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/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Hayden Pike, Wyatt Hayes, JJ Boiziau

Additional Tags:

Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe, Mutual Pining, Anxious Shane Hollander, Fluff and Angst, Multiverse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimensional Travel, universe hopping, Post Long Game, Spoilers for The Long Game, No cheating, These boys are sooo monogamous but alt worlds can get complicated!, loverboy ilya rozanov, Ilya Rozanov has to woo his own husband, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, multiple POVs, Happy Ending, I promise!, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Mostly...., No AI I would rather die!

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-24 Completed: 2026-02-19 Words: 54,132 Chapters: 8/8

get him back!

Summary

Stuck in an alt-world where he and Shane never hooked up as teenagers, Ilya is determined to get Shane back. To do that, Ilya has to figure out a way to get Shane to see him as anyone other than the Russian asshole who has spent a decade pissing him off. It can't be that hard to make your husband fall in love with you... right?

Basically: Shane Hollander makes a wish with good intentions. Ilya Rozanov wakes up confused, single, closeted, and miserable in Boston.

+Bonus Chapter where AltWorld!Ilya wakes up confused, married, out, and carefree in Ottawa

Notes

I love putting these boys in situations. Sorry, Ilya! Sorry, Shane!

Don't quiz me on the timeline, I get confused sometimes between books and show.

Chapter 1: 1

Shane would have preferred to celebrate his birthday on the ice, facing off against Philly in the third round of the playoffs, but he had played in this league long enough to take his losses in stride. They were building something in Ottawa, and taking the Admirals to seven games wasn’t nothing. Beating the Voyageurs in the first round had been a small silver lining, too. 

So, yes, he would have liked to be playing hockey tonight, but this– laying in bed, tucked perfectly into the arms of his husband– wasn’t so bad, either. Their guests had all left an hour ago. Tomorrow, Shane and Ilya would have a lot of tidying up to do. Nearly every plate and drinking glass had been dirtied, empty cans of beer still sat out by the fire pit, and their own hastily removed clothes were strewn all the way from the kitchen to the foot of the bed. Shane sighed happily. 

“What did you wish for?” Ilya asked, his hand lazily brushing Shane’s hair from his forehead. Ilya had picked out a carrot cake, because it was ‘delicious but also vegetables’, and Shane hadn’t argued. Even now, at his age, Shane was one of the best, if not the best player in the league. He could have a slice of cake on his birthday. His father and Ilya had stuck thirty-one candles into the cake. A ridiculous sight, but a happy one. When he’d blown them out, Shane hadn’t even thought of what to wish for. He had everything he wanted. Ilya, his parents, his teammates and even some former teammates, Anya at his heels waiting patiently for some crumbs to fall to her. Shane didn’t have to wish for a Stanley Cup next year; he could make that happen without asking the universe for help. “More goals than me next season?” 

“Fuck off,” Shane scoffed. “I had seven more points than you.”

“So many secondary assists, though,” Ilya teased. “Goals should count for double.” Shane rolled his eyes and Ilya brought a hand to his chin, tilting him upwards and into a soft, lingering kiss. “Happy birthday, moya lyubov.”

“I love you, Ilya,” Shane lay his head on Ilya’s shoulder and breathed. 

“I love you, Shane,” Ilya echoed. “You are the best bad decision I ever made. Favourite complication in my life.” 

Shane nuzzled into Ilya and brought a finger to the crucifix that lay on Ilya’s chest. Ilya’s wedding ring had spun around to the back of the chain, safely tucked into his curls, no doubt. Shane was so lucky. So lucky Ilya was his husband, so lucky Ilya was his teammate. So, so lucky they had made it all work, that they had weathered last summer’s storm, that Ilya had come up to the cottage that first summer. So lucky that one of them had opened the door each time the other had knocked. Every bad choice and good choice they had ever made had led them here. “Would you change any of it?” 

Shane said it quietly, barely louder than a whisper. He felt Ilya shift to look at him. Shane’s hand didn’t leave the metal cross on Ilya’s warm, still-sweaty chest. “No.” 

“Me neither,” Shane breathed, but he wasn’t sure he meant it. Ilya had given up more than Shane. A team he loved, his country, any chance of visiting his mother’s grave again. He’d spent seasons at the bottom of the standings while Shane competed for championships in Montreal. A lazy kiss landed on his head and Ilya’s breathing slowed as Shane thought and thought and thought. “Sometimes I wish you could have had it all easier,” he said, too quiet to wake Ilya. “No complications.” Shane knew that he was lucky, but it never felt even. Ilya had given up too much. Shane ran a thumb along Ilya’s mother’s crucifix again and fell asleep on his husband’s chest. 

For about five seconds, Ilya was happy. Yesterday had been perfect. Shane seemed genuinely happy and relaxed the whole time. He’d even eaten an entire slice of cake, icing included. Ilya had barely been able to take his eyes off of him all night. Shane’s smile– the real one, the one Ilya saw more than anyone else on the planet– was on display, his cheeks flushed from the attention. And after everyone had left, Ilya had spent a good hour worshipping Shane from every angle, making sure his husband ended his birthday very, very happily. 

Shane was no longer tangled up with Ilya this morning. Ilya reached a hand out to the other side of the bed and groaned dramatically. “Shane,” he called, blinking his eyes open. Shane had no doubt completed a full workout and was now starting on the clean-up without him. Ilya was about to call out again to demand that Shane wait for him, but the words stuck in his throat. 

This wasn’t his bedroom. 

Well, it sort of was. It had been his bedroom, once. Ilya shook his head as he stood and stumbled out of bed. Why was he in Boston? He didn’t own this house anymore. He didn’t live here. “Shane?” He called again. He sped through events of last night: party, photographs, beer, a hug from Yuna, cake, Anya lifted up onto the countertop, a hug from David, a kiss from Shane in front of everyone, a polite handshake from JJ, champagne, a debate about whether or not Philly had a chance this season, more beer, goodbyes, hugs, a kiss in the kitchen that deepened and deepened, Ilya on his knees, Shane in his arms, tripping into bed, shutting his eyes with Shane at his side… No, there was definitely no spontaneous, drunken flight to Boston in there. 

It was definitely his old house though. The art in the living room was the same. That was his Boston Bears crewneck with the sleeves cut off, hanging from the back of a barstool. Ilya slapped his cheek lightly and shook his head. “Shane!” He yelled. A door opened in the hallway and Ilya turned, almost tripping over his feet. “Shane?”

“Who’s Shane?” A woman was leaving the bathroom, her purse in hand. She tied her hair back and frowned at him. “It’s Shauna…” She raised an eyebrow. Ilya stared at her. He blinked. He was frozen. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. No, no, no. No. This couldn’t be happening. He had never seen this woman in his life. She was pretty. Long dark hair, big brown eyes. She wore a little black dress and a dark hickey on her neck.

“What are you doing here?” He managed to croak out. Her eyes went wide as she side stepped him. 

“Um,” she frowned, blushing. “You told me it was fine if I slept over afterwards… but I have to get to work, so I’ll get out of your hair, I guess.” She was clearly offended. Ilya just nodded. His arm involuntarily motioned towards the front door. 

“Okay,” he said flatly. He couldn’t look at her. He felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.

Shauna paused as she reached the door. “You were a lot more fun last night,” she said with a grimace. 

The door slammed. Ilya stepped backwards into the wall and sank to the ground. He didn’t realize he was crying until the tears started running along his jaw. This wasn’t happening. He would never, never, cheat on Shane. No. The thought of it made him feel like– Ilya jumped to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom just in time to vomit into the sink. He clutched the edge of the counter and rasped desperately, wanting more to come out. He deserved the raw, acidic feeling in his throat. He wanted to puke every piece of himself up. Looking up, he met his reflection and froze. 

He looked awful. The skin under his eyes was purple and tired. His hair had been longer yesterday. His cheeks looked sallower. There was no ring on his necklace. Where the fuck was his wedding ring? Ilya splashed his face with water, desperate to wake up from whatever nightmare he was stuck in. He pinched himself. He prayed. He kicked at the bathroom cabinet hard, waiting for the pain to jolt him awake and return him to his bed, to Shane’s arms. Nothing worked. 

“What the fuck?” he demanded. Ilya realized then that he wanted a cigarette. Not in the normal way, the way he sometimes indulged after a late night out with the team, or during a quiet, contemplative sunrise at the cottage. He needed to smoke. He could hardly remember the last time he’d felt like that. 

Before he smoked anything, before he would allow himself any sort of reprieve, he had to talk to Shane. He didn’t know what he would say. None of this made sense. This wasn’t even his house anymore! He returned to his bedroom and found his phone. He nearly dropped it when he saw that his lockscreen– a photograph Yuna had taken of himself, Shane, and Anya on the dock at the cottage last year– was now a generic photo of a hockey rink. The Bears’ rink, if he wasn’t mistaken. The date on the homescreen, at least, was correct: May 11th, 2022. 

He opened up his recent messages and frowned. 

A group chat called ‘Bears 21/22’. Cliff Marleau. Elisa. Lilly from Bar. Ryan Carmichael. Katie Waitress. Mandy. Alexei!? 

Ilya searched Shane’s name in his contacts and for the first time all day, he felt a wave of relief. He hit ‘call’ and stood up, pacing. Nerves ran through him. He had no recollection of how he had ended up in Boston with a strange woman, but he still felt the guilt in every corner of his being. No apology would be enough. The call was answered and then the line went dead. Ilya sat back onto the bed, his head falling between his knees. Did Shane know? Had Shane heard, or– God– had Shane seen something? His phone buzzed. 

Shane Hollander: Assuming that was a pocket dial…?

Ilya frantically opened the message, aching to reply and beg Shane to call him back. But the chat history stopped his fingers in their tracks. 

[March-02-2017] Ilya Rozanov: glad to hear you are okay, hollander. the whole bears team sends their best. marleau has sent separate text but he feels very bad. hope you make a full recovery for next season. playoffs are less fun if you are not there to beat! 

[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Who is this?

[March-03-2017] Ilya Rozanov: Rozanov

[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Should have guessed that. How did you get this number??
[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Thanks for reaching out though. Should be fine for training camp. 

[March-03-2017] Ilya Rozanov: brooksy got it from one of your guys. as team captain I had to send the official get well text. 

[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Wow, you might take home the Lord Talon if you keep this up. 

[March-03-2017] Ilya Rozanov: haha 

That was it. Nothing before, nothing after. There was no Jane in his phone, no additional Shanes or Hollanders to try. He stared at the most recent text again. A pocket dial? He ran a hand down his face and opened up his recent messages again. 

Svetlana Vetrova had last texted him in January, wishing him a merry Christmas. The message was accompanied by a selfie of Svetlana, pregnant, beside a handsome man with a toothy, friendly smile. Ilya scrolled up through their chat history. She was in Chicago now, and married. There was a message from last summer thanking him for the wedding gift. Peter loved it! Who was Peter?! 

Ilya lay back on his bed. For a long time, he stared at the ceiling and let tears fall from his eyes. He shut his eyes tight and forced himself to pick up his phone again and open up the browser. 

Shane Hollander (born May 10, 1991) is a Canadian professional ice hockey player and the captain of the Montreal Voyageurs of the MLH. He is a four-time Stanley Cup winner with the Voyageurs and won the 2015 MLH MVP award [1][2]. Hollander is Japanese-Canadian [3]. 

The Ottawa Centaurs were mentioned once, in passing, in a description of one of Shane’s record-setting 8-point performances. The personal life section only mentioned his parents, that he grew up in Ottawa, and the fact that he was an only child. Ilya swallowed and started typing again. 

Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov (born June 15, 1991) is a Russian professional ice hockey player and the captain of the Boston Bears of the MLH. Rozanov plays center and holds the Bears records for playoff points and points in a single regular season [1][2]. Rozanov is a 2-time winner of the MLH MVP award and has won three Stanley Cups with the Bears. He is nicknamed The Gr8-1 in Boston, a reference to his legendary status in Boston sports and his jersey number, 81. 

No Centaurs here, either. His own personal life was even thinner than Shane’s. His father died in 2017 and he had one brother. 

Ilya then did something he had never actually done before, and searched the phrase “ilya rozanov gay”. He would have gone with “bisexual”, but he knew what the internet was like. The only results were posts from forums and social media of men proclaiming that they were ‘not gay but if Ilya Rozanov asked…’ and one article about him using rainbow tape on pride night. He scrolled through the article, almost laughing at his polite, corporate wording: “We’re happy to participate in anything that promotes inclusivity. It’s an easy thing for guys like us to do, and if it makes anyone feel more welcome, we’ve done our job.” 

“Done your job?” Ilya scowled at the little photo of himself. Who was he? Who, exactly, had he woken up as? 

He typed in “scott hunter”, then, and immediately the results auto-populated with “kiss” and “stanley cup kiss” and “and kip”. He couldn’t make it all the way through the footage. He searched “mlh lgbtq players” and found article after article about Scott Hunter and Scott Hunter only. One made note of Ryan Price, who had come out after retirement. Ilya felt a brief, bizarre wave of indignant jealousy. He was very much an MLH player who was a member of the LGBTQ+ community! This had been loudly shared without his permission a year prior. 

He opened up Shane’s message again. 

Shane Hollander: Assuming that was a pocket dial…?

Ilya held a finger down on the message and sent a thumbs-up reaction. Every cell in his body wanted to call Shane and tell him that no, it wasn’t a pocket dial. It was a cry for help, a desperate attempt to find the one person he needed right now, the one person he needed ever. He exhaled. 

It was May 11th, 2022. Ilya Rozanov was a Boston Bear. There was no wedding ring on his hand or around his neck. He was in the closet again. He had slept with someone last night who was definitively not his husband. His husband, the love of his life, the best hockey player in the world and the best person Ilya knew, had answered his call just to hang his phone up faster. Ilya needed a cigarette. 

Ilya smoked half a pack that day. He sat alone in the big, empty, house that he thought he had sold years ago. He showered for thirty minutes and still felt unclean. He tried to fall asleep, hoping that he would wake up from this dream to Shane teasing him about sleeping in. Nothing worked. 

He sat on his couch and remembered the way his heart had broken in this very spot. A tuna melt, a ginger ale, a lot of kissing, a lot of words unsaid, one too many words said. Hollander and Rozanov before they were ready to be Shane and Ilya. He’d take that heartbreak a thousand times over if it meant having Shane again. 

It was dark when he looked them up together. “shane hollander and ilya rozanov”. It was everything he expected it to be. Rivals. Opponents. Face-offs and brushing-offs in interviews. A stiff awards show presentation. The 2017 All-Star game highlight reel, which Ilya watched six times in a row. Even in this horrible dimension Ilya had found himself in, they were magical together. He stayed up all night studying Shane Hollander. 

When he woke up the following morning, he had a plan. The Bears were mercifully out of the playoffs, which meant Ilya could go anywhere. He’d be in Montreal by mid-afternoon, where the Voyageurs were playing a playoff game. He was going to find Shane and he was going to find a way to make his husband fall in love with him again. 

Chapter 2: 2

Ilya was treated like a king as soon as he stepped foot in the Boston airport. Bears fans stopped him for photos and told him he was their hero. The TSA agent blushed when he thanked her. A gate agent told him that he had a tattoo of Ilya holding the cup on his upper thigh, but that he couldn’t show it off at work. 

It stung a little, knowing that in his reality, these people all probably hated Ilya Rozanov. Maybe not hate. He had won them a cup, after all. But then he had signed with a terrible division rival for seemingly no reason. 

Maybe now that Shane and himself were out, some of them had softened on the abandonment. Maybe some of the Bears fans who had felt betrayed by his departure to Ottawa had come around to the idea when they learned, years later, why he’d done it. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He spent the flight to Montreal signing autographs for children and taking selfies with the flight attendants. 

His plan was simple, if a little stupid. He’d reached out to the Hockey Night in Canada people and suggested it. He was in town for a brand meeting, he told them, and wouldn’t it be fun if he swung by the in-arena broadcast booth to do some second intermission analysis with the hosts? He, Ilya Rozanov, was the only captain to have beaten both Dallas Kent and Shane Hollander in playoff series (he’d triple-checked this online) – surely his thoughts on their game would be relevant? 

The response had been enthusiastic. Ilya Rozanov was good TV. He’d be in that arena tonight. He’d find Shane. He would call him “Hollander” and pretend to hardly know him, and he’d ask him, so very casually, if they could talk privately. And then… well, he’d see just how interested Shane Hollander was in speaking to Ilya Rozanov. 

The first part of the plan worked, of course. He charmed his way through the intermission analysis and spent the entire third period pacing the lower concourse. Off-ice employees from both teams gave him second glances and he checked the score on his phone. Shane’s two goals and 16 faceoff wins (so far!) would have him in a good mood, so long as the goalie could keep his shit together. 

He did not. Montreal was down three games to two in the Eastern Conference final and now, Ilya was about to approach a Shane Hollander on the brink of playoff elimination. This was a bad idea. He should have waited. He couldn’t have waited. 

Ilya knew he’d have to stand around until Shane was undressed and finished speaking to the media and had sat angrily in his stall with his head down for a few minutes. The hallway filled with equipment managers and reporters and arena staff rushing around in suits. Ilya leaned against the wall and waited. 

“He was great in the face-off circle,” a familiar voice said, and Ilya stood upright. “Defensively, there’s not much more he can do.” 

“Yuna?” he said, louder than intended. Yuna and David Hollander, who were on their way toward the Montreal dressing room, both came to a halt. Yuna blinked at Ilya, confused and evidently annoyed. 

“Rozanov?” Yuna said his name like it tasted wrong in her mouth. Her eyes were cold. It was a little pathetic how big the lump in Ilya’s throat was. The woman had fed him chicken burgers last week! “What are you doing here?”

“He was on the broadcast, hun,” David explained, though he wasn’t his normal, friendly self. Of course he wasn’t. They didn’t know him. They looked at him warily, and Ilya realized how weird it was that he had just called Yuna Yuna. 

“Uh,” Ilya said. He reached out a hand and David shook it. Yuna glanced at it and then up at Ilya’s face and then gave him a brief and reluctant handshake. “Sorry, I’m sure it has been many years.” 

The Hollanders exchanged a glance. 

“Maybe at an All-Star game,” Ilya tried. “Or an awards show. We have met, I’m sure.” Fuck, he was already fucking everything up and he hadn’t even found Shane yet. 

“Sure,” Yuna said. “Well, we’ll just…”

“I want to talk to Shane,” Ilya said, panicking and then wincing at the use of Shane’s first name. He’d had every intention of playing it cool and sticking to last names for now. “Hollander,” he corrected. “I have, uh, question to ask him.” 

“Now, son,” David said, and the cold-yet-polite tone made Ilya feel like he’d been punched in the gut. “I know you and Shane have had your little… back and forth… all these years. But I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to show up tonight just to kick him when he’s down. Alright? Why don’t you take yourself home.” 

“No!” Ilya said, forcing himself to keep his tone light. He grinned. “No, you misunderstand. It’s a question about Sh- Hollander’s charity. I would like to help! I want to coach with him at his summer camps.” 

“You want to coach at Shane’s hockey camps?” Yuna repeated flatly, disbelief etched across her face. “Is this some sort of community service program the league has ordered to get you some good PR?” 

“Couldn’t you just, you know, start your own hockey camps in Boston?” David frowned. 

Wow, they really did want nothing to do with him. 

“I– Please, I’d just like to speak to Hollander.” This had been a terrible plan. He should have sent Shane a text, though the agony of awaiting a reply, which no doubt wouldn’t have come before Montreal’s playoff run ended, would surely have killed him. He had to see him. He had to–

“Speak to me about what?” Shane’s voice was tired. His face was tired. His suit didn’t fit him right and Ilya couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, those eyes had looked at him with such genuine, dispassionate exhaustion. “What the fuck are you doing here, Rozanov?” 

He was so beautiful. His freckles were all accounted for, splayed across his cheeks in the pattern Ilya had long since memorized. It took everything in Ilya not to step forward and reach for him, to smooth the frown out of his brows and to kiss the annoyed pout from his lips. He resisted, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the sight of Shane. 

“Hollander,” he said. Nailed it! “Good game.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I am serious!” Ilya wished his mouth would stop smiling because it sounded like he was teasing Shane, and he really wasn’t. He was just so, so excited to see his husband again. “You were great. Eighteen face-off wins!” Yuna snapped her face up to look at Ilya, but Ilya only had eyes for Shane. 

“Okay,” Shane said. “Thanks.” He gave his parents a questioning look and Ilya took him in properly. His body was sort of… skinny. Not skinny in a real sense, but certainly thin for a professional hockey player. The veins in his neck were more visible. His shoulders were tense. Ilya wanted to hug him and hold him until every bit of stress in Shane’s body dissipated. 

“I mean it,” Ilya said. “You’re the best in the league, Hollander.” 

“Not good enough to win,” Shane shrugged, but his cheeks went pink from the compliment. 

“Hmm, yeah, only four Stanley Cups,” Ilya laughed. “Big, big loser, for sure!” David smiled at that. Shane’s face did a funny thing somewhere between a wince and a smile. Yuna looked between Ilya and Shane. 

“Shane, sweetie, Rozanov wanted to talk to you about the summer camps. He wants to… help, I guess.”

“What?”

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. Shane blinked at him, his brain clearly moving a mile a minute. “I know now is a busy time, but maybe it would be nice to take your mind off of game for a night?” He could feel Yuna staring at him. Was he being too forward? Was the decade of adoration blatantly visible on his face and in his voice? 

“You do have the day off tomorrow, Shane.” Yuna hummed. “It might be good to take your brain away from the series. Remember what Diane said about managing stress?”

“Mom!” Shane’s eyes grew wide and snapped to Ilya’s. “Sure, yeah, whatever. We can meet up tomorrow or something.” He started walking away. Ilya’s heart was beating furiously against his ribcage. 

“I’ll text you!” Ilya called after Shane. “Nice to see you, Yuna and David.”

They both gave him a polite, if awkward, backward glance and caught up with Shane, who seemed to be angrily telling his mother something about how he “doesn’t need Rozanov to know–” and that “spending time with him is hardly going to help with stress–”. 

Ilya turned and walked the other way. He’d secretly hoped that Shane would have jumped at the chance to see Ilya immediately, that Shane was harbouring some secret, agonizing crush that he would be desperate to act upon, and that they could immediately fall into each other and some fairytale magic would kick in and send Ilya back to Ottawa to his real life. But a meeting tomorrow was an okay result, too. 

He was about to step into an exit stairwell when he saw a familiar face holding a Guardians equipment bag. Ilya’s mouth split into a natural grin. “Troy!”

Troy Barrett blinked at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Right. Ilya and Troy weren’t friends anymore. 

“I am on the intermission panel tonight,” Ilya smiled. Might as well lean in. “Pointing out everything you are doing wrong, Barrett.” 

Troy kept walking, glaring at Ilya as he passed. “I’m a game away from the finals and you’re washed, buddy. Go fuck yourself.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said, and he left. 

*

Ilya could hardly sleep. He checked his phone obsessively, agonizing over when it would be normal to send Shane a text. Not at 3:17 in the morning, surely. He pulled up Shane’s HockeyDB page and re-memorized his stats. He tried to lull himself to sleep watching “Best of Shane Hollander” compilations on Youtube. He checked and re-checked every bit of coverage that saw Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander interact. 

Of all the questions he wanted answered, this one cut the deepest. Had they… ever? It was clear, from the texting history and from the exchange in the arena, that he and Shane weren’t anything right now. But there was no way for Ilya to know if this was the result of a few awkward, secret encounters as rookies that they gave up on, or if this was because they had never done more than glance at each other. 

Ilya guessed it was the latter, because if they had started, they wouldn’t have stopped. Wasn’t his real life proof of that? He wondered how he might broach the topic, and at what point in a meeting about charity hockey camps it was appropriate to ask someone if you had, once or twice and well over ten years ago, sucked his dick in a hotel room. 

*

He broke at 8:15 am. 

Ilya Rozanov: Still free to chat about charity plans today? 

He watched dots appear and disappear for ten minutes. He smiled to himself, imagining Shane’s little frown of frustration as he tried to craft a message. 

Shane Hollander: Sure, I’m in.
Shane Hollander: Lunch?

Ilya Rozanov: There is a sushi place I want to try. Neko’s.
Ilya Rozanov: Website says take-out only for lunch, though. I could pick an order up?

He swallowed. He knew Shane’s exact order from Neko’s. It was one of the few places in Montreal that he could eat at without having to fuss over substitutions. He knew that Shane was suggesting lunch because it was the polite and normal thing to do, but Shane hated navigating menus, especially with company he wasn’t comfortable with. And, through some horrible twist of fate, Ilya was no longer company that Shane was comfortable with. 

Shane Hollander: I love Neko’s!!
Shane Hollander: Where would we eat though?

Ilya Rozanov: You are homeless?

More dots appeared and disappeared.

Ilya Rozanov: Stop freaking out. I’m not going to murder you. Just want to have a private conversation about my childhood trauma and how we can use it to raise money for kids. Okay?
Ilya Rozanov: Send me your order and your address. 

Shane sent both, though Ilya needed neither, and told Ilya he could come over at noon. 

*

Ilya fixed his hair in the mirrored walls of Shane’s elevator. He had worn a tight black t-shirt, the type that he knew Shane liked. 

He understood, realistically, that today was going to be all business. His goal was to befriend Shane. He wanted Shane to trust him, if not like him. He wanted to secure a spot as a coach at Shane’s summer camps. He would, because he would do anything for Shane to see him as something other than Ilya Rozanov #1 Asshole Forever, be as open and as human as possible without breaking down in tears and begging Shane to love him again. 

The elevator dinged open and Ilya stepped forward to knock on Shane’s door. 

Ilya wondered how long it would take before he could look at Shane without having the wind knocked out of him. Shane’s hair, like Ilya’s, was shorter than it was supposed to be. His freckles were still perfect and definitively not safe for Ilya to look at for too long. Shane wore a hoodie and shorts, and his practiced neutral face cracked slightly as he looked at Ilya. 

Shane’s scan of Ilya’s torso was subtle, but Ilya felt the corner of his mouth twitch. At very least, Ilya’s husband still thought he was hot. 

“Hi,” Shane said, stepping back to let Ilya in. “Thanks for picking up lunch.”

“No problem,” Ilya said. He scanned the space, amused by how similar it was to the Montreal apartment he remembered. “Thought it would be nice to not get, uh…” He held up his hand like he was holding a camera. 

“Paparazzied.” Shane nodded. 

“Yes,” Ilya smiled. “You would know. Rose Landry, right?” 

Shane flushed and shrugged. “We barely even dated.” He looked anywhere but at Ilya as he spoke, and Ilya bit his lip to stop from smiling too warmly at how very Shane it was. 

“Okay,” Ilya clapped, setting the paper bag on the counter and pulling out the boxes of food. “One salmon seaweed bowl for you, low sodium soy sauce. Two spicy tuna rolls for me, plus some chicken karaage.” He automatically reached for the cutlery drawer and pulled Shane out a pair of porcelain chopsticks. Shane didn’t love the texture of the cheap wooden chopsticks that came with takeout sushi. Shane blinked. 

“How did you know where to find those?” He asked, frowning at the open drawer. Ilya hesitated. 

“Well,” he said, considering the drawer. “It makes sense, no? This is good spot for cutlery. Sensible.” Ilya tapped his temple. “I have played against you long enough to know you are a sensible guy, Hollander.” 

Shane was looking at him like he was being weird. Which, Ilya supposed, he was. “You guessed right on the sauce,” Shane said, taking his bowl and sitting at the counter. “I don’t like the extra salty stuff.” 

“Oh,” Ilya said. He realized now that Shane had forgotten to specify the low sodium soy sauce. “Lucky guess!” He pulled a can of ginger ale from the take-out bag and slid it to Shane, and then he pulled a Coke out for himself. Shane stared at the drink for a few seconds before turning to his salmon bowl. 

Shane made it three bites into his lunch before setting his chopsticks down and putting his face in his hands. “Okay, what the fuck are you doing here, Rozanov?” 

On instinct, Ilya jumped to his feet, but he stopped himself from bringing a soothing hand to Shane’s back. “Hey, hey,” he said. “I’m here to talk. I want– I want to help you with your summer camps.” He’d practiced the line a hundred times in the mirror. Shane pulled his face from his hands and looked at Ilya skeptically. 

“Okay. Sure, fine, you can help. But why are you in my house, bringing me lunch and being all… you’re being nice. It’s weird.”

Ilya steeled himself and sighed. He’d been hoping this would come up later, but he had clearly misjudged how receptive Shane Hollander would be to Ilya Rozanov’s presence. 

“I am hoping to raise money for mental health charities. I thought about starting something myself but then I thought, Hollander is the best at everything, why not team up with Hollander?” 

Shane’s cheeks were pink. Ilya’s chest swelled. He wanted to spit out every complimentary thought he had about Shane Hollander– of which there were many!– just to see Shane blush like that forever. Shane shook his head. “You don’t think I’m the best.”

“Yes, I do,” Ilya said. “Apart from me, but, even I can admit that there are some things you do better. I am better at chirping, maybe, but you are better at drawing penalties.” 

“Are you calling me a diver?” Shane looked up sharply. Ilya grinned. 

“So sensitive, Hollander! No, I am telling you that you are good at some things. Like your hockey camps. I read all about them and I think it would be fun to coach.”

Shane studied him, his face still slightly flushed. Ilya didn’t look away. He allowed himself a brief moment to swim in Shane’s deep brown eyes. “You want to teach a bunch of kids how to get away with slashing the other team?” Shane asked.

“We want them to be winners, right?” Ilya joked. He got a little laugh for that. 

“We want them to hone their hockey skills and participate in a healthy and safe team environment.” Shane spoke like he had memorized the words from a pamphlet, which he probably had. 

“Great!” Ilya said. “So, mental health charities will be perfect!” Shane’s eyes raked over Ilya’s face, searching for something. Ilya knew Shane. Shane wasn’t going to pry. But Ilya wanted Shane to know, because he wanted Shane to know everything about him. 

“Are you okay?” Shane asked, just as Ilya opened his mouth to speak. His breath caught as he met Shane’s eye. It wasn’t his Shane looking back at him. This face was hesitant and reserved. But the flicker of concern and the knit in his brow were so familiar that Ilya almost reached out for him then and there.  

“My mother,” Ilya said. “She killed herself when I was twelve.” Shane sat upright and looked at the counter, blinking. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. He glanced quickly at Ilya and then down again. “Rozanov, that’s awful.” Rozanov. Ilya winced. 

“It’s okay. Well, no, it is awful. I found her.”

“What?” Shane breathed. 

“Yes, it was very bad. But she was not weak.” Ilya found that it wasn’t so hard, telling Shane all of this, because he already had. He knew that even if Shane didn’t know him, he would understand this. “She was a very strong woman, and I would like to honour her.” 

Shane nodded. “We should,” he said. “Yes. That’s a really nice idea, Rozanov.” Ilya smiled and Shane almost returned it. 

“I, uh, see a therapist, actually,” Shane said. “I think it’s important for athlete’s performance to take care of their mental health, too. So, you know, I’m on board.” 

“Diane?” Ilya said, remembering Yuna’s comment the night before. Shane grimaced. 

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s been really helpful for, uh, a lot of stuff, I guess.” 

“My therapist, also,” Ilya nodded. “She helps me navigate being a hockey player and also a person. Makes me better for people in my life.” 

Shane studied Ilya’s face, searching for some detail. “Yeah, your, uh, girlfriend– girlfriends?– must appreciate your therapist.” He tried to play it off like a joke or a jab, but Ilya didn’t laugh. 

“I don’t have any partner. Or multiple partners. Not my thing, the poly… I forget word.” Ilya grinned as Shane went scarlet. “How about you? I never hear about you with women.”

“Well, that stuff’s private,” Shane said. He studied his lunch carefully but didn’t eat anything.  

“Ah,” Ilya said. “Secret forbidden romance?” 

“Fuck off.” Shane shook his head. 

“I am kidding, Hollander. I know you have one true love in life.” Ilya watched carefully as Shane frowned up at him. He knew it wouldn’t be fair to be jealous of anyone Shane had been with. He had no claim to him, not here. But the thought of Shane with another man still made him feel ill. “Hockey, yes? You are devoted to it.” 

“You sound like my mom,” Shane snorted. 

“Yes, she seems like a smart woman. And if she were here, she would tell you to eat up,” Ilya nodded at Shane’s lunch. “You are only eating the seaweed and edamames. You need protein.”

“I know,” Shane said indignantly, poking a chopstick through his bowl. “But it’s a day off and I barely worked out this morning, so I don’t need to overload on–.”

“Hollander, you are number one hockey player in the world. You need to eat.” Ilya popped a tuna roll into his mouth and gestured at Shane. “I’m not leaving you alone until you eat your fish. Voyageurs fans will thank me. Keep their captain strong.” 

Shane rolled his eyes but indulged in a piece of salmon. 

“Can I ask you something, Hollander?” Ilya asked as Shane chewed the last of his fish. Shane nodded, his mouth full. “Why do we hate each other?”

It took a moment for Shane to swallow and consider the question. “Do we?”

Ilya laughed. “Good point. Rivalry is good for the league. But we do not like each other, right? Not before…” He waved a hand between them. “Now, we are buddies!” He flashed a smile and was rewarded with a flustered smile in return. 

“Sure, yeah. Buddies.” Shane moved some seaweed around with his chopsticks. “I mean, you were always kind of an asshole, right? So, I never really had a reason to like you. No offense.” 

“It is fun to beat you,” Ilya mused. “I get up to play you. Fun to play hard against you.” If nothing else, Ilya was enjoying the rate at which he was eliciting blushes from Shane. 

“Yeah, I think we sort of bring out the best in each other on the ice,” Shane agreed. He scratched his head. “But, to answer your question, I mean… I think it was just that CCM shoot, to be honest. Back before our rookie season. You teased me one too many times and I was convinced you were the world’s biggest dickhead. In hindsight, I guess it’s pretty stupid and not that big of a deal. We were kids and you were just having a bit of fun at my expense. I don’t know.” Shane looked thoroughly embarrassed and Ilya’s heart travelled to his throat.

“What?” Ilya asked quietly. “What did I do?” Was this it? Had he made a move and scared Shane off? Had his stupid teenaged self crossed some line and hurt Shane?

“You kept calling me pretty,” Shane shrugged. “Pretty boy, baby face. Said you liked my make-up, even though you were also wearing make-up. Told me I was like a graceful ballerina on the ice.” He looked at the counter, never meeting Ilya’s eye. “I’m sure you didn’t mean it in, like, a bullying way. But I heard it all through junior and I think I was just sensitive back then because I was smaller and, well, baby-faced and… yeah. Anyway. It didn’t help that we were the same age but you were already a man. You had stubble and muscles and you were exactly what everyone wanted a hockey player to look like.” He swallowed and then forced a laugh. “It’s stupid.” 

“Sh– Hollander,” Ilya said. He stared at Shane’s profile, wishing he would meet his eye. “I am so sorry. I promise, I did not mean it in this way. I was stupid and young and, honestly, jealous of you. You were this perfect boy with perfect family and I was flashier and louder but you were always better than me.” 

“Shut up,” Shane said, but he smiled. He met Ilya’s eye briefly and then refocused on the countertop. Ilya hated to see him so uncomfortable, but at least now he could be relatively positive that the only physical contact that had ever occurred between himself and this Shane Hollander had come in the form of bodychecks and playoff-clinching handshakes. 

“I should go,” Ilya said, though what he wanted was the opposite. What he wanted was to kiss Shane and make up for all of their years of lost time. But the last thing he needed was to mess this up. This was Shane. He had to handle him with the utmost care. 

“Oh,” Shane said. “Okay. Thanks for lunch.” 

“Anytime,” Ilya said. He stretched as he stood, his shirt riding up and exposing a couple inches of skin above his waistline. Shane held his breath and looked skyward. “Good luck in Toronto, okay? Kill Dallas Kent for me.” 

“Deal,” Shane nodded, now looking anywhere but at Ilya. “I’ll, uh, see you in June, then?” 

“I’m in town for a few weeks,” Ilya shrugged. “Visiting old friend. We should get together. Plan out best hockey camps ever.” 

“Oh,” Shane said. “Like, a girl?”

“What?”

“Your old friend,” Shane said. “Are you seeing someone from Montreal?”

“No,” Ilya said. “Friend, not girlfriend or boyfriend or partner.” He watched Shane’s face process those words as he reached the door. “By the way, Hollander, I was not bullying you when I called you pretty boy. I was just calling you pretty.”

Chapter 3: 3

Chapter Notes

Yuna might seem out of character here, but to me, she will always recognize and accept a fellow Shane warrior.

Ilya tried his best to feel sorry for the Montreal Voyageurs when they lost in game seven, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He watched the game from his AirBNB, a sleek, minimalist apartment he’d booked for a full month, and all he could muster was pity for Shane and a brief wave of affection for Hayden Pike, who was the first to pat Shane encouragingly on the shoulder after the final buzzer sounded. 

Ilya did hate to see Toronto win, though. He hated seeing Dallas Kent succeed and he hated seeing Shane hunched over, head down in disappointment as the Guardians celebrated their berth into the Stanley Cup finals. Ilya grimaced as the camera zoomed in on Shane comforting Drapeau, resting his forehead against the goalie’s helmet and no doubt reassuring him and building him up. Shane was a great captain and a better player. He’d blocked more shots than anyone else on the team that night and he’d set up three goals. It wasn’t enough, because Drapeau had been, frankly, terrible. It wounded Ilya to see Shane propping him up, completely unaware that Drapeau would turn his back on him if–

Well, Ilya couldn’t know that. Would these Voyageurs treat Shane so poorly if he came out as just regular gay, not gay-and-also-dating-Ilya-Rozanov-yes-that-Ilya-Rozanov? Ilya was, in many ways, as much of a complication in Shane’s life as Shane’s sexuality. He’d made it doubly hard for Shane to open up to anyone. 

But he also made Shane happy. He knew that. Shane loved him and had chosen him over everything, and his Shane would never forgive Ilya if he didn’t fix this and find a way to make things work with this Shane. They made each other happy and they both deserved that happiness, in whatever alternate dimension they found themselves in. 

Ilya considered for a moment if it was possible to cheat on his husband with his husband. He shook his head and let himself watch Shane as he moved through the handshake line, doing his best not to feel jealous over the brief contact the Toronto Guardians got to make with Shane’s hands.  

*

“You still smoke?” 

Ilya looked up and frowned at Shane. “You still care?” 

Shane appeared to have put some effort in today. He stood on the sidewalk in jeans and loafers and a polo shirt, his hair parted half-heartedly, as though he’d tried to do something to it and had given up. He looked like a dork. Ilya grinned. 

“I just thought, you know. We’re not getting any faster at our age, right?” Shane shrugged as Ilya stubbed the cigarette out against the brick building he leaned against. “Whatever, I guess.” 

“Where’s your mother?” Ilya asked, looking around for Yuna, who had sent the calendar invite for their meeting today. Shane eyed Ilya suspiciously, but said nothing because Yuna stepped out of her car and waved to both of them. 

“Rozanov!” Yuna smiled politely. “Sorry, I should call you Ilya, right?” They shook hands and Ilya nodded. 

“Ilya is good, thank you.” 

They followed her into the building, where she led them to an elevator and they ascended to the small offices of the Hollander Foundation. 

The meeting room was small, and most of the discussion was about the specifics of where Ilya wanted the money to go– organizations in Boston and in Canada, which Yuna and the serious man who dealt with finances agreed would be doable. 

“And how do we market this?” A blonde woman who’d introduced herself as Megan asked. “I love it! I’m totally on board!” She looked at Ilya reassuringly. “But for the average fan, it might feel a bit… random?” 

“Hollander is best, I am riding on his coattails,” Ilya shrugged. “Funny press conference about how organized he is and how lazy I am, maybe.” 

“No,” Shane said, glancing sharply at Ilya like he thought his ideas were stupid. “We’ll say that Ilya was thinking about how mental health awareness is bigger than hockey, and that he thought that extending an olive branch to his biggest rival would be a cool symbol of that. Right?”

Ilya forced his face to remain passive as he shrugged, but he felt his heart leap at the way Shane spoke as though he was defending Ilya from his self-assigned label of ‘lazy’. “Probably wouldn’t say anything about olive branches, but yes. That is good.” 

“Excellent!” Yuna said. “I like it. It’s unexpected, but ultimately I think it’ll be well received. For whatever reason, people like you.” She nodded at Rozanov and he grinned. 

“Will Crowell need to be looped in?” The finance man asked, not looking up from his tablet. “In case he’s worried about the optics taking away any heat from the Voyageurs-Bears match-ups next season.” 

“Fuck Crowell,” Ilya said automatically, and everyone in the room looked up at him, surprised by the vitriol in his tone. “I mean, it will not affect the games, right, Hollander? We will still play hard.” 

“Obviously.” Shane blinked at him and then almost smiled. “You still bitter about that suspension Crowell didn’t overturn?”

“Which suspension?” Ilya asked, truly not knowing what he’d done to earn a suspension, but his question got a laugh from Yuna and Megan. Shane just rolled his eyes. “I am serious!” He held his hands up. 

“We should get them to do a press conference,” Megan said, looking between Ilya and Shane. “Or at least some promo for socials. It would be good content.” Yuna nodded, considering the boys. 

“Shane is usually the centrepiece of any promo,” she said. “But we could get the other coaches involved a bit more and have some fun with the ‘odd couple’ dynamic between these ones.” 

“Just like All-Star game, Hollander,” Ilya smiled. “We have chemistry!” 

Yuna and Megan and the finance guy were nodding, and Shane was looking determinedly at a potted plant. “In hindsight,” Yuna mused, “we should have thought of getting Rozanov involved years ago. If the league is going to profit off of their rivalry, the foundation should reap some of that, too. I think this could really work.” 

“You are a smart woman, Mrs. Hollander” Ilya said gratifyingly. He was shocked at how quickly Yuna seemed to have accepted that Ilya Rozanov was only an asshole to throw opponents off of their game. She seemed to find him sort of fun, actually. It was familiar. In all of his fumbling over the past week, he was glad that whatever he’d said in the hallway of that arena had made her take him at his word. She gave him a warm smile back.

“Yuna,” she corrected him. Ilya felt like he was glowing from the inside. He had Yuna in his corner. Shane stood up suddenly. 

“Rozanov, can I talk to you for a minute?” He stared flatly at Ilya. “Privately.”  

Ilya leapt up, probably too eagerly, and followed Shane from the room. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest and he swallowed down the mixture of excitement and nerves as Shane led him into a small, poorly lit printer room. 

For the brief moment when Shane slammed the door and then threw Ilya up against it, Ilya was certain he’d done it. Shane Hollander wanted him. Shane Hollander couldn’t resist him. Shane Hollander wanted to kiss him up against the door of this cramped, grey room. Ilya’s chin tilted automatically down towards Shane, but Shane didn’t seem to notice, because he had stepped back and was staring at a stack of printer paper. A finger was pointed threateningly at Ilya, but Shane did not yet seem ready to speak. 

“You–,”

Ilya caught his breath. He leaned back against the door, disappointment washing over him. Shane was actually upset with him. For what, Ilya didn’t yet know, but he was definitely not here to kiss Ilya stupid. 

“Me,” Ilya said. Shane snapped his gaze up to glare at him. 

“Stop flirting with my mom,” Shane snapped. Ilya blinked at him. His brain, which had been caught between heartbreak and curiosity, screeched to a halt and went blank for a second. Shane was serious. Ilya laughed. “Fuck you! I mean it!”

Ilya brought a hand to his mouth to attempt to subdue his laughter, but he couldn’t. “What?” He wheezed. “Yuna?”

“You can keep calling her Mrs. Hollander, actually,” Shane said, folding his arms. God, he was so cute like this. Indignant and flushed and worked up. 

“Your m–,” Ilya started, but he interrupted himself with another uncontrollable giggle. “Hollander, I am not flirting with your mother. She is lovely woman, and very beautiful, but she is… She’s your mother!” 

“Yeah, and I know you, Rozanov. I’ve heard all about you. Greyson’s wife. That assistant coach’s sister. You’re a– just… don’t look at my mom. She’s happily married and she’s only being nice to you because you’re a good marketing opportunity.” Shane scowled at him. “And because she cares about the charity, I guess.” Ilya swallowed, hurt. He took a slow step toward Shane. He was only a few inches taller and a little broader, but he felt big. 

“Oh, so you believe every rumour you hear, Hollander?” He raked his eyes down Shane’s face, and caught a flash of fear in his eyes as he continued. “Every whisper about what someone gets up to in their private life? All of the talk is true, you think, yes?” Shane’s jaw twitched and Ilya resisted the urge to run his thumb along it and calm Shane down. 

“No,” Shane said. He looked away again. 

“I don’t want to fuck your mother,” Ilya said. He stepped back and leaned against a shelf of paper. “I am not flirting with your mother. I am just naturally charming, okay?” Shane shrugged, evidently not agreeing with that part. “Hollander.” 

“Okay, fine,” Shane sighed. “It’s just… weird, seeing you and her palling around. I thought she hated you.” 

“You thought you hated me, too, until last week.” Ilya reminded him. “I am nice guy, Hollander. We are buddies, remember? It’s good if your mother likes me.” He meant it. If Yuna (and, by extension, David) liked Ilya, it was one fewer obstacle to deal with once he and Shane got back together. Got together. They had never been together, at least not for Shane. Ilya shut his eyes and exhaled, trying one of his Shane’s techniques for grounding himself. 

“Are you okay?” Shane said. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to, like, slutshame you or anything.” Ilya opened his eyes to Shane’s sorry, pleading eyes, and he started laughing again, though not so loudly. 

“Is okay,” Ilya grinned. “I have been slutty in the past. Less so, last few years, but I know I have reputation.” Shane’s cheeks went pink. 

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. “But still, I shouldn’t believe everything I hear. It’s not anyone’s business who any player is fucking. Anyone can start any baseless rumour and spread it and it could get totally out of control even if there’s no evidence for any–”

“Hollander,” Ilya cut in. “You are spiralling. There are no rumours about your sex life. Not that I know, anyway, and trust me, I pay attention.” He caught Shane’s eye and flashed him a teasing smile. Teasing Shane was more fun when it ended with them in bed together, but the little bob of Shane’s Adam’s apple at Ilya’s words was enough for now. “Would love to have some better material for chirping, but you are squeaky clean.” 

“Fuck you,” Shane said, rolling his eyes. “We should get back.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “What should we say we were doing in here? I don’t think your mother would appreciate your accusations.” Shane paused at the door and huffed. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “We can say I didn’t want you stealing my spotlight.” 

Ilya scoffed at this. “You don’t care about that. You hate the spotlight.” 

“I know, but they’ll buy it.” Shane shrugged, and then he turned to look at Ilya. “What do you mean I hate the spotlight? How do you know that?” He narrowed his eyes at Ilya. “Did someone tell you something about the underwear thing?”

“What underwear thing?” Ilya lit up. 

“Nothing,” Shane snapped. 

“No, please, I want to hear–,”

“No,” Shane said. “I’m fine with the spotlight.” 

“On the ice,” Ilya agreed. “But off the ice, you are… shy, yes? Commercials are not as fun as hockey.” 

“Obviously,” Shane conceded. He looked uneasy at Ilya’s gentle tone. “Stop psychoanalyzing me. Let’s go.” 

*

Yuna sent them home after the meeting, insisting that she and the suits would deal with the logistics and all they had to do was plan out drills for the hockey camps. 

“Hayden is really excited to coach with you, by the way,” Shane said as the elevator returned them to the ground floor. 

“Pike?” Ilya frowned. “What?”

“I’m kidding. He’s confused as fuck. Doesn’t believe you’ll actually show up.” 

“I’ll show up,” Ilya said seriously. “Pike should worry about himself showing up. Two goals in seventeen playoff games.” 

“Hey, he was hurt!” Shane insisted. 

“So were you,” Ilya shrugged. “How is your shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” Shane said glumly. “It was barely an issue. Who told you I was playing hurt?”

“No one. It was obvious from the TV.” Ilya didn’t mention that it was also obvious because he had spent years watching Shane closely and memorizing everything about him, to the point where he’d notice if Shane’s skates were tied even slightly wrong. 

“Well, I’m fine,” Shane said. They reached the door of the building and Ilya steeled himself. 

He’d sat for a full evening in his rental apartment trying to think up a way to spend more time with Shane. He considered inviting him out for drinks with his friends, but Ilya’s Montreal friends were entirely a fabrication. It would be far too much of a date. He thought about buying two tickets to a movie and pretending his totally-real friend bailed on him, so he had an extra ticket if Shane wanted to join him. But that, too, felt like a date and Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov couldn’t go on a date and besides, you couldn’t talk during movies and Ilya desperately needed to talk to Shane if he had any hope of starting something. He couldn’t just make Shane a low-carb candlelit dinner and he couldn’t casually suggest they have a casual night in with a puzzle. He didn’t even want to suggest that they catch the Guardians–Nomads game, because he knew watching it would just annoy Shane. 

The idea he’d landed on was risky, but it felt like his best bet. It had cost him a few hundred dollars but if it worked, it would be worth it. 

Ilya glanced performatively at his phone and let out a heavy sigh. 

“What?” Shane asked. They were standing aimlessly outside the office building, Shane not yet peeling off to find his car.

“Nothing,” Ilya said. He shrugged. “My friend cancelled on me.”

“Oh. That sucks.” Shane scratched his head. “What were you guys gonna do?”

“Is so boring,” Ilya stressed. “Ugh. He has a new baby, my friend. He wanted to surprise wife with very nice crib.” 

“Sounds nice,” Shane said. He frowned. “Who is this married couple in Montreal who you’re friends with?”

“Old friends from Russia,” Ilya lied. “Moved here last year, they like Canada a lot.” 

“Cool,” Shane said. “So, what’s the deal with the crib?”

“My friend and I, we were going to build it together. But he is busy now, so I have to build it alone.” Ilya put all of his faith in his many years of learning English. He had to express this next thought just right. He had to set the bait to catch Shane Hollander. “Is so annoying, you know? I hate following the IKEA instructions. They are never clear, and I always go in the wrong order. It’s like doing world’s most boring puzzle but then at the end, you have wobbly piece of furniture.” Shane’s head snapped up, eyes bright. Ilya imagined, briefly, a fish hook in his husband’s lip. 

“You’re building IKEA furniture?” He breathed. 

“Yes,” Ilya groaned. “I will mess it up, and my friend will be annoyed. But he needs this crib built! It’s the most expensive one they had. All of these extra bits just to confuse me.” He looked at Shane. Shrugged. “Is my idea of hell.” 

Shane shuffled his feet. He scratched his head again. He looked up and squinted at the sun and then looked at Ilya. “Do you want some help?” Ilya could kiss him. He wouldn’t, not yet, but he wanted to. So, so bad. “I actually really like building furniture. Especially from IKEA, ‘cause the instructions are super clear.” Ilya knew this. He’d watched Shane expertly follow countless instruction booklets like he was in competition with himself. Ilya provided extra muscle in the process, sometimes, but Shane was the brains, always making sure to count out every screw and dowel and allen key before starting the build. 

“No, they are confusing,” Ilya insisted. “Those little men on the pages annoy me. But yes, help would be nice.” 

“Maybe it’s a language thing,” Shane said kindly, and Ilya’s heart melted. “I’m free, though.” 

“Are you sure?” Ilya asked. “No hot date for Montreal’s Most Eligible Bachelor 2021?” 

“No,” Shane laughed. “I was going to hate-watch the game, but watching you struggle to build furniture sounds way more fun.” Ilya beamed. The smile was too warm, too loving for a budding, awkward, forced friendship, but he didn’t care. He was too in love to care. Shane pulled his gaze away, as though Ilya’s face was too bright to look at directly. 

“Is my thank you gift, for letting me in on your hockey camp,” Ilya shrugged. “Shane Hollander, best in league at following IKEA instructions. You get to beat me at something today. Rare for you.” 

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane said lightly. “I knocked you out of the playoffs less than a month ago.” 

Ilya had forgotten that detail of his Hollander-Rozanov research. He wondered how he’d played. He wondered how often he’d checked Shane, or chirped him, or admired his shot, or thought about how pretty Hollander was and then hid the thought away shamefully. They were out in the sun together, now, agreeing to meet at six in the evening, both smiling as they turned away from each other.

Chapter 4: 4

Chapter Notes

canon compliant in that they are so bad at communicating what they want.

Ilya had stocked the fridge of his rental apartment with ginger ale and had used the fancy conditioner provided by the hosts to make sure his curls were shiny. It was five minutes before six and he felt dizzy with anticipation and worry. He knew he couldn’t rush things. Tonight, he hoped to mention that he liked boys. That was all. He wouldn’t make a move. He wouldn’t ask Shane about his own preferences. He would just sprinkle the word bisexual into the conversation as casually as he could. Lay some groundwork. 

Ilya was pretty sure, closet and decade-long rivalry aside, that Shane would enjoy kissing him. He guessed that if he took a hand to Shane’s cheek and brought their lips together, Shane would fall right into the contact and kiss Ilya back. It was the reaction to the kissing that Ilya was worried about. He wanted to dive right in, but he knew he had to be cautious. He had to take things slow. 

There was a knock and Ilya opened the door to Shane holding a six-pack of Coronas and wearing his glasses. Fuck.

Shane smiled. Ilya stared for a second too long before stepping aside to let Shane in. Ilya gave himself a split second to rest his head against the door after he closed it. He could do this. He was strong and capable. He should have been prepared for to Shane wear his glasses tonight. 

“Hello,” he said, turning to see Shane slipping his shoes off.

“Hi,” Shane said. “I brought beer.” 

“Whoa,” Ilya smiled, accepting the beer from Shane and shimmying his shoulders. “Hollander gets wild in the off-season. Out of control!” 

“Shut up,” Shane said. He looked around the apartment as Ilya led him into the kitchen. “Nice place. I looked into buying a place not far from here, but it didn’t have a view.” 

“You are real estate investor?” Ilya asked. “Wow, Hollander. Mr. Business Man!” He was rewarded with a familiar face somewhere between an eyeroll and a smile. Ilya popped the caps off of two beers and handed a bottle to Shane. 

“I’m just saying it’s a nice place,” Shane said, accepting the beer and taking a small sip. He licked his lip after, looking around the kitchen because he couldn’t look at Ilya. 

“Okay,” Ilya set his drink down and clapped his hands together. “We have beer, hockey is on, and we’ll build furniture. Manly night in, yes?” 

Ilya had shoved the coffee table out of the way and had laid out the IKEA box on the carpet of the living room. He had the TV on quiet, and was pleased to see that the Nomads had taken an early lead. “Hope Minny wins,” Shane said, scowling at the TV and then settling down on the carpet with his back to it. 

“Do you want me to turn it off?” Ilya offered, watching Shane adjust his glasses and pull a Swiss Army knife from his back pocket. Shane shook his head. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Maybe we could mute it, though?” Ilya complied immediately. Shane was slicing the tape of the box carefully, brows furrowed as he started sliding slats and legs out of the cardboard box. 

“What can I do?” Ilya asked, but Shane only shook his head again. Ilya couldn’t help but smile. He’d watched his husband do this a dozen times. 

“I’m just going to lay everything out first, to make sure we have all of the parts,” Shane said. He picked up the instruction booklet and opened it to the first page, then he looked at Ilya guiltily. “Here, sorry, you can help, too,” he said, moving over to sit beside Ilya. Ilya leaned in, maybe an inch closer than strictly necessary, as Shane pointed to the inventory list. “I’ll hold something up, and you can tell me how many we’re supposed to have.” Ilya would have been happy to watch Shane organize all of the little parts himself, but this little attempt at teamwork left him slightly speechless. “Is that okay for you?” Shane asked, frowning. 

This was insane. Shane, his glasses slightly magnifying his big, brown eyes, looking over at Ilya with concern, his freckles and his jaw and his lips barely a foot from Ilya. Ilya was certain, then, that there was a God and that God was playing a very cruel joke on him. 

“Yes,” Ilya said. He indulged in another full second of eye contact with Shane before he looked up at the TV, pretending to care about the Guardians’ power play. “That sounds good.” 

“Great,” Shane said. He moved away from Ilya and started taking stock. “Okay, this little bag of screws is labelled ‘A’. How many should I have?” 

“Thirteen,” Ilya said, consulting the booklet. 

“Perfect,” Shane said. “Okay, how about the ‘B’ screws?” 

By the end of the first period, Shane had his inventory complete and they had moved on to the actual construction. Ilya assumed his role of muscle, holding pieces together as Shane meticulously screwed legs to the base of the crib. He took his time, pulling back frequently to make sure the alignment of the legs was even. “Can’t have a wobbly crib,” Shane said. 

“Yeah,” Ilya agreed, distracted by the way Shane’s t-shirt sleeve strained against his biceps. He decided that this was a wonderful plan. He had a front row seat to Shane’s focused, neurotic work. 

“What’s the baby called?” Shane asked. He finished screwing a leg in with a little grunt and sat back, wiping his brow. 

“Huh?” 

“The baby,” Shane said. “What’s its name?” 

“Oh,” Ilya said. “Um... Anya.” He missed Anya. She was his baby. He hoped that wherever she was in this universe, she was being spoiled. If he was stuck here forever, Ilya would track her down as soon as he had Shane firmly at his side. 

“That’s pretty,” Shane said. He leaned back against the couch and picked up his beer. Ilya followed suit. 

“You want kids?” Ilya asked. Shane studied the Corona label. 

“I don't know,” Shane said. “In theory, yeah, one day. If I found the right partner, I guess.” 

“Not Rose Landry?” Ilya teased. 

“Oh, my God, that was years ago,” Shane groaned. “No, not Rose. She’s awesome, but we weren’t…”

“Compatible?” Ilya offered. 

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. “Compatible. That’s a big word for you.” 

“Oh, you think?” Ilya said mockingly. “Stupid Russian caveman speak English okay? Thirteen fucking years in America and I have finally managed four-syllable word. Wow.” 

Shane flushed red, inspecting the beer label again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Ah, ah, I know what you meant, Hollander. Just because I miss some articles in a sentence now and then does not mean I am stupid.” 

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Shane said quietly, managing to pull his eyes away from the bottle to meet Ilya’s. “Really.” 

“It is okay,” Ilya insisted. “I can be stupid. Can’t follow IKEA instructions. Never quit smoking. Take too long to realize things, sometimes.” His eyes raked over Shane’s face for some reaction, but Shane looked down.

“How about you?” Shane asked, nodding to the crib. “Kids?”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “I think maybe after I retire.”

“So you can spend time with them?” Shane asked. Ilya considered this. 

“Yes,” he said. “But also… is complicated for me.” He watched Shane carefully. Shane frowned at his knees and glanced up at Ilya. 

“Do you have, like, a health condition or something?” Shane asked quietly, looking uncomfortable. Ilya laughed. 

“No, is not a health complication.” Ilya steeled himself. “I like women–,”

“Yeah, I know,” Shane said sharply. Ilya suppressed another laugh. 

“But I also like men.” He pushed onward, aware that Shane’s was now staring at him with wide-eyed shock. “So I think, maybe when I am retired, I will have more freedom when I am dating. I think it would be good for me to be bisexual properly before I settle down.” He could practically hear Shane’s brain whirring at a million kilometres an hour, processing this information. “Is okay?” 

“Yes.” Shane was blinking rapidly. “I– Whoa. But you’re always with–.”

“Women, yes,” Ilya nodded. “Is easier. Safer. And I like women. But some days, I wake up feeling like I am hiding some of me. It is okay, but will be nice one day to not feel hidden.” 

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. He stiffened. “Hey, thanks for trusting me, man. I support you and if you ever want to come out, myself and the Voyageurs will be on your team for once.” Ilya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at Shane’s stoic allyship, at his boyish belief in the decency of the Montreal locker room. 

“Thank you, Hollander,” Ilya went with. He moved forward to start back up on the crib. What a bizarre feeling, coming out to the man you married and being met with such politeness. It was fine. He’d survived accidentally cheating on Shane with some girl in Boston, he could survive a bit of awkwardness. He blinked back the moisture that was gathering in his eyes. 

“Who else knows?” Shane asked quietly. 

“No one,” Ilya said. “My friend Svetlana, she might suspect. But I have never said to anyone before.” 

There was a long silence. The Nomads scored a goal and celebrated noiselessly on-screen. “Why me?” Shane sounded scared. Ilya shrugged. He pretended to be occupied by one of the uninstalled crib siderails. He ached all over. So much for sprinkling in some casual mention of bisexuality. 

“I don’t know,” Ilya said. “I think, maybe, you are the only person who knows what it is like to be, you know–”

“To be what?” Shane snapped, panicked. Ilya looked at him, unsure if he was able to completely conceal the trace of betrayal he felt. But he softened immediately at the fear in Shane’s eyes. Tonight was not about making Shane come out. 

“I mean just as a hockey player,” Ilya said with patience. “We are, you know, the best, you and me. Best captains, best goalscorers, best skaters. Since we were kids. And sometimes, they say… it is lonely at the top, yes?” Shane’s shoulders relaxed, but he didn’t look up. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess so.” Shane picked up a siderail and started screwing it into the base of the crib, focusing on the task at hand instead of Ilya. “What about Scott Hunter? Why not talk to him?”

Ilya set aside the slight annoyance in Shane’s tone and forced a laugh. “Scott Hunter hates me.”

“So do I. Half the league hates you.” Ilya met this with a shrug. Shane let out a loud snort, looking up from the crib and meeting Ilya’s eye with an attempt at a friendly smile. “Come on, Rozanov. You like it like that! You love getting booed. It fuels you.” 

“Yes, okay, fair,” Ilya conceded. They worked in silence, then, each of them completing a row of siderails before Shane picked the instruction booklet back up and studied it, adjusting his glasses in a manner so familiar that Ilya had to look away and pretend to care about the Nomads celebration. He sipped his beer. 

Ilya felt sort of sick. He hadn’t expected Shane to come out to him tonight or anything, but the awkward silence that filled the room was suffocating him. Even at their worst, he had never once felt so lonely with Shane so close to him. He wanted Shane to leave so that he could miss him in peace. He blinked at the TV, willing himself not to cry. 

“I don’t hate you,” Shane said quietly. “Sorry for saying that. And I bet Scott Hunter doesn’t either.” 

“Sure.” Ilya attempted a smile. 

“You should talk to him. He’d probably be more insightful than me.” Shane stood to install the headboard. Ilya rose to help him. 

“I will,” Ilya lied. He currently had a very specific goal in this life and he didn’t care to involve Scott Hunter in it. He held the frame of the crib steady as Shane secured the headboard. “Almost done!” 

The footboard slotted in even quicker than the headboard, and then they were done. Ilya’s stomach dropped. It was over. They had built a crib for a baby that didn’t exist who was named after a dog Ilya didn’t own anymore. What a waste of an evening. Okay, so Shane now knew that Ilya Rozanov liked men. Had that helped him at all? Was he any closer to getting his husband back? Would he have been better just putting a hand on Shane’s thigh and asking him if he’d ever kissed a boy before, and would he like to try it out? 

Ilya watched Shane inspect the crib from all angles, making sure he hadn’t made a mistake. Of course he hadn’t. He was Shane Hollander. He was perfect. He always followed every step of the instruction manual and he flossed twice a day and he did post-game interviews in both French and English every night all season long. 

“Fuck!” Shane gasped, dropping to his knees. He picked up the little plastic packet of screws labelled ‘A’. “There’s one left. We missed one.” He ran a hand along the side of the crib. He pushed it to see if any spot gave. “Fuck, we can’t give this to your friend with a screw missing. It might not be safe.” Ilya smiled and sat down beside him, opening the manual up to the front page. 

“Shane,” he said. “There is extra. Look.” He tapped at the instructions, where it was noted that only twelve screws would be needed for the crib assembly, and that one back-up was included just in case. Shane shut his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief as he looked at the pages Ilya held up to him, and then he met Ilya’s gaze with his brows knit in confusion. 

“Shane?” 

“Hollander,” Ilya corrected. But Shane was looking at him funny, and Ilya felt frozen, furious at himself. 

Shane was going to leave now. He was going to insist that he had somewhere to be and frantically grab his things and run off because Ilya had made things weird and got too intimate too quickly. Shane moved, and Ilya knew that he was moving to stand, to get out of there as fast as he could, to put as much distance between them as possible.

Shane brought his lips to Ilya’s so quickly and hesitantly that Ilya would hardly have counted it as a kiss if he didn’t have the reflexes of a professional athlete. He caught Shane’s cheek in his hand and kissed him back before Shane could pull away properly. It was different than Ilya was used to, and it was so familiar. 

Shane’s mouth was like a second home for his own. Ilya knew it inside out. He knew just how to slip his tongue between Shane’s lips in a way that made Shane’s throat make a little purring noise. The hand not cupping Shane’s face went right to the back of his head, carding through the soft, shiny black hair Ilya had woken up beside for years. And yet, he knew it was different. Shane was more frantic, more desperate, less at ease. Ilya had grown used to kissing a very happy Shane Hollander, and this was not that man. 

It reminded him of their very first kisses, which, well– duh. This was their first kiss, technically. It felt illicit and hurried, like at any moment, the door might burst open and they’d be found out. But Ilya was far too distracted to care. His nose bumped awkwardly against Shane’s glasses, prompting Shane to tug them off and toss them onto the couch, his lips barely straying an inch from Ilya’s. They smiled into the contact, and Ilya moaned as Shane’s hand found his curls. He wanted all of Shane, right there and right then, but he knew it would be asking too much. This was enough. His lips on Shane’s lips, on Shane’s cheek, on Shane’s jaw, on Shane’s throat, where Ilya could feel a racing pulse. Shane, Shane, Shane. This was the closest Ilya had felt to home in a week. Shane’s lips on his eyebrow and Shane’s lips on his forehead and Shane breathing a very quiet “Ilya” into his hair. Ilya hummed contentedly and looked up at Shane from where he sat with his lips hovering on Shane’s collarbone. 

“Shane,” he said again. For a moment, Shane’s eyes were soft, almost drunk as they met Ilya’s, and then he blinked. 

Ilya’s heart sank as Shane loosened his grip of Ilya’s hair and pulled back, eyes wide. It was like deja vu, but instead of reliving the same thing over again, it was a thousand times worse than the first time. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said. He pushed himself back and stood up. “Sorry, that was– Fuck, Rozanov, I’m so sorry.” 

“No.” Ilya shook his head. He was dazed, devastated, immobilized by the disbelief that this was happening again. “Shane, no.” 

“You shared something with me that was personal,” Shane said, collecting his glasses from the couch and looking anywhere but Ilya as he straightened his shirt. “I didn’t mean to– I’m really sorry.” Ilya blinked. 

“What?” He almost laughed. Shane was walking away. “Hollander!” 

Shane was slipping his shoes on by the time Ilya stood up. “My mom will send you an email about the social media shoot they’re organizing this week,” Shane said, businesslike and stilted. He glanced up at Ilya once more and dropped his gaze immediately. “I’m so sorry.” He turned to leave. 

“Hollander,” Ilya repeated. “Why are you saying sorry?” 

Shane paused with his hand on the door. Ilya saw the familiar tension in his shoulders, tension he could ease in seconds if Shane would let him. “This is just not what I wanted this to be,” he said. “You’re… you and it’s too complicated and I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t want… this.” He sounded disgusted and shameful and sick. 

Ilya felt his elbows drop against the countertop, head in his hands. The door opened and closed and he was left alone, resisting every impulse that told him he should run after Shane and insist they talk more, and kiss more, and hash this out because Ilya Rozanov wasn’t a quitter. I didn’t want this. He collected his cigarettes from beside the coffee machine and went out to the balcony to smoke. 

Chapter 5: 5

The Hollander Foundation team had sent Ilya a calendar invite for the following Friday. They wanted to shoot some content of the coaches in the lead up to the camps, encouraging donations through the surprise addition of Coach Rozanov. 

On Tuesday, Ilya lay in bed most of the morning. When he finally got hungry enough, he got up, opened his fridge, saw twelve full cans of ginger ale, and shut it. He ordered a pizza and drank the remainder of Shane’s Coronas and smoked and, just once, violently kicked the stupid expensive IKEA crib that now sat perfectly constructed in the living room. Part of him had thought, delusionally, that one kiss from Shane might have fixed things. Some fairy tale notion about true love’s kiss solving all of his problems. He was stuck here, maybe forever, and Shane “didn’t want this”. 

On Wednesday, he went to the fancy gym in the basement of the building, nearly killed himself on the treadmill, thought about the way Shane looked in the dim light of their home gym, thought about Shane in the shower, typed out three messages to Shane, deleted all of them, and ran out of cigarettes. He braved a trip to the nearest drug store to pick up more. He only had to pass one billboard that featured Shane Hollander, soaked, showing off a can of seltzer. Two days prior, Ilya had been kissing the most beautiful man alive, but it was apparently “too complicated”. Ilya kept replaying Shane’s apologies. Why the fuck did Shane feel the need to say sorry for kissing Ilya like that? 

On Thursday, Ilya woke up at six to work out his nerves in the gym. He used the fancy conditioner again and wore the tight black t-shirt Shane liked and brushed his teeth twice before heading out the door. He knew that Shane would start the day with an early workout or a run before showering and drinking celery juice for breakfast, so Ilya stopped at a bagel shop and picked up a multigrain bagel, toasted with egg and turkey bacon. He picked up a smoothie, too, the green kind with some vanilla protein powder blended in. His own smoothie was mostly chocolate and raspberries. 

Ilya hesitated briefly at the buzzer to Shane’s building, but lucked out when an older woman stepped out of the front door and held it open for him. She smiled as she did so.

“What a well-trained boyfriend!” She said, nodding at the smoothies and the paper bag decorated with bagels. 

“Well-trained husband,” he corrected her with a wink. 

Ilya took deep, deep breaths in the elevator. This was insane and it wasn’t fair to Shane, not really. It wasn’t reasonable to show up unannounced like this. It was not a well thought out plan. But there was no way Ilya could face Shane at their stupid promo shoot tomorrow and dance around it. He was going to talk to Shane and force Shane to talk to him in return. The kiss had been as mindblowing and life-altering as every kiss he’d ever shared with Shane Hollander. Whatever Shane found complicated, whatever Shane hadn’t wanted, whatever Shane felt sorry for, Ilya would find a way to work with it. He could be casual for as long as Shane needed, or as serious as Shane would like for him to be. He would stay in the closet and date Shane in secret forever, if that’s what it took to be with him again. 

He knocked and waited, holding his breath until Shane answered. Ilya thought he might have timed it right so that Shane would be showered and dressed, but Shane must have been running slightly late this morning, because he opened the door wearing only his slippers and a crisp, white towel around his waist. God, cruel joke, etc. 

“Hi,” Ilya said, remembering himself after a good five seconds of ogling Shane’s chest. He didn’t wait to be invited in. He stepped past Shane and handed him the green smoothie. “I brought you breakfast.” 

“Rozanov,” Shane said. “What–,”

“Ilya,” Ilya corrected. “Call me Ilya, please.” Shane’s eyes flitted nervously around the room, avoiding Ilya until Ilya tossed the bagel onto the counter. “You need to eat some carbs. You’re half-starving yourself.” Shane’s frantic, nervous energy stilled. 

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Ilya said. “You work out every day, you eat maybe two-thirds of calories you should, you are scared of fat and carbohydrates because you think they will make you slower, but opposite is true. You are obsessed with being in control and you think this is healthy, but it is just cover for things you cannot control about yourself. It is not healthy and you will become weak.” He nodded to the bagel. “Eat.” 

Shane blinked at him and then, to Ilya’s surprise, he unwrapped the bagel and took a bite. 

“Good,” Ilya said. Shane swallowed. Ilya wished he was wearing a shirt, because the sight of Shane’s mostly naked body was extremely distracting, especially when paired with Shane’s big, brown eyes looking up at him almost pleadingly as he ate his breakfast.

“Ilya,” Shane said quietly after a few bites, setting the bagel down. “There’s something I– oh.” He stilled as Ilya brought a hand to his face and ran his thumb along Shane’s freckles. 

“Please, I have been rehearsing these words all morning,” Ilya said, heart racing, diving in as Shane opened his mouth again. “I like you, Shane Hollander. I am crazy about you. When I teased you as a teenager about being pretty, it was because I wanted to kiss you. I have had stupid, insane crush on you forever. I thought I could ignore it, but this week I woke up thinking only of you, and I realized I could die in a plane crash next season–”

“A plane crash?” Shane’s dazed, wide eyes snapped briefly into shock. 

“I could!” Ilya pushed on. “I could die anytime and never have told you how much I think about these freckles, or how you make me better at hockey, or how jealous I was when you dated Rose Landry. So I came here to Montreal to help out with your hockey camps and to try to know you, because the version of you that exists in my head is perfect, and spending time with you was either going to cure me of stupid crush or confirm for me that you were straight or, well…” Ilya waved a hand at Shane. “Or make me realize I like you even more than I thought. So now I am telling you, because I know it is complicated and bad idea, and maybe it is not what you want, but when you kissed me, it was what I wanted. I want you.” It was a lot of English at once, and it included some half-truths about his intentions, but Ilya had never felt more certain that he had said what he had meant to say. 

Shane’s lips had parted in shock around ‘Rose Landry’. His eyes looked almost tearful. “Ilya,” Shane said, and he stepped forward to close the distance between them, bringing his nose to Ilya’s and breathing deeply. “Ilya. Fuck.” Shane pulled back slightly and ran a hand through his hair. “I need to tell you… Oh, God.” His voice shook, nervous, like he was about to start panicking. Ilya instinctively put his hands on the base of Shane’s neck. Shane groaned at the contact but leaned forward into Ilya’s chest. 

“It’s okay,” Ilya said. “Take your time.” 

“No, it’s not… fuck, Ilya.” Shane shifted so that his head lay in the crook of Ilya’s neck. Ilya moved his hands to Shane’s back, holding him tight and kissing the top of his head. 

“Hey,” Ilya said, rubbing slow circles on Shane’s back. “Talk to me.” 

“Can we maybe talk about this later?” Shane looked up, wincing as he spoke. Ilya frowned. 

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “If you need time, I will wait.” He pressed his forehead to Shane’s. 

“Thank you,” Shane said thickly. “I’ll text you and we can talk about… this. Us.” Us. Ilya could cry. It was delicate and tentative, but Shane was holding him and bringing their noses together and telling Ilya what he needed. And if what Shane needed was a few hours to sit with the revelation that Ilya Rozanov had been hot for him since they were teenagers, Ilya would happily go kill the rest of the morning sitting on a park bench saying hello to passing dogs.  

Ilya pressed a gentle kiss to Shane’s forehead, losing himself for a second, but Shane’s little smile soothed him. It might be different this time, but he and Shane were going to be okay. 

“Uh,” a voice said from the other side of the room. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Ilya whipped around to see a stocky man with reddish-brown hair frowning at them from the entrance to Shane’s bedroom. He was wearing only a pair of tight white boxer briefs. Ilya’s heart stuttered to a stop. Shane stepped swiftly away from Ilya, moving across the room to stand between them. 

“Shane,” the man said warily. “You said you were still single.” 

“I am!” Shane cried, looking at Ilya and then looking at the other man and then looking like he wanted to disappear. “No, this is just …my colleague.” He looked pleadingly at Ilya, who was still trying to process the fact that everything that had just happened had happened while some random guy lay in Shane’s bed. 

“Colleague?” Ilya and the other man found their voices at exactly the same time. They glared at each other. 

“Yes, technically,” Shane’s voice had gone slightly squeaky. “Charlie, I swear last night was exactly what it always is.”

“And what is that?” Ilya snapped. “Who is Charlie?” He frowned at the stranger, who had crossed his arms and was now assessing Ilya as he leaned against the doorframe of Shane’s bedroom. 

“Charlie is none of your business!” Shane said. “Could I just– can we do this when I’m wearing clothes?” 

“But I’m so used to you naked,” Charlie teased, and Ilya wondered if he could be held liable in his real life if he killed someone in this life. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Ilya asked again. 

“Shane and I are friends,” Charlie shrugged. “Fuck buddies, I guess, right?” He looked to Shane, who was bent forward with his head resting on the back of an armchair. 

“Fuck buddies,” Ilya repeated. 

“Charlie and I see each other casually,” Shane said into the upholstery. 

“We hook up when we’re in the same city. Both of us want to be discreet,” Charlie said, shrugging at Ilya and then looking at Shane, concerned. “Are you okay, Shane?” 

Before handsome, bearded, rugged Charlie could move, Ilya swept forward and placed a hand on Shane’s back. “It’s okay,” he said. 

It didn’t feel okay. Logically, within whatever logic still existed in his life, Ilya knew that Shane wasn’t his husband or even his boyfriend right now. He was at perfect liberty to sleep with whoever he wanted to sleep with. Shane was single, technically. None of this soothed the dull ache in Ilya’s stomach and the way his heart seemed to be beating entirely out of rhythm. 

“I tried to tell you when you got here, but– fuck. I’m sorry.” Shane sounded like he was going to throw up the three bites of bagel he’d eaten. Ilya brought his hand up Shane’s spine and rested it on his neck. 

“Why don’t you go get dressed,” Ilya said. “We can talk after.” Shane made a pained noise and mumbled something into the chair. “What?”

“You don’t want to talk to me.” Shane pulled himself up and shook his head. “I swear, I was trying to tell you that I had company, but then you–,” Shane threw his hands up. “You sort of caught me off guard, okay?” 

“Should I leave?” Charlie asked. 

“Yes,” Ilya said, as Shane winced. Charlie gave Ilya a dirty look.

“Shane?” Charlie spoke kindly. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine.” Ilya crossed his arms and stood up straighter. 

“I didn’t ask you.” 

“I’m fine,” Shane echoed. “I’m really sorry about this, Charlie. I’ll text you.” Ilya’s gaze snapped to Shane. He’d text him? He was going to follow up with Fuck Buddy Charlie later? 

“Alright,” Charlie said, holding his hands up and backing into Shane’s room. He reemerged moments later fully dressed. His pants were perfectly tailored and Ilya could admit that he was objectively a very good looking man. He felt sick. 

Shane tore his eyes away from the floor and walked Charlie to the door. “Sorry again,” he mumbled. “It’s…”

“Complicated,” Charlie finished, nodding a goodbye to Ilya. Ilya didn’t nod back. “See you next time, Shane.” And then Fuck Buddy Charlie had the audacity to put his hand on Shane’s neck and tug him into a brief, sweet kiss on the lips. “Bye.” 

Ilya had never seen Shane kiss another man. He knew he had been with other men, and he was glad for it. He wanted Shane to have experienced others so that he could be sure about Ilya. But that didn’t mean he ever wanted to see it. 

He had tried, in his years of loving Shane, to become normal about him. He’d tried to be relaxed and reasonable in his jealousy, because you sort of had to be when you were dating someone who looked like Shane Hollander. He’d learned to get a kick out of Shane being gushed over by fans online and by admirers on the street. Ilya could even stomach the occasional brave soul at a bar who offered to buy Shane a drink, if only to see Shane blush and to insert himself between them with a casual-but-possessive arm around his husband’s waist. But Ilya had never wanted to see a man kiss Shane like that, not ever. Ilya stood like an action figure with his battery taken out, frozen with his shoulders hung, incapable of doing anything beyond staring furiously at the wall. 

Shane closed the door and leaned forward against it heavily, slamming his head into the wood. Ilya tore himself out of the jealous haze that consumed him when the second slam came. “Shane,” he said, looking up to see Shane pulling his head back again. “Shane!” He rushed over and pulled Shane away from the door. “Stop it.” 

“I am so sorry, Ilya,” Shane said thickly. He sounded unwell. 

“Well, giving yourself another concussion won’t help,” Ilya snapped. Shane flushed at the concern . 

“I’m fine.” He met Ilya’s eye and immediately collapsed inward, shoulders folding and eyes dropping to the floor. “I promise Charlie won’t say anything. I’m sorry for saying we worked together. I should have been quicker and thought of something that wouldn’t make it obvious you were another player. Fuck.” Ilya frowned. 

“What?” He asked. “Shane, I don’t give a shit if your little friend knows I like men.” Shane brought his eyes back up, blinking rapidly. 

“But– wait, why not?” 

“I just don’t care,” Ilya said. “It does not matter to me. This Charlie can tell everyone he knows–”

“He won’t!” Shane insisted. “He’s cool, I swear. We have an agreement. And honestly, he probably didn’t even recognize you. He doesn’t watch hockey. He’s a stylist.” Ilya narrowed his eyes. 

“He is your stylist?” 

“He was, for a bit,” Shane shrugged. “Rose introduced us.” 

“Rose knows you’re gay?” Ilya asked, a wave of warmth washing over him. He’d imagined Shane alone and isolated entirely in this life. It was a relief to know that he still had at least one person to confide in. 

“Yes,” Shane said with a shake of his head, dismissing this detail. “Look, Ilya, I’m kind of freaking out and it’s freaking me out that you’re not freaking out. I just outed you to a total stranger.”

“Shane,” Ilya said. He placed a hand on each of Shane’s shoulders. “I invited myself in, I talked on and on about my giant crush on you, I kissed your head. I outed me. You say Charlie is … discreet?”

“He is,” Shane nodded. His cheeks had gone all rosy when Ilya had brought up his crush again. “He’s not going to tell anyone.” 

“Then it is fine,” Ilya said. This was a lie, of course. Nothing about Charlie felt fine to Ilya. He wanted to track Charlie down, tell him to stay away from Shane forever, and delete Shane’s number from his phone. “No one is outed.” Shane shut his eyes and took a breath. “Come on,” Ilya said. He guided Shane towards his room. 

Doing everything in his power to ignore the mess of unmade sheets, Ilya guided Shane to sit down at the end of the bed and went to the wardrobe. He picked out a t-shirt, joggers, boxers, and a pair of thick socks. “Thank you,” Shane said flatly as Ilya set the clothes down beside him on the bed. Ilya made to leave. “Wait, you’re not leaving, right?” Ilya turned at the doorway and shook his head. “Good. I– we should talk.” 

“We should,” Ilya agreed. “Get dressed, Shane.” 

*

Ilya put the smoothies in the fridge and wiped up the condensation they had left on Shane’s counter. He made a cup of tea– peppermint– and a coffee with milk and agave syrup, the closest thing to sugar he could find in Shane’s cupboards. He set coasters out on the coffee table before putting the mugs down and he sat down stiffly on the couch. 

“Hey,” Shane said, just as Ilya leant back into the cushions. Ilya jumped up. 

“Hi,” Ilya said, suddenly very aware of his hands. He clasped them in front of his stomach and then dropped them to his side. “I made you tea.” 

“Thanks,” Shane said. He looked as nervous as Ilya felt. “So, um, about Charlie.”

“I don’t care,” Ilya said. Lie. A necessary lie, but still a lie. He tried out a little smile and a shrug. “We are not… you can date whoever you want.”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Shane spoke quickly. “I’m single. I swear, Charlie’s just… it’s hard, you know? No, I guess you don’t. You can always just hook up with women, right?” Ilya nodded. 

“I understand, Shane.” 

“He lives in Toronto, but when he’s in town we meet up.” 

“Ah,” Ilya said. “And you… like him, yes?”

“Sure,” Shane nodded. “He’s nice. We don’t have much in common, but we get along okay. And he’s really cool about not telling anyone.” 

“Good, yes. He is good for you.” Ilya tapped a hand against his thigh. “He is gentle?” 

“What?” Shane’s knit his eyebrows. 

“As a lover,” Ilya elaborated. “He is kind to you? He treats you right?” Shane grimaced. 

“Fuck off,” he said. “That’s not your business, Rozanov. What the fuck are you even doing right now?” He was suddenly angry. 

“I am just checking–”

“You storm in here, force feed me carbs, tell me you like me and that you’ve always liked me, and now you’re politely curious about my sex life?” Shane shook his head. “What exactly am I supposed to be feeling right now, because I sort of feel like I’m going insane.” 

Ilya sighed. He sat down on the couch and motioned for Shane to do the same. “Please,” he said, when Shane didn’t move. “Please, Shane.” Shane sat. “You talk,” Ilya said. “Tell me everything you are thinking. Even if you are mean to me or you think you sound crazy, okay? Just talk.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” Shane said. He wasn’t looking at Ilya. He was staring at the mug of peppermint tea. It was in his favourite mug, a red McGill hockey mug from David’s university days. 

“Okay,” Ilya said. “Maybe we can stay with Charlie for now. He called you fuck buddies.” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what that means, Rozanov,” Shane scoffed. “Probably the first thing you knew how to say in English.” Ilya smiled and leaned on his elbow against the back of the couch, looking at Shane.

“Is that all you are?” 

“Yes,” Shane said. “He’s just… it’s hard for me to meet people. I’m–”

“Shane Hollander,” Ilya finished. 

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. He swallowed. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you he was here. I swear, I was trying to, but it’s hard for me to think straight around you.” Ilya bit his lip to keep himself from grinning at Shane’s wording. Shane didn’t notice because his eyes were trained on the mug again. “When he texted me yesterday I thought it would be a good way to get my mind off of you, actually.” He laughed without much humour. “It didn’t work.” 

“I am glad,” Ilya said honestly. Shane finally looked at him again. 

“What you said,” Shane said shakily. “You mean it? You’ve liked me this whole time?”

Ilya nodded. “Whole time. From moment I first saw you, I think. Was hoping you would turn out to be asshole or something so that I could get over you. No luck.” 

Shane then said something so quietly and quickly that it was entirely imperceptible. 

“Huh?” Ilya asked, leaning forward. Shane’s face was a dozen shades of pink and Ilya wanted to kiss every single one. 

“I’ve had a crush on you, too,” Shane said, still quickly, but audibly this time. He winced afterwards and lay his face into a couch cushion. “I like you so much.” His voice was muffled, but that didn’t stop Ilya’s heart from reacting violently to the words. “So much, Rozanov.” 

“Ilya,” Ilya said gently. 

“Ilya,” Shane nodded, removing his head from the cushion and blinking up at him. “This isn’t, like, some elaborate prank, right?” Ilya didn’t laugh. He shook his head, eyes not leaving Shane’s. 

“No, Shane. I have had giant, ridiculous crush on perfect, annoying, boring Shane Hollander since I was a teenager.” 

“Fuck.” Shane seemed to glow from the inside and his eyes had gone slightly glassy. 

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “Very painful for me.” 

“For you?” Shane huffed. “You haven’t had to hear about me fucking every hot woman in every North American city for the last decade.” 

“Yes, but I had to hear about Rose Landry,” Ilya grumbled. “I was very sad during those days.” Shane rolled his eyes and then sighed. 

“Wow.” 

“Yes. Wow.” Ilya nodded. 

“You should have said so– oh, God, Ilya. The All-Star game?” Shane’s eyes were wide. 

“What All-Star game?” Ilya asked. He had no idea what he’d done at any All-Star game in this lifetime that might prompt this sort of reaction from Shane. 

“Back in 2017. Tampa.” Ilya nodded, pretending to remember. For him, that had been the weekend he and Shane had acknowledged, however hesitantly, that there was something between them that was more than just sex, more than just hooking up when they were in the same city. Shane had come out to him and Ilya had cried on Shane’s shoulder. “You were being so annoying at the bar, teasing me about all of the women who were flirting with me.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nodded along. “That was funny.” 

“I thought you were being lightly homophobic at first,” Shane laughed. “I thought you’d heard some talk or something and I was terrified that you were going to try to force me to try to pick a girl up just to watch me embarrass myself. But then you put your hand on my thigh and reminded me you were in the room next door, so if I brought anyone home you would hear everything.” 

“Oh, right.” Ilya said. What the fuck? In all of his years of hooking up with Shane, they had never been graced with neighbouring hotel rooms. This stupid version of himself who never pursued Shane had been gifted neighbouring hotel rooms and he hadn’t taken advantage of that? What a waste of his life. 

“I thought afterwards that maybe you were trying to be nice,” Shane said. “Probably because I wanted to delude myself into thinking you weren’t a total dick. I thought you were looking out for me and telling me not to be stupid and hook up with a guy in a hotel full of hockey players. Which, I mean, obviously I’m not that stupid.” Ilya grinned. “But at the time, I sort of thought it was your version of being a good guy.” 

“No,” Ilya said, deciding to put words in his fake-past-self’s mouth. “No, I was trying to fuck you, Shane.” He smiled. “You are bad at picking up on hints.” 

“Forgive me for thinking you were straight,” Shane laughed. He lay back into the couch then, staring at the ceiling. “I still can’t believe it.” 

“What, that I’m bi?” Ilya asked, amused. 

“Yeah. When you told me the other night, it was like I was living out my wildest fantasy. Ilya Rozanov telling me he likes boys and handing me an IKEA manual.” 

“That is a very tame fantasy, Hollander,” Ilya teased, poking at Shane’s foot with his own. “My fantasies are much better.” 

“Shut up,” Shane said lightly. “I’m serious. It kind of blew my mind.” 

“And then you ran away from this fantasy,” Ilya noted, as Shane’s arm fell over his eyes. 

“I thought I’d fucked it up,” Shane said. “I thought I had completely taken advantage of you.” Ilya froze. He stared at Shane, face tilted upward, arm across his eyes, mouth set in a grimace. 

“You what?” Ilya asked, doing his best not to laugh. “How the fuck did your brain get you there?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane moaned. “Imagine you’re me, okay? You’re out to, like, five people total and for years, you’ve had a crush on this stupidly hot straight guy who hates you and who everyone thinks you hate, but you can’t stop fantasizing about him and dreaming about a world where he’s not straight and you don’t hate each other and maybe you’re not even hockey players–”

“We’d still be hockey players,” Ilya corrected gently.

“Whatever, stop interrupting,” Shane laughed. “Anyway, imagine one day, randomly, this guy shows up and decides you’re friends and he wants to do charity work with you all summer and sometimes it feels like he might be flirting with you but that would be impossible because he’s straight and then he invites you over to build furniture with him and he tells you he’s bisexual and that you’re the first person he’s ever told, and then the first thing you do is kiss him.” Shane sat up, looking wildly at Ilya like Ilya was supposed to understand how this would imply that any advantage had been taken. 

“Okay,” Ilya said. “It was a good kiss, yes?” 

“Fuck, it was amazing,” Shane nodded. “But I shouldn’t have assumed that just because you trusted me with this, you were interested in me. I should have waited and asked you first.” 

“Oh, my God, Hollander,” Ilya grinned. “I told you because I was interested in you. I am interested in you. I trusted you because I knew that you would be good, because you are a good guy, but I was obviously hoping you’d immediately tell me that you were also interested in men and beg me to take you to bed. There is no way for you to have taken advantage of me because I was giving you advantage willingly. You had my advantage already.”

“I don’t think that makes sense,” Shane frowned. Ilya narrowed his eyes. 

“I am trying to be romantic, Shane.” 

“Okay,” Shane said. “Fuck. I’m sorry I freaked out. I thought I had jumped the gun on something I’d wanted forever and… I don’t know. I was scared.” 

“Is okay,” Ilya said. “It is scary, feeling like this.” His insides warmed at the way Shane’s mouth twitched upwards. “And you were right, that night. It is complicated, this.” He waved a hand between himself and Shane. 

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. Ilya smiled. 

“You told me you didn’t want this,” he reminded Shane. 

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Hmm, it hurt me very much,” Ilya sighed. “I thought you did not want me at all. Difficult week for me. Very sad.” 

“Ilya,” Shane said seriously. “I meant that I didn’t want to jump into some hook-up that meant nothing to you and everything to me.” He swallowed. 

“Was not just some hook-up. Was best kiss of my life, probably.” Technically a lie, but there was no way to explain to this Shane that the best kisses of Ilya’s life had been in some other life, with some other Shane. “I do not usually moan the name of anyone into their neck if it means nothing to me.” Shane flushed. 

“Got it,” he nodded, not taking his eyes off of Ilya for a long while. They looked at each other with what Ilya knew to be love for what could have been hours, but was probably only a matter of minutes. “Ilya,” Shane said. 

“Shane.”

“I understand if this is weird because I slept with someone else last night,” Shane said, going a furious shade of red and looking at his knees. “But can I kiss you again?” Ilya bit hard on his bottom lip, not wanting to laugh at Shane’s thoughtful, serious, ridiculous question. He leaned forward, keeping his face steady as he tilted Shane’s chin up and brushed his lips against Shane’s perfect nose, and then across Shane’s perfect cheeks with their perfect freckles. 

“Yes, Shane. You can always kiss me. Whenever you want, you can kiss me.” And Shane did. 

Chapter 6: 6

Ilya woke up on the couch with the afternoon sun pouring in, lighting Shane’s face up golden. For a split second, he thought he had his life back, but as he blinked himself awake he realized he was still in Shane’s old apartment in Montreal. Shane was asleep on Ilya’s chest, their legs tangled together. Ilya didn’t remember falling asleep. 

They had been kissing for a long time, pausing briefly here and there to talk. Ilya promised he would be his regular, antagonistic self at the socials shoot the next day, to keep up appearances. Shane naïvely assured Ilya that Hayden and JJ would be cool about him joining in, because surely everyone could get on board with charity work. They’d kissed some more. Shane offered to drive Ilya over to the studio in the morning. Ilya accepted. Shane had pulled away from a kiss to stare at Ilya like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Ilya said some things in Russian that he knew were way too serious to be saying to this Shane so soon, but he had said them to his husband a hundred times. Somewhere along the way, they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and Ilya now lay in silence, watching Shane sleep. 

Now what?

He had Shane, at least to some degree. There would be things to figure out: Ilya still lived in Boston, for one. He and Shane were both still in the closet. Ilya would willingly live a very difficult and complicated life if it meant being with Shane. He’d do another decade of long distance and he’d stay in the closet forever if that’s what it took, but he really, really hoped that wasn’t necessary. 

He looked at the man laying on his chest, the love of his life and yet not the love of his life. Having Shane hold him like this was everything to Ilya, but he still didn’t have his husband back. He wanted to be living in their house in Ottawa, to stop by Yuna and David’s for dinner. He wanted Anya to be sleeping on the carpet beside them. He didn’t want to feel this nervous about asking Shane what he wanted. Ilya wanted to show off his husband and hold his hand in public. He had only very recently grown accustomed to touching Shane’s back in the grocery store, and to kissing Shane at team events, and to telling everyone who would listen about how he and Shane were actually already married months before their official wedding. If there was no way to get that back, he’d take this life and make it work with this beautiful, warm, slightly-underfed Shane who was now stirring in his sleep. But Ilya wanted it all back. He wanted his life back. 

“Hey,” Shane said, his voice gravelly from sleep. He looked at Ilya and frantically pushed himself up. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

Ilya didn’t realize he was crying until Shane’s thumb caught a tear. “Fuck,” he said. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t say sorry,” Shane said. He kissed the spot where he’d wiped the tear away. “It’s a lot.” 

Ilya nodded. “I am okay,” he said. It was half-true. He was certainly more okay than he had been when he’d first woken up in Boston, nearly two weeks ago now. “Can’t believe this is real,” he said with a smile that was immediately mirrored on Shane’s face. He tilted his chin up and caught Shane’s lips, kissing him slowly and carefully, taking in every single detail of it in case he was ever ripped away again. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” He said it between kisses. “Ya tebya lyublyu. Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane shut his eyes, but didn’t ask what the words meant. 

“I wished for this,” Shane admitted into Ilya’s neck. His hand was tracing the veins on Ilya’s arm. 

“Hm?” Ilya smiled. “For me?” 

“On my birthday,” Shane said. “We won that game, but when I got home, I felt sort of… I don’t know. Empty. Lonely. Whatever you want to call it.” 

“You could have called Charlie,” Ilya said, trying and failing to make it casual and teasing. 

“Charlie wasn’t in town,” Shane snapped. “And that’s not what I mean. I didn’t want to hook up with someone. I wanted to come home to someone, you know?” Ilya nodded, his chin bumping gently against the top of Shane’s head. 

“Yes,” he said. Ilya decided not to bring up that contractually, he would eventually have to return to Boston. Shane would not come home to him very often, at least not yet. Unless Ilya retired. Fuck it, maybe he would just retire. “Yes, I know.” 

“And I was staring out the window feeling totally alone and I saw a shooting star and I thought, I don’t know. It’s my birthday. I should wish for something. So I wished for someone who I could just… be with.” Shane’s fingers now intertwined with Ilya’s. “Not that you and I are going to be telling everyone about us. Or anyone, even.” Ilya flinched, but played it off by stroking Shane’s cheek. “But it’s like you said the other night. We’re the best, and it’s lonely at the top. I wished for someone who understood me. And I guess that’s you.” 

“So, you didn’t wish specifically for Ilya Rozanov,” Ilya frowned, propping himself up onto his elbows and pouting at Shane. “Just ‘someone’? Could have been anyone?” 

“Shut up,” Shane said. “I’m happy the universe sent you.” 

Ilya smiled and kissed Shane again. “I am, too.” And here was another half-truth. Because if that stupid wish Shane had made on a shooting star had brought him here, he wasn’t exactly happy about it. But the thought of Shane standing lonely and miserable in his dark apartment after a conference final win was enough to break Ilya’s heart, so a part of him was happy to be here mending it. 

“Sorry if this is a lot,” Shane said. “I know it’s kind of soon to be talking like that.” Ilya couldn’t prevent himself from snorting. If he told Shane everything he felt for him right now, Shane would think him genuinely, clinically, certifiably insane. And maybe psychic. 

“I basically kicked down your door this morning to tell you I have had crush on you for a decade,” Ilya reminded Shane. “You had another man in your bed and I watched him kiss you goodbye and I am still lying here like… I don’t know phrase. Pudding in your hands?” 

“Close,” Shane laughed, and then his face fell into the little frown that meant he was thinking too hard. “You know Charlie and I aren’t anything, though, right? He’s just one of the–”

“One of?” Ilya cut in, eyebrows shooting up. “You have many fuck buddies, Hollander?” 

“No,” Shane flushed.  

“Hmm, I remember that you basically called me a slut a few days ago,” Ilya frowned. “Now I’m hearing you have a whole roster of men?” Shane glared at him. 

“I don’t have a roster. I have, like, three guys I hook up with when we’re in the same city, okay?”

“Who?” Ilya demanded. “Tell me about them. If I am going to be jealous, I want to know who I am jealous of. Stylist Charlie I know. Who are the others?” 

Shane looked down, apparently very interested in the neckline of Ilya’s t-shirt. He sighed. “There’s a guy in LA. He’s an actor, a friend of Rose. He films in Vancouver a lot, so sometimes I meet up with him there if our schedules align.” 

“Have I heard of him?” Ilya asks. “Should I watch his stuff? Check out competition?”

“It’s not a competition,” Shane said very, very quietly. “And no, he’s barely in anything.” 

“He is nice to you, though?” Ilya hadn’t liked Charlie, obviously, but he could acknowledge that Charlie had been calm and generally decent to Shane in what he had observed. Ilya watched Shane’s eyes carefully as he nodded. 

“He’s cool.” Shane said. “We mostly just, you know…”

“Fuck,” Ilya finished for him. 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “He’s not out either, so sometimes we talk about that. But otherwise we don’t really have much in common.” 

“Who else?” 

“Are you going to list everyone you’re currently sleeping with?” Shane scowled. “I guess we don’t have time for that.” 

“Hey!” Ilya protested. “I am basically celibate these days.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane laughed. “You were just photographed at a club with that girl from The Bachelor like, three weeks ago.” 

“Who?” Ilya asked, genuinely not knowing. 

“Jesus Christ, you actually are an asshole, Rozanov,” Shane said, but he was smiling. 

“Okay, fine, yes. But I do not have arrangements like you do, okay?” Ilya nudged Shane’s chin. “Tell me about the other guy.” Shane shrugged. 

“He’s just some guy,” Shane said. Ilya’s heart clenched at the way Shane’s eyebrows knit together, the way he sucked his bottom lip in nervously. 

“You like him?” Ilya asked quietly, unable to keep the note of fear out of his voice. Shane shook his head, still not looking up. “You are allowed, Shane. We only just–”

“I don’t like him,” Shane said, his voice clear and sure. The little flicker of concern Ilya had felt at the idea of Shane liking another man swelled into something much worse. 

“Shane,” he said. 

“It’s fine,” Shane shrugged. “He’s in New York and he’s in finance.” 

“And he is… not nice to you?” Ilya asked quietly. 

“He’s fine,” Shane said. He looked up, a little annoyed at Ilya, which Ilya supposed was fair. He had thrust this suddenly-serious conversation topic at Shane. “It’s not like I’m in a position to get choosy, right?” Ilya stilled and shook his head. 

“You are Shane Hollander,” he said in disbelief. “You’re hottest player in league. Everyone wants you. Girls, boys, everyone. You should be choosiest man alive.” 

“Yeah, well, I can’t be,” Shane said. 

“This New York guy,” Ilya went on, heart pounding. “He has hurt you?” 

“No. Not really. I don’t know. I sort of just feel like a body when I’m with him. I don’t know if that makes any sense.” Shane forced an uncomfortable smile. “We don’t really talk when we meet up. He takes but he doesn’t really... give?” Shane flushed bright red. “Sorry, too much information.”  

Ilya kept his face still. He thought of all of the times he had been cruel to Shane. The periods of ghosting, the snapping on hotel rooftops, leaving while Shane was still in the shower. He’d kissed girls in clubs just to make Shane hurt. He hadn’t ever made him feel like that though, just a body… had he? Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane and held him tight. 

“You deserve so much better than that sort of man,” Ilya said. He winced internally at his past self. His husband Shane would scold him for feeling like this. His husband Shane would remind him of all that he was working through, all that they were both working through. His husband Shane would point out all of the ways they both misread each other over the years, and then he’d point out that it all worked out, that they were on the same page now. “You should have choice of any man you want. And you should choose me.” He prodded Shane’s cheek playfully, but Shane was looking at him very seriously. 

“I choose you,” he said, with such conviction and love that it may as well have been Ilya’s husband speaking. Ilya blinked, feeling a little dizzy even though he was lying down. Shane cringed. “Sorry, too much, too soon.” He shook his head but Ilya caught him by the chin and held him still. 

“Shane,” Ilya said. “I told you already. Pudding in your hands.” Shane shifted upwards to kiss him again, tucking his knee between Ilya’s legs and combing a hand through his curls. 

“I want you so bad,” Shane breathed. Ilya nodded, chasing Shane’s lips. “God, Ilya.” Shane’s voice was shaky and desperate and a hand that had made its way to Ilya’s waist was now thumbing at the waistband of his pants. 

Ilya had spent years dating Shane from a distance, which meant he had survived long stretches of time without fucking him. He was one of God’s strongest soldiers, if not the very strongest. But this particular body had never fucked Shane Hollander, which Ilya decided a good excuse for how hard he was right now. “Shane,” Ilya groaned. 

A loud trilling sound made them both jump, and Shane sat upright, grabbing for his phone on the side table. 

“Mom?” Shane answered. “Oh, right, fuck.” He looked at Ilya, lips wet and eyes wide. “Yeah, no, I’ll drive myself. I’m just getting changed. I’ll see you guys there.” He hung up and pinched his nose. “Fuck.”

“I thought I liked your mother,” Ilya said, lying back and catching his breath. “But she is very cruel woman for this.” 

“My aunt’s in town,” Shane sighed. “I forgot I said I’d meet them for dinner.” 

“Is okay,” Ilya said. “We will find time to continue our conversation.” 

“Conversation?” Shane raised his eyebrows. He was smiling. He looked sickeningly happy, which made Ilya feel much the same, even though he was accustomed to seeing that smile every day, without restraint or hesitancy. Ilya set that aside for now and sat up. Whatever it was that would set his life right, he was certain that giving Shane a kiss good-bye was a step in the right direction. 

“See you tomorrow,” he said. 

*

In the king sized bed of his rental apartment, Ilya lay awake, thinking about Shane’s birthday wish on a shooting star. He had told his own Shane, back in Ottawa, to wish for something that night. Shane hadn’t, though. He had told Ilya he loved him and he had asked Ilya if he’d change anything about their life, or something to that effect. And Ilya had said, confidently, no, and Shane had said it back to him. But Shane hadn’t made any wish, at least not before Ilya had fallen asleep. He turned over and frowned at the alarm clock, reminding him that he had to be up in a matter of hours. If his Shane had made some stupid, delayed wish upon his birthday cake candles, Ilya was going to kill him– if he ever found a way back to him. 

*

Ilya brushed his teeth and flossed twice so that he could kiss Shane enthusiastically when the Jeep pulled up to pick him up. 

“This is such a boring car,” Ilya said, because he felt like he was supposed to. Shane told him to shut up, but he was beaming the whole drive over to the studio.

They were the first to arrive, because Shane was Shane. Yuna smiled at her son and then at Ilya, and looked between them curiously. It occurred to Ilya that he had yet to ask Shane if his parents knew anything at all about his romantic preferences. 

“How’s Montreal treating you?” Yuna asked Ilya. “I hope you’re not getting heckled too much every time you try to eat at a restaurant. But I do hope you’re getting heckled a little bit.” Ilya laughed. 

“Oh, I have not got out much,” he said. “Mostly just visiting friends.” 

“From Russia,” Shane said, a little loudly considering Yuna was right beside him. “He’s got friends who just moved here from Russia.” 

“That’s nice,” Yuna said. “The other boys should be here soon, but you two can go ahead and get into hair and makeup.” 

“Wow,” Ilya said, impressed at the set-up inside the small studio. “Hair and makeup?”

It wasn’t much, just some powder to keep them from getting too shiny on camera and some lightly tinted balm for their lips. The woman working on Shane’s hair beamed at him in the mirror, flushing when he smiled shyly back at her. “You should grow this out,” she said, teasing a strand at the front. 

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “Would be very sexy, Hollander.” 

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane said as the hairstylist laughed. 

“Is he being a dick already?” Ilya turned to see Hayden Pike at the entrance, with fellow Voyageur JJ Boiziau at his heels. 

“Hello, Hayden,” Ilya said warmly. “Bonjour, JJ.” 

“I can’t believe he’s actually here,” Hayden said, addressing Shane. Shane shrugged. 

“Let’s all try to play nice,” he said. “Il– Rozanov’s here to help raise some money, okay?” 

JJ said something in French that Shane rolled his eyes at. He bit back a remark, looked at Ilya, and then said something else that made JJ laugh. “Hey,” Hayden said. “Rude!” 

“I agree, Pike,” Ilya nodded. “These two, they are very rude. We should form an alliance against them. You don’t speak Russian, do you?” Hayden stared at Ilya. “Too bad. We could take them, I think.” 

The other coaches trailed in. Jacob Matheson– there to teach kids how to fuck up an odd-man rush, no doubt. Marc Brisebois, a lanky Quebecer who Ilya had heard good things about. Greg Huff, a short but talented retiree who had played with Shane in Sochi and who had once told Ilya he was the most annoying shit-talking rat he’d ever played against. Ilya had to resist jumping up to pull Wyatt Hayes into a hug when he entered the room. He settled for a wave, which caused Wyatt to do a confused double take. 

The introductions were awkward, mostly because of Ilya’s presence. He smiled his brightest smile at everyone, but that seemed to make them all trust him less. While Wyatt got his nose powdered, Ilya moved to stand beside him and asked him how his off-season was going. 

“Fine, I guess,” Wyatt shrugged. 

“Centaurs are trending in right direction,” Ilya nodded. “Need first line center, though.” 

“Yeah, well, those don’t exactly grow on trees. But our young guys are improving. Maybe one of them will develop into a solid piece.” 

“Maybe, yes. Or maybe handsome and established star centerman will request trade to Ottawa this year.” Ilya raised his eyebrows and grinned at Wyatt, who stared after him as Ilya moved to stand closer to Shane. 

*

A delusional part of Ilya had hoped that some twist of fate would have landed Harris behind one of the iPhones that were set up on fancy tripods. It was a stretch, but so was every other thing in his life right now. Surely the universe could have thrown him a bone and brought Harris to Montreal to work for whatever marketing agency Yuna had hired. No such luck. 

The woman in charge was serious and efficient, inspecting all of their hair and ensuring all of their mics were attached properly.

The morning was mostly spent answering questions for the video team to cut into compilations. 

What’s something your fellow coaches don’t know about you? I’m not a total [bleep]. Sorry, sorry, cut that, yes. I am nice guy! 

If you weren’t a hockey player, what would you be doing? Stay-at-home dad. Or underwear model.

Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or 100 duck-sized horses? I would rather fight Hayden Pike. 

Who was your first celebrity crush? From the Matrix. Neo? Neo. Oops, sorry, yes. Trinity. 

What’s your favourite childhood memory at the rink? Scoring a goal and blowing a kiss to mama. 

They filmed some goofy videos of Hayden trying to understand JJ and Brisebois’ drill instructions, which had been written en-français. (The bilingual nature of the camps was a big draw, apparently). They had Shane, Huff, and Hayes speak seriously to the camera about the amazing environment that was created at the camps each year. Then, they made Shane read out a stiff monologue about the importance of teamwork and cued Ilya in to sling his arm around Shane’s shoulder and grin at the camera. 

“Hi, buddy,” Ilya said. Shane winced and carried on with his speech. 

“Sometimes, teamwork even means putting aside your differences. This year, we’re excited to announce that Ilya Rozanov will be joining us as a coach at the Hollander Foundation summer camps.” Ilya widened his smile. 

“I was thinking, Hollander,” he said, playing up his accent. “The name is not very catchy.”

“What do you mean, Rozanov?” Shane said flatly. 

“How about Rozanov-Hollander summer camps?” Ilya looked at Shane expectantly, and Shane held a tired expression for the camera. “Or we can drop the Hollander entirely. Just ‘Rozanov’ might be bigger draw.” Shane looked skyward. 

“That was perfect!” The woman running the show clapped. “You two are hilarious together.” 

“Wow,” Ilya said, his arm still holding Shane’s shoulder. He shook Shane lightly. “Five minutes with me and you are suddenly funny, Hollander.” 

*

“What did you mean about a star centerman requesting a trade to the Cens?” Wyatt asked Ilya as the coaches all made their way out of the studio. Shane was up ahead with Yuna, counting out something on his hands. Ilya shrugged. 

“I am not sure yet,” he said. “But, you know. Canada is nice country.” 

“True,” Wyatt said. “But Boston is an awesome hockey town.” 

“So is Ottawa,” Ilya insisted. “They are showing up every night even if there is nothing to cheer for. No offense.” 

“No offense taken,” Wyatt laughed. “No offense is sort of the main problem on our team.” Ilya laughed. He’d missed Wyatt’s sense of humour. 

“You are funny, Hayes.” 

“And you’re way less of an asshole than I expected, Roz,” Wyatt said, using the nickname as though they were already teammates. “Hey, some of the guys are going out tonight. You coming?” 

“I don’t think I was invited,” Ilya said, nodding at Hayden and JJ, who were glancing over at him suspiciously, Matheson at their side looking bored. 

“Whatever, man.” Wyatt cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Roz is coming to the bar tonight. See you guys there?” Hayden and JJ exchanged a look of annoyance, and Shane turned around with a frown on his face, but Ilya was smiling. 

*

Shane Hollander: Hey.. what are you wearing?

Ilya had been dozing on his couch, watching a documentary about birds when the text came through. He sat up, heart pounding. Shane initiated sexting in this reality?! He grinned at his phone. He was wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, but he could fix that. He tugged the shirt off and walked into the bathroom. 

Ilya Rozanov: good timing. about to shower.
Ilya Rozanov: [image attachment]

It was a good photo. Showed off his pecs and his biceps and his jawline and his stomach and the V that led down to the waistband of his shorts.

Shane Hollander: Oh wow!
Shane Hollander: I meant what are you wearing to the bar tonight?
Shane Hollander: I can’t decide. Is a plain white t-shirt too boring?

Ilya Rozanov: wtf
Ilya Rozanov: what is “oh wow!”
Ilya Rozanov: and yes plain t shirt is boring… but some people secretly think boring is very sexy 

*

The last time Ilya had been at a bar in downtown Montreal with Shane Hollander, they had left separately and miserably. Tonight, they were in a calmer, better lit establishment, with far fewer mirrorballs and a dancefloor that wouldn’t liven up until much later in the evening. Shane had indeed worn a plain white t-shirt and Ilya was trying very hard to be subtle in how often he looked over with, as Hayden had once so eloquently put it, “heart eyes”.

Ilya only overheard a handful of shocked Montrealers acknowledge him as he moved away from the bar. “Is that fucking Rozanov?” “We should fight him.” “Ey, Rozanov? Go fuck yourself.” He flashed a grin in their general direction before finding his new pals. 

“On me,” Ilya said, setting two pitchers of beer down at the booth they’d settled in. Brisebois and Huff had bailed, but the others had all turned up. “As thank you for letting me crash summer camp last minute.” He smiled at Hayden and JJ directly and poured them their glasses first. Neither thanked him until Shane nudged Hayden’s arm. 

“Thanks,” Hayden said without feeling. 

“Can I ask you something, Rozanov?” JJ said, clinking his glass against Ilya’s politely but not smiling. “Did you suffer some sort of head injury when we beat you this spring?” Hayden and Matheson laughed. Ilya smiled. 

“Yeah, what’s with the personality one-eighty?” Matheson asked. 

“Guys, don’t be jerks,” Shane said. Ilya did his best not to smile at the way Shane sounded genuinely defensive of him. 

“I’m just curious!” JJ insisted. “We’re talking about the biggest dick in league–”

“Yes,” Ilya cut in. “Is definitely biggest in league. Have many ex-lovers who can back me up. Is fair to be curious about my dick, JJ, but I do not see relevance to charity camp.” JJ frowned, Hayden looked grossed out, Matheson groaned, and Wyatt laughed out loud. Shane had rested his forehead against the rim of his glass. 

“Okay,” Hayden said. “Moving on because none of us want to think about your dick, Rozanov. Matty, you still seeing that girl from the national team?” Matheson filled the table in on his break-up and Ilya immediately tuned him out, looking across the table at Shane. It felt a little like torture, being back in this state where he couldn’t touch him publicly. Shane deserved to be showered in affection at all times, and it killed Ilya to be seated across from him, only able to communicate with a little toe-to-toe tap of their shoes. 

“How about you, Roz?” Wyatt nudged him. “You still hooking up with half of New England?” 

“No,” Ilya said simply. “I have been…,” he searched for the phrase. “Leashed up?” Shane coughed into his beer. 

“You mean tied down?” Wyatt offered. 

“Yes, both,” Ilya shrugged. “Head over my heels.” 

“What the fuck?” Hayden laughed. “You’ve got a girlfriend?” 

“Don’t fuck with us, man.” Matheson shook his head. “You were all over that Bachelorette girl last week, and we know it’s not her, ‘cause she’s back with Liam S. now.” Wyatt tilted his head, evidently amused by Matheson’s up-to-date knowledge on the Bachelor franchise. 

“Longer ago than that,” Ilya said, waving Matheson away. “I was distracting myself from real thing. Drowning sorrows, you know?” JJ was nodding at Ilya, grinning. 

“Ah,” JJ said. “This I can understand. You are not concussed, Rozanov. You are pussy-whipped.” 

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. Ilya considered this. 

“Basically,” he said. “Well, I will be.” The table went silent. 

“You haven’t fucked her?” Hayden asked. Ilya shrugged, holding up his hands in resigned disappointment. 

“Sorry, Rozanov, what? You’re ‘tied down’ but you haven’t slept with her yet?” Wyatt asked, incredulous. “Who is this chick?” 

“We are taking things slow,” Ilya said. “Only this week I have admitted how I feel. Is hard, you know? I am new to being… serious.” He tapped Shane’s shoe and received a light kick to his shin in return. 

“Jeez,” Matheson said. “I feel like my entire sense of reality has shifted.” 

“Me as well,” Ilya smiled, daring one quick glance across at Shane. 

“So who is she?” JJ demanded. “You got a photo?” 

“Hmm, no,” Ilya said. “Photos are just for me. But trust me– gorgeous. Dark hair, pretty freckles. Perfect ass.” 

“Nice,” Matheson nodded. “How long is she gonna make you wait?”

“No, no. I am the one insisting we take it slow. Every night, the begging, please Ilya, fuck me, take me, but I want it to be meaningful. Want to build something to last.” Ilya’s shin received another, slightly harder kick. 

“Dude,” Hayden laughed. “You’re a millionaire superstar athlete. She’s going to want to be with you regardless. Just fuck her.” 

“Oh, is this why Jackie and you are together? Because you are medium-good at hockey and get paid millions of dollars for it? She would leave you otherwise?” Ilya pretended to weigh this information. “I thought love might play role, but if MLH contract is all it takes for successful marriage, this is good to know.” 

“How do you know my wife’s name?” Hayden snapped. He looked at Shane. “Why the fuck does he know Jackie’s name?” 

“Dude, he looks up everyone’s girl’s name so that he can chirp them,” Wyatt said. “Last year, he roofed one against me and immediately told me to check on Lisa’s medical credentials because there was no way a properly healed collarbone could have reflexes that slow.” He shook his head. “Most elaborate chirp I ever heard. Lisa thought it was hilarious, by the way.” Ilya grinned. Hayden still looked annoyed. 

“Hollander,” Matheson said. “How about you? You’re single, right?” 

“Uh,” Shane said. Hayden’s neck whipped around at the hesitation. “Yes.” Ilya poked the toe of his shoe up the leg of Shane’s pants, tapping at his ankle. 

“Nice,” Matheson nodded. “You must be drowning in it. Every waitress that passes by our table is shamelessly eyeing you up, man.” 

“Yeah, yeah, our boy is hot.” Hayden said. “Speaking of guys half of Canada wants to fuck, you guys hear that Barrett’s not re-signing with Toronto?” Hayden launched into an explanation of the rumour he’d heard about Troy wanting to play elsewhere. Ilya was interested in Troy’s news, but he was far more interested in the way Hayden had deflected the conversation away from Shane’s love life. Ilya didn’t miss the subtle shoulder-to-shoulder contact between the teammates, the way Hayden insisted on discussing the Toronto Guardian’s post-finals contract situation like it was the most interesting news in the world. 

Ilya felt a surge of affection for Hayden Pike. Yes, he could be annoying and very stupid and he had certainly made life difficult for Ilya at times, but he had been a friend to Shane before Ilya could be anything to Shane. Ilya let the conversation about Troy Barrett merge into a discussion about the insane contract Cale Wagner had just signed with Calgary, and amused himself by watching the waitstaff (gender neutral) practically swoon every time they caught a glimpse of Shane Hollander. Heart eyes, indeed. 

*

Ilya had seen that Shane was done with the increasingly loud music and the non-stop chatter a half hour ago, but Shane was the guy organizing the camps, so he felt some made-up responsibility to stay out with the boys and slowly sip his third glass of beer. Ilya checked his watch and downed the remainder of his drink.

“Okay,” he said, “time for me to go.” He pulled out his phone and confirmed his Uber ride. 

“It’s not even eleven,” Wyatt protested. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Matheson looked confused. 

“He’s got a date,” Wyatt shrugged. 

“She’s not in Boston?” Hayden frowned. 

“No, is here with me,” Ilya said, standing. Shane’s eye twitched. “Was fun, boys. I will see you next week for camps?” He drummed his hands on the table. 

“I’m calling it, too,” Hayden said. “No sleep these days.” Ilya wanted to ask if there was a fifth– or even a sixth!– Pike child in the mix, but there was no way to ask that without sounding like he had spent far too much time on Hayden’s Wikipedia page. 

“Same,” Shane said, jumping up now that the others were finishing their drinks, giving him permission to bow out. “See you guys!” He looked suddenly reinvigorated and fully awake as he moved toward the exit with Hayden and Ilya.

“My Uber can drop you off if you want, Shane,” Hayden said, tapping at his phone. “You’re on my way.” 

“Uh,” Shane hesitated. “I’m actually headed in the other direction. I’m meeting up with someone.” 

“Oh, cool!” Hayden said, overly enthusiastic in a way that told Ilya just how infrequently Shane talked to his friends about his dating life. They stepped out onto the sidewalk, where a line of people waited to get into the bar. “That’s awesome, man.” Hayden glanced at Ilya nervously. “What’s she like?” 

“Must be very special to snag Montreal’s hottest bachelor,” Ilya grinned. He waved and nodded to a man in line who was staring at him in confusion, as if unable to believe that Ilya Rozanov was leaving a bar with Hayden Pike and Shane Hollander. A few people had started taking photos. One girl rushed up to Shane and took a selfie before he could react. 

“Hollywood, you’re a legend,” one guy called. 

“Love you, Shane!”

“Is that Ilya Rozanov?”

“And that other guy,” a woman’s voice said. “Oh, I always forget his name. He’s pretty good!” 

“Okay, I’m usually fine with that sort of comment, but it stings a bit when they recognize you and not me,” Hayden said to Ilya. “I won them a cup a year ago!”

“Hollander won them a cup,” Ilya corrected. Hayden rolled his eyes. 

“My car’s here,” he said. “Shane, you’ve called one, right?” Hayden looked at Ilya then. “Don’t leave ‘til he’s in his Uber. These people will hold him here taking selfies all night otherwise.” Ilya gave Hayden a salute and tapped the roof of the car to send him on his way. 

“Come, Hollander. Uber is around corner.” He touched Shane by the elbow so briefly that it barely counted as contact. Shane flinched. Ilya felt a stabbing pain in his gut, but reminded himself how new this all was for Shane. He could be patient for Shane. 

“Okay, thanks everyone!” Shane said. “Have a great night!” 

“Are you guys friends?” A girl asked as Shane made to follow Ilya. 

“Yeah, actually,” Shane said. “We’re doing some charity work with a group of guys this summer.” It was clear to Ilya that he’d practiced the words, likely a hundred times in the shower and in front of the mirror. An answer at the ready, natural and easy and casual. 

Ilya slid into Uber and swallowed the sadness that was threatening to bubble up, instead choosing to focus on the way Shane’s pinky immediately wrapped around his own in the dark back seat of the car. 

*

“I hope is not presumptuous,” Ilya said as he followed Shane into his apartment and shut the door. “Calling Uber to your apartment.”

“It was,” Shane said, “but you presumed right.” He hung his jacket up on a hook and slipped his shoes off neatly before he reached for Ilya. 

“Your friends are nice,” Ilya said, allowing Shane to grab his face but pulling away before he could kiss him. “Even Hayden Pike.”

“Hayden’s awesome, yeah,” Shane said. He moved forward again and Ilya inched his face back, smiling at the way Shane’s nose wrinkled in frustration. 

“I’m glad you have nice friends,” Ilya said seriously. He could forgive any of Hayden’s flaws if it meant that Shane had a teammate in his corner. 

“Thanks?” Shane frowned. 

“And adoring fans. All over you tonight. Selfies and autographs.” Ilya smiled as Shane’s eyes dropped from his. His sweet, shy Shane. “King of Montreal.” Not in Ilya’s world, not anymore. All because the indisputable best player to play for the Voyageurs on colour-TV (or ever, if you asked Ilya, but he was biased) had the audacity to fall in love. Shane was the king of Ottawa now. “Hollywood they call you, yes? Big star.” 

“Shut up.” Shane shook his head. 

“They all want you.” Ilya brought his lips to Shane’s jaw and kissed his way along it. “Too bad for them.” Shane whimpered a little as Ilya sucked at his neck and backed him into the kitchen counter. 

“Did you mean what you said tonight?” Shane asked. Ilya nodded and kissed Shane properly, devouring his lips and slipping a hand under the hem of the plain white shirt Shane had texted him about earlier. 

“Gorgeous,” he repeated himself. “Dark hair.” Ilya tugged at the back of Shane’s head, earning a heavy exhale against his own mouth. “Pretty freckles.” He moved his hand from Shane’s hair and traced the familiar pattern, keeping a thumb there as he resumed the kiss. He brought his hand to Shane’s strong, thick glutes. “Perfect, perfect ass.” 

“No,” Shane shook his head as he pulled away properly. “I meant about wanting to take things slow.” Ilya grinned. 

“Just as I said,” he laughed, kissing down Shane’s neck again. “Every night, it is please Ilya, fuck me.” 

“You’re a dick.” Shane said. “I’m serious, we don’t have to rush if you don’t want–” his sentence was cut off when Ilya tugged at his shirt and pulled it over his head. Ilya traced his lips down, biting down on a nipple as he worked on Shane’s belt buckle. 

“I want,” Ilya said as he dropped to his knees and looked up at Shane’s wide eyes and heaving chest.

*

When Ilya returned to the bedroom after showering, Shane was laying with his forearm slung across his eyes and a smile on his face. “Wow,” he breathed. “I didn’t know it could be that good.” Ilya grinned. “Sorry, that’s so embarrassing to admit.” Shane sat up on his elbows and looked at Ilya. “I have had good sex before. Lots of it.” 

“Good, I am glad,” Ilya said. “And I am glad to be best.” Shane didn’t contradict him. Of course he didn’t. Ilya had the advantage of knowing Shane’s body inside and out. He’d memorized every little thing that Shane liked, every sensitive corner of his skin, every touch that drove him wild. He knew how Shane liked to be talked to, how he liked to be told what to do and then told how good he was at it. Ilya had a decade of insight on what made Shane Hollander fall apart, and at this point it felt automatic to him, like breathing or skating. 

“Was it good for you, too?” The nerves in Shane’s voice made Ilya’s heart drop. He sounded eighteen again, unsure and questioning, wondering where the two of them were going with this thing. 

“Shane,” Ilya said, forcing a steadiness in his voice as he crawled over and kissed Shane’s shoulder. “There is no one that will ever compare. Did it sound like it was good for me?” Shane smiled. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Hmm, guessing is no good. Next time I will do better. You will know how good it was for me.” Ilya said. “You must learn Russian for me, so that you can understand all of those words I said at the end. Then you will know how good it was for me, okay?” Shane closed his eyes. 

“God, that was so hot.” 

“Yes, we are good match,” Ilya smiled. “Now, go shower. You would not like to fall asleep all messy.” Shane flushed but nodded, standing to leave. 

By the time Shane returned, with his wet hair flattened to his forehead and a towel wrapped around his waist, Ilya had changed the sheets on the bed and set a folded pair of boxers on the bed for him. Shane’s lips parted when he saw Ilya smoothing the new sheets and patting the spot next to him. When he tucked himself in at Ilya’s side, he mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like, “Sometimes I think I’m imagining you.” 

Chapter 7: 7

Chapter Notes

This concept sort of kicked my ass because it was light-hearted in premise and then as I was trying to wrap it up, it made me kind of sad. But it's all happy endings here, always!

The last week of May was a blur of Shane Hollander and Ilya couldn’t really complain about that. He’d practically moved into Shane’s apartment, sleeping there every night and waking up to Shane doing a crossword puzzle over his egg-white omelette. Shane was happy to the point that it almost hurt Ilya to look at him. He was loose and smiling and found the secrecy of their romance sort of fun and sexy. It was fun and sexy to play reluctantly cordial rivals each day at the hockey camps only to come home tangled up in each other, but Ilya’s heart ached with the first-hand knowledge of how quickly the act would grow exhausting. 

So he did his best to lay a foundation for whatever future might exist here. He was friendly to Hayden and JJ, going out of his way to show them how perfectly decent he could be. He talked to Hayden about his kids and when they would be old enough to join in at the camps. He asked JJ for restaurant recommendations and vouched for him to control the music in the coach’s dressing room, because they could both agree that Shane could not be trusted to choose a playlist. Ilya was going to make sure that whenever those two found out about him and Shane, it wouldn’t be so bad this time around. He could not fix the entire Voyageurs dressing room, but he could build Shane a better liferaft. 

He chatted politely with Yuna and David when he came across them in the hallway after camps, thanking them for letting him participate. He asked Yuna, quietly, if Shane’s agent was taking on any new clients, because he liked the idea of working with someone based here in North America. She was taken aback and frowned up at him. “Are you planning on leaving Boston?” she’d asked him, and he had shrugged and said he was maybe in need of some change of scenery. She demanded no more information but told him she’d get Shane to pass along Farah’s number. He saw David less, but he always made sure to nod hello, to ask how his day was going, to come across as anything other than an irredeemably arrogant dickhead. Shane’s parents would no doubt still be surprised when they one day learned that he and Shane were together, but they wouldn’t ask why him? quite so loudly. 

And if he was honest with himself, Ilya thought it was unfair that he found all of this necessary. Shane loved him. He loved Shane. That should be enough for everyone. It wasn’t, though, and Ilya knew it firsthand, so he did everything he could to make Shane’s future life easier. Putting up gutters in the bowling lane of life, just in case Ilya found his way back home one day. 

He had to talk to Shane about that. He knew he did. It was the last day of camp and Ilya was palling around with Wyatt, and his team was winning the final scrimmage match of the week, and he was winking at Shane as he skated by, and he knew he had to talk to Shane about it. 

The thing was, Shane’s eyes were very hard to look into and deliver difficult news to. Shane’s incandescently happy face was not one that Ilya had an easy time letting down. He had done that enough for one lifetime, thank you very much. 

Ilya wanted to tell Shane when they get home from camp, but Shane was eagerly recounting how fucking awesome the week had been, and how it was going to be even better next year, and hey, maybe next year they could invite Scott Hunter along to coach! 

Ilya almost broached it over dinner, but he chickened out when he saw Shane serve himself a second helping of pasta. 

Ilya was definitely going to bring it up when they tumbled onto Shane’s couch together, limbs tangled and kisses sloppy because Shane couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Hey,” Shane said, pulling up and away from Ilya’s lips. He looked nervous. Ilya studied his face, unsure what to expect. “I want to ask you something.” Ilya nodded, reaching up to cup Shane’s face in his hand. 

“Anything,” he said, and he almost meant it. 

“I don’t know if you’re due back in Boston or something,” Shane said. He caught Ilya’s eye and looked down. “But if you’re free sometime in the next couple of weeks, I’ve got this cottage on a lake. It’s super private and quiet and I’ll be there basically all of June, so if you wanted to come up for a weekend…” Shane trailed off and swallowed nervously. 

“Just a weekend?” Ilya asked, feigning hurt. 

“As long as you want.” Shane spoke quickly. “If you want.” Ilya nodded. 

“Yes, Shane. Of course I want to come to your cottage.” He let his smile melt away so that he could kiss Shane again. 

The cottage would be a good place for the conversation, actually. This could wait for the cottage. It would be quiet, they would be alone, and Ilya could very carefully break Shane’s heart. 

*

It felt wrong, pretending not to know this place he loved so much. Ilya let Shane give him the full tour of the house that he now considered his own second home. It was mostly the same, missing only a few pieces of Ilya’s real life, like the wedding photo on the landing and the dog bed by the couch. This was the place he’d first properly admitted to Shane that he loved him, the living room rug he’d once spilled red wine over, the kitchen counter where Rose and Svetlana had playfully argued over which one of Ilya or Shane fell in love first. He was supposed to have a loon permanently branded onto his shoulder because he loved it here so much! 

“And, uh, there’s a guest bedroom,” Shane said. “Or we can share. It’s your call. We can decide on a nightly basis, if you want. Obviously there’s no pressure–” Ilya cut off Shane’s nervous chatter with a kiss, tugging him into the bedroom– their bedroom– and shoving him onto the bed. He could have a day of peace at the cottage. 

*

Ilya, the coward, gave himself a full week of happy, domestic bliss at his favourite place in the world. He’d pushed Shane off of the dock and he’d dozed by the fire and he kissed his beautiful boyfriend-slash-husband a few hundred times. Every day he felt worse about how happy he was.

Today, they had showered after their morning workout and swim, and now Ilya sat on the edge of the couch and watched as Shane buttoned up his linen shirt in the hallway mirror and frowned at the wrinkles. “Shane,” Ilya said. He patted the couch. “Come sit.” 

Shane smiled when he sat down beside Ilya. “Hi,” he said. “What do you want to do this afternoon?” 

“I want to talk,” Ilya said. He took a breath to steady his insides. “I have to talk to you.” The little flicker of doubt in Shane’s face was almost imperceptible, but it just about killed Ilya all the same. “I love you,” Ilya said reassuringly and automatically, because that’s what he tended to start with when Shane wasn’t okay, only in this body, he’d never said that to Shane before. “Oh, fuck.” Shane’s eyes went wide and his mouth split into a smile that Ilya knew like the back of his hand.

“I love you, too,” Shane breathed. “I love you so fucking much, and I thought I was crazy, and that it was too soon to feel like that, but… fuck. I love you.” 

Ilya couldn’t believe himself. Days of preparation. Hours of practicing the way he was going to ease into the insane, impossible thing that he needed Shane to understand. And he had somehow thrown it all out the window and opened with “I love you”. So what could he do now except kiss Shane back, enthusiastically and blissfully, like a man in love because he was a man in love. He was in love with Shane Hollander, and it might not be this Shane Hollander, but it turned out Ilya was somewhat in love with any version of Shane. He knew with certainty that whatever insane alternate reality he found himself in, he’d find Shane and he’d love him. 

But he wanted– no, he needed his husband back. 

“Shane,” he said. “I have to say something else, as well. And it’s going to sound crazy. You are going to think I’m crazy.” 

“I don’t think we should get married just yet,” Shane joked. He sobered up when he caught Ilya’s eye. “What is it?”

“I love you,” Ilya repeated firmly. “But there is something you need to know.” Shane nodded, his face flattening into the reserved, serious expression Ilya saw so rarely, especially here at the cottage. 

“Okay,” Shane said. He looked like he was preparing for the worst, that Ilya had someone else or that Ilya didn’t think they should be together. 

“Okay,” Ilya said. There was no good, sane way to start this. “Okay. Do you believe in …magic?”

“What, like, rabbits being pulled out of hats?”

“No, sorry. I mean, like… science fiction. Um, you know in movies when there are many universes happening at once?” 

“Sure,” Shane frowned. “My mom really wanted me to see that one that just came out. She said it made her cry on the plane.” 

“Okay, well, imagine there is a universe where we don’t take so long to get together. That would be nice, yes?” Ilya’s throat felt tight. All of his prep had gone out the window. Shane was going to call an ambulance and have him locked up. “If, say, at the CCM photoshoot after the draft, you believed me when I called you pretty?” Shane rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay. Sounds nice.” Shane shrugged. “But that’s impossible. It wouldn’t have worked.” 

“But what if it did?” Ilya pressed. “What if we hooked up and it was, like, the best. It is the best, right?”

“You know my answer to that.” Shane flushed but didn’t indulge what he read as Ilya’s fishing for a compliment. 

“Okay, and, in this other universe, what if we admitted we were in love years ago. And we were together, properly. Out.” Ilya braced himself at that last word. Shane’s eyes were wide. 

“Ilya,” he said. “I mean, that’s a really nice idea. But I don’t know that it would have worked. We’re us and I don’t think people would be cool about the captains of the Voyageurs and the Bears being together.” 

“I don’t have to be a Bear,” Ilya said. “In this world, I would have moved to Ottawa to be closer to you and then, um, you also moved to Ottawa.” Shane’s face fell into a serious frown now. 

“Um,” he said. He reached for Ilya’s hand. “I really, really like you, Ilya. I love you. But I don’t want to leave Montreal. I love being a Voyageur.” Ilya nodded. 

“I know. You should stay in Montreal as long as you are happy here.” 

“Okay,” Shane said. He looked confused, which was fair because Ilya was doing a horrible job at this. “So, in this fantasy of yours–”

“Parallel universe.”

“In this parallel universe, we’ve been together since we were, what? Eighteen?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Officially since 2017, but it started when we were eighteen.” 

“And you’re an Ottawa Centaur?” Shane scratched his head. “Is this, like, a roleplay thing? Do you want me to act some of this out?” He looked like he was wracking his brain to try and figure out what about this would be sexy to Ilya. 

“I have done a terrible job of explaining this,” Ilya said, standing up and starting to pace. “Fuck. Okay, you remember the wish you made on your birthday?” Shane nodded. 

“For you,” he said. 

“Yes,” Ilya said. “For me. Well, I think your wish brought me here because on May tenth, I fell asleep in my house in Ottawa, beside my husband Shane Hollander, and on May eleventh, I woke up in Boston and I was alone and Shane Hollander was not my husband.” He was holding his hands together almost like he was praying, and he pointed them at Shane now, gauging his reaction. 

“Huh?” Shane blinked. Hurt crept into his face “You’re married?”

“Yes, in another universe, or something. To you. I think I maybe switched with Ilya Rozanov from this universe.” 

Shane stared at him. “Did you hit–”

“I did not hit my head, I did not take any drugs. I am totally sober and sane, okay? I have been in love with you since probably 2010, maybe 2008 if I am honest, because, well–” he waved a hand at Shane, who still looked deeply concerned. “We started dating in 2017, we got married last year, and now we play together on the Ottawa Centaurs, and we will probably win a cup within a couple years because, well–” Ilya waved a hand between the two of them. 

“Ilya,” Shane said. “I think you might have accidentally–”

“I am not on any drugs!” Ilya cried. God, he had seriously overestimated how explainable this would be. “Let me prove it, okay? You still have poster of Pavel Bure above your bed at Yuna and David’s place, which is 9683 Westpine Avenue. Blue and white house with a big backyard. They measured your height on the door down to the basement where you practiced shooting pucks at the wall until Yuna realized you had too hard of a shot to let it continue.” Shane blinked at him. 

“Did you talk to my mom about us?” He said, breath shaky. He looked both scared and– Ilya wanted to cry– a little excited. 

“No, Shane, please listen! I know this because I have been there. Because in my world, I know Yuna and David. Yuna is very mean during card games. David is very patient with puzzles. You accidentally wished me out of my life and into your life, and I think maybe my husband Shane did the same, because he is very stupid.” Ilya stared at Shane, desperate for him to understand. 

“Ilya, I don’t know if you dreamt something weird, but there’s no such thing as parallel universes. None of what you’re saying is possible.” 

“What about your low sodium soy sauce, Shane? I knew because I know you. I know that you eat no carbs when you are stressed and I knew to order you a ginger ale and I knew where you kept your nice porcelain chopsticks because I’ve been to your apartment one hundred times and I know you don’t like the way the wooden chopsticks feel in your mouth!” Ilya was almost yelling now, pacing frantically because he knew he sounded crazy. “You didn’t tell me any of that. I knew because you are my husband. I know you do not believe me, but it is true. Your reading glasses prescription is +0.75. You don’t mind getting blood drawn or vaccinations, but you hate needles in your mouth. Your credit card PIN is 4876 because you got the card in your first year of junior hockey and you scored 48 goals and 76 assists that year. And you have never changed it because you are superstitious.” 

Shane was staring at him differently now. His mind was clearly racing. It was a relief to Ilya that he did not look frightened, but God, he looked sad. It took a long time for Shane to speak, and when he did, it was quiet. “So, none of this was real?”

“No, no, Shane, it is real.” Ilya fell to his knees in front of Shane and grabbed for his hand. Shane flinched slightly, but Ilya held firm. “We are real, you and me. I love you in every universe. I know that. Always you and me. Hey, look at me.” 

“But you don’t belong here. And the Ilya Rozanov I played against– fuck!” Shane leapt to his feet and grabbed at his hair. “You lied to me.” 

“Yes,” Ilya admitted. “Yes, Shane, I lied because I woke up alone and terrified and the only thing I knew was that I needed to find you and to get you back.”

“Back? You never had me, though. Not here. You don’t– He doesn’t even like me in real life. You like me. Well, you like your Shane, I guess? And I’m just… here.” Ilya felt himself crumple inside. 

“Shane,” he said, his voice breaking on the word. 

“You told me that you had a crush on me for years,” Shane said. He was now the one pacing. “Oh my God, do you even have friends in Montreal? Is there even a baby?” Ilya looked at the floor. “What the fuck, Ilya?”

“I wanted a chance to talk to you.” Ilya said. “I know you love IKEA instruction booklets because you love following instructions and counting inventory.” Shane stopped his pacing to look at Ilya. 

“I do,” he said, frowning. “So, now what?” 

“I don’t know,” Ilya said. “But I have an idea. And this is why I wanted to tell you everything, just in case my idea works and…”

“And you disappear,” Shane said. “Cool. Well, thank you for letting me know. I hope you have a great life with this other, better Shane Hollander.” 

“He has fewer Stanley Cups than you,” Ilya offered, trying out a smile. Shane narrowed his eyes. 

“Well, that makes sense. He left Montreal for fucking Ottawa.” 

“Ottawa is nice,” Ilya said. Shane sunk down to sit on the couch. He looked miserable. Ilya sat down beside him. “Shane, I need to get back to my husband and my dog and my team and my life. I at least need to try.” 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I get it.” 

“He will need you, though.” Ilya said. 

“Who?”

“Ilya.” 

“You?” 

“Yes, me, but the me that is for you.” Ilya shook his head, confused by his own words. “The Ilya from your world, who is still a Boston Bear and is still distracting himself with one-night stands and who still smokes too much. I quit for you, by the way. He will too, probably.” 

“Where is he, then? Off in your world playing house with your husband?” Ilya’s face betrayed him. Shane let out a short, humourless laugh. “Oh my God, you’re jealous? He’s you! And in case you’ve forgotten, we’ve fucked a few dozen times since you got here.” 

Ilya rubbed a hand over his face and then shrugged. “Not jealous, but… it is weird.”

“That’s an understatement.” 

“But we are like soulmates,” Ilya said. “We have to find each other in every life, I think.”

“Soulmates?” Shane echoed.

“Yes,” Ilya said confidently. “In any universe, we will love each other. So it is not jealousy, what I am feeling, but I am not in the right place. You need him, not me. And he definitely needs you.” 

Shane nodded and then shook his head and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think we’re soulmates?”

“Yes,” Ilya sighed. “Obviously. You wished for me on a shooting star and here I am.” 

“And he’s…” 

“With my Shane, probably. I hope he is. I think Shane will help him. You Shanes are very good for us.” He smiled warmly and got nothing back. “I think he must be there, though, because I am in his body.” 

“Isn’t it the same body?” Shane frowned. 

“No, there are some differences. I have loon tattoo.” He slapped his shoulder. “For you, because I love this place. And my hair is nicer. Oh, and he has weaker lungs. So, I am better at hockey in my old age, probably.” 

“Am I any different?” Shane asked, sounding genuinely curious instead of annoyed. “Physically, I mean.” Ilya smiled and stroked Shane’s head. 

“Your hair is shorter,” he said. “And you are… a little smaller here. You do not eat enough.” 

“I eat exactly the right–”

“Shane, my sweetheart,” Ilya said heavily. “You have lived a hard life, always so perfect under so much pressure and always hiding yourself away and always trying to be in control.”

“I get paid 13 million dollars a year,” Shane said. “Plus bonuses and endorsements. I don’t think that counts as a hard life.” 

“You look tired to me,” Ilya said. “The Shane I know is the best player in the league and he eats cake for his birthday. He is thirty-one and still embarrasses star rookies every night. He is an All-Star, future hall-of-famer superstar who is not slowing down one bit, and he is eating real food. Chicken parms, sometimes. Not always, but sometimes.” 

Shane looked away, shaking his head dismissively. “Why a loon?” He asked, changing the subject. Ilya shrugged. 

“You will have to invite him up to the cottage and see,” Ilya said. “He will love it here. It is my favourite place in the world.” Shane softened at this. 

“Really?” 

“Really,” Ilya nodded. “Is where we told each other ‘I love you’. Many years later than we should have, but we are complicated, you and I.” 

“No kidding,” Shane said. “Fucking parallel universe level of complicated, apparently.” 

“I am sorry for interrupting your life,” Ilya said after a beat. “I needed you. Not once did I lie about my feelings, except to understate them. Did not want to scare you away too soon.” Shane nodded. He fiddled with the hem of his shorts and said something very quietly. “What?” Ilya asked. 

“What if he doesn’t like me in this universe?” Shane asked. “What if this is the universe where we never… What if it’s not supposed to happen for me?” Ilya moved on instinct, wrapping Shane up and tugging him into his lap. 

“No,” he said fiercely. “Impossible.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can,” Ilya insisted. “I know.” He breathed into Shane’s neck and kissed it gently. “He will be different, though. He has not had you, and you have made me better.” 

“At hockey?” 

Ilya snorted. Such a Shane thought. “At being happy,” Ilya answered. “You remember when my father died?”

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“I called you after the funeral.” Ilya said. “I just told you a small lie about the cottage, actually. I first told you I loved you that day, in Russian because I was too scared to let you hear it.” 

“Oh.” 

“I needed you and you were there. I have grown very used to that. I’m a ridiculously lucky man.” Ilya squeezed Shane. “I have no idea who he called after funeral. Probably no one. Probably drank himself to sleep and ignored Svetlana and fought with Alexei about the will.” He sighed. Shane was silent. His head sunk into Ilya’s lap, and for a long time they sat quietly, Ilya stroking Shane’s hair and doing his best to keep his breath steady. 

“How are you going to get back?” Shane asked eventually, his voice thick. Ilya’s hands stilled. 

“Well,” he said. “It is my birthday next week. I think I will make a wish when I blow out my candles and then…” Ilya shrugged.

“Oh,” Shane said. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He sat up and looked pained when he added: “There’s also a well. It’s for drinking water, but we could, like, toss a coin at it and make a wish.” Ilya kissed him. 

“Thank you,” he said. He swallowed. “I miss my husband and I have to get back to him. We went through so much to build our life together, and I cannot walk away from that. But I am lucky to be here, too, I think.” He took a hand to Shane’s chin and tilted his face so that their eyes met. “You kissed me first this time.” Shane did something with his eyes that always made Ilya feel a complicated combination of aroused and concerned. He looked on the verge of tears and yet entirely spellbound by Ilya, like there was nowhere on earth he’d rather be. 

“You seduced me with IKEA assembly instructions,” Shane said eventually, smiling. “I was coerced into making a move.” 

“You see how well I know you?” Ilya said. Shane sat back and threw his legs across Ilya’s lap. 

“Tell me about him,” Shane said. “Your husband.” 

*

For days, Ilya and Shane lived in a funny balance of soaking up their remaining time together and preparing Shane for whatever came next. 

“He will be scared, I think,” Ilya told Shane over a game of MLH on the Playstation. “Don’t be too nice to him by trying to give him space. He will think you don’t want him around. Smother him.”

“I’m not going to smother you,” Shane snapped. “Him. Whatever.” Ilya paused the game and looked at Shane. 

“Smother him, I am telling you. He needs to be reminded he is loveable.” Shane frowned at Ilya, who hit play on the game and won a faceoff before Shane looked back at the screen. 

*

“Wait,” Shane said. He set down his fork. “Rose Landry. You weren’t surprised by that at all.” 

Ilya almost laughed. “Yes, my Shane tried to date Rose, too.” Shane returned to his salad, thinking hard. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t cheat on her or anything, right?” He looked up. “With you, I mean.” 

“No, Shane. You are not a cheater. You were a very good boyfriend to her outside of, well…” Shane flushed a pretty shade of pink.

“So, what? You and I just didn’t hook up for a while?” Shane asked. Ilya sighed. 

“We were not talking then,” he said. “It is not important now why. We were boyfriends a few months later, so do not worry about it.”

“What happened?” Shane insisted. Ilya shook his head.

“It was all very stupid,” he said. “You needed to try out being straight. Part of the process, yes?” 

“But why weren’t we talking?” Shane pressed. “I want to know. I don’t want to do it again, Ilya.” 

“You won’t,” Ilya said. “We were very young still, and too scared to admit we liked each other. You are not scared of that.” 

“But–”

“Shane,” Ilya said. “If I– if Ilya called you ‘Shane’ instead of ‘Hollander’, would you like that?” Shane blinked. 

“Yes,” he said. “I like both. Either.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said simply. “It is fine, then. You will not freak out and go fuck a movie star if he gets worked up and accidentally calls you ‘Shane’ after you jerk us off together. No problem.” 

“What?”

*

“Oh.” Ilya sat up on the dock. “Shane might have told Ilya this one, so you should know it, too.”

“What is it?” Shane sat up eagerly. He had so many new freckles from his week in the sun. 

“You remember how I said I needed to tell you how I felt about you because I could die in a plane crash one day,” Ilya said. Shane nodded. “Well, no one was seriously hurt, but the Centaurs plane did make an emergency landing. I was very sure I would die.” 

“Ilya, what? Were we both on the plane?” Ilya shook his head. “Fuck.” 

“This was before you left Montreal,” he said. “Before we were out publicly, before we were even engaged.” 

“That’s terrifying,” Shane said. 

“I sent you very dramatic, romantic messages from the air,” Ilya smiled across at him. “Just in case I never saw him again.” He didn’t mean it like that, but Shane’s face shifted away. He looked out across the lake. When he met Ilya’s gaze again, his eyes were determined. “What kind of birthday cake do you like?” 

*

“My mom likes you,” Shane said as they dozed off one evening. 

“Really?” Ilya asked. “Already?” Shane propped himself up on his elbow. 

“Did it take long for you?” 

“No, not really,” Ilya conceded. “You parents were very good to me as soon as they realized we weren’t just… when they realized we were in love.” 

“Good,” Shane said, kissing his shoulder. “Well, when you met them in the hallway after the game, you called me the best in the league and apparently that’s enough to win Yuna Hollander over.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, she is very serious about that.” Ilya laughed. “She will shower me with compliments, but we both know who our favourite player is.” 

“Would I beat him one-on-one?” Shane asked. 

“Who? Shane?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He’s you.” 

“But he eats worse and he left Montreal,” Shane said. Ilya held back a smile at the edge of judgement in his voice. Always so competitive. 

“You are both Shane Hollander, so I would not bet against either of you. You would both win, somehow.” 

*

Ilya woke up early and stole a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the kitchen. He sat on a rock overlooking the sunrise and smoked as he wrote. He wrote and wrote and wrote. It was overkill, probably, but he needed to do anything and everything he could for the Shane he was leaving behind and the Ilya who had been alone for so long. 

*

“He learned Russian for me,” Ilya tells Shane when they’re floating in the lake. 

“Can you teach me something simple?” Shane asks after sitting with this for a few minutes.

“What do you want to know?”

“Teach me how to say ‘I love you’. So that I can tell him.” 

*

“Was it just for love, the reason I left the Voyageurs?” Shane asked. He had clearly been stewing on it, staring into the fire pit for some sort of answer. 

“It was because you loved me, yes,” Ilya said, which was not untrue. He didn’t know how things would play out in this timeline. Maybe Shane could play out his career in Montreal. Maybe Ilya would join him there one day and win the city over with charmingly bad French and immaculate chemistry with their golden boy Shane Hollander. 

“And you left Boston to be close to me?” Shane asked. He looked worriedly into Ilya’s face. “They weren’t mean, or… It wasn’t because they, like–”

“Boston was always good to me,” Ilya said firmly. “If your Ilya wants to stay there, he will be okay. But life is nice in Ottawa, closer to Shane. It is his call to make.” 

“Good,” Shane said. He kissed Ilya’s cheek.

*

Ilya took Shane’s phone and changed his contact name to Lily and he changed Shane’s name to Jane in his own phone. He told Shane to talk to his parents and his agent, to have a statement and a plan in place in case one or both of them was outed before they were ready. 

“And, um, when should we come out? And how?” Shane asked. He sounded like a child, not a thirty-one year old man who had carried a historic MLH franchise on his back for over a decade. 

“Your life is very different from ours,” Ilya said, shrugging apologetically. “Whenever you are ready, I think. But…” Shane leaned into the hand that Ilya had placed on his cheek. “You will maybe be ready before you think you are. It is scary, but not so scary when we have each other.” 

“Okay,” Shane nodded. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe,” Ilya said firmly. “You will not be alone. You have Hayden and JJ and Rose and your parents and you have me. And many people will be shocked and confused, but many people will think it is wonderful. Beautiful love story, they will say. Many accounts on Twitter will post about how they always knew there was something there. Lots of very nice messages.” He grinned at Shane’s reluctant laugh. 

“Okay,” he said. He frowned at the box of chocolate cake mix and the pack of birthday candles that sat on the counter. “And you’re sure about this?”

“No,” Ilya admitted. “I have no idea if it will work. I might be stuck here with you forever.” He kissed Shane’s shoulder. “Worse places to be, I think. But maybe I will be sent somewhere else. Maybe in next life, I will wake up in Russia and have never moved to North America and will have to seduce you without knowing any English. Would be fun, right?” Shane didn’t laugh. 

“I really hope that if you go, you go back home,” he said seriously. “And I hate that I can’t ever know.” 

“You will know,” Ilya said. He put a hand on Shane’s heart. “If you give this a chance with the stupid Ilya Rozanov who never came onto you in the showers after that CCM shoot, if you let yourself be happy in this life, I promise you that I will be happy in mine.” Shane blinked, his eyes glistening with tears that Ilya knew he wouldn’t let fall. Then, he wrinkled his nose. 

“In the shower?” He asked. “Ew, what? In public?” 

“No,” Ilya laughed. “Well, yes, actually, but we didn’t– we just looked. No touching. No, I guess I touched myself and you watched, kind of.” He found himself blushing as Shane’s jaw dropped. 

“Jesus Christ, I watched you… in the shower?” 

“I did not come, or anything,” Ilya shrugged. “Was just making you an offer.” 

“And I accepted?” Shane asked, wide eyed. “You touched yourself in the communal showers and I… yeah, okay.” He seemed to accept it once he’d given it some thought. 

“We did not kiss until we were in your hotel room. Very private and safe,” Ilya assured him. “You had never been with a man, so–”

“Don’t!” Shane cried, head in his hands. “God, that’s so embarrassing. I would have had no idea how to do anything.” Ilya hummed and shook his head. 

“No, you were not as skilled as you are now.” He touched Shane’s bottom lip lightly with his thumb. “But you were very eager. Was overwhelming for me.” Shane groaned into his hands. “Shane, please do not act embarrassed about the best decision I have ever made.” 

“Eager?” Shane repeated. 

*

The cake sat with unlit candles stuck into it and Ilya and Shane hadn’t touched each other in hours. It was uncomfortable, this waiting. 

“What if we time it wrong?” Shane asked. “I made that wish on the night of my birthday, not the night before. Even if we wait until midnight so that it’s actually your birthday, it’s still sort of a day ahead, right? What if the switch only happens one way and you get stuck somewhere because my Ilya hasn’t left your Ilya’s body?” Ilya blinked at him and then smiled. 

“If your Ilya and my Shane have also decided to make a wish on my birthday, Shane will have thought everything that you just thought,” he said calmly. “He will have done all of this panicking, too, and then he will have thought about what I would do, and he will realize that I am going to try to get back to him as quickly as possible.”

“And if they haven’t planned on Ilya making a birthday wish to get back here?” Shane asked. Ilya shrugged.

“Then we will see, I guess.” He pulled a letter out of his back pocket and slid it across the island to Shane. 

“What does this say?” Shane frowned at the outside of the envelope. 

“That is my name,” Ilya said. “I wrote it in cyrillic so he would know it was from me.” 

“What’s in it?” Shane asked. 

“Some advice,” Ilya said. “Things he will probably need to hear.”

“And what if he doesn’t show up?” Shane asked. “What if you just disappear and he comes back to our world in Boston or Moscow or–”

“Then you will find him,” Ilya told him, not for the first time this week. “You will find him and force your way into his life and you will give him this letter from me, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “And what if he doesn't want–”

“Shane Hollander,” Ilya took Shane’s face in his hands. “There is no world where Ilya Rozanov does not fall in love with you. None. Never. Maybe there is a world where I never learn how to play hockey or a world where my father is kinder or a world where you go first overall and win Boston a hundred cups, but every time, I will want to be with you. I believe that more than I believe in anything else. Okay?” Shane stared at him and then, eventually, he nodded. It was almost midnight. Shane lit a match. 

When he blew out the candles, Ilya cheated. He shut his eyes and made multiple wishes. I wish I was back home with Shane, in my real life. I wish for the Ilya that belongs here to wake up safe and happy with his new boyfriend and I wish for it all to be easy for them. I wish that this Shane watching me right now will never feel lonely ever again in his life. 

*

They lay in bed and Ilya’s heart raced. He had to fall asleep, he figured, but he had no idea how he could possibly fall asleep with so much at stake. 

“I love you,” he reminded Shane. “He loves you.” 

“I know,” Shane said. “Thank you.” 

“Make sure he gets that letter.” He had set the envelope on the night stand beside his phone.

“I know.” 

Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head. “Thank you,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave here for anyone except… well, you, I guess.”

Shane nodded. Ilya wondered if he was mad at him. It would be fair. He had barged into Shane’s life, initiated this blistering and impossible relationship, and then asked politely to disappear. 

“I’m glad you found me,” Shane said. His voice was shaky but determined. “Even if he doesn’t love me in this–”

“He will–”

“Let me finish. Even if he doesn’t, I’m glad to know that he could. I’m glad to have had this. I didn’t know life could feel like this.” 

“Shane, sweetheart–”

“No, please. I never thought there would be anything or anyone that I’d care about like I care about hockey. But I’d give it all up for you. I’d give anything up for you, I think. Even you, apparently.” 

“You will have me, always,” Ilya said. “He needs you so much. I know this. You will find him and look after him and give him this letter, yes? Promise me.”

“Promise.” Shane touched Ilya’s mother’s necklace as he said it, and Ilya finally felt himself drifting towards sleep. 

*

Shane tried his best to relax, but he couldn’t. He’d woken up an hour ago and had stared at Ilya’s sleeping form the entire time. He had no idea if it had worked. The Ilya he had fallen asleep beside looked entirely the same as the one who lay beside him now. Sunlight was starting to filter in through the windows– Shane had forgotten to put the blackout blinds down last night, too preoccupied with the task at hand. 

Ilya stirred and Shane sat up, holding his breath. Please. Ilya took a deep, slow breath and his eyes flicked open. 

“Ilya,” Shane said, and Ilya’s entire body seemed to relax at the word. 

“Shane,” he said. “My Shane.” He craned his neck to inspect the loon on his shoulder and he shut his eyes again, exhaling. “Shane. Tell me something. Did you wish for us to be apart?” He asked, his voice half amused and half angry. 

“No!” Shane insisted. “No, I… I accidentally wished– and, for the record, I didn’t think it would come true, because that would be impossible!”

“What did you wish for?” Ilya laughed. His eyes opened again and he cradled Shane’s face with a big, familiar hand. “I will forgive you.” 

“I wished for your life to be easier,” Shane admitted. “Without all of the complications that came with, well… us.” Ilya considered this. 

“This was your wish?” He asked. “Really?”

“I didn’t mean it!” Shane said. He brought his head to llya’s forehead. “I would take a thousand more complications if it meant being with you.” Ilya nodded against him and brought their lips together. He had missed kissing his husband. The Ilya he had been kissing for the last few weeks had been lovely and strange and beautiful, but these lips were the ones he had missed, sure and steady, so familiar with every inch of him. 

“God, I missed you,” Ilya breathed into Shane’s mouth as he flipped them over. “I missed my Shane.” Shane indulged in one more long, lingering kiss before he pushed Ilya an inch off of him and met his eyes. 

“Were you, like… this is going to sound insane, but–”

“I was stuck for a month in an alternate parallel universe with a Shane Hollander who had never hooked up with Ilya Rozanov, yes,” Ilya said. “Was awful at first. Nicer once I seduced him.” 

“Seduced?” Shane frowned. “What, did you corner me in a shower again?” Ilya’s laugh rumbled against Shane’s chest. 

“I lured him in with the promise of building IKEA furniture,” Ilya said. “He was very like you. Very easy for me.” Shane’s mouth twisted into a smile.  

“I don’t think you want to talk about easy, Ilya,” he laughed. 

“Oh? I was eager to be Mr. Hollander?” 

“He was in heaven,” Shane grinned. “It was like he’d woken up in a dream life that he had never let himself imagine. He got your ear pierced.”

“What?” Ilya’s hand went to his ear and touched the small gold hoop that hung from it. He swore in Russian.

“It’s hot,” Shane said happily. “It was fun, at least some of the time. When I could distract myself from missing you.” Ilya nodded. 

“Well, I am glad you had this sexy ear-pierced version of me to keep you warm,” Ilya said. “My Shane was extra neurotic and accused me of wanting to sleep with your mother.” 

“Pardon me?” Shane asked, but Ilya was laughing. 

“I loved him,” Ilya admitted. “He was so sweet.” Shane hummed in agreement. 

“I think I love every version of Ilya Rozanov,” he said simply. “But I love you best.”

“We are in the best universe, I think,” Ilya said. “I would not trade it for anything.” 

“Me neither,” Shane said. He kissed Ilya’s neck and then his jaw and then his lips. “Happy birthday, by the way.” 

*

In the same bed, at the same cottage, a whole universe away, Shane woke up alone. He stared for a long time at the spot Ilya had occupied and blinked tears away. He had prepared for this, of course. This had felt inevitable. He’d do it, because he had promised Ilya and himself that he would. But the idea of tracking down Ilya Rozanov and convincing him to love him sounded daunting, especially when he’d had the real thing so easily for a handful of weeks. Shane threw the covers off and stood, wanting to pack his things and get the hell out of this stupid, giant, empty glass house he had built himself. 

“Shane.” Ilya spoke from the doorway. He looked nervous and he was holding an envelope and multiple pieces of paper. His eyes were red and puffy, like he’d been crying. 

“Ilya,” Shane said, and they stepped toward each other.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for reading and commenting! #GiveIlyaAnEarringInUnrivaledOrSeason2

I kept thinking of 100 things I wanted Ilya to tell Shane about his life but I had to cut myself off at some point.

Fun little bonus chapter about Alt!Ilya's time with Shane in Ottawa will come soon, and I promise it will give Alt!Shane a more definitive happy ending with his Ilya.

Chapter 8: Bonus!

Chapter Notes

The plan was to write a short, fun bonus chapter about Alt!Ilya's time in Canon!Shane's home. Well... it's a bonus chapter.

In the interest of neatness, this is structured the same as the original arc: Shane’s POV as a set-up, Ilya’s POV throughout the chaos, then back to Shane at the end. Forgive some of the creative license I take with each of them to make the story work. They are both a little softer and sweeter than is realistic, but that's what this website is for :*

TW: one homophobic slur.

Shane Hollander’s birthday gift to himself was choosing to shoot on the final-minute two-on-one rush instead of passing the puck to Hayden. It was the more selfish play, but he had a gut feeling and he trusted it. Hayden leapt into his arms behind the net as the goal horn sounded, screaming about a “birthday buzzer beater” and saying something like “thank fuck you shot it, he was all over me” and then the rest of the Voyageurs were mobbing them. Shane received facewashes and embraces from the skaters as he led them across the ice to greet their goalie. 

It was a good day. Game one of the Eastern Conference Finals down, one win closer to his fifth career Stanley Cup. He promised the team that he’d indulge with them after the playoffs finished, which he hoped would be in a matter of weeks, not a few days from now. No cake or champagne for Shane tonight. They had a game in a few days. 

He went home alone to his dark, empty apartment and let the smile fall from his face. Today was a good day, he reminded himself. He thought about Hayden dropping everything to hug his family when they met in the hallway after the game. Jackie had embraced Shane first, because Hayden was preoccupied with the twins, but then she had swung her arms around her husband and kissed him. “You are such a good distraction, babe,” she smiled. “They should invent a new type of assist to count all of the times you’ve helped Shane get open so that he can work his magic.” Hayden didn’t argue or feign insult. He had just grinned and ruffled Shane’s hair and told him he was magic. 

Shane didn’t feel magic just now. He stood alone, still in his suit, not bothering to turn on the lights. He would go straight to bed and the so-called magic of his last-second shot would fade away because that had just been one win. They had to beat Toronto three more times if they wanted to reach the finals. It was a tall ask, and Drapeau had looked shaky tonight. Comeau couldn’t win a face-off to save his life and JJ’s wrist was still not right after the Boston series. 

Shane shook his head. His therapist had told him he needed to get his mind away from hockey sometimes. But where could it go, if not hockey? Hockey was his life. He didn’t get to have a wife and kids. He didn’t even get to have a boyfriend, because who in their right mind would want to secretly date a neurotic, boring, paranoid Shane Hollander?

Scott Hunter could pull off being out and proud and a star player, sure, but he was Scott Hunter. He was everyone’s perfect image of a hockey guy: white, confident, well-spoken. Shane didn’t know how to speak for a community. He tended to fumble through questions about his Japanese heritage, always worried about misspeaking. He couldn’t do that for the LGBTQ+ world, too. 

Shane Hollander was confident in one thing: he was really, really good at hockey. Everything else about him was a little bit wrong, and he was happier to keep those things tucked away. 

But God, it was lonely. He had basically solved the physical complications of being gay while also being a high-profile hockey superstar. His hook-ups were discreet and safe and checked the boxes he needed checked. Emotionally, he had long since decided he would just wait until he retired. Maybe then, he could fade out of the spotlight and seek out something real. 

He watched a shooting star glimmer across the night sky and he shut his eyes. It was too much to ask, but he asked for it anyway. He wished for someone. Someone who he could be with, someone who understood how hard it was to navigate all of this. He realized when he opened his eyes that he should have been more specific. “I mean romantically,” he said out loud. A montage of every man he’d ever had a crush on raced through his mind: Pavel Bure, a high school English teacher, Heath Ledger, his linemate in junior before he called an opponent a faggot, one of Rose Landry’s straight co-stars (just his luck), and, yes, okay, Ilya Rozanov. 

He’d been trying to shake that one forever, but it was hard when the league wanted them in each other’s faces so much. He had done his best not to look at Rozanov when they shook hands just a few weeks ago at the end of their hard-fought playoff series (won by Shane and his Voyageurs, of course). It was impossible. He was only ever close to Rozanov on the ice, when Rozanov’s body slammed into him and tried to knock him off the puck. This brief moment of hand-to-hand contact came once a year at most, if Shane was lucky. Shane wasn’t a small man, but his hand felt almost delicate in Rozanov’s, and he couldn’t help but look up and lock eyes when he told the Russian to “have a good summer”. It was bitchy and uncalled for and maybe Shane should have stuck to “good game, good series”, but he liked the little spark of amusement that he caught in Rozanov’s face before he moved along through the handshake line. 

He blinked, realizing he had been thinking about Rozanov for a good thirty seconds when he should be undressing and brushing his teeth and resting up for the very important next few weeks of his real life. He had hockey games to win. 

Ilya Rozanov was dreaming about Shane Hollander. It had happened before. A few times, actually. Maybe more times than he’d care to admit. Usually, the dreams were more… intense than this. Usually, he had Hollander in a compromising position and it was frantic and heated and he’d always wake up before the best part. 

Today, Hollander was sleeping up against him. He was in a dark room in a comfortable bed, and in the back of his mind, he thought he might be close to waking up, because he felt a little bit too aware that he was dreaming. 

Ilya told his dream self to wake Hollander up so that have a bit of fun during this subconscious experience, but his dream self thought that Hollander looked too peaceful to wake up just yet. He brushed Hollander’s hair away from his forehead and softly ran his finger along his nose. It was a sort of perfect nose. Ilya’s had been broken twice, and though it wasn’t totally crooked, it wasn’t a straight, sharp line the way Hollander’s was. Ilya had never dreamed about Hollander in such detail. He’d always wanted a close-up look at these freckles. Maybe his subconscious was onto something with this genre of Shane Hollander dream. He’d like the sex dreams, too, but mixing in one of these every now and then could be nice. His fingers moved down to Hollander’s mouth, and he ran a thumb along the bottom lip. Hollander made a happy little noise and Ilya’s vision blurred and faded. The dream changed into some nonsense about forgetting his shoulder pads and having to borrow from the Bears’ back-up goalie. His mind moved on from the details of Shane Hollander’s face. 

*

Ilya Rozanov woke up confused. He blinked around the unfamiliar bedroom for a third time and slapped himself in the face. 

Where was he?

He’d had a bit to drink last night, but not that much. Not enough to forget his night entirely. He had taken home a pretty girl named Shauna or Sheila, and they’d had perfectly good sex and she’d offered to get out of his hair at two in the morning, and he’d told her she could stay over. He didn’t mind. 

But this wasn’t his bed, and Shauna/Sheila was nowhere in sight. He reached for his phone to check the time. He froze when the screen lit up. When had he changed his phone background to a random dog? It was a cute dog, but he didn’t own a dog. Maybe this was Shauna/Sheila’s phone. He shook his head. How had he entirely misremembered whose house they’d gone home to? He was thirty– nearly thirty-one!– and he could handle his liquor. He was no longer some sloppy young thing, stumbling around Boston and waking up in strangers’ beds every other night. 

A door closed somewhere in the house and there was the unmistakable jingle of a dog’s collar. She was home, then. “Go wake him up,” someone told the dog. And it was definitely a man’s voice…

Ilya stood, frowning. Was he in some sort of danger? Had he been kidnapped? How much would the Boston Bears willingly pay if he was being ransomed?

This place didn’t feel dangerous, though. It felt calm. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror and did a double take. He looked good. Ilya had never been modest about his looks. He knew the effect he could have on people. He was a tall, broad, strong-jawed hockey player with golden-brown curls and a smile that almost always got him his way. But the man in the mirror looked oddly healthy, like Ilya had been drinking a lot of green juice or moisturizing more. He squinted towards his chiseled, shirtless reflection as he approached it, running a hand through his especially luscious hair.

He looked himself up and down and up and down and then, on his way back up, his bottom lip fell in surprise. There was a ring on his chain. A simple silver band interlocked with his mother’s crucifix. Ilya’s hand went to the ring and he frowned. He slapped himself again and then pinched his forearm. He was definitely awake. 

A fluffy blur of brown and white skidded into the room and came to a sudden halt when it saw him. The dog was cute. It was adorable, actually, and definitely the dog from Shauna/Sheila’s phone background. “Hello,” Ilya said. The dog stared at him, ears back and teeth bared. He crouched down. “Hey, I’m Ilya.” The dog gave one short, frightened bark and sprinted out of the room. Ouch. 

“What the hell?” The man’s voice laughed a moment later. “You’re back already? He didn’t drag you in for your daily cuddle?” 

Ilya’s mind ran through the bizarre situation that Shauna/Sheila might have dragged him into. Was she in some sort of open relationship? Was her boyfriend a big Bears fan who was really, really cool about the fact that his girlfriend had fucked Ilya Rozanov last night? Maybe Ilya could escape this with a brief “hello!” and an awkward autograph signing. 

None of that explained the ring. He looked back at the mirror and noticed, for the first time, a new tattoo on his arm. It was a bird– a loon, he thought. Like a duck but spotted and pointier. It must be a temporary tattoo, because there was no sign of healing. What fuck had he taken last night? 

He searched for a shirt, just in case the boyfriend was relaxed but not “half-naked hockey star walking out of my bedroom” relaxed. Damn, this guy kept an organized closet. Everything was perfectly folded. There were at least three Ottawa Centaurs shirts mixed in, which made Ilya slightly nervous about his theory that Shauna/Sheila’s maybe-polyamourous boyfriend would be excited about the Ilya Rozanov of it all. He went with a plain grey shirt and walked out of the room. 

The house was beautiful. It smelled like cedar and springtime and breakfast. That last one was probably a result of the activity in the kitchen. He peeked around the corner to see the back of a dark-haired man’s head as he put some glasses in the cupboard and then bent down to pull more clean dishes from the dishwasher. Whoa. Congrats to Shauna or Sheila or whatever her name was. Her man had one hell of an ass. Ilya tilted his head, admiring the thighs as the man stood up and set a stack of plates on the counter. He turned, then, just enough for Ilya to see his side profile, and Ilya flew backwards, flattening himself against the wall of the hallway. 

Why was Shane Hollander unloading a dishwasher in a nice house in Boston? Didn’t he have a game tomorrow? Oh God, had he fucked Shane Hollander’s girlfriend? And was Hollander cool about it? Did Shane Hollander even own a dog?

Ilya stared dazedly at the busy wall across from him, eyes unfocused. None of this made sense. Hollander couldn’t be in Boston. But Ilya hadn’t left Boston… right? He’d remember getting on a plane to Montreal, surely. 

Had Shane Hollander had him drugged and kidnapped? No, that made no sense. Montreal had already beaten Boston. Hollander was crazy about hockey, but in the weird, superstitious way. He wasn’t the type to Tonya Harding his rival. And if he was, he was doing it in a really, really elaborate way. 

Ilya took a breath and did his best to take stock of what he knew. He had had too much to drink at the bar and had maybe been slipped something that made the rest of his night a blur. He’d got a temporary tattoo of a loon, had slid a ring onto his mother’s necklace, and he had maybe lost his phone. He’d slept with a woman named Shauna or Sheila, and she had a man in her house who loved the Ottawa Centaurs and who looked a lot like Shane Hollander, but he probably wasn’t actually Shane Hollander. There were lots of men out there who had asses like that and jawlines like that. Right? 

A photograph on the wall opposite caught Ilya’s eye and he stepped forward, frowning. It was a photo of himself, there was no doubt about it. He was standing on a dock in a pair of slightly-too-short swim trunks, and he was sticking his tongue out. Beside him, Shane Hollander– yes, that was definitely Shane Hollander– was crossing his arms and looking impatient. The pose made his chest look great. Ilya scanned Hollander’s body twice, almost smiling, before he stepped back and remembered that this photograph couldn’t be real. Neither could that one of him with… Wyatt Hayes and Troy Barrett? When the fuck had he sat around a fire with those two? And there was that dog again, posing in the snow. And again, but now photographed in Ilya’s lap. And there was Shane Hollander with a big, stupid smile, one that Ilya had never once seen, one far more natural than the smile Hollander gave to the media or the brand deals. And beside Hollander’s goofy, smiling face was Ilya, planting a kiss on Hollander’s cheek. Ilya shook his head. 

A small voice in his head asked him if he should panic, but it was overcome almost immediately by a sickening sense of wanting. There was a life in these photographs that was totally impossible, but every detail (except maybe Troy Barrett - what the fuck?) made Ilya’s heart ache. 

The only rational explanation was this: Ilya had hit his head and he was in a coma and he was stuck in this made-up place inside his brain until the doctors could wake him up. 

Ilya nodded, taking it all in. Okay. Nice work by his damaged brain, here. Good interior design. Comfy bed. Shane Hollander. He could hang out here for a few hours, maybe even a few days, and wait for the doctors to fix him. 

“What are you doing?” Ilya turned. Shane Hollander was smiling at him, brows knit. 

“Hollander,” he said. “What a funny place this is.” Hollander cocked his head. 

“Rozanov,” he replied in a comically serious voice. He smiled again. “What do you mean by that?” 

Ilya waved a hand around the hallway, walking past Hollander and out into the living space that was connected to the kitchen. “This house is very nice.” He nodded, still impressed with his imagination. Comas were easier than he’d have guessed. This all felt very real, even if it couldn’t possibly be real.

Hollander followed him, still frowning. “Ilya,” he said. “Why are you being weird?” Ilya hummed. He liked the way Hollander said his name. 

“This is all in my head, I think,” he said. He turned and smiled at the man. Hollander was pretty– Cosmopolitan magazine, women everywhere, and Rozanov’s own fantasies could tell you that– but this particular rendering of him in Ilya’s sedated brain was especially gorgeous. He doubted that Shane Hollander glowed like this in real life. “Hi.” 

Hollander’s face fell further into concern. He scanned Ilya’s eyes. “Ilya,” he said, a hint of panic in his voice. “Did you take something?” 

Ilya shrugged. “I am in a coma, probably.” He motioned to the house. “This is a dream I have created for myself while the doctors fix me. You are here, which makes sense, I guess.” Hollander’s eyes were wide with fear now. It was cute. 

“Ilya?” he said. 

“It is weird, hearing you call me that,” Ilya smiled. “Nice, though. Can I call you Shane?” Oh, that sounded alright. Hollander stepped forward, holding Ilya’s face in his hands. 

“Ilya,” he said very slowly. “I think you might be having some sort of medical crisis. You’re going to be okay. I’m here. I’m not going to leave.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nodded, letting the sweet, hallucinated version of Shane Hollander guide him toward a couch and sit him down. “Coma, I think.” 

“You are not in a coma,” Hollander said clearly. “You are talking to me. You’re awake, Ilya.” Ilya frowned. 

“Shane,” he said. He really liked how it sounded on his tongue. “It is impossible that I would be here, in this nice house, with photos of us everywhere, with nice dog–”

“Anya,” Hollander interrupted. “Your dog, Anya.” 

“Anya! Great name!” Ilya said. The dog, who had been watching Ilya warily from the kitchen, perked up at the name but did not move toward him.

“Yes, Ilya, you chose it,” Hollander said firmly. “Are you playing some sort of prank on me right now? Because it’s not funny and I’m starting to get scared.” 

“Hollander, you are very cute when you’re angry. Has anyone ever told you this?” Ilya felt sort of like he was floating. None of this could possibly be real, so he may as well enjoy it while he was here. 

“Yes,” Hollander said slowly, sounding at once concerned and annoyed. “You do. You tell me that basically every day.” 

“Good,” Ilya said. “This is a nice place.”

“I’m going to call an ambulance,” Hollander said. 

“No, no,” Ilya said. “Shauna or Sheila probably did that. I am most likely at the hospital already.” Hollander’s worry snapped into a sharp anger. 

“Huh?” He asked. “Who the fuck is Shauna?”

“Girl I fucked last night,” Ilya shrugged. “It was okay. But I think I hit my head afterwards, which is why I’m here.” Hollander’s eyes flashed furiously and then softened back into deep, warm concern.

“Ilya,” Hollander whispered. It sounded as though it was taking great effort for him to keep his voice steady. “That didn’t happen. You didn’t leave our bed last night. I would have noticed if you’d left in the middle of the night to cheat on me.” Our bed. Wow. 

“Cheat on you?” Ilya smiled, nodding along. Interesting. “We are exclusive? Wow.” The expression on Hollander’s face looked like someone who was attempting to complete a puzzle while being stabbed repeatedly in the gut. Then, a sudden, frantic sadness as some sort of realization crossed Hollander’s mind. 

“Oh, Ilya.” Hollander reached out and stroked Ilya’s hair. “Hey, baby, I’m here. It’s going to be okay. Whatever this is, we’re in this together. You know my name, right?” Baby!

“Shane Hollander,” Ilya said. This dream life was getting uncomfortable and confusing. Hollander wasn’t acting the way he should act in a dream. He was taking everything too seriously. Whatever drugs the doctors were giving Ilya must have been losing efficacy. He wanted to go back and look at the pictures on the wall. Hollander was looking at him expectantly, so Ilya carried on. “You are the captain of the Montreal Voyageurs and second best wrist shot in the league.” To his surprise, Hollander didn’t react to the small dig. His face was set with concern, a bit of fear flashing across it as Ilya mentioned the Voyageurs. 

“Okay,” Hollander said. “And what year is it?” 

“2022,” Ilya said with a shrug. “May… eleventh?” Hollander nodded. 

“Great, yes! That’s today,” he said, but his voice wavered. “And can you tell me who I am to you?” 

“In real life or here?” Ilya asked. “Because here, I think we’re, like… together?” He smiled. “Fun, right?” Hollander blinked at him. 

“And… what are we in ‘real’ life, Ilya?” He spoke like he was addressing a child. Ilya held up his hands.

“I don’t know. Rivals?” 

“Rivals who… sometimes meet-up?” Hollander asked. “I’m just trying to find the timeline of where your memories are at.” 

“Meet-up to do what?” Ilya asked, leaning forward playfully. “In this dream place, I would ‘meet up’ with you to fuck you, I think. We should try it at least once.” Hollander looked across the room, thinking hard. 

“Okay,” he said. “Have you and I ever kissed?” Ilya laughed. 

“No,” he snorted. “I have thought about it. But no, Hollander, we’re… you’re not even gay in real life, are you?” He took a hand to Hollander’s frozen face and touched his cheek. “You are a fantasy. I am imagining being with you right now.” Hollander pulled away and stood up from the couch. He put his hands on the back of his neck and leaned his head down as he started pacing. 

“Ilya,” he said after a minute. “You are not in a coma. This is your real life. I am your husband, this is your house, and I think you might be developing some early signs of memory loss and I’m sure this is scary but I am going to make sure that you are never alone in this, okay?” He knelt down and took Ilya’s hand. “Can you tell me the last thing you remember about our relationship?” Ilya stared at him. 

“Husband?”

“Ilya,” Hollander said firmly. “The last thing you remember about our relationship. Please.”

“Um,” he said. “We shook hands when you beat me a few weeks ago?”

“I beat you?” Hollander frowned. 

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Montreal versus Boston. Big match-up. You won, you shook my hand and rudely told me to have a nice summer.” Hollander stared at him. 

“And this was in the year…?”

“...2022.” 

“No.” Hollander shook his head. “We don’t play for Montreal or Boston anymore, Ilya. And I’m not asking about hockey right now, okay? I’m asking about us. When was the last time we met up to, you know… fuck?” 

Ilya stared at him. “We have never fucked, Hollander. In this dream, maybe we could. I think we should, if I’m dreaming that you are my husband. But… we do not fuck in real life. I don’t think that you are even interested in–”

“Oh God, Ilya, I’m gay!” Hollander practically yelled. “I am extremely gay. I fuck men. Exclusively one man, actually. Because you are my husband. We are married.” His shoulders dropped. “Sorry. Sorry, you aren’t well and I shouldn’t get upset with you for forgetting.” 

Ilya’s head was spinning. “Hollander, this is weird. Can they just turn my brain off for a bit?”

“You are not in a coma,” Hollander said clearly. “This is real life. We are alive. You are in the real world. I think we need to go to the hospital now.” 

Ilya looked around. All of this did feel realer than a dream should feel. Everything was sharper and clearer than it should be. He put his head in his hands. “Where am I?”

“We’re at home. In Ottawa.”

“Ottawa!?” Ilya jumped up, staring at Hollander wildly. “Why the fuck would I dream about living in fucking Ottawa?” Hollander looked exhausted and terrified. 

“You’re not dreaming, Ilya. This is our house.” He said it with a resigned sort of patience. He stood up and gently rubbed a hand down each of Ilya’s arms, steadying him. Ilya took in Hollander’s beautiful features up close again, just like he had dreamt them last night. Hollander’s hands moved up to Ilya’s neck and he pulled their foreheads together, breathing slowly.

“I know I am dreaming,” Ilya said. “I have to be dreaming.” He proved it by kissing Shane Hollander. And there was no way this wasn’t some wild fantasy, because Shane Hollander was kissing him back, slowly and carefully, but with such feeling that Ilya felt his insides might burst. He had no idea how long he had in this strange, glorious moment, so he deepened the kiss. Whoa. 

And suddenly, it was very clear to Ilya that he was not sedated or unconscious or dreaming; he had never felt more alive and electric. This was happening. Shane Hollander was letting Ilya slip his tongue between his lips. Shane Hollander was whimpering happily into Ilya’s mouth. Shane Hollander was pulling away and looking up at him hopefully with his big, brown eyes. 

“Do you remember now?” Hollander asked quietly. “That we’re together? We’re married. You know that, right?” 

“This is impossible,” Ilya said, pulling back. He shook his head, mind reeling. “We could never actually be together. It would be a terrible idea.” He frowned as he considered how on earth he could be dating– no, married to– Shane Hollander. His head hurt. “It would be way too complicated.” 

And that was what got Hollander to stop looking into Ilya’s eyes with desperation and concern. His face was all shock now, frozen in fear. “What?”

“You are very attractive,” Ilya said. “I have always thought so. But us,” he waved his hand between their chests, “together? It would be too hard. Too complicated.”  

Hollander had both hands over his face. “Oh, God.” Ilya watched him flop onto the couch groaning loudly. “What the fuck did I do? Ohhh my God, Ilya, what did I do?” 

“What is happening?” Ilya asked. “Can I kiss you again?” Hollander pulled his hands from his face and studied Ilya. 

“Is that the first time you’ve kissed me? Like, ever?” His eyes were frantically searching Ilya’s face for something. 

“Yes,” Ilya said. “I have dreamt about it before, but I don’t think that counts.”

“No, that doesn’t count,” Hollander nodded. He was staring at Ilya in disbelief. “Did you– last night, where did you fall asleep?”

“At my house in Boston,” Ilya shrugged. “With a girl named Shauna or Sheila.” Hollander looked away, clearly annoyed. He was cute like that, jealous. 

“Because you’re single.”

“I… thought so?” Ilya frowned. “But you seem to think maybe I’m not?”

Hollander was looking at him like he had two heads. “What the fuck?” He spoke quietly and shook his head. 

“Your dog doesn’t like me.” Ilya said. The dog, Anya, sat on a bed in the corner of the kitchen, still staring at Ilya. 

“What?” Hollander snapped his head up and looked over to the dog. “Anya, come.” He whistled and the dog trotted over, eyes on Ilya. She slowed when she reached the couch and settled at Hollander’s feet, looking up at him pleadingly. Hollander blinked at the dog, then looked at Ilya, and then addressed the dog in a high-pitched voice. “Where’s Papa? Go say hi. Give him a kiss!” Anya the dog gave one low whine, looked at Ilya sideways, and then nuzzled into Hollander’s leg. 

“She’s cute,” Ilya said. “Maybe she is shy?” Hollander had frozen again and started staring into space, clearly thinking very hard. 

“Ilya,” he said after a long, uncomfortable stretch of silence. “You’re not in a coma, okay?” 

“I think you’re right,” Ilya agreed. None of this made sense, but the kiss had convinced him that he was very much awake. “This does not feel like the inside of my head.” 

“Yeah, no, you’re conscious right now. You’re just not… you.” Hollander winced and shook his head. “Fuck, I am so sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” Ilya asked. He thought about reaching out to pat Hollander’s knee, but that would be weird. “It is not your fault I am confused.” 

“No, it is,” Hollander said. He sunk his head into his hands and groaned again. “Last night, you asked me what I wished for when I blew out my candles and you– no, my husband Ilya asked me to make a wish and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted but then I started thinking too much and I felt bad that your life with me had been so complicated so I wished that it …hadn’t been?” Hollander looked at Ilya with wild, frightened eyes. “And now you don’t seem to remember any of the complicated bits. Or any of it at all, actually.” 

Ilya stared at him. To be certain he was awake, he slapped himself across the cheek one more time. Hollander yelled and jumped to grab his hand, tugging it down. 

“What the fuck, Ilya. Don't hit yourself!” Hollander held his wrist down and touched his cheek. 

“It does not hurt,” Ilya said, shrugging him away then immediately regretting the loss of Hollander’s hands on him. 

“I don’t care. Don’t do that.” Hollander shook his head. “Ever.” He heaved a sigh. “Fuck, Ilya. I’ve ruined your life. I’ve ruined our life.” 

“My life is not ruined,” Ilya frowned. “I am millionaire hockey superstar and most popular guy in Boston. Now, I am spending a very confusing morning with you, and maybe after some more kissing, we could send me home?” Hollander almost smiled and then he shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“You are home, Ilya. This is where you live. You left Boston years ago. You are the captain of the Ottawa Centaurs and you live here in this house, and I am your husband, and this is your dog, but she can clearly tell that you are not quite… you.” Ilya looked at the dog, who still appeared uneasy. He looked at Hollander. 

“You are my husband.” Ilya said it tentatively.

“Yes.”

“And people… know?”

“Yeah,” Hollander smiled. “Yeah, everyone knows. The whole world knows.” It was the most at ease and confident Hollander had sounded all morning. The whole world knew about them and it was fine. Ilya swallowed and Hollander put a hand on his shaking knee without hesitating. “It’s good. We’re good. We’re sort of the best, actually.” 

“At hockey? Or in …life?”

“Both,” Hollander smiled. “We’re pretty fucking happy, Ilya.” 

Ilya looked at Shane Hollander, who was gay and his husband and his teammate and a really good kisser and was massaging Ilya’s knee. He considered the lonely house in Boston and the way the bad part of his mind had grown louder over the last couple of seasons. He wracked his brain for some argument in favour of yesterday’s life and came up woefully short. The Bears would be fine without him. He surged forward and took Shane in his arms, hugging him and holding him and now crying into his shoulder. “Shane,” he said. “This is impossible.” 

Shane nodded against him, hugging him back and patting his shoulder. Ilya pulled back to smile tearfully at Shane, who was blinking back his own tears. “I don’t know how we’re going to fix this,” he said, and Ilya shook his head. 

“There is nothing to fix,” he said. “I will stay with you. I am confused, but this sounds like a very nice life. I would love to be your husband, Shane Hollander.” 

“Okay, but–” Shane started. “We do need to get your memories back somehow.” 

“You can teach me everything,” Ilya said. He smiled at Shane. “I will learn how to be your husband.” A pained expression crossed Shane’s face, but he let Ilya pull him back into a hug. 

*

“This is great,” Ilya beamed. He felt like a child. He sat cross-legged on the carpet feeding Anya treats out of the palm of his hand. She had relaxed her head against his knee. “She is so cute!”

Shane nodded. His arms were crossed and he looked exhausted, but he managed a small smile.

*

“Do you always spoil me like this?” Ilya asked over his eggs, which had been prepared by a husband who knew exactly how he liked them. “Or is this special occasion because I have amnesia?”

“I don’t think it’s amnesia,” Shane frowned. “You had a whole life and then you just… moved into a new one, I guess. But no, Ilya cooks more. He’s more adventurous with recipes and stuff, but he always makes a Shane-friendly version.”

“What is Shane-friendly?” Ilya asked, cutting into his toast. Shane shrugged.

“Um, sort of healthier? I like to eat in a way that helps my body perform at its best. Ilya’s helping me be less obsessive about it, I guess.” Ilya smiled, surprised. 

“Wow. I am not a bad husband!” He chewed his toast happily. He liked this version of Ilya Rozanov a lot. Shane was looking at him all sad now. 

“You’re a great husband, Ilya.” There was an edge of frustration in his voice. 

Ilya turned away. He tore off a bit of bacon and tossed it to Anya, who was sitting politely beside his chair. He looked back at his plate and tried to remember the last time he’d had a meal cooked for him by anyone other than the arena catering staff. 

*

Shane walked Ilya through the photographs that decorated the hallway. “That’s my mom and dad,” Shane pointed out. “They love you.” 

“I bet,” Ilya snorted. Shane turned to him, frowning. 

“No, I mean it. They love you, Ilya.” He put a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “You’re like a son to them.” Ilya scanned Shane’s face for some indication of humour. 

“What?” Ilya asked. “Why? That can’t have wanted us to–” He shut up as Shane’s eyes went hard. 

“They love you because you’re my husband. Because I love you.” 

“My father would not like you, if he was still alive,” Ilya shrugged. Then, a horrible thought occurred to him. “He is dead here, right?” Shane stared at him and nodded. 

“Yes, he died in 2017.” Shane squeezed Ilya’s shoulder and brought him into a closer embrace. “And your mother,” he started, but Ilya shook his head and touched his necklace. 

“I know she is also gone,” Ilya said. “Don’t worry.” He shrugged himself out of Shane’s arms and inspected a photo. 

“Troy Barrett is my friend?” He asked, hoping to change the subject. Shane cleared his throat and then leaned in to look at the photo of Ilya with Barrett and Hayes. 

“Yeah, he’s our teammate,” Shane said. “He’s also out. He came out a few months before we… did.” 

“Troy Barrett?” Ilya turned to look at Shane in disbelief. “But he’s… he called Summers a– huh. Wow, everyone is gay here.” 

“There are, like, five of us,” Shane countered. “But three of us are Centaurs, so we tend to get that a lot.” Ilya pointed at Hayes. 

“And I guess Wyatt Hayes does not mind?” 

“No one minds,” Shane said. “Not in our room. Well, maybe some of them do. It’s hockey. But we make sure it’s not a safe space for them to say anything if it does bug them.” He offered a playful little smile. Ilya looked away, an uncomfortable wave of emotion rising up in him. He blinked rapidly, searching for something else to focus on in the photographs. 

He had it easier than some, he knew that. He could hook up with women and appear straight to his teammates– it’s what he’d done for years. Ilya had long accepted that he would keep that side of him tucked away until long after he retired. It was dizzying to be here, in this strange reality where a whole locker room just… accepted it. Not only accepted it, but allowed him to captain them. With his husband beside him.

“When did we come out?” Ilya asked. Shane winced and made a face of discomfort. 

“Um,” he said. “We sort of…” He scratched his head, frowning. “Well, my parents found out basically as soon as we officially got together. And I talked to Hayden but I didn’t tell him about you right away.” Shane looked at Ilya like this was a difficult conversation. He sighed. “Svetlana guessed about you, I think?” 

“Sveta?” Ilya asked. “No, no, she does not know. You know Sveta?” 

“Of course,” Shane laughed. “Look.” He pointed at a photo Ilya hadn’t noticed. Svetlana was wearing an oversized Ottawa Centaurs t-shirt and Shane wore a tiny version of the same shirt, his arms busting out of the sleeves, the bottom hem barely covering his belly button. They were sitting beside a campfire and both had faux-serious looks on their faces. “We both wore the same Rozanov shirt that day by accident and we thought it would be funny to swap them.” Ilya stared at Svetlana’s face. The idea of her and Shane Hollander being friends made his head spin. 

“She is in Chicago now for me,” he said quietly. “We don’t… I don’t see her very much.” He had distanced himself from Svetlana when she’d started dating her now husband. It had felt respectful at the time, but now it felt childish. They were old friends. Why shouldn’t he still be in her life? 

“Oh, that’s sad,” Shane said. He swallowed. “But you have friends on the Bears, right? Is Cliff Marleau still there?” 

“Yeah, Marly’s there. Busy with his kids these days, but he is a good teammate.” Ilya said. He met Shane’s eyes and rolled his own at the worry he saw. “I am fine, Hollander. I am millionaire with many friends.” 

“Who?” Shane pressed. 

“Why’d you leave Montreal?” Ilya pivoted. He pointed to a photo of Shane with Hayden Pike and a hoard of children. The Voyageurs were not well represented in the photographs. Pike made a few appearances. He and JJ Boiziau were the only ones who showed up in any of the wedding photos. Shane sighed. 

“I meant it when I said our life was good, but some things still sort of blew up.” He shrugged and Ilya almost reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Was that the sort of thing Shane’s husband would do? Ilya kept his hands by his sides. 

“They didn’t like that you were with me?” Ilya asked. Shane paused and looked at him carefully. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t think the gay thing was ideal for them, but the Ilya Rozanov thing really didn’t go over well.” 

“And how did they find out?” Ilya asked. “About the gay thing and the Ilya Rozanov thing?”

“Uh, I came out to them as gay,” Shane said. “A few years ago. I thought it was okay, at least for most of them. I thought I was a good enough player that–” Ilya let out an unrestrained cackle.

“Oh, Shane Hollander? Yes, I think you are a good enough player.” He shook his head. “Fuck.” 

“It is what it is,” Shane shrugged. “I’m happier here anyway.” 

“I’m sorry they didn’t like me,” Ilya said. He meant for it to be a joke but Shane was shaking his head rapidly and had his hands on Ilya’s shoulders again. 

“It never mattered,” he said. “It felt like it mattered at the time, but I was always going to choose you over them. Over anything.” Ilya swallowed, the warmth in Shane’s voice hitting him like a punch to the gut. He forced a laugh and raised an eyebrow. 

“I made you move to Ottawa for me,” Ilya joked. “Wow. You are a very good husband.” Shane was grinning and shaking his head. 

“Ilya, you moved to Ottawa for me,” he said. “You left Boston in 2018 and signed with Ottawa to be closer to me in Montreal.” 

“I left Boston in 2018?” Ilya frowned. He met Shane’s gaze. “So, when did we start …this?” Shane hesitated. 

“Um,” he said. He took Ilya by the arm and led them away from the photographs. “Do you remember after the draft, when we shot that CCM commercial?” Ilya let Shane guide him to the couch. 

He remembered that shoot. He had felt like an idiot the whole day, barely understanding the English directions being barked at him and finding himself constantly distracted by Shane Hollander’s rosy, freckled cheeks and wide eyes. He had tried to break the ice by teasing Hollander, but the other boy had shown no interest in engaging with his clumsy attempts. 

“Oh,” Ilya laughed, his face warm. “Is that when you started liking me?” Shane opened his mouth, considering this for a moment. Ilya carried on. “I was half flirting with you that day. I didn’t realize it worked.” 

“Yes,” Shane nodded. “It worked, Ilya.” 

“Wow,” Ilya laughed. “When did we actually hook-up then?” Shane exhaled. 

“Ilya, we hooked up at the CCM shoot.” He was blushing now. “You… I was still in the showers when you came in and then we were both… in the shower, I guess.” He was bright red but smiling. 

“We were both in the shower?” Ilya asked, mind racing. “...What did we do in the shower?” 

“Nothing!” Shane insisted. “Well, you kind of–” He made a little jerking off motion with his hand and then started laughing at the surprise on Ilya’s face.

“And that worked?” Ilya asked, breathless with shock. Shane’s blush spread down his neck. 

“Obviously,” he said, holding up his hand and flashing his wedding band. “We didn’t fuck in the showers or anything. You came up to my hotel room and… yeah. And then we sort of just did that back and forth for years until we realized we had accidentally fallen in love at some point.” Shane shrugged. “That’s the gist.” 

“How long?” Ilya asked. “How long until we had feelings?” 

“You tell me,” Shane laughed. “Every time I try to pinpoint it, I get upset or turned on.” Ilya made a face of confusion and Shane shrugged again. “Like I said, Ilya. We’re complicated. I’ve sort of just started saying I loved you from the moment I saw you.” 

Ilya thought back upon the version of himself Shane had first hooked up with, and then he thought about the nervous eyes and baby-faced Shane Hollander he’d spent that day staring at. “Was I nice to you?” Ilya asked. His voice was shakier than he meant for it to be. Shane’s face fell, as if Ilya had just twisted a knife in his heart. 

“Ilya, you were a kid,” he said. “Don’t worry. You were perfect. I loved it.” 

Ilya didn’t believe him. He had been a mess then. A mess for most of his teenage years and his twenties, and… he had matured a bit, he liked to think. He went out with the team less, and wasn’t sleeping around in the same way he had as a young man. He didn’t get drunk too often. Still smoked, but not so much. He hadn’t craved a cigarette at all today, which felt like a positive. 

The boy Shane Hollander had let into his hotel room was a horrible mixture of cocky and insecure and, frankly, a bit of a slut. Ilya had been self-destructive in every direction. That unpleasant combination of arrogant and self-loathing with a desperation to be good enough for someone– for his team, for his father, for anyone. Ilya had always done his best to keep the damage pointed inwards. He could drink or snort whatever he was offered, so long as he wasn’t making a scene and embarrassing the organization that drafted him. He could feel empty and cold after fucking someone, so long as they felt satisfied. Ilya knew that he was good in bed. He was generous and engaged and had the endurance of a high-performing professional athlete. He doubted that any of his many conquests, of any gender, would have complaints about Ilya Rozanov’s performance. But you could be good without being tender and loving. He wasn’t that sort of man, and Shane Hollander struck him as someone who wanted– or who at very least deserved– tenderness and love. 

“It was okay for you?” Ilya asked. Shane made a sad, sorry face and then forced a laugh. 

“Ilya,” he said. “I married you. We went like, seven years without defining our relationship and we still kept coming back to each other because it was that good. And because we liked each other as people, but… just trust me. It was better than okay for me.” 

Ilya didn’t understand how he could be the sort of man Shane would want. It didn’t make sense to him. Surely there were hundreds of nice, warm, decent men who would kill to be with Shane Hollander. Men he could be with who wouldn’t upset the entire Montreal Voyageurs dressing room. Why on earth had Shane chosen the most messed up, miserable, complicated option? 

Because he loves you. And that was it. It was that simple. It was clear in the devastated, loving way Shane was looking at Ilya like he was his eighteen-year-old self. Shane reached out and ran a hand through Ilya’s hair the way his mother used to, tucking a curl gently behind Ilya’s ear. “I love you,” Shane said, as if he could read Ilya’s mind. Maybe he could. 

It occurred to Ilya that he had woken up in a life that offered him things he had always wanted but had never had the courage to even think of. Whether he felt that he deserved it or not, he’d fallen into a perfect, safe, stable life with the man he’d developed a stupid sort-of crush on as a teenage idiot. Why not enjoy it?

*

Shane let him watch his own highlights on Youtube all afternoon. Ilya felt like a child, exclaiming aloud anytime he noticed something particularly impressive. It was odd that in this reality, he had never scored that insane backhand goal against Denver in 2019, but he had scored a different, perhaps even more insane goal from an impossible angle in Columbus. The highlights from last season were his favourites. 

“We’re so good,” he laughed, scrolling back to replay a powerplay goal Shane had set up for Ilya. “The whole league must have gone crazy when you signed with Ottawa.” 

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged, settling into the couch beside Ilya. “A bunch of Voyageurs fans got a petition going about how me signing on the same team as my husband was some form of tampering. Honestly, it kind of was, but fuck them.” He looked happy with himself. Ilya smiled. 

“Wow. Bad boy,” he said. “Did not know Shane Hollander liked to break the rules.” Shane looked at him, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s sort of our whole thing, Ilya.” 

Ilya’s stomach fluttered at the little smile on Shane’s face. He looked down. 

It was new for him, whatever this was he had with Shane. Ilya had rarely had a problem getting who or what he wanted in life. Generally, if he wanted to sleep with a woman, she wanted to sleep with him back. His hook-ups with men were less frequent and more risky, but any nerves had always been about ensuring privacy and discretion; Ilya was never worried that he wasn’t exactly what someone wanted for the night. 

It was rare, then, for Ilya Rozanov to have a crush. There had been a girl in primary school who told him he talked too much– he spent a whole year trying to get her attention. He’d had a soft spot for the kind, middle-aged Bears physiotherapist who had worked for the team during Ilya’s first few seasons. The leads in The Mummy had certainly made an impression on him as a young man. 

But really, Ilya was never around anyone long enough to develop feelings for them. He met someone, he flirted with them, he showed them a good time, and they left. The girls he called up consistently in various cities on the road were nice, but it wasn’t as if he turned up at their doors with butterflies in his stomach. 

And the whole thing with Shane Hollander had always been too layered and confusing to call a crush. It was jealousy and obsession and magnetism and non-stop comparisons and head-to-head competition and an unspoken mutual respect. Shane Hollander being cute was an annoying complication in all of it. It meant that Ilya had lost more than one face-off in his career because he’d been distracted by Shane’s freckles. It meant that Ilya had accidentally caught bits and pieces of the documentary Shane had filmed, one that featured yoga poses by the lake and many bashful, stilted soundbites. It meant that many drinks into an All-Star weekend, he’d patted Shane’s leg and reminded him that their rooms were beside each other, and had woken up wondering what he had even expected from that. It meant that Ilya had the occasional dream about Shane Hollander, which he always told himself was totally normal. Anyone was susceptible to sex dreams about a hot guy they saw at work, especially if the hot guy told you to “go fuck yourself, Rozanov” as much as Hollander did. 

But this, sitting beside Shane– his husband, suddenly– on their big couch in their shared living room? This was new. It felt delicate and too good to be true, something he hadn’t earned at all. The other Ilya had done all of the work: the Ilya who had been brave enough to make a move, brave enough to pursue Shane, brave enough to leave Boston and be out and marry a boy. And not just any boy, but Shane Hollander. Stanley Cup champion, league MVP, gold-medal winner. Wonderboy. Hollywood. Best player in the league currently and maybe so-far this century. 

It felt like Ilya had pulled off a heist he didn’t know he had planned. His shoulders rubbing up against Shane Hollander’s, his knee knocking against Shane Hollander’s, his eyes looking into Shane Hollander’s. He had struck gold he hadn’t realized he was allowed to search for. 

“What are the rules for us?” Ilya studied Shane’s face, doing his best to not give in to the part of him that felt nervous about this.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked. 

Ilya reminded himself who he was. He was not a shy person. He was hot and confident and a grown man. He did not get flustered. He did the flustering! 

“Would your husband be mad if I kissed you again?” Ilya brought a hand to Shane’s face and spent an extra second looking at his lips before making eye contact again. Shane’s cheeks grew rosy and he smiled. 

“I was thinking about this,” he mused. “I think that until we can figure out exactly how to get you back–”

“Or how to make sure I stay.”

“–until we figure out what’s going on,” Shane pressed on, “I think, I mean… I guess we’re husbands, right?” 

“And it is normal for husbands to kiss each other,” Ilya concluded. He brought his face closer to Shane’s. “Yes?”

“And it’s not cheating,” Shane said, almost to himself. “Because you’re you. And I don’t know if you’d be more upset at me for cheating on you with you, even though it’s not really cheating, or more upset that I denied you physical contact when you’re such a physical person, especially when you’re obviously in the midst of this total mental upheaval, so, like–”

“Okay,” Ilya said. “I am making executive decision. Your husband Ilya can come track me down in other reality and beat me up if he is angry.” His nose was half an inch from Shane’s. “Okay?” Shane nodded. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to–” Shane started, but Ilya cut him off with an exasperated groan and pressed their lips together. 

It was better than he remembered, probably because Ilya had been convinced he was mid-dream when they had kissed earlier. It was obvious, in the way Shane reacted, that he had spent a lot of time kissing Ilya Rozanov and knew exactly what Ilya liked. One hand went automatically to the base of Ilya’s neck and the other was tangled in his curls. Shane’s mouth moved against Ilya’s with such warmth and desperation that Ilya’s throat let out a low, involuntary sound that he may have been embarrassed by if his brain had the capacity to think of anything other than Shane Hollander. He shifted and grabbed Shane by the waist, pulling him across his lap so that he was straddling Ilya. When Ilya’s lips left Shane’s so that he could kiss along Shane’s jaw and downward toward his neck, Shane pushed away, eyes shut. “I mean it, Ilya,” he breathed. “Just because you’re in my husband’s body, doesn’t mean you have to–”

“Oh my God, Hollander,” Ilya sighed against Shane’s neck. “What are you talking about?” 

Shane pulled Ilya’s face up to look at him. “I just want to be clear that you don’t owe me some sort of physical relationship just because we’re sort-of married,” Shane said as he rested his forehead against Ilya’s. Ilya shut his eyes in confusion and huffed out a laugh. 

“I asked you if I could kiss you, no?” He opened his eyes and met Shane’s. “I pulled you into my lap. I want to do this. I want to make most of my marriage to Shane Hollander.” 

“Okay,” Shane smiled, moving to kiss him again, but Ilya pulled away this time. 

“Do you want to?” Ilya frowned. He searched Shane’s face for some sign of doubt. “Is not too weird for you?”

“It’s pretty weird,” Shane admitted, but his gaze was still flipping hungrily between Ilya’s mouth and his eyes. “But I haven’t really ever been able to resist you, so I’m not sure if I can suddenly learn how.” Ilya nodded, dizzy at the heat in Shane’s voice. 

“Do you think,” Ilya said, “if I am in your husband’s life… he is in mine?” Shane winced. 

“Maybe,” Shane said. Ilya’s heart sank as Shane climbed off of him. That was not where he had wanted this to go. “Fuck. He’s probably so confused.” 

“Yes,” Ilya said. “No bird tattoo, no nice dog, bad lungs, no Shane Hollander. What do you think will be the first thing he does?” 

“Um,” Shane frowned. “Smoke?” Ilya rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, probably, okay,” he snapped. “But then he will be on a flight to Montreal to approach Shane Hollander in the showers, right?”

“God, I hope he has a better idea than that,” Shane said, concerned. Then, upon consideration, he shrugged. “Actually, that might still work.” 

“Maybe, yes,” Ilya laughed. “The Shane I know… well, the Shane I play against, I guess, he might not even be interested in–”

“I’m definitely still gay.” Shane cut in firmly, as Ilya finished his sentence: “me.” 

“Oh,” Shane blinked, and then he snorted. “Come on, Ilya. You’re you.” 

“So, it is no problem, then,” Ilya smiled. “He is going behind your back to get into Shane Hollander’s pants right now, I bet. And I am here to make you feel better about having a scoundrel husband. Okay?” Shane narrowed his eyes at Ilya. 

“Ilya’s not going behind my back–” 

“He is, I think,” Ilya teased. “What else would he do? Go to a Red Sox game? He is hunting down Shane Hollander as we speak. Seducing sweet, well-behaved, rule-following, closeted Shane Hollander.” He didn’t miss the way Shane’s cheeks flushed. “Wait. Hollander. Does this turn you on?”

“What?” Shane’s eyes refocused and met Ilya’s. “I– No. I miss my husband.” 

“Yes, but… you are all hot at the collar thinking about him romancing the Shane Hollander who never got to be with him.” 

“No,” Shane said, but he was growing redder still. “I mean, I’d be happy for myself, I guess. If I’d been in the closet that long and totally buttoned up.” He swallowed slowly. “I think Ilya could be really good for him.” 

“Mm,” Ilya hummed. “So, while your Ilya is being good for that Shane, I would like to be good for you. If you would like that.” 

Shane thought about this very hard, his nose scrunching together as he seemed to consider their bizarre situation from every possible angle. Ilya sighed.

“Look,” Ilya said. “We do not have to do anything. But speaking as an Ilya Rozanov, I think he would be very disappointed in me if I could not get my own husband into bed.” 

Shane eyed him suspiciously. “You’re just like him, you know.”

“Duh,” Ilya said. “I am just saying. Those two should not have all the fun.” He leaned forward and put his chin on Shane’s shoulder, looking up pleadingly. “I would like to treat you like my husband while I am married to you. What if I wake up tomorrow back in that horrible place and I never got the chance to get to know you properly?” He placed a hand on Shane’s thigh. 

Shane let out a shaky exhale. “You’ll tell me if it’s weird, right? If I’m too familiar or too forward or too–”

Ilya nodded and shut Shane up with a kiss, sensing that this was something that was needed every now and then, to stop Shane from overthinking himself into a state of panic. “And you will tell me if you are uncomfortable?” Ilya asked as he broke away briefly. Shane breathed a very rushed yeah, yes, of course and flattened Ilya backwards onto the couch.

*

The thing was, Shane Hollander was good. Ilya had always known that this was true on the ice, and he’d always suspected that Hollander was a decent man. Rivalry aside, there were some real assholes in the MLH, and Hollander had never struck him as anything worse than an uptight, PR-friendly bore. In his various steamy dreams, Shane Hollander had been good, but that was because Ilya’s imagination was good. 

But no, Shane Hollander really was that good. His hands were good at knowing exactly where Ilya wanted them. The weight of his muscular body felt just right on top of Ilya’s. Shane’s warm eyes were so full of feeling that Ilya felt winded every time they met his. The noises Shane made were intoxicating. He knew exactly how hard Ilya wanted his fingers to tug at his curls. And, wow, Shane’s mouth was good at everything a mouth could be good at. 

Ilya had never been in love, and no one had ever been in love with him, at least not in a real way. Strangers at clubs and drunk Bears fans at Stanley Cup parades didn’t count. He’d never considered how different it would be to gasp out an incoherent string of Russian and English curse words while being coaxed along by a man who loved him, a man who was looking up at him in a blissful, knowing daze and murmuring against his skin lovingly in the aftermath. It wasn’t usually like this. 

Ilya stared at the ceiling afterwards, nodding immediately when Shane asked if it had been okay. Better than okay. And that made sense, Ilya supposed. After years of being with his own Ilya, Shane would know exactly what his body wanted, exactly what to say and do to drive Ilya insane. 

“Was okay for you?” Ilya asked, still staring at the ceiling, too scared to look at Shane and see any flicker of hesitation. Shane laughed. 

“Yeah, Ilya,” he patted Ilya’s chest. “You’re still Ilya Rozanov, don’t worry.” He sat up then, frowning at the mess. “Let’s get cleaned up.” 

“What do you mean I’m still Ilya Rozanov?” Ilya asked, padding after Shane towards the– their?– bedroom. Shane snorted. 

“You know what I mean. Girl-in-every-area-code, Russia’s greatest love machine, and all that,” Shane teased. Then, he froze, turning on one heel to look at Ilya. “This must be weird for you, I’m sorry, I didn’t even consider this. You woke up single and now you’re trapped in this long-term monogamous arrangement that you did not ask for.”

“Long-term monogamous…,” Ilya repeated. “Just say ‘married’. And I am not trapped.” 

“Yes! You’re not trapped!” Shane insisted. “If you need to, like… go and, you know…” He wrung his hands together. “Just– we can arrange something, if you’re not ready to settle down without any warning, I mean. I get it.” He looked sick and heartbroken at his own words. Ilya blinked at him, trying to figure out how they had gone from what had just taken place on the couch to this. 

“I… do not want to go fuck some random people in Ottawa, Shane,” Ilya went with. “But thank you for the thought?” Shane breathed, relief evident in his entire stance. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” he said. “You’re allowed to change your mind, just let me know.” He moved to open the door to the ensuite bathroom but Ilya stopped him, putting a hand on the doorframe. 

“Does your husband not tell you how good you are at getting him off?” He asked, half teasing and half-serious. “Because you are very good. What you just did with your mouth, Shane– if I am trapped in this marriage, I am a very happy hostage. Okay?” Shane’s cheeks burned red, but he nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. “And he does, by the way. Ilya, I mean.” 

“Tell you you’re good?” Ilya asked, leaning in. “Because you are very good.” 

“Yes,” Shane said. “You too, obviously.” He ducked awkwardly under Ilya’s arm then and led him into the bathroom, showing him how the shower worked and setting out a towel. Ilya was half tempted to tell Shane to forget about the guest shower and to join him, but he knew he could use a few minutes alone, so he thanked Shane and let him go. 

In the mirror, he inspected himself again. He did just frankly look better in this body. The skin beneath his eyes was not dark from exhaustion. His eyes were brighter. The loon tattoo, he decided, was tasteful. He touched the ring on his chest and traced the marks left on his neck by Shane. Shane, who had quietly called him darling in Russian as he finished Ilya off. Shane had learned Russian for him! If all Ilya had to give up for this was a big lonely house and free drinks in every sports bar in Boston, he would make that deal every day. 

*

Showered and dressed in Other Ilya’s clothes, he found Shane in the kitchen sucking on a pen, frowning at a pad of paper, and wearing a pair of reading glasses. Ilya froze, unable to look away even as Anya came to greet him.

He had woken up in the opposite of a Saw trap. Every new piece of information he received about this life was better than the last. He moved to stand across the kitchen counter from Shane to get a clearer view. Wow. 

“So, I’ve been thinking about what our plan should be–,”

“You wear glasses.” Ilya stated. Shane looked up, confused, and then laughed. He tugged the glasses off. “Nooo, leave them on. Please.”

“I’ll put them back on if you listen to me, okay?” Shane said. Ilya liked how politely bossy Shane’s tone was, and he knew he would like it more with the glasses still involved. He folded his hands and nodded. 

“I am listening.” 

Shane brought the paper over so that Ilya could read it. It was an annotated list of dates. “So, I’ve rescheduled dinner with my parents so that you have a few more days to get used to things. Worst case, we can cancel on them and pretend you’re sick. Next week, we have to be in Montreal for the hockey camp we run. We can also keep you out of that if you think it would be too confusing to keep up with. But then after the camps, I was thinking we could go up to the cottage and sort of hide out there, like that first summer. Sorry, fuck, you weren’t there.” Shane shook his head, frowning at his mistake. “This gets confusing.” Ilya nodded slowly. 

“No kidding,” he said. “Cottage? The one you do your yoga at?” 

“Yeah! I had it built– you watched that?” Shane stared at him. “But we weren’t… Why would you have seen that?” Ilya cursed himself, his cheeks warm. 

“What is the saying… Keep your enemies close?” Ilya shrugged. “Was boring. Something to fall asleep to.” Shane’s smile was widening, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Sure,” he said, smug as he returned to his list. “Anyway, aside from the camps, I picked a pretty good time to wish you into another universe, I think. We can go straight from the camps to the cottage.” 

“Like first summer,” Ilya said. “What happened at the cottage?” He expected Shane to roll his eyes or deflect, but Shane put his hand over Ilya’s on the counter and leaned their shoulders together. 

“We figured it out,” he said. “Talked, I mean. It was the first time we had more than a few hours to ourselves and we were able to actually, like… relax.” 

“Oh, you relaxed,” Ilya teased. Shane elbowed him.

“We did a lot of things. We swam, I beat you at pool, I set up a ten-year plan to get you Canadian citizenship, my dad caught us making out against a window.” 

“Oh,” Ilya said. “He did not know about me?” Shane let out a low chuckle.

“He didn’t even know about me.” He grimaced. “It was a big day, but a good one. In hindsight. At the time I wanted to vomit.” Automatically, as though half a day as Shane Hollander’s husband had rewired his brain entirely, Ilya’s hand came up to Shane’s hair, smoothing it gently. 

“I am glad it was okay,” he said stiffly. He was not sure exactly how to express what he was feeling, which was an uncomfortable mix of happiness and jealousy and curiosity. He wanted to know everything about their life. He wanted to have lived in this place forever. “The cottage sounds nice.” 

“It is,” Shane nodded. “I think it’s the best place to figure out how to fix this.”

“Fix what?” Ilya asked, his stomach dropping slightly. Shane looked up at him, eyes wary. 

“Your birthday is in June, right?” He swallowed. “I think we’ll have to try to wish you back to your real life.” Ilya looked back down at the list. The fifteenth of June was the last date on the list, noted alongside Shane’s scrawled ‘Ilya’s birthday – wish?’ 

“Okay,” he said, trying to sound neutral. “If you think that will work.” Shane squeezed his hand. 

“I don’t know if it’ll work. But we have to try, right?” He kissed Ilya’s shoulder. “I know you’re you, but he’s–”

“Your husband, yes,” Ilya nodded. 

“And there’s a Shane he is probably pestering right now who needs to meet his Ilya.” That made Ilya laugh out loud. 

“Yeah! Hello, Shane. Your time with perfect, dream-husband Ilya Rozanov is over, but do not worry, we have depressed, confused smoker for you.”

Shane did not laugh. He looked carefully at Ilya, as if unsure how to respond. 

“Sorry,” Ilya said, trying to smile. “Was joking.” 

“No,” Shane shook his head, very serious now. “My husband still sneaks a drunk cigarette sometimes, Ilya. It’s fine. I pretend to care and then I make him brush his teeth before kissing me. And he sees a therapist to help with the depression. She helps, I think, but obviously there are still bad days.”

Ilya winced and looked away from Shane. “What the fuck does he have to be depressed about?” he laughed. “This life is not good enough for him?” 

“That’s not how it works,” Shane said gently. He tucked himself into Ilya’s back and hugged him from behind. “If I could love every bit of sad out of your life, I would. Just like you’d love to take away all of the things that are wrong with me, if you could. But that’s not how it works. We just love each other, okay?” 

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Ilya said, offended on Shane’s behalf. “What, you are awkward in interviews? It’s funny to watch. Who would want to take that away?” 

“Ilya,” Shane said. He pulled away and flipped Ilya around so that he could look at him. “I’m serious. Your depression has never stopped me from loving you. And being with me won’t magically make it go away. You’re just never alone in it now. I promise.” 

Ilya knew Shane was watching him carefully, but he couldn’t look at Shane. “I was joking,” he said again, his voice hollow. “Is fine.” 

“Ilya–”

“Please, Shane” he said. “Tell me more about this schedule you have made.” Shane did, but not before planting a lingering kiss on Ilya’s cheek and placing his glasses back on his nose. He walked Ilya through his blueprint for the next month of their lives. 

“Can I ask one thing?” Ilya asked afterwards, still trying to process all of the information he had just received. “Why do you think we have to wait until my birthday? Couldn’t you go throw a penny in a fountain or wait outside at night for shooting star?”

Shane blinked. His face went blank. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just figured that since the first swap happened with a birthday wish, we’d just have to wait for your birthday to switch back. I didn’t even consider…” he trailed off and knit his eyebrows together. “I guess we could try–”

“No!” Ilya said. “No, this plan is smart, I think. What if your Ilya is halfway through introducing himself to Shane and we switch back too quickly and scare him off.” 

“I mean, it hasn’t even been a day. He’s probably still in Boston.” Ilya’s heart sank as Shane frowned at the schedule he had worked so hard on. “Well,” Shane said, “I guess we should try one wish at 11:11 tonight, and see how it goes. No harm in trying, right?”

“No harm in trying,” Ilya nodded. He was an idiot for saying anything. He had been offered a month of this life, and he might lose it in a matter of hours because he just had to ask Shane to explain his thought process. Shane cocked his head. 

“Ilya, when you go back, you are going to go find Shane, right?” He sounded uncertain. 

Ilya scratched the back of his neck. “Uh,” he said. “I will eventually try, yes.” 

“Eventually? No, Ilya, it’s the off-season. You have to go and–”

“Shane is still in the playoffs for me,” Ilya cut in. “Montreal is still very good where I am from.” 

Shane rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Ilya. Shane’s going to have spent a month with my husband, remember? He’ll be looking for you, too.” 

“Maybe,” Ilya shrugged. “Maybe he will only want your Ilya, though. I am not–”

“Oh, my God, Ilya,” Shane said. He pulled the schedule over and started writing something beside each day’s plan. Shane Lessons, each note said. “I’m not sending you home until you realize how much he’s going to want you. Need you, actually.” 

“Shane–” Ilya started, but Shane had placed his hands roughly on each of Ilya’s cheeks, dragging him downward so that their noses were almost touching. 

“No, listen to me,” Shane said. “I am not letting you go back there believing you are anything other than perfect for him, okay? I have no idea if my husband is helping you out right now or completely fucking everything up, but it won’t matter because you’re going to show up and sweep me– Shane, I mean, off of his feet. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Ilya said quietly. Shane gave Ilya a quick, hard kiss on the mouth and patted him on the arm as he moved past him. “You are sure I am captain of the team? You miss giving speeches?” He saw a small smile on Shane’s lips as he opened the fridge and started selecting ingredients for dinner. 

*

Ilya had hoped ‘Shane Lessons’ would mean learning exactly where and how Shane liked Ilya’s mouth, but the first lesson was mostly about making the bed. 

“Okay,” Ilya said, recapping. “Always have a topsheet. Change sheets after sex. And Anya is allowed on the bed some days but never if she is wet from rain or mud.”

“Yes,” Shane said. “That last rule won’t matter to your Shane, but it still stands.” He got into bed, then, and Ilya followed suit. 

“And what does Shane like now?” Ilya asked, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Shane likes to read,” Shane said. “And you fuck around on your phone until you get bored and start telling me how much you like my glasses.” He smiled at Ilya and then reached for his glasses and his book about an old, dead Montreal Voyageur. Ilya huffed and picked the phone up from the night stand. 

“Why is the dog my background?” Ilya asked, holding the screen up. “I like her more than I like you?” Shane looked up. 

“You change it constantly,” Shane said. “You changed it in the middle of last night’s party from a photo of us at the cottage to Anya on the kitchen countertop. Last week, it was a nice picture of us celebrating a goal. I liked that one.” He returned to his book as Ilya swiped the phone open with the face-ID. “Your passcode is 2481 in case you need it,” Shane said, not looking up. 

“Our numbers?” Ilya laughed. “Very easy to hack, no?” 

“You try telling him that,” Shane nodded, flipping a page. 

Ilya opened up the messages app and scrolled. A week ago, Svetlana had sent him a selfie with the actress Rose Landry. Other Ilya had replied with a bunch of hearts and then a request to Facetime. In Ilya’s world, Shane had briefly dated Rose Landry. He wondered if that was true here, too. He glanced over, but decided he’d leave that conversation for the morning. 

There was a message from a woman named Jackie Pike– married to Hayden, he assumed– asking him, on behalf of her children, if he thought Shane would prefer drawings of cats or of dinosaurs for his birthday. Ilya had written back “both please :)))) give them birthday hats and balloons” 

The most recent message exchange between Ilya and Shane was simple: 

[10-May-2022 8:09 AM] Ilya Rozanov: happy birthday where are you

[10-May-2022 8:11 AM] Ilya Rozanov: shaneee

[10-May-2022 8:11 AM] Shane Hollander: I was getting the paper, I’ll be back up in 30 seconds

[10-May-2022 8:11 AM] Ilya Rozanov : hurry up I want to start celebrating!

[10-May-2022 12:40 PM] Shane Hollander: do you think we have enough napkins for tonight

[10-May-2022 12:47 PM] Ilya Rozanov: stop asking this

There was one unopened thread from someone called Harris Drover. “Who is Harris?” Ilya asked, wary of this stranger who had sent him two image attachments. “Why is he sending me photographs?”

“That’s Troy’s boyfriend,” Shane said. He set his book aside and shifted over so that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Ilya. It was a little pathetic how quickly Ilya’s heart rate increased at the closeness. “He runs the social media for the Cens. You love him.” Ilya looked at Shane. 

“I love Troy Barrett’s social media boyfriend?” 

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged. “Let’s see, come on.” Ilya clicked into his chat with Harris and two photos of Ilya and Shane appeared. He sucked in a breath. 

In one, Ilya and Shane were kissing. It looked casual, a quick birthday kiss in a crowded kitchen. Ilya recognized Shane’s parents off to the side– neither of them looked remotely phased by the kiss. A few people in the background were smiling, but no one was really paying attention to it. They were just sharing a kiss in their home in front of everyone they knew. 

The other photo was somehow worse. Ilya was gesturing at a cake over-loaded with candles, all of which had been blown out. But it was Shane that stole the shot. He was looking at Ilya with such fondness that it felt wrong that anyone else had been there to witness it. His eyes were soft and he was barely smiling, but happiness radiated off of him in a way that made Ilya feel dizzy.

[11-May-2022 9:12 AM] Harris Drover: These were too cute not to pass along. Great party as always! Happy birthday Shane!!

“You were insisting that I make a wish,” Shane said, zooming in on the second photo. “I tried to think about what I wanted, but I couldn’t think of anything.” Ilya swallowed, looking at the Shane in the photo, so incandescentally happy with his life. “And then I guess I accidentally wished for you,” Shane said. 

Ilya turned to face him and was immediately caught in a soft kiss. Shane’s glasses knocked against him and Ilya shut his eyes as he pulled away. “You look very happy.”

“I am,” Shane nodded, his hand coming to Ilya’s jaw as he pressed their lips together again. 

“Will you teach me how?” Ilya asked a few breathless minutes later, his nose against Shane’s cheek. “How to make you happy?”

*

Ilya had never had more fun in his life. 

Every morning, he would wake up and run with Shane and Anya. They ran on the streets together, waving to their neighbours, who did not find it shocking or strange that they were together. They’d turn into the trail and occasionally, a dog-walker would shout out “Go Cens!” as they passed. They lifted weights in their home gym and Shane made protein-rich smoothies while Ilya cooked breakfast. They checked the mailbox that they shared, and opened the bills they both paid. Ilya used Other Ilya’s fancy conditioner and borrowed Shane’s moisturizer. He scrolled through his phone and found some new photograph to zoom in on– Shane sleeping on a plane; a screenshot of a tweet that was trying to map out how long #hollanov had been together; Ilya’s own fingernails painted pink and purple.

Ilya spent most evenings with Anya in his lap, asking Shane questions about their life. His jaw dropped when Shane gently revealed that they hadn’t actually ever come out, and instead they had been accidentally outed by Hayden in a video for a fan. He felt giddy at every new detail about their clandestine years spent hooking up in hotel rooms and at Shane’s second apartment. He nearly died when Shane revealed that Ryan Price had walked in on them kissing when they were supposed to be organizing charity work.

“What about Rose Landry?” Ilya asked. “You date her in every universe.” Shane raised his eyebrows, surprised at this. 

“Your Shane dated Rose too?” He frowned. “Weird.”

“Why weird?” Ilya said. “You were closeted, she is hot.” 

“Yeah, but, I only really dated her because of you,” Shane said. He looked uncomfortable. 

“What, did I introduce you to her?” Ilya laughed. “Am I friends with Rose Landry in this life?”

“No,” Shane laughed, but his face fell quickly. “No, it was… I don’t know. I sort of freaked out because things were too intense between you and I and then I met Rose and I thought that maybe I could like a girl.” He snorted to himself. 

“I was very jealous,” Ilya said, thinking back. “I wanted to find hotter, more famous woman to date, but instead I spent two months angrily looking at articles about you two.” 

“It wasn’t the best time for me and my Ilya either,” Shane nodded. “But Rose basically forced me out of the closet. In a good way!” He amended, seeing Ilya’s shoulders tense. “She helped me feel, uh, ready I guess. To talk to you about us.” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“Was I ready?” Ilya asked quietly. Shane shrugged. 

“Kinda. Mostly,” he said. “We’re complicated, right? Communication hasn’t always been our strong suit. But somewhere between the All-Star game in Tampa and my concussion and Scott Hunter– Oh wait, is Scott Hunter gay where you’re from?” Shane asked. Ilya nodded. 

“Yes, he kissed his man after winning that year,” Ilya said with a shrug. “It was very brave, even though it made me… sad. Sad is maybe not the best word. Lonely?” Shane was looking at Ilya like he was breaking his heart. He reached over to take Ilya’s hand in his. 

“You called me right after,” Shane said. His face crumpled, then, and he brought his hand back to pinch his nose. “God, Ilya, he’s going to be such a fucking headcase.”

“Who? Scott Hunter?”

“Shane!” Shane cried. “Me. I’m just imagining how fucking scared he is about everything. I don’t know how he functions without you in his life.” 

“Shane Hollander is good,” Ilya insisted. “He is very talented and successful. Nice family, yes? Shane is okay.” But Shane shook his head. 

“I don’t even know if I’d have had the courage to be with a man if you hadn’t, like, shown me it was an option.” His face contorted in discomfort. “No, he probably has. He must have. God, there’s no way he’s happy, Ilya.” Ilya didn’t like to see Shane so sad about his other life. 

“This is why you are teaching me,” Ilya said, doing his best to mean it. “I will go back there and make sure he is always happy forever.” 

*

Ilya felt sick with nerves when they pulled up in front of Shane’s childhood home. Shane had postponed dinner with his parents twice, but he explained to Ilya that his mother had started to sound worried on the phone. “I can’t tell if she thinks you’re seriously ill or if we’re breaking up, but she’s getting all antsy,” Shane said. “We sort of have to see them.” 

Ilya had dressed nicely and Shane had sent him back into the bedroom, laughing. “Wear a t-shirt and shorts, weirdo,” he’d laughed. “They’d be so confused if you showed up in a button down, fuck.” Ilya had flushed and mumbled something about trying to be respectful, but he’d followed Shane’s advice. 

They had practiced the important details for days and practiced them again on the way over. “The most convincing thing you can do is be relaxed,” Shane told him as they approached the front door. “They love you.” 

They did love him, which was a jarring experience for Ilya. He had never met Yuna or David Hollander. He hadn’t earned the warm smiles and the casual affection of their greetings, and yet he received them all the same. 

It was awkward, laughing along with references he only sort of understood, and doing his best not to jump when Yuna’s hand squeezed his shoulder lightly as she set his plate in front of him. “You’re feeling better, honey?” She asked. Ilya nodded, wondering when in this timeline he had become ‘honey’ to Shane Hollander’s serious, sharp momager. 

Ilya did his best to focus on eating and on Shane. He noticed that Shane didn’t sprinkle any extra parmesan cheese over his pasta, but he did eat a second piece of garlic bread. Ilya had never thought of the Shane Hollander he was used to facing off against as gaunt or even skinny, but this Shane looked younger and more full of life, somehow. The wrinkle between his eyebrows, one that Ilya had faced off against hundreds of times, was less prominent. Ilya tried to make note of everything he could, not wanting to miss any detail of what made Shane like this, what made Shane happy. He chewed his pasta as he admired Shane’s profile, which was nodding along to his mother’s talk of upcoming sponsorship commitments. 

“By the way,” Yuna said as she set her wine glass down. “I mentioned to Lou in Outreach that we’re thinking of taking the Irina Foundation on the road next summer and doing some camps out west. He seemed pretty optimistic–”

Ilya didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. His ears were ringing and his vision blurred. 

He knew Shane held charity hockey camps in the off-seasons. In Ilya’s reality, the charity was just called something like the Hollander Fund. And every time Shane had mentioned the camps this week, it was clear to Ilya that it was something they did together here. It had made him feel warm inside, hearing about this joint project of theirs. 

Irina. One word had brought it all into focus for him, how different he was from Shane Hollander’s husband Ilya Rozanov. 

He wondered if Shane had intended to keep the name from him, but no, he wouldn’t do that. It was far more likely that Shane hadn’t even thought to mention it, that Irina wasn’t a word to skirt around, nor one to make a big deal out of. It was just Irina, a beautiful name for a beautiful thing. In this life, they said her name warmly, kindly, casually across the dinner table when discussing their plans for the future. She was probably on their Wikipedia pages, and on their tax documents, and printed onto camp t-shirts and hats, tied forever to the meticulously crafted Shane Hollander Brand. 

Ilya couldn’t remember the last time he’d said her name out loud. 

He was out of his seat, half-apologizing as he scraped his chair back and walked swiftly out of the dining room, down the hallway, and into what he hoped was a bathroom. This body’s muscle memory was useless, it turned out. Instead of a bathroom, he had shut him into the tidy bedroom of an adolescent boy. There was a poster of Panthers-era Pavel Bure above a twin-sized bed, and the desk was stacked with boxes upon boxes of branded promotional material. 

Ilya leaned back against the door, breathing deeply and trying to stop his eyes from watering. 

“Ilya,” Shane was already at the door, knocking lightly. Ilya exhaled. 

“A minute,” he said, his voice shakier than he’d hoped it would be. Who was he, in this life? How had he grown into a man who could hold his husband’s hand in public and talk about his mother? 

“Okay,” Shane said eventually. “It’s only been forty-two seconds, but I’m coming in.” He pushed against the door and Ilya let him open it, hanging his head in shame. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. You can tell them I am still feeling sick?” He looked up and met Shane’s worried eyes. Shane shook his head.  

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked. It was an uncomfortable sensation, the stabbing pain in his chest alongside the warmth that spread through his body at the realization that Shane hadn’t noticed that hearing his mother’s name had sent Ilya into this spiral. Did they say it so often? Did Ilya casually and loudly welcome hordes of children to the Irina Foundation summer camps every year? Did he talk about her in press conferences? “What can I do?” Shane had a hand on either side of Ilya’s neck, smoothing each thumb over a collarbone. Ilya just shook his head. 

“I did not know we named it for her,” he said. “My mother.” Shane’s face paled. 

“Oh,” he said. He pulled Ilya into a hug so tight it was almost uncomfortable. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think… I should have mentioned that. I didn’t mention that?” Shane pulled back, eyes wide with apology. “Ilya, I–”

“No,” Ilya said. “No, it is good. It’s… I don’t know a word.” He let out another shaky breath. “I have talked about her?” 

“All about her,” Shane nodded. His fingers came to the chain at the back of Ilya’s neck and Ilya met his gaze. “I hope it’s okay. I’m sure this is a lot.” 

“Yes,” Ilya said. He moved to wipe a stray tear from his cheek, but Shane beat him to it. “Good, though. I did not know… I haven’t spoken about her in many years.” He looked at Shane. “Irina. The Irina Foundation.” Ilya attempted a smile and received a sweet, sad one in return. “Thank you for letting me honour her like this.” Shane’s lips quirked up slightly. 

“I don’t know if pointing this out is insensitive or not, but, uh, it was actually my idea. The name.” Shane looked down, wincing slightly. “Sorry, that’s not important.” Ilya stared at Shane, this beautiful, brave man in his quiet, darkened childhood bedroom. 

“He is so lucky,” Ilya said when he hugged Shane. “He’s so lucky.” Shane tried to say something, but Ilya shook his head and kissed him. “Please,” he said, shaking his head again. “I am lucky, too, today.” 

Ilya had wondered how they would explain away his rushed departure, but David and Yuna Hollander asked for no explanation. They had cleared the dinner plates and were making tea. David was scooping vanilla ice cream into bowls. Yuna didn’t bring up the foundation or any business endeavors, instead talking about her sister’s new grandson and the MLH off-season rumours that surprised her the most. When Ilya offered to start on the dishes, Shane tutted, but Yuna stood and invited Ilya to come help her. 

“First and only time I’m letting you help,” Yuna said. “Don’t get used to it.” She started loading bowls into the dishwasher as Ilya ran the hot water. 

“Thank you for dinner,” he said. He did his best to sound casual, like this was a normal weekly thing for him the way it was for her. Like they were friends– no, family. “Delicious as always.” 

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” Yuna said. “Shane said you had a bit of a fever.” She stood from the dishwasher and held the back of her hand to his forehead. “Glad that’s gone, hey?” Ilya’s eyes shut at the touch of a mother’s hand against his head. He couldn’t cry again today. 

“Yes,” he managed. “Thank you. Just a summer flu or something.” Yuna was looking at him carefully. 

“You okay, kiddo?” She asked quietly. She reached over to shut off the tap. “I lose track, sometimes, of how much you two are carrying. I got so used to managing Shane the hockey player like a business that sometimes I forget you’re newlyweds trying to, you know… have a life together. While also trying to win a Stanley Cup for a franchise that could barely imagine making the playoffs five years ago.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t mean to overwhelm you guys.” 

Her read on what had upset Ilya was wrong, but the warmth in her voice was genuine. “Thank you,” he said. “I am okay.” It was a lie. He was both happier and more miserable than ever. 

“Okay,” she said, looking wary as she returned to the dishes. “Now go sit down. I’m not letting you clean up when you’re a guest in this house.” 

“What?” Ilya protested. “You said I could help!” Yuna raised her eyebrows at him.

“Go sit with your husband and relax,” she said. 

*

When Ilya took Shane to bed that night, he tried to do every single thing that Shane liked, whether it was something Shane had shown him directly or something he had picked up in the midst of Shane’s whimpers and gasps. He was slow and deliberate and nearly drove himself (and Shane, if the pleas were any indication) crazy with want, but Ilya was not yet sure how else to show Shane how much he felt for him. 

When he collapsed into Shane’s arms, sweaty and sticky and spent, Shane combed a gentle hand through his hair. “Was good for you?” Ilya asked. Shane scoffed, the breath landing on Ilya’s forehead. 

“Yeah, Ilya, you’re still good in bed,” he said. “I don’t think that changes universe-to-universe.” Ilya smiled and pulled himself up so that he could see Shane. 

“Yes, but I want to be perfect for you,” Ilya said. “If– when I go back and find Shane Hollander, I want to do everything he likes right away. Make sure he knows I am the best fit for him.” Shane’s eyes softened and his brows knit together. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Shane said dismissively. “He’s going to be a repressed little freak who’ll drop to his knees for you as soon as you tell him to.” Ilya’s eyebrows shot upwards and his eyes went wide. 

“Hm?”

“I mean, you should probably start by asking him to get on his knees and work your way up to telling him, but… if he and I are at all the same person, you can be a little bossy with him. He likes that.” 

“Bossy,” Ilya repeated, his throat dry. 

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged. “I mean, you do it already a bit, right?” Ilya nodded. He talked when he fucked, he knew that. He knew that in between his is that okay?-ing and do you like that?s, he slipped in a few good boys and a firm request that Shane not hide his face in the pillow because Ilya wanted to see and hear him. Ilya had noticed the grin he’d received when his hand had clutched briefly at Shane’s throat, and the muffled, eager moans when he’d tucked two fingers into Shane’s mouth. 

“Would you like me to be… more bossy?” Ilya frowned. “Would that be better for you?” Shane smiled at Ilya’s concern. 

“You can do whatever you want and I’ll like it,” he said. “But I’ve been hooking up with my husband since the first Obama administration, so we’re pretty comfortable doing… well, anything.” Shane flushed as he shrugged this off. “So don’t feel like you need to dive right into handcuffing Shane to the bed or start filming anything–”

“Filming?” That surprised Ilya, with everything he knew about Shane. 

“Once. I have the only copy because I don’t trust you.” He smiled as Ilya’s shocked face morphed into one of mock offense. “But anyway, yeah, you can like… tell him what to do a little bit. He’s really into following directions and he, uh, likes to be told he’s doing a good job at it.” Not for the first time in this new, strange, wonderful reality, Ilya wondered how he ever got anything done. He could happily spend a whole life in Shane Hollander’s bed.  

*

Shane spent most of the drive to Montreal reminding Ilya how to interact with the other coaches. “You and Scott are friends, but he’ll think it’s weird if you’re too nice to him.”

“I won’t be too nice to him.” Ilya said firmly. “He’s still playing in this world, too? Wow.” 

“Ilya, he’s only thirty-three.” Shane tutted, checking his mirror and changing lanes. “It’s funny what carried over. You managed to avoid your soulmate for over a decade but apparently in every universe, you make time to laugh at Scott Hunter for being old.” Ilya smiled, mostly at the use of the word soulmate. 

*

The first day was mostly smooth. Ilya’s hesitancy to be best pals with Hayden Pike and JJ Boiziau didn’t seem to surprise either of them, though Hayden pushed past this and started showing Ilya photos of his children. It was Hayden’s kids who had painted Ilya’s nails in the photos on his phone and, Shane had revealed to him casually over breakfast two days prior, it had been Hayden’s kids who had officiated their first wedding. They still kept the plastic heart-shaped rings on a shelf in their trophy room. 

Ilya was certain that he was slightly more subdued than normal around the other coaches– Wyatt Hayes and Zane Boodram greeted him with hugs and Troy Barrett smiled warmly, which was something Ilya didn’t know Troy Barrett did. 

It was different with the kids he was coaching. Their preconceived notion of Ilya Rozanov was that he was a cool, skilled hockey player. He could be himself with the kids. He was in the midst of a very close game of scrimmage when the whistle blew and Shane called everyone in for the wrap-up chat. Everyone looked to Ilya, but Shane didn’t miss a beat, thanking the attendees for their great attitudes and hard work and telling them how excited he was to see them tomorrow. 

“I usually do the speech?” Ilya asked quietly, smiling as Shane’s stoic captain’s face relaxed when the kids dispersed. 

“Yes,” he said. “You’re better at all of that.” Then, so casually you’d think it was an every day occurrence, Shane leaned over and kissed Ilya on the cheek. There were still camp attendees and coaches on the ice. Wyatt Hayes was looking right at them, skating in their direction. No one reacted to the kiss. No one flinched or gasped or pointed. Hayes came to a stop, holding a stack of cones. 

“You guys coming out tonight?” He asked, herding them towards the dressing room. “Hunter’s trying to get everyone together at some bar in the Village.” He glanced at Shane. “No worries if you’re not up for it, obviously.” Shane looked at Ilya and Ilya looked at Shane. 

“Would you be okay to…” Shane started, and Ilya nodded quickly. 

“It is okay for you?” Ilya asked. “In Montreal? They aren’t still bitter about losing you?” 

“Yeah, no, the gay bars here still love me,” Shane smiled, proud. “Most of them keep my jersey hanging up and one has a drink named after me.” Hayes looked between them, apparently amused that this married couple had never discussed this. 

“Well,” Hayes said, “I think it’s awesome that you still hold a camp in Montreal even though the Voyageurs...” He looked around as they entered the dressing room. “You know.”

“It wouldn’t be right to punish the kids for that,” Shane shrugged. His eyes fell to the floor and Ilya got the sense that he no longer wanted to discuss how things ended in Montreal. 

“How’s Lisa?” Ilya asked, settling into a stall beside Shane, who was straight-faced as he started to untie his skates. 

“She’s in Toronto for the week,” Hayes said. Ilya was proud of himself for remembering Hayes’ wife’s name, and Shane had told Ilya that Hayes was chatty. Shane could remove his equipment quietly and not discuss the end of his time in Montreal any further. “Seeing her family and stuff. She took the train, actually, which she said was super easy and smooth. Lisa’s always been a bit of a nervous flyer and obviously that got worse after the Cens' little incident last year…” Hayes made a wobbling motion with his hand and winced. He then used the hand to slap Ilya’s leg. “I told her the odds of both of us being on planes where the engines catch fire were pretty low, but she gets upset when I remind her of the details.” Ilya noticed Shane going still at his side and could have sworn he heard a quiet shit uttered. 

“The details,” Ilya nodded, “of the plane we were on. With the engines on fire.” 

“Yeah,” Hayes laughed. “Guess it’s pretty fair that it upsets her… Hollzy gets it, I’m sure. Probably scarier getting the notification than actually being on the plane, eh?” Ilya nodded and then looked down at Shane. 

“Shane.”

“Yes,” Shane said, voice very small. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, both sound bad to me. It was pretty scary.” Ilya watched Shane rush through the rest of his undressing, almost amused at the panic on display. He turned to Wyatt. 

“We’ll be there tonight.” 

*

“Plane crash?” Ilya asked as soon as they entered their hotel room. “I was in a plane that crashed?”

“It made an emergency landing,” Shane mumbled. “Sorry, I– it’s not that I forgot because, I mean, I have nightmares about it every couple months, but I just didn’t think to mention it.” He scratched the back of his head as Ilya watched him. “It was awful.” Ilya pulled Shane into a tight hug. 

“Everyone was okay, though, yes?” Ilya was more interested than frightened. What a life he had lived! Shane nodded against Ilya’s chest. 

“It was especially awful because we were fighting,” Shane said, and Ilya paused the gentle rocking he had started. 

“About what?” Ilya asked lightly. “Who has stronger backhand?” 

“It’s complicated,” Shane said. He pulled back from Ilya so that he could meet his eyes. “I don’t know if it’s the same sort of fight you and your Shane will ever have to have, because the timeline of your relationship is just… different, I guess. I was scared of coming out.” 

“And I wasn’t!?” Ilya blurted out, stunned and almost laughing at the absurdity of Shane’s statement. Shane hesitated. 

“You were ready in a different way than I was,” Shane said carefully. “I was so scared of my team finding out and losing everything.” 

“But you did,” Ilya said, horrified. “You did lose everything. You had to leave Montreal and–”

“Ilya, you had already left Boston, and you’d left Russia, and you were alone and you just wanted your boyfriend to be with you.” Shane looked very upset, but his voice was steady. Ilya shook his head. 

“I should never have asked for you to give up–”

“It’s not giving anything up, Ilya,” Shane said firmly. “It was choosing each other. We spent ten years trying to fit our relationship into the tiny gaps hockey left for it and at some point we had to address that if we were going to make this work longterm.” He spoke with such conviction that Ilya found himself nodding automatically. 

“You said boyfriends,” Ilya noted, trying to do some math. “Not fiancés? When did I–”

“You?” Shane cut in sharply. “Who says you asked? Fuck off, I asked you. Right after you got back to Ottawa after the whole plane thing.” 

“Oh,” Ilya said, his whole body feeling warm and unmoored. Shane Hollander had proposed to him! He smiled against Shane before kissing him. “Wow. Well, I will beat you to it when I get the chance.” 

“Proposing doesn’t have to be a competition,” Shane said, rolling his eyes. 

“Everything is competition for us,” Ilya reminded him. “You win this time.” 

*

Ilya had never been to a gay bar. 

He asked Shane for advice on what to wear, a request that was met with a brief, heartbroken look and then an excited grin. Shane had eagerly dug through his case and tossed him a tight black t-shirt. It was hardly anything scandalous, but it hugged his body tightly enough that his nipples were visible and his arms threatened to rip the hems of the sleeves. “I like this shirt,” Shane had said, stepping back to admire his decision-making. “And then the Levi’s, I think. They make your butt look good.” He paused. “Better, I mean. Your butt is always good.” 

Ilya blushed despite himself, suddenly very aware that he was out and married to a man and they were going to a gay bar in Montreal with Scott Hunter and Troy Barrett and half a dozen other hockey players. He took a deep breath as he fixed his hair in the mirror. Shane came to stand beside him. 

Shane, of course, was wearing a boring grey t-shirt and boring black jeans. He adjusted a black Team Canada baseball cap in the mirror. “Neutral,” Ilya nodded. “Very smart. In case we meet a pack of rabid Voyageurs fans.” Shane smiled. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Shane asked him as they pulled their shoes on. “We can bail. It was a long day and–”

“It will be good for me,” Ilya said, giving Shane’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I would like to know what it’s like.” 

It turned out, being out and at a gay bar with Shane Hollander on his arm was… normal. Hunter had reserved a big table at the back, and they sat and talked loudly about hockey over the increasing volume of the dance floor. A group sent a round of shots over, specifying that they were for Shane Hollander. Hayden and JJ both loudly protested that they should be sent drinks, too, since they still played in the city, but everyone waved them down. 

It was weird, how mundane it all was. Weird to have Shane’s hand on his leg, weird to have his arm draped over Shane’s shoulder. Weird to not be scared that someone was about to look at him and point and see into his mind and say, I know. But they did know. They all knew who he was and who he loved, and none of them cared. 

He walked back to the hotel with an arm around Shane, a little buzzed and extremely happy. He wanted to cry and he wanted to kiss Shane right there in front of Boodram and Hunter and Hayes as they waited for the walk signal. So he did, and Shane let him, and no cars came screeching to a halt, and none of their co-coaches gave them a second glance. 

*

They didn’t go out every night, because Shane Hollander was too responsible for that. But every day, Ilya felt like he’d made a new friend. In each case, it was someone who he was supposed to already know, someone Other Ilya had befriended, but it still felt nice walking away from ‘Pricey’ with a new inside joke. It felt good teaming up with ‘Bood’ to beat Shane and Scott Hunter’s boring team at scrimmage. 

After the last day of camp, they went out again. This place was darker and louder, and much harder to have a conversation in. Wyatt yelled in Ilya’s ear about some movie he was going to catch the next weekend, and Scott Hunter stood at the bar yawning. 

“It’s really loud,” Shane said. 

“You want to go?” Ilya replied. He had to lean down close to make sure Shane heard it. Shane shook his head. 

“I think you and I should dance,” he said. “Just for one song.” Ilya frowned. He hadn’t expected that. Shane didn’t seem like the type to dance in a club like this. Ilya let himself be guided over, his body pressed against Shane’s as they moved through the crush of people. Ilya was only a few drinks in, but he felt dizzy. He was dancing with a boy in a crowded room. If anyone was recording him, it couldn’t be used as blackmail or as a means of embarrassment, only as some bland local paparazzi fodder. BREAKING: Married Couple Dances Together at Montreal Club. He was here with his husband, who was touching his chest and smiling up at him. Ilya kissed Shane Hollander on the dancefloor, in full view of friends and strangers, and the world didn’t end. 

*

The walk back to the hotel was more of a stumble that night. Hunter and Price had gone home early, but the rest of the guys had stuck it out. Boodram was up ahead and on the phone to his wife, blabbering on about how much he missed her. Wyatt, Barrett, and JJ brought up the rear, heads together in deep conversation. Hayden Pike stood between Shane and Ilya, an arm around their shoulders. “I love you guys so much,” he slurred. “Even you, Rozanov.” 

“Thank you, Hayden,” llya said. “You are okay, too.” 

“Shane’s the best,” Hayden carried on. “He’s the best. Fuck, I miss Shane.” 

“Alright,” Shane said. “Maybe you can get a cab home now. I can text Jackie and let her know you’re–” 

“I love Jackie,” Hayden beamed. “And I love being a dad. When are you going to be a dad, Shane?” He whipped around to Ilya. “You want kids, right?” 

“We’ve had this conversation at least a dozen times,” Shane said flatly. 

“Uh, yeah,” Ilya said, glancing at Shane briefly. His face was soft. Hayden hummed suspiciously. 

“Then make it happen, man!” 

“I don’t think it is that easy for us,” Ilya frowned. “We will maybe wait until we retire?” He looked to Shane again for guidance. Shane only shrugged. Hayden had stumbled to a stop, staring into a brightly lit shop window. A 24-hour tattoo parlour. 

“I should get a tattoo,” Hayden said. “For my Jackie.” 

*

“He can always take it out,” Ilya grinned into the bathroom mirror, admiring the little gold hoop that now hung from his ear. He set his toothbrush down and Shane shook his head, still in disbelief. He spat his mouthwash out and cocked his head at Ilya’s reflection before allowing himself to smile. 

“I think it’s kind of sexy,” Shane admitted. “I’ll try to sell him on it.” 

“Better than Hayden’s jam jar tattoo,” Ilya said. “What does it mean again?”

“It’s an anagram. Acronym?” Shane shook his head and then started counting out the names. “Jackie, Amber… Jade, Arthur, Ruby.” 

“Where’s the M?” Ilya asked. 

“I don’t know,” Shane laughed. “M for Montreal Voyageur’s leading scorer Hayden Pike.” Ilya snorted and Shane gave him a stern look, like Ilya had been the one poking fun at the state of the Voyageurs’ roster. 

“He should have just got Jackie’s name in a heart, like I wanted to do for you,” Ilya said, reaching around Shane’s midsection and kissing his neck. “But you wouldn’t let me. So strict.” 

Shane melted against him. “I like the earring,” he said, gasping slightly as Ilya’s teeth grazed his throat. “I can’t believe you somehow got hotter.” 

*

The whole journey to Shane’s cottage made Ilya feel like a dog that was about to be put down. He was being treated to one last bit of fun, he’d be fed a juicy t-bone steak, and then they’d gently take his life. 

He tried to smile when Shane took his hand in the car and vowed to do his best to memorize everything about the place, just in case he never found his way back to it. 

*

The cottage was huge and private, despite the wall of windows that faced the lake. “I guess you need another tour,” Shane said, amused. He smiled at Ilya like he was looking at the sun, squinting slightly. “This is weird.” 

“Yes, Hollander,” Ilya nodded. “All of this is weird. I am trapped in another universe with a husband I did not know was gay three weeks ago.” Shane snorted and showed him to their room. 

*

There were photographs all over this house, too. Some were duplicates from their home in Ottawa– wedding photos, a kiss shared at an All-Star game– but some were new to Ilya. He drank them in, in awe of the life they’d built. 

“It’s sad,” Shane said. “We have basically no photos together from the first decade of our relationship.” He scanned the wall with his arms crossed. “We had to delete everything in case one of our phones got lost or hacked or something. And we weren’t in the same place for long, anyway, so we didn’t spend our time documenting anything.” 

Ilya felt a pang of pity for Shane and Other Ilya. It was hard to not feel wholly envious of them and their perfect life, but here was another bit of proof that it had been a hard road, filled with a different sort of loneliness than Ilya was familiar with. 

“You have done a nice job making up for it,” Ilya said, doing his best to sound cheerful as he scanned the wall and met his own eyes, smiling out at him from a Christmas photo on the Hollander’s couch. He wondered how many Christmases he would have to get through until he got that. Maybe, if he was lucky or if he played his cards right, he and Shane could be there in a couple of years. 

*

“I’m a lot more chill than him, I bet,” Shane said as he inspected a sparkling glass he’d pulled from the clean dishwasher. Ilya raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “Your Shane won’t be as relaxed about, like, gay stuff. About most stuff, honestly. You help me dial that part of my brain down, so you’ll have to be patient with him at first. Let him freak out if he needs to, sometimes.” 

“Okay,” Ilya nodded. “And how do I help him to not freak out?” Shane set the glass down and thought. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “You just sort of… knew. You touch my back sometimes. Start with that and then just follow your instincts, I guess?” He went back to emptying the dishwasher and Ilya slumped onto the countertop. So much for ‘Shane Lessons’. Apparently he was supposed to just instinctually know how to be Shane Hollander’s dream guy. Shane looked over at him, a stack of plates in hand. “Ilya.” He set the plates down and walked over to rub a soothing hand down Ilya’s back. 

“I don’t have these instincts like your Ilya,” he said, looking away from Shane. Shane’s hand caught his chin and pulled him back to face him. 

“The first day you were here,” Shane said. “When you woke up and thought you were dreaming.” Ilya blushed. 

“Yes,” he said. “Very confusing day.” 

“Well, before you realized you were awake, you took my face in your hands and touched my cheek, and it was like you knew exactly how to tell me that you felt safe with me.” He brought his lips to Ilya’s. “Trust me, okay?” 

*

They sat in front of Shane’s fire pit and Ilya allowed Shane to wrap him up in a blanket and pull his head into his lap. 

“I hope that, if we’re right about this being a one-to-one Ilya swap, he’s managed to get an invite to the cottage,” Shane mused as he ran a hand through Ilya’s hair. “It’s sort of the only place your Shane and I would have in common, aside from my parents house.” 

“No privacy there,” Ilya said. “I would like some private time with you this week.” 

“If you wake up back in Boston, you’ll come find him, right?” Shane asked, not for the first time. 

“Yes,” Ilya said. He would. He knew he would. It may take a few days of steeling himself. Or maybe a couple of weeks. It might even make sense to wait until the season started, where he and Shane could meet up after a game and there wouldn’t be any pressure for Ilya to be the perfect boyfriend right away. But he would reach out to Shane. He could do that. 

“I think he’ll be really scared,” Shane said. “He’ll think you won’t want to be with him. Even if Ilya does everything right, there’s no way I’d get over all of my weird, anxious shit in a month. I’ll be thinking it was some fluke and that asking the league’s most notorious playboy to settle down and date me was insane.” He laughed to himself, but Ilya didn’t find it very funny. He rolled himself so that he was looking up at Shane. His face was framed by stars. 

“I am scared, too,” Ilya said. “It does not make sense to me that he would want to be with me. Smoking and bad moods aside, I am a coward. I don’t know this Ilya Rozanov you married, but he seems very brave. I don’t know how to be like him.” He looked away from Shane’s face and focused on the night sky. 

“Yeah, you do,” Shane said. He didn’t sound upset or worried. He was so certain and calm. 

“You don’t know–”

“Yeah, I do, Ilya,” Shane cut in. “I know you and I know him, and I love every version of you, and I know you’ll love every version of me. Even if I’m still, like, avoiding carbs in the playoffs or something.”

Ilya shut his eyes and let Shane gently stroke his hair. “Carbs?” he asked after a while. “Carbs are energy, though. You need carbs.” 

“Ilya, I’m one of the highest paid players in the league and I spent the first decade of my career stuck in the closest with my biggest rival and a lot of anxiety and who knows what else going on in my brain.” Shane laughed. “I developed some unhealthy coping mechanisms.” 

“If you want to be unhealthy, you should just smoke,” Ilya said. “You’d make a very sexy smoker.” 

Shane rolled his eyes and looked down at Ilya seriously, his thumb now stroking Ilya’s cheek. “I hope you know how much I mean it when I say he’ll need you. He can’t be himself without you. He won’t ever be happy if he doesn’t know you.” Ilya swallowed. He tried to nod but couldn’t manage it. 

“What if your husband has done too good of a job?” He asked quietly. “What if I am a disappointing version of a better man?” Shane shook his head. 

“The only way that could ever disappoint me is if you didn’t want me,” he said. “Anything else can be worked through.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said. He attempted a smile. “What if he comes back but I just stay here? You could have two Ilya Rozanovs.” This suggestion left Shane silent for a few seconds. “Would be fun…” Ilya carried on.

“That’s not fair to your Shane and you know it,” Shane said after clearing his throat. “The inter-universal distribution of Ilya Rozanovs has to be even.” 

“Fine,” Ilya said. “I will go back and be disappointing boyfriend to sad little Shane.” 

“See, the fact that you’re already leading with ‘boyfriend’ will be enough to make his day,” Shane shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ilya. I’d bet a year’s salary that he’s been lusting over you his whole career. He’s going to be like putty in your hands.” 

“What is putty?” 

*

Ilya could think of worse ways to have his heart broken than drying off on Shane Hollander’s private dock, admiring the perfectly sculpted body of his rival/teammate/husband/soulmate as the lake water dripped off of it and the sun lit his skin up golden. 

“I am thinking about something you said a couple nights ago,” Ilya said, allowing his eyes to roam down Shane’s chest and toward his swimsuit. 

“Yeah?” Shane asked.

“I have been lusting after you during my whole career,” Ilya said. “I think I have told you this, but it is a good word, lusting.” 

“Something you two can bond over,” Shane smiled. “Ask him what he thinks about your smile.” 

“What about my smile?” Ilya demanded. Shane shook his head. 

“Nope,” he said. “You can hear it from him. Oh, and ask him what he thinks of your hands. He likes those.” 

“Hands like hockey hands? Dangles?” Ilya asked. “Or like…” He trailed off at Shane’s raised eyebrow. “Both?”

“Both,” Shane nodded. “Obviously both.” 

*

After a workout in Shane’s gym devolved into a sweaty, adrenaline-fueled fuck, Ilya confronted Shane about a contradiction he had noticed. 

“That day I arrived,” he breathed. “Thought I was dreaming.” 

“Uh huh,” Shane nodded, laying back onto the yoga mat they had just ruined. 

“Tried to wake myself up with a little slap and you got very angry with me,” Ilya recalled. He looked at Shane, who frowned at the memory and nodded. “But you do not seem to mind slapping me just now.” 

“Okay, that’s… it’s different. Right?” Shane looked over at Ilya, concerned. “You liked it when I did it, right?” 

“Yes,” Ilya laughed. “I liked it, Shane. You heard me. It was hot.” 

“Okay, so,” Shane shrugged his shoulders. “You’re not allowed to slap yourself, but I’m allowed to give you a little love tap sometimes. When you want it.” 

Ilya hummed, accepting this. “You are strict, Shane.” 

*

The day before his thirty-first birthday, Ilya kissed Shane good morning and then he cried in the shower. How on earth could he rebuild a life so good? He was going to go back to his regular body and screw this up somehow. He’d let Shane down and break his own heart, and he’d end up even more miserable than before. Having a taste of this life had been heavenly and he wished he’d never known what he was missing out on. 

Shane tried to hide the fact that he was excited, but Ilya could see it in his face. He wanted his Ilya back. His perfect, brave, emotionally intelligent, out-and-proud Ilya. The little glint that had appeared in Shane’s eye was the only thing that allowed Ilya some peace today. He wasn’t happy about leaving, but he’d do it for Shane. Shane deserved the best Ilya Rozanov, and he knew that was not him. 

*

Ilya helped Shane bake his birthday cake despite the sourness that was pooling in his stomach. 

Shane iced it and stuck the candles in and looked down at his creation with a flat, conflicted face. 

“It is okay,” Ilya said with as much confidence as he could muster. “I will send him back to you, I promise.” Shane nodded. He took Ilya’s face in his hands and kissed him soundly. Ilya tried to memorize every detail of it.

“I love you,” Shane said firmly when he pulled away. “You are the man I fall in love with in every single lifetime, okay?” 

“I hope so,” Ilya said. 

“I’m so happy for him,” Shane smiled. His eyes were glassy with tears. “He gets to fall in love with you.” 

“Maybe,” Ilya said. 

“Ilya,” Shane said. Ilya shook his head, looking down at the counter. 

“Shane,” he said. “I love you.” He said it because he was a coward, and he hoped that it would make it easier to get out when he had to tell his Shane. If he ever got the chance to tell his Shane. If his Shane could love him, too. “I love you.” 

Shane nodded, smiling as he embraced Ilya. He said it back in Russian, and Ilya’s breath caught. “Can I tell you a secret?” Shane asked quietly into Ilya’s neck. “I miss my husband, but I’m glad I accidentally brought you here.” Ilya swallowed, not knowing what to say. “You deserve to know that you can have whatever life you want.” Ilya nodded and reached for the matches. 

He wished, as he blew out his candles, to go back to his real life. He wished for Shane’s husband to return to this perfect life that Ilya had briefly stolen. He wished that things would work out for him and the Shane that he had hardly touched beyond a bodycheck and a handshake line. 

*

“I’m nervous,” Ilya admitted as he and Shane lay in bed and waited for sleep to find them. “What if it does not work?” 

“Then we’ll try something else,” Shane said, though he looked discouraged at the mere thought. Shane tucked himself into Ilya and ran a thumb over his mother’s cross and the wedding ring that hung beside it on the chain around his neck. “You don’t have to be nervous.” 

He kissed Ilya’s chest, right above his heart. 

“I hope your husband has told Shane not to expect much,” Ilya joked. Shane sighed, looking up at him with wet eyes. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” he said quietly. “You are going to be the best thing in his life.” 

“I will try,” Ilya promised. “Every day, I will try.” He wouldn’t wait until the off-season ended. If he woke up in Boston, he’d catch the first flight to Montreal or Ottawa and make the drive and show up on the doorstep of the cottage begging Shane to love him. “Love you,” he said quietly as he shut his eyes. 

*

Ilya woke before the sun was up. Shane was asleep and facing away from him. 

He reached for his ear and found it unpierced, and he glanced at his arm to see that the loon was gone. It had worked. He was back in his body. 

Sitting up carefully, Ilya hung his head. He wasn’t ready to face Shane. He looked at the bedside table, no longer decorated with a wedding photo. Instead, there was an envelope with his name written in cyrillic Russian. One cigarette was set beside it. He glanced once more at the back of Shane’s head before picking up the cigarette and the envelope and heading outside. 

*

Ilya,

If you’re reading this, I am very happy because it means I am back with my husband and you are back in your life! Sorry that you could not stay with him, but you must understand that being apart from him for any longer would kill me. And if none of this makes sense and you were just unconscious for two weeks, or maybe stuck in some other bad universe.. find Shane Hollander. Talk to Shane. He will try to help you. 

Happy birthday! Maybe we woke up in the same bed this morning. I hope so. This is my favourite bed in the world. This is my favourite place in the world. 

I am going to write a lot of things down, and I hope that you will trust me. I am not any older than you, but I think that I am wiser. Being with Shane has worn off on me, and now I want to plan ahead for everything. I wish I could give you full, detailed instructions to make your life exactly the same as mine, because I am so happy, but I know that cannot work. Our lives will always be different! You won’t get every bit of happiness I had, and I won’t get every bit of happiness you have ahead of you, right?

Before I get to Shane, I will tell you to do a few less important things. Call Sveta. You miss her, I know it. Reach out to Scott Hunter. He is a good guy and will be on your side. Invite him to coach at camp next summer. Do you know Ryan Price? Invite him, too. I don’t know where Troy Barrett is going to sign this summer, but you should be his friend if you can. Be nice to Hayden Pike. He is annoying some days but he loves Shane, and his wife Jackie will be your friend. I don’t know how much more I should tell you to do. Maybe this is already too much. It is your life, not mine! 

I don’t know how to tell you about him. Impossible to know where to start. I want to write down everything, but it would take too long and I don’t want to tell you all about him because I want you to experience it for yourself. Falling in love with him has been the best thing in my life, and I have sort of got to do it twice. He is the strangest, kindest, best man. You deserve him. You will look away at this and roll your eyes and tell yourself that you don’t deserve a man like Shane, but you do. And more importantly, he wants you. He needs you. Go fall in love with him. Make him eat his toast in the morning and make him feel safe when the world is too loud for him.

Statistically, you are a slightly better hockey player than I am, and you probably still have more sports cars, but I know you are not happy. You can be happy. Choose Shane. Choose him every day! I don’t know the details of how that will work for you two, but it will work if you choose each other. If you will not let yourself be happy for you, do it for him. 

I love you and I love him, and he loves you and you love him. 

Ilya

“Shane.” Ilya spoke from the doorway. He looked nervous and he was holding an envelope and multiple pieces of paper. His eyes were red and puffy, like he’d been crying. 

“Ilya,” Shane said, and they stepped toward each other. 

Shane hesitated, unsure what Ilya had written to Ilya, unsure what Ilya needed. A hug, he thought, might be the best start. 

But Ilya didn’t hesitate. He had a hand on Shane’s waist and another on his neck and he was kissing Shane like Shane was the only thing in the world. Their mouths moved together like they knew each other inside out, which they sort of did. Shane had thought he’d grown used to the way Ilya Rozanov’s kisses made him melt, but this was something entirely new. “Shane,” Ilya said again, pulling away and holding Shane’s face in both hands now. He searched Shane’s eyes for an answer to an unspoken question and Shane nodded into him again, kissing Ilya tugging him onto the bed. 

*

They lay together for a long time, trying to untangle the bizarre events of the last month. 

“You knew the first day?” Shane asked. “Well, yeah, I guess you’d have to ‘cause you woke up in his bed.” 

“Yes,” Ilya laughed. “I thought I was dreaming. Woke up married to Shane Hollander. What a life.” 

“I thought I was dreaming too, at one point,” Shane said, cheeks warming. “Ilya Rozanov telling me he likes boys has been, like, a pretty big fantasy of mine for as long as I’ve been aware of you.” Ilya smirked. 

“I think your freckles are more beautiful here,” he said, inspecting Shane’s face. “Or maybe it is just because they are mine properly now.” He leaned down to kiss them and Shane let his eyes flutter shut. 

“All yours,” he said. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Ilya’s voice was barely audible, his lips moving over Shane’s cheek and down toward his lips. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane said back to him automatically. He had been practicing it for days. Ilya froze and Shane opened his eyes to see Ilya’s wide with surprise. “It’s the only thing I know how to say.” 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya breathed. “I love you.” He kissed Shane properly, then, and it was a full minute before Shane could say it back. 

“I love you,” he said breathlessly. He laughed. “We weren’t even friends a month ago.” Ilya hummed against his neck. 

“You’re right, Hollander. We should take this slow.” He pulled away. “Do you want to spend the next ten years meeting up in hotel rooms once every few months?” Shane grinned. He would, if that was the only way for it to work. He’d do it in a heartbeat. 

*

Shane hadn’t let himself plan ahead because he hadn’t allowed himself any hope that Ilya would be there and be his so immediately. A half hour into his day, he had a few options in mind. He was surprised that Ilya did, too. 

He would submit a trade request to Ottawa. He’d cite personal commitments when asked why, and he’d leave Boston gracefully, even if they fans would resent him for it. Shane would be close in Montreal. They would make it work. Shane listened to Ilya’s plan with his heart bursting out of his chest. 

“And I think we should come out this year,” Shane said. “Separately or together, I don’t mind. But I’d like to be out if you don’t think it could mess things up.” Ilya shook his head. 

“I would love that,” he said. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, smiling the way Shane had never known Ilya to smile: loose and blissful and giddy. Shane lay his head against Ilya’s arm and ran a hand up his chest to touch the necklace he now knew had once belonged to Ilya’s mother. He thought of the lonely wish he had made all of those weeks ago, and how it had, admittedly with unexpected complications, come true beyond his wildest dreams. 

“Oh!” Shane said, sitting up and looking down at Ilya. “Happy birthday!” He tugged Ilya up– they couldn’t waste his whole birthday in bed! And besides, there was cake left over from the night before. 

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading/commenting/kudosing!

Both versions of Shane and Ilya live happily ever after. Choose Your Own Adventure re: how homophobic the Montreal Voyageurs are in this Alt!World, and how Troy finds Harris, and how soon Shane and Ilya decide to go public (I think, in this world, they do get to decide that for themselves. That's the trade-off I'm giving them for missing out on all of those years of hooking-up in secret).