Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Fix-It, Shane Hollander Speaks Russian, Vegas roof kiss, rookie of the year award, Canon Divergent, Not Beta Read, Intimacy, silent mutual agreement to ignore the elephant in the room, I know there's an elephant, YOU know there's an elephant, we BOTH know we can see the elephant, we still wont address it, saying the word exclusive, but still not talking about it, Sex, Smut, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, Showering Together, sex is the language they speak best, Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics, Russian food, Language Learning As A Love Language, POV Shane Hollander, POV Outsider on Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, POV Outsider

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of a little more romeo, a little more juliet

Collections:

Zulie's Best of Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-09 Completed: 2026-02-10 Words: 5,343 Chapters: 3/3

I hate the taste of my own medicine

Summary

Both Shane and Ilya are perfectly content to ignore the elephant in the room

Notes

Chapter 1: 2011

2011

Three times makes a pattern, so by the fourth time, it's habit. Though Ilya would be hard-pressed to deny himself the indulgence, despite the feeling he was walking straight off a cliff with the decision - especially since Shane had made no objections, happy to be dragged into a post-coital shower, then back to bed to wrap their limbs around each other and exchange quiet conversation. Ilya takes care to catalog everything he can about Shane. He experiences a truly twitchy Shane the first time he’s in Montreal after All Stars - the BOS-MTL game almost cancelled, but the poor weather had shifted in their favor just as Ilya’s leg was about to fall off from the nervous bouncing it was doing. He makes Ilya enter his apartment building from a back service door and doesn’t relax until the door of his apartment is locked behind him. 

He was surprised to be in Shane’s actual apartment and not a hotel room. Shane then rambled on for a few minutes about how he weighed the risks and decided the security of his building was easier to handle than potentially running into team mates or being seen at a hotel in a city he already lived in and he had an investment building, but it was still under construction- only to be cut off with a deep kiss from Ilya. 

Something shifted after All Stars; neither Shane nor Ilya brought any attention to it when they were together. They poked at it a bit more over text, but neither of them were eager to do more than very obviously ignore it. The amount they texted shot up, too. It was easier, over text, to know they had the time to find words and leave nothing to be misunderstood; Ilya needed to filter most words through an internal-or external- translator, and Shane rewrote most texts two or three times before he sent them. There was also a learning curve, to speaking around something everyone could see, but neither party wanted to address. They got good at talking around it, hiding compliments and reassurances in plain sight-between chirps and good mornings and I saw that hit. There was a mutual joy in riling each other up. Ilya especially enjoyed sending particularly blunt sexts for Shane to find pre-game. If he was lucky, he would get one back. They enjoyed breaking down other players' games, finding time on off days to watch hockey together-miles apart. On top of the professional breakdown, their texts were a safe space for some colorful personal opinions.

Ilya, especially, found specific pleasure ragging on Scott Hunter. It got to a point that when Shane had been successfully snuck into his own Boston apartment, he had immediately restarted the text argument they had started the day prior. Shane demanded Ilya pour him a drink of the fanciest vodka he had. He had taken a proper mouthful of vodka- surprising both of them-and declared that Ilya was no longer allowed to be jealous of Scott Hunter because Ilya had actually given him a drink. In his own house, with his own vodka, so please fuck him already.

Ilya liked bossy Shane. And jealousy sex.

—

Ilya was trying to stay on the opposite side of the room, while also keeping an eye on where Shane was at all times. They were both up for Rookie of the Year, and both of them were looking forward to tonight regardless of what happened. Ilya thought he was doing a good job of keeping the looming return to Russia at bay, daydreaming instead about what he would do to Shane when he won. Afterwards, he managed to stay in the room long enough to catch Shane's eye and offer a soft smile before disappearing for some fresh air. 

Lily: поздравляю

Lily: you deserve it

Jane: Thank you

Jane: Where did u go?

Lily: roof

Lily: no one here

Shane found him fifteen minutes later, snuffing out the last of his cigarette. “You shouldn’t be smoking.”

Ilya couldn’t help his mouth twitching into a half-smile, mustering up a groan of annoyance. “Is fine, Hollander. Congratulations. You deserve win.”

He got a smile, and Shane moved closer to him, leaning on the railing a few feet from Ilya-too far. “Thank you. Are you ok?”

Ilya looked away. He wanted to lie, but they already had plans and if Ilya had to return to Russia-and his father-without the recharge seeing Shane gave him… besides, Shane already knew enough about Russia to handle a conversation. Ilya felt the pulse of his heart begging him to be honest to the one person who had proven himself. He kept his gaze turned, “I go home in three days.”

Shane keeps a quiet, steady gaze on him. “I play good season, I know. I score 52 goals. I am best in league, only you can beat me.

“My father will not be happy. Is not enough, not for him.” Shane has pressed himself closer, still not close enough for Ilya’s taste, but their shoulders are pressed together now. “I am happy for you. Only you can beat me, but…”

Their shoulders pressed together more firmly, “But it’s still complicated?” is all he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go back to your hotel?” It’s so much more than the simple offer it sounds like. All he can do is nod, briefly entertaining the thought of risking a kiss, and ultimately deciding it’s probably not worth the risk if Shane is already coming over. 

“Room 1900. Door will be unlocked.” Shane doesn’t move for a moment-clearing the area of any risk-before reaching up to scratch his fingers through the curls at the back of his head. The moment grounds him, a point of contact is enough to pull himself back together. Ilya lets his eyes squeeze shut, focusing on the nails raking down his neck. With a final squeeze, Shane withdraws, whispering I’ll see you soon and disappearing with a click of the door. Ilya is grateful for the extra moment to compose himself. Shane hadn’t pushed, hadn’t been scared away; just listened and let Ilya exist in his feelings. Nothing bad happened, Ilya thought. Something loosened in his chest, something went right, his honesty had done the opposite of pushing Shane away. 

He doesn’t beat Shane to the hotel, but instead sees him waiting in the lobby. Eye contact conveys a quick back-and-forth and Ilya is only in his room alone for seven minutes. Shane kisses him slowly, backing Ilya into the bed and straddling in his lap. They exchange lazy kisses for a few minutes, stripping shirts at some point to let hands wander gently across bare skin. Shane pulls back, hands resting between Ilya’s neck and shoulders, and seems to be searching him for something. Ilya just shakes his head. 

“We celebrate tonight, Mr. Rookie-of-the-year.” Ilya works Shane’s pants open and palms his dick. He gets a moan in response.

“Ya khochu, chtoby ty menya trakhni.” says Shane, slowly pronouncing each word. Ilya can remember every word Shane has ever said to him in Russian and the clear care he gives the language impressed Ilya more than anything. How can he do anything else but comply, flipping Shane onto his back. He makes quick work of their pants, pressing praise and kisses into any skin he can reach as he works Shane open on his fingers. Such a good boy, Shane. So good for me.

When he finally pushes in, he stops, fully buried in Shane, and leans down to kiss him gently.

“You win, yes?”

Shane nods. Ilya leans down until their lips are lightly brushing, “I am proud, yes?”

Another nod.

“Good,” he whispers in Russian, “because I’m going to fuck you like I lost.”

Chapter 2: 2012

Chapter Summary

Jane: Think you can last that long knowing the whole world gets to see me like that?
Jane: They don’t know touching is exclusively for Ilya Rozanov

Shane’s new sports drink ad was everywhere Ilya looked; twitter was thirsting over it, pictures on billboards proudly displayed Shane Hollander in a soaking wet, see-through, white t-shirt holding a can and smiling.  This was punishment for the TMZ articles, Ilya got it now.

Chapter Notes

tags updated and progress moving forward!

the brand deal is the wet shirt/drink commercial he does. im fucking with the timeline for my own purposes. and to get my boys laid.

olympics tomorrow? olympics and playoffs tomorrow?

May 2012

Ilya likes to go out after games. He’s young, has a decent alcohol tolerance, and moves with the confidence of a man who knows he’s sexy and can back it up. He’s not ashamed of the reputation he has built in Boston. He enjoys clubbing, the attention he gets from dancing, making out with strangers, and sometimes—occasionally—taking someone home. 

Ilya lets TMZ and twitter exaggerate as much as they want. It’s a useful cover, he thinks, to be seen publicly as someone who has great success with women. It keeps them, and everyone else, from looking too closely at the other half of him. 

Not everything has been embellished, the earlier articles from his initial move to Boston are true — with pictures to prove it. When his partying tendencies never slowed down, he let people assume that he had kept up his casual sex habit with the same fervor. 

The lips and tongues and teeth and hands of beautiful women in bars and clubs hadn’t lost their appeal, not entirely. But Ilya found himself increasingly distracted by minute details. Hands were too soft or faces missed features and Ilya found himself going home alone more and more. At first, he was embarrassed. He was Ilya Rozanov! He could bring anyone home and give them an unforgettable experience. He spent a week employing this tactic before he gave in. He spent the week after that alternating between googling the world's most embarrassing questions and tiring himself out at the gym. All in between still texting Shane, who was at the center of this entire thing, but an indulgence Ilya had never been able to resist. Not since 2008 and freckles.

There are a quiet few hours in the smallest part of the morning that his reddit rabbit hole ends with him scrolling through a list of therapists in Boston. Ilya will never admit to bookmarking the page before closing it. 

He lets himself accept that Shane Hollander has maybe ruined him. Ilya lets himself accept that maybe he’s okay with it. There’s a magnet under his skin, maybe in his blood, that pulls him towards his rival. Magnets go both ways, he thinks. It’s too close to the thing they’re avoiding saying, and Ilya doesn't know if he can bring himself to ask first. 

Not even two later, it’s Shane that makes the decision for him. 

Jane: link

Jane: I think tmz has a crush on u

It's an article featuring several pictures from the aftermath of the Bears last win complete with — Shane is right — a very flirty headline directed at him. 

Lily: tmz thinks they know everything

Jane: I thought that was their job?

Lily: no. job is to make mountain from ant hill

Lily: they tell lies to make story cool

Jane: I don't think they edited those pictures. 

Lily: pictures are real

Lily: marlow had tequila

Lily: convince me to have tequila

Jane: You don't like tequila

Lily: yes, why is bad idea. i go home sick, TMZ think i bring home 50 women

Jane: So you're not sleeping with every woman in Boston?

Lily: not now

Lily: i like club, da? dancing, vodka, beautiful people give me attention. 

Lily: but no touching, then i go home. let tmz and team think i go home with girl. is safer, because russia. 

Lily: they do not know touching is only for shane hollander

It's the closest they've come to naming it,  addressing it by name. Ilya feels both better and worse after admitting to Shane that he wasn't sleeping around anymore. 

Jane: only?

Lily: only. 

Shane doesn't say anything else for a few hours. The longer he goes without another response, the tighter his chest feels. 

Jane: my mom has a new brand deal she wants me to do

Relief washes over Ilya, he can deal with changing the subject, because Shane is texting him. 

Lily: pictures?

Jane: Yeah, and a commercial

Lily: you want to do it?

Jane: I was going to say no

Jane: but I told my mom I would do it

Lily: why?

Jane: I can't exactly end up on the front of tmz

Lily: ??? 

Ilya is confused. Is Shane still continuing their previous conversation? It makes no sense, but Ilya can’t figure out any other reason.

Jane: You’ll see soon. They want it out by May 17th. 

Jane: Consider it a reward.

Jane: and a punishment

What does Shane mean by that? Ilya isn't often treated to this side of Shane; that sets up a surprise reward he must wait two more weeks for, and then tells him it's also a punishment. Punishment for what? Reward could be easy enough to guess, if Shane is continuing their conversation, it's about the confession of celibacy when they’re apart. The punishment can't be for the casual sex he was having before, can it? Shane knows he's bisexual, agrees with his safety concerns, even if he dislikes why, and has known about the casual sex far too long to bring it up now. 

Shane refuses to elaborate, in a mirror of the photoshoot Ilya had arranged two years ago. It's delightful, if annoying now that he's on the other end of it. He likes surprises, he just wishes he wasn’t twisting up in confusion around the why of the whole thing. 

Lily: link

Lily: you kill me hollander

Lily: you want me to act normal?

Lily: hollander

Lily: who got you wet?

Lily: i want to bite you

Lily: indecent

Lily: i learn new english word just for you 

Jane: MLH awards are in 15 days

Jane: Think you can last that long knowing the whole world gets to see me like that?

Jane: They don’t know touching is exclusively for Ilya Rozanov

Shane’s new sports drink ad was everywhere Ilya looked; twitter was thirsting over it, pictures on billboards proudly displayed Shane Hollander in a soaking wet, see-through, white t-shirt holding a can and smiling.  This was punishment for the TMZ articles, Ilya got it now. 

When he looked up the word exclusive, just to double check, he had such a good practice that St Simon straight up asked him what drug he was on. No drug, just sexy Shane Hollander everywhere he looked and that word: exclusive.

They settled back into their normal texting routine of Not Mentioning It after that, but the word exclusive finds a home in Ilyas ribcage. The quiet thought that maybe they weren't so impossible together. 

—

Neither of them were up for any awards this year, but as star players Hollander and Rozanov, they were invited. Shane is sure that the only reason either of them had showed up was the easy alibi. It was easy work to ditch the party, ending up in Shane’s hotel room — against the wall, grinding hard into Ilya’s abs while a strong arm under his bare ass held him up. 

“I could fuck you like this,” Ilya said, free hand gripping Shane’s jaw, “Against wall, holding you in place, fucking you on my cock.”

Shane whined, high in his throat, trying to chase after another kiss. The panic attack he had after sending a text with the words exclusive and Ilya Rozanov in the same sentence was worth the reaction he was getting tonight. It had been incredibly risky — not any riskier than what they were already doing — but the potential to fuck everything up was high. Shane had stared at the word only next to his own name long enough for his brain to start doodling Mr. Hollander-Rozanov<3 behind his eyelids. The thought slammed into him hard enough to bring him back to reality. A reality where he couldn’t turn down a perceived challenge, especially not from Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

“Potseluy menya.” He knows Ilya can’t resist when he speaks Russian; he was fully prepared to use it to his advantage. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Ilya was prepared to do the same — kissing him hard enough to distract Shane until-

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane’s head hit the wall, back arching as Ilya worked a finger into him.

“Yes,” Ilya said from his new place against the column of Shane’s throat. “I fuck you. Hold you here, only for me to see. Only for me to fuck…”

Two fingers pressed directly into his prostate as Ilya murmured, barely loud enough for Shane to hear, “Only you on my cock.”

“Ilya. Ilya. Please, fuck.” He focused his brain enough to deliver the killing blow, “Made to take it, made to take you. Pozhaluysta, trakhni menya.”

Ilya takes a moment to adjust Shane, making sure he’s secure so he can pull both hands away. Shane pants, holding his weight up while Ilya pulls a condom from somewhere and lines himself up. Once he’s past the first ring of muscle and sure he wont slip out, Ilya gets his hands back on Shane's body. 

He braces his hands on Shane's ass, preventing gravity from doing its job while he waits for Shane’s breathing to even out, panting into each other's mouths. 

“мой,” Ilya growls.

“мой,” Shane repeats, earning a moan. 

“Tvoy,” he says, Shane repeating again. Tvoy.

Ilya lets gravity take back over, slowly sinking Shane onto his dick until he’s fully seated. Shane gives him another kiss. 

“мой,” Ilya growls against his mouth and finally, finally, starts moving. Braced against the wall, fucking him in earnest. Shane can hear the Russian praise through the hazy fog of his mind. Tvoy tvoy tvoy. Your cock, just for you, made to fuck you so good. 

The words wash over him, pushing him closer and closer to orgasm. He can't do much where he is pinned, just lets his dick rub against strong abs and holds on to Ilya's shoulders, moaning into his mouth with every thrust. He feels it coming, feels the way Ilya is also close, when he has an idea — and goes in for the kill. 

“мой, Ilya.” Ilya’s orgasm takes both of them by surprise, triggering Shane over the edge right behind him. Ilya is choking off a whine where he's buried in Shane's neck, trying to catch his breath. Shane holds as much of his own weight as he can, letting Ilya recover. 

It's Shane this time, who guides Ilya to the shower. Sits him on the bench, and lets the water warm while he gives himself a cursory clean up under the quickly warming spray. He kneels before Ilya and takes his time. soaping him up, rinsing them, drying them both, trying to copy every time Ilya had done this to him. 

Ilya’s recovered enough to man-handle Shane under the covers and back against the pillows, choosing to do his best impression of a weighted blanket. Tucking his face against Shane's neck, inhaling deeply, and resting his body weight on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. Shane certainly won't complain, letting 200lbs of hockey player pin him down. It was comforting to wrap his arms around Ilya and hold him against his chest. Shane pressed kisses onto Ilya's head, occasionally rubbing up and down his back until Ilya came back. 

Usually Shane was the one who got spacy after sex. It was different watching Ilya float, being the one to hold him together the way he always took such good care of Shane. He smiled, a euphoric feeling at being able to do this to Ilya, the trust he always gave over returned back to him. 

“Hey,” he feels Ilya's lips on his collarbone—the only skin he can reach without moving. He goes to scratch his fingers through Ilya's curls, “You did so good. So good for me.”

Ilya buries deeper into Shane, at least he tries to. Shane giggles, “Come on, lets go to sleep.”

They wake the next morning, spooning.  Ilya's arm is holding Shane in place against his chest, hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady heartbeat under his palm. He watches the moment Shane moves from dreams back to the hotel room. 

“Dobroye utro.”

“Hmmm. Go’mrnin’” is Shane's unintelligible reply. Ilya jostles him a bit, only to get a light swat on his arm. Voice still heavy with sleep when he says, “Say…again. In Russian.”

Ilya leans over to kiss him, “Dobroye utro.”

“Dobroye utro,” Shane rolls fully over to face Ilya, nose wrinkling as he finally registers their morning breath. Ilya rolls his eyes, blowing a raspberry on Shane’s cheek before he can protest and getting out of bed to brush his teeth. 

Luckily, Ilya happens to be on the same floor as Shane this year — if at the other end of the hallway. Unluckily, every time they pull away from where they're lazily making out against the door to check, someone is always loitering to or from their rooms. Ilya finally slips away with only twenty minutes to pack and check out.

Marlow asks later what time he got in last night with a traitorously raised eyebrow, so Ilya only shoves him and walks onto the plane. He has better things to do, like restart his mental countdown. 4 months.

Chapter End Notes

listen, we're skipping ahead to 2014. I was going to do 2013, then i realized it would just be a sex/fluff montage where they cant stop themselves from acting like boyfriends while still actively avoiding the elephant in the room. they're very much in a place of: i know what this is, im pretty sure you know what this is, but everything feels too fragile. this can only exist here, between us, so if i know, and you know, and we don't say it, then we don't have to face the full reality of it. we can't acknowledge that it's real without dealing with it and facing the consequences. So we dont.

So there, chapter 3: 2013. done. now we move on to the good stuff ive been dying to write/post.

see you soon!

Chapter 3: 2014

Chapter Summary

She sweeps Ilyusha into a tight hug and tries to convey everything with, “His Russian is very good.”

She’s not just talking about the clear grasp he has on the basics, but also everything that makes Russia home to Ilya is nothing he will ever have to lose forever

Chapter Notes

February 2014

Shane wants nothing more than to go to Ilya. He can see him standing up in the balcony, watching the proceedings from above, leaning against a pillar like it's the only thing holding him up. It looks like lazy nonchalance to the untrained eye, but Shane is an expert at reading Ilya after almost 5 years. 

He forces his eyes away, mentally reviewing why he can’t go to him. Shane knew Russia was unsafe for them. Ilya, especially, as a citizen, and as the son of an important man. Shane had agreed not to text him while they were in the same country. He wished he could have offered the other good luck before their games, like usual, or his condolences when Russia was eliminated. Ilya was beating himself up about it, he was sure, and there was nothing he could do. Not until they were both back in North America, at least. 

So Shane forces himself to focus on Russia, while he’s here. If he can’t be with Ilya, he’s going to take in Ilya’s country. He’s not expecting the text when it comes through. It’s an address followed by instructions from Lily that lead him to a small restaurant and using his limited Russian to ask for Sofya. 

Sofya is an older woman, hair braided neatly down her back, who gives him a once over, nods, and tells him to follow her to a table in the back. She leads him through a curtain into a private room. Shane’s jaw drops at the sight in front of him. Ilya thanks Sofya, who just pats his cheek with a smile as she passes him to walk through another door. 

“Ilya?”

“Hi Shane. Come sit,” Ilya gestures to the table laden with several plates of food. Shane sits across from Ilya. They’re both watchful of the space between them. This might be a private room, but they’re still in public, in Russia.

“I thought we couldn’t do this?” Is the first thing out of his mouth. He winces, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, I am.”

Ilya shrugs, “Sofya is old friend. From when I was small. I came to see her, she told me to invite friend to cheer me up. I wanted to see you,” he admits quietly. Shane lets his foot tap Ilyas under the table.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Shane gives him a soft smile, which Ilya returns briefly before launching into an explanation for the food on the table. Shane tries everything and mentally catalogues what he likes. He has to tell Ilya to just speak in Russian after one too many attempts to find the right word in the wrong language. Ilya gives him that look, the one that stays between them and usually behind closed doors. There is no one else around now, except Sofya, so Shane lets his toes press a little harder into Ilya’s and lets it go. 

It’s a good thing too, because Ilya spends the next three hours speaking in almost exclusively Russian. A win-win for Shane who gets to practice right back. Excitedly rambling through stories that Shane can’t follow, but nods along to anyway, catching enough words to respond appropriately. This Ilya is his favorite, the one that only exists uninhibited by a translation. There’s still a line of tension in his shoulders, but it’s softer than it was. 

Eventually the food has to disappear completely, their little bubble no longer unburdened by reality. Sofya takes that moment to come back into the room and usher Ilya into clearing the stack of plates. Once he’s out of the room, Sofya sits in his empty seat. She pulls out an envelope and slides it across the table. 

“He will not take these from me,” She starts, in Russian, “But he will want them, one day.”

Shane takes the envelope, understanding that this is important.

“I was friends with his mother.” Shane files away the past tense. He knew, in an abstract way, that Ilya’s mother was dead. She had stayed as a sparse few sentences over the years. In preparation for the Olympics, Ilya had opened up, however vaguely, about his father and brother, but his mother remained only a gold cross around his neck. 

“Ilyusha is…” She trails off, “I have not seen him smile like that since his mother.”

Shane stares at her, trying to figure out if she’s trying to imply anything else with the statement, “Like how?”

She gives him another look, searching for something. She must find it because all she does is smile, shake her head, and say, “Like he is happy.”

“Do you… Sorry if this is overstepping.” He’s searching through the Russian he knows, deciding that perfect pronunciation can wait. This is more important, so in a mix of English and Russian, asks, “Do you have retsepty? For yeda? Things Ilya likes I can make at home?” 

He winces at his broken Russian, but knows his point gets across. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t realize the new smile Sofya is giving him is because he said doma. She just reaches a hand over and taps the envelope with a finger. Before either of them can say another word, Ilya is back in the room loudly declaring that they cannot be having any fun without him. 

Sofya stands and wraps Ilya in a hug, giving Shane time to slide the envelope to his bag and out of sight before Ilya can see.

“His Russian is very good.” Is the last thing Shane hears before she has left and Ilya is back at the table eyeing him suspiciously.

“What did you talk about?” 

“Nothing. Just practicing my Russian.”

“Ugh. So boring, Hollander.” Shane laughs. He doesn’t want to leave, but curfew is soon. He stands and asks, aiming for teasing and landing somewhere closer to gentle. 

“Are you going to be ok without me?” 

“I will be ok, Shane. Go win gold tomorrow for boring Canada. I will see you soon. We will talk then, I have lots to tell you, ok?” Shane takes him in for another minute. He nods resolutely.

“See you soon, Ilya.”

—

Ilya watched Shane leave and felt his whole body sag with the sudden weight of reality. He thought he could get through the Olympics without seeing any more of Shane than glimpses around the Village. But then Russia had lost — badly — and in the middle of expressing his disappointment, Ilya’s father had forgotten what, exactly, he was mad at Ilya for. 

With an afternoon void of responsibilities, unless he wanted to trail silently behind his father, he found his way to Sofya’s. She had been Irina’s childhood friend, and she always let him sit in the back and eat himself sick on family recipes. Only ever lightly admonishing him for how long it had been since she saw him last. So he tucked himself into a bowl of borscht and scrolled through his last texts with Shane.

“You are not eating.” He looks guiltily away from both her and the untouched bowl of soup. “I cannot tell if you are happy or sad. You are sad, but your eyes say different. You are relaxed, Ilyusha.”

A tear slips from his eye, “I am ok. Disappointed we lost.”

Sofya just sits across from him and takes his hand; Ilya feels more tears fall. He sees Sofya see the open text messages on his phone. She won’t be able to read them at this angle, but she sees them. 

“You should not be alone.”

“I’m not alone, you are here.” This impossible boy, Sofya thinks.

“I have work to do. Invite a friend, you must have a hungry friend who needs some good Russian pelmeni.” She watches Ilya’s face and sees him look at his phone, debating. She sees the moment he comes to a decision. Sofya nods, leaving Ilya to text someone. She’s known Ilya his whole life, despite the missing chunks. He found someone, she knew. That was all she knew, but it was enough to know he would come to Russia one day for the last time. 

There was a man asking for her up front. Sofya didn’t recognize him, but saw the hockey written into him the same way it did in Ilya, an athlete. She led him back to Ilya and watched the surprise and delight bloom on his face. 

She watched from the small window between the kitchen and the room. Ilya’s laugh wafted loudly towards her. When was the last time she had heard that? That boy in there was making Ilyusha laugh. She sets her current project down harder than she means to and goes to find the envelope. Ilya had never asked for pictures of Irina, or for the family recipes he knew she had, but Sofya had saved them just in case. Beside the envelope is an instant camera. Making a decision, she grabs both and goes back to her window. 

Ilya is still speaking rapid Russian, slowing occasionally, or repeating something. The other boy — Shane, she hears Ilya say — is nodding along, clearly trying to follow as much as he can. He is still contributing to the conversation in slow, careful Russian, but he is letting Ilya tell stories and talk about the food they’re eating. The ease in the air is as palpable as the tension in their shoulders. In a moment, Sofya understands. She raises the camera and spends the next few minutes waiting for the perfect time to take a photo, immortalizing forever these young boys eating pelmeni and laughing. The first one is a just a little blurry, so she takes a second one. Perfect. She slips the picture into the envelope and goes back to her work, checking in occasionally. 

When the plates are clean, Sofya bullies Ilya into clearing the table so she can talk to Shane alone. She slides the photos and recipes over. The look on his face says he knows this is important.

“I was friends with his mother.” She says, “Ilyusha is… I have not seen him smile like that since his mother.”

Shane is looking at her blankly, “Like how?”

Bless this boy. She sees why Ilyusha likes him. “Like he is happy.”

“Do you… Sorry if this is overstepping.” She waits for him to go on. “Do you have retsepty? For yeda? Things Ilya likes I can make at home?” 

Home, he says. This hockey player who listens to Ilyusha in his first language and asks strangers for recipes and says home. She does not know everything, but their love is clear as day in front of her. 

She sweeps Ilyusha into a tight hug and tries to convey everything with, “His Russian is very good.” She’s not just talking about the clear grasp he has on the basics, but also everything that makes Russia home to Ilya is nothing he will ever have to lose forever. Shane is good, she decides, Shane and Ilya. She pins the blurry candid next to a picture of 16-year-old Sofya and Irina, frozen in laughter on a cold beach.

You would be so proud of them, Irina.

Chapter End Notes

Ilya was not supposed to show up. thats the second time he's made a decision for me. But i cant blame mr loverboy because he disrupts my plans so he can see shane.