, turning the phone to speaker so Ilya will be able to hear it over his own laughter. 

“I can’t believe you’re laughing” Hayden complains, and Shane rolls his eyes, smiling lightly.

“He’s good with them,” Shane defends softly, and Ilya wonders if he’s thinking of them both taking care of the Pike children, and if he wants kids just as bad as Ilya does. A dog first though, Ilya is very stubborn about this. But he thinks they’d be really good parents, and he wants a family with Shane like that so bad. 

“Yeah good at teaching them how to insult me,” Hayden groans, and Ilya can hear Jackie laugh harder in the background, which just sets him off again. Shane looks at him fondly from where he sits on the couch. 

“Is he laughing at me in the background?” Hayden asks, and it’s not like Ilya was trying to hide the fact that he was laughing, and anyway Shane laughed too so this feels like an unfair accusation. 

“Yes,” Shane says, and Ilya kicks him with his foot. Shane snorts before nudging him back with his own foot, his face breaking into a smile. Ilya does not giggle at the sight, because that would be ridiculous, but his laugh does soften into something soft and happy. 

“Can you make him stop,” Hayden whines, and Ilya suppresses the urge to groan. Way to ruin the moment Hayden, he thinks bitterly as Shane’s smile starts to fade. 

“Is funny,” Ilya protests from where he lays on the carpet, and Shane shoots him a soft grin that has him getting up so he can lay on him again. Shane chuckles and pulls him close.  

“It’s not funny,” Hayden argues, and Ilya raises his head to look at Shane pointedly. Shane shakes his head at him but turns towards the phone anyway. 

“It’s a little funny,” he admits, and Ilya rewards him with a kiss that Hayden can definitely hear over the phone. When he pulls away Shane is looking at him with a warm expression that Ilya can’t help but smile back at. 

“Unbelievable,” Hayden sighs, and Ilya thinks that Hayden should be grateful, there’s only so many people that Ilya can kiss Shane in front of and Hayden is lucky to be a part of that. 

“Hey, maybe you just have to work harder, and then you’ll be Montreal’s 13th best player,” Shane quips back, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s. Ilya laughs again, and Shane leans forward to connect their lips again, his eyes dark again, and Ilya really wants to hang up the phone. 

“Oh my god” Jackie says in the background, starting to laugh again. Shane continues to look at Ilya, his pupils wide, and yeah Ilya’s going to hang up the phone there’s no way he can continue a conversation. 

“Pike, this has been fun, but you are a massive cockblock. Goodbye,” He says cheerily, and then hangs up. Shane’s expression falters, and he looks at Ilya in a sort of a shock. Which shouldn’t be that shocking, he’s been waiting at least five hours and he wants to touch his boyfriend, if heaven would like to reward him for being so patient now would be the time. 

“Ilya,” Shane reprimands, but there’s no heat behind it at all, so Ilya decides to continue his earlier path of kissing down Shane’s neck, his hands finding Shane’s stomach from under his shirt and he smiles into Shane’s neck. 

“What, is the truth. Do you want to talk to Hayden or can I finally touch you?” Ilya leans back just enough to where he could kiss Shane’s lips again. Shane goes into it easily, mouth parting easily when Ilya’s tongue sweeps against it. 

“Ilya,” He says breathlessly when Ilya pulls away, but his hands are fumbling with Ilya’s shirt buttons, so he can’t be that upset, Ilya rationalizes. Ilya raises an eyebrow and leans back as Shane’s hands fall. 

“Shane,” He drawls, his hands going to unbutton his shirt, and slowly takes it off, tracking the way Shane’s breath hitches and his eyes slowly map their way down his chest. Ilya smirks down at him and Shane lazily brings his eyes up to meet him. 

“Ilyusha,” Shane whispers, almost awed, his hands reaching up to touch and trail over his skin as if he’d never seen it before. As if Ilya is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Ilya swallows painfully before leaning back close, two can play at this game, and this is one of Ilya’s favorites. 

“Like I said, do not say such things and expect me to stop,” He murmurs, nipping at Shane’s ear and biting into the skin underneath it. Shane whines underneath him, and threads his fingers through his hair, tugging it until Ilya looks up at him. 

“Baby, take this suit off me please,” He asks, and well, why in the world would Ilya deny such a request? 

The phone rings in Shane’s hand again, but he clicks it off and tosses it at the coffee table as Ilya pulls the shirt over his head, and the two laugh as it falls to the floor, and Ilya kisses Shane again. Fucking finally, he thinks to himself. Finally, indeed.

Chapter End Notes

мой котёнок-my kitten
мой помидор-my tomato

guys I'm so sorry for the wait I got deathly ill for a hot second !

Also Troy Barret is HERE (and also Harris I love Harris). I fear I really enjoy Ilya and Troy's friendship and also Troy and Harris and how their relationship progresses Shane and Ilya's while also shows the differences in how they are accepted while Shane and Ilya are slightly different.

I hope you all enjoy!! All of your comments and kudos give me joy and i love you all so <333

Chapter 12: the office problem

Chapter Summary

The thing about telling someone to meet you at 12:30, means that they should arguably be ready to have the actual meeting at 12:30. This is what Shane thinks to himself, when he opens the door to Harriss’ office and finds Troy inside appearing to swallow him whole with his mouth. Shane quickly closes the door and leans against the wall outside as if they will not notice he’s there. There’s a clattering behind him and Shane swears he can hear Troy Barret let out a string of curses that would make Rozanov raise his eyebrows before Harriss opens the door.

Chapter Notes

the timeline is getting a little wonky so it's been a couple months since the gala for refrence

The thing about telling someone to meet you at 12:30 means that they should arguably be ready to have the actual meeting at 12:30. This is what Shane thinks to himself when he opens the door to Harris’s office and finds Troy inside, appearing to swallow Harris whole with his mouth. Shane quickly closes the door and leans against the wall outside as if they will not notice he’s there. There’s a clattering behind him, and Shane swears he can hear Troy Barret let out a string of curses that would make Rozanov raise his eyebrows before Harriss opens the door.

“Hey Shane, what’s up?” Harris clears his throat and looks at Shane like Shane hadn’t just seen him making out with another player. The collar of his shirt is still violently askew. Shane averts his eyes to the ceiling and tries to remember what a normal thing to respond would be. Why is he here again? 

“Uh, you told me to meet you at twelve thirty,” Shane mutters, desperately trying to look anywhere but at Harris. He likes Harris, has found him kind and funny and a decent guy to run media. He doesn’t really know Barret that well, other than Ilya had talked to him for a while at the gala and had continued to talk to him after. He hadn’t interacted with him that much on the ice, but he seems ok now, if not a little quieter, since his fight with Dallas Kent. He’s not jealous of him and Ilya being friends. He’s not. 

Harris opens his mouth as if to argue, before taking his phone out to check the time. Shane waits awkwardly as realization seems to slowly find its way onto Harris’ face. He understands, he often loses track of time whenever he’s with Ilya, but they’re usually careful, if one ignores the handful of hallways they’ve made out in. 

“I did, didn't I? Why don’t you come in?” Harris puts the phone in his pocket and gestures through the door that he’s been holding open. Shane would rather do bag skates all day instead of walking through that door. He can hear the nervousness in Harris’ voice, and he can’t faintly hear a low, long groan, which he can only assume is Barret. Shane desperately wants to go home, where he can call Ilya and rewatch tapes to prepare for his upcoming game against Buffalo, instead of having this uncomfortable conversation. 

“I’d rather not.” He grimaces, and Harris gives a nervous chuckle at the expression of shock that is probably written all over his face. He stares at Shane for a moment, and Shane makes sure to look anywhere else. 

“Can you anyway?” Harris says softly, the kindness of his smile making Shane feel a little guilty for wanting to run away. Maybe he should talk to more gay people, then maybe he won’t feel so god damn isolated. Maybe he would hate this part of himself less if he weren’t the only one. 

“Yeah,” he replies, following Harris through the door into his office. 

It’s a nice office. A soft-looking chair sits across from Hariss’ desk, green and plush, and Shane sits easily into it. A gay flag sits on the edge of his desk, tucked into a potted plant that is green and rose-like. Shane vaguely wonders what plant it is, and resolves to ask one day. Not that he has much time to take care of plants, but it’s nice to look at. Troy has his head in his hands on the side of the room, looking like he wants to be here less than Shane does, which is a little comforting, Shane supposes. 

Harris takes his time crossing the room, stopping by where Troy is suddenly staring unblinking at Shane to soothingly rub his shoulder, before sitting down opposite Shane. 

“Look, I know what you just saw isn’t something that is super accepted in the hockey world, especially as a player, but I hope you can-” Harris starts off placatingly, and Shane startles at the fact that they think he’s homophobic. Him. The idea is almost laughable, and if Ilya were here, he probably would be laughing. 

“Whoa, I’m not homophobic!” Shane interrupts, waving his hands around indignantly.  

“You’re not?” Troy says, moving from the side of the room to stand closer to Harris, and Shane whips his head to the side to face him, his jaw dropping. 

“Why do you think I’m homophobic?” Shane demands, his voice rising slightly. Not that he wants it to be obvious to everyone that he’s gay, but come on. He isn’t homophobic; he literally can’t be. It would be incredibly hypocritical. Troy looks at him like he’s being stupid, and Harris looks at Troy with a smile that reminds Shane of one that Ilya might give him. 

“You slammed the door!” Troy bursts out, gesturing wildly. Shane rolls his eyes, but he can see Harris laugh fondly. It makes him miss Ilya so fiercely that something bitter and sharp pierces through his chest. Only one week and six days until there’s enough of a break in their schedules to see each other. Shane’s internal clock has been counting down the days obsessively. Troy huffs out a displeased breath at Shane, and Shane finds the will to roll his eyes for a second time. 

“You guys were making out! I don’t want to see that,” he defends, watching as Troy blushes fiercely, and even Harris looks a little pink. Troy splutters and moves closer back to the corner he was originally in. 

“You hear yourself right?”  He mutters, which only makes Shane want to slam his head into the desk repeatedly. Maybe he could get amnesia. He thinks that closing a door is actually a very respectable thing to do when walking in on two people going at it. Of course, he wouldn’t know, considering he can’t remember anyone walking in on him and Ilya. 

“I’m not homophobic! I love gay people!” Shane retorts and can’t stop the way his anger spikes slightly at the way Troy scoffs. Harris claps his hands, and both heads turn towards him.

“Great. So glad to get that out of the way. Troy, stand down, please.” Harris smiles and shoots Barret a look that has Troy shrinking and Shane silently wanting to give Harris a high five. Harris continues, “Shane, it would mean a lot to the both of us if you could keep this to yourself.”

“I’m not gonna out you, either of you,” Shane rushes out, because obviously he would never, he knows the dangers that Hockey likes to pretend it’s above when in reality it’s not. 

“Good, that’s good.” Harris muses and starts to fix the array of papers that is scattered across his desk, likely due to the fact that Troy was pinned against it. In the back of the room, Troy coughs and when Shane looks over, he’s blushing again. Clearly, he’s also remembering the desk. Which reminds Shane. 

“Does anyone else know?” He asks hesitantly. He just wants all the cards on the table. Does management know? Do they approve? Is this a safe space for him? Can it be a safer space than Montreal? He hopes the questions aren’t super obvious because it feels like they’re pushing themselves out of his body. Creating neon signs out of their words that just say “Gay and In Love With Ilya Rozanov” that just keep blinking. 

“I’m openly gay. Troy is only out to one other person.” Harris says after a moment, carefully choosing his words. Shane can sort of peer beneath them. If Harris is openly gay, then management knows about him. And if management knows about him and is okay, maybe they’ll be okay about Shane, too. Troy laughs in the back of the room. 

“I didn’t really come out to him; he kind of just told me he knew,” he explains, and Harris sports a chuckle as well, both of them smiling brightly at each other. And well

“Who would do that?” Shane questions, but he has a sneaking suspicion he already knows the answer. A hunch that starts whispering in the back of his brain in the comforting lilt of an accent he knows well. Too well. But would it be rude to assume it was him? Because. Because Shane can’t be sure, but he’s pretty positive it’s the annoying know-it-all love of his life-

“Ilya Rozanov,” Troy admits, and Shane should’ve just known. Of course it was.

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense.” Shane laughs lightly. It makes a lot of things, like why they’re seemingly kind of friends, given they’ve only really talked once at the Irina Foundation Gala, make sense. But it also makes a small flare of jealousy spark in the center of his chest, and he wants nothing more than this to be over. 

“Hey, you and him are close, right?” Troy says, looking like he’s starting to connect a lot of dots. Shane needs to end this conversation as quickly as possible. 

“This isn’t about me,” Shane responds quickly, looking over at Harris like he might be a saving grace. Thankfully, Harris seems to take pity on him and puts down the papers he was looking over. 

“You’re right, management asked me about some promotional things they wanted to run by you. Troy, if you could give us a minute?” He looks over at Troy and gestures–not unkindly–towards the door. Troy’s face immediately turns into a deep pout that makes Shane think of Ilya again and reminds him how desperately he wants to leave. 

“Really? I can’t stay?” Troy whines, and Shane politely hides his laugh in a cough. He shouldn’t be judging; he’s the same way with Ilya after all, but it’s a bit silly. 

Harris raises an eyebrow, and Troy huffs before slowly making his way out of the room. Shane can hear him sigh loudly as the door closes and Barret leans against the wall outside. 

The meeting is boring, and Shane tries very hard not to roll his eyes or appear too disinterested. It’s not that he doesn’t care about the media aspect of his job; he works very hard to give appropriate answers to all questions and to make sure that every promotion is followed through, but it’s not as exciting as the actual hockey of it all, and he can’t say he likes it as much. It’s why he has Farah and his mom; they usually handle the more promotion-based media. Shane doesn’t even really use his Instagram, unless he’s talking to Ilya, but they choose to mostly text, just in case their Instagrams get hacked. 

Harris explains the new media strategy of involving the players in more media challenges and goes over how it will potentially affect some practice start or end times, and gives him another media release form to sign. He signs it and makes a mental note that he will have to wake up earlier to get to the rink earlier now, trying to get in the extra practice. Shane goes to stand and then pauses, his eye catching on the flag in the plant again. 

“Hey, what plant is that?” He asks, and Harris’ eyebrows furrow as he studies it. 

“Uh, it’s an echeveria, I’m pretty sure,” Harris responds, scratching his chin right above where his beard starts to form. Echeveria, Shane repeats in his head, vowing to Google it when he has a spare moment. He has dinner plans tonight, but he wants to look into it. Maybe he could become a plant person. Build up to the dog that Ilya has clearly shown signs of wanting. Even if they might not live together, the dog would have to visit sometimes, right? Shane should practice taking care of something in the meantime, just so he knows he’d be good at it. He looks at the plant again, and the rainbow flag that sits in it, and he feels like a weight has been lifted ever so slightly. He might really be safe here. 

“It’s nice.” And Shane doesn’t really mean the plant. But Harris doesn’t know that. And so Shane leaves the media office and nods awkwardly at Troy, who re-enters it, trying not to think about how the papers Harris just organized are going to go back to strewn across the desk. 

When he turns the corner, Wes is exiting the locker room in a hurry, his phone illuminating his face. 

“Someone chasing you?” Shane calls out as Wes nearly trips over his own two feet and falls face-first onto the floor. Wes stops and sheepishly smiles, clicking his phone off hastily and shoving it into his jacket pocket. 

“Sorry, I have a date, and I’m so worried I’m gonna be late,” He says slowly, his eyes tracking Shane’s expression. Shane feels a slow smile start to take over his face, so worth the media promotion meeting with Harris. 

“A date? Why haven’t you mentioned anything?” Shane prods and watches as Wes’ whole face turns a fiery red, and Wes attempts to appear neutral by raising an eyebrow at him. It doesn’t really work, but Shane will pretend it does. 

“Did you really want to hear about it?” Wes asks, playing idly with a thread that has appeared to come loose on his jacket. Pulling on the green thread and wrapping it around his finger. Shane hums non committedly and raises his eyebrows back at him. 

“If I have to hear about Garret’s new girlfriend every single day, I can manage hearing that you have a date,” he replies. He’s glad Garret finally found someone, but he seems to firmly be in the honeymoon phase. Shane knows he’s a hypocrite, though; he wishes he could talk about Ilya all the time. If he was able to come out, he probably would be talking about him like Garret talks about his girlfriend. It’s a nice dream to have, he supposes. 

“I seem to recall you complaining about Garret talking about Patrice,” Wes counters, attempting to slip past Shane and get closer to the door. It’s cute, but Shane isn’t one of the best hockey players in the world for no reason, so he easily spots the fake-out maneuver Wes attempts and stops him, holding out his arm as Wes collides with it, stumbling back.  

“I can complain about your thing too if you want,” Shane deadpans as Wes catches his footing. Wes opens his mouth like he’s about to retort and then closes it, closing his eyes as he leans against the wall. 

“I just don’t want to disappoint…it’s stupid,” Wes stops himself in the middle of his sentence, shaking his head and going to pull his phone out. Shane makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat. 

“It’s not stupid,” he says, and Wes looks up at him with so much hope in his eyes, Shane feels vastly out of his depth. 

“How did you feel when you and Lily started going out?” And wow, that question feels a little out of left field. But Wes asks so sincerely that Shane has to formulate an answer. 

“Uhh,” Shane starts out and panics because he and Ilya didn’t really do the normal dating thing, but he can’t really say “Well he started jerking off in the communal showers because he was so hot I got hard and then I gave him my hotel number and we hooked up for seven years on and off before admitting to each other that we were in love and started officially dating” without there being at least a couple follow up questions. 

“I was nervous, but ultimately I really loved…Lily,” is what he decides to go with, and Wes tilts his head at him questioningly, his eyes narrowing. 

“You loved her before you guys even started dating?” Wes asks, the thread on his jacket snapping as he lifts his hand up to point at him

“Oh yeah absolutely,” Shane answers easily. And maybe he didn’t know it yet, but he always knew Ilya Rozanov was going to be someone to him. When he first met him outside of the prospect cup maybe he thought the way his heart was beating through his ears was nervousness at a potential friend. But his heart has always beat for Ilya. Realizing that the feelings he felt were actually love took a long time, but loving him is the easiest and best thing he’s ever done. He doesn’t think it’s something he’ll ever stop either, he doesn’t want to. Knows it’s the best thing he’s ever done. Ilya is his best friend, his boyfriend, and his partner, forever hopefully, if he plays his cards right. 

“I hope I can have that with my person,” Wes sighs, fidgeting as he looks wistfully towards the doors. And well, maybe this date won’t be Wes’ soulmate, but Shane met the love of his life at eighteen so there’s hope. Maybe. 

“You’ll find her,” Shane says, a little awkwardly, but gives Wes an encouraging smile nonetheless. Wes laughs, something small and seemingly private, like he’s in on a joke Shane doesn’t get. Wes pulls out his phone, checking the time, and his face falls slightly. 

“Maybe. Hey, I really got to go, but thanks, Shane,” He says, throwing his phone back in his pocket and giving Shane a nod and a smile that almost matches his eyes. 

“Anytime, Wes.” Shane steps aside and watches as Wes nearly runs towards the door. Then Shane remembers something

“Hey, I expect details tomorrow!” He yells right before Wes reaches the door frame. Wes pauses momentarily before snorting and throwing back

“What if Patrice finally finishes that macrame?” And then Wes is gone, slipping out of the door and seemingly speedwalking to his car. Shane chuckles softly to himself and looks behind him at Harris’ office, where he’s sure Troy and Harris are “talking”.

“Yeah, that’ll be the fucking day,” he mutters to himself, before heading out the door and to the parking garage himself. 

It’s not necessarily a long drive to the restaurant where he’s going, so he decides he has a spare few moments before he can actually pull out of the lot and drive. So Shane settles into his seat and props his phone up on the dashboard before hitting the call button. It doesn’t take long for it to connect, and a familiar face to be smiling at him from his own car, seemingly done with practice for the day as well. 

"Hello, моя любовь, (my love,)” Ilya Rozanov says, as beautiful and as happy to see him as he always is, and Shane wishes they were closer and Ilya wasn’t currently nearly three thousand miles away playing LA. It makes his chest hurt a little, the force of how deeply in love with him he is, the constant ache of shoving the feeling down whenever he has to makes it come back tenfold whenever he sees his face, or smile, or whenever he can’t keep the lid on the box where he tries to store them. The feeling slamming on the lid and slipping out. 

“You knew Troy Barret was gay?” Shane starts out instead, because he doesn’t know how to say that. Doesn’t think he should say any of that anyway. “Does it kill you this much, too?” He wants to ask, “Can you tell it’s killing me? Not having you completely?”  So he misdirects, and he watches as Ilya’s face contorts to a confused one. 

“Yes?” He responds, the click of his blinker evident as he changes lanes. Shane has half a mind to tell him to hang up while driving, but he wants to keep talking. He wants this time he has with Ilya not to be cut short by silly things like traffic laws. 

“Ugh,” Shane groans, leaning back into the seat of the car, his head hitting the seat. 

“What did he do?” Ilya sounds like he’s laughing a little, and Shane’s eyes open at alarming speeds so he can watch as the skin around Ilya’s eyes crinkle slightly. Wanting to take in every moment of Ilya, domestic and happy as he looks now. Shane exaggerates his sigh again, waiting to see if Ilya will fall for the bait and smile wider the way he does when Shane complains sometimes. He does, his cheeks stretching, and Shane feels a warm ball settle itself in his chest. 

“Make out with Harris in front of me,” Shane mutters, rolling his eyes and watching as Ilya chokes on air and hastily pulls over on the side of the road. Shane hides his smile at his boyfriend by pretending he’s running his hands through his hair. But his eyes never really leave Ilya. 

“In front of you?” Ilya asks, his eyes flicking back and forth from the road to Shane, and Shane decides to cut Troy and Harris a little slack. After all, it’s not like they were making out in public, just in Harris’ office, where Shane was supposed to meet Harris. 

“Well, I had a meeting with Harris, and when I got there, they were fully making out,” he explains, and watches as Ilya’s lips purse, and he processes. 

“Hmm, I told him Harris liked him back,” Ilya says, sounding all too pleased with himself as he smiles all smug, and Shane wants to climb through the phone and kiss him senseless. It's a little ridiculous, how crazy Rozanov continues to make him feel. 

“You’re holding out on me,” Shane says flatly, expecting a short laugh or something. Ilya’s face turns deadly serious. 

“I’m not going to out someone.” Ilya doesn’t look at the phone when he speaks, merging back into the traffic seamlessly, and Shane feels like he lost the thread of the conversation. He, of course, didn’t actually mean to imply Ilya would actually do that. Maybe he’s getting all of this wrong. 

“Ok,” He apologizes, and sits in silence for a moment before accepting Ilya’s small smile as understanding he can continue to joke, “but all I have to offer you is Garret’s new girlfriend, and you have actual information you’re sitting on.”

"I thought Connors braining himself on a Dr Pepper can was funny, but whatever. Also, that’s not all you have to offer me, дурачок. (little fool.)" Ilya mutters under his breath. Shane thinks he knows this one; he’s pretty sure Ilya is calling him some variation of idiot, but the way that Ilya delivers it makes Shane think maybe he’s calling him another pet name instead. He longs to fire something back, but doesn’t trust his knowledge of the words Ilya has always known to not tangle into something that is incomprehensible. 

“I know, baby,” Shane says instead, smiling as he watches Ilya pull into park outside of what appears to be a hotel. Ilya gives him his full attention now, his shoulders drooping as he relaxes in his seat. 

"I miss you, солнышко. (sunshine. )How long until you are home?” Ilya asks, playing with the hem of his shirt, which could be just him fidgeting, but Shane hopes it's a promise of what’s to come later tonight.

“I don’t know? Hopefully dinner isn’t too long? But you know how Rose is,” He explains apologetically, clicking his phone to check the time, he really should be heading out soon, he doesn’t want to be too late. 

Ilya groans dramatically and collapses into the car seat, glaring at Shane in a way that holds no real anger behind it, his mouth betraying him as it curls unconsciously into a smile. Ilya bites his bottom lip to stop it, but it doesn’t seem to work. Shane feels his own mouth quirk up at his antics. 

“Fine, I guess I will talk to you later, after you’ve come home from abandoning me,” Ilya says softly, his eyes flickering around like he’s planning something. What he could be planning, Shane has no idea, but he laughs softly anyway and watches as Ilya perks up to bring his phone closer. 

“You’re so dramatic.” Shane rolls his eyes, but brings the phone closer, giving the camera a small kiss. Ilya beams when he does and follows suit, peppering two or three onto the camera which makes Shane laugh again. 

“You love me anyway,” Ilya prompts, and what else is Shane supposed to say to that? Of course he does.

“Yeah, I really do,” he confirms, before the two say their final goodbyes and Shane starts the car. The drive isn’t as long as he thought, with traffic being sparse enough that he only has to drive around the block twice looking for a parking spot. He manages to walk into the restaurant in Montclair with minimal fanfare, and soon enough, he’s at the table where Rose Landry is waiting for him with a glass of wine, glaring at him. 

“You’re late,” she announces, gesturing for him to take a seat. Shane isn’t late, their reservation wasn’t until four, and it’s only three fifty. They must have gotten seated early, but Rose likes to give him shit, and Shane missed her, so he plays along. 

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” he placates, sitting down in the chair across from her, and shooting her a grateful look as she slides his glass over that is apparently filled with ginger ale. He takes a quick glance at the menu to try to find something that will fit into his diet for the season. 

“It’s ok, what happened? Is Ilya in town?” Rose kicks his shin with her heel until he looks up at her. She smirks when he makes eye contact, and he scoffs at the insinuation that he would be late because he and Ilya were having sex. He and Ilya are perfectly capable of time management and have only been late because of their sex lives once (twice if you count the time Ilya moved his flight later so they could fuck again. Shane does not count this, since Ilya never actually missed the flight. Ilya laughed at him when he brought that up)

“No, and keep your voice down, I had a meeting with the media team, and it took forever,” he explains carefully, and Rose raises an eyebrow like she does not believe him. Which Shane thinks is totally unfair because she was the one who told him that “watching him lie was like watching a toddler act for the first time, but the toddler would maybe be better at it than him.”

“Poor baby,” she says mockingly, swirling the white wine in her glass around in a way that makes it known to Shane that she’s just giving him shit, and he laughs. He really missed her these past couple of months, and they barely have time to see each other face-to-face. He vaguely wonders if Svetlana and Ilya ever hang out like this and then squashes the thought when a jealous part of his brain starts hissing at him. 

“Yeah, poor me. How are you doing?” Shane raises his own glass to his lips, watching as Rose whips her phone out to bring out the pictures of some of her cast mates. 

“Good, this schedule is pretty flexible, but I have to go in for reshoots again the next couple of weeks. I also have to work with my dialect coach.” She swipes diligently to remind Shane what her dialect coach, Alan or Aaron or something like that, looks like. And while he certainly can’t see the appeal, he nods slowly every time she brings up that it’s a little unfair he’s talented and hot. Shane likes to point out that maybe this is why she needs more dialect coaching if she’s spending the time not practicing, but Rose likes to say “there’s no harm in looking!” whenever he says that, and assures him that she is practicing as much as she can. 

“I wish I had one of those,” Shane says, thinking back to his own Russian lessons. They’re not going horribly, after spending nearly all his free time studying the language so he can pick up on it, listening to podcasts, reading, and taking lessons. He’s able to kind of understand it, although he normally needs to sit and think on it for a little while, and slang is totally lost on him. It’s not that he expected to be better at it by now, but he kind of did; his pronunciation is still lackluster, and he’s sure Ilya would laugh at it if Shane were brave enough to speak it in front of him.

“Fuck off, your Russian is better than mine,” Rose groans, finishing off the glass and refilling it. 

“Don’t you need to be speaking that for this movie?” He asks instead, raising his eyebrows and taking a small sip from his own glass. Rose sighs deeply and nods, her head in her hands. Rose had originally been ecstatic to get a role where she would be speaking another language, especially one that Shane had already told her he was learning. But the role had a lot of other physical demands, requiring her to work out more, and focus on specific techniques. And she wasn’t able to perfect the dialect as much as she’d prefer with the short time span that was required for the film. From the small amount Shane had seen (that Rose absolutely Had Not Under Any Circumstances showed him, as that would be a violation of the many NDA’s she was under) she sounded incredible. Of course, Shane was not a native speaker, and he was intimately aware of the perfectionist that Rose was.

“Yes, hence all the reshoots and the dialect coach. Speaking of Russian, though, how is it going with you?” She groans, eager to take the spotlight off her potential shortcomings. Shane debates poking her about them, but knows he probably won’t get anywhere tonight. Rose tends to be very stubborn about her own performances, always adding that her self criticism is what makes them so good. Shane likes to think she’s her harshest critic, but Rose likes to call him a hypocrite at that. So he moves on, trying to pick apart his own lessons. 

“Better, I guess. I’m kind of picking up some of the things Ilya is saying now, which is really cool and also really makes me want to tell him,” he explains, the ache of Ilya’s pointed absence in all of his lessons becomes bigger by the day. The weight of wanting to tell Ilya he loves him in Russian grows stronger each time he repeats it in his head. 

“I thought the whole point of learning in secret was so you could surprise him when you proposed, which is an insane thing to say, by the way.” Rose tilts her glass towards him, like he isn’t the one who told her his plan, frantic one night after Ilya had left New Jersey after mumbling something so soft and fond in Russian that Shane just couldn’t contain his feelings anymore. “Keep your voice down!” He whispers at her, and Rose laughs at him, like a traitor. 

“There’s no one here!” She defends, gesturing around with her glass to the near-empty restaurant. The only people Shane can see are the workers who are walking around idly cleaning or running food. 

“You never know!” He whispers back, “But yeah, that is the original plan. And hopefully when I’m good enough at it, he’ll actually want to get married.” He wrings his hands together, and when he looks up Rose is looking at him pitying, like maybe the concussion really did mess up his head. 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Shane,” she says, sucking a breath through her teeth and shaking her head at him. He rolls his eyes at her and she maintains eye contact until he looks away. 

“It sucks learning this without him. I’m sitting in these classes or reading these books, and I’m just hearing it in his voice, and it just makes me miss him even more.” He complains, taking another sip of ginger ale. Rose makes a comforting noise. 

“That blows,” she agrees, looking down to parse through the menu. Shane sighs again and continues. 

“Yeah, he’s everywhere but with me, and it sucks. I miss him so bad, Rose. I’m literally counting down the days.” Rose looks up as he finishes, and maybe she decides he’s being far too pathetically in love with Ilya too early into the night (which Shane argues is impossible because he’s always the same amount of in love with him; the time of night doesn’t change the amount), because she flips the menu over and regards him with a violent once over. 

“Ok, topic change, because your puppy dog eyes are devastating and I don’t want to cry today,” she decides. Shane glares at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him. Maturely, Shane does not retaliate and instead rolls his eyes like an adult. 

“I don’t have puppy dog eyes,” he grumbles. Rose has the audacity to laugh at him. 

“Yes, you do, whenever you talk about Ilya, you turn into like a fucking husky.” She argues, gesturing to his current face, that in of itself is proof enough. Shane determines he won’t be winning the puppy argument anytime soon. If he keeps arguing it, he’ll have to send photos to Ilya to decide, and then he’ll just end up missing his boyfriend more than he already does. 

“I wouldn’t be a husky!” He argues. He had done a little bit of dog research after Ilya had brought it up, and selfishly, he did not want to be a husky. It’s not that they aren’t cute, but he's just not a husky! If anything, he’d probably be some lab, or maybe retriever type. It’s not like during his research, he found a couple of dog breeds that he thought would fit into their schedule, and that Shane thought were adorable. He doesn’t really want a dog. It’s not because he would want a lab or retriever at all. He just wouldn’t be a husky. 

“You don’t know that!” She sings at him, the wine making her giggly. Shane pulls a face at her, and she responds by giggling. 

“Huskies are incredibly anxious and whiny,” he reasons, and Rose pauses to think for a moment before grinning widely. 

“Wow, maybe you really are a husky,” she says, and Shane leans back into his chair with a sigh. 

“Oh fuck off, like you wouldn’t be some poodle.” He flips her off, and Rose gasps. He’s not entirely unconfident that this night won’t end with photos of them being plastered across different social media sites. But he does mildly hope one of him flipping her off doesn’t get posted. Or maybe he does, at least then Ilya would shut up.

“I’m not a poodle, shut up,” she replies, a laugh at the edge of her throat. Shane hums non-committedly. 

“Hmm, spoiled and high-maintenance, check and check.” He checks off the descriptions on his fingers, and Rose sits in silence for a moment before laughing. This sets Shane off into a quiet laugh as well.

“I’m changing the subject,” Rose announces as their waiter tentatively steps closer, the two of them suddenly nose deep in the menu. 

“You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” Shane mutters under his breath as Rose cheerfully gives her order; her heel has gone back to kicking him in the shin repeatedly. 

“Never,” she says behind a smile as Shane gives his own order, the waiter looking a little concerned for both of them. 

Shane laughs as they leave and manages to land one solid nudge to Rose’s heel before the two descend into a short, comfortable silence. He continues to chat about the statistics of Buffalo making the playoffs (actually much better than he thought, he may be losing a bet to Ilya currently), and how he misses his boyfriend (more and more as the hours grow longer) as Rose talks about her current woes. It’s nice. He’s having a fun time. And he can’t wait to go home and tell Ilya all about it. 

Chapter End Notes

Дурачок-little fool (but affectionately)

the echeveria plant is related to self-acceptance and inner strength in personal challenges which I think is something Shane needs lol. When I was writing this I did not think Shane was going to become a plant person but I guess he will become one now.

I've decided Rose is in the female version of Heated Rivalry where it's set in ballet (hence why russian would be important) don't know how meta we getting but like yeah that's what's happening.

I love you all so dearly! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Finals are getting to me a bit but hopefully I should have more time to write soon since these two are all i think about. enjoyyyy <333

Chapter 13: ilya’s friends suggest therapy (among other things)

Chapter Summary

Ilya walks to Laurie’s office after practice and feels like his sneakers are filled with lead. He doesn’t even know if she’s in the office currently, but hopes she is anyway. There was no PR today, but sometimes Laurie is in there anyway, doing paperwork or on a call. And Ilya doesn’t want to take the long, lonely drive back to his apartment, where there is no one. The exhaustion from running drills seems to be a blanket on top of the tiredness that is already seeping through his bones. It’s not that he hasn’t been sleeping, but he hasn’t been sleeping well. And there are only so many times he can handle Shane’s face twisting in agony above him as he bleeds out on the rink. So, if he tries to stay up for a couple of days, it should be understandable, he thinks. 

Chapter Notes

Hey guys! Ilya's depression is discussed basically this whole chapter! So be warned. He's kind of passively suicidal, although nothing is explicit. I try to keep him very high functioning, but he also doesn't really want to think about it to hard. Take care of yourselves!!!

Ilya walks to Laurie’s office after practice and feels like his sneakers are filled with lead. He doesn’t even know if she’s in the office currently, but hopes she is anyway. There was no PR today, but sometimes Laurie is in there anyway, doing paperwork or on a call. And Ilya doesn’t want to take the long, lonely drive back to his apartment, where there is no one. The exhaustion from running drills seems to be a blanket on top of the tiredness that is already seeping through his bones. It’s not that he hasn’t been sleeping, but he hasn’t been sleeping well. And there are only so many times he can handle Shane’s face twisting in agony above him as he bleeds out on the rink. So, if he tries to stay up for a couple of days, it should be understandable, he thinks. 

He knocks on the wooden door twice before sliding it open. Laurie is sitting at her desk, looking a little stressed as she reads over a stack of papers. She looks up, and her face softens into a smile as she gestures for him to come in. 

“Hey, Ilya, I’m a little busy, but you can sit if you want.” Laurie offers him a small wave as he slowly makes his way into the room, before lowering her head and going back to reading the paper in front of her. Ilya eyes the couch across from the desk with longing. 

“Sorry, just exhausted, did not want to go home yet,” he says, standing in the middle of the room. Laurie looks up at him and follows his gaze to the worn-down couch. She gives him a wry smile and a flick with her pen. 

“Well, you’re free to try to fall asleep, I just can’t promise that the couch is all that comfortable,” she offers, and Ilya gratefully sits down. She’s right, it’s not as soft as it looks, but Ilya feels his eyes flutter shut anyway. He blinks a few times, waking himself, and tries to force himself to sit up straight.

“I can’t go to sleep,” he mutters to himself, but Laurie hears him anyway. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, and Ilya finds himself looking away.

“Why not? You have an early practice tomorrow,” she asks, and Ilya rolls the question over in his head before he answers. It’s not that he can’t actually sleep; he’s pretty sure he could fall asleep on this couch if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. But the reason is stupid, who is scared of their dreams? 

“I am worried I will dream again,” he tells her anyway, because Laurie is a lot like Sveta in that she can catch him when he lies. And he’s so tired. Laurie’s eyebrows furrow as she attempts to make sense of it, her pen stopping and going on the page. She clicks her tongue, and Ilya draws his eyes away from where he’d been attempting to decipher what she was writing. 

“You not liking your dreams lately?” She says, crossing something out and rewriting it. It looks like a date, but it could also be something entirely different. If Ilya focuses too hard, letters and numbers become blurry and illegible. 

“Not particularly, no,” he clips back, hoping that that will be the end of it. Laurie tilts her head to the side, and Ilya winces at the crack it brings, but Laurie looks satisfied. She slides her rolling chair closer to the couch and looks at him pointedly. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asks, and the correct answer is yes, but Ilya would rather run suicides again. He lets out a long sigh that tapers off into a groan. He doesn’t want to. Desperately doesn’t want to even. But he’s so tired, and Sveta has been telling him he needs other friends, and he doesn’t think he could tell her this without her getting worried. And it’s not a big deal, it’s really not. 

“No. But I will anyway,” Ilya decides. And Laurie looks at him expectantly, so he tries to put his fingers through the tangled-up knot that is his brain and grab hold of the English necessary to describe his dreams. He chews on his lip for a moment before sighing loudly again, and at Laurie’s eye roll he continues. 

“I keep dreaming that I die on the ice. Middle of the game, or practice, and Shane is there. I am ok with the dying part, that is not new, but Shane is, and that can’t be good for him to experience.” He’s not expecting Laurie’s pen to drop, and for her to turn to him completely. Her eyebrows furrow and she mouths something to herself, like she’s replaying exactly what he just said. Ilya wishes he could take the words back; he wishes he could shrink them down to something that won’t have her frantically blinking and looking at him like that. Like she’s worried. That wasn’t the point of this. 

“Whoa, hold on a second. How long have you been dreaming of dying?” Laurie interrupts his thoughts, rolling her chair even closer, so her knees are touching the worn-down brown fabric. Ilya attempts to do mental calculations, but gives up once it goes past five years. Maybe there’s no right answer. 

“Since I was a kid, I think.” He shrugs and forces his eyes away from her face when it drops, a quizzical frown taking the place of her usual smile. Laurie’s phone is face up on her desk, and a notification lights up the screen. If Ilya focuses, he can make out that it’s a text message. He debates the morality of snooping through her messages and averts his eyes after realizing he probably won’t know any of her contacts.  

“Have you ever talked to someone about that?” Laurie pokes his knee. He raises an eyebrow back at her, gesturing loosely back and forth between where she sits and to himself. 

“We are talking now,” he says. Laurie rolls her eyes and flicks him. He glares at her, and she glares back. 

“I meant like, therapy,” she replies, and he doesn’t really know how to answer that. He’s not crazy; he doesn’t need therapy. They’re just stupid dreams he gets sometimes, and the crushing weight in his chest is something that happens. He is fine enough. He doesn’t need a professional pitying him on a problem that he should be able to work through on his own. He doesn’t need more people thinking he is weak. He’s not. 

“I don’t need therapy,” he brushes her off. Laurie looks at him with her own eyebrows raised, trying to see if he’s joking. He’s not, but he gets the sense that she doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t want Laurie pitying him either, and he rubs his hands over his eyes and debates the merit of leaving in the middle of this conversation. 

“Okay,” Laurie drags out the ‘y’ as she goes over his words again. Ilya sits in silence as she ponders, her knee jumping up and down. It stills suddenly, and she flicks him more forcefully to get his attention. When he meets her eyes, they’re filled with badly hidden worry, and Ilya wishes he were anywhere else. 

“What did you mean by you're okay with the dying part?” she asks quietly, her voice carrying lightly over the short space between them. Ilya sighs. He should have known she would get caught up in that part, even though it’s not important. The more distressing fact of these nightmares is the way Dream Shane looks at him, unguarded, in front of the crowd, as he doesn’t leave his side as Ilya bleeds out, or fades out, or whatever rotating idea his brain has for dying. Not that Ilya ever thought he would. But he doesn’t want Shane to see that, to know that distressing part of him that creeps up on him. 

“It is not a big deal,” he explains, and purposefully ignores the hurt noise that escapes Laurie’s mouth. 

“It is to me. You don’t…you don’t want to die, right?” She asks. And Ilya doesn’t falter, because he doesn’t want to die, not really. He’s not going to follow his mother’s footsteps in that way. He’s not, unless he couldn’t help it. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers, and she makes a slightly frustrated noise that Ilya doesn’t really understand. 

“You don’t think so?” she repeats, and Ilya can’t stop the weight that sits in his stomach. He doesn’t think about it. Sure, he dreams about it, and he drives recklessly, and he plays a high-contact sport with little abandon, but he doesn’t think too hard about why it takes him a second later to wake up on those nights, or why occasionally he drives too fast, or why sometimes he waits until the last second to dodge a check. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“I don’t know.” The frustration leaks out of his voice as he speaks, and Laurie opens her mouth to respond before closing it. 

Neither of them speaks, with Ilya choosing to focus on the very interesting picture of a gray cat that sits on Laurie’s desk. It’s cute, and not looking at Ilya with anger and worry like someone else in the room is currently doing. Laurie rolls her chair back over to her desk, and Ilya vaguely hopes they start pretending nothing happened, and maybe he’ll nap on this couch, which has become rather comfortable in the past couple of minutes. Laurie picks up her pen and then taps it on the table as she looks at him. His hope vanishes. 

“Ilya…I think you should talk to someone, like a therapist, about this,” she says carefully, and Ilya can’t ignore the flare of anger that sparks in his gut. 

“Why are you freaking out? It is fine, is stupid dream,” he groans.

It’s not that the dreams are unimportant, but Laurie seems to be caught up in the wrong thing. Ilya isn’t worked up about it. Sure, he hasn’t fully slept in a couple of days, but he’s not freaked out. It’s not a big deal; they’re stupid dreams that happen. Ilya is fine. He doesn’t need her pity. Laurie slams her pen down and huffs an angry breath out. 

“Because it’s distressing! Isn’t Shane also freaked out about this?” She points out, and yes, he would be. That’s why Ilya hasn’t told him. Shane is already under so much pressure, on a new team, trying to prove himself, that this would just be another weight for him to bear. And Ilya can’t–won’t–burden him like that. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” Ilya responds, and Laurie pauses, her leg stopping its bounce again, and she turns to him with a slight glare. It almost makes me miss the worry. Almost. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” She demands slowly, looking at him like she’s already calculated the answer but needs to hear it from him anyway. 

“I have not told him,” he answers honestly, ignoring her deep, long sigh. Laurie and Svetlana would get along very well, he muses to himself; they both have very similar reactions to his skirting around topics. Unfortunately, if they ever met, Ilya would very likely throw himself into oncoming traffic because their combined hockey obsession and concern for him would be catastrophic. 

“Why haven’t you told him? I feel like this is something he should know,” she asks. Ilya sighs and finally turns his face to meet her eyes. 

“I already want too much Laurie. I want him all of the time, and I want all of his time, and I want to leave this team to be with him because right now is not enough. What if this is the next thing that proves I am too much and he leaves,” the like his mother left goes unsaid. Maybe that’s not fair to Irina, after all, he’s pretty sure that Shane does not share her sadness, as it was something she definitely shared with Ilya. And maybe Irina didn’t mean to leave him, or didn’t want to, but she did all the same. And Ilya doesn’t think he’ll ever know why. It’s part of why it hurts so bad. There will always be a childish voice in the back of his brain that petulantly whines, ‘Why did you leave me?’ angrily. He misses her, and he loves her, but he thinks he will always be a little angry, too. Maybe she did want to leave him, maybe he was too much as a child. His father always said so. He won’t ever know. 

Laurie lets out a low whistle and leans back into her chair.

“Yeah, you definitely need therapy. Also, what the fuck, you want to leave Boston?” She says in quick succession, turning to him dramatically as she processes. Ilya hums and nods. He hasn’t officially told Shane yet, but he thinks Shane knows. Or has an idea at least. The past couple of months of being able to be closer is so nice, but Ilya wants to be closer than three hours. He wants to live with Shane, maybe one day propose, get a dog, children, if Hollander wants that with him. Ilya wants it. Wants it so bad he feels nauseous some days, he never thought he would be able to have this. Never thought he would be able to have the pretty boy with freckles who told him that he couldn’t smoke outside the rink. But he does now, and three hours is too much when he could be close enough to have. 

“I will leave after this season is over, once I am free agent,” he admits, and Laurie looks at him like he grew a second head. 

Ilya understands loyalty, knows that Boston drafted him, and he won a Cup with them. He’s broken goal records and had the best years of his life playing with them. But his best games were always playing Shane. Some of his best records, like his backhand goal after Shane had tripped him (Shane maintains that he did not, Ilya knows he’s a dirty liar), and he still managed to fake-out Hollander and sweep the goal into the net, usually happen when he’s playing Shane anyway. Similarly said with Shane, like one of his goals, where he physically jumped over a player to catch the puck and hurled it across the rink into the back of the net, happened during the playoff interdivision finals. Ilya can’t imagine going the rest of his playing career doing this dance around each other when they can just be closer. He also wants to be in the same division again; he misses the challenge of playing Shane more when it only happens once or twice a season. 

Laurie looks at him, baffled, like this wasn’t always what was going to happen. Like Ilya wouldn’t follow Shane anywhere. 

“Where?” She asks.

“I don’t know, New York maybe?” He’s already looked into it a bit, and people are saying that Eric Bennett is looking to retire this year; there are a couple of other people who could leave New York, and there would be enough cap space for him. He would take a pay cut if he needed to, though. Ilya has enough money, and between the two of them, they’ll always have enough money, so he’s not super worried. 

“Why?” Laurie continues to play twenty questions, like Ilya’s reason for being is not sitting nearly hundreds of miles away (although Shane is playing Ottawa currently, so maybe more than that presently). It’s silly, he thinks, to think hockey teams could ever be more important than the love he could never tamper out of his chest. 

“I don’t want to keep doing this schedule of barely seeing each other. It is better than Montreal, but not enough,” he explains, hoping she understands. Laurie’s face softens for a moment, then groans, and Ilya knows she does. He also knows Laurie is a horrible, terrible, sore loser and a die-hard Boston fan. After all, Boston had not won a Stanley Cup for years until Ilya came along. He’s not one of the best hockey players of all time for nothing. 

“Why don’t we bring Shane here? He could be a good player for Boston,” she muses, and Ilya just raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Cap space, also, he just got traded and is not going to waive his no-trade clause,” he shoots back, and she closes her eyes, defeated. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” she mutters. 

Ilya looks at her with thinly veiled pity, shaking his head with mock-shame. Laurie throws her pen at him, but he catches it. Wiggling it in his hand before maturely chucking the throw pillow behind him at her. She does not catch it. The shriek she lets out as it hits her right in the head makes him laugh loudly. Laurie shoots him a glare, although she’s also smiling. 

“I am sorry,” he says, even though he’s not. Laurie gets up, and for a moment, Ilya wonders if she’s going to throw the pillow back now with better aim. She doesn’t, merely walking over to sit next to him on the couch, pushing the pillow to his chest. 

“This is worse than my news,” she mutters, looking at Ilya out of the corner of her eye. Ilya perks up, usually Laurie’s news is something he can gossip to Shane about later. He had heard about a player in LA who was going through a truly deserved divorce that Shane had dissected for hours over the phone while Ilya nodded along like a love-sick idiot. 

“You have news?” He asks, nudging her with his knee. She smiles back at him tentatively, still looking straight ahead, her eyes locked on the phone on her desk. Maybe Ilya should have snooped anyway. 

“I do, I was going to tell you soon, actually,” she sings excitedly, like she always is when she gossips with him. She stays silent for a moment, and Ilya realizes she’s waiting for him to ask her. He rolls his eyes and falls back onto the couch, finally relaxing. 

“What happened?” he prompts sarcastically, and Laurie finally turns to look at him, her smile nervous, and Ilya wonders idly if he should have asked more genuinely.

“I got an upgraded job offer,” she reveals, doing jazz hands for a moment before sighing and dropping her hands. Ilya feels himself relax and wonders when he unconsciously started preparing for bad news. 

“Oh, well, that is kind of good, no?” Ilya kicks her foot with his own, and Laurie’s shoulders drop as she relaxes next to him on the couch. 

“Yeah, another team offered me a much better benefits package and more money. I said yes,” she explains, and it’s an easy explanation to swallow. It’s not harsh and all-consuming like Ilya’s answer. Maybe he should’ve said money, but Boston pays him well, great even, and maybe there would be more benefits, but the benefits in question would be his hockey player boyfriend with pretty brown eyes and freckles. Ilya hums. 

“Then that is good, even though we are both Boston traitors,” He jokes, and Laurie gives him another smile with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. 

“Although I think you’ll like where I’m going.” It’s with such an air that Ilya mentally swears that if Laurie is going to Montreal, he will walk out of this room. 

“What? Where are you going?” He asks, hoping the mild dread isn’t written all over his face. 

Ilya knows his fear was unfounded when she turns to face him. If she were going to Montreal, she wouldn’t look this happy. No one is happy when they go to Montreal. Except Shane. Once. But not anymore. Because of me, Ilya thinks and wonders if it’s selfish that he would fall in love again anyway. He thinks Shane would too. Laurie gives a small drumroll on her lap that Ilya slowly copies. 

“New Jersey,” she says. And Ilya is vaguely reminded that he never actually told Shane that Laurie knows about them. He had hoped to put it off until they crossed that bridge, but it appears that now the bridge is rapidly approaching. 

“You are kidding.” Ilya smiles, but it feels thin, his eyes wide.

“Nope.” Laurie pops the ‘p’ and leans back onto the couch. 

Ilya is happy for her, really, he is, but an irrational part of him hoped he could scoop her up, too. He will be losing a lot of his friends after this season. Cliff and Laurie, which he’s now realizing make up half of his friends, the other two being his boyfriend and his best friend from home. He could never lose Svetlana, and he knows he’ll never regret following Shane, but it will be weird. No longer seeing these people, he’s gotten so used to talking to everyday. 

“I’m happy that we will also still be close then,” he decides to say. Laurie hums from where she sits next to him with her eyes closed. 

“Yeah, this means you have to formally introduce me to Shane, not just when you two are making out in a hallway.” She pokes his side, and Ilya lets out a long sigh

“That was one time.” Two times, if you count the hallway outside of the gala, but what Laurie doesn’t witness, Laurie doesn’t have to know about, in Ilya’s opinion. Laurie levels Ilya with a look that says, “You’re so full of shit.” It makes him miss Shane, and he absentmindedly thinks about the next time they’ll be able to see each other in person. There are a couple of weeks until the playoffs and Ilya knows Boston will make it. He wants to give this team another Cup before he leaves, and he thinks they can do it. With Shane on the Shields, New Jersey has a decent shot, too. 

Laurie rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, I’m sure only once,” she scoffs, and Ilya can’t stop the smile that starts to take over his face. He waggles his eyebrows at her, and she swats at his arm. 

“A gentleman never tells,” he says, and Laurie lets out a laugh at him. 

“Good thing you’re not a gentleman then! I’m serious. I want to get to know you guys. We could do like a double date!” She exclaims. 

A double date would be nice. A date would be nice. Ilya has been in love with Shane for nearly a decade and hasn’t taken him on a single date. He thinks he’d be good at that. Bickering with Shane over what to order, eventually ordering something he knows fits in Shane’s diet so Shane can try it. Holding his hand even. It would be fun. It would also be something Shane would likely have a panic attack over. ‘Think of how many people could see us,’ the Shane in his head says. It would be dangerous. But Ilya is a little obsessed with it. Maybe they could do something else besides a restaurant. Or a double date could work, Ilya and Shane sitting next to each other, Laurie and her potential girlfriend on the other side. Speaking of…

“Oh yeah? You have a girlfriend I don’t know about?” Ilya asks and raises his eyebrows as Laurie splutters at him indignantly. 

“Fuck off, maybe I’ll get one!” She says wistfully, and while Ilya has gone out with Laurie to clubs a decent amount of times, the number of times he’s seen her talk to any girl she thought was pretty he could count on one hand. Or zero hands. It’s never happened, is the point. 

“Hmm, you’d actually have to talk to girls to get one,” he muses, ignoring Laurie’s shouts of protest. 

“Well, maybe I’ll learn,” she huffs. 

Ilya hums non-convinced, and Laurie grabs the pillow out of his lap to hit him with it. He takes the hit, pretending to fall back onto the armrest dramatically and allowing his eyes to shut as he lays there. Laurie giggles in the background, and he feels as she lets herself fall back, a light thump as she overcompensates, and her head hits the wall. He ignores the small “ow” and feels the weight settle in his chest. The couch really isn’t that bad, he thinks; he could probably fall asleep here. It’s quiet for a while. Maybe too quiet. 

“Hey, can you promise me something?” Laurie whispers, and when Ilya cracks an eye open, he sees her eyes are closed too. 

“What am I promising?” he asks, but he already knows. It was stupid of him to forget that Laurie worries, that they could forget a conversation had happened and live on the high of imaginary double dates. He plays dumb, though, hoping that she’ll decide it’s not worth it. Decide he’s not worth it. Ilya closes his eyes again. 

“Can you talk to Shane about the dreams? Or someone? Like a professional someone,” She asks, and Ilya groans

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up on the stupid dream-”

“Because you don’t know if you want to die or not, and I’m worried one day you’ll wake up and decide you do! And I know Shane would feel the same way. Fuck Ilya, if not for yourself do it for Shane.” The hurt in her voice makes Ilya’s eyes open, and they see Laurie staring at him, her hands wrung together and her eyes watching him. Flickering over his body as though she’ll find an injury she can fix. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t really know what to say. His first instinct is ‘no, I don’t need it,’ but he doesn’t want to fight with her again, or talk in circles. His next thought is to lie a simple ‘yes, I will,’ but Laurie’s not an idiot. 

“I’ll think about it, for Shane,” he decides, and neither of them talks for a while after that. 

Ilya considers it; maybe he should talk to someone, if other people are reacting this way, and telling Shane is out of the question. He doesn’t know; he doesn’t really want to think about it all that much. Where the air of Laurie’s office was once comforting, all Ilya wants to do now is leave. It feels like Laurie knows too much, like she sees him, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. Maybe he really is crazy. 

“I should probably get going, need to get rest.” Ilya stands from the couch, wincing slightly at the noise his legs make as they settle.

he walk across the room feels longer in the uncomfortable silence, and Ilya feels the strange urge to sob. Barbs prickle the back of his throat as he swallows, and he blinks back tears quickly. Прости, папа, (Sorry, papa, )he thinks idly, because he thinks he needs more help than his own willpower, and he knows that’s not what Grigori Rozanov raised him to believe. 

His feet seem to drag along the plush carpet, and he pauses when he finally reaches the door. The oak seems daunting, the thought of leaving just to sit in his car alone, and his apartment just as empty makes him want to sit back down and pick at the pounding under his skin. Fuck, he really does need therapy, doesn’t he? 

“Congrats, Laurie,” Ilya says sincerely when he gets to the door. He doesn’t look back at her. He can’t, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle her worry hitting him in the face at full value again. 

“Thank you, Ilya,” She responds, letting him leave. 

He googles Russian-speaking therapists as soon as he gets home.

Chapter End Notes

Canvas was down so instead of doing my finals, I finished the chapter.

Прости, папа-Sorry papa

Laurie is frantically googling if she's a mandated reporter after this meeting (she legally is not !)

I hope the people who wondered why Ilya didn't tell Shane Laurie knows about them feel vindicated ! There is in fact a reason !

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! Unintentionally started having a writing schedule, but we're almost halfway done!! So excited as we get deeper into this and I'm really enjoying writing this so I hope yall are liking this! Please take care of yourselves and treat yourselves with kindness ! As another bisexual russian who lost their mother young, therapy ain't weak! Please seek it if you need it ! Okok Love you all dearly mwah <3333

Chapter 14: the friendly fire

Chapter Summary

It’s taken nearly six months, but Shane finally has people in his apartment that aren’t Ilya. Garret and Hayden sit on the couch in the living room, both on opposite ends, with controllers in their hands. Shane watches as they set up the next round of MLH, arguing over who “really” won the last round (Shane did), and he rolls his eyes fondly as the mini watering can fills in the sink. He watches the water as it slowly rises in the green plastic, lifting his head towards his windowsill where the sun is setting and his new plant sits. 

It’s a peperomia, specifically a pink lady the shop owner had called it, Shane had bought it on the whim the other day, walking into the store and being greeted with a truly staggering amount of foliage. He doesn’t know why he was so drawn to it, the light green with pink spreading across the leaves catching his eye as he turned the corner. He felt pulled towards it, like it had grabbed his face with it’s stem, dragging him across the floor until he was standing in front of it. The small hearts made his breath hitch and he couldn’t help but think of Ilya. He bought it right then and there, and it had been living in his kitchen ever since. 

Chapter Notes

Hayden Pike are you ready to die? Here are the Hayden Pike Bashings I have been waiting for ! Also I finally decided to use my degree and code some HTML for the russian translations, if you hover over the Russian, it will translate, make sure to have work skins on!!

It’s taken nearly six months, but Shane finally has people in his apartment that aren’t Ilya. Garret and Hayden sit on the couch in the living room, both on opposite ends, with controllers in their hands. Shane watches as they set up the next round of MLH, arguing over who “really” won the last round (Shane did), and he rolls his eyes fondly as the mini watering can fills in the sink. He watches the water as it slowly rises in the green plastic, lifting his head towards his windowsill where the sun is setting, and his new plant sits. 

It’s a peperomia, specifically a pink lady, the shop owner had called it. Shane had bought it on a whim the other day, walking into the store and being greeted with a truly staggering amount of foliage. He doesn’t know why he was so drawn to it, the light green with pink spreading across the leaves catching his eye as he turned the corner. He felt pulled towards it, like it had grabbed his face with it’s stem, dragging him across the floor until he was standing in front of it. The small hearts made his breath hitch, and he couldn’t help but think of Ilya. He bought it right then and there, and it had been living in his kitchen ever since. 

A loud, victorious shout from Hayden makes Shane look over his shoulder. Garret sulks on one end of the couch as Hayden points at the TV screen, clearly repeating his earlier point. Shane is excited that the two of them are finally over; he hasn’t had anyone in his house that wasn’t his boyfriend or his best friend's children, and he’s been feeling a little lonely lately. After the bye weeks, during which Ilya and Shane had spent the days and nights wrapped up in each other, they haven’t been spending as much time together. With the playoffs coming up, Ilya hasn’t been over in weeks. There was a fleeting but wonderful night when Shane had made the drive up to Boston, and before that, it had been a little over 2 months. Shane doesn’t remember how he managed not to lose his mind before he and Ilya were officially together. The empty space drives him a little crazy, and the past couple of weeks have been a battle between the voices scratching at the inside of his skull and sleep. He calls Ilya, always calls Ilya, but the worry that nips at his heels doesn’t seem to stall unless it’s distracted by company. So Hayden and Garret are here. Montreal is playing Brooklyn, and Shane’s been meaning to hang out with both of them again. Hoping this time ends without the awkwardness of last time. 

Shane wishes, not for the first time, that Ilya could be here. That Shane could sit down on the couch with two of his friends and feel his boyfriend's presence there too. That he could join in on the video game and the mindless chirping at each other, and be in each other’s company. He loves Garret and Hayden, but he misses his best friend, who he’s realized, through an almost embarrassing eight-minute rant to Rose the other day, is Ilya. Rose says it’s sweet, and Shane agrees, but he needs to hang out with his friends more. After officially coming out to JJ, which had been a positive reaction if not unsurprised, Shane wanted to extend the invite, but lately JJ had been a little too observant of Shane's constant thoughts of Ilya. He doesn’t want to tell him about that can of worms just yet, and JJ is a little too smart for his own good. So he’ll let him think it’s an unrequited crush for now, but he can only take so many questions before he tells him the truth. He’ll tell him about Ilya soon.  

As though he can read Shane’s thoughts from thousands of miles away, Shane’s phone pings in his pocket, and when he unlocks it, a text from Ilya is waiting for him. 

LILY

hollander

sveta is ignoring me

please send me photos in this very trying time

SHANE

So, what, I’m your backup entertainment?

LILY

NO

hollander you are my always entertainment

want you always

all the time i say “please god if you are real you will show me prettiest thing”

and then you are there

i miss you

please

SHANE

I’m not going to send you anything in public.

I have people over

LILY

they don’t have to know

любимый (darling)

i haven’t seen your freckles in so long

miss your face

Shane rolls his eyes at his phone, but flicks through his folder to find a mirror photo he’d taken at the gym earlier with the explicit idea of sending it to Ilya. He had chickened out then, choosing instead to save it for later. Now is later enough, he supposes, hitting the send button. 

SHANE

You’re ridiculous

JANE

oхренеть (holy shit)

самое прекрасное, что я когда-либо видел (the most beautiful thing i've ever seen)

shanya so pretty

the prettiest

god is real

SHANE

I love you

LILY

я тебя люблю (i love you)

Shane slips back onto the couch with a chuckle, his phone sliding in his pocket as he grabs his abandoned controller sitting on the coffee table. Hayden sets up a new round and selects multiplayer as Shane gets settled. Shane smiles to himself as he thinks of the last time he and Ilya had played this game at the cottage. He feels an elbow land lightly on his ribs and turns to see Garret looking straight forward at the TV with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

“When do you get to see Lily again?” he asks, singing Lily’s name in a way that is both bad and embarrassing. Shane feels the tips of his ears warm. He looks firmly back at the screen and attempts not to choke on his surprise. 

“What?” he mumbles, his eyes not leaving the loading screen as the circle on the screen seems to spin forever. Garret nudges him again, although Shane refuses to look, he’s fairly certain the grin hasn’t left his face. Hayden is silent on his other side, but Shane can feel his eyes. 

“You have your ‘Lily-smile,’ dude. When are you going to see each other again?” Garret asks, laughing lightly as the controller in Shane’s hand nearly falls. He didn’t know he had a “Lily-smile.” He wonders vaguely if this is something he should be concerned about, if the way his face apparently lights up whenever he thinks about Ilya is going to be a problem whenever a journalist asks a question. The puck drops on the screen before he can let the thought fester.  

Shane will be reunited with Ilya in two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours, maybe less, if New Jersey can win the first round quickly enough. And provided Boston wins the first round as well. Shane expects him to. Ilya has been training harder, longer, like he has something to prove this year. It’s very hot and very frustrating to play against. Shane’s so fucking lucky. 

“Soon, I think? Especially because we made the playoffs, she’s very excited about that.” He says instead of counting the hours out in front of him.

Ilya had been so excited when New Jersey had snatched the wildcard spot to the playoffs that he had promptly gotten in his car and driven to see him as soon as his game had ended. Shane had just gotten home after spending 45 minutes trying to get what felt like three bottles of champagne out of his hair from all of the celebration in the locker room. The team had invited him out after, but Shane was so exhausted he just wanted to go home. Wes had accepted the invitation, though, and Garret and Shane spent the following day experiencing Wes’ first hangover. There was a new abundance of blackmail photos sent in their group chat. 

When Shane had gotten home that night, late, tired, and a little delirious, he thought the Ilya Rozanov sitting in his living room on a beach blanket with just the side lamp on was a figment of his imagination. He had dropped his bag on the floor, his surprise lasting only a moment before he launched himself at the man. Ilya had laughed, kissing Shane deep and slow, and Shane had thought that this was the best celebration he could have. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Ilya had whispered, his forehead pressed against Shane’s, their breaths intermingling. Shane just giggled at him. He couldn’t believe this was real. 

Ilya had presented him with a strawberry that had a candle in it, when Shane had said that candles were for birthdays, Ilya had flicked his shoulder and told him to make a wish anyway. They laid there, on the blanket, the lamp making Ilya look golden in the light, and Shane wished that Ilya always looked this happy. They talked in low whispers, as though someone could hear them in the empty house, and traded kisses and fruit and more wishes for whatever reason. Shane’s never changed. Shane even managed to get a photo of Ilya stubbornly attempting to mash the candle into the fruit, his cheeks dusted pink and his eyes sparkling. It’s Shane’s favorite photo of him, and he wishes he could print it and hang it in the entryway. They fell asleep with their hands and legs tangled together, with Shane clinging onto Ilya as his head sat on his chest. Shane counted his heartbeat as he fell asleep; the steady drum and the way Ilya carded his fingers through his hair lulled him off. 

A light scoff tears him away from the memory, and Shane’s eyes flit over to where Hayden appears to look at the screen in disbelief.  

“Really? I can’t imagine Lily would be too excited about that,” He says under his breath, his fingers clicking frantically on the keys as Garret’s forward manages to get past him. Shane frowns and maneuvers his character so that Garret doesn’t actually score. 

“Why wouldn’t she be happy for me?” Shane says after a minute, ignoring Garret’s annoyed huff as Shane swerves past him effortlessly. Hayden attempts to catch up to him and groans when Shane manages to make the first score. 

“Uh, because she’s kind of an asshole, dude,” Hayden answers, his leg nudging playfully against Shane’s as if it’s funny. And if this was the bench before a game against him, Shane would maybe agree, but Ilya’s sweet here. Off the ice, in Shane’s heart. 

“Ok, well, she loves me, dude. She’s always been happy when I made the playoffs.” He bites off, inadvertently helping Garret as he checks Hayden into the boards, and Garret steals the puck. He’s not even really watching the screen anymore, his eyes tracking Hayden’s jaw as it clenches lightly. 

“I’m sure not always,” Hayden responds, casually rolling his eyes and glancing over as if Garret would agree with him. 

Shane debates sharing that he’s been in love with Ilya since before their rookie season. Yeah, he wanted to beat him, but playing for the Cup was always better when Shane could beat the best to get there. And Ilya’s the best. He knows Ilya feels the same; the biting congratulations they used to send each other that was disguised as sarcasm weren’t actually. Shane loves playing Ilya, loves pushing himself to do better, to surprise him and take the puck out right from underneath him. It’s not that all the other games he plays are easy, but no one gets him like Ilya does, on and off the ice, and it makes it hard to get an easy hat trick when they both know how the other wants to move based on the quiet twitch of an eyebrow. 

Shane is also quietly hurt. He had hoped the constant comparing and complaining would come to a stop after a while, but it’s been over half a year at this point, and Hayden’s never really seemed to get over it. Shane doesn’t know if he’s getting over Shane not telling him, or if the idea of him loving Ilya Rozanov is something so inconceivable that he can’t wrap his head around it. As if he isn’t exactly what Shane wants, what Shane needs. He opens his mouth to speak, but Garret clicks pause on the console before turning towards Hayden angrily. 

“Can you shut the fuck up, dude? What the hell has Lily actually done to you?”  He asks, the game controller falling loudly on the coffee table. Shane should have expected this. Garret had been quiet for too long. 

Hayden scoffs and responds quickly with “You don’t know her, dude, you would agree with me,” and Shane feels like he wants to scream. You don’t know him, he thinks angrily at the man sitting next to him. It’s not fair. That Ilya isn’t here, that so many people won’t ever seem to want to know him, that this is happening at all. It’s not fucking fair. 

“I don’t have to know Lily to know that she’s the only one to make Shane smile like that.” Garret’s eyes narrow as he gestures wildly at Shane’s face. Shane thinks that the gesturing was a little bit over the top, and maybe unnecessary, but he’ll allow it. He should break up the argument, but he lets it sit for a moment. It’s nice, having people fight for Shane and Ilya, even if they don’t know it’s Ilya and Shane they’re fighting for.

“He could find someone else,” Hayden argues, and Shane feels a white-hot flash of anger shoot through him. He doesn’t want anyone else. He’ll never want anyone else. No one could ever be as perfectly compatible as Ilya already is. As they are together. Garret laughs angrily, and he leans forward just a bit. Shane leans back into the couch cushion. 

“Dude, level with me, are you in love with Shane?” Garret asks, and Hayden coughs. Shane nearly chokes as well. Whatever response he was expecting, it was not that. 

“What?” Hayden chokes out, his own controller falling out of his hands and slipping under the couch with a loud clatter. Shane’s going to have to move it later to grab it. Garret sighs at him angrily, his head hitting the back of the couch. 

“Are you secretly in love with him or something? Because I don’t understand why you don’t like Lily when it’s so fucking clear they are it for each other,” Garret repeats the question, his tone annoyed. 

Shane wishes he were anywhere else, actually, especially not trapped between Garret and Hayden. Maybe he overestimated how much they tolerated each other. Hayden’s eyes widen, and he splutters out a choked-off laugh. 

“I’m not in love with him!” He exclaims. He shoots Shane an apologetic look, like he means to throw a “no offense” in there as well. Shane wants to stand up so they’re not arguing over him. 

“Then get over yourself!” Garret exclaims, and Hayden’s fists clench by his sides. His nose flares, and his jaw tightens like he’s rolling through a list in his head about why he’s right. Shane’s seen him get angry like this before, but usually it happens when they’d go out after a game, and Comeau would say something about Jackie.  

“Lily is an asshole,” he repeats, and Garret rolls his eyes at him. 

“Well, you’re a douchebag.” He stands up and moves towards the kitchen, like he’s decided the conversation is over. 

Hayden looks at Shane like he expected Shane to say something in his defense. And well, Shane would, because he knows that Hayden is one of his closest friends, and he’s been kind and welcoming. But Hayden has never been nice to Ilya, and it’s been weighing on him. Making him feel like maybe he and Ilya won’t ever get to be out like Hunter is, because all they’d be shown is the disbelief. And Ilya doesn’t deserve to be treated like that; he only deserves the best. Shane wants to give it to him, Shane wants to show him that he’s so loved, and he thinks Ilya believes him sometimes. But it’ll be hard if everyone treats him as if he doesn’t deserve Shane. As if every moment with him isn’t better than lifting the Cup over his shoulders. He’d give it up forever if it meant forever with Ilya, and that scares him. That he’d ruin his career and give it all up for someone. But that someone is Ilya, so of course, he would. 

Hayden stands up slowly and calls out from in front of the couch.  

“Shane’s my best friend.” He doesn’t look at Shane when he says it, and Shane almost wishes he would. Wishes he would look him in the eyes and tell him the truth, and not go through the motions but give him all these passive-aggressive signs that Shane doesn’t understand. Garret turns from where he’s been leaning against the counter, and he looks as done with the conversation as Shane feels. 

“Is he? Because you’re treating him like a fucking kid. Get over yourself. I haven’t even known Shane as long as you have, but I’ve never seen him as happy as he is when Lily is texting him or calling him or they have plans. And you always fucking undermine that because she what? Insulted you once or twice? Grow up. Lily might be an “asshole,” but you’re a dick.” Garret doesn’t move as he speaks, and that’s how Shane knows how angry he is. Usually when he talks, he’s animated, moving his hands around and tapping against surfaces. The reserved quietness he displays now reminds Shane of him on the ice, right before he drops his gloves. Hayden barely blinks at it, though. 

“You would understand if you knew her,” he says, like that would make it ok. Shane does his best to sink into the couch cushions. Garret tilts his head and gives Hayden a dark look. 

“I think you should go.” Garret takes a step closer to Hayden, and even though Hayden is a bit taller, the look he gives makes it seem like he’s looking down on him. Hayden takes a step closer too, the tension in the room at an all-time high. 

“This isn’t your house, Walker.” Hayden gestures around the room. Shane desperately pleads to whatever God will listen that he doesn’t have to get new furniture due to his friends fighting in his house. If it comes down to it, he doesn’t know who he’d put money on to win. He’s tempted to say Hayden since he’s fought more, but he knows Garret fights dirty. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to send you back to Montreal with a broken nose, and I’m not leaving Pike.” Shane starts the scramble to pull them apart as Garret cracks his neck. Hayden scoffs, but apparently doesn’t want a fight to break out any more than Shane does, because he shoots Shane an annoyed look over his shoulder. 

“I don’t have to deal with this. Shane, call me when you get better teammates.” He puts his shoes on and slips out the door. Leaving Shane and Garret in an empty room, the anger still swirling around. Garret lets out a long sigh before grabbing a cup and filling it with water. He moves slowly around the kitchen and gives Shane an apologetic look before he sits back down on the couch. The glass is placed on a coaster on the table. Shane stares at him for a while. 

“Sorry I kicked him out,” Garret says quietly, his jaw still flexed. 

“It’s ok. I think he just needs a minute.” Shane sits back down, occupying the space that Hayden was taking. His eyes flick over to the TV, the game still paused. 

“He needs a fucking reality check, like yeah maybe Lily is an asshole, but that’s very obviously part of the reason why you guys are perfect for each other,” Garret’s voice trembles, and Shane frowns as he goes to retrieve the remote to shut off the screen.

“What are you talking about?” He attempts to act nonchalant; he hopes it comes out that way. Ilya says he’s an awful liar, but maybe that's just to him. Maybe he can’t hide how he feels from Ilya, who always seems to be able to see right through him, his eyes flaying open Shane’s chest and examining the inside like it’s precious and perfect. Garret gives him a look of disbelief. 

“Hollander. You’re also kind of an asshole, you know that, right?” Garret speaks slowly, telling Shane like this is information he should’ve known. Shane’s eyes widen at him. 

“What?” he exclaims, jumping a little in surprise. He doesn’t think he’s an asshole; his title of Canadian Golden Boy wouldn’t be accurate if he was. Garret nods at him slowly, his face in some kind of shock. 

“Dude, the other day you told someone that it was 'no wonder his girlfriend dumped him because he doesn’t know his left from his right, let alone please her.' You were on the bench,” Garret recounts, and Shane rolls his eyes. He does remember that, but he also remembers that it happened on the ice. So it shouldn’t really count. 

“Yeah, but that’s just chirping,” he explains, putting the remote down on the coffee table, settling back into his seat. Garret just gives him a look. 

“It was Jay. It was during morning practice,” he deadpans. 

“He missed a clearly left-sided goal! He laughed!” Shane defends, nearly launching himself out of his seat. Garret chuckles at him and holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Because it was funny, and definitely deserved. But you’re also kind of an asshole. No wonder you like someone who can match you. And Lily can definitely match you,” he observes. And that’s sweet, but something about it rubs Shane the wrong way. His anxiety perks up like a dog, ears straining to replay the words again. It could mean nothing, could simply mean Garret is just a good friend who wants Shane to be with someone he likes. But he decides to press anyway. 

“What do you mean she ‘can match me’?” He asks, making direct eye contact with the shelf under the TV. His voice is quiet and tentative, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Garret wince slightly. Ok, that’s definitely weird, Shane thinks, trying to mentally go over everything he’s ever told Garret about Lily. 

“Shane, don’t you think it’s interesting that you tend to never go out with us after a game whenever we’re playing an away game in Boston?” Garret starts out, emphasizing Boston and also not looking directly at Shane. They both end up looking straight ahead at the black screen, and Shane tilts his head, confused. 

“Well, she’s not called Boston Lily because she lives in fucking Connecticut, Garret,” he snarks, and fights the smile when Garret snorts at it. Shane turns his head to watch as Garret suppresses a smile of his own, wringing his hands together as his head falls. 

“Okay, yeah, but you also tend to do that when Boston plays us here, or when Boston plays New York. That’s interesting, right?” Garret asks, lifting his head to look directly at Shane. 

Well, fuck. 

“I don’t think it’s something to look into. Lily travels for work sometimes,” Shane replies, but he can feel his face warm. He forces his voice steady as his head swings straight. If he looks at Garret right now, surely he’ll give everything away. He didn’t think he was being so obvious. Vaguely, he thinks that he should probably not sneak away to see Ilya so often, but immediately strikes the thought down. He should just come up with better excuses. Or stop going out with the team at all. Garret is still looking at him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Lily does. Lily is an interesting name, right?” It’s something Garret’s said before, but he stresses Lily’s name like he means something else. Shane continues to look straight ahead. He wishes he hadn’t turned the TV off; then he could pretend that something was captivating his attention, and he wouldn’t have to have this conversation.  

“I guess so?” Shane says instead. Garret lets out an annoyed grunt and then sighs, pinching the top of his nose and closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath that Shane doesn’t catch. He turns his body towards Shane, fully bracing his hands on his thighs. He breaths for a second. Shane continues to stare forward. 

“Shane. Is Lily Rozanov?” Garret asks, but it sounds like he already knows the answer. 

Fuck. 

“What?” Shane shrieks, frantically turning towards Garret to see his apologetic expression. Shane’s breath feels like it’s caught in the back of his throat as he tries to get something convincing out, “Lily isn’t- I mean-I’m not-how did-when did- what?”

He feels his breath catch again, and he tries to push it down. But the panic that’s been thrumming under his skin breaks out, and he can’t seem to force it back to how it was. Garret’s eyes widen, and he begins to move closer before stopping. He continues to hover, holding his hands up again, although this time he looks more scared. 

“Shane. It’s fine. I don’t give a shit that you’re gay or bi or whatever. And I don’t care that it’s Rozanov. Well, I care a little bit because I can’t believe you’re essentially dating hockey. But I’m not upset or anything,” Garret rushes out to explain, seemingly debating if he should move closer and try to help or stay away.  

Out of everything, it’s the shock flooding through his system that forces a breath between his lips. He inhales raggedly, before it calms down, his head hanging down as he clenches his eyes shut. 

“You don’t think he’s an asshole?” he asks quietly, barely audible across the room. Garret relaxes, sitting back on the cushion. He still looks a little worried, and like he doesn’t exactly know what to do. Shane doesn’t either. 

“Is he?” Garret asks. 

“Yeah,” Shane answers, but the words skip out of his mouth so affectionately that they feel like a different admission altogether. One that reminds Shane of his search history, and the text thread he has with Rose about ways to find out Ilya’s ring size, and the visions of Ilya here in this house. Waking up next to him, doing laundry with him, and a future where their love is forever connected. 

“Then you’re perfect for each other,” Garret says honestly. Shane doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

He can’t stop the “Really?” that leaves his mouth breathless and surprised. It punches out of his chest, the surprise that someone in hockey, in the NHL, someone on his team,  thinks they’re good together. He feels weightless, like he could float up out of his body and hit the ceiling. It’s hope, he realizes, that maybe they can do this. Maybe they can come out sooner, and it won’t be an ugly, terrible outcome. 

“Shane, it is so obvious you’re in love with him. Every time you talk about ‘Lily’– which is not as good of a code name as you think– you look like you’re about three seconds away from proposing,” Garret explains, and Shane feels himself flush. He doesn’t tell Garret he is actually three seconds away from proposing. Ilya makes it so easy for him to get distracted in the heavy fog of loving him that he just wants to ask Ilya every time he so much as looks at him. But he can’t, not yet. It has to be good enough to show how much Shane loves him. 

“Ilya thought of the names,” He says instead, and Garret nods to himself like that makes sense. 

“Yeah? What is yours? Jane or something?” He asks teasingly, but Shane stays silent for too long, and a laugh bursts out of Garret. 

“Oh my God, is it actually?” He gets out between breaths, and Shane tries to glare at him, but Garret isn’t even looking at him, too busy trying to stop laughing. But then he’ll look at Shane and be thrown into another fit of cackling. 

“Shut up, Garret,” Shane mutters, but it lacks any of the usual heat; the hope and joy bubbling under the surface of his skin seems to rush out of him. 

It feels almost surreal, the way Garret is looking at him, not in surprise, but almost in relief. Shane knows his face is a near mirror. He knows the rivalry is important. Knows that when he got drafted to the NHL, the price he paid wasn’t just in his blood, sweat, and tears, but also in his image. And he became what they wanted him to be, shaped easily by public perception and brand deals, and the rougher edges of him that Ilya seems to love were hidden, something only one person sees. And that one person is someone everyone expects him to hate. He can’t. He never did, but he didn’t think that other players could see through the thinly veiled foreplay and realize that it was never hatred. He didn’t think that they would accept it either. 

“You’re really cool with Ilya?” Shane quietly utters, but his voice hitches at the end, and Garret looks a little teary, like he might cry. 

“He makes you happy?” He asks, and the answer comes to Shane easier than skating across the ice. Of course he does. Shane's never felt the swooping thrill of need with anyone else. No one’s able to draw the honey gold feeling from his chest like Ilya does. Shane loves him like it’s breathing, instinctual and easy, and he’s never been happier. 

“So fucking happy.” Shane can feel his lips curve upwards into a soft smile. Garret smiles back at him, satisfied

“Then yeah, I don’t know why Hayden is being such a jerkoff,” he responds, and the urge to defend his friend thrums through him. Garret doesn’t know Hayden either, not really, and Shane knows Hayden’s in the wrong. It will be corrected, because it has to, because Shane will choose the love of his life over Hayden, but he wants to let him know why. He thinks Hayden will get over it, he just doesn’t know how deep this runs for Shane. But he knows Hayden can be better. He’s just stubborn. He hopes he’s just stubborn.  

“He thinks he’s being protective, I guess? I don’t know, but he was my first friend in the league,” Shane explains, and Garret rolls his eyes. 

“I think you need better friends.” Garret stares pointedly at Shane, and Shane groans. 

“I don’t want different friends, I just want them to like each other,” he complains. 

Garret regards him for a moment, and then tilts his head, as if he’s running a play through his head. Shane leans back into the couch more, feeling himself relax against the plush cushion, the fibers brushing delicately across his skin. His eyes flicker across the room and get trapped on a photo sitting on the table. It’s of Shane and his mom talking at the cottage, but he knows Ilya took it. He had sent it to him that night, admitting quietly that he wished he had more photos with Irina. Shane had framed it nearly immediately. He had also secretly asked his mom to take more photos with Ilya; she has a steadily growing folder now. 

“But obviously, Ilya is more important?” Garret’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and Shane feels himself frown. It’s weird to hear another player call him Ilya instead of Rozanov or Roz. Shane doesn’t know if he likes it. The words fall short against his lips, and Shane wants to repeat them. It doesn’t sound right in Garret’s mouth, is the thing, but it sounds right in Shane’s. 

“Obviously, Ilya is important,” he stresses. Garret’s face breaks out into a wolfish grin, and he leans forward towards Shane. 

“Are you jealous right now?” he asks, the mirth in his voice clear and evident, and Shane feels his ears go warm. It’s not jealousy, Ilya’s his, Shane knows he is. Garret just doesn’t say his name as right as Shane does. 

“No,” he says, like a liar, and Garret has the audacity to laugh right in his face. 

“Shane, I’m not gonna take him from you,” Garret chuckles, and Shane scoffs. Because of course he’s not. Shane is holding onto Ilya tight; he knows he won’t escape his grip, and he knows Ilya doesn’t want to. 

“You couldn’t if you tried,” he explains, and Garret’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head at Shane. Shane’s eyes continue to glare at him. 

“I don’t want to try,” Garret explains, and Shane nods, satisfied. 

“Good,” he decides, and Garret seems to let out a breath of relief, grabbing the glass next to him and finishing off the water in there. Shane stands up to bring it over to the sink, passing Garret. 

“Jesus Christ,” Garret mumbles under his breath, and Shane can’t help but roll his eyes. 

It doesn’t take that long for the glass to be cleaned, dried, and put away. Shane stays in the kitchen for a moment, making sure that the anxiety he felt from earlier is fully put away and won’t go rearing its ugly head any time soon. Garret doesn’t say anything, likely on his phone, and Shane appreciates the easy quiet. He closes his eyes as his fingers curl around the countertop and makes sure his breathing stays even. The granite is cool against his skin, and he forces his thoughts to focus on that instead of any of the millions of scenarios running through his mind right now. No, Garret isn’t going to out me and Ilya to the rest of the team, focus on the countertop, he thinks. The cold is grounding, and after a few minutes, he feels comfortable enough that he won’t break down in his living room to return to it. 

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and he peeks at the notification. Shane wonders if Ilya can sense when he needs to hear from him, a sixth sense just for Shane. He opens the message with his body angled away from Garret. He doesn’t think Ilya would send him a dick pic right now, but he’s not one hundred percent positive, and he doesn’t want to traumatize his friend right after he’s been so accepting. 

LILY

i am finally home моя любовь (i am finally home my love)

It’s not that late, only around four, but Shane wishes he could kick Garret out so he could call him. He looks at the call button next to Ilya’s contact with longing before he turns the phone off. Garret chuckles, and when Shane looks up, he realizes Garret is smiling at him. 

“I’m going to go home to my girlfriend, who I’m in a relationship with.” Garret decides, looking pointedly at Shane as he speaks. Shane rolls his eyes. He’s not that jealous; he’s a perfectly normal amount of jealous. Which is none. Ilya is just his. 

“Now you’re being excessive,” he deadpans, and does not laugh when Garret raises his hands, the keys jingling as they swing in his fingers. 

“Sorry, I thought I was gonna get merked there,” he exclaims dramatically, as Shane raises his eyebrows at him. 

“Fuck off,” Shane groans, and Garret smiles teasingly at him, gesturing to the phone sitting on the counter.

“Go call your boyfriend Hollander.” Garret slips his shoes on, speaking softly as he undoes the laces. They slip on quickly, and Shane scrambles to grab his phone. He pauses before pressing the call button, looking up at where Garret is rummaging through his keys, trying to find the ones for his car. There are a million different tags and keys on there, house keys, Wendy's free Frosty tags, and it usually takes Garret a minute to find his actual keys. Shane’s finger hesitates over the call button. He puts the phone down and calls over earnestly. 

“Thank you.” 

Garret smiles sadly at him over his shoulder, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he opens his mouth before closing it. Shane doesn’t know what he wants to say, before he shakes his head and hangs it down for a minute. His hands curling around the door handle tightly. Shane wants to get into his head and know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t think he ever will. Soon after, Garret lifts his head and offers him a less watery grin. It still doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s more convincing this time. 

“No reason to thank me for being your friend, Shane,” he says, and then he leaves. Shane scrambles to get the phone, and the call button is hit before the door even clicks. 

It only takes a couple of seconds before Ilya picks up, but Shane counts the seconds anyway. When Ilya’s face fills his screen, with an easy smirk on his face, Shane’s mouth goes dry. He’s wearing a low-cut gray tank, one he usually reserves for working out, and it’s clear he has been. His curls are slightly damp as they rest on his face, his breath coming out in uneven, slight pants, and a bead of sweat is currently rolling down his neck. Shane’s eyes follow it as it reaches Ilya’s shoulders, focused on how the drop of it maps down Ilya’s body like Shane wants to. He wants to follow the train with his tongue, worship the body that Ilya puts time into maintaining. He barely hears Ilya clear his throat to get his attention, but his eyes flick up automatically, admiring the pinkness of Ilya’s lips, and stopping at his eyes. Ilya raises his eyebrow at him, and Shane wishes he could crawl through the screen and touch. 

“Hi, Hollander, thought you had friends over?” His voice is low and sultry, and Shane is barely paying attention to the words, his eyes caught on the plushness of his lips as they move to form the words. 

“Uh-huh,” he nods. Ilya stares at him, his smirk growing bigger into a smile, and Shane trails his eyes down to the juncture of his neck. He imagines kissing the skin, inhaling Ilya’s scent as his lips skim over his skin. Biting down hard, until Ilya is grasping onto his hair tightly, the pain shooting sparks down his skin. He thinks about leaving a mark, kissing and biting until a bruise flourishes onto Ilya’s skin. The purples and blues mesh together to form a beautiful picture. Shane is so lost in thought, his fingers subconsciously tracing Ilya’s frame through the screen, that he doesn’t even realize Ilya’s talking to him. 

"-любимый? (favorite)" Favorite, Shane thinks, and can’t help the whimper that escapes his throat as it translates. He’s Ilya’s favorite and darling, and he’s Ilya’s. It shoots down his spine at lightning speed. He gets to be Ilya’s, and Ilya is his. His eyes ghost over the tank top again, and his brows furrow slightly.

“Were you and Svetlana at the gym?” He says, breathy and light, and Ilya’s smile doesn’t seem to be fading anytime soon. Ilya nods, his fingers plucking at the tank top and Shane’s eyes drift down, admiring the expanse of skin. 

“Yes,” Ilya responds. 

“Why didn’t you send me a picture?” Shane whines because he has a thing for Ilya pushing himself harder and harder, and Ilya seems to know this and exploits it often. Sending him photos and thirst traps of himself at the gym whenever he can. Ilya hums meanly and mockingly, and Shane would be lying to himself if it wasn’t hot. Ilya’s always hot. 

“Was going too, you called me. Do you want me to hang up and send it to you instead?” Ilya asks, the angle changing as he goes to lift the phone up. 

“No. No, please don’t hang up,” Shane begs, and Ilya stops before putting the phone back, his smirk still present, and Shane greedily drinks up the vision of his boyfriend again. 

“Really? You don’t want to jerk off to my photo?” Ilya drawls casually, as if he’s asking about the weather, and Shane’s jaw drops. 

“Ilya,” he breathes. He didn’t think Ilya knew he did that; obviously, he did that, he wants Ilya so deeply etched into his skin that it physically hurts when they’re apart. He wants Ilya when he does mundane things like do the dishes, cut up fruit, or give Shane his jacket because it’s cold. Seeing him sweaty and straining made Shane want to do stupid, crazy things. 

“You think I don’t know?” Ilya asks while running his hand through his hair. His bicep bulges as he does so, and Shane’s eyes are glued to the screen. Tracking the veins as they appear, the muscles as they grow. He feels vaguely concerned at how fast the blood flow leaves his brain and travels down. If he stood up right now, he’s fairly positive he would pass out. Ilya clicks his tongue together twice. 

“I asked you a question, Shane,” He demands, and Shane feels his brain melt behind his face. He loves it when they get like this, when Ilya takes the reins Shane is handing him and runs with them. Shane blinks slowly as he looks up, his brown eyes meeting Ilya’s 

“‘M sorry,” Shane slurs, and he sees Ilya’s pupils grow. His eyes soften, turning pitying and mocking, and Shane has to set the phone down against the table in case he does something silly like drop it. 

“It’s ok, шлюха, (slut,)” Ilya sighs patronizingly, and Shane’s eyes narrow as he attempts to translate the pet name. Slut, he’s calling you a slut, he thinks, and has to grip onto the couch tightly. His knuckles turn white as Ilya laughs meanly at him and Shane wants to kiss him. Wants to smash their lips together and let Ilya’s arms strain as they hold him down. He wishes they weren’t so far apart right now, that the game schedule wasn’t cruelly keeping them apart.

“Ilyusha, please,” The words tumble out of Shane’s mouth quickly. He watches as Ilya visibly softens at the pet name the way he always does, and how the smile on his face turns gentle for a moment. Shane is not above playing dirty to get what he wants. It doesn’t always work; sometimes, Ilya takes the pet names and strides and keeps pushing Shane, but it does now. Maybe it’s the length of time they’ve been apart, or maybe Ilya can feel the overwhelming wave of love that keeps pouring out of Shane’s chest, bleeding into his words. 

“Ok, I’ll stay on малыш (baby).” Ilya scrunches his face at him and sighs.

Shane listens as Ilya takes him apart from miles away, speaking darkly through the screen as they both shed their clothes. He feels himself fall down on the couch and lose himself in Ilya’s timbre. Ilya speaks in Russian and English both, and it thrills Shane that he can somewhat understand the Russian if he focuses hard enough, but soon he can’t understand anything but the Ilya, Ilya, Ilya that hums loudly through his brain. It’s a little humiliating, how fast it’s over, but Ilya watches him gasp and moan with nothing but love in his eyes and Shane lets himself come undone. 

Shane lies on the couch after, breathing heavily, the soft cushion's a little uncomfortable, but he simply lolls his head over and watches as Ilya lies on his bed. The black sheets wrinkled around him, and Shane wishes that he could crawl through the screen and push his head against Ilya’s chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“Hey,” he mumbles, watching as Ilya’s eyes blink open, “I love you.”

Ilya softens at the words, seeming to melt into the blanket as he hums. 

“I love you too, Shanya.” His voice is a bit scratchy, and Shane can’t stop himself from beaming. The warm feeling in his chest spreads throughout his body, and he can’t help but feel overwhelmed with it. With the love he has for Ilya. The love that could be accepted by his team, maybe some of the NHL. He feels giddy with it. 

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he can’t help but say again. He wants to repeat it, wants it to be the only thing he says, the only language he speaks, being the one to tell Ilya over and over that he loves him. Ilya lights up at the name, his eyes fluttering closed, and Shane feels his own smile stretch. 

“You like it when I call you that,” Shane observes quietly. Ilya’s eyes shoot open, and he attempts to smother the smile from where it sits on his face. Shane wants to laugh a little, the lightning in his veins sparkling with joy. 

“You like it when I call you Shanya and lover and slut, so,” Ilya shoots back, smirking as Shane feels himself flush. It’s almost a challenge, and Shane raises his eyebrows back. 

“I do. But you like being my baby,” he strings the word out, and Ilya blushes at him, caught. He opens his mouth to defend himself, but can’t seem to find anything to do so. Shane wants him to be his, so deeply, and it seems that Ilya wants that too, and there isn’t anything better really. Ilya slowly goes back to the soft smile he was wearing earlier, the one that he doesn’t get around anyone other than Shane.  

“Maybe,” Ilya admits, staring at where his finger is twirling around the sheets. Making a small heart in the duvet. Shane has never felt an urge to ask Ilya to marry him this strongly. Which is bad for a multitude of reasons. One, he hasn’t even asked Svetlana for her blessing yet, which he plans to do soon; there just hasn’t been any time. Two, they’re both on FaceTime after having phone sex, satisfying phone sex, but phone sex nonetheless. His heart pounds, and Shane knows there’s no stopping what comes out of his mouth. 

“I want to keep you forever,” He chirps, and silently thanks God that that’s all that comes out of his mouth. Ilya’s head snaps up to look at him. 

“Please,” he says instantly, and Shane nods. Ilya smiles widely as he lets himself fall back into the bed, relaxing against it. Shane watches him, tracking his eyes over his body and face. He imagines himself next to Ilya, trailing his fingers through his hair and connecting their lips. 

“Keep me too?” Shane asks, but he knows what Ilya will respond with. Knows it like he knows that he’ll win his game tomorrow, knows it like he knows how many miles it takes to drive to Ilya’s house. Knows it like he knows Ilya loves him back. 

“Yes, you’re mine, Hollander,” Ilya replies without a second thought.

“Good,” Shane hums as he stretches, bringing himself up and off the couch and collecting his clothes from where they lay on the floor. When he picks up the phone, Ilya is watching him appreciatively, playing with the cross around his neck. Shane idly wonders if he’d keep a wedding ring around the chain as well.  

“I will have to call you post-workout more often,” Ilya notes, as Shane picks up the phone, slowly making his way upstairs. Shane considers it, then shoots Ilya a warning look. 

“Don’t, I won’t get anything done,” he admonishes, and Ilya rolls his eyes again. 

“Ah, yes, because you are obsessed with my looks. My body is all you’re after,” Ilya complains light heartedly. Shane makes a sound of protest as he drops the clothes in the hamper, rummaging through his drawers to find pajamas. 

“Hey, don’t forget about your money,” He adds. Ilya laughs, high and delighted, and Shane hurries to throw a shirt on so he can see his boyfriend's face. He flops on the bed comfortably and watches as Ilya takes in his face like it’s been days since he’s seen it, rather than a couple of seconds. 

"Я тебя люблю, (I love you,)” Ilya murmurs warmly, his face soft and genuine, and Shane can feel it through the screen like Ilya is speaking the words against his skin.

Я тоже тебя люблю (I love you too) Shane thinks automatically.

“I love you too,” he says instead. Shane grins as he watches Ilya go through the rest of his nightly routine, humming or making noise when appropriate as he feels himself falling asleep. He doesn’t bother moving his phone to his charger, instead keeping it by his ear, so if he closes his eyes, it almost sounds like Ilya is right next to him. Slipping into bed after coming home late, Shane dreams of a world where that’s possible and eternal. Maybe soon, he thinks before he drifts off, Ilya’s voice in his ear, Maybe soon.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Although I love to bash Hayden, I do actually like JJ and had written Shane's coming out to him in full before I realized this chapter was going to end up at like 15K words. So if anyone wants like a one-shot of Shane coming out to JJ, let me know and I might write it out fully since I think it's important. JJ is a supportive friend!! In Cannon!! Hayden Step Up!! Also I hope the people who were pointing out that Garret knows feel vindicated !

I have never written smut so this may be the furthest these two go in this story. My B Gang.

I love you all dearly and hope that you love this chapter as much as I love reading all your comments !! Truly inspires me and I love you all so deeply!!

Chapter 15: ilya and the scarlet flower

Chapter Summary

Ilya wakes up to the feeling of Shane’s bedsheets twisted around his feet, and a familiar weight clinging onto him. His eyes flutter open to see Shane laying on top of him, his head comfortably snug against his neck. Ilya can feel his breath slightly on his neck and it makes a smile grow onto Ilya’s face as he melts back into the bed. Shane looks calm and gorgeous and relaxed as he attempts to burrow deeper into Ilya’s skin. Ilya finds his fingers absent-mindedly tracing along his back, smiling softly to himself as he mentally takes a photograph. Shane is usually full of tension, shoulders locked up, his expression locked in place as he responds with whatever answer he thinks he’s supposed to. Ilya prides himself on the fact that he can loosen Shane up and he can just be himself. Shane had won their division (Shane says that it was a team effort, but Ilya’s boyfriend isn’t the best in the league for nothing) against the Admirals, and New Jersey has advanced to the second round. Fortunately, so has Boston, Ilya looks forward to seeing Shane on the ice again. He wonders if he can manage to make a bet with him about their goals in this game.. 

Chapter Notes

This chapter does discuss Shane's Disordered Eating Habbits a little bit. It's not explicit, as nothing is even stated as wrong (yet), Ilya just observes.
This chapter also discusses Ilya's depression, negative self-worth.

While I do speak Russian, I haven't actively spoke it aloud in a little while (RIP mom, you would've loved me speaking Russian again) and there's a bit of Russian in here. If anything is mistranslated please let me know! Please have your workskins on so you can see it @

Also there's definitely grammar errors in here. My b yall.

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who wanted Ilya to tell Shane about Laurie knowing about them.

Ilya wakes up to the feeling of Shane’s bedsheets twisted around his feet, and a familiar weight clinging onto him. His eyes flutter open to see Shane laying on top of him, his head comfortably snug against his neck. Ilya can feel his breath slightly on his neck and it makes a smile grow onto Ilya’s face as he melts back into the bed. Shane looks calm and gorgeous and relaxed as he attempts to burrow deeper into Ilya’s skin. Ilya finds his fingers absent-mindedly tracing along his back, smiling softly to himself as he mentally takes a photograph. Shane is usually full of tension, shoulders locked up, his expression locked in place as he responds with whatever answer he thinks he’s supposed to. Ilya prides himself on the fact that he can loosen Shane up and he can just be himself. Shane had won their division (Shane says that it was a team effort, but Ilya’s boyfriend isn’t the best in the league for nothing) against the Admirals, and New Jersey has advanced to the second round. Fortunately, so has Boston, Ilya looks forward to seeing Shane on the ice again. He wonders if he can manage to make a bet with him about their goals in this game. 

Shane tends to be very superstitious–almost more so than Ilya–and so the past couple of years Ilya has been told they ‘absolutely could not hook up during the playoffs what the hell Rozanov,’ due to some superstition about conserving energy. While Ilya does have a routine he follows, he’s never felt compelled to follow that particular bit of advice, especially because his boyfriend is Shane fucking Hollander. Unfortunately, Shane is stubborn and had never budged on it. Until four nights ago, when Ilya had surprised him at home a couple nights before the last game against New York, and Shane had been so surprised and delighted he had dropped to the floor and Ilya lost his train of thought fairly quickly. When New Jersey had won 4-2, with Shane making a hat trick, he had declared that the ban was over and that they should ‘maybe hook up the night before the games to secure my performance if you want.’ And oh how Ilya wanted. 

“Do you always watch me sleep?” Shane mumbles sleepily into Ilya’s neck. Ilya presses a featherlight kiss to the top of his head and lets out a breathless little laugh he would deny making if he was with anyone else but Shane. 

“I’m seeing what you look like before you lose today,” Ilya explains softly, lightly letting his nails rake along Shane’s back and watching in delight as Shane shudders above him. Shane looks up from where he’s settled and glares at Ilya. Ilya can’t help the grin that stretches over his lips easily at the expression. 

“Fuck off, we’re gonna beat you,” Shane declare’s, his voice raspy with sleep, and Ilya hums before capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s short and Ilya can feel as Shane slowly starts to smile into it. The kiss breaks far too fast for Ilya’s liking, but he pats Shane’s cheek lightly, watching as his eyes seem to light up. 

“You beat New York and now you think you’re best in league, yes?” Ilya mutters, his face still inches from Shane’s. 

“Don’t need to beat New York to think that.” Shane tilts his head slightly and Ilya resists kissing him again. Instead, he allows his hand to settle on Shane’s jaw, brushing against his lips as he allows himself to enjoy laying in his boyfriend’s bed. 

“Oh really?” Ilya murmurs, and Shane nods immediately.

“It was an easy couple of games anyway, Hunter has injured ribs and was favoring his left side, and Bennet has a twisted ankle,” he reports, and it’s hot, is the thing. Ilya plays hockey well, and he knows strategy, but Shane has a way of memorizing everyone’s stats down to the decimal. Picking up on injuries Ilya wouldn’t think to exploit. Ilya has used it to his advantage once or twice, when Shane summarizes it after a game. Never against Shane’s team (Shane is smart enough to know Ilya used his insight after all), but it gets Ilya to watch the tapes more often. 

Ilya gives in to the temptation of kissing Shane again, and Shane hums happily into it, brushing his tongue against Ilya’s mouth to deepen it. They stay like that for a while, trading sleepy kisses back and forth and Ilya slowly rolls them over. Pushing Shane into the bed lightly as he kisses his cheek. Ilya holds himself above Shane and just lets himself look at the satisfied and happy smile that rests on his face. It could be like this most days, if he manages to end up in New York once he becomes a free agent. It’s a little addicting, the fantasy he’s made up in his head, Shane wanting him to move in, having mornings like this all the time. More addicting then any party drug or shot of vodka he’s ever had. 

“I love you, even though you’re going to lose tonight,” he says, pressing his lips back against his boyfriends. Shane makes a noise of disagreement in the back of his throat but tangles his hands through Ilya’s hair regardless. 

“Not gonna lose Rozanov,” he whispers against Ilya’s lips, and tugs him closer, smiling when Ilya follows in the self assured way he does right before he scores a goal. 

“Such a sore loser,” Ilya mumbles, but he knows he’s smiling, can feel the warmth in his chest as he stares at brown eyes and a freckled face. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

“Shut up, asshole,” Shane laughs, and removes his hands from where they sit in blonde curls to lightly push at Ilya’s shoulders. It does nothing to separate them, and if anything, Ilya feels himself fall further onto Shane’s torso. Shane’s eyes wander around his shoulders, tracking his body up to his face with poorly disguised affection. 

“I love you baby,” he whispers, honest and smiling and Ilya can’t help the warmth that hits his heart spreading down the rest of his body. Моя кровь, моя душа, моя жизнь (My blood, my soul, my life), he thinks, there’s no part of him that he doesn’t want Shane apart of. The words that flood his mind vaguely remind him that he had a dreamless sleep the night before, and he wonders if the dreams would stop if he stays like this, connected to Shane forever. It’s another silly thing to add to his fantasies, but he adds it nonetheless, hoping that he won’t have to burden Shane with the knowledge.  

Shane makes his mind go blissfully blank as he kisses him again, wrapping his legs around him and flipping them until they’re back to their starting positions and Ilya wishes it was earlier in the morning so they could revisit some positions from the following night. Shane leans forward until he’s leaning right by Ilya’s ear, and whispers. 

“But we’re totally gonna kick your ass.” Before slipping out of bed and Ilya is oh so fucked. It takes him a minute to respond, replaying the moment in his head as he tries desperately to respond like a normal human being and not jump his boyfriend at eight in the morning. The cold air of Shane’s absence has just started to sit on top of his skin before he’s scrambling out of the bedroom and shouting his disagreement. 

By the time Ilya makes it into the kitchen Shane has already pulled out bowls and oats for breakfast. He currently stands in front of the fridge, a container of raspberries in his hand, his head tilted, and he looks lost in thought. Ilya hooks his chin over his shoulder, and Shane hums at him, unmoving. 

“What did the raspberries do to you?” he asks, moving his head towards the container. Shane laughs, but it sounds punched out of him, still lost in his head. Ilya squeezes his arms, jostling Shane a bit, and he finally seems to relax again. 

“I don’t know if I want the extra sugar,” Shane contemplates as the fridge beeps at them, letting them know that it’s been open long enough. 

“I thought fruit was the good sugar,” Ilya mumbles, unhooking his chin to grab Shane’s plant milk he’d been trying to get Ilya to like. It hasn’t really been working, but he likes sharing his food with Shane, so he has it anyway sometimes. Shane tends to get stingy about sugar during playoffs, wanting to keep his body in peak shape, and Ilya understood it, they all had their own regimens they followed, but he often wonders if Shane has more of a sweet tooth then him. Kissing him deeper every time Ilya drinks the lemonade he keeps in the fridge but doesn’t drink, or when Ilya had tried his hand at baking cookies and Shane had watched him eat three and let himself be kissed for hours. 

“Usually yeah, I just try to be better about sugar during playoffs,” Shane dismisses, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat to put the fruit back. Ilya doesn’t hate eating Shane’s food, but he certainly has a sweet tooth, so he flicks his ear to get his attention. 

“I want fruit on mine if we’re having porridge,” Ilya says, plucking the fruit out of his grasp and setting it on the counter next to the oats. Shane looks at him with a mix of anxiety and relief and rolls his eyes. 

“It is oatmeal Ilya,” he explains. Ilya nods seriously. 

“Yes, sure, whatever you say.” He reaches for the cinnamon and pointedly does not refer to the concoction that definitely reminds him of porridge as it again. The words were basically the same anyway. 

The two dance around each other as they make breakfast. Ilya steals a few berries while their breakfast cooks, and though Shane swats his hand, he does kiss him anyway while the seconds count down on the timer. It goes off, and Shane pulls away like he forgot he set it in the first place. Ilya uses the distraction to steal one more berry while grabbing spoons, the fruit popping deliciously in his mouth, but when he turns around Shane has taken the container from him. Adding a couple to Ilya’s bowl before putting it back in the fridge. 

“You can have some later,” he says over his shoulder, sensing Ilya’s pout. 

They eat at the island, and when Shane looks over at Ilya, he gives an exaggerated thumbs up. It’s not a bad breakfast, not really, but the teasing is worth the eye roll Shane gives him, lightly kicking his shin. Ilya laughs, high and delighted, pressing a kiss to the back of Shane’s neck. Sometimes when he gets to be like this with Shane, it reminds him of the simplicity and loveliest parts of the cottage. He wonders if living with Shane permanently would make it be like this more often.  

“I like this,” he admits softly, watching intently as Shane finishes off his bowl, grabbing it to start washing it. Ilya is still a little hungry and he eyes the cabinet with the protein bars with a little longing. Shane hip checks him to switch off, seemingly sensing what he wants.

“If you’re still planning on leaving Boston after this year, we could do this more often,” Shane theorizes as Ilya rummages through the cliff bars. He doesn’t love the peanut butter flavor, but he knows if he offers Shane some of it he’ll eat it, so he unwraps it and takes a bite. Shaking the bar in front of Shane’s face who rolls his eyes but has some anyway.  

“You have the smartest ideas,” Ilya tells him, kissing his cheek and leaning against the counter. 

His phone lights up with a text notification from Cliff. It’s a twitter post, upon further inspection it’s actually from one of the accounts Ilya had made to follow Shane. It’s mostly him thirsting after Shane, but his boyfriend is incredibly hot, and he likes that he gets to talk about him like this. However, he does chirp occasionally, and the tweet contains a video of Hayden Pike missing a fairly easy goal with the caption ‘You have to wonder how he’s married if he always misses his shots like this.’ It’s a pretty tame tweet, Ilya thinks, but it has gotten him a decent amount of likes and retweets. 

CLIFF

Damn Rozy, this chick is funny asf

Ilya laughs under his breath, he almost debates telling Cliff the truth, but then he would have to explain the other tweets, especially the most recent one. Ilya had tweeted a photo of Shane from the post-game press conference. Shane hadn’t worn a shirt for that one, and Ilya had tweeted extensively about it. It would raise more questions. Although, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to tell more people. Svetlana especially, was already suspicious enough. 

“I want to tell Cliff about us. Also Svetlana.” Ilya breaks the easy silence and watches as Shane’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Svetlana doesn’t already know?” Shane looks a little shocked, but doesn’t seem to press further for the moment. Ilya shakes his head at him. 

“No, but she’s my oldest friend,” he explains. He finishes off the protein bar, making sure to throw out the wrapper. Shane is looking at the plant on the windowsill intensely, like it has the answer to a question Ilya didn’t ask. 

“Okay,” Shane says. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but his eyebrows furrow deeply and he turns to face Ilya, catching his eyes from across the island. 

“Why do you want to tell Cliff? I thought you were going to leave Boston?” he pushes. Ilya shrugs, leaning against the granite and shooting Shane a small smile. 

“He’s my friend, I think he would be okay with it,” he explains. Shane goes to the counter, leaning against it as well. He’s across from Ilya but the distance feels like a physical thing. Like a string connecting them between their chests. Shane’s eyebrows are still furrowed, and Ilya knows this means he’s still thinking. 

“Yeah but you won’t be able to talk to him about it, you’d be kind of springing this on him and leaving. And what if he tells everyone else?” Shane rambles, looking everywhere but at Ilya, the string connecting them waving wildly about. 

“He won’t,” Ilya stresses, because Marleau may be a lot of things, but if Ilya tells him not to tell anyone he won’t. Usually. 

“You don’t know that.” Shane points out, and technically, he’s a little right, once Ilya transfers teams he won’t be able to keep an eye on him

“Has Hayden told the Voyagers we are dating?” Shane winces at the mention of Hayden and Ilya catalogs it in the back of his brain where his facts about Shane live. 

Shane doesn’t move from where he stands across the island and Ilya is unsure if he should move closer. A part of him wants to abandon their current discussion and press on the wince, hold his finger on the bruise and let Shane spill the blood of the issue out. He doesn’t get the chance too though, because Shane shakes his head minutely and stares at him head on. 

“I didn’t want to tell Hayden in the first place,” he says, and he’s right. Ilya is fairly certain if Hayden hadn’t walked into the cottage he wouldn’t have told him for a while–if ever. Ilya feels a flare of frustration shoot through him. Wanting Hayden to know isn’t the issue, because he already does. 

“Ok, but he knows, has he told anyone?” Ilya asks. 

“No, but,” Shane cuts himself off angrily. Ilya waits for him to continue, to add whatever it is he clearly wants to say, but he doesn’t. Just stares at Ilya from across the kitchen. 

“But what?” Ilya prompts. Shane sighs and Ilya wants to walk closer and tug on Shane’s wrist so they could be closer. But the space between them is taught and a solid thing, Ilya doesn’t think he could break it now. 

“He hasn’t been super great about it. I mean he got in a fight with Garret about it-”

“Why the fuck does Walker know?” Ilya interrupts angrily. Because yeah, having Hayden walk in on them wasn’t planned, but Shane hasn’t even been friends with Garret for a year and he already knows about them? 

“He figured it out I guess,” Shane explains sheepishly, his eyes breaking contact and landing somewhere on the counter. Ilya scoffs. 

“Oh but I can’t tell Cliff?” he muses. Shane groans, leaning onto the counter and dropping his hands onto his palms. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, I just don’t want you to risk your career to tell someone you’re not going to be talking to as much,” he explains. And it makes sense, Ilya rationalizes, it can kind of make sense. But, but

“But Walker can know?” Ilya retorts. Because it hurts, because Shane has so many people who know, and if Ilya can have people who know about them, maybe it will make this thing feel more tangible between his hands. Maybe it will make it feel real and solid, and he can relax the grip he’s desperately trying to hold onto since 2009. Maybe when Shane realizes he deserves better, he’ll have more comfort then just himself. 

“That’s not-” Shane starts, and Ilya can’t contain the barbed wire hurt feeling that’s been living in his chest since the conversation started. 

“Shane the only person who knows about us for me is fucking Laurie, and she’s leaving Boston too,” The words tumble out of his mouth louder than strictly necessary, but they land in the space between them all the same, and Shane’s eyes find him with a distinct expression like he’d just been illegally checked that has Ilya mentally going back to review what he said. 

“I’m sorry, Laurie knows about us?” Shane says calmly, but Ilya can hear the undercurrent of anxiety that resides underneath it. 

Well fuck. Ilya has been maintaining the idea that he would cross the Laurie bridge when he got to it, maybe closer to her moving to New Jersey, maybe if Shane ever brought it up. Guess he’s crossing it today. 

“She saw us making out,” Ilya admits, his voice quiet and calm and doing everything it possibly can to hide the nerves he feels. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shane yelps, and Ilya runs his fingers through his hair. 

“You were going to freak out!” he explains, and Shane groans. 

“Well yeah Ilya, fuck!” Shane doesn’t move closer, but it feels like he’s struck a physical hit on Ilya. There’s so much space between them but not enough and Ilya wants to turn tail and hide. His breath comes out in a huff as he pushes his palms against the counter, looking down at the floor. 

Ilya clenches his jaw, and looks up at Shane. He’s pacing, but keeps his distance across the island, and Ilya wonders if he stepped closer Shane would keep walking further. He brushes the thought away and clears his throat. 

“I want to have someone who knows about us,” He says through gritted teeth, Shane stops pacing and looks straight at him. 

“You do have people! You have my parents, me, fucking Laurie I guess.” Shane counts them off on his fingers, and Ilya suppresses the urge to snap. Because he does have those people, but only Laurie is really his. 

“Your parents are yours,” he explains, not looking at Shane when he says it. He expects it, but he still grimaces at the hurt noise that leaves Shane’s mouth. 

“They’re yours too,” Shane mumbles under his breath. 

When you leave me they won’t be, Ilya thinks. It’s maybe not fair to think, but it’s the first thing that slides into his brain. He loves Yuna and David, thinks they could be some sort of family to him. But they’re not his, not yet, maybe not ever, if Shane sees the monstrous pit of need that resides in his heart and decides he deserves better. Because he does. And they’ll always be Shane’s first. 

“You’re their kid. I am just your boyfriend,” Ilya explains softly, taking a cautious step closer to Shane’s side of the counter. Shane doesn’t move, which is both a comfort and a pain, and Ilya wishes he could take everything back. 

“You’re not just anything-” Shane tries to say, but Ilya cuts him off. That’s not the point. 

“They are your parents. And they are good parents. They will always pick you. They should always pick you. Laurie was good with it. She’s ok,” Ilya placates. It works a little bit, because Shane moves a little closer to him. Ilya can feel his breath come a bit easier, seeing the expression on Shane’s face morph into less anger and more concern. He can deal with concern. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt over someone you’re going to lose time with,” Shane tries again. Ilya takes another step closer. 

“Cliff would probably be okay with it,” Ilya admits. Because he might get hurt, but he can’t tell Shane that, doesn’t want to feed the anxiety that sits hungry under his skin. 

“But would Boston? If he told someone?” Shane asks. And the truth is, probably not, the locker room is nice, but Scott Hunter had not solved homophobia when he kissed his boyfriend on the ice, and Ilya had never been foolish to think that everyone on his team would be accepting. But Cliff is. So Ilya doesn’t address the first part of his sentence. 

“He’s not going to tell someone,” He reassures Shane, crossing the distance between them and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Shane is tense, and Ilya watches as he turns away from him. 

“You don’t know that,” Shane accuses, Ilya’s hand slips from his shoulder and Ilya feels a wave of frustration. 

“Laurie hasn’t!” He groans, and Shane whirls around, his face settling back to anger.

“And I’m glad she hasn’t! But Laurie isn’t Marleau! He’s had like five concussions, and he’s who you get almost all of your gossip from,” He explains, and maybe Ilya is hurt and maybe the league is right when they call him an asshole, because he can’t find it in himself to answer rationally. 

“No I get most of it from Laurie, he just fills in the gaps,” He jokes, watching and Shane stifles an eye roll

“Not fucking helping!” And suddenly Shane is circling around to the other side of the island, and they stand in the opposite places then where they started, the sting connecting them pulling tight enough that Ilya has to ignore the way his heart squeezes. 

“I didn’t think this would be such a big deal Hollander,” Ilya mutters under his breath, it’s a lie, he knows this is a secret Shane binds closed as tight as possible. But maybe he had hoped it wouldn’t be, maybe he got caught up in the stupid fantasies he keeps in his head and confused them with the truth.

“Oh so now I’m Hollander?” Shane spits out angrily from where he stands. Ilya knows he’s looking at him, can feel the gaze searching for his eyes, but he can’t look back. He knows if he does he’ll break, and he can’t break in front of Shane, not now, not ever hopefully. He’s hoping the therapist he’s been seeing will be able to hand him the spackle and paint to fix the crumbling foundation he’s been built on, so Shane never has to know. 

“Is your fucking name,” Ilya snaps instead, keeping his eyes fixed down. 

“I just don’t understand where this is coming from,” Shane says quietly in response. 

I know that I’m not good enough to have you forever, but you’re the only person I think I’ll ever love. Is the distance killing you like it’s killing me? Because all I want to do is shout that I love you, and I can’t, and I feel like it’s killing me. Ilya thinks. But he doesn’t know how to say that without the snapping desperate monster that replaces his heart rearing its hideous head. He doesn’t know how to express how much he thinks he wants Shane without the possibility of Shane running away. So he muzzles the monster, the teeth grazing him as he shoves it down, down, his body. Until he can’t feel the ugly needy thing anymore. Until he can pretend to be human and normal and not want Shane this much. 

“Would you choose me?” He says, and he finally looks up at Shane as he says it. Shane looks hurt, and confused, and Ilya wishes he could take it back. 

“What?” Shane breathes out, and Ilya wants to run away, wishes he could be further away, and held tight between Shane’s hands. He wants to move closer but is afraid Shane will circle him again. 

“Over hockey, would you choose me?” He asks, and Shane’s confusion melts back to annoyance.

“Are you kidding me?” He bites out, and Ilya feels the beast rise from the ashes. 

“That’s not an answer,” He muses, and Shane huffs out a hot angry breath. 

“Fucking look where I am right now Rozanov.” Shane motions around the apartment, looking hurt and angry and Ilya feels sick for the stab of relief that goes through him. He should be better than this. He should be better than thinking of the million ways Shane could leave him and the ecstasy that floods his body when he wakes up to the heat of Shane next to him. 

Shane steps closer to him, and Ilya’s eyes follow him. 

“Would you choose me?” Shane asks, moving until Ilya can feel his breath. 

“I always have Hollander,” he says sadly. Thinking of a locker room shower, of choosing to set up a commercial so he could see him again. Ilya thinks of a country he hasn’t been back to since his father's funeral, and how he’ll probably never be able to go back. How he’d chosen Shane over his family, and over the possibility of saying goodbye to his mother. How he would do it again in a heartbeat. 

He forces himself to turn away and blindly walks up the stairs until he realizes he’s in the bedroom. He almost doesn’t feel his legs go out until his back hits the wall, the sharp sting grounding him. I fucked it up, he thinks clearly. Vaguely he imagines what Galina, his therapist, would say, which reminds him why he’s in therapy in the first place, and he feels the panic simmer deeply under his skin. He deserves better than this, he thinks as he feels tears trail down his face, as he does nothing to stop their trail. “What would Shane say if you said that?” the Galina in his head says, “Probably he would say ‘what the fuck are you talking about’” he thinks back, then thinks that it’s probably a bad sign he’s talking to himself in his head. 

He had stormed out of his last therapy session, it had been after a day where he felt broken down and tired and Galina had been nothing but understanding. But he had said something about fixing himself for Shane, and she’d said that he’s not something to fix. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see the broken pieces he laid out in front of her and not see how it needed to be repaired. So he had yelled and left and then ignored her email. He could text her now, request an emergency session, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know what he wants. Just knows he picks up his phone, bites back a sob, and dials a number. 

"Привет, Илюха, (Hello, Ilyukha,)” Svetlana greets cheerily on the other line.

"Света, я всё запорол, (Sveta, I fucked it up,)” he says between tears, hoping she can’t hear them through the phone, but knowing she probably can.

Ilya wonders if Svetlana knows about the monstrous being that beats steadily under his ribs. She’s known him since he was little and small, before he was cursed. He wonders if it was a curse that was placed or something he was always supposed to turn into. This carnivorous wanting that threatens to burst out of his chest at the first brush of affection. The more and more and more it craves and consumes in an endless loop. How it had locked its teeth harshly and sharp into Shane at the first introduction, before Ilya had even discovered its name. Before he even discovered he was cursed at all. Before hockey felt alive and blooming and good at the hands of Shane Hollander. When he made it something to live for, and not an escape from the home he felt trapped in. 

"Что ты запорол? (What did you fuck up?)” Svetlana asks, confused by the turn of pace. Last he had texted her everything had been fine and about to spend time with his precious Jane.

"Он меня бросит, я переборщил, Боже, я просто грёбаная идиотка, (He's going to leave me, I overdid it, God, I'm just a fucking idiot)” Ilya rambles, ignoring her calming words as he leans his head against the wall. He can’t hear Shane moving around in the kitchen anymore, and he faintly worries that he left already before he remembers that this is literally Shane’s house.

"О ком мы говорим? Jane? (Who are we talking about? Jane?)” Svetlana cuts through his panic. And well, Shane didn’t freak out about her knowing, and he doesn’t know how to explain this without spilling his guts out. And so, he takes a stuttering breath.

"Shane. его зовут Shane, (Shane, his name is Shane,)” he breathes out, and he feels like a weight has lifted off of his chest and at the same time he feels scared. Because he and Svetlana have never really talked about his interests. Yes, she knew about Sasha, but they never spoke about it in detail. The fact that Ilya could get beaten or imprisoned or killed if he ever admitted it out loud. So they didn’t talk about it.

She stays silent for a second, and Ilya knows she’s smart, knows she can probably deduce the truth that sits under the words, the confession he’s giving her. 

“Ilya tell me you don’t mean Shane Fucking Hollander,” She says, breathless, a little in disbelief, and in English. As if she can’t speak the words in Russian at all. Ilya feels a laugh escape him, but it’s bitter and dark and nothing about this is funny right now. 

“I can’t do that,” he replies, ignoring her low whistle at the admission. 

“Ok, I’m going to ignore that revelation for now, because there’s more important matters. Что случилось? (What happened?)” She breezes past, bringing them back to the present. And Ilya can feel the way his breath cuts before he reminds himself to breathe.

“I wanted to tell Cliff, and you, about us,” He explains and Svetlana waits for a beat, expecting more. But when Ilya doesn’t continue, she sighs. 

“And that is a problem, why?” She asks. And suddenly the creature unleashes, and he opens his mouth and lets the hurt it keeps out. 

“Он просто не понял, наверное, а я всё давила и давила — как грёбаная дура. Я продолжала наседать, продолжала просить, хотя сама, блять, только беру. Мне кажется, я ничего не могу ему дать, Света. И я только что доказала, что требую слишком многого. Что меня — слишком много. И теперь он поймёт, что не сможет меня полюбить, (He just didn't understand, maybe, and I kept pushing and pushing like a fucking idiot. I kept hounding him, kept asking for things, even though I’m the one who just fucking takes. I feel like I can’t give him anything, Sveta. And I’ve just proven that I demand too much. That I am—too much. And now he’s going to realize that he can't love me.)” he rambles, his breath coming out uneven and ugly as a sob tears through him.

"Что? (What?)” Svetlana asks, but he can barely hear her over the static that floods his lungs and his brain. He can barely think over the rush.

"Отец был прав, (Father was right)” He continues, his phone dropping to the floor as he presses his hands against his eyes.  

“Ilya you’re going to give yourself a panic attack, fucking breathe.” It’s the English more than anything that makes Ilya breathe. He glares half-heartedly at the phone, even though he knows she can’t see him. 

“I’m not going to have a panic attack,” He whines, his voice a little raspy. Svetlana sighs over the phone, but Ilya can hear the worry in there as well. 

“Shut up and listen then. You love him, yes?” She speaks lowly and certainly. And there’s no other way to answer her, Ilya loves Shane more than anything, more than everything. 

“Yes,” He responds quickly, quickly flicking her to speakerphone so he doesn’t have to strain to hear her, and he leaves his head where it sits against the wall. 

“And is there anything he could do that would make you love him any less?” She prods, and Ilya feels an angry breath leave him.

“No, of course not.” Shane could kill someone in cold blood and Ilya knows that he would be right there beside him. He could leave him and Ilya would know he would love him for the rest of his life, whether or not Shane did. 

“Then why are you different?”

Ilya pauses at the question. Because he is, he knows deep in his bones that he is. He’s been told his whole life he is, there’s no other opinion he can have. People leave him, people have always left him once he is no longer useful. He’s forever stuck to them though, leaving little pieces of him onto people who never seem to want him. It’s all he’s been taught. Shane is the first one to ask for more of him, which is why Ilya is so scared for him to find all of the broken pieces that make him up. 

"Меня слишком много, (There is too much of me)” He admits. If there’s one thing he’s been taught over and over again. It is this. There is too much of him and not enough of what he can do to make people stay.

“No there's not Ilyukha. He loves you, you’re such an easy person to love,” Svetlana cuts him off quickly. The Galina in his head agrees with her, and he mentally flips her off. All it does is make him want to talk to Shane. He hits his head against the wall lightly and sighs. 

“I have to go,” he says. His voice is still raspy and his breath is coming out unevenly, but he hasn’t been able to hear Shane move around in the kitchen for a while. He wants to find him, or at least give him his house back. 

“We’re not done talking about this Ilya,” Svetlana sighs, but Ilya hangs up anyway. He knows if he looks at his phone later he’ll find several colorful messages about the topic. All he wants is Shane, but he can’t bring himself to stand up and find him, the monster in his chest pushing him down, and he can’t find the strength to push it off. 

Ilya doesn’t know how much time has passed when a knock sounds on the door. The creature purrs but still sits heavy, melting into him. Ilya looks up, lifting his head from where it sits against the wall as Shane slowly pushes the door open. 

“Can I come in?” He asks, soft and earnest and Ilya wishes he could kiss him. He cracks a smile he’s not sure reaches his eyes at him. Shane smiles back, a little watery, and Ilya feels sick to his stomach. I did that, he thinks. 

“Is your house Hollander,” he says instead. Shane tenses but he doesn’t move any closer, staying behind the door, and Ilya wishes he could pull him through it.  

“Can you stop calling me that?” Shane requests tightly, and Ilya lets his head fall back with a soft thump, ignoring the slight panic in Shane’s eyes as he does so. 

“You don’t want me to call you by your name?” Ilya looks straight ahead, because if he looks at Shane he might cry, he might fall thirty stories and shatter leaving Shane to pick up all of the pieces of himself at the bottom. Ilya closes his eyes. 

“You don’t really call me that unless we’re on the ice.” It turns out Shane doesn’t give a fuck what Ilya wants because he sounds closer, and when Ilya’s eyes flutter open in surprise Shane is kneeling in front of him, looking at him far kinder than he deserves. 

“Well we’re about to be,” Ilya provides, and Shane rolls his eyes, nudging Ilya’s leg with his own, and Ilya fights the smile that tries to overtake his face.

“But we’re not,” Shane reminds him softly, his eyes bright and determined and Ilya is a weak, weak man for him. He sighs, but there’s no anger behind it. Shane’s knee is still touching his leg, Ilya locks his gaze onto it. Tracing the skin with his eyes, trying to memorize it. 

“Ok, Shane, stop your yelling,” He acquiesces watching as Shane relaxes onto the carpet.  

“I’m not yelling.” But Shane is smiling at him and maybe Ilya was worried for nothing. Maybe Shane never saw the demon in him at all, the beast in question reaches for Shane greedily, and Shane accepts Ilya’s hand, squeezing it tightly as Ilya laughs lightly. 

“Yes, it’s called a joke, maybe you have heard of it?” Ilya chirps at him. Shane’s smile is brighter now, and Ilya knows a matching one is plastered on his face. 

“Shut up asshole,” Shane says, but he’s laughing in the way he does when he can’t think of a comeback, and he called Ilya asshole which is basically like Shane’s love language at this point. Ilya can count on one hand how many times Shane’s bitten out an “Asshole” or “Fuck you” that hadn’t doubled as an “I love you.” Shane looks down at Ilya’s hand before continuing, “Listen, Ilya, I-”

Whatever he was going to say gets cut off by a loud alarm. Shane startles and pulls out his phone. Shane’s supposed to leave for the rink. They have a game tonight. They have a playoff game tonight. Ilya doesn’t even think before offering him the out

“You should go to rink,” he declares, pulling his hand away as he prepares himself to stand. Grabbing his own phone from where it sits besides him, several texts from Svetlana blinking at him. He turns it off and slips it into his pocket, watching as Shane stands up, and snoozes the alarm.

“It can wait.” Shane says, reaching out and grabbing onto Ilya’s arms, his eyes searching his face as if he’ll find an injury or something in his skin. Ilya is grateful Shane doesn’t see the fur and claws that he feels are embedded into him. The evil that lingers in his blood that–by some miracle–is invisible to Shane. 

“You will be late.” Ilya doesn’t attempt to pull out of Shane’s grip because he is weak and selfish. Instead he lets himself be held, the grip on his wrist feels like the only thing tethering him to the ground. Without it, he wonders if he would float right through the ceiling. He can’t look away from Shane’s face, drawn to the way his eyes are almost downturned, hurt, and the knife that cleanly cuts as he rationalizes that he’s doing this. The monster growls at him. 

“That’s not important right now,” Shane murmurs, his breath as uneven as Ilya feels. And Ilya thinks he knows what’s going to happen. That maybe Shane will try to even them out and Ilya can apologize and everything will be okay. But Ilya doesn’t want to count on maybes right now. Some part of him, some wretched, howling, part of him, is still bleeding, and wonders if now is the time that Shane will rip its heart out, right here in their bedroom. And he likes the fantasy of everything being okay, wants to ride that hope out through the game tonight. So, 

“We have to go to the game.” Ilya looks down so he doesn’t have to watch as Shane’s face falls. He tells himself he’s doing this for Shane, so his schedule doesn’t get messed up, so he can continue the routine he likes so much. But Ilya knows it’s for the same reason that he can’t look into Shane’s eyes. Ilya is a coward. 

“Ilya,” Shane chokes out, and it’s a painful reminder of when Shane had run out of Ilya’s apartment. When Shane had been scared, and Ilya had been heartbroken. Ilya feels his own heart clench painfully, you deserve this pain, he thinks, for running like a coward. And he can’t let Shane sit with this like he did. So he rubs his thumb over Shane’s pulse, feeling as it jackrabbits. 

“We talk after, yes? I can still come back?” He asks softly, keeping his eyes firmly on where they’re connected, how Shane holds onto his arms a little tighter, like he can keep him here just by holding him there. He could, Ilya would stay if he asks again, but he knows Shane won’t. And Ilya wants Shane to go back to his routine, something he can control and take pride in, knows when Shane’s late he tends to be harsher towards himself after a game. Ilya doesn’t want to ruin his career more than he already has. 

“Please come back after,” Shane mutters, his voice barely a whisper. Ilya finally looks up, and sees the unshed tears on Shane’s waterline, and realizes he has to go. 

“Ok, then I will see you after game,” He says. 

And Ilya leaves. 

The drive to the rink is bad, his mind replaying the argument over and over until he feels every word as a bullet to his heart. He walks into the locker room feeling more beast than man, wishing he wouldn’t have to be this way. The game goes horribly. Shane tries not to look at him during the face off, and Ilya almost drops his gloves against Walker so he can feel the hurt physically instead of just in his chest. He still feels his eyes on him when he’s not looking, knows his own face is a reflection of love and longing. God, the refs must be sick of them. Cliff even asks him what happened, but Ilya just shrugs. Shane and Ilya both spend time in the penalty box, with Shane being more mouthy towards the ref then usual. Ilya can’t even bring himself to enjoy it, worried it would bring the sad smile back to Shane’s face if Ilya chirps at him about it. 

Boston wins 2-1, but it doesn’t feel like a win. Not like how it usually does. It feels dull and wilted compared to the way they usually play each other. 

The drive home feels longer than the drive to the rink, and Ilya waits outside the door for a solid five minutes. Practicing in his head all of his apologies and hoping he won’t have to leave. He opens the door to find Shane pacing in the kitchen, perking up once he hears the door close. 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya starts out saying, but Shane barely lets him finish the sentence, pulling him by the shirt as he kisses him, his eyes teary and his shoulders tense. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane manages to get out between breaths,  “you came back.” Ilya kisses him deeper at that. Letting Shane kiss him until the tension fades beneath him, and Ilya feels like he can breathe again. He still loves me, he thinks. 

“I said I would be back,” he says instead, and Shane’s hands trail up until they’re behind his neck, and Ilya can’t help the soft smile that takes over his face. His hands tighten around Shane’s waist and Shane shakes his head at him. 

“I know, but I panicked,” he reasons, his head finding Ilya’s neck and Ilya can feel as a tear escapes his eyes. Shane holds onto him and doesn’t let go, as they sway in the entryway, and Ilya loves this man so fucking much he feels it in his bones. Ilya kisses the top of his head, and makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat when Shane lets out a small sob. 

“Shane, why are you sorry? I pushed you,” Ilya whispers, and Shane’s head shoots up so fast Ilya almost gets hit in the face. Shane looks at him lost and confused, and one of Ilya’s hands winds up at the back of his neck, twisting his hair in his fingers. 

“No, I trapped you, I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with me,” Shane explains, and he looks so earnest about it that Ilya feels it like a physical blow. Ilya wakes up every day and hopes that he can be stuck with Shane Hollander, if he ever was ungrateful about it, Ilya hopes Shane would do the responsible thing and shoot the imposter in the back of the head. 

"What are you talking about солнышко? (sunshine?)” Ilya asks, tugging on Shane’s hair, and Shane blinks back tears at the pet name and Ilya has to fix this so he continues talking, “Shanya, you didn’t trap me. If you did, I want to be trapped, I want to be yours always.”

“Fuck, baby, please, I want to be yours too,” Shane responds, his voice trembling. Ilya hears himself take a shaky breath, and doesn’t even know he’s crying until Shane brings a trembling hand up to wipe away a tear, a hurt noise escaping his throat and Ilya can’t stop himself from swaying forward and crashing their mouths together. It tastes salty and distinctly like Shane and Ilya breaks. 

“Please,” he breathes out, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for.  Please let me be yours, please keep me, please never leave me, please don’t think i’m too much. Please don’t see the monster that settles underneath my skin, please love me anyway when you do. 

Shane rewards him with another kiss, and they both stand there, trading kisses and murmuring sweet nothings into each other’s mouths until Ilya feels like he’s never been anyone else’s at all. Maybe he was always Shane’s, branded to belong to him forever, and the thought feels too nice that he decides it’s correct. 

“Were you talking to Svetlana?” Shane asks, absentmindedly tugging rhythmically on Ilya’s hair. Ilya hums as the tugs send sparks down his spine. 

“Yes, she knows now.” Shane nods at his response, and Ilya silently celebrates that his shoulders don’t tense, and suddenly Ilya has another person that can know him fully again. Can stop holding back on his stories and call Svetlana more because he can finally share this part of himself with her. 

“Ok, was she able to help?” Shane asks, his hands slipping out of Ilya’s curls and tracing circles on his back. Ilya feels the tension he didn’t know he was carrying melt through his body under Shane’s hands. 

“A little, I just wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry I ran out before we could talk. I didn’t want to mess up your routine,” he explains, and Shane presses a quick kiss to the side of his mouth, his hands coming up to frame Ilya’s face, and Ilya can’t see anything else but Shane. 

“You’re more important,” Shane says slowly, and Ilya feels the monstrous, covetous, thing in his heart settle into something tamable. Purring ridiculously in his chest, and he has to fight the blinding wave of affection that rocks through him, and he blinks back tears before he does something embarrassing like cry, again, at the confession. 

“Really?” He whispers, and Shane makes a hurt noise, wiping another tear out of Ilya’s face. Ilya kisses him again, because there’s nothing else he can do to explain the way his blood is singing. 

“Baby, Ilyusha, you’re more important to me than anything. More than hockey, more than routines, anything,” Shane breathes out, but his breath hitches and Ilya can feel the weight of the words for what they are, even though his heart feels like it’s bursting. Hockey is everything for Shane, and even though Ilya knows Shane loves him, he didn’t know if he deserved to be the number one thing for him. Shane is good at hockey, the best at it, and Ilya wouldn’t ever want to jeopardize it. But it turns out he does anyway, because Shane loves him more than hockey. 

“That scares you?” Ilya asks, and Shane nods apprehensively. 

“A little, but you’re worth it.” Ilya wants to sing, he won’t because he’s a horrible singer, but he feels his heart pump a little melody regardless. And there’s a lot of things he needs to do. He needs to actually schedule another therapy session, he needs to call Svetlana back and tell her that he’s okay, but right now he has Shane. 

“I love you,” Ilya utters softly, watching as Shane’s eyes twinkle delightedly in the pale light illuminating the hallway. 

Shane always looks so beautiful, but here, in Ilya’s arms as the moon and the warm toned lamps Shane loves so much frame him, he looks breathtaking. Eyes lit up, and a soft smile overtaking his face, so close that Ilya can feel his heartbeat against his chest, and he wonders if they could sync together, and become one. 

“I love you so much,” Shane responds quickly, pressing another kiss into Ilya’s lips before slipping out of his grip, heading for the stairs. 

“I’m sorry.” Ilya stands in the hallway a little longer, closing his eyes and letting out a full breath. He gets to have this. This is his. He repeats it like a mantra before stepping towards the stairs. 

“Stop apologizing.” Shane’s shirt hits him square in the face as he talks, and Ilya can’t help the delighted laugh that bubbles out of him. 

“No, I’m apologizing for future, we’re winning the cup,” Ilya reassures, taking the steps two at a time so he can lob the shirt back at Shane with alarming accuracy. Shane catches it, because of course he does, and chucks a pillow at him in protest. Ilya steps smoothly out of the way, watching as it hits the door he was just standing in front of. 

“Oh, so you’re being an asshole. Why are you so sure?” Shane observes, a little out of breath as Ilya attempts to hit him with the pillow. Shane manages to get his own hits in, grabbing another throw pillow off of his bed and whacking Ilya in the chest with it, and it doesn’t take long until Ilya throws his pillow off the bed and grabs onto Shane’s. 

“Because I have the best motivation,” Ilya explains, pulling onto Shane’s pillow until it’s safely out of his grasp and Shane falls onto the bed. Ilya eagerly swings his leg over Shane’s hips so he can sit on top of him, his hand holding onto Shane’s wrists so he doesn’t slap him with another one of the four pillows still left on the bed. 

“Oh yeah?” Shane says breathlessly, his hands twitching in Ilya’s grasp. He doesn’t make a real effort to break it though, smiling brightly up at Ilya and it makes the purring joyous ball in his chest melt. 

“The most beautiful man loves me, I’m winning it for him,” Ilya admits. Shane softens, relaxing completely, and Ilya lets go of his wrists, confident he won’t get whacked. 

“Ilya,” Shane whines, and Ilya leans closer, almost kissing him but not, just enjoying the smile on Shane’s lips and the crinkling of his eyes. 

“Hmm?” Ilya hums, his eyes flickering around Shane’s face, mentally turning some of his freckles into constellations. One of Shane’s hands moves up to cup Ilya’s face, and Ilya feels his own smile widen. 

“You’re such a softie,” Shane teases, rubbing his thumb back and forth and Ilya feels himself nuzzle into it. 

“Shh, you can’t tell anyone,” he whispers, looking into Shane’s eyes and slowly lowering himself until he’s just barely above him. He slowly connects their lips, sliding Shane’s hand back to it’s previous position, and Shane grins into Ilya’s mouth. When the kiss breaks, Shane follows his lips slightly, before falling back onto the bed. 

“Well, we’ll see if you can win me a cup,” he muses, and Ilya hums thoughtfully at him, kissing him again and again. 

“Who said it was for you? Narcissist.” Ilya clicks his tongue twice and shakes his head. Shane raises his eyebrows at him and gives him a light shove. 

“Would you like to sleep with me before you have to go or not? Also where did you learn narcissist?” he asks. Ilya would like to sleep with him actually, so he hangs his head in mock apology, sitting up and bringing Shane with him, so he can’t be too far from him. 

“Your dad,” he answers, and Shane’s face galls slightly. 

“Don’t talk about my parents when you’re kissing me,” He groans, and Ilya doesn’t giggle, because that would be embarrassing, but the laugh he lets up is light and truly happy and Shane lights up in response. 

“You asked! Also, I’m not kissing you.” Ilya threads his fingers through Shane’s hair, watching as his eyes flutter closed and he pushes himself closer to Ilya. 

“Well you should start,” Shane pouts. And how in the world is Ilya supposed to deny him that? So he kisses him, pushing him down onto the mattress. Joy fills his chest as Shane swipes his tongue over his own. Everything is ok. The monster has been temporarily slain. He gets to keep this. He can be kept. 

Chapter End Notes

Sorry about the late upload! Work has been #hectic and I haven't had as much time to eat sleep or write! Had to prioritize my health for a little bit, so future updates may be a bit slower as each chapter seems to be getting longer and longer.

This was also the chapter I wrote when my pharmacy refused to fill my perscription for days on end so I wrote almost all of this on none of my meds. My friend read a paragraph and went "Wow this is so good, we gotta get you back on your meds buddy," so apparently it was noticeable. I'm back on them trust I finally won the war.

I also LOVE the scarlet flower and I really wanted to have the analogy of Ilya being the Beast and hockey being the flower that's like dying without Shane. Unsure how well I succeeded, but I'm pretty proud of it! Love you all so much.

ALSO thanks for so many hits oh my goodness. It really makes me want to keep writing and posting this knowing you guys like it! This is lowkey my first like long fic so It means a lot!! Love you all lots and take care of yourselves !!

Chapter 16: ilya’s last game in boston

Chapter Summary

“Ilyusha.” Shane’s tone softens, his gaze pointed at Ilya through the screen, as if he can sense the underlying fear that sits in between Ilya’s ribs. He’s worried about this game, has been worried about the last two, doesn’t know if he won’t be worried until it’s over and the cool silver of the Stanley Cup is in his palms. 
“Yes, Shanya,” He responds, playing dumb. Shane knows he is though, because he tilts his head as he regards him. Ilya stares back, and eventually Shane shakes his head fondly and sighs. 
“You’re gonna do great. You won the first game and the last two games,” Shane reassures him, Ilya feels the warmth of the statement settle into his bones as it washes over him. He wants to believe it, but something is shouting at him in the back of his brain that sounds like his father. He hasn’t done great. Not really. If he did this would have been over in four games, he wouldn’t be going to Game 5.

Chapter Notes

There are definitely grammer errors. I fear I pulled an all nighter and just started going the past few days. I also do watch hockey so we're pretending that Vegas died and Colorado won because fuck Carter Hart. Also while I watch hockey we're suspending a lot of fanficiton disbelief in the hockey section because my friend who knows more about hockey then me is in the mountains for like the next month with no service and can't look at the hockey bits over.

This chapter is also why there is a mature label on this fic. I did not know they were going to be doing all that

If there was one thing Ilya wanted before he left Boston, it was to win the cup again. And this time, he really thinks he can do it. Boston had beaten New Jersey in the Conference Finals, which was a rough six games, that Ilya managed to get the winning shot in during overtime. Shane had played well, New Jersey had played better than they had in years, but you can’t win the Stanley Cup with just one fantastic player. New Jersey had more time to reach a solid foundation, Ilya was sure they’d get just as far next year, well, depending on where he goes as a free agent, that is. 

Shane had been disappointed in the loss, but hadn’t let that stop him from kissing Ilya thoroughly when he arrived home, Shane pushing him against the door as soon as he walked in. It had been a really great night. And morning. Shane had stayed with Ilya for as many games as he could, and offered pointers against Colorado whenever Ilya had played them the last four times. 

Currently, Shane is looking at Ilya from Ilya’s dresser, on a call before Ilya has to leave to go to the rink for Game 5. 

“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck, моя любовь? (my darling?) ” Ilya asks, playing with the cross around his neck. Shane’s eyes flicker to where Ilya’s fingers lay on the chain before meeting his eyes again. Ilya’s about to call him on it when Shane rolls his eyes at him.  

“You don’t need luck, you’re fucking good,” he says, with so much conviction Ilya believes it for a second. Can feel the approval and pride that bleeds off of Shane through the phone, and it’s a heady mix. He pouts at the phone though, more to push Shane’s buttons than anything else. 

“Maybe I want my boyfriend to wish me luck though,” he whines, enjoying the way Shane sighs at him, exasperated and delighted, Ilya wishes he could be here in person, but he understands that Shane was pulled away by a brand deal, and with New Jersey being taken out of the Playoffs, there was nothing stopping him from going. Well, apart from Ilya’s desires, Shane had tried to fight it, but Rolex was surprisingly inflexible this time around. 

“You better win,” Shane demands, looking at him through the phone and Ilya feels his face split into a wide grin. He lets out a mock groan that isn’t all that believable, and ducks his head so the smile on his face can be hidden. 

“You are so demanding,” he complains, but it’s not a real complaint, and Shane knows it by the way he snorts. When he laughs his nose scrunches up a little and Ilya wishes he could crawl through the screen and bite it.

“I just know you’re going to win Ilya,” Shane tells him, and Ilya hums back at him. He’s a little distracted by Shane’s freckles, how they dance along his skin in a bunch of constellations. Fuck, he misses him. He wishes, not for the first time, that their relationship didn’t have to be hidden like this. That the NHL would be a more tolerable place. That his life didn’t depend on his team and visa so he could say fuck it and kiss his boyfriend on center ice, better than Scott Hunter would. But he can’t, he needs a better more permanent visa, like a citizenship, and the only kind he wants is a Canadian one that would add a ‘Hollander’ to his last name. So he just smiles at Shane who sits hundreds of miles away. 

“Is not good to think like that,” he reminds him, and Shane rolls his eyes again. Ilya wonders if Yuna ever told him that his eyes would get stuck that way. He wishes he could’ve seen it. 

“Yeah, for you. I can think however I want,” Shane snarks, throwing a wicked grin his way that he usually uses on the ice after chirping him, or arguing with the ref. Ilya loves the way it looks on him. He raises his eyebrow at Shane. 

“Ah yes, because we beat you,” he muses and laughs when Shane huffs. He gets so precious when he’s angry, like a kitten, and Ilya likes prodding at him. Luckily Shane likes getting to bare his claws at Ilya. It’s why they’re perfect for each other. 

“Fuck off, we went into overtime,” Shane grumbles. Ilya wants to eat him. 

“And who scored the winning goal?” He asks. Shane stares stone faced at him. Ilya can’t help the grin that seems to grow even larger on his face. Shane continues to stare at him silently and Ilya sighs. 

“I know it turns you on when I win мой комод, (my dresser,) ” he drawls. It had not been a confession that was easily pulled from him. But the night after Boston won, Ilya had made an offhand comment about the win and Shane couldn’t hide his reaction, arching his back and Ilya had to hold his hips down. It had been something Ilya hadn’t stopped teasing him about, but it made something in Ilya’s chest burn with adoration towards the man under him. Hockey had been an escape for a long time, escape from Russia, from his father, from being a disappointment, from his heart–when he needed it to be–but like this? With the prize of the best player in the league to come home to when he won? It stuck with him, and it was starting to make the game feel more like just that. Shane flushes violently on the screen in front of him, his freckles standing out on his cheeks as he grimaces.

“That’s not what I said,” he retorts. Ok, so maybe Ilya exaggerated a tad in his statement, but ‘It’s so hot when you win, I love you, i love you– oh my god,’ is a pretty close interpretation. It’s like paraphrasing, basically. 

“But is true, admit it.” Ilya tilts his head in a way that Shane had called both ‘hot’ and ‘frustrating’ and is captivated to watch as Shane glares at him, his face an even darker shade of red. 

“I’m not saying that.” Shane raises his eyebrows at him, unimpressed, but Ilya knows he’s pleased, can tell by the little uptick by the side of his mouth, and the relaxed shoulders that Shane rarely displays elsewhere. Ilya wants to push more, wishes that there was more time before he had to go so he could really take this somewhere. But he wants to play, wants to make himself proud, wants to make Boston proud one more time. That doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun, though. 

“Then who scored the winning goal?” Ilya pushes. There’s a long silence, as Ilya stares at Shane expectantly. Ilya watches as Shane stares at him a moment, his mouth twitching as it suppresses a smile, until

”You did,” Shane admits, the soft smile gracing his face finally, and Ilya feels like the sun has come out from behind the clouds. 

“And you liked the shot, yes?” Ilya’s voice comes out soft and low, and Shane’s smile spreads as his pupils dilate. Ilya really wishes they had more time. 

“It was a really good shot, Ilya,” Shane mumbles, the words dripping sweetly in so much love and adoration that Ilya feels it settle into his brain like a brand. Shane is proud of me, rings through his brain on a loop. He feels giddy with it. 

“I know.” It had been a good shot. Cliff had suddenly gotten control of the puck, flinging it towards Ilya so hard it floated off the ice. While Wes had tried to intercept it, Ilya was faster, grabbing it in the air with the top of his stick and faking Wes out, before shooting it right over their goalies left shoulder. He’s allowed to feel a little smug, he thinks. 

“Oh fuck off!” Shane says, but he’s laughing, and Ilya’s laughing. Ilya wishes, not for the first time, that Shane could be here with him, and not wherever he was filming right now. He wants to intertwine their hands, kiss his face, first the right side, then the left, as he’d gotten in the habit of the past couple of games. 

“Ilyusha.” Shane’s tone softens, his gaze pointed at Ilya through the screen, as if he can sense the underlying fear that sits in between Ilya’s ribs. He’s worried about this game, has been worried about the last two, doesn’t know if he won’t be worried until it’s over and the cool silver of the Stanley Cup is in his palms. 

“Yes, Shanya,” He responds, playing dumb. Shane knows he is though, because he tilts his head as he regards him. Ilya stares back, and eventually Shane shakes his head fondly and sighs. 

“You’re gonna do great. You won the first game and the last two games,” Shane reassures him, Ilya feels the warmth of the statement settle into his bones as it washes over him. He wants to believe it, but something is shouting at him in the back of his brain that sounds like his father. He hasn’t done great. Not really. If he did this would have been over in four games, he wouldn’t be going to Game 5.

“But we lost the second game. I want to win again. I want this to be over,” Ilya complains, he tries for it to come out aloof and confident, but Shane pries apart the statement with his hands, and gently examines the insecurities that lay beneath it. He’s gotten very good at doing that, in tune with Ilya’s worries. Maybe he relates to them, or maybe that’s what happens when you love someone for a decade. Either way, Shane levels him with a kind smile and clicks his tongue. 

“And it will be,” Shane decides. Ilya wishes he could believe him fully. 

“And you are psychic now?” He asks, trying to get them both back on a more lighthearted topic than Ilya’s fears before the game, raising his eyebrows. Shane looks at the time on his watch and starts to stand up, but not before saying

“Well I’m not dating the best player in the league for nothing.”

Ilya’s jaw drops, and Shane continues walking through the bathroom he’s in, looking for something, as if he hadn’t just said something so unfathomably wrong and also maybe the most outright love confession Ilya’s ever heard. He jumps up and switches on his screen recording before Shane walks back into frame and sees Ilya’s overjoyed expression. 

“Say that again, I want to make it my ringtone,” Ilya begs. Shane seems to realize the thoughts going through Ilya’s head and his eyes widen. He frantically shakes his head as he rewinds what he possibly could have said. 

“I said second-best!” Shane points at the phone and Ilya thinks he giggles, which is a fact that he’ll deny forever–unless Shane looks at him like that–because Russians don’t giggle. Ilya doesn’t think he’ll stop smiling until he gets to the rink. The cup doesn’t even matter, his boyfriend–who everyone knows is the best hockey player in the league–just called him the best. He’s going to hang this over Shane’s head for the rest of their lives. 

“No you didn’t,” Ilya laughs, elated, as Shane looks slightly panicked at the words that he just said. Shane’s hand drops as his eye twitches. Ilya wants to kiss him so bad he feels it in his molars. 

“But I meant it!” Shane defends, but his voice is thin and his face is scrunched up as it tends to be whenever Ilya manages to fully mess with him, it’s delicious and Ilya’s tongue seems to poke through his smile. 

“No you didn’t. You think I’m the best player in the league,” He sings out, switching the screen-recording off, saving it to a private folder on his phone that he had made shortly after he and Shane had gotten together. It’s locked, on the off chance his phone gets hacked, but he has photos and videos he’s taken of Shane when Shane doesn’t think he’s looking saved. Shane doesn’t know about it yet, but Ilya will tell him eventually. Or show him. This folder is more heavily locked then his dick pics, so he’s sure Shane will be okay with it. The man in question’s lips are failing to hide a smile as he bites his lip. 

“Yeah, tied with me, asshole,” Shane counters, but the smile that has taken over his face makes it impossible for it to have any bite. The phrase barely nips at his skin and the sparks feel more like an ‘I love you’. It makes the smile on his face melt a little like an ‘I love you’ anyway

“Your cruel words mean nothing to me. Shane Hollander thinks I am the best in the league. I could die happy,” Ilya sighs, raising his eyebrows at Shane, who looks faintly like he wants to crawl through the phone, to castrate Ilya or suck his dick, Ilya isn’t quite sure. He wishes Shane could be here right now. Shane’s eyes close as he sighs. When they open he shakes his head at Ilya and then looks straight through him. 

“Get the cup first,” he deadpans, and Ilya can’t help the laugh that punches itself out of his chest. Shane snorts too, and then the both of them are laughing like school children. Sometimes Ilya wishes he could have known Shane when he was a kid. He knows it’s impossible, but he thinks the sunny warm feeling that Shane always gives him makes him feel takes him back to those moments. 

“Я тебя люблю, (I love you)” Ilya mutters softly, maybe too softly than what the moment allows, but he gets the privilege of watching Shane smile at him.

“I love you too,” Shane replies quickly, and Ilya allows himself to imagine a world where Shane understands what he’s saying. It’s a little scary to think about, how he wouldn’t be able to hide his heart from Shane, how his dreams could become reality. But it’s nice to think about too. If Shane wants his heart as much as Ilya wants his. He wouldn’t be able to hide his heart from him. When Ilya manages to look up from where he’s currently ogling Shane, he notices the time. He really has to go. 

“I have to go get ready for the game,” Ilya says, making no attempt to hang up and drive to the rink.

“Ok, I’m gonna be watching,” Shane replies, also making no move to hang up and go to his photoshoot. Ilya rolls his eyes

“I know, I will have to put my phone on Do Not Disturb so your texts do not blow up my phone.” The last couple of games, Shane had been texting Ilya frantically about any pointers or just calling out his thoughts about the game. While some had been helpful–their defender’s left ankle was tweaked–some had just been insults at Colorado. Which Ilya appreciates, but there’s not really a lot of time to actually look at his phone until after the game is over. 

“Those texts are helpful!” Shane points out, Ilya raises an eyebrow at him as he scrolls through their chat until he finds a text from the past game. It takes a little bit to actually find since they message each other all the time now. While they used to only text each other hotel rooms and door codes, Shane now sends him photos of things that make him think of him, and Ilya texts him bad jokes that Shane somehow thinks are funny. They’re always together, whether digitally or physically attached at the hip. Svetlana said that they were co-dependent. Ilya was secretly delighted. Finally he finds the message he was looking for and repositions his phone so Shane can see his face. 

“Shane last game you texted me saying ‘however many times you score is how many times I’ll cum for you,’” he reads out. Shane splutters a couple times, the camera shaking as he grabs for it and moves out of the room. 

“And then you made a hat trick! It was incentive!” Shane retorts defensively, like he isn’t the one who texts things like this to Ilya all the time. Ilya regards the text again a little closer. It was sent at the last game, so two days ago. Shane had left yesterday morning, and Ilya was counting down the days–hopefully two, if they win this game–until he could see him again. Ilya glares at the camera. 

“You still have yet to live up to text by the way,” he reminds Shane, who rolls his eyes from where he’s set up his phone to pull his shoes on. 

“Go to the rink,” Shane tells him, tying his laces–right then left, Ilya had requested. He’s smiling, so hopefully he’s thinking of how Ilya can have him in the next couple of days. 

“You won’t get out of this forever зайчик, (bunny,)” Ilya says, light and airy and it rewards him with another laugh from Shane. Ilya takes his phone out of his room so he can head to the car. He really can’t be late, and if he stays in his house for much longer, he will be. He leaves quickly, double-checking that his door is in fact locked and he has his keys–he won’t be making that mistake again–and settles into the car.

“Good luck Ilya. I love you,” Shane murmurs, and kisses his finger before pressing it to the screen. Ilya closes his eyes and breathes in the kiss as though it will travel through the phone and reach him in Boston. He opens his eyes, gives Shane a kiss back, and responds

“Love you more,” before promptly hanging up so he can win the argument by default. Shane texts him ‘no you don’t’ shortly after anyway. Ilya still counts it as a win, so he has Siri send a string of emojis (bear, red heart, yellow heart, red heart again, eggplant, water) back to convey that. Shane just sends a question mark back.Ilya will take the win.   

On the drive to the rink, he doesn’t play any music. It’s a short enough drive, and he wants to use it to center himself before he enters the locker room. He doesn’t know if he’s been the best Captain the Boston Bears could have had in the past couple of years; he hasn’t won them a cup in so long. But they’re close enough now, and he wants to support them, wants to have them go out and take it. But more than anything, he wants to win. He wants to make his mother–this city–proud again. It would be like a parting gift, he thinks, something to remember me by. Ilya Rozanov, boyfriend of Shane Hollander, and successfully brought the Stanley Cup back to Boston (for the second time). He thinks he has his accomplishments in order. 

When he parks the car, he grasps the cross on his neck and sends a quick prayer up to Theotokos, to give him strength, and to take care of his mother, before entering the locker room. He hopes she’s watching tonight. He hopes he can make her proud. 

“You ready Rozy?” Cliff greets him as he enters the room. He feels a little bad, he’s been more than a little distant since his fight with Shane. He’d gotten better about it, but it had been hard to talk to him for a little bit after. He still hasn’t told him the truth about NoLongerMontreal Jane, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have the chance. But for now, he nods and claps Marleau on the back. 

“Fuck yes,” He responds, and then starts to get ready. 

The locker room is a buzz with anticipation, nerves, and a thrum of energy Ilya is sure they can feel even on the ice. He pulls on his skates and the mindless chatter that had been filling the room goes quiet as he stands. He looks at them, and is reminded of a time when he stood here, determined by his father’s harsh words, and pure need to hold the cup in his hands. He feels similar now, though he’s not burdened by the feeling of disappointing his father. Ilya lifts his chin high, and opens his mouth. 

“Okay, everyone, listen. Today, here, in this stadium, we are going to win the cup. We are in our city, in the final round. Boston will be getting its cup back today. So go out there, and fucking play. We did it before, we will do it again. Here, in our city, in our rink, with our fans. Let’s fucking win the cup.” He yells the last couple of words, and the locker room responds in kind. Yelling and jumping and laughing with each other. He’s going to miss this, he knows, while all of them would not have accepted him if he ever came out, he’s going to miss the yelling and laughing with those who would. 

“Let’s fucking go!” St. Simon claps him on the back as he makes way towards the ice. St. Simon had called someone a cocksucker as a chirp a few months ago. Ilya tried to make it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate that kind of talk, but hockey was not a sport that was eager to change. Many of the men, no matter where he would go, had been ingrained that being queer was an easy insult, and something to exploit. Ilya wasn’t ashamed of being bisexual, there’s nothing wrong with the love of his life being a man, but he knows that people thinks he should be. Knows that there had been another immigrant player, who had quietly come out to his team, that had not been resigned, and then shortly deported. Knows that if he ever went back to Russia he could be imprisoned and killed. But he’s not ashamed of himself. In who he is. In who he loves. The love of his life is Shane Fucking Hollander, and he will always be proud of the young boy who arranged a photo shoot so he could talk to the cute boring kid with freckles one more time. 

When Ilya sets up for the puck drop, he reaches deep inside himself and feels everything else fall away. ‘I’m not dating the best player in the league for nothing, you’re gonna fucking win,’ The Shane in his head purrs as he looks at the Colorado center. He’s probably sporting a nasty bruise from where Cliff had checked him harshly last game. Shane had informed him that he played like he had a bruised hip on his right. So when the puck hits the ice, Ilya snatches it and soars to the right, tight and controlled. The Colorado defense is good, and Ilya passes to Cliff who manages to pass it back to Ilya before getting slammed into the boards. Ilya uses the distraction to pivot and shoot the puck. It hits the back of the next. The score is 1-0. 

The rest of the game is hard, and Ilya feels his body get pushed to the absolute limit. He stays in for nearly three minutes at one point, which is a lot longer than what he should be put in for, but he tells his coach to keep him in. He feels a desperate thrum of pride burst through him when the first period is over and the score is 2-1 Boston. He rushes into the locker room to find a string of texts from Yuna, Shane, and David about how the game is going. Yuna curses his coach for leaving him in so long, Shane curses Ilya out for asking to stay in, and David tells him he’s playing great. Ilya can’t hide the smile that graces his face as he skates back out. 

“Do you think Jane’s watching?” Cliff asks him, right before the second period starts. Ilya just nods. 

“I know she is.”

The second period flies by, with Coach not letting him stay on the ice too long this time. In fact, Ilya spends more time on the bench, and Colorado ends up catching up to them, with a score of 3-2, Colorado. Ilya is thrown in again, finally, and immediately passes the puck to Connors. He races across the ice and snags the puck from a Colorado left wing who had managed to grab it before throwing it across the ice in a move that Shane had done in a game before him. He winks at the camera. Shane texts him the middle finger. 

The final period of the game is some of the most intense hockey Ilya has ever played. Everyone is exhausted and injured and pushing their body to the limit. Ilya feels like he’s on fire. He rubs the cross on his neck again, looking at the ceiling and wishing that Shane could be in the stands somewhere. In the end though, it’s the last minute that matters. The score had stayed 3-3 for all of the period, and everyone was getting antsy. It’s a battle for the puck when it drops, and Ilya is almost afraid he’d lose it. But he doesn’t. He skates along the ice, faster than he thinks he’s ever gone, but that might be the adrenaline talking, and shoots it towards the net right as a defensemen trips him. For Shanya, he thinks as he watches the puck sink into the net. The buzzers go off. Boston has just won the cup. 

Ilya stands as bodies crash into him from across the ice. He’s vaguely aware that he’s going to be sore as hell tomorrow but he doesn’t care. He did it. He won the cup again. When the ice finally clears he’s a little shocked that he’s also won the Con Smythe. Although, after his past two goals, he wonders if Shane is not at all that surprised. When he raises the trophy above his head he smiles towards the camera. 

“For you” he mouths, hoping that Shane can see it.

It takes a while for everyone on the ice to calm down enough to start heading towards the locker room to pop champagne and celebrate. Before Ilya can truly celebrate however, Cliff stops him with a clap on his shoulder and steers him down another hallway. This one doesn’t lead to the locker room. Or rather, it does, but Ilya gets the sense they’re not taking the long way to a room they were already in. 

“Hey, there’s something for you in Laurie’s office,” Cliff says conversationally as they stand in the now empty hallway. The sound of cheering can still be heard through the walls. Ilya narrows his eyes. 

“What did you do?” He asks, suspicious. Cliff sends him what Ilya is sure is meant to be an innocent smile, but Ilya has seen Cliff do some truly stupid shit, so he doesn’t believe it for a second. Ilya raises an eyebrow at Cliff, and the smile drops off of his face. 

“I didn’t do anything, your girl did.” Cliff holds his two hands up placatingly, but it does nothing to ease Ilya’s suspicion. If anything, it doubles it and adds confusion to the mix. He knows Shane is at a shoot right now, or else he wouldn’t have left. But he can’t imagine Shane would be able to do anything that would land in Laurie’s office. 

“Cliff, what are you talking about?” Ilya presses, and Cliff gives him a look like he’s stupid. 

“I have her number, remember?” He reminds Ilya. A fact that Ilya is all too aware of, and also worried about. He knows why Shane has it, knows he was worried, but on the off chance Cliff ever gets Shane’s number he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. 

“Yes,” Ilya drawls, and he wonders if Cliff already knows about him and Shane. He doesn’t think he does, considering Cliff has never known how to be subtle in his life. But he can’t help but wonder if that’s what this conversation is about. 

“Well she wanted to do something special for you. Told me so herself. So I gave her Laurie’s number,” Cliff boasts. Ok, so he has no idea. Ilya silently thanks God that Laurie already knows. If she didn’t, and Cliff just gave her a number of someone on the team she’s going too. It would’ve been a messy conversation is all. Ilya is still confused about what kind of surprise Shane had wanted to give him.

“Okay,” he says, nodding vaguely in Cliff’s direction. Cliff huffs, frustrated, and turns Ilya in the direction of her office. 

“Just fucking go to Laurie’s office dude.” And then Ilya is being pushed forward. He hears Cliff walk to the locker room and the cheers that amplify when he enters. He should be in there, he’s the captain, but he barely changed before Cliff was pointing him in this direction. And the promise of a surprise from Shane is a pretty good promise. 

It takes almost no time at all for Ilya to arrive in front of Laurie’s office, and she stands outside looking all too pleased with herself. 

“Ok, this should put me pretty high in your friend tier list, right?” Laurie says, playing with a pen that’s in her hands. Ilya looks at her in disinterest, raising an eyebrow. 

“I thought this was…Jane’s idea?” He looks around, there doesn’t seem to be anyone in the hallway, but he’s being cautious. Laurie deflates and sighs, as if he wouldn’t remember the fact that this is a surprise from his boyfriend. Who he would like to at least call before he gets home. 

“I helped!” Laurie protests, a ridge of the pen breaking off and falling to the floor. She doesn’t bend down to go get it, looking at Ilya expectantly. He rolls his eyes and gestures towards her. 

“Didn’t Cliff give him your number?” He asks, and Laurie sighs again, leaning against the door. 

“I know I’ll never beat Svetlana, but please, tell me I’m above Connors?” She brings a hand to her heart as if she’s been shot with an arrow and Ilya can’t help but snort. Of course she’s above Connors, she knows this. Laurie is also a little shit, with a giant flair for the dramatic. 

“Tell me what’s in the office and I’ll consider,” Ilya snarks, and Laurie finally steps aside, and with a little flourish of her hands, presents the door to him. 

“Open the door yourself,” She says. Ilya turns the knob and opens it, and when he does he reveals Shane, looking smug and gorgeous. Ilya finds his eyes and can’t help the smile that is immediately present on his face. Shane tugs on the jersey he’s wearing and Ilya’s eyes snap down. Shane is clad in a black jersey that has a C on it. Shane is wearing his jersey. Shane is wearing his jersey. Ilya feels dizzy. 

“I told you you’re fucking good.” Shane raises his eyebrows at him, smiling a cocky smile. Ilya barely lets him finish the statement before he’s hauling him up by the collar of his jersey and smashing their lips together. 

“Shut up,” he mumbles into the kiss, slipping his tongue between Shane’s. Shane kisses him back immediately, threading his fingers into Ilya’s hair and curling them so a delicious blend of pleasure sparks down his spine. Shane goes to pull away to breathe but Ilya just kisses him again, pulling him close by the jersey, his other hands tracing up Shane’s throat, and he feels the violent shudder that goes down Shane’s body. All of a sudden, Ilya is breaking the kiss because he’s smiling too much, but he doesn’t go far. 

“What about the Rolex thing?” he asks, brushing the pad of his thumb over Shane’s cheek, watching as Shane’s eyes flutter for a moment. He missed him, he knows it was only a day, but it feels like too long. Especially now that Shane is back under his thumb, quite literally, it feels like it has been ages since he could have him. 

“The jersey was back in my house, and I had to pick up Mom and Dad,” Shane explains, his eyes jumping from Ilya’s right eye to his left, and his hands don’t leave Ilya’s hair. It’s kind of like they’re slow dancing, but there’s no music except for the beating of Ilya’s heart, in tune with Shane’s, just swaying close to each other. Ilya lets out a breathless laugh, like he can’t believe this is real. 

“You tricked me,” He mutters, and when Shane does nothing but nod as if to say ‘duh’ Ilya can’t help but kiss him again. It’s shorter and Ilya pulls away so he can get a full look at Shane again, prompting him to spin. Shane picks at his collar and looks at Ilya a little self-consciously 

“Is the jersey too much?” He asks, and Ilya wants to growl. He doesn’t, because he’s not insane, but he raises both of his eyebrows and pulls Shane closer again. He doesn’t want to stop touching him. Shane always looks so pretty, but like this he looks like something taken directly out of Ilya’s fantasies. Shane looks like his, looks like everything he’s ever wanted. 

“No. Everything else is too much. You should take everything else off,” Ilya declares, vaguely wishing he had a ring on him, but he rationalizes that Shane probably wouldn’t want to be proposed to like this. Shane does love hockey, but being proposed to after Ilya won the Stanley Cup is probably not the best idea. Ilya tucks the idea away, and slips his hand under the shirt, his fingers trailing at the waistband of Shane’s sweats. 

“Not in my office! Ilya have some decorum!” Laurie practically shouts from outside the door. Ilya startles, his hands stilling from where they sit on Shane’s skin. Shane flushes, but also startles like he forgot other people existed outside of Ilya. He finds Ilya’s eyes again, and smiles shyly. 

“There’s more,” Shane whispers. Ilya is a little concerned on what more could possibly be. If it’s anything related to what Shane’s wearing he might pass out due to a lack of blood flow.

“More than my beautiful boyfriend in my jersey? Shane, I might have a heart attack if there is more than this,” Ilya tells him seriously, and Shane lets out a little laugh. He looks so free, like this, in Ilya’s arms. Shane looks a little over Ilya’s shoulder, and Ilya is about to turn around to see what Laurie must be holding when a voice cuts through the air. 

“Well good thing the closest hospital is only a five minute drive away,” Yuna says. Ilya whips around quickly to watch and she enters the room with David following her. Ilya can feel tears start to gather in his eyes. It hits him at once, that he doesn’t think he’s had so many people who love him in one room like this before. He can hardly believe it’s real. 

“You’re all here,” he stutters out. Yuna lets out a short polite laugh, and David marches forward to pull him into a tight hug. 

“That was some great hockey kid,” David whispered in his ear, and Ilya quickly blinks away the wetness in his eyes. It feels a little surreal, to have Shane and Shane’s parents come all the way down–or up in Shane’s case–to Boston to see him. On some surface level he knew Yuna and David liked him, but he didn’t think it was this much. 

“You watched the game?” He can’t help but ask, even though the answer is obvious. He doesn’t know if both his parents had ever been to his games. By the time he was good enough his mom wasn’t getting out of bed enough. There had been one day, closer to the end, when she had come to a game while his father had barely watched. She took him out for ice cream after, and told him her favorite parts of the game, how proud she was of him. But there was a desperate edge to her that he remembered that day, something in her reaching out to him to remember. And he did. But he was just a child then, and he didn’t know what it meant. He wishes he didn’t now. But there’s none of that desperation in David or Yuna or Shane. The only undercurrent in the room is pride, and maybe lust on Ilya’s end. 

“No, we drove here right after the game ended,” Shane quips, his hand settling on the small of Ilya’s back. Ilya feels his body relax as he settles into Shane’s arms. 

“Shane,” Yuna reprimands but Shane just rolls his eyes as he pulls Ilya closer. It doesn’t feel real, because Shane isn’t usually one for physical affection outside of the four walls of their house. Maybe it’s because his family is here, or maybe it’s because he has a sixth sense for whenever Ilya feels a little overwhelmed. But the gesture makes him feel warm and fuzzy and a little high off of it. He might cry. He’s not going to cry in front of Shane’s parents…yet. 

“Thank you for coming,” He manages to choke out, and he thinks he does a pretty good job of hiding the tears, although Shane pecks him on the cheek and Ilya wonders if he died and went to heaven. He can’t imagine a reality better than this. He won the cup, and the love of his life is here with him. He can only smile. 

“Of course Ilya, you’re family. Congratulations, you really deserved it. Boston played a great season,” Yuna tells him softly, rubbing her hand up and down David’s. Ilya feels a pang of jealousy in his heart that they’ll get to leave this room holding hands. Shane leans into him and Ilya hums against the familiar body heat. 

“Yeah you sure caught up to Shane. Now you two are tied in Cups,” David gestures towards the two of them, and Ilya looks over, expecting Shane to look slightly annoyed. 

Shane’s breath hitches from where he stands next to him, and his eyes are wide, like he didn’t put it together until just now. His pupils are dilated. Oh. 

“Ah, won’t be a problem next year when I win another,” Ilya says, never taking his eyes off of the man next to him. 

“Keep dreaming Rozanov,” Shane snarks, but he eyes Ilya with the kind of look he usually reserves for hotel rooms, and their respective apartments. The room floods with laughter as Ilya ruffles his hair, but Shane’s eyes flutter. He grabs Ilya’s hand sharply, turning to face his parents so quick Ilya is tempted to check for whiplash. 

“Well, Ilya’s probably tired, we should go now, right?” He declares, tugging Ilya as he strides to the door. Laurie waves to them as they exit and then Ilya can’t contain the laugh that bubbles out of his chest. 

“Subtle,” Ilya mumbles between breaths.  

“Shut the fuck up,” Shane mutters back, grinning like he won the lottery and swatting him with his hand as they stumble to the carpark. Ilya grins wildly at him before taking off, tugging Shane down the halls as they race forwards, never letting go of each other's hands. 

When they arrive at Ilya’s car, Ilya half expects Shane to pull out his own car keys, seeing as they arrived separately. But instead Shane continues to hold onto his hand and looks at Ilya expectantly. 

“My parents dropped me off, so,” he trails off, leaning into Ilya and pushing him slightly against the car. Ilya hums, grabbing onto Shane’s chin with his free hand. Shane looks breathless and happy, and he twists his head down so he can kiss Ilya’s thumb. Ilya doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, because it doesn’t feel earned, but he wants it so desperately he ignores the voice in his head saying he shouldn’t take it. Shane raises his eyebrows at him, nodding to the car behind him. 

“Oh so I just won the cup and now I have to drive you home too?” Ilya sighs, but he’s smiling so wide it comes out more delighted than the faux-exasperation he was going for. Shane smiles a little smug smile to himself, then turns to look up at Ilya. 

“Baby,” he whines, his eyes wide and his lips pulled into a pout just so. Ilya immediately wants to kiss him or propose or just do anything for him. He’s never going to win anything in this relationship ever again, and Shane knows it. It makes some small part of Ilya cheer. Ilya looks around to make sure the carpark is empty for giving Shane a short peck before he scrambles for his car keys. 

“Sounds perfect,” he decides, opening the door for Shane and then practically sprinting to the other side of the car. When he manages to sit down Shane is still laughing at him. Ilya can’t stop smiling. 

Ilya sets his hand on the gearshift as he drives, and attempts to not smile too widely when Shane overlays his hand on top. It’s quiet for a little bit as they start on the way to Ilya’s house, besides Ilya occasionally talking at the traffic. Shane stares out the window for a while, until suddenly Ilya feels his eyes on him. When he looks, however, Shane is just smiling, his eyes trailing over Ilya’s face like he can’t believe he’s really here. 

“I’m glad you like the jersey,” He says to break the silence. Ilya would say that ‘like’ is a little bit of an understatement, he was entirely ready to fuck Shane in Laurie’s office if no one else had walked in. It would have been embarrassing for Laurie, but she was moving teams anyway. 

“I am not kidding when I say you will be wearing only that, okay? It’s important to me that you know that,” He tells Shane, who does nothing but look at him suggestively and smile at him. 

“Oh I counted on it.” Shane has the audacity to fucking wink at him. Ilya has to force himself to not steal anymore glances out of the corner of his eye or he will be crashing his car, which would not be ideal. A lot of people think that Shane is innocent, when he has been torturing Ilya Rozanov sexually for the past ten years, hopefully he will also be doing this for the rest of Ilya’s life. But Shane is an evil temptress, was the point. Ilya groans. 

“Shane, do you want my dick to explode? You can’t flirt with me like that in the car,” He says, and Shane rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair, keeping his hand on top of Ilya’s. 

“Your dick’s not gonna explode.” Shane pats the top of Ilya’s hand a little condescendingly and Ilya feels a little dizzy when it makes the blood flow considerably more south. He may pass out when he gets out of the car. Worth it. 

“It might!” Ilya defends, sparing a glance at where Shane is still watching him. Shane picks at the collar of the jersey again, looking down at where it flows down his arms. He looks pleased with himself, the jersey is a little big on him, which for the first time Ilya wonders where he got it from. It could be one of his, but he decides not to dwell on that thought for too long. Although if he really thinks about it, he did lose a home jersey a few weeks ago. 

“So you like it?” Shane asks, and Ilya takes this opportunity to flick Shane on his arm. Does he like it? What a silly question. 

“Don’t fish for compliments. I love it. Even though I probably won’t be on Boston anymore after this,” Ilya admits. Shane makes a pleased sounding hum as he leans closer, intrigued. 

“You’re really going to move?” He doesn’t sound as scared or anxious as Ilya expected him to. Which is a surprise, but a good one, and Ilya nods as he starts the turn down another road. He knows there are a million worries about him not re-signing with Boston that Shane has. But he also knows that Shane hates the distance as much as he does. Can feel it everytime they’re reunited.  

“I want to try,” Ilya tells him. Shane seems to accept this, rolling around some of the places in his head. 

“Where do you want to go?” He asks. Anywhere as long as you are close by, Ilya thinks. He doesn’t say it, but he thinks Shane knows. Hopes Shane knows by now that Ilya would follow him anywhere. He thinks over the closest teams to Shane, and responds

“New York probably, if Bennet really retires.” Ilya glances firmly at Shane out of the corner of his eye as he talks, which is probably not the best decision to make while driving, but Shane isn’t a cop. Shane nods, and then squints at Ilya inquisitively. 

“I thought you said once ‘if you played with Scott Hunter you would age fifty years by association.’” Shane does a bad impression of Ilya while he’s quoting him. It certainly doesn’t sound like Ilya’s accent, but it’s closer than the last time he attempted, and Ilya longs to know what his mother tongue would sound like coming out of his mouth. It wouldn’t be perfect, but he wishes he could hear it. Ilya stops at a red light, and then angles his body so he’s facing Shane. 

“I would play with dinosaur for you Shanya,” He admits seriously, softly, and Shane melts for a minute, and then lets out an annoyed huff. 

“Stop being romantic when I’m trying really hard not to suck your dick right now,” He gripes. Ilya laughs loudly at that, and raises an eyebrow. 

“No one’s saying you can’t do that,” he offers. The car behind him honks, alerting him that the light has changed while he was lost in the conversation. He takes his foot off the gas as Shane stares at him unimpressed. 

“You’re driving,” Shane says, gesturing to the steering wheel in Ilya’s hand. Ilya winks at Shane from where he sits and Shane raises his eyebrows at him, and then pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers and lets out a long sigh. 

“We have two minutes until we get to the house and I’m not giving you roadhead. It’s not safe,” He gripes, and turns to stare out of the window again. 

“Ugh, fine,” Ilya groans, but he connect their hands together and watches out of the corner of his eye as Shane tries to hide his smile in his palm. 

The rest of the drive is spent in relative silence, and Ilya can feel the anticipation as he pulls into park outside of his house. Shane practically jumps out of the car, and speed walks to the door. Ilya allows himself a moment to breathe, before he walks after him. When he sees Shane waiting patiently he can’t help but crowd him until Shane’s back is against the door. 

He kisses Shane like he’s starving, and Shane happily lets himself be devoured. Without looking or breaking the kiss, Ilya punches in the door code, opening the door and then dragging Shane in by the collar. Shane goes willingly, pushing Ilya back and wrapping his legs around him as Ilya walks them towards his bedroom. Shane loves whenever Ilya manhandles him, when Ilya drags or pushes all two hundred pounds of him around like it’s easy. Ilya has been working out more to make it extra effortless and Shane loves it. One of Shane’s arms goes tight around the back of Ilya’s neck as the other goes to pop the button on the top of his jeans. Ilya attaches his lips to Shane's neck and bites down hard, Shane moans as his hand spasms and scrambles to grab onto Ilya’s back, digging in despite Ilya’s shirt in the way. 

Ilya feels the sharp pin pricks of them and sucks harder against Shane’s throat, leaving a very large, beautiful bruise. He presses his face deeper into Shane’s neck and inhales. Reveling in the heady scent of pine and vanilla, he smells a little like Ilya’s laundry detergent, which has him revisiting his earlier theory of Shane wearing his jersey. 

“Is this my actual jersey?” Ilya asks, throwing Shane onto the bed and Shane drags his jeans and boxers down in one torturously slow glide. Ilya watches with rapt attention as more and more of Shane’s beautiful skin is revealed. 

“Hey, I was thinking.” Shane clears his throat to get Ilya’s attention, Ilya is currently tearing his shirt off. He slowly climbs over Shane until his face is back where it started, kissing down his neck until he can see the tag on the collar, there’s a small I in sharpie inked on it. Ilya can’t help the possessive growl that comes out of his mouth. 

“You cannot distract me from this Hollander, you are clothes thief,” He drawls, sucking another bruise onto Shane’s throat. Shane whines, high and breathy and Ilya can feel the vibrations against his mouth. It’s addicting, and Ilya trails his finger over the number printed on the side of his arm. 

“Whatifyoumovedinwithme?” Shane gasps out fast, his arms going around Ilya’s back. Ilya slows, his English has improved, but Shane spoke so fast, and it wasn’t clear enough for him to truly grasp what he was saying. He doesn’t want to risk it being a safe word or a warning, so lifts himself up until he can look Shane in the eye. 

“What? You need to speak slower Shane. I can't understand English that fast,” He says, and Shane scrunches his eyes closed like it’s a difficult thing to say. Ilya feels the panic in his gut double, he goes to sit up, but Shane makes a wounded noise and pulls him back down. Shane meets his eyes with determination before starting

“If you end up in New York. Move in with me? I know you’ll be like forty minutes from the rink, but you would be so close and I can’t imagine you being thirty minutes away and me not-” Shane doesn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before Ilya is interrupting him

“Yes,” He breathes out, kissing Shane deeply. It’s not a good kiss, he’s smiling too wide for it to really be any good, but Shane is smiling too, and when he pulls away Shane looks so hopeful, a little teary and smiley and Ilya kisses his cheek. 

“Really?” Shane asks, like he’s not giving Ilya one of the very things he wants so deeply. Like he’s not granting one of Ilya’s biggest wishes. Ilya nods frantically, blinking quickly to dispel any tears that have started to well in his eyes. 

“Yes, I will move in with you, I will sell my house right now.” Ilya jokingly moves to sit up again, but Shane tugs him down harshly and wraps his legs around him again so they’re flush against each other. 

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles into Ilya’s neck, biting down hard after. Ilya hisses, but does nothing to disengage him. 

“Is joke,” Ilya reassures him, slotting their lips back together. Shane’s hands wander, pushing and tugging at Ilya’s back until Ilya’s hands trail over the bruises on his throat. Then Shane whimpers sweetly, chasing Ilya’s lips. Ilya can’t imagine that he gets to have this everyday soon. That he’ll be able to wake up in the morning and Shane will be wrapped around him, unless they have a game. But they’ll be within the same division, and Ilya will get more time of them being close. Just him and Shane forever. Which reminds him

“Does this mean we can get a dog?” Ilya asks as soon as he breaks away from the kiss. Shane blinks sluggishly as he tries to follow the conversation. Then he rolls his eyes. 

“Ilya–,” He starts but Ilya shuts him up with another kiss. When it breaks Shane chases him, always chasing each other, Ilya briefly thinks, and kisses him shortly once, twice, and a final time before leaning back. Shane groans as Ilya pulls away, sitting on his hips. 

“You promised.” Ilya crosses his arms and does not pout. But Shane tilts his head at him in confusion. 

“I did not,” He says, like a lying liar who lies. Okay so maybe it wasn’t a promise promise. But a statement was made that they could get a dog. And they’re going to live together! Ilya wants to have some sort of family with Shane. Kids, a dog, anything, as long as they can do it together. But right now he wants a dog. So 

“I will call up Jackie right now for her kids' statements,” he says, reaching for his phone. Shane grabs his hand and tugs it but Ilya doesn’t move. Shane finally tilts his head down, and widens his eyes. 

“Don’t call Jackie,” he pleads. Ilya is a weak, weak man. He drapes his body over Shane’s again, and considers an alternate route of action. 

“Harris might know a place with lots of dogs,” he offers up. Shane’s eyebrows raise

“Lot’s of?” He asks, threading his fingers through Ilya’s hair. 

“Shanya,” Ilya purrs, and Shane melts for a total of thirty seconds before he snaps out of it and levels Ilya with a deadpanned stare. 

“Right for the pet name, wow.” Ilya thinks this is very hypocritical considering this is the second time in under twelve hours that Shane has attempted to pout his way into Ilya doing something for him. And Ilya fell for it both times. So he’s unsure what that says about him. 

“Shane,” Ilya breathes, low and dark, and Shane’s pupils dilate like a Pavlovian response at the tone. Ilya grins and ghosts his lips near Shane’s. Shane attempts a glare at him, but tries to kiss him anyway. When Ilya stays just out of reach he groans.

“Don’t say my name like that.” Shane shakes his head, his fair falling a little in his face. Ilya moves it out of the way and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Like what?” Ilya asks, an innocent smile plastered on his face. He knows exactly how he’s saying Shane’s name, but he wants Shane to say it out loud. He really likes when Shane talks. 

“Like you want me–I don’t know–” Shane cuts himself off, and uses one of his hands to cover his eyes. Well that just won’t do, now will it? Ilya harshly removes it and leans down until his lips are right by Shane’s ear. 

“I am a Stanely Cup Champion again  and I have a very hot boyfriend under me wearing my number. I want you so bad my Shanya,” Ilya reminds him. Shane tugs at his hair again, and this time a spark of pain shoots follows that has Ilya biting down on his ear. 

“Please,” Shane begs, as Ilya makes a similar path of hickeys down his neck. Ilya just hums and looks up at him meanly from where his chin sits on his chest. 

“Please get a dog? Yes, of course.” Ilya brings Shane’s head forward, and Shane nods frantically, so he drops his head carefully as his hands trail under the jersey, bunching it up by his arms. Ilya kisses the top of his chest, right where his heart is. 

“Yeah okay whatever you want just please–oh my god,” Shane babbles, right as Ilya bites down harshly on the skin. Ilya pushes himself up so he can kiss Shane’s lips again. Shane has tears in his eyes and Ilya smiles softly at him, tracing his freckles with his thumb. 

“It’s okay любимый , (darling?) ” he assures him, pressing one final kiss to his lips before he continues his trail down his chest.

“I’m so proud of you Ilyusha,” Shane mumbles out softly when Ilya reaches his hip. Ilya stops from sucking the skin and pulls off with a pop. He looks up and Shane is watching him, a smile warm on his face. Ilya can’t wait to wake up with him and not be haunted by this lonely house in Boston without him anymore. 

“I love you,” Ilya whispers, before swallowing Shane down whole. Shane yelps, and Ilya swears he can hear Shane whimper out a very faint ‘Я тебя люблю, (I love you,) but it barely registers as Shane pulls his hair harshly and gasps out another expletive. Ilya hums around him as Shane’s hands drop to grip the sheets tightly. When Ilya offers his hand up, Shane takes it without thinking. I love you so much, he thinks, Ты моя судьба (You are my fate).

Chapter End Notes

Hope you enjoy this chapter!! A lot more fluffy then last chapter!! my bad for inflicting damage on y'all. I do think the hockey "Would you chose me" Fight is important on both sides, hence why it happened now. On the bright side, Ilya you're so close to noticing the Russian thing with Shane. Almost there! They will start communicating more. Pinky swear. Ok love you all and hope you enjoy <3333

Chapter 17: the second coming (out)

Chapter Summary

A knock sounds at the door, pulling Shane out of his thoughts. He lets out a slightly shaky breath, checking the time. Wes had texted him earlier, asking if he could come over and talk to him. Shane wasn’t supposed to spend too much time unpacking, but it seems he let his imagination get the better of him. He hastily flips the frame of Irina over, so only the back of it is visible. His heart breaks a bit as he does, but he digs his nails into his palms and tells himself he’s doing the right thing. Shane makes his way to the door and opens it to a very nervous-looking Wes. 
“Hey Wes.” Shane waves the younger boy inside. Wes is standing on his porch calmly, which is good, but also confuses Shane. He doesn’t know if something is wrong, or if Wes just needed to talk about something. Shane has selfishly come to think of Wes as a closer friend now, or a mentee, and he desperately hopes the anxiety that had rattled on the inside of his head when Wes had texted was for nothing. 

Chapter Notes

HEED MY WARNING (also happy pride yay yippe yay)
I updated the tags because of this chapter but there is refrenced/implied suicide when Wes is chatting with Shane.
Please please please take care of yourselves, if you need to skip the chunk of dialouge skip from
--No, I want to. It’s just…hard. I don’t know…Okay,
to
--I never told her,

Okay, I love you all so and I hope you enjoy!! I thought this chapter was especially fit to start out pride coincidentally lol.

Shane sits in the living room, carefully taking things out of a cardboard box. It reminds him of last year, when he was moving in. Only this time, the box contains Ilya’s things, which is an even better thing to think about. Ilya is moving into Shane’s house. They’re going to live together. Shane can hardly believe that it’s happening. When Ilya had called him, late enough at night that it had basically become morning, and told him that he had officially signed with the Admirals, Shane had to pinch himself several times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Ilya had come down that weekend with some boxes, and they had started the process of unboxing them. There were a couple final things: some furniture Shane wanted to replace with Ilya’s, and a couple boxes of clothes and plates that Ilya still had in Boston, and he was there now, finishing packing. Ilya had invited Shane to come along, but Shane also knew–from Marleau texting “Jane”–that the Bears had planned to spend one last night out with him. And the possibility that the entirety of the Boston Bears could know about their relationship made Shane too anxious. He had said no, and pretended he couldn’t see the disappointment in Ilya’s face. He wished he didn’t feel the swelling feeling of pressure on all sides of him, but he did, and it pushed down endlessly. Shane shakes his head and rolls his shoulder back, before picking something out of the box. 

It’s a picture frame. Old-looking and ornate, the gold swirls around the picture press against the grooves of his fingertips. There’s a woman in the picture with light brown curls and hazel eyes, holding a toddler tightly who looks the opposite of her, except for the way they smile at each other. Even though they don’t look much alike, the way the two are smiling, unabashed and delighted, makes them look like carbon copies of one another, and Shane realizes that it’s a photo of Irina Rozanov. A soft gasp is pulled out of his mouth as he looks at it. He holds it carefully, as though it’s made of glass and crystal, something precious to be guarded. He holds it against his chest before staring at it again; he can’t seem to take his eyes away from the slope of Ilya’s nose as a toddler, the bridge of Irina’s. He never wants to stop looking at it; he wants to forget he ever saw it, wants to forget there’s so much more of Ilya he doesn’t know and will never get to know because the years happened without him. The time he wasted pretending he was anyone other than Ilya’s. He flips the frame over and spots neat handwriting on the back. It reminds him of Ilya’s, except more refined, and not as shaky. Irina must have written it, and the thought makes something burn behind Shane’s eyes. He reads the Cyrillic, sounding out the words as he does. 

Моя кровь, моя душа, моя жизнь (My blood, my soul, my life). Shane shakily breathes out as he lets the translation wash over him. He understands, suddenly and clearly, the feeling of loving someone so much they are no longer a person but instead ingrained in every part of him. He feels that with Ilya, how Ilya has imprinted himself in every aspect of Shane. There is no Shane without Ilya; he’s known him nearly as long as he hasn’t. And he desperately wishes there was never a time he didn’t know him, that he could have aided his love’s life anyway he could. Wishes that he can have as many years as possible with Ilya, that they can get to a point where no one knows them without the other.

A buzz pulls him sharply out of his thoughts, and he gingerly sets the photo down on the table to pick up his phone. A text from Ilya floats in his notifications, as though Ilya can sense he needs him, from miles away. 

LILY

shaneeee 

we need these two

they are set and cannot be separated

just like us

Attached is a screenshot of Ilya’s text thread with Harris, and a photo of two dogs, one black, one golden. Ilya has been texting with Harris constantly about the potential dog they’re getting. Which means that Shane has gotten no less than fifteen photos of dogs, all with similar messages of how they ‘need them’. Shane doesn’t know if two dogs would be feasible with their career. And he tells Ilya as such, rolling his eyes with a fond grin on his face. 

SHANE

They’re very cute.

But we can’t take care of two dogs with our schedules.

Just one.

LILY

you are so boring

SHANE

Only one, baby

LILY

fine

for now

Shane doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to say yes, not right now at least. But he thinks if Ilya wanted it in the future, no part of him would say no. He imagines a life in the future, where they can be open and married, where Shane sits from the porch and watches as Ilya runs around the yard of the cottage with two dogs. A child sits on his shoulders in these fantasies. A brown-eyed, black-haired girl, with a slightly older boy running around Ilya’s legs who looks just like him. Shane thinks that siblings would be good. They would be good parents. He wants that, wants the future with Ilya, wants so much he doesn’t know how Ilya doesn’t see it written plainly all over him. 

A knock sounds at the door, pulling Shane out of his thoughts. He lets out a slightly shaky breath, checking the time. Wes had texted him earlier, asking if he could come over and talk to him. Shane wasn’t supposed to spend too much time unpacking, but it seems he let his imagination get the better of him. He hastily flips the frame of Irina over, so only the back of it is visible. His heart breaks a bit as he does, but he digs his nails into his palms and tells himself he’s doing the right thing. Shane makes his way to the door and opens it to a very nervous-looking Wes. 

“Hey Wes.” Shane waves the younger boy inside. Wes is standing on his porch calmly, which is good, but also confuses Shane. He doesn’t know if something is wrong, or if Wes just needed to talk about something. Shane has selfishly come to think of Wes as a closer friend now, or a mentee, and he desperately hopes the anxiety that had rattled on the inside of his head when Wes had texted was for nothing. 

“Hi! Sorry about the text out of nowhere. Everything’s fine, I just wanted to talk to you.” Wes grants him a sheepish smile as he steps inside, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of Shane’s house. There are a couple of boxes spread out, in widely different states of unpacking. Some are basically full, while others–like the box Shane was just looking at–have items strewn around it. 

“Uh, try to ignore the boxes.” Shane scratches the back of his head as he leads Wes towards the couch. It has thankfully survived the unpacking, being pretty much clear, and Shane sits on the left side, turning his head towards where Wes is still surveying the room, bewildered. 

“Are you moving?” He asks, finally unrooting himself from where he stands and making his way around the boxes to the couch. 

“Oh! No, but my um…you know Boston Lily?” Shane reassures Wes as he sits down on the couch. He sits tentatively, nervous, and Shane wonders what he had gotten himself into. 

“Oh my god, is she moving in with you?” The tension seems to melt from Wes’ shoulders in an instant, a more genuine smile replacing the nervous one. His eyes are bright and hopeful, and he takes in the boxes with a new light. 

“Yeah, not so much from Boston anymore,” Shane says, the edges of his mouth quirking up. The statement makes him uniquely happy, in a way he can’t really contain. Ilya will no longer be in Boston. No longer two hundred and thirty-three miles away. Instead, he’ll be close enough to touch, and Shane will be able to reach out and keep him. It’s a nice thought, is all.  

“Congratulations, that’s huge, man,” Wes replies, smiling and looking around the room, as if any of the knick-knacks spread across the room will give him insight into who is moving in. Shane has half a second to make way as the anxiety washes over him, although most of the revealing things are safely tucked away in his bedroom. The Boston jerseys have already been sent over–Ilya had wanted Shane to wear all of his jerseys–and the only other thing is the picture. But it sits face down on the counter, and the writing isn’t obvious unless you’re looking for it. Black ink on a brown back. Wes’ eyes flit away, and Shane relaxes. 

“Thanks, we’re both really excited,” Shane answers politely. Excited is a bit of an understatement. Ilya and Shane had practically not left the house after Ilya’s trade to New York had been finalized. Garret had sent him the looking eyes emoji, and a text bluntly asking if Rozanov would be around. Rose had also talked to him, asking him if he was going to get a rabies shot if his boyfriend was going to keep mauling him when he got on their monthly FaceTime. Even JJ had reached out about the trade, asking if Shane had talked to him about it, as well as a thank that Boston would be easier to beat now. Shane had only really responded to JJ, but kept his responses short and sweet. JJ meant well, but since he had found out about Shane being gay, he kept trying to set him up to ‘get him over his crush on Rozanov,’ and Shane didn’t know how to tell him that it wouldn’t be a problem without spilling the whole truth. One day he’ll tell JJ the truth about his “crush”. Soon. 

Wes nods approvingly, and Shane wonders how invested Wes really is in his relationship. He’s been asking about Boston Lily more when they hang out, and Garret keeps giving him looks that Shane thinks aren’t subtle in the slightest. 

“Next you two will be getting married,” Wes remarks, flashing his left hand dramatically. 

“I hope so.” Shane can’t help the smile that overtakes his face. He’s been looking into Russian wedding traditions, and wonders if Ilya would wear his ring on his right instead of his left. He wonders if he would take Ilya’s last name, or if Ilya would take his. He knows that Ilya might have some reservations about his family. But Shane wants to take his last name, and make himself Ilya’s family. Insert himself into Ilya’s bloodline until there’s no part of him that isn’t Shane’s. In the same way that Shane would give him every part of himself. Maybe they should hyphenate. 

“You guys are so cute,” Wes points out, gesturing to the soft grin that Shane is sporting. The nerves are back in his voice though, and his knee bounces as he talks. Shane’s eyes fall to watch the rhythmic movement, and he looks up to watch Wes take a calming breath. The anxiety returns 

“Enough about me, what did you want to talk to me about? You’re not like…doping or anything, right?” Shane asks cautiously; he knows Wes is a good kid. But sometimes good kids can get caught up in bad things. He doesn’t actually know who else Wes hangs out with in his free time.

“Oh God, no! I would never do that!” Wes stammers as his eyes widen in horror. Shane feels the anxiety lessen, but the protectiveness doesn’t fade. Something must be wrong, for him to be wringing his hands like this. 

“Sorry, just had to check,” Shane apologises, his hand reaching out in an attempt to comfort but falling back in his lap at the last second. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, and his brain is scrambling to find an answer that would have the kid he’s started to think of like a sibling, almost, so nervous. 

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Wes reassures him, and takes a deep breath. Shane is sure that he’ll keep talking after that, but he doesn’t. He stares somewhere beyond Shane’s shoulder, his knee bouncing in an uneven rhythm that makes Shane wish he could possess Ilya’s talent for calming him immediately. 

After a moment of the still silence, Shane sighs. 

“So what is it?” He asks softly. Wes jumps like he didn’t expect Shane to be there, which is a little silly since this is Shane’s house. Wes groans and pushes his face into his hands.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard.” His words come out muffled, but Shane can still understand them. It makes his heart hurt in some foreign but familiar way. He wishes Ilya were here. Ilya seems to have an innate sense of knowing just what to do when someone is in a crisis. He’s such a kind-hearted person. Shane wishes the world could know Ilya as Shane does, but he also likes being the only one who knows the soft underbelly Ilya guards. Shane scooches a little closer, bending down so Wes can hear him from where his face is squished against his palms. 

“You didn’t think what would be this hard,” Shane probes, which elicits another groan from Wes. 

“Sorry, I think I’m freaking out,” he mumbles. It’s nearly lost due to the fact that he seems determined to have this conversation without removing his face from his hands. But Shane catches the apology all the same. 

“Wes, it’s just me, man,” Shane promises. It pulls an embarrassed sound from Wes’ throat, but it does make him sit back up, so Shane considers it a small victory. Wes gives him a pained look, his eyes full of unshed tears. 

“I know that’s the problem. You’re Shane Hollander, man, I mean I used to have your poster in my room, like I’ve wanted to be just like you and know you and play with you since I was like a kid. I really, really look up to you, and if you’re not cool with this, I kind of don’t know what to do. But my therapist said I should just tell you because you’re my friend or whatever, I don’t know,” Wes rambles. Shane lets the words wash over him. He feels a twinge of pride; of course he knew people looked up to him, knew that he was a role model. But it’s different to hear it out of someone’s mouth. He smiles softly at Wes, and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Wes relaxes slightly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“I promise it’s gonna be okay, Wes. I’ll still be your friend no matter what,” Shane stresses, worrying the skin of his lip with his teeth. 

“Yeah, that’s what my therapist said you’d say,” Wes says, letting out a small laugh as he shakes his head. It’s silent again for a moment, and Shane wonders if letting Wes not have to say this would be easier. If there’s a similar anxiety pushing down on Wes like a knife. 

“You don’t actually have to tell me,” Shane offers the out, a little surprised when Wes vehemently shakes his head. Wes stands and starts to pace in front of the coffee table. 

“No, I want to. It’s just…hard. I don’t know…Okay,” He starts, clenching and unclenching his palms, before letting out a low groan and continuing, “I’ve always been more sensitive than the other kids, and my Mom hated that; she used to try to get me to toughen up or whatever. My family’s always been a little religious, so she always had a verse or a way we were supposed to do things. And it was fine, or manageable, and then my Dad died when I was like seven. My Mom just threw herself into her work, and she kind of became unbearable. We had to be this picture-perfect family, and after a while it got hard because I wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t be.” He looks at Shane at the last part, like he’s willing Shane to get it. And he does, a little, the picture becoming a little clearer, but there’s a lot of puzzle pieces, and Shane isn’t sure he’s grabbing the right ones. Wes pauses for a moment before taking another breath and rubbing his eyes tightly. 

“Hockey became my escape, just a way for me to get out of the house, but I was good at it, so she let me keep playing. And then when I was fifteen, I made…friends with this one kid in my class, uh Noah; he played the guitar, wore eyeliner, and listened to really awful music, and he was so cool to me.” Shane isn’t sure why, but a part of him thinks of Ilya. Not exactly rebellious, but a break for freedom all the same. Shane couldn’t get enough of Ilya, still can’t, and he wonders if Noah is still out there somewhere. He wonders if Ilya would approve of him; he doesn’t know when that became a default in his head, but he wants it. Wants to introduce Ilya to Wes and Wes’ friends. Wants to go home later and talk about if they’re good enough for Wes with Ilya.  

“I hung out with him all the time. When I wasn’t on the rink, I was hanging out with him. And then one day my mom found out. She never really liked him because he was “feminine” I guess. She told me I couldn’t hang out with him because he would turn me into one of ‘them’ but it didn’t even matter,” Wes pauses after. And Shane understands, with startling clarity, what the picture is supposed to look like. The glittering multi-colored rays of light that he’s being told to see. There’s nothing then, just the shaky inhale of Wes’ breath. And after a minute Shane speaks up

“Wes-” He starts. He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, but Wes cuts him off. Shaking his head. 

“Let me finish, please, sorry I-” Wes cuts himself off with a muffled sob. 

“Yeah, sorry, take your time.” Shane just nods. And Wes takes another shaky inhale before he continues, his voice flat

“He died. Some kids were bullying him, and he couldn’t take it anymore, I guess.” A sharp, ugly thing pierces Shane’s chest. He chokes back the pained gasp. Wes doesn’t look at him while he speaks, continuing to pace as he steamrolls over the statement like it hadn’t broken something.  

“When my mom found out, she thanked God because I wouldn’t have him around me anymore to ‘influence me’. I didn’t know how to tell her that it was too late, because I didn’t like girls. I liked Noah.” A sob breaks through Wes’ throat, but he swallows it. Shane doesn’t know what to do. Wes finally stops pacing, ending on the other side of the table. But it feels like there’s an ocean between them. 

“I never told her, and I never told anybody about me and him. But I needed to tell you, because you’ve kind of been there for me. I’m gay.” Wes finally lets his eyes meet Shane’s. His voice doesn’t waver at the admission. 

“Wes, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Is the only thing that Shane can think to say. Wes slowly makes his way over to the couch, sitting down next to Shane. Shane throws a tentative arm around him, and Wes melts into the half embrace. 

“It never really felt real. We didn’t tell anyone, and we were barely even friends at school, so when he died, I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t talk at the funeral; I couldn’t even go. I think I could’ve loved him. But then hockey…so I just…never said anything.” Wes says looking forward and a horrible, horrible feeling envelops Shane. 

He can’t help but imagine if something awful happened to Ilya. If for some reason he was stuck in the place that Wes was. He doesn’t think–no, he knows–that he wouldn’t be able to go on. That some part of him would forever be stuck under the ground, nestled deep within Ilya’s heart. And no one would ever know. Would he even be invited to the funeral? Could he even live without Ilya? He feels sick with the thought of trying. No, he couldn’t. 

His brain twists the image further, with Ilya in that position. How maybe Ilya would feel it slip like sand between his fingers. The love they share–because it wouldn’t be past tense, because Shane would never, could never stop–a secret to him and him only. How the distant fog that sometimes is present behind his eyes would maybe grow. Maybe he wouldn't be able to look at Shane’s parents anymore, the resemblance too much. Shane feels nauseous with the idea. 

He wants people to know; suddenly, he needs Ilya to never feel the twisting sickness of Shane falling through the cracks. Even if it’s only imagination now, it’s a devastation that Shane doesn’t think will leave his nightmares any time soon. Shane also privately mentally moves the timeline of when he could conceivably propose up. Waiting until he’s fluent in Russian is stupid; he needs to be Ilya’s now. He needs Ilya to know, needs him always; his thoughts jumble together as he imagines and imagines. 

“Fuck, that’s horrible,” Shane mutters to himself. And the silence must have stretched too long, because Wes tenses under his arm. 

“Me being gay?” He asks, his voice scratchy as he looks up at Shane. Shane shoots him a confused look and tightens his hold on him. 

“What? No! The situation obviously, why would I say that about you being gay?” He exclaims, and internally celebrates when Wes lets out a low snort. 

“I don’t know, hockey isn’t exactly the most welcoming sport,” Wes admits, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his mouth and Shane will take all the mini wins he can right now. Not when he saw how devastated Wes was to tell him. Not when he’s still devastated for some reason he can’t totally place. 

“Ok, Wes, it’s totally fine that you’re gay. I’m talking about Noah,” Shane says, jostling Wes until he’s looking him in the eye. Wes studies him for a second, and then all of the tension seems to melt out of his body. 

“Thank god,” Wes groans, his head leaning back and beaming. It’s such a change from the tense and nervous behavior that Wes had come into the house with that Shane can’t help the way his mouth drops. 

“What?” He manages to get out, a little dumbfounded. Wes just smiles at him and shrugs, melting further into the couch. 

“I don’t know, man, if you were homophobic, I think I would’ve had to quit,” Wes tells him. Shane doesn’t know how to respond to that so he doesn’t. Does Wes really think he would be homophobic? He knows he’s not out. But this is like the second person to assume he’s homophobic, and honestly? He’s a little offended at this point. Wes pulls him out of his thoughts when he groans again, a long-suffering sigh. Shane looks over at him and watches as he curls in on himself again. 

“Oh my God, I told you I had your posters on my wall. I need to walk into oncoming traffic,” He bemoans, a blush spreading across his cheeks. A laugh bursts out of Shane’s chest. High and light and Shane can’t stop it. Wes glares at him pitifully before blushing all over again. 

“Don’t walk into traffic,” Shane says, lightly shaking Wes’ shoulder. Wes cracks a grin at him, shaking his head as he lets out a giggle. 

“No, I think this is the end of it, man; I’ve had a good career,” He retorts. He looks so young like this. All nerves erased, just smiling and laughing on his couch. It reminds him of Ilya and him, insulting each other in new ways to make the other smile. God, they were just kids. God, Wes is just a kid. A kid who might think he’s alone in the league. Besides Scott Hunter, there really wasn’t anyone else. Out of the corner of his eye, the light of the lamp catches on something. When Shane turns his head, he realizes it’s Irina’s writing. He makes a decision: Wes shouldn’t have to look up to that dinosaur, not when there were closer, better players for him to have in his corner. 

“You’ve barely had a career. Stop being dramatic, it’s fine. My boyfriend might be jealous but I can deal with him.” It’s not lost on Shane that this is the second time he’s actually come out to someone by choice. The first being his aforementioned boyfriend. Wes takes it in stride, seeming to not even hear the second part of the statement at all. 

“I mean we made it to the playoffs- wait, boyfriend? You’re-what-Shane, what?” Wes whips his head around to face him, his eyes wide and surprised. Shane turns to hide his smile behind his palm. When he looks back, Wes is still looking at him with wide eyes, but there’s something else in there. It looks a lot like hope.

“Wes, I’m gay,” Shane says. It feels nice, to actually say it, to let the words leave his mouth by choice. The way that Wes has to suck back air and blink quickly to hide the unshed tears makes some ugly knot in his chest that usually tightens whenever he thinks about this start to unbind. 

“Holy shit! Does anyone else know?” Wes asks, and he’s like an excited puppy. Looking around the room, his leg is back to bouncing, but it lacks any of the nervous energy from earlier. In fact, Wes looks more relaxed than Shane has ever seen him. Shane lets out a loose chuckle as he regards it. 

“A couple people. Garret knows, um, my old team does.” Shane looks away when he says the last part. He doesn’t want to immediately show the darker side of the league. The players and Coaches and General Manager and hell, probably the Commissioner, who would kick them out if they could. Who tried to suppress him, wanted to take part of him and whittle it down until it didn’t exist anymore. 

“Is that why you’re here?” Wes nudges him with his leg, and Shane sighs. He knows that Wes is aware of the ugly side of the world. But he hates that he can’t shield him from this. 

“Unfortunately,” Shane admits. Wes lets out a bitter-sounding scoff. His knee stilling it’s bounce as he stares meaningfully at Shane. Shane can’t make himself look at how he let him down. 

“Man, we gotta kill the Voyagers now,” Wes says. It gets a laugh out of Shane at least, although it falls a little flat. It punches out of him in surprise. When Shane finally turns his head, Wes is looking at him dead serious. But the mirth in his voice is evident. 

“I don’t think that that's the right takeaway,” Shane voices, trying to be responsible. Wes rolls his eyes at him, slouching back into the arm of the couch, and giving him a wicked grin. 

“Gotta make room for us in Hockey, Hollander. There are more queers than ever; they should get with the times.” Wes holds his hand out in a fist bump, which Shane does not reciprocate. But he does smile appreciatively at him. 

“Yeah, okay. Come here, kid,” He says, pulling Wes into a hug. Shane feels a little like his brain has been scooped out, raw and a little empty. But under all of that, he’s proud. He’s proud of Wes, for telling him, for being so god damn brave. He’s also a little proud of himself, for letting Wes not be alone. Even if he doesn’t know about Ilya. He knows about him. And that’s a start. All of a sudden, Shane remembers a forgotten detail. 

“Oh wait, what happened to that one date you went on?” Shane pulls away from the hug to ask. Wes’ eyebrows furrow as he tries to recall it. Okay, so clearly they weren’t still together if he was taking this long to remember it. 

“It didn’t end up working out. Our schedules were too different,” Wes recounts. He doesn’t look too distraught over it, so maybe that wasn’t the only reason. Shane hums in sympathy; the only two people he had dated were Rose and Ilya, so schedules not aligning was kind of part of it. 

“That sucks, I’m sorry,” he says, a little awkwardly, wringing his hands together. 

“Yeah, maybe I should date a player instead or something, right,” Wes muses, clearly joking, a giggle escaping him like the thought is outrageous. A strangled sound that could almost be called a laugh punches its way out of Shane’s throat that sounds so forced that Rose would downright cackle. 

“Yeah, right,” He attempts to play it off. Judging by the look of confusion and horror on Wes’ face, he absolutely did not. 

“Why did you laugh like that?” Wes asks, looking at him like he regrets having posters of Shane on his wall as a child. Shane understands the feeling; he currently wants to underline Wes’ statement of walking into oncoming traffic. Of course, no one in his neighborhood would want to hit him, so he’d have to walk to Main Street. Maybe a sinkhole will open under him instead. 

“Like what?” He plays dumb, his voice high-pitched and weak. He’s a bad liar; if Ilya were here, he would be making fun of him so hard. Of course, if Ilya were here, this wouldn’t be happening at all, because Shane doesn’t think he’s capable of being in a room with his boyfriend and not looking like he wants to jump him. Sexually or otherwise. 

“Like I just pointed a gun at you or something,” Wes says, scooching slightly back to look at how Shane is standing Totally Normally. He straightens his posture just in case that would make it more believable. 

“Don’t know what you’re referring to,” Shane responds, looking away. It’s as much of a giveaway as anything. Shane should have really taken Rose up on those acting classes, maybe then he could conceivably lie better than this. 

“Right, ok.” Wes exaggerates the words, holding the ‘right’ out far longer than Shane thinks is strictly necessary. His eyes narrow towards Shane, and his head tilts as he tries to figure something out. 

“Get out of my house, Conboy,” Shane decides, and promptly turns Wes around. Wes laughs at him, but starts to move towards the door. 

“Getting rid of me so you can call your boyfriend, huh?” He singsongs, wagging his eyebrows at Shane like he’s a teenager. He practically is. God, Shane feels old. He regards Wes, tying the laces of his sneakers happily, like the first part of their conversation never happened. He looks okay, but Shane has a nagging feeling he should press anyway. 

“Yeah, actually. Are you going to be okay?” He asks trepidatiously. Wes gives him a soft smile, before jumping back up to a standing position. 

“Yeah, I have therapy actually, I didn’t know how this was going to go. Have fun with No-Longer-Boston, Not-Lily!” He informs Shane, winking at him. Shane smiles back. Maybe Wes is okay. Shane pulls him in for one more hug anyway, and then Wes is out the door and walking to his car. 

Shane allows a few seconds to pass before he feels a stinging sensation behind his eyes, and a sob rips its way out of his mouth. For Noah, for the time he could’ve had with Wes, and for all the time he ended up getting. For Wes, for the love that Wes could have had, had life not been crueler. But mostly, Shane cries for Ilya, for the way he saw Ilya in all of the parts of Noah and Wes that hurt the most. And for the young boy that Ilya had been, hiding the softest, most beautiful parts of himself away from the world so he doesn’t get hurt. For Ilya now, and the love that they can’t be honest about. For the things that Ilya still hides from Shane, the fog behind his eyes, the fear that maybe something is wrong and Shane may not know. For a child who looked just like his mother when he smiled, and how she left him not smiling at all. Shane cries for himself a little too. For not being able to change the Voyagers or the league, and that he probably won’t be able to make it better. But he wants to try. He wants to try with Ilya. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s called him until Ilya picks up, smirking in his room. Although his face drops when he sees Shane’s face. Shane tries to school it, tries to make it into a smile, but he can’t force away the red rim on his eyes, the way he’s still shaking a little bit. He sits against the wall, and Ilya looks at him in worry. 

"-Любимый, (-Darling,) why are you crying?” Ilya asks, his voice soft and filled to the brim with love and concern. His eyes rake over Shane’s, trying to spot something, as if there was a physical reason to cause Shane to cry like this. As if Ilya could jump through the screen and heal the cut. Shane presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stanch the tears. Ilya places his phone down on his dresser, his eyebrows knitting together as he continues to watch Shane with concern.

“I just missed you a lot,” Shane says, sniffing. It’s not wrong; Shane does miss him, but he misses an invisible ring on his finger that doesn’t exist. He misses a life with Ilya that he doesn’t have, a future that is glistening at him from a distance; he doesn’t know if he gets to have it. He wants it, wants it so bad that the future he sees may as well be a mirage while he’s dying of thirst, crawling endlessly towards it. A life with Ilya without the pushing and pressing of the league; he knows they’ll have to fight. A world that won’t hate him when their truth is revealed; a sport that will love him the way he loves it back. His tongue slips and his eyes tear up again. Ilya coos at him

“Oh котик (kitten), don’t cry, I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ll be home soon. I can tell Cliff to leave–”

“No! Don’t do that,” Shane frantically cuts him off. Because he’s not done, the conversation they never finished from weeks ago flashes in his mind. ‘The only people who know for me if fucking Laurie,’ rings loud and clear in the front of his brain. He wants Ilya, wants him more than air. But he doesn’t want Ilya to feel like Shane could slip through his fingers. 

“You’re more important,” Ilya tells him, as if Ilya didn’t risk everything just to kiss him the first time, and every time after. Shane smiles a soft smile at him, and Ilya seems to unconsciously relax at it, his shoulders falling a little. 

“I know, I just, I think you should tell Cliff about us,” Shane tells him. The concern melts off of Ilya’s face, instead replaced by a look of confusion. Ilya opens his mouth, stops himself, and blinks a couple times, trying to figure out why the hell Shane said that. 

“That’s what you were crying about?” Ilya pushes lightly, talking slow, still incredibly confused. Shane shakes his head, and that stops. 

“No, kinda, not really, I can’t explain it.” Shane can’t tell him the full story. Not now, maybe someday, but it wasn’t his place to tell anyone about Wes. And he wouldn’t. He bites his bottom hip as he thinks of how to phrase the bone-chilling need he feels that Ilya has someone without sounding out of place. Ilya regards him calmly

“Are you sure? If you’re this worked up about it, I don’t have to. All I want is you.” It’s sweet, and the words wash over Shane in a comforting embrace, but Ilya must think Shane is anxious about Cliff knowing. And he is, but he’s more worried for Ilya, seeing too many parallels between what Wes told him and the life that Ilya knew before. The feelings he knows are there but doesn’t know the name for. Shane’s smile grows softer, and he shakes his head again. 

“No, I think you should. I’m sorry, I didn’t get it before. I want you to have people, not my parents or friends but your people. You should be able to talk about me. As long as you trust they won’t say anything, obviously,” Shane explains. Ilya’s face breaks into a grin, but he bites his lip, pausing. 

“Shane, I’m a little confused. Where is this coming from?” Ilya admits, a quiet worried breath escaping him. 

Shane can’t tell him about Wes, and he knows if he drops the topic, Ilya will worry it between his teeth until his jaw has ground it down. He needs to give him something. Shane closes his eyes and sighs. He digs deep into himself and pokes at a healing bruise. One he didn’t want to tell Ilya about, but suspects Ilya already knows. He drags it to the surface and faces Ilya’s waiting face again.

“Hayden hasn’t been great about you, and I didn’t want you to get hurt by someone you considered a friend.” It’s not a lie; Shane will always be worried that Ilya will get hurt, and Ilya either believes him or chooses to. His nose flaring as he huffs, frustrated. Shane would like it on the record that Ilya doesn’t hate Hayden. He chirps at him and makes digs like he does to every player, but he doesn’t hate him. 

“I don’t care about the opinion from Montreal’s fourteenth best player,” Ilya drawls. Shane has a strong suspicion that Ilya might hold a little resentment towards Hayden now. Not for disliking him, no, Ilya has never let that stop him from provoking someone, or attempting to gain their favor. Shane suspects that Ilya will wrestle for control of the current grudge Shane’s been holding against him. Shane lets out a little laugh, and holds the phone out so Ilya will see his full face. 

“Well, I care that he doesn’t realize how indispensable you are to me. There’s no one else. You’re it for me, baby. And I’m gonna make him realize it or cut him off, I just. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry,” Shane says. Ilya positively melts, grinning widely as his head tilts and he ends up scrunching his nose at him. Shane wishes he could kiss him. Breathe his air and drink him down like he always does. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell Cliff to leave? I am happy to just talk with you and make sure you’re okay.” Ilya traces a heart into the bed sheet next to him. He smiles at it, before looking up to hold eye contact with Shane. Shane smiles stupidly at him. 

“Yes Ilya,” He responds, and Ilya shakes his head kindly, a laugh on the edge of his mouth

“If you’re sure, Shanya,” Ilya gives him an out again. Always offering him a way out even when Shane is tying himself to the damn tracks.

“I am,” Shane confirms. Ilya breathes for a second, training his face to be neutral

“I am sorry your best friend is such a dick,” He manages. It doesn’t sound angry per say, but it’s flat enough that Shane knows he should probably discourage Ilya from any murderous thoughts. He hums instead, because his best friend is a dick, but Shane’s been told he can be a bit of an asshole too. 

“Yeah, but I love him anyway,” He replies, reveling in the way Ilya’s jaw clicks shut. He could laugh at the way the words cause Ilya to immediately tick in jealousy. Ilya takes a very long breath in and tries to look unaffected. It doesn’t work at all, but Shane thinks it’s cute. 

“Oh, you love Hayden now?” Ilya asks icily, and Shane very nearly loses control of the laughter that’s bubbling up inside his chest. He bites the inside of his cheek to hide the smile. Ilya doesn’t smile back. 

“Not talking about Hayden, I’m talking about my best friend.” Shane really dials up the confusion, furrowing his eyebrow and sighing dramatically. If Ilya can tell he’s putting on an act, he doesn’t show it. Ilya leans back onto the bed, putting his weight on his hands. 

“Shane, who the fuck are you talking about?” Ilya sighs, exasperated. Shane stares at him for a second, waiting for the realization to hit him. It doesn’t, and Shane can’t help it as he lets out a little laugh. Ilya cocks his head to the side, and Shane decides to put him out of his misery. 

“You, Ilyusha, you’re my best friend. Obviously,” He says softly, another bit of laughter escaping him. Ilya looks at him in awe, like Shane had just given him something he’d been waiting for. It fills his head with a warm and floaty feeling, and the knot in his chest loosens more. 

“I really think I should ask Cliff to leave now,” Ilya repeats, leaning closer to the phone now, his pupils dilated, and Shane rolls his eyes fondly. 

“No baby, go hang out with your friends on your last night in Boston,” he encourages, turning his eyes up when Ilya pouts at him. How Shane expects to get anything done with Ilya living with him looking like that, he doesn’t know. 

“What if I want to talk to my best friend?” Ilya whines, and Shane thinks he must look stupid, just grinning like an idiot at him. 

“Call them later then.” Shane raises his eyebrows, and Ilya smirks at him

“You think Sveta will still be up for that?” Ilya gives a repeat performance of Shane’s confusion, so he definitely knew what Shane was doing. The smile drops off of Shane’s face as he flips Ilya off. Ilya laughs at him, and Shane levels him with an unimpressed stare

“Oh fuck off, you’re no longer my best friend.” Shane stands up from the floor and heads back over to the couch. Ilya’s laughter is immediately cut short and he scrambles to sit up right on the bed. 

“No! No takebacks! I am your best friend!” Ilya whines, and Shane ignores him, settling into the couch and re-opening the box he had started unpacking before Wes arrived. When Shane looks up, Ilya is pouting at him again, looking at him with sad puppy dog eyes that Shane has to forcibly drag himself away from. 

“You’re so dramatic,” he tells Ilya, who whines at him, proving Shane’s point. Shane loves it though, knowing he’s just pushing Ilya in a way Ilya loves. 

“You are my best friend too,” Ilya promises him, and Shane lets himself look back at his phone. When he does, Ilya smiles again, softly, and Shane kind of wishes he could text Cliff to go away so he could keep talking with his boyfriend. He feels like the most important person in the world. He’s Ilya Rozanov’s Boyfriend, and not only that, but he’s also his best friend. 

“Fucking better be. No takebacks from you either,” Shane murmurs. If anything, Ilya’s grin grows wider as he holds out his pinky at Shane. Shane shakes his head at him but holds his out as well. Ilya curls his, and Shane completes the long-distance pinky promise. 

“I would never want to солнышко (sunshine),” Ilya purrs, kissing his thumb to press it to the camera. Shane feels a little fuzzy, high on Ilya and the fact that tomorrow Ilya is coming back, and his house will finally feel like home. Because anywhere is home as long as Ilya is there. Even if they have, like, twenty more boxes to unpack.

“I love you,” Shane says quietly, repeating the gesture, kissing his thumb and pressing it to the screen. Ilya looks just as happy as he does, if not a bit reckless with it. 

“I love you more,” Ilya sings lowly, and Shane hums in disagreement. He’s not above playing the ‘I was just crying card.’ This is one of the games against each other that they both play exceptionally dirty at. Shane idly wonders if his glasses are close enough that he could put them on. They’re not, so he juts his bottom lip forward and widens his eyes, letting them become a little teary. 

“You’re letting me win today,” Shane says, high and breathy in the way Ilya loves. The man in question looks vaguely horrified. Shane holds it for a moment, and Ilya tears his eyes away, covering his eyes with his hand, and sliding his pinky and ring finger down so he can still see Shane. He’s ridiculous. Shane is sure he has this round in the bag. 

“I would never, I love you more,” Ilya finally says, and Shane drops the pout with a groan. He narrows his eyes at Ilya, who just grins back at him, delighted. 

“Nope! I love you most!” Shane retorts before hanging up. Ilya calls him back immediately, and Shane declines it. He declines the next two as well. Opting instead to send Ilya a voice note. 

“I love you more. Go have fun with your friends. Talk to Marleau.” He says into his phone, and Ilya sends him the heartbreak emoji before responding with a quick I love you and saving Shane’s message. 

Shane looks at the frame from where it sits on the table; he carefully picks it up, treasuring the unabashed smile on Ilya’s young face. He slowly makes his way up to the bedroom, putting it on the dresser that lands on his side of the bed. Ilya’s side currently has the photo his mom took of them at the cottage. He smiles at the photo, and decides to call it an early night. He dreams of a woman whispering to him “Позаботься о нём за меня, Спасибо, что любишь его так, как он того заслуживает. Позаботься о нём. (Take care of him for me. Thank you, for loving him the way he deserves. Take care of him)” and the feeling of something kissing his hairline, but when he wakes up, no one’s there.

Chapter End Notes

I seriously thought that his chapter was going to be happier when I set out to right it. Wes you kinda broke my heart here.

But on a little bit of a more serious note, for all of the queer ppl who end up reading my authors notes. The world is often full of people fighting a war on love and identity, trying to grab at it and destroy it, twist it into something it is not. Don't let them take it from you.

I have gone through a bit of a journey, being outted on the internet, and dealing with a bit of homophobia throughout my life, but I am proud of myself this month (#bi) and all of the rest of you. So if no one else is saying it, you're perfect the way you are, no matter what gender you love, what gender you are (or aren't), and however that looks like to you is ok.

Serious time over, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I promise the next one will be more fluffy, because I'm not gonna lie I did cry writing this. I also really really like the angst potential of Ilya not looking like his mother, except in one or two features, and I think that's really interesting so. Yeah.

Shane also found her phrase...I'm sure that means nothing though...I'm sure...

I love all your comments they give me life love y'all

Take care of yourselves, happy pride, mwah <333

Chapter 18: the new dog

Chapter Summary

Shane wakes up alone. This isn’t something super new; Shane has been waking up alone for months out of the year. While Ilya is in Boston, or some other state or country, and he’s either in his house or a hotel, his home in the heart of another, hundreds or thousands of miles away. This morning, however, it is a surprise. Because as of last night, Ilya Rozanov has officially moved in. His mom and dad had come down to help unpack and have dinner together. Ilya had wanted to keep all of Shane’s furniture, but Shane had wanted Ilya’s couch. He wanted to replace the memories of him leaving with one’s of him coming home, over and over until it was woven into the thread. Also, the couch that was in his house came with it, and was truly falling apart. So Ilya brought it over, and they had redecorated a little. 

Chapter Notes

ANYA'S HERE WHO'S EXCITED (Ilya certainly is)

I do want to say there's a little bit on Shane's disordered eating here. I am not, nor have i ever been ortherexic (which is what Shane appears to struggle with in cannon) and although I have experience with eating disorders, I don't want to push one that Shane clearly doesn't have. I believe I've tagged this correctly, especially given Shane's refusal to acknowledge it. If anyone feels I should update the tags, please let me know. I don't intend for it ever to go beyond a mention, or go into more specifics then was in this and the previous chapter, but again, I don't want to unintentionally trigger anyone.

there may be grammar errors and I do not apologize, I'm trying to not use grammarly or google docs so it doesn't feed my work to AI and sometimes that means there's gonna be mistakes. Ok love y'all take care of yourselves enjoy mwah

Shane wakes up alone. This isn’t something super new; Shane has been waking up alone for months out of the year. While Ilya is in Boston, or some other state or country, and he’s either in his house or a hotel, his home in the heart of another, hundreds or thousands of miles away. This morning, however, it is a surprise. Because as of last night, Ilya Rozanov has officially moved in. His mom and dad had come down to help unpack and have dinner together. Ilya had wanted to keep all of Shane’s furniture, but Shane had wanted Ilya’s couch. He wanted to replace the memories of him leaving with one’s of him coming home, over and over until it was woven into the thread. Also, the couch that was in his house came with it, and was truly falling apart. So Ilya brought it over, and they had redecorated a little. 

Ilya was now present all over the house; his blankets were draped over the couch, and his coats were hung up in the hall. Their closets were meshed together, and Shane wonders if there would be a time where they didn’t know whose clothes were whose. He hopes there will be. A box of disposable photos sits in the dresser next to Ilya’s bedside. When Shane had found it, at the bottom of one of Ilya’s boxes, Ilya had shyly admitted to taking photos of Shane, unsuspectingly, throughout the years. A private testament when he thought they had just a few moments. They’re not all of Shane. Some of them are objects. The lamp, from their hotel in 2010, the Rookie of the Year award, the pillow at the sex condo. But most of them were of Shane, asleep with Ilya’s lips pressed to his forehead, looking out of a window, and one mirror photo of Ilya’s back, lined with scratches. Unpacking had gotten a bit derailed after that, with Shane carefully packing up the photos and setting the box down safely before pouncing. Ilya had laughed against his mouth, before kissing him back just as ferociously. 

Shane’s parents had stayed the night in a hotel, coming down this morning to drive Ilya to pick up someone truly special. Ilya had finally gotten the dog he wanted. Harris had called him one day, with someone dropping off a dog that was found by the side of the road to his family’s farm. She was healthy, and Ilya was besotted immediately. Anya was her name; Ilya had texted Shane weekly updates on how she was doing. Harris’ mom was bringing her to Harris’ house, where Ilya would pick her up. 

Thinking of Ilya, Shane stretches against the cool sheets, a pull in his stomach for the man himself. If he strains his ears, he can hear the sink running downstairs. He sleepily turns over to the clock and sees it’s a little earlier than Shane would get up, and much too early for Ilya. He stumbles his way down the stairs and watches as Ilya cuts fruit and sets up the kettle he had brought from Boston. Shane smiles as he walks up behind him, wrapping him in his arms. Ilya melts into the touch for a moment, leaning back into Shane’s embrace.

“Why are you up so early?” Shane asks, nosing at the juncture between Ilya’s shoulder and neck. Ilya looks soft and glowy in the summer morning, the light of the rising sun hitting him just so. His curls look golden, a little ragged from sleep, the rays bouncing off of him from the nearby window as he fills the kettle, making him look outlined in pure gold. He looks almost like a trophy one would win after an exceptional performance, surrounded by all the light and gold. Shane thinks Ilya is the best prize of them all like this, pliable and melty underneath his hands. The water overfills in the sink, and Shane reaches out to shut off the tap. Ilya tangles their fingers together and presses a featherlight kiss to his knuckles. 

“Shanya, I thought you were asleep.” Ilya’s voice is rough with sleep, and Shane has half a mind to drag him back there. He slips his hand that’s not tethered to Ilya under the man’s shirt. Feeling the warmth of the skin and beneath his nails as he presses his mouth deeper into Ilya’s neck, softly tracing an ‘I love you’ against his stomach, feeling as Ilya smiles. 

“You weren’t in bed,” Shane mumbles against his skin. Ilya lets out a small laugh, and Shane grins as he feels the vibrations. He loves holding Ilya like this, wrapped up in his skin, so they feel like one being. It would be better if they were lying down on their bed, but Shane digresses. He squeezes Ilya’s hand and brings it down to his chest, so Shane can feel the beating of his heart against his palm. His teeth lightly scrape against Ilya’s neck, and Ilya just tilts his head to the side, giving Shane more room to settle. Ilya sets the kettle down on the island and sighs dramatically. 

“Was trying to be romantic,” He explains softly, and Shane pulls away so he can press a light kiss against his cheek, his eyelashes brushing against Ilya’s temple. 

“You were?” Shane asks, and Ilya turns, stealing a kiss quickly, wrapping Shane’s arms back around him while they’re facing each other. Ilya leans back against the sink, and Shane follows, feeling Ilya’s exhale on his lips as he hums in affirmation. 

“Mhm, wanted to make my boyfriend breakfast in bed,” Ilya murmurs, nodding his head towards the island. Shane had barely looked at the counter when he walked downstairs, too focused on finding Ilya, and he doesn’t look away now, trusting Ilya the way he always does, implicitly and fully. 

“I can go back,” Shane says, slowly starting to extricate himself from the other man, when Ilya lets out a squawk of surprise and grabs onto Shane’s waist, pulling him back to where he was. 

“No, stay here with me,” he whines,  “You can grab plates.” But he makes no move to let Shane go anytime soon. They stay there for a moment, swaying in the sunrise, just staring at each other, Shane memorizing the soft expression on Ilya’s face as his eyes flit over Shane’s. He looks beautiful. Shane can feel his breath get caught in his throat the longer he looks, so he leans forward and removes the space between them, until he can taste the toothpaste on Ilya’s tongue, and can feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

He pulls away, watching in delight as Ilya smiles slowly, still blinking away some of the sleep from his eyes. Shane kisses his cheek, and then turns to the island, his mouth dropping open in shock at the array of fruit. Kiwi, mango, strawberries, and raspberries are set out in different bowls or plates. Carefully separated just the way Shane likes. Shane hears Ilya chuckle behind him, and he’s unfrozen, grabbing two plates from the cabinet and setting them down on the island. Ilya moves around him, grabbing a bowl and whisk. Shane moves to help, but Ilya ushers him back to his seat. 

“What are you making?” Shane asks, popping a strawberry into his mouth. It’s sweet, and Shane reaches for another one as Ilya looks at him from over his shoulder. 

“Блины, I think. My mama used to make them on special occasions,” Ilya tells him, shuffling around their various drawers until he finds the measuring spoons and cups. They were in the same place they always were, but Ilya rummaged around the drawer until he pulled out his specific spoons from Boston. Shane laughs at his boyfriend, and then pauses, parsing over his words. 

“What's the special occasion?” He presses; it’s not an anniversary, and Shane’s birthday had already passed. It’s just a random Sunday in June, and Shane wonders vaguely if there’s a holiday he’s missed his entire life that he should be celebrating. Ilya shoots him an innocent smile. 

“We have a new member of the family,” He chirps brightly, and Shane laughs at his boyfriend's antics and raises his eyebrows. 

“Then why are you making me breakfast in bed? I’m not Anya,” He asks, tilting his head to the side and watching as Ilya puts a bowl down from where he’s grabbed it and looks over at Shane, his eyes getting all soft and wide. 

“You were in bed with me when I woke up. That is very special occasion,” Ilya admits, and Shane pushes himself off his stool until he can tightly grab onto the collar of Ilya’s shirt and yank, crashing their lips together. His thoughtful, lovable boyfriend. He wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck as he kisses him, bringing them closer together so Ilya can wrap his arms around him too. When they finally break apart, Shane makes sure they stay interwoven, Ilya’s fingers playing with the waistband on Shane’s shorts. Shane loves him so much.  

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Shane whispers, smiling so wide he’s sure he looks a little stupid, but Ilya looks at him like he’s every Cup, trophy, and award all wrapped into one, so looking a little stupid is worth it. 

“Me too.”

Ilya reaches into the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs, and Shane watches it, feeling the tell-tale sign of nervousness flutter in his stomach. He’s in the off-season, so he doesn’t have to stick to his diet, not technically, but the switch is hard, so he usually sticks to it. It’s easy to continue the routine of outlined food groups, and eggs aren’t in that outlined group. He tells himself that he’ll just power through it, that he can get over the anxiety flying around because it’s not serious. Unfortunately, Ilya has always known Shane like a third language: Russian and English and Shane, reading him and knowing exactly what he needs without even thinking. He turns over from where he’d placed the carton on the counter and locks eyes with Shane.

“I can alter them a little to make sure you will still eat them,” Ilya offers, softly. 

“Really?” Shane asks, stupidly hopeful, and hating himself for it.

“Yes, no dairy or anything.” Ilya nods, stepping closer and snagging a mango slice from the bowl and chewing on it. Yes, Shane’s brain screams, please.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says instead, because Ilya had looked so excited and Shane will always chase the spark that was behind his eyes, scrambling to find the matches to start the fire. Ilya softens, his clean hand covering Shane’s, but Shane doesn’t move his gaze, watching as Ilya searches his face to find the worry that is humming under the surface. What do you want? He doesn’t ask, because he knows Ilya doesn’t always love following his diet. And he wants this to be Ilya’s home too. 

“I want you to enjoy them, Shanya,” Ilya answers the question without Shane verbalizing it, and Shane wonders if Ilya has been holding back on an ability to read minds. He squashes the thought when Ilya continues to look at him, searching for something. And Shane wants the comfort of the alteration. But Ilya is looking at him so sweetly that Shane is reminded of the woman in the picture frame that is on his dresser. And this is her recipe, isn’t it? Isn’t it worth it to let go of the reins of control a little, to get closer to Irina? To Ilya?

“It’s fine, promise.” Shane slips off the stool and grabs the milk from the fridge, the whole milk, as if to prove it. Ilya is right behind him, never straying too far, and he watches as Shane’s hands shake a little out of determination. 

“You don’t have to do this; I can alter them,” Ilya offers again. Shane just shakes his head; he knows this is the right thing. It’s one meal. It’s Ilya. Everything will be okay.

“No. I want to try them like how your mom made them.” And it must be the right thing to say because Shane watches as Ilya melts next to him, sliding his hands around Shane’s waist and holding him close. 

“Ok мой любимый, (my love,) anything for you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of Shane’s head, and lightly shoving him back towards his stool.

Shane watches Ilya finish making breakfast and only has to remind himself it’s fine three times. He’s not anxious, really; he’s not. And when Ilya presents him with a plate, he tries it warily. The first bite tastes like nothing at first, regret and anxiety making his stomach swirl and his tongue useless. He perseveres, picking at it again, breathing slow and even. Sweetness bursts along his taste buds, strawberries and honey mixing together. Shane drops his fork and his eyelids flutter closed, and when they open Ilya is next to him, smiling brightly, holding his discarded fork against his mouth, intertwining their hands. It becomes easier this way, to allow the food to pass through his lips, when Ilya chases it down with a kiss. 

By the time breakfast is finished, Shane’s mouth is filled with a lingering aftertaste of fruit and honey and Ilya. He gets to have this, for the summer; Ilya is his, every morning and night. Shane feels greedy with it, all of this time that they never had, seemingly abundant, all to themselves. Three whole months, some of which will be setting up the camps for the Irina Foundation, and training for the upcoming season, but all of which he can go to sleep with Ilya’s too-cold feet pressed up against his calves and their arms wrapped up in each other's, all of which he can be Ilya’s and Ilya can be his. 

Ilya is doing the dishes– ”No, Shane, you will be too distracting, too sexy, I will clean, relax, is summer”– when Shane’s parents knock on the door. Shane startles from where he’s watching Ilya separate the silverware (spoons away first, then forks, then knives) and makes his way to the door. When he opens the door, he’s greeted by being pulled into a fierce hug by his parents, as if he hadn’t seen them the day before. 

“Hey mom, dad,” he grumbles somewhere into his dad’s shoulder. His dad chuckles, releasing him, and ruffles his hair as he steps inside, his mom not too far behind.  

“Hey kiddo,” his dad says as Shane is locking the door. Ilya makes a noise of welcome from where he’s drying a pan in the kitchen. His parents make their way over, and Shane is close behind. 

“You ready?” Yuna nods her head at where Ilya stands; he nods, his face breaking into another grin. The realization that he’s picking up Anya today has finally hit him, and he’s rendered speechless. 

“I don’t think Ilya could be more excited,” Shane snorts, and Ilya rolls his eyes, subtly shooting Shane the middle finger. Shane privately wonders if Ilya would be this excited on their wedding day, and then tucks the thought deep into a box in the back of his brain. 

“Do you want coffee? I can make some,” Ilya offers, putting the unused kettle back in its spot, waving in the general direction of the coffee maker. 

“No, we can grab some on the road,” Yuna decides, and Ilya nods, looking down at the sleep shirt and shorts he’s currently donning. He tilts his head, as if calculating the weather. It’s a cooler day for the summer, and Ilya sighs. 

“I need to grab a jacket, one second, will be right back,” He says, walking quickly up the stairs. Shane watches him go and manages a total of fifteen seconds before shuffling out after him, ignoring the way his parents giggle at the display. He’s going to get another lecture on codependency. It’s worth it, though, to find Ilya in their bedroom shirtless, holding up one of Shane’s tees in his arms. 

Shane grabs it out of his hands and pulls him into a deep, hungry kiss, swallowing the low groan that Ilya emits, and letting out a pleased hum when Ilya kisses him back, his hands digging into Shane’s back in an effort to pull him closer. Ilya pulls away and sucks in a sharp breath

“Sweetheart, your parents-” he starts, but Shane cuts him off. 

“I don’t see them.” Shane looks around dramatically and is rewarded with Ilya’s laughter, and a kiss that has too much smiling to really be a kiss. Shane wants to push Ilya back down on the bed, wrap his arms around him, and stubbornly refuse to let him go. I just got you here, he thinks; I don’t want to let you go. He doesn’t do this, however, because sanity is somewhat of an important quality in a partner, and he’s really trying to prove he’s not insane. 

“I love you,” he whispers against Ilya’s mouth, letting go of him to throw the tee that was on the floor at him. Ilya catches it, blowing Shane a kiss from where he stays at the doorway.

“I love you too, мой зайчик, (my little bunny,) ” He says, pulling the shirt over his head. Shane watches as his muscles shift around and only leaves when Ilya raises an eyebrow at him. His parents are sitting at the island, and when he makes his way into the kitchen, his mom gives him a very pointed look that he can’t read.

“You, my friend, have massive heart eyes,” his dad says, grinning wide. Shane is very confused. 

“‘Heart eyes?’” Ilya asks as he walks down the stairs, his voice teasing, and Shane wishes he was closer so he could subtly kick him in the shins. 

“You both do,” his mom informs him, and Ilya’s brow furrows as he takes his place next to Shane. They look at each other, and Shane tries to examine the expression on Ilya’s face as he does. It looks the same as it always does, and Shane turns to his mother in confusion.

“Really?” He asks. 

“The way you look at each other, it’s very sweet.” Yuna gestures to the two of them; Ilya’s hand squeezes his shoulder, and Shane lightly knocks their heads together. 

“It is?” Shane looks at Ilya like he always had, so he doesn’t understand where these sudden accusations of heart eyes were coming from. Shane can feel as Ilya’s mouth tugs up in a small smug smile at his words, and delivers a small elbow to his ribs. 

“You look very in love, is all.” His mom shrugs, and his dad nods in agreement.  

“I don’t think I looked at you any different,” Ilya mutters, and Shane is too busy staring at him to catch the look that his parents exchange.

“If that’s how you always look at him, I'm shocked the refs don’t know anything when you face off,” his dad breaks the short-lived silence.

“I wonder if they all talk amongst each other,” his mom muses. Shane expects it to fill his stomach back up with nerves, but he doesn’t. All he feels is Ilya’s hand on his shoulder, steady and still and holding him in place. He still hasn’t torn his gaze away from his boyfriend’s eyes. Counting the moles and birthmarks that map up his throat and on his face. Ilya meets his eyes and offers him a soft smile. 

“Refs would be the easiest place to get gossip from. They hear everything,” His dad responds. Ilya nods, squeezing Shane’s shoulder again. 

“Shame they’re all blind.” Ilya’s small laugh tunes Shane back into the conversation. He rolls his eyes as his dad lets out a polite chuckle. Shane lightly shoves Ilya off of him and gestures towards the door where Ilya’s shoes are stored. 

“Okay, drive safe.” Shane pulls his parents into a quick hug. He doesn’t want to rush them out exactly, but he secretly wants to meet Anya too, and he has some things to do around the house while they all go on their excursion. 

Ilya lingers by the door, and when Shane waves his parents goodbye, he gives him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He goes to scoot by, but Shane grabs hold of his wrist and tugs him back. Giving him a proper peck on the lips. 

“Text me when you’re on the way back. I want pictures,” he says, kissing him again, caught up in the blues of Ilya’s eyes. 

“Of course,” Ilya whispers, holding up his pinky, and Shane can’t help the grin that rises onto his face. He crosses it with his own, pressing his lips to his thumb and solidifying the promise. It’s a little stupid, pinky promising like this over dog photos, but it feels domestic and permanent and Shane can’t get enough. They stay like this, holding onto each other and smiling, until a cough breaks them out of the spell. 

“We’re going to be late,” Yuna says, dangling the car keys in front of her face. 

“Coming!” Ilya exclaims, pressing a final kiss onto Shane’s lips before practically running to the car. 

Shane laughs, watching as they all pile into the car, and waits until it drives away to shut the door. He spots his phone on the counter and makes his way over. He steadies himself against the cool tile, for a second and groans. The whole reason he hadn’t gone with Ilya to pick up Anya is so he could make this call. But now that he’s here, it feels daunting. It’s just a phone call, he tells himself, and punches in the number he had stolen out of Ilya’s contacts. 

“Hello?” Svetlana Vetrova answers. Although Shane can’t hear her, he would put real money on her eyebrow being raised in the same way Ilya’s does sometimes. 

“Hi, this is Shane,” He says, although he had texted her last night to make sure he had the right number. Shane had really put this call off long enough; he had wanted to meet her in person before he asked her anything related to Ilya and proposing, but he can still remember Wes’ too calm expression and the sharp, painful feeling of even imagining Ilya slipping away from him. So over the phone it is. 

“I know who you are; I’m wondering why you’re calling? You never said why in the text,” she drawls. Shane clears his head and mindlessly begins to walk around the island, slowly, to build up the courage

“I just had a question I wanted to ask you,” he explains. He doesn’t elaborate, because he hasn’t really said this out loud to anyone but Rose, who had only gotten it out of him due to a nightmare months ago. She was vastly disappointed he didn’t pull a Scott Hunter and propose on the ice, which was a ridiculous expectation, and Shane maintains that they’re not coming out. And even if they were, Shane’s relationship with Ilya isn’t for the league; it’s for him. He doesn’t want to share that. Besides, Shane’s not proposing to Ilya after he got thrown out of the playoffs. 

There’s an extended silence where Shane realizes he was supposed to ask the question. He hears a long sigh come through the phone, tinny and warped through his busted speakers. 

“Okay,” Svetlana prompts. 

“I want to ask Ilya to marry me.” It comes out all in one breath, nearly one run-on sentence, ‘iwanttoaskilyatomarryme’, but the force of the words brings Shane to a stop. He hopes Svetlana understood the words, although now that they’re out in the open he kind of never wants to stop saying it. 

“Охренеть, (Holy shit,)” Svetlana whispers, and Shane really wishes he could see her for this conversation, because curses are not super well to read over the phone. Especially not when it sounds like the words were an instinct response. Shane waits a bit, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“Is that…good?” He asks, and Svetlana immediately lets out a short laugh before composing herself. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t expect my first conversation with Shane Hollander to be about marrying my best friend,” She explains, and it sounds like she’s smiling through the phone, but Shane really can’t be sure, and that still cleared nothing up about his question. 

“Uh, my bad,” he tries apologizing, but it comes out more like a question.  

“No, no, tell me all about it, I want to know your plan.” There’s a crinkling over the phone, and it sounds like Svetlana has sat down. Shane makes his way to the couch where his laptop sits on the coffee table. He opens up the document he’s written up with a little bit of ideas. He’s a little lost, and a little too eager, with six different plans written down.  

“I just want it to be something he likes,” he decides to say, because he can’t possibly go through this whole list. And that was the problem, because he thinks that Ilya would like all of these plans. But he wants it to be special, wants it to reflect the love he feels for him that consumes his every being. 

“He’s obsessed with you. I think you could ask him with nothing and he’d say yes,” Svetlana snorts.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he promises, because it feels important to say it, to clarify that he would never offer Ilya nothing. He would carve out his ribs and offer it to him as a place to stay if he could. 

“You better not; he deserves a good proposal,” is Svetlana’s reply. Shane lets out a polite laugh, although he feels his stomach twist. That’s why I’m calling you, he thinks. He grits his teeth and closes his laptop. There’s another question, behind the proposal one. Something he’s really hoping Svetlana has the answer to. 

Shane takes the stairs two at a time, whipping into his bedroom and stopping short by his bedside. He sits carefully, setting the phone down on the wood, and picks up the photograph that has been sitting there. He knows Ilya wonders why Shane has put it there, but he hasn’t asked and Shane doesn’t know if he has an answer for him. He’s angry at Irina, for leaving Ilya, for not being able to protect him past twelve, for making the smile they shared one that was a rarity to the outside world. But she’s part of the reason Ilya is here, and he wants to thank her. For sending his boy to him, and for giving him the kindness and selflessness built into his body. It’s a complicated twist of emotions he doesn’t like to parse through.

“So, what’s ‘моя кровь, моя душа, моя жизнь (my blood, my soul, my life)’?” Shane slowly traces his fingers around the Cyrillic on the frame. Svetlana makes what sounds like a cough, but could also very well be choking. Shane can’t tell the difference over the phone, but he doesn’t lift his eyes up from the frame in his hands.

“You speak Russian?” She asks, bewildered, and Shane feels a tiny spark of pride at the fact that she could understand the words. He hasn’t been speaking to anyone but his teacher, the mirror, or Rose. Her accent was much better than his. 

“I’m trying to surprise Ilya with it,” Shane explains.

“Aw, Cute,” Svetlana coos, and then clears her throat, “Your accent needs work.” Shane rolls his eyes. It would be better if he were speaking with Ilya more often, but he desperately wants to keep it to himself for a little while longer. Decoding the small things Ilya will say offhandedly has become a game at this point, and he wants to tell Ilya when he can articulate things a bit better. Make it mean something.

“I know. Is it special to him or something?” He asks, and hopes Svetlana knows the path he is going down. Because he has a hunch, but he would like to be proven right. 

“Ah, it’s something his mom used to say to him, like I love you, you are more than just a person you are my blood and soul and life. That kind of thing,” She explains, which does in fact prove Shane correct. He tucks that information into a part of his mind that is buzzing. It eats up the information greedily, and Shane has to bat away the ideas it concocts up with firm hands. 

“That’s how I feel about him. I was thinking about trying to add it to the proposal. I just didn’t know if I was overthinking,” He throws out into the conversation. Svetlana makes another cooing sound, and Shane debates the merit of hanging up the phone or smashing his head into the nearest wall. 

“He might cry,” She observes after a moment. Shane hadn’t considered this option, and he gently places the photo back down in its rightful place. 

“I don’t want to make him cry,” He says, furrowing his brows. Svetlana lets out another sigh, but it sounds fond, like the edges of her mouth are quirked up. 

“I want you to. He’d be really happy. Happy tears,” She declares, and the determination in her tone makes Shane wish he was with Ilya right now. He wonders when he became so clingy. Probably after he realized he got to have Ilya, now that he thinks about it. 

“Yeah, ok. Thank you.” Shane runs his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly, and letting out a small laugh. Svetlana hums as she considers something

“You're welcome, Shane. Now, I have some things to talk to you about.”

“Am I getting a shovel talk?”

“Something like that.” Svetlana doesn’t speak after that for a moment, and Shane can hear her moving around her apartment. “Well, I would ask you your intentions, but I already know them.”

“If there was something stronger than marriage I would do it,” Shane responds. And it’s true, he would. It’s also a way to get Ilya Canadian citizenship a little bit quicker. But the real reason is the fact that he wants it on paper that he’s Ilya’s, and Ilya is his. He wants it to be legal and binding and as permanent as he can have it. 

“Good. It’s not going to be easy,” Svetlana hums in approval. 

“Loving Ilya is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” Shane responds immediately, because it’s true. Well, realizing he was in love with Ilya was a little difficult and took a bonk on the head from Rose, but choosing to love him? It’s ever encompassing and never-ending. The love pours out of him in waves that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Easier than breathing, walking, than hockey. It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. 

“Gross. Not what I meant,” Svetlana fakes a gag, and Shane laughs before leaning back onto the bed

“What did you mean then?” He asks, trying to ponder what in the world she means. Obviously, it’s not going to be easy; they’re both hockey players, no longer captains of a rival team, but two players, nonetheless. 

“You know about the bad day thing?” Shane’s heart drops at Svetlana’s words. Because of the casual way in which she says it, and the way that Shane scrambles to try to find a point of reference. Because, because

“What bad day thing?”

“He hasn’t told you?” She sounds cynical, and not surprised, and Shane feels slightly nauseous. 

“Svetlana, what the hell are you talking about?” He asks. 

And the thing is. The thing is Shane knows that there’s something. He’s been studying Ilya Rozanov since he was sixteen, and Ilya was another promising player he knew everything about. Has been leafing through the book of him, categorizing each smile and breath, color coding the twitches of his eyes, since he was eighteen and wanted to kiss him for the first time. So, when they text and sometimes Ilya makes an odd joke and doesn’t elaborate on it, or when they call, and Ilya won’t really look him in the eye. Shane notices. The thing is Shane knows there’s something, but through his extensive study and attempts knows that Ilya won’t tell him. And he doesn’t really know what to do with it. He has his notes, and he has theories or ideas but he doesn’t have any confirmation. So everything is just the worst-case scenario. So he doesn’t really know what to do with the information that he’s right. He knew he was, but it’s not something he wanted to be right about. He’d hoped if he eventually brought it up, Ilya or Svetlana would go “You’re being silly, this is nothing,” and it could just be his anxiety. 

“Sometimes he gets these moods, and he won’t do anything. He stopped talking to me about it a while ago. You texted me one time, and I thought…” the you knew goes unsaid, and Shane mentally kicks himself for not being more present, more knowledgeable about whatever it is Ilya is going through.  

“He has something behind his eyes sometimes. I’m worried, but he hasn’t talked to me about it. I don’t want to push him,” Shane sighs and leans back onto the bed.

“No, if you push him, he’ll shut you out; that's what he tried to do with me. But he does that; he will push at you, and lash out, and say things he doesn’t mean,” She replies instantly.

Ilya will always be the person that Shane falls in love with. He thinks it’s written in the stars somewhere. That they were molded into two beings so that they could meet, so that they could fall in love. There’s not a single thing about Ilya that Shane doesn’t love, because all of it makes Ilya who he is. And Shane loves who he is. That being said, there are some factors of Ilya that Shane struggles with. One of them being the giant wall he keeps up. Shane has taken his chisel and started picking at it, and Ilya always lets part of it down for him. All of it, most of the time. But sometimes, on those days where his eyes are dark and glassy, and when he calls Shane in the middle of the night, sometimes, eye bags dark, claiming he just needs to hear his voice. Ilya lies, and he pulls up the walls, and no matter how Shane picks ever so gently at the bricks, they don’t chip. On the instances he had tried to push harder on the brick, they had somehow transformed into iron, and Ilya had made up excuses to hang up or leave. So Shane learned careful ways to push around the brick and let Ilya open up to him. It didn’t make him any less worried, though. 

“Yeah,” he says, because there’s really not another way to respond. 

“And you will love him anyway?” She asks, and Shane has to stop himself from emitting a scoff. Of course he will, of course he does. Even if he had died tomorrow, the love that oozes out of his blood and through his skin would not evaporate. He would find a way to return, begging whatever came after, “Please, I can’t leave him. Have you heard of a love like this? Like ours? I can’t leave him yet,” until they let him return. If, god forbid, something happened to Ilya, Shane would fight death with his bare hands; he would walk through hell and back to make sure that Ilya wouldn’t go where he couldn’t follow. 

“There’s nothing in the world that could stop me from loving him. Death isn’t enough,” He answers honestly. It’s an easy statement to make, and it flows out of his mouth with little resistance. 

“Ok. Good. You’re a good player, maybe even the best, but don’t tell Ilya,” Svetlana whispers, and Shane lets out a laugh despite himself. 

“I would never. Ilya is the best anyway, but you can’t tell him I said that,” He says, because yes, he does think he’s the best, but he’s never doubted that Ilya is standing right next to him, and he’s never been discouraged to be facing the love of his life. Ilya challenged him, made him better, and has always been on equal footing with him. 

“His ego is big enough,” Svetlana agrees

“Yeah,” Shane repeats, because he doesn’t really know what else to say. Svetlana seems to agree that the conversation is over, because there’s a very short pause before they are saying their goodbyes

“Goodbye, Shane Hollander,” Svetlana says warmly, and Shane smiles; he’s happy that Ilya told her about them, and that Ilya has her in his corner. 

“Bye, Svetlana.” Shane smiles, hanging up the phone and allowing himself a minute to breathe before he heads back down to the living room where his laptop is. 

Shane may have jumped the gun a little bit and had asked Rose one night, drunk on wine and excitement, how he could get Ilya’s ring size. And they both had laughed and come up with increasingly ridiculous ideas on how to go about it. But Shane had gotten home that night, slipping into bed next to Ilya, and the thoughts didn’t leave his mind. And so, the following morning, he had quietly exited the bed and gotten a piece of string, and ever so carefully wrapped it around his ring finger. He had silently thanked whoever was out there that Ilya was a heavy sleeper. 

And so, Shane now had the explicit approval of Ilya’s best friend, and his ring size. And three separate tabs open with different ring options. He knew he wanted to engrave the words he’d seen in the photograph on the inside for a while, but he wanted to know if it was a good idea in the first place, and Svetlana had said that he wanted him to. He scrolls for a little, looking through page after page of plain gold bands, until one catches his eye. It’s not plain, which is part of the reason he looks at it, but it looks like something elegant almost. The band has intricate lines that look almost like lines in the ice circling around it. The lines go around the center where two miniature circular diamonds sit on the outside of a ruby. It’s extravagant, and Shane feels the need to buy it immediately. He looks at the price and blanches momentarily, before adding it to his cart anyway. He’ll have to go in person to talk about sizing, and to pick up the ring itself. But it won’t be ready for a little while. 

He closes out of the tab right as the front door clicks open and a blur of something comes shooting through the door, Ilya chasing in right after her. 

“Your parents are picking up dinner,” Ilya tells him, before running after the dog that is circling the couch. Shane watches them both chase after each other, running up and down the stairs as he puts the laptop away with a soft smile on his face. That’s the man he’s (hopefully) going to marry, if Ilya says yes, which Shane is eighty-five percent certain of. Ilya runs down the stairs a third time, now missing the jacket he came in with, and flops down on the couch next to Shane. Anya continues to explore the house, running whenever she gets excited at something. Ilya looks happy, leaning his body weight against Shane’s shoulder, his curls tickling Shane’s neck. His hand is placed on Shane’s thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles with his eyes closed. Shane can’t take his eyes off of him, tracking the way his breath rises under the lamp light. 

Eventually, Anya gets tired of running around and trails up to Shane, who offers his palm out. Ilya perks up at the scratching of her paws, lifting his head off of Shane’s shoulder,  and watches as she sniffs Shane’s hand and then proceeds to lick it. Ilya beams

“Just like her papa,” He proclaims, reaching a hand out to scratch the top of her head where the white fur peaks out under the red. Shane furrows his brows but also gives Anya a pet, and Anya nuzzles his hand. 

“By licking my hand?” Shane asks, realizing his mistake as soon as he says it; he goes to open his mouth, but Ilya is quicker, looking at him with a wicked grin. 

“Not the only thing I’m licking,” He drawls, offering Shane an over-the-top wink. Shane sighs. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, but pulls Ilya back to his shoulder anyway, wrapping one hand around his waist. Ilya hums, and Anya lets out a little bark in response, before ceremoniously dropping down in between their feet.  

Ilya looks tired, but under it all, there’s a grin that hasn’t left his face since he returned, and Shane scratches his side mindlessly, categorizing the content expression on his face and placing it in the filing cabinet in his brain he reserved for Ilya. Ilya is still humming, his eyes closed, and Shane finds the hand on his thigh and brings it up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles, and watching as Ilya’s breath hitches. 

“Are you happy?” Shane asks in a whisper, turning over Ilya’s palm to rest his lips over the pulse. Feeling his heartbeat for a moment against his skin, resting against it, before he presses a soft kiss there and resumes his path down his arm. Ilya shivers, but cracks an eye open, regarding Shane so gently that Shane has to look away, admiring the skin on Ilya’s arm instead. 

“With you? The happiest,” Ilya answers, turning inward so he can tilt Shane’s head up, and holding himself a breath away. Shane closes the gap between them, and Shane has no choice but to believe him. Ilya tastes sweet and distinctly him, and when Shane trails his hand down the necklace on his chest, he can almost imagine a ring there next to it, and he breaks the kiss smiling. Thinking of engagement rings and a future where Shane can bring a smile to Ilya’s face always. Have you ever seen a love like ours? He thinks, tugging on Ilya’s curls to pull him impossibly closer, Have you ever known a love like mine?

Chapter End Notes

A little fluff to balance out the emotional whiplash of the last chapter perchance?

I have not slept, these two would not leave me alone and all I could do was write about it, so enjoy this chapter!

Блины is like a russian crepe kinda thing. My own dead mom used to make them for special occasions, so I'm projecting onto Ilya here,

The fluff got to me too much I had to take a lap they're so freaking domestic my heart cannot take it. I'm actually not kidding I dead ass did a lap around my room at one point.

Didn't expect to update this chapter so fast but I had a day of free time which was nice! Love you all so and all your comments make me cry a little (with happiness trust). thank you thank you thank you <333