Rating:

Not Rated

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:

One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Nightmares, Marriage Proposal, Missing Scene, several of them - Freeform, ngl gang most of these aren't even a thousand words, warning roger crowell

Language:

English

Series:

Part 13 of a little more romeo, a little more juliet

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-01 Updated: 2026-06-08 Words: 3,300 Chapters: 3/?

close my eyes, the flashback starts

Summary

One-shots and missing scenes from the main series (the ones that don't get their own work).

Notes

Requests open if you have something you'd like to see. Don't know when I'll get to it, but I do love a good prompt/expanding on something.

Chapter 1: Ilya finds a ring

Ilya couldn’t tell you why he was even looking. He’d swear it was a complete accident. Really, it was. He’d gone with Cliff to help him pick out a ring for Nicole (not that he would end up proposing for close to a year), and Ilya had wandered off to look at all the other jewelry until Marly needed his opinion. 

He absolutely wasn’t picturing himself buying rings. And he wasn’t picturing buying two mens rings. And he definitely wasn’t picturing a certain man while he browsed lazily. Marly called his name.

“Roz!” Ilya looked up, “What do you think of this one?”

Ilya walked over to look at the delicate ring nestled in Marly’s palm. It was cute, princess cut, diamond, thin gold band. He shakes his head, “Is too, um…” the word escapes him, “Nicole will not like. Looks like it will break.”

“Too delicate,” Marlow repeats, always good at that, accepting when Ilya found himself stuck. Like Shane, who also provided the words Ilya needed without fanfare. Cliff goes back to searching through the rings. Ilya wanders back off. What kind of ring would Shane like? Silver, or gold? Something simple, for sure. Ilya’s not sure he’s ever seen Shane wear jewelry, except watches, but that was for Rolex. 

One of the cases displayed ‘specialty rings’. Ilya stares at the case quizzically long enough that another saleswoman comes over to ask if he’d like to see them. Nodding silently is enough for her. She pulls out the case and starts to explain all the differences. Ilya isn’t really paying attention, more focused on imagining he’s picking out a ring for Shane, like Cliff is for Nicole, but also ignoring that he’s having the fantasy. 

What finally catches his attention is when the saleswoman pulls out one of the rings to demonstrate that it spins. It captivates him. Something about the silver, square ring, with its separate pieces draws him in. He takes it from the woman, trying it on and using his thumb to test it out. 

Shane would love it, he thinks. He’s noticed Shane’s penchant for fiddling, twisting his hoodie strings through his fingers if not chewing on the ends, the way his leg bounced while he picked at invisible lint. This ring was perfect to play with. Functional. 

Marly crows and Ilya startles. He gives the ring back, the fantasy perfectly broken, and thanks her before returning to Cliff’s side. His friend has found the perfect ring for his girlfriend. Ilya smiles and gives him teasing congratulations, ignoring the twinge in his chest. He wishes he could gush about his own… his Shane with Cliff, wishes one day he could drag Marly out to ring shop for Shane. 

Ilya swallows back his disappointment. 

Three and a half years later, Shane Hollander is proposing. Well, he’s teasing Ilya and accidentally utters the words they’ve been avoiding, then he proposes. 

Shane quickly becomes overwhelmed, despite his determination, and Ilya offers to take the burden of some of the simpler tasks off his hands. Just the things that would stress Shane out regardless. It’s selfish too, because when he’s feeling his lowest, his mind always returns to that ring. 

So he quietly places an order under a false name, ordering the ring and a matching one to arrive at Shane's condo. 

Ilya is giddy when the box arrives. It’s almost too late, but the rings arrive just in time, the morning before they’re due to head to the courthouse. He hides the box from Shane, opening it in the privacy of the kitchen while Shane is in the shower. The black velvet boxes open to reveal two almost-matching gold bands, one with a track, so the interlocked top piece spins without issue. He hides them under his side of the bed, somewhere Shane won’t be looking before Ilya has the chance to show him. 

It’s not like he needs to hide them, but he wants to. His chance to surprise Shane comes later that night. They’re curled on the couch, and Ilya jumps up to fetch his prizes. 

He reveals the two velvet boxes nestled in bubble wrap and removes the ring box with Shane’s specialty ring inside. 

He knees on the floor, opening the box to his fiance and asks Shane, in a voice much more choked than he would ever admit, if he’ll marry Ilya. 

Shane giggles at him, kissing him sweetly and says, “Da, Ilyusha, I will marry you.”

Chapter 2: Shane's nightmare

His chest is heaving when his eyes open, sheets tangling around his legs. One hand flies to the side, an instinct born from years of secrecy and desperation. He pats around the bed, heart continuing to race when the warm sheets don’t give way to the warm skin of his husband. He can’t see in the unnaturally dark room–Ilya must have closed the blinds. Shane rolls, searching the bed with his whole body. Nothing. 

The spot where Ilya should be is still warm, if cooling slightly, and Shane can still smell him on his pillow. He couldn’t have gone far. Shane needed to see him, touch him, feel him, smell him. Reassure himself that his husband was here. Shane couldn’t remember the details of his dream, but he’d woken up with the single minded focus to check on Ilya.

Rolling out of bed, Shane only stumbles twice. In the dark, he can’t find the door, but he’s been living in this house for enough years to navigate it blind. He starts to question the darkness when his search lands him in front of wall, instead of the door. He trails his fingers along as he walks, trying to find the exit. 

He strikes gold and twists the door knob.

Light floods the doorway and Shane has to blink away spots as he makes his way down the hallway. It’s daytime, he notices, which is odd, because Shane could have sworn his clock told him it was the middle of the night. Ilya wouldn’t have left him to sleep in.

Shane starts to feel a pit form in his stomach.

Ilya isn’t in the kitchen. Nor is he on the couch watching tv. He’s not in the gym, the backyard, the front yard, or in any of their spare bedrooms. Shane finds his own phone on the kitchen counter–not where he left it.

A second and third trip around the house is enough for panic to completely overtake anything else Shane might be feeling. Standing in his kitchen, Shane scrolls for anyone who might know where Ilya is. He freezes when he realizes he’s into the N’s and when he scrolls back up, the contact for Lily is gone.

Shane navigates to his texts, no thread with Lily.

Phone calls, nothing.

Lily doesn’t exist in his phone.

Shane types in his number manually and presses call.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and call again.

Shane drops, crouching into a ball and breathing picking up. Where the fuck is his husband? The whole morning has been weird and Ilya is nowhere to be found.

Shane stands on his porch, surveying the yard. His eyes land on the security camera. Bingo. Pulling up the footage and scrubbing the video, Shane watches for movement. There, someone dressed in all black approaches the door, banging on it loudly.

Odd, Shane should have woken up, both he and Ilya are light sleepers.

He blinks and he’s back in the kitchen, the light gone from outside. The moon is casting the room in shadows through the large windows. A loud knocking comes from the front door, along with a voice shouting, “Ilya Rozanov, open up.”

Shane watches the deadbolt slide free and the sound of the lock echoes. He’s paralyzed, stuck to the floor while he watches several men enter his home. They all separate, making their way quietly through the dark house. The last man who enters is wearing a uniform, but not one Shane recognizes. Except he does, the man standing ramrod straight in the entryway is Ilya’s father. 

Except Gregori Rozanov is dead.

No, that’s not right. He’s alive, but Ilya hasn’t been back to Russia in years.

Shane is so confused. He’s also terrified out of his mind. His feet are stuck to the floor and there are strange men in his home and Ilya is missing.

“Let go, let me go! Help!” Two of the men are dragging his husband roughly towards the door. He’s begging them to let him go, calling for Shane, calling for help, twisting in their hold. It’s all futile. One of the men, who Shane somehow understands is Alexi Rozanov, punches Ilya in the face and grips the back of his neck. It doesn’t stop Ilya from trying to fight back, but nothing helps. Without looking at his son, Gregori turns and marches outside, followed by one obedient son, one bruised and bloody, still fighting son, and several men who are helping drag out the latter son. 

The whole time, Shane is fighting against his own invisible bonds, shouting for Ilya. Shouting profanities at the other two Rozanovs, spitting curses at the unnamed police that have invaded their home. He’s crying, collapsing to his knees–the only viable action–and screaming for his husband. Screaming for someone to help, to let him go, to let Shane run after them. But the house is quiet once again, the door kicked in (when did that happen?) and splinters littering the floor where heavy boots had done damage. Ilya is gone and Shane is never going to see him again.

—

A strangled shout wakes him. Ilya rolls over to see Shane struggling against the covers. His eyes open and he shoots up, chest heaving. Whatever he’s saying is too jumbled for Ilya to parse out. Shane’s hands scramble along the bed, searching. One of his wandering hands finds Ilya’s thigh and Shane’s head swivels towards him. Ilya immediately notices what he didn’t before–tears.

Shane’s watery brown eyes make contact with Ilya’s own and he bursts into more tears. Fully sobbing now, Shane twists his body, hands touching any part of Ilya they can find, firmly tracing leg, torso, arms, and back down. Ilya lets his husband do what he needs, finally able to hear what Shane is saying.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” over and over. 

Ilya sits up, and is unprepared for his husband to start panicking at the movement, but Ilya pulls Shane firmly into his arms. Shane fights back for a moment, eyes still a little wild and bleary, but stills when his hands find Ilya’s face. Calloused thumbs stroke his cheeks and Ilya lets him do whatever is bringing him comfort right now.

Satisfied–or tired–Shane closes his eyes and slumps forward, pressing his face to Ilya’s. Fresh tears are making both their faces damp. Ilya doesn’t want to speak, even if he wants answers. Shane doesn’t get nightmares, which is what Ilya is assuming happened.

“They took you,” Shane’s voice is hoarse and quiet. “They took you and I couldn’t do anything.”

Ilya feels his heart break, not needing to ask who ‘they’ is. Shane pulls back and continues to rub his hands over every inch of husband he can find, reassuring himself that this is real.

Chapter 3: Roger Crowell vs all these damn homosexuals

Chapter Notes

someone specifically asked for this, and i was inspired! I'm having a crappy day and writing about crowell actually made me smile. he's just so old and dumb and -ist that it's fun to write. my favorite troupe (one of them) is evil head honcho doesn't remember underlings name and *almost* gets it correct. that shit eats everytime.

“Sir?”

Roger Crowell looked up, already irritated at being interrupted by the poor intern, “What? Can’t you see I’m busy? I’m not to be interrupted!”

“I know that, sir,” he squeaks out, “just, there’s some news you should be aware of. There’s already emails from the board about meeting to discuss further action.”

Roger frowns. What could possibly be so important? The last time there’d been an unscheduled meeting over ‘surprising information’ about one of his players, it was the shit-show that was Hunter’s… display on the ice.

“What is it?”

“Sir, have you been on any social media today?” Of course he hasn’t, he’s a grown man with a job to do. He doesn’t have time to waste away on young people and their perversions and opinions, ruining the way the world was. He says as much to the intern, who gulps audibly and tells him to search up Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov, then scampers away, having done his job.

Roger sighs deeply, and pulls up facebook, which sends him to instagram, where he finally finds Shane Hollander’s page. With a groan, he pulls up the latest pictures, what he finds confuses him at first. Hollander and Rozanov are kissing rather passionately in several pictures, the rest detailing odd things. The caption is what finally clues him in. Married? Hollander and Rozanov are married? And have been for six years? Roger blinks dumbly at his computer screen, “Liam!”

The poor intern opens his office door again, “Yes?”

“Explain what I’m seeing?” The intern nods shakily.

“Yeah, basically, what we’re seeing is that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are married and have been for six years. It’s a little unclear, but it also appears that they’ve been in a relationship since they were in juniors together, although there are conflicting opinions and reports about that. The announcement seems to be coming on the back of Rozanov getting a new Canadian citizenship and the couple's vow renewal. Sir,” he tacks on belatedly.

“You’re telling me,” Roger starts, sitting heavily back in his chair, “that my two best players, the stars of the NHL, are not only homosexuals, they’re homosexual together?”

“Yes, sir,” Luke says, “though, I don’t think–”

“Liam, am I to believe that this isn’t some prank and that I’m supposed to let them get away–” Roger massages his temples. “My two best players are married to each other. This is worse than Hunter. At least he had the decency to find a-a-boyfriend that wouldn’t disrupt the game. Liam! Get Randall LeClair on the line! Now! I want a word with him.”

The intern ducks out of the room with a nod, getting the Boston coach on the line as quickly as he can, “Hello sir, this is the desk of Roger Crowell, Commissioner of the NHL–”

“I know kid,” LeClair says, “I’ve been waiting for this call. Go ahead and patch me through.”

“Randy!” Roger shouts into his receiver.

“Roger,” deadpans Leclair, “good to hear from you. What’s this about?”

“You know exactly what this is about!” Roger leans back in his chair, “Hollander and Rozanov–”

“Ah, yes,” Randall agrees, “my superstars. They’ve won us three cups, after Roz won us that first one. Four cups in seven years is nothing to sneeze at, Roger.”

Roger wants to agree, “It’s the principle. We can’t have them making a mockery of this league, Randy, and that’s exactly what they’re doing! Showcasing their… perversions all over the internet.”

“Is that what you think is happening, Roger?” Randall asks with a laugh, “They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong!? There are rules in place, Randy, workplace behavior protocols, personal relationship disclosures!”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “and they followed all of them. I’ve known since before Hollander signed with us exactly what I was getting into. Their relationship was disclosed with HR, the staff here at the barn was notified, management knew, the team knew, there was nothing that said they needed to disclose their relationship to either higher NHL management or with the public. I’ve had no issues with locker room behavior, they’ve presented fewer problems than some of my other players over the years. Remember Macky?”

“Macky was fine–” Randall makes a noise of protest, but Roger talks over him, “–it’s Hollander and Rozanov I’m concerned with now. Do you know how this reflects on the league?”

“I don’t understand why this is any of your concern?” Randall says, “I don’t know if anyone’s really spelled it out for you, but Hollander and Rozanov have been in a relationship since before they joined the league. They’ve been married for the last six years. They’ve never let their relationship interfere on the ice and you can watch any past game to try and prove otherwise. They disclosed their relationship with HR, me, and the team. I’ll reiterate that they’ve won Boston three cups, in fact, Boston has won all four of their recent cups while they were in a relationship, so if you’re looking for something specific from me, or Boston’s management, you’re not going to get it. The city loves them, the fans love them, the owners love them. If you make any move against them, you’re going to be very disappointed with the response you get.”

“So what? Are they expecting me to hold them a parade? That’s what all these homosexuals want these days!”

“Honestly, I think they’d be happy if you just ignored it,” Randall tries. Roger grunts and scowls deeper. “Look, Roger, I don’t know what you want from me. They haven’t broken any rules, they’re not in trouble…” he trails off.

“I want you to control your team!” Roger shouts, trying to get in the last word and regain control.

“I am controlling my team,” says Randall. “I’m sorry you don’t like that two of my players are married, but again, I’ve never had an issue with it.”

Roger sputters for a rebuttal that doesn’t sound like lawyers will get involved for stupid shit like ‘discrimination’ or whatever bullshit they’ll throw at him. Before he can formulate a response, a beeping in his ear tells him he’s been hung up on.

He returns to his computer, and is immediately assaulted with the pictures from Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov’s wedding. Against his better judgement, and certainly with some trouble born of not using the internet to its full potential, Roger goes in search of the other posts. He’s disappointed to find that the rest of Boston’s team is posting about the Hollander-Rozanov affair to confusion, but general support from the fans. 

It’s disgusting, to see the blatant display from the best players. To believe that they’ve been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs engaging in such behavior is reprehensible, but there isn’t much Roger can do about it. He’s supposed to understand that they’ve been doing this longer than they’ve been in his league… It's absurd! There’s no way he drafted these two players, who were supposed to be the face of hockey, to bring back fans after their unfortunate hiatus. The rivalry was to sell tickets, he’ll admit, drafting the boys to Boston and Montreal had been a stroke of luck, but it was being used as a smoke screen to hide such behaviors. The rivalry had eventually fallen apart, what with Hollander moving to Boston and the two of them having insane on-ice chemistry. Of course, Roger saw the benefit to that. He couldn’t force a player to stay with or move teams. Encourage, yes, but this had been a move he had absolutely no say in. There wasn’t a reason for him to get involved once he knew it was happening, falsely believing the dismantling of the Bears would bring its own entertainment. That had backfired. No, it had been orchestrated to do the exact opposite. 

Fuck it all, Roger thought. If they want to make the league an embarrassment, they’re only reflecting on themselves. Hockey was old-school, one of the last sports left for the old club, and it would remain that way. The fans who had been around as long as Roger had wouldn’t stand for this, and eventually this would all be swept away, forgotten. He certainly couldn’t erase it, with Boston’s four cups, but he would call Hollander and Rozanov in, tell them in no uncertain terms what being a part of this league meant and the behavior associated. Gentle encouragement, his father used to say, of correct behavior.

Chapter End Notes

I also was rereading the whole story and realized i could totally diverge from 2016 all-star weekend to make my runaway au, but alas, I've written the beginning of that already and am not changing it, but it has inspired me to work on it a little between figuring out ch 2 for 'it's mine alone to disgrace' and ch 13? of time travel and 'this is why we can't have nice things'

love yall, and I'm going to keep writing even if i'm putting out one shots bc at least i'm writing and some of my best inspiration comes from cranking out smaller scenes. kisses, mwah!