Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Svetlana Vetrova, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Secret Relationship, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Student Shane Hollander, Grumpy Shane Hollander, Panic Attacks, Anxious Shane Hollander, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Good Friend Svetlana Vetrova, Coming Out, Angst

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of koi no yokan

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-23 Completed: 2026-05-17 Words: 41,336 Chapters: 13/13

Mystery of love

Summary

Shane's friends discover traces of Ilya in his life, even though Shane doesn't talk often about his husband, and Shane slowly realises that maybe, just maybe he can be open about his relationship with the greatest hockey player in the league.

Or:
Shane and Ilya are married, but it's just Ilya who pursued career in hockey. Shane studies at uni, hiding his romantic relationship from the whole world, but his friends are slowly learning the truth that the mysterious Lily is in fact a famous hockey player Ilya Rozanov.

Notes

Hiiiiii thanks for giving this fic a chance 🫶 It will be mostly fluffy, mostly self-indulgent, mostly feel-good. I wanted to explore Shane's identity without the fame while juggling with a mystery he doesn't want out, so here it is, my nocturnal and very new fic.

Enjoy and let me know what you think 🫶

Chapter 1: Secretive

It definitely isn't Shane's day. It isn't a good day at all, and it's Wednesday.

Wednesdays, as per his uni calendar, are the easiest days in the week. Just three classes in his physics course, the first one starting at nine, none of them boring or making him want to skip. In fact, he's genuinely interested in all three subjects and diligently listens to the professors and takes even more diligent notes in his messy scrawl. Hayden always laughs about these notes, but then he's in fucking heaven when he's allowed to borrow them before exams. Wednesdays also offer free afternoons, ones he spends either with Ilya or in the library or in the Pikes' household playing computer games with Hayden.

So Wednesdays are usually easy and give him room to breathe, but not today.

Today's Wednesday is a fucking disaster.

It started with spilled coffee. It was his very first coffee in the morning, and he spilled all of it over his molecular physics textbooks, earning a big glaring spot that didn't disappear regardless of how hard he tried to wash it off. He had to go to uni with a stained textbook and suffering without his coffee since he didn't have the time to fix himself a new one.

Then he suffered through Hayden talking his ear off about his twins—man, children were really demanding—and tripping over to fall into a puddle conveniently splattered in the middle of the pavement on his way to another building. His favourite jeans got soaked while Hayden laughed his ass off and Shane glared at the offending puddle.

And the cafeteria they decided to attend right after the last class didn't even have his favourite sandwiches.

And worse of all—no text from Ilya. No text from Ilya in the morning, no snarky teasing from Ilya during classes, no updates from Ilya even later when he should be heading to the rink. The last message in their message thread was the one sent by Shane last night—"Good night <3"—and nothing new after.

"Are you waiting for a message from your wife?"

Shane scowls at Hayden, setting his phone down, deliberately putting it screen down.

"I am not. And I don't have a wife. I was just checking the news."

"The news." Hayden rolls his eyes, the crumbs of his sandwich falling down. "Sure."

"It's called catching up, Hayden. I like to be aware of what's happening around us. In the world, in general."

"Is it because she isn't writing you back? Did anything happen?"

Shane takes a deep breath, trying to stop himself from going into a frenzy—because Hayden unknowingly hit the nail on the head. He considers his options.

"Nothing happened. It's just—I expected a message and I'm bummed I didn't get it, that's all."

"You're whipped for her," Hayden comments with a smirk. "Co-dependent, even. You're talking to her constantly. She has you tight around your balls—"

"Hayden, for fuck's sake."

"Am I wrong?"

He isn't wrong, but Shane won't ever admit it loud.

"I just like our conversations, is all. And I'm worried that something happened. It's not—the silence isn't typical."

"You know you can just write her, right? Maybe she's waiting for your message as much as you're waiting for hers. You can just make the first step instead of waiting for her." Hayden shrugs. "Or, I don't know, her phone died or something. She's still away, right?"

"I know, it's just—my spouse has certain habits. Always texts first thing in the morning, and today there was no text."

"Not whipped, my ass," Hayden grumbles, "and I can't fucking believe I'm giving you a class in communication. Write her. Now. Ask if she's okay. Hell, you could even, I don't know, call her?"

Shane considers first Hayden, then his phone—still silent, still message-less. Then he slowly picks it up and opens the conversation with Lily. His own message glares back at him: left on read, but there's at least a lovely text preceding it, with Ilya wishing him sleep tight <3. It soothes his anxiety a little, but—

His fingers move before he realises what he's doing. The letters fall down in rapid fire, and here—sent.

SHANE: I miss you 😭

Here. That should suffice. When Ilya answers, Shane will know he's still alive, still very much in love with him, just busy. Or something.

"What are you doing today?" Hayden asks causally, seeing that Shane is done with the phone.

"Reading for class, probably."

"I still don't understand why you're doing that fucking Russian lit minor. It makes literally zero sense."

"I told you multiple times already that I just like reading and Russian literature is fascinating."

"You could have literally taken maths, and it would make more sense than nerdy philology shit."

"If you haven't accepted my explanation before, I doubt you ever will."

"Fine. Fine. Anyway, I was curious if you could drop your little nerdy Russia books to play with me today. A new hockey game was launched literally yesterday, we could play. You up for it?"

Hearing the keyword hockey, Shane immediately perks up, because it reminds him of Ilya.

"I guess we can do that."

"Great. Jackie is cooking bird food tonight, so—"

"It's not bird food!"

They bicker for a while, eating up the last pieces of their food and drinking their luke-warm coffee. Shane allows him to peer down at his phone, but his message is still unanswered, unread. He slides the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, fiddling with the string of the hoodie, one he's gotten from Ilya years ago. It's worn out, but still cosy.

"Still nothing?" Hayden pokes at Shane's arm.

"Nothing. I'm going to call hi—her."

Fuck it, he almost slips, and tries to cover it up with fumbling with his phone. He picks Ilya's number—always on top of his contact list—and let it ring: once, twice, thrice… The call goes unanswered, straight to hey, this is Ilya. I won't ever listen to your voice email. Bye!, and Shane feels the pulsation of a headache in his temples.

"Give it a few hours," Hayden says, though his voice isn't very reassuring. "I'm sure she's fine. You'd know if something happened, right? They'd have called you."

And Hayden is right—Shane really hasn't thought about it before, too preoccupied with his anxiety fit, no big deal. The thing is that put as Ilya's emergency contact, just like Ilya is his, so Hayden is definitely right. Someone would have called if anything happened to Ilya, even if the tabloids and major news outlets haven't caught on. So Ilya is probably fine. Probably.

He breathes a bit more easily, but still keeps the hood of his sweatshirt up on his head, covering his hair, as they make their way to Hayden's house. The household is loud, filled to the brim with laughter and the echo of small feet and the squealing that gets louder when the kids see their father. They attack Shane too, he's their favourite uncle after all, and he gently catches them, laughing.

Jackie appears in the kitchen doorway to give Hayden a kiss, and Shane feels a pang of jealousy. It's not about the PDA per se, he really doesn't mind his friend giving a kiss to his wife, but it's a sad reminder that his own situation is very much different.

One of the twins calls his attention, so he squats down to meet her eyes.

"What's up, sweet girl?" he asks softly.

With her most innocent eyes and a shy smile, she answers, "Will you draw mushrooms with me?"

And Shane immediately agrees, because Jade is such a bright child—enjoying drawing and talking to him about flowers and plants and wanting him to tell her stories about stars as he scribbles something only vaguely resembling a mushroom on his sheet. Her drawing is looking much better; she's very talented already.

They sit drawing together till Jackie calls them for dinner—and as always, Shane loves her cooking even though it's definitely not the bird food he's been feeding himself every time Ilya is absent. Still, he ends up mindlessly pushing the vegetables on his plate and checking his phone. It's still quiet, except from a message from the group project team, and Shane's anxiety starts to grow again and his hands grow cold.

What if something really happened and Shane isn't there to help? What if Ilya got angry with him? What if—

Just in case, he quickly scrolls through the hockey news, but there's nothing about Ilya, no news about any potential accidents or injuries or dramatic situations. So, probably nothing too serious aside from Shane immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. And like Hayden said, nobody called to inform him of a catastrophe, so—is Ilya angry with him, then?

"So, Shane, when are we going to know your girlfriend?" Jackie asks pleasantly, her eyes big and pleading, as usual. It's not the first time she blurts out the same question, and Shane feels irritation bubbling.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"Wife."

"I don't have a wife, for fuck's sake, Hayden—"

Hayden tilts his head, considering him for a moment. Then he squints his eyes and Shane already knows that whatever is going to come out of his mouth next, won't be pleasant.

"What is the ring on your finger for, then? And stop lying. You're dismissive every time I ask about it."

Shane feels a wave of heat hitting him. He wriggles on the chair, looking helplessly at his phone—still quiet—and sighs dramatically.

"You're my best friend, Hayden, but I ain't telling you, no matter how much you'll nag." Then he adds, a bit softer, "It's not just about me, but about Lily, too, and I'm not ready to talk about it."

Both Hayden and Jackie consider him for a moment, and Shane sees them exchanging glances. He really wishes Ilya were here with him—he'd handle the situation much better, hell, he'd make the mood better with his crude jokes and shitload of sarcasm. But Ilya is not here, and Shane has to deal with the Pikes on his own while his own anxiety is creeping up and threatening to swallow him whole.

"Okay. Just know that you can tell us anything, and we won't judge."

He nods tightly at Jackie's words, his arms crossed in front of him, the hoodie armour also fully up. It doesn't help much—he still feels cold.

Then they move to the couch while the kids disperse, and turn on the console. Then Shane catches sight of the game Hayden's bought, and his breath catches.

"What's up with the cover?" he tries to ask as casually as possible, already reaching out for the box. "They are putting Rozanov on the front now?

"He's the best player in the league, of course they are putting him on the cover," Hayden huffs. "I'm picking him, by the way. I want Centaurs as my team."

"Fuck no, that's unfair. You can't just call dibs on him!"

"My house, my rules. Suck it up."

Hayden does end up playing Rozanov and the Centaurs, all while Shane is left with the scraps of Boston. He holds tightly onto the pad, feeling surreal while he stares into the screen with a little cartoon face of a person he knows like the back of his hand in real life.

He'll need to convince Ilya to play it, one day, because despite all the feelings attached, it's a good game, with nice mechanics and pad control, and he finds himself laughing hysterically with Hayden after a particularly nasty goal he's shot.

"Not even Ilya Rozanov could have saved your ass," he comments with humour when they wrap up. He starts stretching his legs and slowly gets up; it's getting late, and he has an early class the next day, so time to get to bed, really.

"I got a shift in the cafe tomorrow, you can come hang out if your wife is still out of town," Hayden says when Shane puts on his trainers.

"I told you I don't have a wife." Shane rolls his eyes. "But maybe I'll come, if only to steal your coffee."

"You can have as much coffee as you want and read your precious Russian books in your favourite corner."

"You have gotten yourself a deal."

Jackie sends him off with a hug and a box of food, and Hayden waves, though his questions ask if Shane is going to be okay. Shane pointedly ignores the look.

He takes a bus back home, and while his fingers are itching to check the messages on his phone, he doesn't take it out of his pocket. Instead, he focuses on mentally cataloguing the day and tasks he still needs to fulfil this week—there's the grocery trip he's been putting off, but the fridge is really empty; there's the essay he needs to finish till Friday and a book to read; he also has a molecular physics exam the next week, so he should also probably start studying for it. Then maybe he should call his parents on the weekend or do something fun with Ilya—

Ilya.

His heart is awfully tender today. It's not just the fact that he misses Ilya, but also the slow spiral of anxiety he's falling into. The thing is that it's not his girl crush ghosting him, it's Ilya, and Ilya usually is Shane's anxiety whisperer. He can make it fade so easily that Shane forgets that he was anxious in the first place.

But now that Ilya is the cause of it—Shane isn't sure how exactly he can cope.

It really isn't like Ilya to stop answering and go silent for the whole day. Sure, he sometimes disappears for a few hours, but not a whole day; and even if he goes without answering, it's usually with a notice, something like, hey baby, I'll be staying at the rink for a while and I'll answer later, love you, byeeee, or, I have to do press run today but I'll call you when I'm at hotel love you. He's always considerate, having learned the hard way that Shane easily jumps to the worst scenario and spirals.

Well, it doesn't happen often anymore, at least. Years of building a relationship have also worked wonders on Shane's own confidence and trust—he does trust Ilya indefinitely. That principle remains unchanged, though it's challenged by his anxiety, whispering that Ilya got angry with him, that he did something wrong and failed one of the best things in his life, that Ilya just doesn't want to talk to you, that Ilya got bored. Of course, there’s still a chance of an emergency, but it’s now down to 28%—so not as probable as Ilya simply ghosting him, for whatever reason.

Fuck it, he decides. He'll call Ilya as soon as he's back home. Then, if Ilya doesn't answer, he'll try calling Ilya's coach till he finds out if something has happened to Ilya. Then he'll consider his options, maybe call Hayden for backup.

He nods to himself, satisfied with the plan. It's not the best one he's had, but it's a plan, meaning that anxiety settles a bit. He hops off the bus and heads straight home; the path is familiar, the air fresh, which brings additional layer of calm. Then he slowly takes out his keys and huffs as he exits the elevator and pushes on the door to the staircase leading to the flat. And then, as soon as he unlocks the door, he notices light in the kitchen.

Then there's the familiar tune in Russian reaching his ears, and he barely dares to hope when he sneaks closer—

Yes, it's definitely not a burglar, but his very own husband in his favourite Centaurs sweats, making food and singing in their kitchen.

Shane blinks.

"Ilya?"

An eternity passes in slow-motion as Ilya turns around, his face instantly brightening. But then there's a frown, and—

"Shane? Why are you crying?"

Chapter 2: Fond

Chapter Notes

For a long while, all Shane can do is stare.

Ilya in sweats is a very familiar, very domestic sight, but Ilya being here and tonight is such a shock to Shane's system that it simply renders him speechless.

"What are you doing here?" he asks once his brain restarts.

"Uh—cooking?"

Shane blinks through tears.

"But you were—Weren't you supposed to—Aren't you—"

Ilya seems to understand even though Shane himself doesn't.

"I came back earlier," he rushes to say. "Right after the game. I missed you, so I thought I'd skip the training tomorrow and come back earlier."

"Your phone—"

Ilya glances from Shane towards his phone thrown carelessly onto the kitchen table—charging.

"It died right before the game," he says apologetically, taking a step forward. "And I had no charger or time to fix it. Did it—"

Shane starts laughing even though his eyes are still wet, and he puts a hand on his forehead.

Jesus Christ. All this worry—a wholeass day of worrying and swimming in anxiety—and Ilya's phone just died.

Ilya looks bewildered.

"Are you—are you okay?"

"I—"

He sets the spatula away and takes a few more steps towards Shane, and Shane hates the caution. He has only one thought in his frazzled brain, and it's IlyaIlyaIlya, so he ends up reaching out.

That makes Ilya spring right into action. He reaches Shane and wraps him in a hug so tight that Shane's breath falters. But that's also precisely what makes his muscles relax—that familiar feeling of coming home in Ilya's arms. He nuzzles his face into Ilya's neck, even if his nose is snotty and eyes bloodshot.

Ilya doesn't seem to mind. His hand comes to move slowly up and down Shane's back, sliding under his clothes, till he calms down completely. He ends up in an ugly hiccup, but at least his brain feels much clearer afterwards.

"I'm sorry," he says once he's able to unglue himself from Ilya and he's handed a tissue to blow his nose. He needs, in fact, three of them to get rid of the immediate traces of his breakdown, but Ilya still keeps him close. After days of his absence, Shane appreciates it.

"No sorries. Is okay." Ilya's fingers come to delicately caress his face, and Shane can't help but lean in like a happy cat. "Feeling better?"

"Much. I'm happy to see you even if you gave me a panic attack today."

"Is it because my phone—"

"I messaged you," Shane rushes to say, feeling oddly stupid even though Ilya is his husband and it's normal to expect a message back from one's husband, right? "You didn't message me back. You didn't say anything in the morning or later, or— Well. I was worried that something has happened or that you were angry with me—"

"No, never. How could I be angry with someone so perfect?"

"You could have changed your mind about me—"

Ilya grabs the back of his neck, angling it so Shane can't look anywhere but directly at him. Shane holds onto his t-shirt like a lifeline.

"Listen to me, solnyshko. See this ring?" He raises his free hand where his wedding band sits. "This rings means that I won't ever change your mind about you. You're stuck with me forever. Okay?"

Just like that, Shane's anxiety finally shuts up, faced with tangible evidence. His shoulders drop.

"Okay."

"I'm really sorry about my phone," Ilya adds, his eyes searching. "I should have known better. I'm sorry I made you panic."

"It's okay."

"Come here."

The kiss is sweet, exactly the kind that Shane has been craving ever since he said goodbye to Ilya in the airport five days ago. It says everything Ilya hasn't expressed directly—all the love, all the longing—and Shane drowns in it completely. The hood of his sweatshirt falls off his head as Ilya messes his hair up completely; the man is possessive, claiming, taking over every inch of Shane's skin.

They only separate when the timer in the kitchen starts beeping.

"Fuck," Ilya complains, gently disentangling himself from Shane. "I need to finish cooking. Come on."

Shane ends up sitting on the counter, swinging his legs and nursing a can of his favourite ginger ale. He watches Ilya moving around their kitchen, humming, all of his movements precise and confident. Shane drinks him in—the sweats, messy blonde locks, traces of tiredness on his face, the tightness of his muscles. He must have showered after arriving here, too.

"How was the game?"

Ilya casts him a glance over his arm, smiling.

"Good. Boston barely let us win. I scored a hat trick, though."

Shane laughs fondly, because of course Ilya did score a hat trick against his old team.

"Did they even let you breathe during the game?"

"No, but that's the whole fun of it. And I don't mind shoving them back into the boards. Is only fair, no?"

"Fair," Shane echoes, laughter pulling at his lips. He's seen Ilya playing, of course, and he knows his husband's preference for brutality on ice. It's paired with impossible precision and determination, though, and that makes him a menace and danger to anyone in the opposite team. "No injuries on the team this time? Troy got a nasty concussion when you played against Boston previously."

"No, no. The referees were slamming them with every penalty possible, and it calmed them down a little. Surprising, though, they were on home turf, so—I expected more blood and violence. But they also lost one of their best players, Marleau was benched—"

Shane likes listening to Ilya, the cadence of his voice still roughed by Russian. It's barely noticeable these days, but still unique in a way that makes Shane's heart clench.

"You're playing Montreal next, right?"

"Yes, in a week. And that means that I get to spend more time with my husband."

Ilya gives him another kiss, and Shane is painfully aware of his thoughts getting more consumed by everything Ilya.

"I have exams the next week."

"So?"

"I still need to study for them, so you can't distract me all the time."

"I can make you more relaxed, though. Less anxious."

Ilya has a point, even though his methods are controversial.

"If it helps me pass molecular physics, then fine." Shane takes another sip of his drink, watching Ilya put their food onto separate plates. "There is something you can help me with, though."

"Oh?"

"You could read to me another one of my boring Russian books. Help me understand better."

Ilya's smile is downright wicked. "Is it because you love my voice?"

"Maybe."

Shane enjoys Ilya's cooking, and he ends up eating everything on his plate. But even more than food, he enjoys the easy conversation about hockey and his classes and the proximity. They are touching constantly—in itself, it isn't anything new, they do it all the time—but it seems that absence and anguish made them both more touch-starved. Shane, especially. And the touch is accompanied by soft I love you, both verbal and not, and Shane allows the words to get imprinted on his mind again.

He feels deep-bone satiation when they move onto the couch to watch something, and Shane can sprawl across Ilya, safe in the embrace. It might have been embarrassing, how much he's addicted to his husband, but in fact Ilya has stripped all of his shame before they even got engaged.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Ilya asks, pressing a kiss to Shane's hair. "Besides classes."

"I promised Hayden we'll hang out together in the coffee shop after classes. I thought you'd return in the evening tomorrow."

Ilya hums. "Good. Your friends are cool."

Shane says nothing, but he smiles softly, not for the first time wondering if Ilya would actually like Hayden and vice versa. They might get along, actually, especially since they both can talk about hockey for hours. In fact, introducing all of his friends to Ilya has been sitting quietly in his brain for years. He trusts his friends to keep the secret, too, but—fear still remains. It's just—Ilya has been his best kept secret for so long that he has no idea how to start unveiling it or get rid of the anxiety itching at his skin.

He doesn't want to be known as Ilya Rozanov's husband, he doesn't want his private life to be dissected and discussed publicly, he wants to be known as Shane Hollander. But it would also be nice to be able to hang out with Ilya publicly, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to openly stake the claim. But—

There's a lot of buts.

"What is the mystery of love? For Chekhov, for other writers?"

The class has been hanging in stillness for a while, with students barely raising their heads from their phones or laptops. Mere few are still leafing through the books—not looking for an answer, but rather for something to do with their hands and the lazy passing of the time. There's still an hour left.

Nobody rushes to answer the professor's question, then, and Shane raises his head. Fuck it, he thinks, and his hand shoots into the air.

"Yes, Mr. Hollander?"

The professor seems happy that someone is trying to be active, so Shane straightens his spine to answer the question.

"I think Chekhov treats love much more gently than most writers from his country. Love is most often destructive, like for Tolstoy, but—I think that Chekhov considered it a mystery that deserves to be cradled."

"Why is it a mystery, you reckon?"

"Because it's a force we don't know the rules of. Physics can't explain it. Biology can't explain it. Chemistry can't explain it. It's something science can't capture."

"Do you think that's what appeals to writers? To Chekhov, in specific."

"Maybe." Shane scratches his neck, but the professor is nodding at him encouragingly, so he continues, "I mean—writers aren't scientists, but they are trying to dissect love more than science itself does. And they are failing because they don't have tools for their investigation other than feelings. Because love is so much more than pretty words, than chemistry, than even attraction, and it's hard to distil and capture the essence of it."

The professor smiles, her eyes behind her glasses bright and satisfied.

"You, Mr. Hollander, are a scientist. You study physics. What do you reckon the mystery of love is?"

"You're asking about my opinion…?"

"Precisely. You've read the classics, you understand Chekhov's burning need to describe love. You also understand why he's stepping away from the final definition of it—because, like you said, it's a mystery too hard to comprehend. What do you think about it? Do you agree with him?"

Shane thinks of Ilya, of his soft smiles, of his curls, of his embrace. He thinks of the way Ilya prepares his coffee in the morning. How he just needs one glance at Shane to know what he's thinking about and what he needs. How they both sleep better at night when entangled in each other. How they handle each other on worse days, not stepping around, but working together to protect. And he thinks of the fact that saying yes to Ilya was the easiest vow he's ever made.

"I think love is being vulnerable and being known. It's a mystery to others but a wonder to the people who are actually in love. I think—" Shane blushes as the class wakes up from stupor, apparently interested in his answer. "It may be a mystery why two people end up together and what invisible ties bind them together, and we don't really know why feelings form in a specific way towards someone. We've got theories, of course, and that's also what writers are trying to do, to test a theory on paper, but—in reality, it's opening your heart to someone. Ergo, being vulnerable. And known."

"Well said, Mr. Hollander," the professor calls out. "And now Chekhov…"

Shane settles now that he's not being watched by the whole class, and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt back over his head. Rose, who sits next to him, doesn't let him slide back into his notes. She elbows him with glee, so he leans forward.

"Dude, that was sick! Lily trained you well!"

"Fuck off."

He rolls his eyes, but there's a smile pulling at his lips.

"Every single girl in this room wants to be Lily right now."

The notion alone makes him squirm, and he pulls up his hand where the ring rests on his finger.

"I'm literally taken."

"They just want a man like you."

Shane eyes Rose carefully. She looks wistful, maybe even sad, though she does her best to hide it. Her eyes have always been full of emotions, though, and if someone cared enough to read them—

"You will find a person like me," he decides to say, squeezing her hand.

"I really hope so."

Shane turns over the next page, feeling his focus slipping.

The book itself isn't bad, even though he has to stop every few paragraphs to check the meaning of some old Russian words, but it's his own exhaustion bleeding through, the combination of a demanding day and Ilya keeping him up at night.

Not like he regrets anything—

He finishes reading the chapter and sets the book down to take care of his smoothie. Just in time, too, since he notices the bell ringing and a familiar figure entering the shop. There aren't any other customers onsite besides Shane, so Hayden is alone behind the counter, but he completely freezes seeing Ilya Rozanov in his running sweats and the glory of golden locks.

Shane leans forward a bit more, suddenly interested in the exchange. He can barely hide his grin when Ilya's eyes meet his.

"Oh my god, hi," Shane hears Hayden say. "You're Ilya Rozanov, right? Uh—"

"Yes," Ilya answers smoothly. "You're Hayden, right? Can you get me a tall cappuccino to go?"

"How do you know my nam—"

"Your badge?"

"Oh. Ah. Right. Do you want anything else besides—"

Watching Hayden fumble around his favourite player is highly amusing, though Shane assumes he'd be fumbling as much, if not more, in the same situation. But Hayden is a professional barista, so he gets to making coffee even though his hands are shaking and mouth remain open with wonder.

Shane isn't sure he'd ever get used to the effect Ilya has on other people, how he just renders them all starstruck—especially since he isn't better in that regard. Just one look from him and he's reduced to smiles and goo, even though he should be immune to Ilya's charm by now. He's very much not.

And now that Ilya approaches him, he allows himself to smile, too.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. "I thought you were spending the afternoon at the rink."

Ilya pouts. "I wanted to see my husband."

"And cause Hayden to have a heart attack?"

His husband casts a glance over his arm at Hayden who's very much paused the coffee-making to stare quite openly at Ilya leaning against Shane's booth; however, he quickly launches himself back into action upon being caught red-handed. Shane already knows he'll be shot in a crossfire of questions as soon as Ilya leaves. He sighs.

"It's not my fault that your friend apparently loves me."

"Ilya."

"Is funny, no?"

Shane levels him with a flat look, one that makes Ilya soften though his grin remains. He's well on his way to melt Shane's heart without even trying hard.

"You're coming home after, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be back around six."

"Okay. I'll make dinner."

Shane nods just as Hayden shouts, "Your coffee is ready, Mr. Rozanov!"

Ilya ventures back to the counter to pick his coffee and pay.

"Congrats on your win with Boston!" Hayden says enthusiastically just as Ilya hands him a bill. "That hat trick was incredible."

"Thank you. Keep the change."

Shane sees the way Ilya tries not to start laughing at Hayden's expression. He picks the cup, deliberately looks at Shane still perched in his corner, and winks at him. Then—just like nothing out of ordinary has happened—he leaves.

And Shane knows he's in trouble.

"Dude!" Hayden throws away the towel and skitters towards Shane. "What just happened?! That was Ilya Rozanov!"

"I know."

Shane takes a very, very long sip of his smoothie, avoiding Hayden's eyes.

"You know him?! What did he say to you?!"

"I—uh—"

"Dude, he winked at you! You were standing awfully close to each other!"

"He just likes flirting."

It isn't even a lie, but Shane's cheeks still continue to burn.

"With you, clearly!" Hayden hides his face in his hands. "I can believe that my best friend knows Ilya Rozanov personally and never told me. You're lucky Rose isn't here today! She totally would have fainted!"

It releases a pang of guilt in Shane's guts, so he gently sets his smoothie down and considers Hayden.

"I'm sorry," he says gently. "It's not something I can announce, though. He's famous, and I'm not. I don't want to get eaten by the media and fans."

Hayden raises his head, his eyes wild and big.

"Jesus, I haven't thought about that. But—Shane, I would have kept your secret. I swear. I wouldn't have told anyone, not even Jackie."

Shane tries not to laugh. "You totally would have told Jackie."

"Okay," Hayden admits. "I would have told Jackie. In fact, I am definitely telling Jackie tonight. Just Jackie though, nobody else. I understand this is huge for you, and I promise you that my lips are sealed. But I expect something in exchange."

Shane grows wary of the smirk Hayden is sporting. "What is it?"

"I want the tea. How long have you known each other? What is he like in private? Does he actually like playing with the Centaurs? How did he come up with that insane skill—"

"Jesus, Hayden, I'm not telling you every single detail of Ilya's life."

Hayden blinks.

"You called him Ilya."

"That's his name?"

"Everyone calls him Rozanov!"

"Friends use names?"

"He clearly likes you more than a friend!"

It's embarrassing how Hayden clocked all of it during a five minutes conversation with Ilya. Jesus fucking Christ, Shane thinks. The decision to avoid showing up anywhere with Ilya was a good one, if they can't for their lives keep their relationship in secret.

So, to throw Hayden off, he says the next dumb thing that comes to his mind, "I got Lily, though."

Again, technically not a lie, but not full truth either.

"I will flip if Lily turns out to be someone famous, too."

Shane blanches, and he doesn't manage to hide his face behind his book on time. Hayden notices, of course he does, and—

"Shane."

"I'm not telling you anything," Shane says quickly. "No way."

"I literally hate you."

"I'm aware."

"Fine," Hayden grumbles. "Keep your secrets. But I want to meet Rozanov personally. Do you think he'd be up for a dinner with us?"

Shane wants to laugh hysterically, because god—how did this even become his life?

He says weakly, "I don't know. I'll ask him."

"Cool."

Hayden finally stops torturing him and goes back to his barista duties, but Shane's thoughts keep twirling with what ifs. Would it be so bad if Hayden got to know Ilya—not as the most famous and the best player in the league, but as Shane's friend and husband? Would it really be so bad to let Hayden in?

He glances down at the ring sitting innocently on his finger. He likes wearing it, even if it warrants questions about his supposed wife and relationships. It means that he carries a piece of Ilya with him at all times, that he's claimed—even when Ilya is far away.

Fuck it, he thinks. Maybe a dinner with Ilya and Hayden isn't a bad idea. Small steps, right?

Small steps.

Chapter End Notes

I really, really like this chapter, especially the discussion in the lit class. It reminded me that I also used to be a lit nerd who loved science at the same time, and I see myself in Shane a lot. God, this fic was supposed to be something small, and instead it's pulling at my own heartstrings 🥹

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think? 🫶

Chapter 3: Anxious

Chapter Notes

"Dude, why are you wearing Rozanov's hockey sweatshirt?"

Shane blinks, then looks down at the fabric tightly clenched in his hand. It's black-red, Centaurs' signature colors.

In fact, Shane hasn't clocked what he's wearing at all. He's rolled out of the bed in the morning all sleepy and barely functioning, with the echo of the alarm blaring in his ears. He was horribly late, so he just grabbed the first item of clothing that was available—and that happened to be one of his favourite sweatshirts, big, comfortable, and cosy. It also happened to belong to Ilya, with his name written in big letters on the back.

Jesus fucking Christ. Ilya would be gloating.

"I—I just had it in my closet," he says stupidly, trying to ignore Hayden's big grin.

"You had it in your closet? Did Rozanov give it to you personally? That's a sweatshirt reserved for team members only!"

"I am not answering that question."

Hayden, however, isn't the only person who notices. Shane suddenly finds himself under scrutiny and the microscope of gossip, dissecting his connection to Ilya Rozanov. People don't ask him directly about it, thank God, but he still sees the way they eye him till he gives up and takes the stupid hoodie off. He feels naked without it, even if he's wearing a t-shirt underneath—his own this time.

He has to take a long trip to the bathroom, both to calm his racing heart down and hide. Pulling out his phone is instinctual, and he doesn't hesitate when he writes to Ilya. His husband should be at the rink, Shane knows, the Centaurs have a long training session today, so he might not even answer, but even the process of typing a message to him brings Shane some comfort.

SHANE: I fucked up. I wore your hoodie today.

To his surprise, his phone lights up almost immediately with a new message.

LILY ❤️: So?

SHANE: Your Centaurs hoodie.

LILY ❤️: I fail to see the problem

SHANE: It has your own name on the back??? And it's your fucking hockey hoodie??? One that only the players get???

LILY ❤️: Did you enjoy wearing it?

LILY ❤️: Knowing that you're mine? 😏

SHANE: You're not helping.

There's a brief pause where Shane sees the three dots moving within the message thread, until—

LILY ❤️: Are you having a panic attack?

[incoming call from LILY ❤️]

Shane answers mechanically. He feels his fingers tremble as he holds his phone up to his ear, trying very hard to drown out the loud tolling of his heart.

"Solnyshko," Ilya hums softly into the phone, and Shane closes his eyes to focus on his husband's calm voice. "Three things you can see."

He cracks his eyes back open, just because Ilya is asking him to, and looks around the bathroom.

"White tiles," he mutters. "A window. Stalls."

"Good. Four things you can hear?"

"Water dribbling. I think there's someone talking in the corridor? Uh—nothing more. It's a bathroom, so. Pretty quiet."

"Okay. And touch?"

"The sink is cold. I'm leaning against it. I'm obviously holding the phone, talking to you. The phone is—a phone. You know. I can touch the tiles on the wall, too, they are kind of irregular? Uneven? And my t-shirt. It's a bit scratchy."

"You're not wearing the hoodie?"

Shane feels a wave of heat passing through him.

"No. People were staring."

"Put it back on."

"But people—"

"You're alone right now, yes? It's your armour, solnyshko. Use it."

And fuck, Ilya is right. He treats hoodies like his personal armour, shielding him from the whole world. Besides, the hoodie smells of Ilya, it's Ilya's, so it's almost like being hugged by Ilya himself.

"Fuck, okay. Okay, I—"

He fumbles to take the hoodie out of his backpack and pulls it over his head. The relief is instant—his shoulders drop and he feels like he can breathe again.

"Better?"

"Much," Shane whispers, "but I can't go out like this."

"Why not?"

"People are staring. They are judging. Gossiping. Speculating about us. And I hate being in the center of their attention."

"I know. But they'll always talk. It doesn't matter."

"You don't mind?"

"No. They always talk about me, no?"

It's true, Ilya has been a public figure for years—he's probably used to being talked about at this point. Shane isn't, though.

"I'm scared."

"Is okay. Is okay to be scared."

"Ilya."

Ilya's name falls from his lips like a litany, or maybe even epiphany. He wiggles his fingers into the sleeves of the hoodie.

"Be good for me, da?"

"I'll try."

"I need to go back to the rink, but message me if you feel scared again, okay?"

"Okay."

"Love you!"

"I love you to," Shane whispers, and with that, the call disconnects. Still, Shane holds his phone for a while longer by his ear, focusing on keeping his breath steady. Ilya worked wonders on his anxiety, but it can be set off so easily that Shane still hesitates while eyeing the hem of the hoodie.

He should be brave, right? It's like Ilya said—it doesn't really matter what others say. It's just—he's fought for so long to maintain his privacy, to hide the relationship with Ilya that giving ammo to the world makes him feel dizzy. He's not sure he's ready to out himself as Ilya's husband, but at the same time he wants to. He wants the world to know that Ilya is his as much as he's Ilya's.

Maybe starting with Ilya's hoodie isn't a bad idea. Maybe he could soft launch their relationship, make people used to the idea, and then—

And dear God, separating from his emotional support hoodie would be hard right now. If it brings him comfort, he shouldn't be taking it off, right?

He realises he has a choice: wear the hoodie and bear noisy whispers and glances, or discard the hoodie and be fucking uncomfortable without his armour. Discomfort and anxiety will be present regardless of the scenario, so—

Right. The choice is simple.

He sneaks out, carefully checking if anyone is walking by. He has fifteen minutes till the next lecture, so he ends up buying himself a coffee and hanging by the lecture hall till Hayden joins him. His friend says nothing, but his smile is meaningful as he eyes Shane's hoodie.

"You know," he says conversationally, "I still want to meet your friend Rozanov."

"Fuck off."

Still, laughter bubbles in his throat, and he somewhat feels better.

During the lecture, he discreetly pulls his phone out again and types another message to Ilya.

SHANE: Hayden really wants to meet you.

They haven't talked about it before, since Ilya visited the coffee shop. Shane didn't know how to breach the subject and how to go about the introduction of his husband to his best friend without revealing that said husband is a husband—Jesus, he has a headache with a mere thought about it.

Besides, he's oddly sure Ilya won't be able to behave. He's way too touchy, way too flirting, sneaking in smirks, glances, and winks. He'll sell them out before Hayden says the word hockey.

Shane saw it first-hand in the presence of his own parents.

LILY ❤️: Awh, I got another fan!

SHANE: You already have too many.

LILY ❤️: Impossible. I need to collect all the fans!

LILY ❤️: You think I could meet him?

Shane hesitates. He glances at Hayden, who's intensely focused on his own phone. Messaging Jackie, probably—he has heart eyes Shane really likes to tease him about.

SHANE: I think so.

LILY ❤️: Do I get to be the cool husband or the cool hockey player? 😎

SHANE: You get to pretend that you aren't insanely attracted to me. So. A well-behaving friend, I guess?

LILY ❤️: fuck me

Shane snorts, leaning down a bit further to avoid attracting the professor's attention. He really isn't interested in listening about velocity today—his mind is elsewhere, all frazzled with the remnants of anxiety. It's still clinging at his sleeves, no matter how well he hides his hands and brushes them against his thighs.

SHANE: I'd like you to fuck me, thank you very much.

LILY ❤️: bold of you to say, husband 😏

Fuck. There's an undeniable blush emerging on Shane's cheeks, but he doesn't regret his teasing.

LILY ❤️: we'll see what can be done about it tonight

Suffice to say, Shane spends the rest of the lecture blushing, the voices in his head repeating just one word: IlyaIlyaIlya till it swells into a choir.

SHANE: Do we need anything from the grocery store?

LILY ❤️: Eggs. Forgot to buy them in the morning 😒

SHANE: Ok

The fluorescent lights in the grocery store are way too bright tonight, so Shane pulls up the hood and skitters as fast as possible to the dairy section. He gets the eggs, then makes a pit-stop in the sweets alley, briefly hesitating before putting Ilya's favourite chocolates in the basket. For himself, he gets some sunflower seeds, already knowing the teasing he's about to endure at home. His bird food is good, though, rich in vitamins and healthy.

As he pays for the goodies, his phone lights up with an incoming call from Hayden. He picks it up, albeit surprised. Hayden rarely calls.

"What's up?"

"We need to go to hospital, Jackie has contractions," Hayden rushes to say. "Can you babysit the twins? We can't leave them alone at home, and there's nobody else I can ask. We could drop them on the way to the hospital, it's close—no, darling, we really need to hurry—Shane, can you take them?"

Shane drops the eggs and the chocolates and the bird food in his backpack, nodding dumbly while trying to process the logistics.

"Okay."

"You're a life-saver, Shane, I swear. I'll owe you. We'll be at yours in half an hour."

"Okay."

Still in shock, Shane fires up a message to Ilya, wondering what the hell did just happen.

SHANE: we're babysitting Hayden's twins tonight

LILY ❤️: ???

LILY ❤️: What?

Ilya Rozanov facing Hayden Pike is the most surrealistic scene Shane has experienced in his life, maybe next to meeting Ilya himself.

It goes well at first—the girls jump at Shane, enthusiastic and way too full of energy, and Hayden stumbles behind them with a black bag which probably contains all the girl's belongings.

"I think I packed everything," he says. "There are their toys, coloring books, some snacks, clothes—"

Then Hayden sees Ilya casually leaning against the table and freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Ilya, in change, remains calm, though his eyes flick up from the girls to their father, as if he was trying to assess the situation and find the best way to deescalate it.

"Mr. Rozanov."

"Hayden."

"What are you doing here?" Hayden asks stupidly, and Shane grimaces. The girls glue themselves to his legs, also watching the exchange like a very interesting ping-pong match. "You're visiting?"

Shane feels Ilya's burning glance on him, but he does his very best to ignore it and not blush like a schoolgirl, for fuck's sake.

"Kind of."

Hayden makes a noise that sounds like a wounded animal, and Shane hesitates, unsure.

"I'm sorry," Hayden stumbles to say. "Had I known, I wouldn't have brought the girls here. I didn't mean to bother you—"

"It's no bother." Ilya's voice is infuriatingly calm, collected, maybe a bit sharper than usual. "Go be with your wife. We'll take care of your kids."

That spurs Hayden into action. He nods frenetically, handing the bag over to Shane, and with the last fatherly command—"Don't let them eat any sweets after six!"—he disappears on the stairs.

Jade and Ruby wear the same curious expressions as they turn to stare at Ilya. They don't seem to recognise him, so they aren't impacted by the same halo of a famous hockey player his father is. They aren't scared, either.

And Ilya kneels to be on the same level with them and smiles.

"Hi, I'm Ilya."

"You have a funny accent," Jade comments, her eyes big and blinking.

"Yes, because I'm Russian."

"Can you teach me Russian curses?"

"Absolutely no cursing in Russian in this household," Shane cuts in categorically, and he's faced not by two, but three pouting faces. "Go wash your hands. Then we might watch some cartoons."

The girls move, tempted by Shane's promise, and Shane himself takes that moment to dig through the bag from Hayden. It seems to contain everything two seven year old girls might need, maybe aside from food.

"We still got some pasta left, right?" he asks warily, turning towards Ilya. His husband shrugs, casting a glance towards the kitchen.

"Probably."

Shane gets a forehead kiss from Ilya right before the tornado of Ruby and Jade returns to their living room. The girls enthusiastically help Shane prepare the couch—pulling out the removable segment and covering the space with blankets, pillows and the girls favorite toys. Ilya in the meantime disappears in the kitchen to reheat the pasta; he returns with four steaming bowls just as the girls settle on watching Brave.

"Not this again," Ilya complains. "We literally watched it two weeks ago!"

"We're watching it again."

Shane sends a grin Ilya's way as his husband sits down on the couch. He knows his complaints are mostly fake—Ilya loves Merida as much as he does.

Ruby ends up leaning against Shane, but Jade sits upright between her sister and Ilya, too entranced by the movie to look away. However, both girls start to drift away before the movie reaches the halfway mark, the food and TV making them drowsy, and Jade's head touches Ilya's arm while Ruby ends up crumpled against Shane's lap. He cards his hand through her hair, almost mindlessly, enthralled not by movie, but by the way the TV light catches in Ilya's hair.

He turns his head to catch Shane's gaze, looking impossibly soft in the almost-darkness of the room, lounging languidly in his favorite sweats.

"Okay?" he mouths, careful not to disturb the girls.

Shane nods, smiling fondly at him.

He only gets up a few hours later to answer Hayden's calls—it requires a careful transfer of Ruby to the couch—and goes to the kitchen. Apparently, the contractions weren't false, and Jackie started to give birth.

"It's going to take the whole night, probably," Hayden says apologetically. "Is that okay? I can call Jackie's mum to take the girls."

"No, it's okay, they can stay the night. They are angels, anyway."

"Only to you, it seems. They are little demons at home." Hayden sounds tired but amused, and Shane also lets out a huff of laughter. "Hey—about Rozanov—I've been thinking."

"Yeah?"

"You're close."

It's not a question, and Shane sees no point in lying. "Yes."

"I really want to get to know him better. Not as the best hockey player in the world, but—he seems important to you. I'd like to know him, too. As your friend. But," he rushes to say, "I won't pressure you. I understand it's not easy for your or him, and I understand if you prefer to keep it under wraps. But the friends of my friends are also my friends. Just—so you know."

"Thanks, Hayden."

That's all he can say, overcome by the sudden rush of emotions chocking his throat.

"Cool. I'd better go back before Jackie kills me for sneaking out."

"Good luck, man. Say hi to Jackie."

He grabs a ginger ale on his way out, but Ilya's voice seeping through the door makes him pause in the entryway.

Jade is leaning against Ilya's chest, focused on the book they are reading—her fingers trace the letters she doesn't fully understand since Ilya resorted to Russian. Shane immediately recognises the book they were reading together the previous night, the very same one he's needs to read for the course.

Ilya's voice sounds different when he speaks Russian. It's richer, more decadent, especially since he isn't stumbling over foreign words or the pronunciation. It's also deeper and sexier than his English, which Shane considers a phenomenon even after years of hearing him speak it.

Ilya catches him staring and winks, knowing all too well what it's doing to Shane's insides. Shane feels really hot inside, the sweatpants getting uncomfortable, as he slips under the blankets. He tries to reign his hard-on in, especially with the girls between them, but it's really hard not to be aroused. And the worst thing is that Ilya isn't even trying.

"You good, solnyshko?"

He grumbles back something incoherent, closing his eyes and allowing Ruby to snuggle back close to him. In the darkness, he listens, and he's lulled into calmness that finally allows him to fall asleep.

Chapter End Notes

A huge part of this chapter appeared in my head right as I was trying to fall asleep, so I sacrificed my precious sleep to write it 🙂‍↕️ The other part was written on corporate time, and I regret absolutely nothing 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ And of course my brain gave me a prequel idea to this fic about how Ilya and Shane met (since it's different from canon) aaaaand I might write it, too. Hehe. Who knows.

Anyway.

Thank you so much for you support and enthusiasm about this fic 🥹 I really appreciate you guys coming to scream with me!! 🫶

Chapter 4: Loving

Chapter Notes

Shane wakes up groggy. It takes him a moment to reorient himself, especially since he doesn't wake up where he usually does, in his bed, but on the living room couch. Memories from the previous evening come back rushing as he regards Ruby and Jade sprawled across him and Ilya, their hair wild but breathing steady and content.

The most astonishing part of it, he thinks, is the fact that the girls trusted Ilya without any prejudice. Jade, for instance, is currently hugging his stomach, while his hand supports her back and keeps her from sliding away, while Ruby fell asleep holding onto his pinky finger.

It's adorable.

Shane groans, hearing the distant ringtone of his phone. He had it close by when he fell asleep, so it must have disappeared somewhere on the floor during the night. It might be Hayden calling, though, so he makes an effort to locate the device.

It is Hayden, indeed, and Shane's phone shows that it's fucking six a.m.

"Fuck," he mutters, not bothering with sliding out of bed this time. "Hi, Hayden. All good?"

He glances sideways as the rest of the couch occupants slightly stir—while the girls don't wake up, Ilya most certainly does, as attuned to Shane as he is. Shane tries to keep his voice low.

"Jackie gave birth to our son," Hayden announces proudly. "It took only seven hours."

"Congrats, man. What did you name him?"

"Arthur. He's so small, but started screaming as soon as the nurses got a hold of him, and he's been such a good boy—"

Shane combs his hair, meeting Ilya's sleepy eyes above the girls heads. He smiles softly at him, nodding when Ilya mouths "Ok?" to him.

"It's Hayden," he mouths back.

Ilya relaxes with a grunt, and Shane finds it endearing.

"No complications, then?" he asks only to maintain some level of conversation. He really doesn't want to know the explicit details related to birthing a baby, thank you very much. It's too early for this, anyway.

"No complications." Hayden takes a deep breath, and Shane can hear exhaustion in his voice. "How are the girls?"

"Good. They behaved."

"Ha. I'm glad. I talked to Jackie's mum—she can pick them up in around an hour and take over. You can also come visit us when we've gotten some sleep. I'd be happy to introduce you to your new nephew."

Shane lets out a huff. "I'm honoured. But seriously, I can take the girls to the hospital in a few hours. You should take the nap, rest a bit, and we'll come around midday. How does that sound?"

"Jesus, that would be amazing, actually. Can you really do it?"

"Of course, Hayden. Please take care."

"Will do. Thanks. See you later!"

The call disconnects with a quiet click and Shane leans his head against the back of the couch, contemplating the sleepy trio. Ilya is definitely fighting sleep and considering waking up, but the girls are still out. They could sleep through a hurricane, Shane thinks, reaching out to pet Jade's hair.

"Want some coffee?" he mutters to Ilya. His husband answers with a groan, smushing his face into the pillow.

"Please."

Shane gets up with a small smile playing on his lips.

They eat breakfast in relative peace, with the girls enthusiastic about the pancakes made by Ilya. Shane eats a few, too, because fuck—he can never refuse anything Ilya cooks.

However, he absolutely hates the questions that appear now that the girls are completely awake and more lively than yesterday.

Then Ruby fires a bomb.

"Do you live with Uncle Shane?"

Shane barely hides his panic behind the cup as he exchanges glances with Ilya. He hasn't prepared an answer to those questions yet, though he probably should have, especially since he's now siting in his own kitchen wearing Ilya's hoodie and his ring. His brain completely trips over possible lies they could tell.

"We are roommates, da."

Ilya's leg touches his under the table. It's enough to slow down the anxiety spiral.

"What is roommates?"

"It's people who live together. Like you and Jade."

"And you share toys?"

While Shane wishes for the ground to swallow him whole, Ilya's eyes dance with mirth as he glances down at innocent Ruby, currently facing her last pancake with the remnants of the previous one splattered on her face—there's some strawberry jam decorating her lips.

"Sure, we do," Ilya replies, his faux innocence matching Ruby's, and Shane is thinking about all the ways he can murder his cheeky husband. "Finish your pancake, little gem. Chop chop."

Shane finds it hard to stop blushing even when they pack the girls' things back into the bag and wrestle them into their jackets. Ilya walks them to Shane's car parked neatly in the garage, making sure the seatbelts are properly buckled as the girls settle down. Then he sweeps Shane behind the trunk of the car where Hayden's offspring can't see them anymore, and takes the chance to properly kiss him.

It's their first kiss that day, and to Shane it feels like getting drenched in sunshine and love. He holds onto Ilya's t-shirt, afraid to float away, thought the kiss is languid, calming, nothing like the feverish kisses they usually share during sex. But they also usually share the sunshine kind of kisses right when they wake up and make coffee, and today they were robbed of it.

"I'm going to miss you," Ilya mutters, casting a glance towards the inside of the car.

"I won't be away forever."

"I know. I'll still miss you." With another peck at Shane's forehead, Ilya steps away. "Are you coming to the game tonight?"

"Only if you promise to win."

"I promise to win. Scout's honor!"

"You weren't a scout!" Shane shouts after the retreating figure of his husband, but he swears he can still hear his laughter.

He climbs the driver's seat with a grin. As he starts the car, Jade and Ruby proceed to talk his ear off about axolotls and capybaras. He doesn't know where this sudden obsession with exotic animals comes from, but they tell him they studied them recently in class and Ruby had a dream featuring a pink baby axolotl.

Okay, then.

Their way to the hospital is smooth, not too many red lights, and Shane even manages to find a parking space to leave the car. Then, together with the girls, they venture towards the right floor, where on the corridor they meet Hayden.

Hayden looks like shit, but Shane guesses it's the wonders of fatherhood. He's wearing different clothes than yesterday, though, so he probably had a shower and possibly a nap, but his face is still showing deep signs of exhaustion.

"Did you behave with Uncle Shane?" Hayden kneels to hug the girls, and they go willingly into his arms. "How was it?"

"We had the bestest sleepover! And Uncle Ilya made pancakes!"

"Uncle Ilya?"

Hayden looks at Shane over Ruby's arm, raising a brow, and Shane only shrugs. He won't be explaining the intricacies of his relationship with Ilya on a cold hospital corridor. He won't be explaining them, period.

"Do you want to see your brother?" Hayden asks as the family ritual of greetings is complete. He wrangles Ruby into his arms and holds Jade's hand and they filter into the room where Jackie is resting with Arthur.

Shane watches the girls meet their brother for the first time. They are very careful when touching his little arms and head, eyes completely soft and mouths open with marvel. They are going to be great sisters, Shane can already tell.

He approaches the bed and goes to greet Jackie first, squeezing her hand and kissing her forehead. She swats him away, but he can see that she really appreciates it.

"You did amazing," he tells her, watching Hayden hold Arthur and sitting on the small sofa together with the girls. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a pancake. It was a really, really long night."

"Yeah," Shane chuckles. "I can only imagine."

"Do you want to hold him?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not good with babies. Besides, I'll be going now that's my mission is done."

"You don't want to stay? You're family, Shane. You're welcome here."

He meets Jackie's eyes where she's lying on the hospital bed. She looks fragile in the hospital gown and pale face and messy hair, but her eyes are full of warmth. She really means what she's saying.

"I know," he says lowly. "But I heard the rest of your family is about to arrive and I don't handle crowds well."

Jackie nods, squeezing his hand.

"Of course. I understand. Give me a call later, yeah? We should absolutely catch up over coffee some day."

"Did Hayden tell you about his dinner concept?"

Jackie seems confused at first, but then her face brightens with laughter.

"Oh my god, he so did! He couldn't believe he met Ilya Rozanov at work! And apparently you and Rozanov are besties—or so I heard?"

"Something like that."

Shane feels his cheeks flushing again, and he curses himself for even poking at the subject. However, it's easier when having Jackie's support—less awkward, more chill.

"Shane Hollander."

"What."

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

Her eyes are searching but not pressing, and Shane lets out a sigh.

"I'm not opposed to the idea of you guys meeting him. But I guess you have to be over the newborn era first."

"Yeah, true," Jackie laughs. "I'm looking forward to it, though."

"Yeah, me too."

Strangely enough, it's not a lie.

The arena is buzzing as Shane takes his seat. He feels out of place even in Ilya's hoodie—the one with 'ROZANOV' plastered across the back—with thousands of other people wearing similar clothes. Here, he's just one of the Centaurs' fans, so nobody wouldn't even recognise him.

Big crowds make him unsettled; still, he doesn't want to miss Ilya's game, so he's here to watch and cheer. He pulls the hood over his head, waiting for the game to start—and soon enough, the players start filtering onto the ice to warm-up. They are introduced to the arena by the speaker, and Shane's heart starts beating faster when he sees the number 81.

"And here's Ottawa's own captain, Ilya Rozanov!"

The live feed on the jumbotron zooms onto Ilya who winks towards it, cheeky as always. Shane shakes his head, hiding his smile. The arena's enthusiasm towards Ilya is contagious, though, and Shane hopes it will be enough to carry Centaurs towards victory.

However, the first period isn't particularly lucky for the home team. They get squashed with two goals and solid defence performed by Montreal, so they need to work extra hard for their own goals. Shane winces after another unsuccessful try on Ilya's part, but it wasn't even his fault—the assist made it impossible to score from such an angle.

They finish the first period losing 0:2, and Shane watches Ilya hiss angry words at his team—words that are supposed to motivate them. Whatever he's doing, seems to be working, because the Centaurs seem to recover some of their vitality. Or maybe it's their guilt for the captain having to carry the whole team, who knows.

Shane opens his ginger ale and sips on it, jumping only when the seat next to him gets filled.

"Hello, loser!"

He turns his head, hood slightly slipping off his head, and registers a very familiar face.

"Sveta! Fuck, I haven't—Good to see you!"

They go in for a hug, then flop back into their seats with huge grins. It's been a while since they saw each other, other than in the grainy video calls, and fuck, Shane is glad to see her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I flew straight from California to watch the game and you're asking what I'm doing here?!"

There's laughter in her voice even as she swats at Shane's arm, and he realises that he's missed her boisterous energy and teasing, even more merciless than Ilya's.

"You haven't announced herself," Shane huffs, then squints at her in suspicion. "Unless…"

"I can see the cogs turning."

"Does Ilya know?"

"He asked me to come in case you die of anxiety when he's away."

Shane whips his head towards Sveta.

"What?!"

"I can't allow my favourite baby gay to wither while he waits for his husband to come back from the war, can I?"

"Sveta," he hisses, looking around to check if anyone is listening to their conversation. They are still in public, after all. "I'm not a baby to babysit, what the fuck? What did he even tell you?"

Shane feels panic twirling in his head, even though he trusts Ilya and he trusts Sveta. It's just—anxiety is embarrassing enough, no need to make it worse by putting him on the spot.

"Nothing incriminating, stop worrying. He just doesn't want you alone since he will be gone for more than a week, that's all. I'm not going to nag if you don't want my company, though it will make me sad—"

Honestly, Shane hasn't thought that far into the future, too swept-up in the present, but Ilya clearly has. It makes sense, Shane thinks. He usually lounges more at Hayden's or Rose's when Ilya is away to avoid sitting alone in their flat and moping, but now that Hayden became a father for the third time, that option is out of question for the time being. Maybe Sveta being here in Ottawa isn't a bad idea, actually.

He feels a wave of fondness coursing through him.

"I guess I can allow it, but you're sleeping on the couch."

"Fuck yes!"

The second period gets more heated than the first, both teams hungry to win. Players move around ice like angry ants, and tension charges the air. The Ottawa team is even more aggressive than usual since they are one goal short—they charge more at the goalpost, they trip other players, and they don't care much about penalties received in the process as long as they manage to score.

Shane can feel Ilya's anger even where he sits in the stands after the Montreal team uglily checks one of the Ottawa players into the boards, taking over the puck. It's technically permitted, but very dirty and looks painful.

"That looks awful," Sveta comments. "I hope he doesn't have a concussion."

The player is cleared to play, and Ilya's anger seems to make the ice vibrate as he pushes through the line of Montreal's players. With an assist from Haas, he finally scores, the puck landing in the net before the goalie manages to blink. The arena explodes with enthusiasm. Shane also jumps out of his seat to cheer.

Charged with his first goal in the game, Ilya manages to score two more, one in the same period, one in the third, and it's enough to bring Ottawa to victory. They celebrate as if they've just won the Stanley Cup, but every win is a win, especially on home ice.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Sveta says as the spectators start to drizzle down the stairs to leave the stadium.

"You're not coming with us?"

"No," she grimaces. "I'd rather avoid hearing your activities at night. Bye!"

"Fair enough."

Shane separates with Svetlana with a hug and waits for Ilya in the parking lot, leaning against his car. It's cold, but not as cold as winters in Ottawa can be, so he's not freezing in his favourite jacket. And the evening is turning quite pretty—the sunset is colourful, visible even between the buildings. The night might be clear, too, with stars visible on they sky. Shane considers it a good omen.

He doesn't have to wait long—Ilya has apparently sped run through changing from his gear and showering because he appears in the exit mere fifteen minutes later. He welcomes Shane with a kiss that immediately makes them both short of breath.

"Congrats, captain," Shane whispers. "That was a good victory."

"I promised to win, didn't I?"

Shane laughs with disbelief. "Looks like you had a good motivation."

"I sure did. What's my reward going to be?"

Shane really loves the post-game Ilya—drunk on victory, very touch-starved, and very, very hot. He has ideas what to do with the fever eating at them both.

"Isn't a kiss enough?" he asks cheekily, his fingers trailing across Ilya's cheeks. He receives a pout in return.

"I want more than that."

"Not here."

Shane is really happy with the fact that they live close to the arena, so they get home within twenty minutes. They start undressing each other even before they manage to properly unlock the door; clothes fly towards the floor as they exchange more and more kisses, eager to be as close to each other as possible. Shane gets drunk on the proximity, and he wants more, more, as he feels Ilya's muscles under his hands.

If he could, he'd worship Ilya's body forever. Lying on top of the sheets, Ilya looks like a Greek god who has basked in the blood of his enemies and emerged victorious from the battle. Shane wants to kiss every constellation of his scars, so he descends onto his knees, slowly moving his lips across Ilya's skin and grinning when Ilya's hand slides into his hair.

"Fuck, solnyshko." The groan brings utter satisfaction to Shane's own brain and body. He glances up to meet Ilya's eyes—and just like he expected, they are already clouded, resembling liquid honey. "Get down, please."

Shane complies since his brain is frizzled, and settles himself between Ilya's legs. He isn't keen on torturing his husband, not today, so without any preamble he gets to work.

"Fuck, yes—just like this."

All the broken groans coming from Ilya are heaven to his ears; he doubles down on his efforts to make his husband come, and he doesn't have to wait long for it. His reward is extremely tasty; he sits back, licking his lips like a cat that got the cream.

Ilya lets out another Russian curse and brings Shane closer till they can kiss properly.

"Now it's your turn," he mutters, flipping them up. Shane finds himself breathless under Ilya—breathless and completely enchanted. "I'll make you feel good, I promise."

Shane closes his eyes when Ilya's makes good on his promise, but he's brought back to reality by a sharp smack on his thigh.

"Eyes on me," he hears, and he has to force himself to obey. It's kind of hard to do so when you're being fucked good by your own lovely husband, but his eyes manage to find Ilya's. It's a glorious sight, one he really wants to commit to memory. "Just like this, solnyshko."

He isn't sure if it's the endearment or that very particular move of Ilya's body or his hands trailing around his neck, but Shane comes fast, feeling utterly loved and utterly spent.

It might be what heaven feels like—right in Ilya's arms.

Chapter End Notes

me realising I need to up the rating on this fic from T to M: whopsie they are horny your honour

Did I expect this chapter to take such a turn? Absolutely not 😂 I hope you enjoyed nevertheless! 🫶

Chapter 5: Drunk

Chapter Notes

Midnight creeps in steadily.

Shane opens his eyes to face the shadows dancing on the ceiling; the moonlight is blinking through the curtains—it's a full moon today.

Next, he registers the heavy arm thrown over his stomach, keeping him glued to Ilya. His husband is a human heater even when completely naked, and Shane basks in the warmth, enjoying the way they are entangled with each other.

But then he notices that Ilya's breathing isn't steady. His chest rises in one-two-three, one-two, one-two-three-four, one-two on the exhale. That's not a sleeping Ilya breathing, that's anxious and awake Ilya breathing.

He turns carefully in Ilya's arms, and unsurprisingly, he meets his husbands eyes, wide open and sharp, alert, a far cry from his deeply sated look right after an orgasm.

"Hi," hi whispers, tracing his fingers against Ilya's face. "Can't sleep?"

"No. But you should go back to sleep."

Shane doesn't. Instead, he decides to poke.

"Is it because of the play-offs?"

"A little."

"Are you worried?"

For a moment, Shane thinks that Ilya won't answer even though his brain is churning. But his husband always finds ways of surprising him, allowing himself to be vulnerable.

"I am," he finally admits, his hand diving into Shane's hair and dragging a happy sound out of him. He really, really likes it when Ilya plays with his hair. "Expectations are high since it's me, but I'm unsure if we're ever getting there this year. I don't think we can reach there this year. Next one, maybe."

"Why not? You played great yesterday. Your chances are high."

"I know, but Patrick got a sprained ankle yesterday, and that weakens us. Significantly. We also got more rookies this year—I'm not sure how they'll handle the pressure, mentally. And it's our first season with this lineup."

"They'll do great with you as their captain."

Ilya hums, looking unconvinced, so Shane leans on his elbow to see him better.

"That's not enough."

"Not enough?" Shane parrots with disbelief. "I know the way you work with your team, Ilya. You care about every single one of these guys. You lift their spirits with your fiery speeches. You know how to get to them. How to motivate them. How to take care of them. You will win."

Ilya just stares at him, something somber passing through his eyes. He reaches out to touch Shane's face, touch feather-light, though tender.

"You say it like it's obvious."

"Isn't it? I don't know anyone as good at motivating people as you. You do it effortlessly. You sprinkle your Ilya magic and voilà—everyone does as you say."

That makes Ilya laugh.

"Ilya magic?"

"Yes," Shane continues through the redness of his cheeks. "The point is, I know you can make it work. It will require more effort—probably. Especially with the rookies. But still, doable with your talent. And let's not forget that you're an invincible force on the ice, yourself. You can knock half of these guys down on your own and score plenty of hat-tricks."

Ilya is grinning properly now, and Shane loves that look on him.

"Since when do you know so much about hockey?"

"It's Sveta's influence. She says you're going to win again, and I trust her judgement."

"Did you two form an alliance against me?"

"Maybe. Maybe."

Shane sees tension dissipate from Ilya's shoulders as he leans in for a sweet kiss. He enjoys the feeling of their bodies touching, Ilya's hand possessive across his back; he settles, head resting against Ilya's neck.

"You know, I'd like us to have dinner with Hayden and Jackie when you're back," he whispers. "I want to slowly introduce them to the idea that you're my husband."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Maybe not everything at once, though—I think us knowing each other was a total shock for Hayden. But I want to tell him. Eventually."

"He knows you're married, right?"

"He does. But I don't think he would have imagined in his wildest dreams that I'm married to you."

He feels Ilya grin even though he can't see his face.

"Alright," Ilya responds. "There's no need to rush. We'll tell them when we're ready."

And that settles something in Shane's chest.

Sveta arrives with a flourish, with a huge pink suitcase. She settles immediately into the living room, taking over the couch and the TV remote; promptly, she puts on Game of Thrones, ignoring Ilya and Shane lingering in the entrance.

"You okay?"

Ilya tugs playfully at the strings of Shane's hoodie—in fact, it's Ilya's own hoodie, but Shane stole it ages ago—making the hood tighten around Shane's face. He pouts.

"I'd be better if you didn't have to leave."

Ilya's bags are set and ready to be picked near the entrance, and the taxi will arrive in fifteen minutes, and Shane feels time slipping through his fingers.

"I know, solnyshko," Ilya says, kissing him softly on the forehead. "But you won't be alone and the days will pass quickly. I promise. Sveta will take good care of you."

"From the looks of it, it will be me taking care of her."

They both look towards the couch, where Sveta has her feet elevated on the coffee table, eating the cake she brought herself.

"I heard you, assholes!"

They exchange fond glances, but then Ilya's phone dings.

"Fuck, I need to go. The taxi's here."

He gathers Shane into his arms to kiss him one last time, and Shane allows himself this one moment to enjoy both the kiss and the safety of Ilya's arms.

"Win for me."

"I shall."

"Text me when you land."

"Obviously. Bye, solnyshko. Bye, Sveta!"

They separate. Ilya picks his bag, sends Shane a wink, and disappears into the corridor. Shane hugs himself, leaning against the closed door, his heart heavy like every time when Ilya leaves.

"Stop moping," he hears from the couch. "Come watch Game of Thrones with me. I saved you some cake."

He complies, his mood significantly improving with Sveta's company.

Shane manages to get to the two last classes of the day, both in the literature course, but he ends up completely distracted. To be fair, he has been distracted the whole week, waiting for Ilya's updates and messages and calls like a touch-starved husband. The Ottawa team is doing extremely well in the play-offs despite losing one key player, and Shane can feel the energy they are bursting in even through the TV screen. He's extremely proud.

Sveta is fun, of course, doing her best to keep him company and prevent his sulking, and he spends plenty of time with Rose and Hayden, too. The latter usually ends in babysitting the little Pikes, but Shane doesn't mind. He can see that Jackie and Hayden are exhausted, and he doesn't mind taking care of the kids to give them some space to breathe.

Still—he wishes Ilya to come back as soon as possible.

He scrolls through his phone just like the rest of the students while the professor talk about the introduction to the modernity. Rose is equally distracted, firing up message after message on her phone, and Shane considers poking at her before shaking his head.

Everyone seems to be in a weird mood today. It's quite hard to explain, but it makes Shane want to hide deeper into his hoodie.

"There's a party tomorrow," Rose whispers to him once she's done with her phone. Her usual smile is back. "Will you come?"

"You know I hate crowds and parties."

She pouts. "I know. But I need company, and it requires your presence."

"Parties aren't my thing. I won't be good company, you know that."

"Yes, but it's the last one before the mid-terms. You could come this once and have some fun. For me? Pretty please!"

Shane considers it, taking a look at Rose's pleading face.

"Fine, but I'm leaving if it gets too much," he finally says. "And I'm not drinking a drop of alcohol."

Rose's joy is contagious, and she leans in to hug him, trying not to squeal. Shane is a bit surprised with her enthusiasm, but then again he never comes to parties.

"Let's meet at eight then!"

Hours later Shane very much regrets his life choices, standing in front of the mirror and examining his clothes. He has no idea what counts as party-proper attire, and eyes critically his washed jeans and white t-shirt.

"Does it look okay?" he asks Sveta, visible to him in the mirror. She's lounging on the bed—he insisted on covering it with a big blanket before she stained the sheets with her day clothes—on her stomach, legs bend and kicking the air as she checks something on her phone. At Shane's question, however, she raises her head and appraises him critically.

"It's quite boring, but very you."

Shane scoffs before reaching for his phone. He snaps a quick selfie, then sends it straight to Ilya, knowing that his husband will have better praise than whatever Sveta can come up with. And he's not wrong; Ilya's message arrives a heartbeat later.

LILY ❤️: you look pretty ❤️

LILY ❤️: it's a pity I'm not here to take it all off

SHANE: Fuck off. Not my fault you aren't here.

Even when he asks Ilya to fuck off, there's a huge smile on Shane's face.

LILY ❤️: You have something fun planned with Sveta?

Shane hesitates for a moment, chancing a glance at his friend.

"Do you want to go with me?" he asks quietly. "I know you like parties, and I think you'd like Rose. She's—your type, I think. And a pretty nice girl."

Sveta opens her mouth, then closes it, and her face brightens considerably.

"Can I?!"

"Yeah. Come on, go get dressed. I know you have some dresses in your suitcase, for a fact."

"Give me more notice next time, loser!"

Sveta bounces off the bed, racing to the living room to start preparing for the party, and Shane shakes his head with fondness.

SHANE: We're going to a party.

LILY ❤️: nice joke, Hollander

SHANE: It's Hollander-Rozanov, asshole.

SHANE: And we're really going to a party. Rose asked me to come and I might have said yes. Her friends will be there too. And I'm taking Sveta.

LILY ❤️: ohhhhh my baby is learning to party 🙂‍↕️💃🍾

LILY ❤️: so proud of you

LILY ❤️: is Sveta corrupting you?

SHANE: Fuck off.

LILY ❤️: have fun, yes?

He can try.

The party is already in full swing by the time Shane and Sveta arrive at their destination. Shane is glad that he snatched Ilya's hoodie at the last second before leaving the house, because now he can drown his hands in it and ease his discomfort at seeing so many people gathered in one place, music already blaring.

He spots Rose near the entrance—she's already gotten herself a red cup of a suspiciously looking liquid and some friends to talk to, but she starts waving wildly as soon as Shane approaches.

"You came!" She hugs him, then her eyes fall upon Sveta standing protectively at Shane's back. "Oh my god, are you Lily?!"

Shane and Sveta exchange glances and he ends up smiling weakly.

"That's Svetlana. Sveta for short. She's Lily's friend from childhood, and became my friend by extension. She's spending a few weeks with us."

"Yeah, someone gotta take care of this loser when Lily's away. Hi."

"Hi! Nice to meet you! I'm Rose, Shane's friend!"

Shane watches Sveta and Lily shake their hands, both trying not to stare too much too hard at each other. Then Rose turns towards him and Shane already knows he's in trouble.

"And Lily? She didn't come?"

"Lily's away."

"Is that why you're pouting?"

"I'm not pouting!"

Rose laughs, wrapping her arm around Shane. "Come on, you clearly need a drink. We're going to party!"

Shane ends up nursing his ginger ale while the girls go wild. Sveta prepares her special drinks for herself and Rose—it's apparently something she's learned doing in Russia—and they down the first one within the first fifteen minutes.

Sveta doesn't know anyone here, but it doesn't seem to disturb her—she dances with Rose as if they knew each other for ages, and talks to other party-goers with laughter, her accent more clear due to alcohol sloshing in her veins. She seems to be having fun, just like Rose, who is fucking alight in Sveta's presence.

Ha. His assumptions were correct.

Shane can't wait to share that news with Ilya.

"Dance with us, Sheynushka!"

It's not the first attempt Rose and Sveta make to lure him to the dance-floor, and every time he adamantly refuses. He's comfortable here, leaning against the wall and simply watching, hood up covering his hair.

This time Sveta is much more insistent.

"You're too uptight," she complains. "I thought Lily fucked it out of you, but apparently—"

"Sveta," he hisses angrily, covering her mouth with his hand. Whatever she meant to say, it drowns out. "I believe someone promised you a very painful death if you hurt me."

"Partying doesn't count! I'm not hurting you!"

Shane smiles smugly. "It will count if I complain to him that you're forcing me to drink and dance. Then he will kill you."

"Ugh. You should leave your comfort zone more frequently! You live like a monk in your desert tower! And he lets you!"

"My tower is comfortable, fuck you."

Rose appears out of nowhere, handing Shane a violet plastic mug filled to the brim with something that smells of vodka and lime. She forces it into Shane's hand—and he has no option but to accept, even though his nose twinges.

"Drink," she orders. "I hate to see you so unhappy."

Shane eyes Sveta and Rose's hopeful faces—they both seem to be either drunk or well on their way there—before deciding to fuck it. One drink can't be that bad, right?

It turns out it can. Shane downs only a few gulps, but they burn through his throat, making him cough.

"Fuck, it's foul. How can you even drink it?"

"We'll find you something more to your tastes," Rose comments with a chuckle, dragging him towards the kitchen. Shane holds tightly onto her hand, trying to avoid getting squashed by the crowds inhabiting every square centimeter of the house; Sveta is flanking his back.

The next drink is slightly better. It burns less, and tastes sweet, fruity, but it goes straight to Shane's head, making him feel giddy.

He finishes the drink before Sveta and Rose drag him to the dance-floor. This time he doesn't even refuse dancing with them, even though his movements are rather awkward. Alcohol makes it easier, obviously, wiping up worry and anxiety and leaving behind just a warm fuzz.

Then they all took tequila shots with Rose's friends. It's the kind of alcohol that has Shane grimacing, ready to cough out his lungs—all accompanied by laughter and some back smashing as if it was supposed to make him better.

The world was golden at this point, soft at the edges, by the time they splatter around the couches, ready to play a game of never have I ever. Shane gets to know Rose's friends: Miles, theatre kid, Luca, a sports-stipend boy absolutely in love with everything that includes a ball, Harris, who mostly scrolls through social media the whole time, Alex, extremely interested in discussing literature and stars, and Tania, a soft-spoken girl who pours more tequila and prevents any brawls from happening.

"Never have I ever swum naked in the sea!" Luca screams, his hand pointing towards Harris. It's oddly personal, Shane thinks with amusement. Harris doesn't seem angry, but he does take a big gulp of his tequila.

Then Harris slams back: "Never have I ever slept with a boy."

Besides Harris, the whole table drinks.

Shane included.

He's glad that most of the attention and hollering focuses on Luca and Miles, but he can still feel his cheeks burning with admitting it so openly.

Technically, he could have lied, and nobody would have bat an eye—maybe besides Sveta, but she wouldn't knowingly sabotage him. But—something about alcohol and company and quiet acceptance makes his heart stir.

When it's Rose's turn, she looks Shane dead in the eye.

"Never have I ever gotten married."

"That's a low blow," he complains but downs the remnants of his drink. Rose shrugs, a glint in her eyes, while all attention focuses on him.

"Dude!"

"What! You're married?"

He rubs his hands nervously—they are wrapped in the sleeves of Ilya's hoodie—and looks around. Nobody seems to judge him; they are baffled, if anything.

"Yeah," he says nervously. "We got married half a year ago, so it's quite fresh."

"Awh, congrats!"

"I can't believe someone has already snatched you."

He chuckles at Luca's complaint, but appreciates it, nevertheless. He's blushing, all because of the compliments and alcohol. It's his turn next, and he has to force his thoughts into working out.

"Never have I ever gotten a speeding ticket."

"Fuck you!"

The game goes on and on, accompanied by more drinks. The 'never have I ever's get wilder and more personal, calculated to make specific members of their party more drunk. By the time it ends, everyone is intoxicated, rowdy and overly excited. Some part of the crew gets back to the dance-floor since one of the hottest hits starts playing, but Shane stays on the couch, nursing his drink and talking to Alex about their favourite writers.

It's nice.

He sees Sveta and Rose dancing amongst the crowd, surprisingly close to each other. He isn't sure if it's a play of lights or something else, but their hands are wandering under their clothes. He looks away, returning to the conversation with Alex—they talk albout how people navigated using stars, and they found stories in them, trying to solve the mystery of love and the universe—but when he looks at his friends the next time, they are kissing.

Ha.

Shane really has to tell Ilya about it.

He makes a hasty excuse to Alex and gets, up, holding onto the table for balance. He ventures back towards the kitchen to make himself another drink, then with the cup in his hand, he pulls out his phone. There's a message waiting for him there and he squints at it, trying to read the blurry words. Focusing is hard.

LILY ❤️: having fun?

He grins, alcohol sloshing around in the cup as he makes his way outside. He sits on the steps.

SHANE: Ilyaaaaaaa

SHANE: I misssssss yoiiiiiiii

He drops the phone onto his lap, leaning against the doorframe. Here, outside, is much calmer, but he can still hear and feel the bass coming from the inside.

LILY ❤️: Shane. Darling. My sun.

LILY ❤️: are you drunk?

It's two a.m., and Ilya isn't sleeping. Just like Shane.

SHANE: Am nott

LILY ❤️: I am shooketh.

LILY ❤️: SHOOKETH.

LILY ❤️: you drank alcohol of your own free will??

SHANE: Dontbe dtamacid

SHANE: Dtamatic

SHANE: Dramativ

LILY ❤️: how much did you drink? 😉

SHANE: Fove shoots. I thonk

LILY ❤️: five?! jesus christ.

LILY ❤️: I hope Sveta and Rose are taking good care of you

SHANE: They kissef

SHANE: Ilyaaaaa they kissef

SHANE: ✨🥰💃🤪😇

LILY ❤️: Sveta is going to die a painful and bloody death.

LILY ❤️: are you still at the party?

"Holy shit, Shane."

He raises his head to see Sveta crouching in front of him. She seems worried, and he wants to shoo her concerns away.

"Hiiiii. Having fun?"

Before she manages to answer, her phone rings. She pales even more as she shows the contact name to Shane. It's something in Russian, and it's stupid because he can't comprehend Russian when he's drunk—

Wait.

Is that Ilya's number?

"He's going to kill me, isn't he."

Shane doesn't answer, too focused on deciphering the Cyrillic letters—there's an I, an A, and something in the middle he can't decipher, the letters dancing in front of his eyes—

Then Sveta puts the phone to her ear, Russian soft and slurring in her lips. They are close enough for him to hear the familiar tone—it's definitely Ilya. And while he doesn't understand any words, he knows that Ilya sounds angry.

He pouts, making grabby hands at Sveta.

"Don't make him mad," he whispers. "I want him to be happy."

Sveta glares at him, putting a finger to her lips, then winces at something she hears on the other side of the call. Her answer is rapid, biting, and Shane furrows his brows.

"He wants to talk to you."

She shoves her phone into his hand, turning to flag someone inside the house. Shane doesn't care, because the speaker is filled with Ilya's voice.

"Hello, solnyshko. Having fun, I see."

It's warm, it's teasing, and it makes Shane completely melt against the doorframe.

"Yes. We drank, and played some games, and talked about literature and the cosmic connection, and summer plans, and—and I think I made new friends."

"That's good news, baby. I'm proud of you." He can almost imagine Ilya grin. "I'm surprised you drank so much, though."

"I blame the girls for it," he mutters under his breath.

"See, I am going to murder them."

"No, no, I—I said yes. And it wasn't that bad, I swear. I just—" He pulls his legs up, leaning his head against his knees. His eyelids flutter as he becomes more sleepy rather than drunk. "I'm such a mess without you."

"You are not. You are doing just fine. You are just walking out of your comfort zone."

"Since when are you so wise?"

"I have always been wise," Ilya answers primly, and Shane can't help but laugh. "In all seriousness, you should go home. Rest. Drink water. Take pills. And sleep."

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"Message me when you're home."

"Okay. You have a game tomorrow, don't you? You should go to sleep too."

"I will once I know you're safe."

"Okay."

Shane raises his head when he sees Sveta and Rose joining him, right as a taxi pulls over the curb. It's theirs, apparently, so he makes an attempt at getting up. It's hard—the world is still blurry—but he manages. There's Sveta's hand on his back, guiding him to the seat; she mutters a string of angry words in Russian into her phone before the call with Ilya finally ends. She also kisses Rose's cheek in farewell while Shane smiles to himself. He waves Rose off.

"What did he tell you?" he asks Sveta, the taxi driving smoothly through Ottawa.

"I'm not repeating any of that."

Sveta rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond, so Shane settles against the taxi door.

They arrive at the apartment some time later, and Shane only bothers to take off his shoes before he collapses on the bed, right onto the blanket. He vaguely remembers to text Ilya, so he fires away a rapid message on his phone, and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the mattress. It's only Sveta who arrives some time later to cover him with a blanket and leave water and pills on the nightstand.

Shane sleeps.

Chapter End Notes

me trying to write the chapter: ✍️
my cat:

sending love and warm hugs <3

Chapter 6: Messy

Chapter Summary

Dinner with the Pikes—what can go wrong?

Many things, it turns out.

Chapter Notes

me in the first chapter:

this fic will be mostly fluffy, mostly self-indulgent, mostly feel-good.

me now:

Even sitting alone at the table, Ilya looks royal. He's wearing his favourite suit, making his silhouette stand out much more than the hockey gear.

"Congratulations on your fourth consecutive win, Mr. Rozanov! How do you feel about the game?"

"Thank you, thank you. It was a difficult one, with the Falcons' defence working pretty tight all the time. We had to make a break through it, but our strategy worked. I also scored another hat-trick, so I think that might have helped us significantly."

"Mr. Rozanov, at the beginning of the season you told us you'll score fifty goals before summer. You currently have a streak of forty, today's hat-trick included. Do you feel you can achieve your goal in time?"

"Is lie, liar told you that. I plan to score sixty."

Ilya winks at the camera, earning himself some laughter from the press.

"Which teams in your opinion will face each other in the finals to battle for the Stanley Cup?"

"Us, of course." Ilya grins. "And then the second-best team after us."

The whole press is enamoured with him, because fuck—who wouldn't be?

"Mr. Rozanov, you've been playing for Ottawa for almost a year now. How do you feel about Canada and Ottawa, overall? Do you feel you can call it your home, especially in comparison with Russia?"

"You know, they say home is where your heart is. And mine is definitely in Ottawa."

That seems to cause a stir in the audience.

"Does it mean that you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"How does it relate to hockey?"

"It may impact your performance…"

"I don't see how."

Ilya looks like a predator who caught his victim by the jugular.

"…may be a distraction?"

"Louder, please."

"I'm just wondering if it may direct your attention away from hockey, make you dedicate less time to it."

"You asked your intrusive questions multiple times before, and my answer remains the same. Hockey is my life. I live and breathe for it. I brought Ottawa to victory twice before, and I will do it for the third time in a row this year. And that's all that matters—not what I do in my private life. Which, by definition, is private." Then he leans forward to say directly into the microphone, all cameras on him, "If you're questioning whether my private life impacts my hockey performance, you're being unprofessional."

"That's a wrap, thank you!"

Ilya arrives back in Ottawa in the glory of four back-to-back wins.

Victory looks good on him, Shane thinks as his husband finally walks into their apartment. Then they collide together in a bone-crushing hug, words of endearment and fire of kisses.

It's been merely two weeks, but Shane feels like an eternity has passed.

He finds it hard to separate himself from Ilya as they sit on the couch. He's more than happy to occupy a spot between Ilya's legs as his husband talks about hockey with Sveta. He has nothing to add on, but he listens, content.

Sveta has a lot of insight, it seems—she knows the game from inside out, and she provides an outsider perspective that Ilya values. He considers all of her points, even when she talks about the teams mistakes, his heart beating steadily against Shane's body.

Later on, Sveta makes herself scarce, but she promises to come back tomorrow to hang out with them before she has to flight back to California. Then Shane and Ilya take many, many hours to make up for the absence—and Shane feels whole when he feels Ilya sink inside him with a grunt. It's nothing but a revelation and worship as they kiss and make love.

"Congratulations on your victory, captain," Shane whispers into Ilya's skin as he traces slow kisses after another glorious orgasm. "Your team played well. You played well. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you."

Ilya's eyes are warm and bright and Shane allows himself to sink in the afterglow.

"I love you so much."

"I love you more."

"Literally impossible."

If there's anything Shane appreciates, it's being both serious and silly and loving in their bed. He settles against Ilya's chest, satisfied. And loving. And loved.

SHANE: When are you coming back to uni? Classes are boring without you.

HAYDEN PIKE: Not this year :(

HAYDEN PIKE: I'm working a shift today

HAYDEN PIKE: Come

HAYDEN PIKE: Your favorite smoothie awaits

HAYDEN PIKE: And we need to talk

SHANE: Be there in an hour. But then I need to go to the library, so I won't stay long.

HAYDEN PIKE: Such a diligent student

HAYDEN PIKE: So boring

SHANE: Fuck you.

HAYDEN PIKE: I know you're a nerd

HAYDEN PIKE: Can't last 10 minutes without your brain consuming itself

SHANE: 😡

SHANE: I'm uninviting you to dinner with Ilya.

HAYDEN PIKE: ??

HAYDEN PIKE: YOU HAVEN'T EVEN INVITED ME YET

HAYDEN PIKE: THAT'S UNFAIR

HAYDEN PIKE: But also. Dinner with Rozanov? 👀 When? 👀

SHANE: I was thinking you could meet now that he's back. We could host, if you're okay with separating from your kids for a few hours.

HAYDEN PIKE: Let's do it at ours

HAYDEN PIKE: Arthur needs regular feeding and he can't handle being out of the house just yet

SHANE: Is Jackie going to be okay with that? I know you're both tired and stretched-thin. I don't want to add to that.

SHANE: We can postpone dinner till you're ready.

HAYDEN PIKE: No absolutely not

HAYDEN PIKE: I AM meeting Ilya Rozanov soon or I'll combust

SHANE: OK, then we'll bring food. Tell Jackie not to make anything.

HAYDEN PIKE: YOU will cook??

HAYDEN PIKE: Man, you got many talents, but cooking isn't one of them 🙄

SHANE: Fuck you.

SHANE: Ilya will cook for your ungrateful ass.

HAYDEN PIKE: ILYA ROZANOV CAN COOK??

SHANE: You'd be surprised.

HAYDEN PIKE: 👀 👀 👀

HAYDEN PIKE: Friday then?

SHANE: Friday sounds good.

His smoothie is tasty. In fact, it's so much better than coffee, and he doesn't understand how people can choose the black demon spit instead of the supremacy of healthy vitamins.

"You're the only one that drinks it," Hayden tells him after another customer has disappeared with their coffee. "So uh, about that dinner—is there like etiquette to meeting famous hockey players?"

Shane looks at him, registering the frantic moves of the towel Hayden has been just using.

"You're nervous to meet him?"

"Listen, I've been a fan of his since ages, okay? I don't want to fuck it up."

"You won't fuck it up." Shane smiles. "Just be yourself. Don't treat him like a star, but like a human. He'll appreciate it."

"Okay. Okay. I can do that."

Hayden seems to breathe a bit more easily afterwards, humming something as he gets to prepare coffee as the shop fills out with customers.

Shane takes out his phone the moment it signals a new message.

LILY ❤️: Want to go get dinner with me and Sveta before she leaves?

SHANE: No, thank you.

LILY ❤️: You sure?

SHANE: Yes.

SHANE: I need to study, I'll come back late today. I've already said goodbye to her.

LILY ❤️: You got only three exams, how much studying do you think you need?

SHANE: Plenty. Obviously.

SHANE: Dinner with Hayden & Jackie on Friday at 7pm.

LILY ❤️: ok

SHANE: You're cooking.

LILY ❤️: 😒

SHANE: Have fun with Sveta 😘

LILY ❤️: I love you but I hate you

LILY ❤️: ❤️

The library is quiet, and Shane can breathe again. It's that kind of silent that feels holy, filling every pore with peace. Nobody is going to disturb him here, especially since he puts his phone on silent before getting to work, taking out his notes and textbooks.

It's just three subjects—subjects he knows well—and on top of that, the grade isn't all that important. Still, his anxiety eases only with the absorbed material, reassuring him that he understands and knows the majority of it and can easily ace the exams.

He knows reassurance makes his anxiety brittle, and if the library session serves that purpose, who is he to protest?

He stays till the closing hours, when the strict librarian tells him to leave. Only then does he stretch his muscles properly, packing up his things and checking his phone on the way out. He has a few unread messages.

LILY ❤️: When are you coming home?

SHANE: Aren't you supposed to be dining with Sveta?

LILY ❤️: I've already brought her to the airport. The flight is leaving in an hour

SHANE: OK. I'm on my way back

Then there's a message from Sveta—she sent a selfie of herself and Ilya with food. Shane smiles stupidly, seeing his husband's grin. He adds a heart reaction to the photo and moves to the last unread thread.

HAYDEN PIKE: Is Rozanov's girlfriend in Ottawa? Do you know her? lol

SHANE: What?

HAYDEN PIKE: sent a link

Shane jumps to open he link—it's a gossip site, with an article titled, "MY HEART IS IN OTTAWA," says Ilya Rozanov. He scrolls through it.

During his recent press conference, the Canadian-turned hockey star Ilya Rozanov told us that he feels at home in Ottawa—since home is where heart is. It immediately sparked speculation that Rozanov has a partner on Canadian soil—though not Canadian by birth, either—

Svetlana Vetrova, age 23, is a Russian model and photographer. She shares Rozanov's passion for hockey, being a daughter of a hockey ex-player turned coach—

Rozanov and Vetrova were seen together in a restaurant, having dinner. It's not the first time they were found together, either. The two have attended multiple events together, went out in various cities where Rozanov played, and supported each other through the years—

The two have been long-life friends, going as far back as to Russian years. While Vetrova lives in the USA, she's becoming a fixture at Rozanov's arm—

As evidence, they used multiple photos of Sveta and Ilya together—attending the recent NHL event, walking out of the rink hand in hand, drinking in a bar together. There are some photos from today, too—Shane recognises the outfits from the selfie he's gotten from Sveta and he tries not to roll his eyes too hard at the ridiculousness of the whole article.

He's seen ones like this before, and it doesn't impress him at all.

He returns to Hayden's messages.

SHANE: Yeah, I know her. She's not his girlfriend though.

It's not the first time the media are speculating about Sveta and Ilya being together, so Shane isn't surprised—he's mostly peeved at the paparazzi and random people catching private moments on camera and their audacity to spin such a story based on a few photos.

Again.

HAYDEN PIKE: You want to tell me that they are just friends?

SHANE: Yes. They are just friends.

HAYDEN PIKE: Sounds like bullshit.

Alright, Shane thinks looking back at the photos in the article. Sveta and Ilya look objectively good together in them, but—he knows something the media don't.

Ilya is his.

SHANE: You can ask him about it on Friday.

HAYDEN PIKE: Maybe I will

When he comes home, Ilya's already there, making a pathway in their living-room carpet while having a very intense phone call. Whoever it is on the other side of it, Shane doesn't wish to be them—Ilya's voice is slicing.

He finishes the call abruptly upon seeing Shane lingering in the entrance.

"Hi," he says tentatively, eyes assessing, and Shane squints at him.

"Hi? What's wrong?"

Ilya takes a step forward, and it's as careful as approaching a wounded animal—one Shane isn't.

"Nothing's wrong," he says way too casually. "How was your studying session?"

"Good. How was your evening with Sveta? You didn't stay long."

"Yeah, we were in a rush before the flight." Ilya shrugs. "It was great, though."

"Why are you looking at me like this then?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're afraid I'll blow up or something."

That finally makes Ilya break. He breathes out, carding through his hair—frustration evident now that he stops reining it in.

"There's some articles and photos going viral," he says quietly. "Of me and Sveta together."

Shane nods. "I know. I've seen some."

It makes Ilya look back at him, sharply and searching.

"You have? And…?"

"I'm peeved at the vultures following you everywhere and taking photos without your permission. Did you get in touch with your PR team? I mean it's a good temporary cover for us, but still—they shouldn't have done it."

"I did…? They are taking some of these down, but— Wait, what? You're not—"

Shane blinks, still not understanding.

"I'm not what?"

"You're not angry with me? Jealous? Anxious?"

"Why would I be?"

This time it's Ilya who blinks, seemingly arrested into stillness. He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, and it's so weird for Shane to see him lacking his usual confidence.

"The last time it happened, you freaked out."

Ah. Now it all makes sense.

Shane does recall a moment a few years ago when he saw the photos in another gossip outlet. He was convinced that Ilya wanted nothing to do with him, back then—and god, he couldn't have been more wrong.

"That was before you confessed your undying love for me."

"What?"

Shane isn't sure who's more bewildered, he or Ilya, but he drops his bag and finally approaches his husband. Their hands entwine on instinct, sending a wave of reassurance towards Shane's brain.

"I promise I'm okay," he says before climbing his feet to kiss Ilya on the lips. The kiss is sweet, but it suffices to put them both at ease. "I'm not freaking out."

For a moment, Ilya just stares at him, hands supporting Shane's cheeks. His eyes are soft, glimmers of light dancing in them. When he smiles, it warms Shane to the bones.

"I'm so proud of you," he mutters. "You worked really hard on your anxiety, didn't you? You've come so far."

Shane's cheeks grow warm, and he's sure Ilya can feel it under his hands.

"That's not—I simply trust you and Sveta."

Ilya hums. "Both can be true. Either way—thank you. For your trust. I love you so much—"

Shane gets showered with little kisses all over his face.

It shouldn't be a big deal, Shane thinks, but it is—it is. Ilya is absolutely correct in his assumption that years ago Shane would have reacted with a panic attack. That kind of confidence comes with time, with the quiet reassurance that Ilya imparted so gently on him, with being watered with love.

Yet—it's not groundbreaking. Changes like that probably never are.

"Hayden is convinced you have a girlfriend, though," he mutters against Ilya's chest. He doesn't plan to remove himself from the embrace any time soon. "He'll be asking you about it, I'm sure."

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"The truth."

"How much of it…?"

"You and Sveta have been friends since your childhood. That's it."

"Okay."

Shane hopes it will really suffice.

By the time Friday comes, Shane is a nervous wreck.

He tries to hide his anxiety, but Ilya obviously sees right through him.

"I know you're worried about the outcome of this dinner, but it's not something you can control," Ilya tells him calmly, having sat him at the edge of their bed. He's kneeling in front of Shane, their hands intertwined together. "And I know you're worried because you care. You care about us and you care about us meeting. It's okay to be anxious."

"I have a bad feeling about this dinner," Shane whispers, leaning his head against Ilya's forehead. "I know you'll both try your best, but—I don't know, I'm not sure how he'll even react to the news that we're married."

"That's why we're doing that in small steps."

"I know."

"Do you have a plan what to tell him tonight?"

"Not really, no."

"You're lying. Knowing you, you already have ten different scenarios in your head about tonight."

Shane lets out a huff, because Ilya happens to be correct.

"I just want to tell him the truth when he asks. I don't want to lie to him anymore. Is that okay? It concerns you, too."

"It is okay."

"Okay."

It doesn't get easier, but Shane wears Ilya's hoodie and washed jeans like armor, preparing for a war. Ilya dresses similarly, in Centaurs sweatshirt—after Shane persuaded him from wearing a shirt.

"It's just dinner with friends, mon cœur," he says distractedly, gathering the shopping bag with the goodies for the Pikes. "Ready?"

Off they go—to the Pikes.

Jackie opens the door, welcoming them inside. They go through an awkward round of hugs and introductions and handing over the goodies.

"It's great to have you here, Mr. Rozanov," Hayden says as they gather in the kitchen. Shane unpacks the dinner boxes and helps Jackie reheat them—they are still mostly warm, so it's not much work.

"Please, call me Ilya."

Hayden snaps his head up with disbelief before brightening.

"Awesome. Call me Hayden, then." He reveals slowly the contents of the bag Shane has brought in and holds one of the Centaurs sweatshirts in his hands with tears in his eyes. "That's the original Centaurs merch!"

Ilya grins at him. "It's for you and Jackie. We unfortunately didn't have smaller jackets for the kids, but—"

Hayden tackles Ilya in a hug, surprising him completely, but Ilya settles quickly. He looks over Hayden's arm at Shane who's watching them both fondly.

The hug is quick, and then Hayden asks,"Can I have your autograph?! Please?!"

"Yeah, if you have anything to sign—"

"I have photos!"

Hayden is prepared. He takes out an array of photos of Ilya from various moments of his career. While Ilya is completely baffled, Shane barely hides his laughter.

"Thank you," Jackie whispers to him as the food starts landing in prospective bowls. "He's really happy about this."

"I can see that," he whispers back.

"And thanks for cooking. It's really a blessing."

"It's all Ilya."

Jackie smirks at him, but she says nothing. They both turn just in the right moment to hear Ilya saying, "You can come to my next game. Accompany this loser."

"He hates hockey and still comes to your games?!"

"I got loyal fans."

Ilya smirks straight at Shane who's shaking his head.

Dinner is tasty, as usual with everything that Ilya cooks, and of course, the smug bastard basks in the light of compliments from both Hayden and Jackie. They only take some breaks to take care of Arthur—but since the last feeding session, he's been sleeping calmly in the bedroom.

"Okay, I must ask," Hayden stars, putting his fork down. "How did you two meet? I know for a fact that this one," he points at Shane, "isn't as passionate about hockey as I am—so how? When?"

"Uh," Shane starts, scrambling for a decent answer. "Remember the bookshop I used to work in high school and during our first year?"

"Yeah?"

"Ilya came to the bookshop, looking for a book for his niece. It was sweet, actually. And then we started talking and he started to come back every time he was in Ottawa—"

"Wait, I need to process it." Hayden raises his hand. They give him a few moment of silence. "You've known each other for what—six years?! And you never breathed a word that you know Ilya Rozanov when I yapped about him?!"

Shane grimaces.

"He wasn't that famous back then," he says defensively. "Besides, we were meeting only on and off back then. There wasn't much to brag about."

"I also asked him not to tell anyone," Ilya adds. "Had him sign NDA and all. He really couldn't tell you."

"Fuck, okay, that makes sense. You're justified, Hollander, even though it's utterly wild. I can't believe your luck."

"I can barely believe it myself," Shane chuckles, scooping the last portion of salmon onto his fork. It is tasty.

"What did you even see in this idiot, Ilya?"

Shane glances up at Ilya, and he realises that whatever comes out of his mouth next is going to be disastrous. Ilya has that glint in his eyes, one that means only mischief and ragebait.

"He's hot."

"Ilya."

"So it's true! You were flirting with him at the shop! And our idiot friend here—"

"Hayden."

"—denied my accusations."

"It's true."

Ilya is smirking, and Shane seriously contemplates murder.

But Hayden isn't done. He turns towards Ilya to ask a question that sounds like a bell tolling to someone's death: "Are you gay, then?"

"Bisexual, actually. I like both."

"How about your hot friend from Russia? Svetlana, right?"

"She's a friend." Ilya glances at Shane, apologetic. "We were involved for a while, though."

"Romantically?"

"Sexually."

Shane has to start doing damage control, because this might explode sooner than later.

"Okay—enough of this interrogation, ladies—"

But Ilya and Hayden don't seem to care.

"So you're trying your luck with Shane? He's hopeless on so many levels—you should really move on, dude. You could find someone better."

"Gee, thank you, Hayden."

"Just look at him." Hayden points at finger at Shane, barely looking away from Ilya. "He's boring, married, and straight. He's a lost cause."

Ilya doesn't manage to hide his laughter before saying, "I assure you, two of these statements are untrue."

"Don't goad him on," Shane hisses with a sharp smack onto Ilya's arm.

Hayden first looks at Shane, then at Ilya, his brows furrowed.

"What do you mean? He's literally wearing a ring, he's married to Lily—"

Shane considers him.

Knowingly or not, Ilya gave him an opening to come clean about one of his biggest secrets. And well, since he planned to tell Hayden everything, eventually, he could as well start with revealing the truth.

"I'm gay, Hayden."

They see Hayden's brain short-circuit in real time. He opens his mouth only to close it without uttering a word.

It's Jackie who jumps in, putting her hand on Shane's arm.

"Thank you for telling us, sweetheart," she says softly through tears in her eyes. "That's brave of you to come out to us, right, Hayden?"

Shane looks at Hayden, who's staring into the table, face pale and fingers clenched. Shane feels nausea creeping up his throat.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," he rushes to say. "I didn't come to terms with my sexuality for a long while, and I—"

Ilya's hand catches his under the table, but Shane know sit won't be enough to stop his anxiety from spiralling.

"It's okay. You don't owe us anything."

Shane doesn't believe Jackie, especially since Hayden seems to disagree, shaking his head. His eyes remain glassy.

And when he finally speaks—

"So Lily isn't a girl?"

—it pierces right through Shane's heart.

He could lie again, he knows, but it would have made the situation worse in the long run—another lie to top up those he's already said.

"You don't owe him an answer, Shane," Jackie says, her hand heavy on Hayden's arm now. "My husband is being stupid."

Ilya's thumb starts drawing small circles into his skin, and Shane wants to sink into his touch so badly—it would be much better than facing the situation at hand.

But he holds Hayden's eyes, clenching his fingers around Ilya's.

"No," he answers slowly. "Lily is not a girl."

Hayden nods sharply. "So you've been lying to me for months. Years."

"Hayden, I promise you I had and still have a very good reason to hide Lily's identity." Shane bites his lip to stop himself from crying, the plods on, "I told you the situation is complicated—I wasn't lying about that."

"Is there a reason you couldn't tell me you're gay? I wouldn't have judged you."

"How was I supposed to tell you when you're judging me now?"

Hayden looks like Shane has just slapped him, and honestly, Shane feels like it, too. His fingers are trembling.

"Shane, for fuck's sake, I'm not judging you—"

"Aren't you? Because it certainly feels like it." Shane doesn't know what spurs him on to say this, but he's hurt, his heart is bleeding, and he wants to throw up and cry at once. "I understand you're upset that I lied to you. I admit I lied about many things, but I did it to protect myself or my loved ones."

"Am I not included in the circle of your loved ones?"

"It's not about you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was afraid to tell anyone, do you understand?"

"But you told him?"

Hayden slowly points at Ilya poised at Shane's side, closer than previously, ready to jump into Shane's defence, but it won't help.

And Shane already know it's a lost cause.

"I wanted to tell you—gradually. The whole thing is really, really complicated, and I had to make choices, do you understand?"

It's too late to stop tears from falling, and they run down Shane's cheeks. Hayden's eyes seem wet, too, but he quickly wipes them away.

"I considered you my brother, Shane. We've known each other for a very long time. I thought we trusted each other."

"I told you I'll tell you everything when I'm ready. And when I come out to you, you throw it in my face and say that I don't trust you. That's exactly what a supportive brother would do, thank you."

"I'm sorry I didn't react the way you wanted me to."

"That's not a real apology."

Hayden stands up. His chair crashes against the floor, making everyone flinch.

"Well, you won't get one till you apologise for your lies."

"I apologise," Shane says, his voice wobbly. "I had my reasons, but yes, I'm sorry about lying to you."

Silence is ringing in Shane's ears as Hayden leans over the table, towering over Shane who doesn't dare to move a muscle.

"I can't do this right now," Hayden says suddenly. "I need to think. I need to go."

"Hayden—"

"Sorry, Rozanov. It was nice to meet you."

Hayden leaves. The bedroom door bang.

Shane still doesn't move. He stares into the space previously occupied by Hayden. The ringing in his ears won't ease. He's drowning in it.

He doesn't move when Jackie says, "I'm sorry. I'll go talk to him."

Her hand feels heavy when she pats his arm—there's nothing comforting about it, but rather added weight that feels unwelcome. She quickly withdraws and follows Hayden.

"Shane."

Ilya forces Shane to look at him. Shane barely glances up at him, only noticing that Ilya's hands are warm. He's suspended in a weird kind of cotton space, unable to process a single thought.

"Breathe for me, solnyshko."

He tries, he really tries, but getting his lungs to move is too much. What he wants is to close his eyes, to forget—

"Okay, fuck, we're leaving."

He's glad for Ilya taking the executive decisions for him, because his brain and limbs seem extremely heavy.

On their way out, they get a soul-crushing hug from Jackie who appears in the corridor like a ghost. Her lips are pursed, but she does her best to keep everything together.

"He'll be okay, sweetheart," she says; her eyes are worried. "It's just a lot. He needs to process."

"Tell him I'm really sorry," he hears himself saying.

"He knows. And I think he's sorry, too." Then, to Ilya, she mutters, "Please take care of him."

"Of course."

The way back home is quiet. Shane settles by the window while Ilya drives. Their hands remain tightly intertwined, but it doesn't anchor him—he drifts.

He expected Hayden to be angry with him to some degree, especially considering the weight of his lies, but—

This has completely blown out into his worst nightmare.

He wonders if Hayden will ever want to talk to him again. If the damage they both dealt is too great, if they can ever recover.

And honestly, he doesn't want to think about it tonight, hurt still pulsating in his heart.

All he does is sink into Ilya as soon as he has the chance, the world be damned.

Chapter End Notes

I AM REALLY SORRY OKAY I AM I SWEAR 😭😭😭

You guys seemed to enjoy my handwriting and my cat, so to sweeten the deal, here's the menace princess herself:

Chapter 7: Protective

Chapter Notes

For the first time in his life, Ilya Rozanov doesn't know what to do.

Truth be told, he rarely knows how to cope when one Shane Hollander is involved, fumbling as if it were his first time dealing with boys and struggling worse than in the games against Montreal, Ottawa's archrival.

He survived plenty of tough games, and he's familiar with all kinds of injuries and bruises that come with playing quite a violent sport. It means that he is alive, though, that he keeps fighting, that he can burn the whole arena down in order to score a goal.

He also knows the taste of defeat. It's bitter, of course, lingering and poisoning his thoughts, but it happens. He can't win all games—nobody wins all the time. Some seasons are worse, and the team just fights for survival. And some seasons they fly through the games straight to the Stanley Cup, in a beautiful attempt at redemption.

Then again losing outside of the ice was worse. While he could cope with defeat during games—there was always something he could improve, things he could fix or change, spend more hours training and perfecting his strategy—he could barely handle it when it came to people he held dearest.

Take his complicated relationship with mother Russia, for example. He didn't cry when he stopped being her son, for that mother betrayed and backstabbed him more times than he could count. He lost everything because of her, because of the curse that started with the death of his real mother. Yes, it was the first time he really felt defeat piercing right to his core and couldn't get up on his own. Then the curse spread through his entire family like cancer.

That particular loss—cutting off the remaining parts of his family—wasn't painful when he finally walked away. Maybe it was bitter for the sake of memories, of the sweetness of Russian whispered against his ear, and whatever shreds of patriotism he had left, drilled into him since he was a kid, but—

That loss was in fact a victory.

Besides, he had better things waiting for him on the other side of the ocean: hockey and Shane Hollander. Losing any of these things scared him the most, even if having them came at a cost.

It's not like he wanted to keep Shane aside like a shameful secret. In fact, there's no embarrassment in being married to Shane Hollander, the quiet nerdy boy with galaxies of freckles and dreams of discovering the real nature of the universe. It just—it started as a secret to protect Ilya, who was rising to fame in the hockey league and couldn't afford being outed or screwed by anyone. Shane did sign an NDA, no hesitation in him as he put his signature on the last page of his deal with the devil, and Ilya felt tears sliding down his cheeks because this boy simply trusted him and wanted to be with him, even if it meant sanctioning their relationship on paper just to protect Ilya. That's who Shane was—a quiet yet underestimated force of nature that stormed his way through life and nested right in Ilya's heart.

They kept their relationship and marriage a secret even when it was safe for Ilya to reveal it, when he stopped giving a single fuck about mother Russia chasing him down and whatever the hell his millions of fans would think of him. But this secret turned into a means of protecting Shane from the side effects of having a famous husband.

Ilya knew that once the media and the fans caught a whiff of Shane, it would be over. Shane would be put under the microscope of fame, too, and Ilya didn't want it for him. He could cope, he was accustomed to it, and hell—he liked it, he enjoyed the attention of crowds screaming his name during the games. But Shane didn't. Shane could barely handle being the center of Ilya's attention in the very beginning, and while he got better at it—at accepting that he could be loved just the way he was—he would hate having fingers pointed at him all the time in the university campus, the gossipy articles dissecting their marriage and analysing reasons why it may not work out, the light of reflectors falling onto him during the matches and pointing out his reactions to Ilya's mistakes.

So, they kept their marriage a secret, but Ilya saw how it weighted on Shane with all the skittish attempts at the idea of introducing Ilya to Shane's friends. He didn't mind them knowing, really—after all, Svetlana knew, and it was only fair for Shane to start revealing their relationship on his own terms. He knew, however, why it made Shane so anxious—

Because Shane lied to them. For Ilya.

And it severed his relationship with the Pikes.

He's protective of Shane's heart, and he hates to see his husband defeated after something that was supposed to be a celebration. He didn't mean to cause carnage with his presence, with the confession of guilt that Shane did to Hayden, but he unknowingly did.

Seeing Shane sinking right into the anxiety spiral, once his knees touched the floor of their apartment, was the worst kind of defeat Ilya has ever experienced.

And he didn't know what to do.

It wasn't like any of Shane's previous panic attacks—with those, Ilya could cope. He had a strategy, he knew what worked to pull Shane out of the sea of anxiety: it was usually praise, firm commands, a lot of physical touch that gave him some grounding, something to hold onto.

But this—

He feels incredibly helpless as he cradles Shane against his chest, never stopping to whisper sweet nothings in both English and Russian, wrapping himself tightly around Shane to remind him that he's not alone. It's everything, yet not enough.

Only an eternity later Shane stops shaking, but his face remains smushed right into Ilya's neck, his muscles still tight. Ilya doesn't get an answer to any of his questions, either; it seems that Shane is still lodged deep in the web of anxiety, and Ilya really doesn't know how to pull him out aside from being with him.

"Oh, solnyshko," he mutters over and over. "I am so, so sorry."

It's like Shane went straight into a place Ilya can't follow, and it's completely up to Shane to find his way back.

Carefully, he transfers them both onto the couch, Shane turned into a dead weight, then he wraps them both with a heavy blanket. His fingers keep brushing Shane's hair, now messy and also longer since Shane hasn't bothered with going to the hairdresser recently.

His own thoughts keep circling back to the disaster of the dinner—how quickly it turned into a nightmare. He was a bit wary going to the Pikes, too, though he wouldn't admit that to Shane; Shane has been tightly wrapped in a bubble of anxiety ever since the dinner idea came out, so why would he even add to it? But even in his wildest dreams he hadn't expected the downfall that followed.

The truth is—he only knows of Shane's friends what Shane tells him, and that's filtered through stories and the lenses of Shane's own anxiety. However, it seemed like the Pikes were decent people, helping Shane out when Ilya wasn't there, supporting him just like Shane has always been supporting them.

Now, however, Ilya has doubts. Coming out is a big deal, after all, and to have one's feelings completely disregarded in sake of hurt—

It makes Ilya boil that the Pikes chose to believe that Shane never trusted them. He has seen multiple instances of the opposite—hell, he knows the story of how Shane and Hayden became friends and how they lived through what life casted their way together. So to throw away the found family in the name of Pike's own pride being damaged—

Some eternity later Shane's breathing finally evens out. Ilya follows him to the dreamland, but it's not peaceful, with his body strained to whatever sound and movements Shane is making—just in case.

Shane finally wakes up a few hours later, and he's much more present than before, though completely exhausted and dimmed, like a kicked kitten. Ilya hates seeing him like this.

It doesn't get better even when he makes Shane's favourite dish, smoked salmon—Shane just pokes at it with his fork, completely lost in his thoughts, the frown permanent. No amount of teasing or jokes can change his mood. He does, however, crave touch more than usual, so they spend the whole weekend wrapped up in each other. Ilya will happily give Shane anything he needs, so he even puts his phone on silent to keep anyone from disturbing them.

"What if he never changes his mind?" Shane asks quietly, putting away his phone. "He hasn't even replied to my messages."

Ilya wants to murder Pike, thank you very much.

"Then it's his loss."

"Ilya—"

Ilya takes Shane's hand, kissing each finger.

"I'm serious. It's not just up to you to make up for what happened—he has some serious apologising to do, too."

"I lied to him though."

"And he threw a tantrum over you coming out. Fuck him, really."

"He's just hurt that I haven't trusted him since the beginning. I think it's about choosing to tell you but not him. But—it's different with you."

"Like I said—fuck Pike."

However, the very same scheme continues over the next week, with the intermittence of Shane's exams—he goes through all of them with an unusual detachment—and Ilya's trainings and games. He's staying home for the next few weeks, having the privilege of playing on the home ice, and he takes advantage of it to spend as much time with Shane as possible.

"I wrote him three messages, and he hasn't replied," Shane tells him Wednesday evening when they sit curled together on the couch, watching a movie Shane has half-heartedly chosen.

"You don't have to run after him."

"I know, but I want to make amends."

Amends. What a fucking strange word, way too soft for something that's an attempt at fixing what's broken. Making a mend in the fabric, perhaps, not in a relationship that's completely shattered like a useless vase.

Ilya isn't sure if making amends is even worth it, and this whole anxiety spiral is dragging out for far too long. He doesn't tell that to Shane. He just devises a plan to get his way.

So the next evening, when Shane finally falls asleep after tossing and turning, Ilya steals his phone and sneaks out of the bed. The passcode is Ilya's birthday, truly hard to guess, and once he punches the numbers in, he goes straight to the contact list.

There it is—Hayden fucking Pike, right above his wife.

He dials the number, fully expecting it go to the voicemail the way Pike has been ignoring all of Shane's messages, but five signals in the connection is picked up. Surprise—Pike apparently can't sleep, either.

"Listen, Hollander, I don't want to fucking listen to you right now, okay, so kindly leave me alo—"

How boring. How Canadian.

"Not Hollander," Ilya smoothly cuts in. "This is Ilya Rozanov speaking. Thank you kindly for picking up, Pike. I got something to say to you and you will listen."

"Mr Rozanov—"

"I will say it just once, and you'll do whatever you want with it. You're Shane's friend, is correct. Shane respects you. Likes you. Considers you his family. Cares about you. Values your opinion. That's why he was fucking terrified to tell you that he's different, that's he's gay." Ilya takes a deep breath. "He lied to you, yes, but he did it to protect me. He didn't have much of a choice. It was hurting one person or hurting another one. You became collateral."

"I didn't want—"

"Coming outs are personal. It's not something you can demand of someone to do on your terms; they have do to it on their own terms, because they want to, not just because you're friends and you feel privileged to that information. It doesn't work that way. Fuck, it took him a lot of time to tell me, too, though I pretty much knew before he realised it himself. But that's part of the friendship, Pike. He hoped you'd understand, and you threw it all back in his face because you were hurt he didn't tell you earlier and that I got to know before you. That's—that was fucked up."

"I didn't think he would keep something so big from me. Especially since he's married—and I don't know his wife, I don't know if she knows he's gay, I didn't get to attend his wedding—and I thought that he trusted me, that he could tell me everything—"

"Apparently not, if you're overreacting like a toddler."

"I am not a toddler!"

Ilya rolls his eyes. "Pike, I need you to man up and start listening. You're allowed to feel hurt, but you don't know the full story and you haven't even asked for it. You haven't even started to wonder why Shane couldn't tell you. It's not just about your ego."

"It makes no fucking sense."

"Like I said," Ilya hisses, "you need to start listening and seeing and using your brain instead of assuming. And you should fucking apologise. That's all I got to say. Goodbye."

He disconnects before Pike has the chance splutter anything back. Then he deletes the conversation from the call history and pinches his nose. Fucking Pike gave him a migraine, he can feel it pulsating in his head.

When he cracks his neck, trying to get rid of the knots gathered there, his gaze wanders straight towards the kitchen entrance where he meets Shane.

Shane is—well. He looks like an angel even wearing Ilya's crinkled t-shirt, standing barefoot, with hair completely messed up and the traces of pillow etched into his cheeks. He's crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, but he doesn't seem angry. If anything, there's sobriety in his gaze, and he seems more steady than in the last week.

Ilya swallows hard.

"Hi," he whispers. "You heard everything?"

"Pretty much."

He surprises Ilya by padding forward to him and wrapping his arms around his midriff. Ilya's hands automatically follow, bringing Shane even closer, and he feels relief because of the way Shane responds to touch. He seems more alive.

"How are you feeling?" he asks carefully.

"Tired." And yeah, that tracks. Then Shane adds, "Thank you for protecting me."

"Of course. I'm really sorry Pike is an asshole."

There isn't a world where Ilya wouldn't protect Shane.

"Not your fault."

No—but Ilya will say sorry where Pike can't.

"I know it's like 3 a.m., but how do you feel about pancakes? I'm hungry."

Shane laughs for the first time in ages, and it warms Ilya to the core.

So they end up making fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam at three bordering on four a.m., but Ilya has no regrets, not when Shane finally gets to eat a full meal and makes happy noises about it.

He looks at his phone just once, when it pings with a new message, and almost chokes on his ginger ale.

"Why the fuck does Jackie want your number?"

Ilya shrugs, though there's a smirk tugging at his lips. The only decent Pike demanding his contact data isn't necessarily a bad thing.

"You can give it to her."

"I feel like you'll be forming an alliance against me," Shane mutters. "I'm going to regret it later," he adds, but then diligently sends a message back to Pike's wife, and she—she doesn't waste any time, it seems, for Ilya's own phone pings mere seconds after.

DECENT PIKE: Mr. Rozanov. You broke my husband.

Ilya raises his brows and shows the message to Shane who can't help but laugh, incredulousness filling them both.

ILYA: Did he finally pull his head out of his ass? :>

DECENT PIKE: Not yet.

DECENT PIKE: But I think he's on his way there.

DECENT PIKE: Thank you.

ILYA: I'm glad

But Jackie isn't done there, no. It looks like floodgates have opened, and Ilya is at the receiving end of all the water going out.

DECENT PIKE: He really looks up to you. He's been interested in hockey ever since he was a kid, and when you became a star, he cheered on you so, so hard. I think he knows all of your stats and signature moves and quotes by heart.

DECENT PIKE: He felt betrayed when it turned out that Shane knows you personally and never shared you with him, even though he has always been a loyal fan.

ILYA: Shane couldn't tell anyone. And you shouldn't be taking account for your husband's actions. He's the one who fucked up and he's the one who has to apologise. Not to me. To Shane.

DECENT PIKE: I know that. I just wanted to say that Hayden needed to hear it from you. You really dumped a bucket of cold water on him, and hit him hard because he looks up to you. He's not a bad person, I swear. He's just processing.

DECENT PIKE: So thank you for that.

DECENT PIKE: And for protecting Shane.

DECENT PIKE: He's special to you, isn't he?

ILYA: you have no idea

Ilya sets the phone down, glancing up at Shane, blissfully digging into his last pancake. Now that the storm is passing, he seems much more relaxed. Or maybe it comes from the fact of being wrapped up in a protective bubble and being reminded that the world hasn't ended even with the hurt.

If he could, Ilya would have taken the hurt and anxiety from him, but he knows that's not possible, that it's something Shane has to work through himself. It doesn't mean that Ilya can't accompany him, though, and he'll do that as long as Shane allows him to.

So he reaches out to take Shane's hand and he holds.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed some Ilya POV!! In the next one we shall return to Shane and his own processing of the whole disaster, and I'm very excited to dig into that 🤭 angstiness incoming!!

Also apologies about speed-running through the stuff that happened before this fic's timeline—I already got plans for a prequel following Ilya and Shane starting their relationship and getting married, so it's going to explain everything in more detail.
I also have plans for other long fics, sooo 👉👈 if you like my writing, may I mayhaps interest you in subscribing to my profile 🥹 there's at least three more long wips incoming 😂 plot bunnies are multiplying, I swear.

And—you asked for more pics of my cat and I'm delivering:

THANKS FOR READING! ILY YOU GUYS SO SO SO MUCH <3

Chapter 8: Stormy

Chapter Notes

Sorry about the delay, Shane fought me on this chapter 🙄

Shane has never hated storms, even if they came with lightnings, thunder, and rain.

Storms could be therapeutic. Storms cleared the air, washed off the dirt, and turned the sky into a one-of-a-kind spectacle. So no—he didn't mind them.

What scared him was the silence that came afterwards, when nature rearranged itself, trying to restore the balance.

It was when nature wept the most.

His own storm has completely wrung him out. He might have found solace in Ilya's arms as soon as they come back home, but his violent shivering and shortness of breath don't ease. Back in his safe space, he shatters completely.

He can't stop thinking about Hayden's words and his turned back and the banging of the door. It held so much finality in it, like an explosion, like chopping off a limb in a dirty cut and letting it bleed out.

He leans his head against Ilya's arm, trying to find his footing. Ilya hasn't stopped whispering sweet praises and trying to soothe Shane with touch—it usually makes him weak in the knees, but today it isn't working. Shane doesn't relax. He doesn't deserve being consoled.

Leaving the murkiness of his mind is hard, anyway. His limbs are heavy, his thoughts are heavy, and reality sucks.

It feels like something has cracked deep in his chest.

He's known Hayden for years, and he thought it was that kind of friendship that survived through hellfire and held up for eternity. He considered Hayden his family, his best friend, but apparently this storm was strong enough to break them.

Well. It's all his fault.

He kept Ilya Rozanov the greatest mystery and secret of his life, separated by a thick line from his friends and public life, carefully kept in a closet, tucked next to a shelf containing his orientation, emotions, and all the parts of himself that couldn't see the light of the day.

There is one Shane Hollander—gay, closeted, married to a famous hockey player Ilya Rozanov, secretly watching all hockey games and learning everything there is to know about the sport, living in the shadows, addicted to Ilya's touch, holding Ilya after his losses, and letting Ilya hold him.

Then there is the other Shane Hollander—a uni student, good at maths and physics, obsessing over books, loving smoothies, hating hockey, and drowning in hoodies that smelled of his secret husband everyone believed to be a wife, and a liar, liar, liar—

It's impossible to merge them, but now that secrets are finally coming out—

He's sinking in the lies, and now there's no turning back.

When he finally emerges, it's to cold sheets and darkness wrapped around his heart. He's drenched in sweat, the stench of his nightmares overwhelming—dirty, sticky, heavy.

He probably needs a shower.

His legs are weak as he gets out of bed. It feels like he turned into a newborn fawn, or maybe he's just drunk, out of his head as the room starts to twirl like a carousel. In the last second, he manages to catch himself against the wall; he rests there, heaving.

He's still waddling through a nightmare—he has to be. There's no way anything here is real when it feels like a deep well, a bit abstract, full of hostile shapes, of shadows singing of guilt.

If it's a nightmare, why can't he wake up?

He stumbles forward blindly, hands in front of himself, braced for a fall. It happens seconds—aeons?—later, cold tiles welcoming him.

It's only instinct and distinct familiarity carrying him at this point.

…

He somehow crawls into the shower.

…

Water bites.

…

Time stands still.

…

"Shane?"

He blinks.

There's light. Silhouettes moving. Laughing at him.

"Come out."

He's wrapped in warmth. Supported.

Faintly, he recognises the voice. And the smell. And the gentleness. His brain won't compute, though. It's frozen.

Warmth doesn't recede.

If anything, it wraps itself tighter around him.

"I'm here."

He hears another heart fluttering in the chest against his head. It's steady, calm, like a metronome. He can synchronise his own breathing with it, forcing his lungs to slow down.

Warmth is still here.

"It's alright. You can go to sleep."

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to go back to the nightmare, so he fights to keep his eyes open.

"You're not alone."

He's not?

"I'm here. I love you."

Hm.

Okay.

He can probably live with that.

He closes his eyes again.

The next time he's jerked into consciousness by a shrill sound of a phone ringing. Then he hears a low murmur of an apology, followed by a hand carding through his hair.

He's more present this time, though heaviness hasn't disappeared yet. If anything, it weighs more on him now that he remembers—pressing him right back into the mattress.

A headache is looming behind his eyelids; it's only a matter of time before it really explodes.

He doesn't long to go back to his nightmares, but he doesn't want to be awake, either.

"How are you feeling, solnyshko?"

He glances up at Ilya and he hates the look in his eyes—there's pity, concern, maybe even anger.

"Better."

His voice sounds foreign, rough. Clearing his throat doesn't help, but he tries to at least ease it with drinking a whole glass of water provided to him by Ilya.

"Do you want something to eat?"

He shakes his head, worming his way back into the sheets like a caterpillar. Despite the shower he's taken, he still feels dirty and he doesn't want Ilya to see him like this.

"You don't have to stay," he mutters into the cocoon he's wrapped himself in.

"I'm not leaving you."

Maybe that's the problem—maybe Ilya should leave the way Hayden did—

"I'm sorry I'm like this."

"No. I swore to love all parts of you—and I'm not leaving, do you hear me? I am not leaving, Shane."

Shane cries.

The days stretch into infinity.

Shane feels like he's irrevocably plunged into thick waters that make it impossible to think straight. He functions on autopilot, spending most of the time either in bed or on the couch, wrapped tightly in Ilya's arms.

He eats some—it's mostly neatly cut vegetables that don't feel like a chore to consume.

He watches hockey highlights with Ilya.

He composes three careful texts to Hayden—one containing an apology, the second one a question if they can meet again and talk, and the third one another apology topped with begging.

All of them go without an answer.

"Seriously, fuck Pike," Ilya repeats over and over, but Shane isn't convinced. How could he ever just let go of something that held him together through the years? A friend he loves so deeply that he'd do anything to get him back? A friend he fought so hard to keep with his lies?

"I should explain everything to him," he answers, his phone resembling a brick in his hand. The unanswered streak of messages to Hayden from this week blinks back in blue.

"He doesn't want to listen, and you can't force him to. Wait till he comes back crawling."

Jesus.

He can't imagine Hayden doing that, but—

Ilya might be right about one thing: Shane should probably give Hayden more time to come to terms with everything that happened.

Still, there's this nagging thought returning often—what if Hayden won't ever want to talk to him again? Ilya says it's fine, that Shane really doesn't need Hayden's forgiveness, but Shane wants it and doesn't deserve it at once.

He comes back to uni when it becomes clear that he can't afford to miss any more classes, but seeing Hayden's empty chair next to him makes things worse.

"Why are you moping?" Rose asks him as they leave class and head over to the highest floor to wait out the break between their classes.

Of course, defensiveness comes first.

"I'm not moping." Then, petulantly, he admits, "I argued with Hayden. Did he mention anything?"

Rose hums. "No. He only said he needs some time off and forbid me from even mentioning your name to him."

"Of course. I'm sorry it impacted your relationship with him, too. I didn't mean it to escalate."

Rose smiles sympathetically, sipping on her coffee.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't want to make you choose sides," he sighs, lying down on the couch. It's better than looking Rose in the face.

"It's okay. You were my friend first."

True, Shane thinks, but still—

Not to mention that Rose doesn't know the extent of Shane's lies, either.

"I want to tell you everything, but I can't," he says closing his eyes. "I mean I will tell you, eventually, but not now—I couldn't handle you walking away, too. I already lost Hayden, and I—I mean I know I'll eventually have to tell you everything and you'll probably walk away too, but—"

"You don't owe me answers, Shane."

"But I do. I've been lying to you for years. I know Hayden hates me know, and you will hate me too once you know the truth—"

"Oh, Shane."

The couch next to him dips. Rose then gently puts his head on her knees, simply carding her fingers through his hair.

"I'm a mess."

"We all are."

"I'm more messed-up than all."

Rose says nothing. She just allows Shane to have a melt-down on her lap and accompanies him through it.

He hasn't felt like himself for what seems like eternity. The buzzing in his head keeps him unmoored, and his thoughts continue to circle back to what ifs—what if Hayden never replies, what if all Shane's friends turn away from him when they hear the truth, Rose included. Hell, Hayden himself doesn't know the whole truth yet, and if he realises the extent of Shane's lies—it will be over for good, and no feeble attempts at making amends are going to help.

Either way, Shane's losing. He's losing by lying and by revealing the truth, because the truth is as bitter as his lies, and there's no way out of it without getting burned.

Maybe things would be different had he told Hayden a year ago that he was marrying Ilya. Maybe Hayden would have understood, back then, with Shane being so irrevocably in love with Ilya that functioning without seemed impossible and at the same sitting deep in the closet he was forced into.

Or maybe Hayden would have reacted exactly the same way. Maybe he would have been outraged just like now, choosing to punish Shane with anger and silence.

And Shane deserves all of it.

Belatedly, he realises that he's been crying. Rose still hasn't said a word to him, instead humming gently and brushing through Shane's hair, and he finds his heart rate slowing down. The melody seems familiar, but not enough for Shane to identify it.

"What song is that?"

"That's Rihanna, baby." Rose pauses. "We'll be singing during the Music Festival on Friday. I know you don't like big events, but it's mostly listening to us sing. We have some covers planned, but a few people wrote their own songs, too. The entry is free, if you're interested. It starts at five."

"Text me the details?"

"Sure."

"Thank you, Rose."

He means it—and it's not just about the festival.

The auditory is full, but Shane manages to find himself a decent seat. Waiting for the show to start, he watches other people in the auditory—most of them must be students, but there are some families with kids, too, maybe supporting the singers.

Shane tries to relax in his seat. He's not exactly unsettled; the crowd doesn't scare him the way it would in a club since people are scattered around the hall and with the way the seats are facing the scene, nobody is even glancing at him. Still, there's anxiety clinging to his skin.

The hosts appear on the stage on the clock, and the show starts, plunging the auditory into darkness and the sounds of music.

The artists are really good, and Shane even recognises some of the songs they are performing. It seems like the main theme of the festival is centered around warm emotions—and all the songs performed deliver just that, a warm flutter in Shane's chest. He enjoys Rose's voice too; she sings two Norah Jones' songs which match perfectly the timbre of her voice.

The last to perform is a group of four artists. Shane recognises the lead singer—it's one of Rose's friends, Alex, one he met the night he got drunk. He approaches the microphone set in the middle of the stage.

"Hey guys! This is The Dinosaurs band, and we'll be covering a couple of Fleet Foxes songs! Enjoy!"

Alex has a nice voice, matching the ballad tone of the songs. It's almost intimate, making everyone lean forward to hear better. Shane didn't know the original band before, but he enjoys it, and he might even check them out later.

"This will be the last song of today," Alex finally announces. "It's a very special one, and I hope you'll like our version as much as we love the original."

They start playing.

Can I believe you?
Can I ever know your mind?

Shane's phone vibrates in his pocket, so he fishes it out, making sure the screen is set to the minimum brightness. For a moment, his breath stutters as he hopes it's an answer to one of his hopeless texts to Hayden, but it's just Ilya—well, not just Ilya, but a big part of his heart that's currently bleeding—

LILY ❤️: missing u already

He stares at the message and at the contact name. He saved Ilya's number as Lily years ago, when they barely started seeing each other on a regular basis, and he never got to change it despite their relationship cementing into marriage.

He kept him as Lily because it has been much easier to explain to his friends, to the bystanders in his life. He hid Ilya under a pseudonym, and with that, a huge part of himself.

Am I handing you mine?
Do we both confide?

And maybe that's the biggest mistake he's made. Ilya has already become such a huge part of his life that separating Shane from Ilya and Ilya from Shane seems impossible. And in a way, he betrayed not just himself, but Ilya too, even though his husband never complained at being hidden and carefully stowed away.

Now, Shane knows he should have started with that—with showing everyone that they can't meet the real Shane without knowing Ilya, because Ilya and the identity of being gay, being married, being a husband is too deeply ingrained into Shane's skin to be erased.

Hell, he wouldn't want to erase it, ever.

Now I'm learning the ropes, never get this close
I've been wounded before

He switches to the thread of messages with Hayden and stares at the messages blinking back at him there.

SHANE: I'm really sorry.

SHANE: Can we talk? I'd like to explain everything and apologise properly.

SHANE: I'm sorry. Please talk to me. Please.

read Mon 2:31pm

The fact that Hayden read the messages but didn't decide to answer is what hurts Shane the most. It's like having his heart ripped out and being watched while it bleeds out.

It never got less strange
Showing anyone just a bare face
If I don't, well, nothing will change

He turns off the screen, but doesn't immediately hide his phone.

His own face stares at him in the dark screen. The surface of his phone is cracked, a million of lines crossing each other in weird angles, and it makes his reflection distorted, cracked into smithereens. All these weird pieces don't fit well with each other, barely glued together like a spider web.

Lately I'm wondering too
What type of desire I can break

And he showed selected pieces to selected people, never quite piecing them together into a coherent image. And the pieces have sharp edges, like broken glass, and he cut himself and other people in the process.

When I'm one way with them, one with you
What half is it of me rearranged?

The real problem is mending the pieces back together, he thinks. It's not just a matter of rearranged halves, though it's true that he showed different faces in different circumstances—out of fear, out of protection, out of commodity. It's mostly a matter of Shane not understanding which piece is more him.

Or maybe none are because Shane is a sum of the pieces, not a singular piece showing just one side of this story.

Can I believe you?

Maybe it's completely okay to piece himself back and show the full picture to other people without breaking oneself again in the process.

Maybe it's okay to be himself.

Can I believe you?

Tears are falling down his cheeks as he opens Ilya's contact and changes the name in the field. He keeps the heart, though.

SHANE: I miss you too 😘

SHANE: I'll be home soon.

HUSBAND ❤️: I'm waiting <3

He watches Ilya hold his phone. Despite the late hour, he's animated, and there's fire in his words as he wields them like a weapon.

It amazes him the more differences he finds between English and Russian—he's aware just how hard it is to operate in an entirely different language and force the words to sound exactly the way they should.

Ilya's English is sharp, shaped by Russian but not softened by it. It's strange, Shane thinks, since Russian to him sounds much more softer, much more like velvet, especially when Ilya reads aloud in the evenings, his mother tongue sounding like a love language to Shane's ears. Russian is the language of poets and revolution, and English—English is stiff, with a fixed structure, French-borrowed words, and weird grammar. And Ilya learned how to build an armour and a weapon out of it when he was merely a boy who came to play hockey on a foreign land.

Now he uses that weapon and armor to protect Shane.

Shane doesn't hear a word Hayden says, but Ilya makes his blows count. Shane himself is thrown off-balance with the animosity in his voice, let alone a man who considered Ilya Rozanov his idol—

"Like I said," Ilya finally hisses, "you need to start listening and seeing and using your brain instead of assuming. And you should fucking apologise. That's all I got to say. Goodbye."

For the first time in ages, Shane thinks it's okay. It's okay if Hayden doesn't answer, because he still has people who love him at his side. He has Ilya, loving him so fiercely and never turning away when things get ugly and staying.

Even if things don't work out, Shane can keep marching forward and rebuild his own armor. He tried, after all, to make amends, to reach out and rebuild the friendship, but—Ilya is right, it requires both parties to work together to fix it. And if Hayden doesn't ever want to talk to him, then—that's fine.

Well, not fine fine, but he will accept that decision and move on, because after all he can't force anyone to be friends with him. Things once broken can't become unbroken, they have to be mended, and the mending of the bridge needs to happen from both sides at once, otherwise it becomes illusory.

But first and foremost Shane still has some work to do to mend himself, all the cracks and all the ugliness that felt beyond repair. Maybe it's not beyond saving, he thinks as he eats the pancakes Ilya made just for them; maybe it's possible to piece himself back together into a completely different version of himself, this time guarded by armor of love, not fear.

Maybe, just maybe, things will work out—not necessarily for worse or better, just differently. And maybe that's okay, too.

Chapter End Notes

the song: can I believe you by Fleet Foxes (technically it didn't come out till 2020, but we're ignoring the real life timeline, okay?)

the kitty:

the news: I'm participating in the Fandom Trumps Hate event again, and this year I'm offering to write a HR fic. In short: you donate to a good cause, and I write you a fic as a gift! Check out the event, the bidding FAQ and my auction post. The bidding lasts till Saturday, March 7th, 8pm ET.

Sending everyone warm hugs, I LOVE YOU 💚

Chapter 9: Mending

Chapter Notes

HAYDEN PIKE: Can we talk?

The message arrives in the afternoon, effectively making Shane stop mid-step in the middle of the grocery store. He planned to buy some vegetables and meat and maybe self-indulgent snack, and instead got ambushed by a three-words long text from Hayden.

Shane stares at the message for a good while, brain completely frozen, till he's hit with a grocery basket and an angry voice telling him to move. He does, sheepishly scratching his head. However, instead of resuming shopping, he calls Ilya.

"Missing me already, solnyshko?"

Ilya isn't far away this time, merely in Toronto for one game, but he isn't wrong. Shane always misses him.

"Yes, but that's not—" Shane pauses. "Hayden wrote. He wants to meet."

"Ah. So Pike has recovered a functioning brain, I see."

Shane immediately answers, "It's all your fault. I'm sure you scarred him."

"But my methods worked, da?"

He doesn't need to see his husband to know Ilya's smug, the asshole.

"I'm still not sure what he wants to meet for, if we'll argue again—"

"You don't have to go."

Shane sighs deeply. "I know. I don't want to go through another argument, but I'm also expecting one. I don't think he'll understand, no matter what I say."

"You're wasting too much time on him—Jesus, Shane. You really don't have to torture yourself in the name of something that won't work. I told you multiple times—"

"I know, love," Shane cuts straight in. "But I need closure if I'm to leave this chapter behind."

Ilya is quiet for a moment, and so is Shane. He can't think of any words to fill silence, so he focuses on the shelves in front of him—it feels like flour and sugar and spices are glaring right back at him.

"Okay," Ilya finally says. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Shane considers it. On one hand, it would be great to have Ilya there, as his shield and support, just in case things go south again. However—there are things he should face alone. He can't rely on Ilya all the time, and this is a mess of his own making—one he has to clean up.

"No. I think it's better if it's just me and him."

"Alright. Doing anything fun tonight?"

So, Shane ends up walking out of the shop with two bags of groceries and a clearer head.

On the way home, he fires a message to Hayden and quickly hides his phone in his pocket.

SHANE: Thursday 5pm Golden Beans?

HAYDEN PIKE: OK

Something is different about Hayden today, but Shane can't put his finger on what it is.

He's arrived early, but Hayden still beat him to it, taking seat in a comfortable corner—far enough from other patrons to ensure their privacy, but still close enough to remind them they are in public and the hurricane of their conversation needs to be contained.

It gives him a chance to watch Hayden before walking over to the table; Hayden isn't even paying attention to his surroundings, his thumbs moving quickly over the screen of his phone. His leg is moving up and down as he sits there hunched in his seat.

Shane pulls the sleeves of his (Ilya's) hoodie over his hands as he takes the seat opposite Hayden.

"Hi," he says, receiving a weak smile in exchange. It's not much, but it's progress, he decides.

"Hi."

"Have you ordered yet?"

Hayden's eyes flick back to the menu on the table; he shakes his head.

"I was waiting for you. Have you been here before? Anything you'd recommend?"

"The cherry cake is to die for."

Shane knows—he's been here with Ilya multiple times, and he could really wax poetry about the quality of that particular cake.

"Okay."

This really isn't going well, Shane decides, as both he and Hayden stay quiet.

"How are the kids and Jackie? And you?" he asks, not looking up from his own menu, studying it though he already knows what he's ordering.

"All great. The newborn phase is whipping our asses, so we're not sleeping much. Our parents are helping, and it's getting better, but—this part of parenthood is literally the worst."

"They'll grow up fast."

It was the same with Ruby and Jade—or maybe even worse, with Hayden and Jackie being first-time teen parents dealing with energetic twins.

"Right."

Then they both fall quiet again, not yet touching the subject they came here for. The awkward silence is burst only by the waiter gathering their orders—Hayden does pick the cherry cake and espresso, and Shane asks for orange juice.

"Nothing to eat?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

His stomach is twisted into knots—he really wouldn't be able to eat anything.

Then the waiter is gone and Hayden finally speaks.

"Listen, dude, I—" he starts, then backtracks. "I don't even know where to begin, but—fuck—listen. Ilya Rozanov calling me from your phone at 2 fucking am wasn't on my bingo card for this year. But it got me thinking. He literally told me to think, so—that's what I've been doing over the last few days."

"He can be convincing, can't he?" Shane muses, half-amused, half-despaired. He remembers Ilya saying, but my strategy worked, da? and he isn't sure if he should really smack his husband in the head or thank him for the intervention the next time they see each other.

"Yeah." Hayden licks his lips. "You know, I've admired him for years, and getting scolded by him hit me square in the face. I've never expected to get to know him personally, let alone having him berate me for fucking up our friendship. It feels surreal."

He brushes his face, clearly hesitating over every words he says, and Shane just watches him, sat on the edge of his seat and fiddling with the hoodie strings.

"I know I deserved it," Hayden continues quietly. "And I do owe you an apology. There is, however, something I want to ask you first. It's a logical assumption, I think, but you can totally bonk me if I'm wrong, which I might be. You also don't have to answer, though I'd appreciate the truth."

"What is it?"

"Are you married to Rozanov?"

Time stands still as Shane looks straight at Hayden. In his eyes, he finds no traces of anger or judgement, just—nervousness.

Hayden Pike is nervous, and that's what struck Shane when he laid his eyes upon his friend mere twenty minutes ago. And it's shocking, since Hayden, like Ilya, rarely loses any confidence. He's one of these people who bludgeon through life on their charisma and pure conviction, their back always straight and never apologising for the way they live.

And now Hayden is nervous.

Before Shane manages to answer, the waiter reappears with their orders. Hayden immediately digs into the cake and makes a surprised sound of appreciation.

"Holy shit, this is good," he mutters. "I need to bring Jackie the next time."

Somehow, the tension eases now that Hayden's bomb has been dropped; Hayden himself relaxes, as if asking the question was more important than receiving an answer, all while Shane keeps mulling over it while sipping on his orange juice.

"What is it going to change if I tell you the truth?" he asks carefully, still unsure if the conversation will blow over or not.

To his surprise, Hayden shrugs. "Nothing. I had enough time to rethink it into the next eternity and it doesn't matter. But it would make sense, you know?"

"Why do you say that?"

"At first it was just something Rozanov said that stuck with me. You need to start using your brain and seeing and listening, yadda yadda. I thought he was joking, but—well. Why would he even have your phone and call me so late into the night if he wasn't spending the night with you already? That's the first thought I had, once I did as he said. I started thinking."

Shane facepalms. Jesus Christ—the consequences of Ilya's rogue phone call are going to bite him in the ass, aren't they?

"Another thing I realised," Hayden continues, "is that you always said you don't have a wife, even when we stared directly at your wedding ring and teased you about it. After the dinner I thought you were lying to your wife about being gay—but it didn't make sense. Why would you get married to a woman if you were gay? I mean, maybe for visa reasons if she were a foreigner, or to keep your orientation under wraps, or—I don't really know. It didn't make sense, then."

Hayden puts down his fork, the cake almost gone.

"But it started to make so much more sense when I substituted wife for a husband. You don't have a wife, because you have a husband. Ergo, Lily is a man. Come to think about it, you never used actual feminine pronouns when talking about Lily—you were always so careful about it, and I did think it was odd, but never realised why. Rozanov was right that I should have listened more because you were telling the truth the whole time."

"Your assumptions are correct so far," Shane answers carefully, his heart about to beat out of his chest. "Lily isn't a woman. And I am married to a man."

"Ha! I knew it!"

If anything, Shane hasn't expected Hayden to get fucking excited about it. He looks like a kid that got his favourite candy from the highest shelf, and he even beams so bright, like a happy golden retriever basked in the summer light.

"Congratulations," Shane says drily. "Is there anything else you'd like to share with the class?"

"Yes, actually. About Rozanov—am I right about him, too? Because if yes, then holy shit, dude, how did you even do this? Knowing Rozanov personally is one thing, but ending up married to him? How the hell…?"

Shane blinks. For a longest while, all he's capable of doing is to stare at Hayden, mouth open before his brain finally restarts.

He expected anger, arguing, and arrived in full armour—only to be met with what? Hayden somehow deducing Lily's identity and being fucking excited about his discovery instead of getting angry?

What the hell—

"How did you even arrive at this conclusion?"

"Come on, Shane. I may be blind, but I'm not stupid. You did suggest that Lily might be a famous person, that's strike one. All of Lily's business trips perfectly align with Rozanov's hockey calendar, that's strike two, and yes, I checked. Also, I saw Rozanov in your flat, strike three, and he certainly spent more than one night with you—I dare say in the same bed, strike four."

"Jesus Christ."

Shane hides his head in his hands.

"I understand why you hid him from everyone," Hayden then says. "He's famous. A celebrity of the sports world, basically. I understand how dangerous it is to reveal having personal ties to him. But I also admit it hurt that you didn't tell me."

"Hayden—"

"Rationally, I understand. And I also admit I didn't react the best way possible to what you told me during the dinner, and I understand that I probably contributed to the general feeling that you couldn't tell me. I guess I am at fault. I'm sorry, Shane. I truly am."

"I'm sorry too. For not telling you. I really wanted to, I—I thought about doing it for a long while. I just—I was protecting him and protecting myself, you know?" Shane hesitates, biting his lip before continuing, "I didn't hide the truth from you out of malice. It was just safer this way—safer for Ilya, safer for me, and safer for you. Additionally, I was in the closet for so long that letting myself out was scary. Still is. It's something about myself I haven't come to terms for a long, long time, and that's why I haven't told anyone."

"Were you—were you scared of telling me?"

Shane looks up, first at the ceiling, then at Hayden.

"Yes."

"Fuck. I'm sorry for making you doubt our friendship."

"I'm sorry too."

"I'm even more sorry, Shane. I really do apologise for my behaviour during the dinner. I acted like an asshole, I know it. I'm not going to justify myself because there's no excuse—I was hurt, yes, but Rozanov is right that I should have listened to you. Especially when you trusted me with something so big as coming out, and I—I am really sorry about the way I handled it, okay? I promise I'll do better."

"I understand. I really do. I'm not angry with you." Shane sighs deeply. "Apology accepted."

Hayden smiles—it's a small smile but Shane returns it.

"Okay, now that the festival of tears and apologies is done, are we good? Tell me we're good—I don't want Rozanov to bite my ass again. Man, he's fucking scary, and I didn't even see his face during the call—"

Shane lets out a wet chuckle and blows his nose into a napkin, his mood already improving.

"We are good. Though I'm not making any promises about Ilya."

"Jesus," Hayden groans into his hand. "I really need to work my way back into his good graces, don't I?"

"Afraid so. He doesn't hold grudge for long, if it helps."

"I dare to doubt it. Maybe he doesn't hold a grudge against you for long," Hayden grumbles. "You probably just make puppy eyes at him and it's all forgiven. I have seen you interact just twice, but I have a very good feeling that I'm right."

"I'm absolutely not answering those allegations."

"Ha. So I'm right." Hayden scoops the last of his cake onto the fork and consumes everything in one bite. "I'd like to meet him properly, though. Now that I know how important he is to you."

Shane assesses him. Hayden seems to be honest about it, a significant change from his behaviour during the dinner, but—still. Shane is still hesitating.

"I'm not opposed," he ends up saying, "but it's up to Ilya whether he'd like to do it again or not."

"Obviously. I swear I'll be on my best behaviour this time. And Shane—I approve of your choice of husbands. You really did well."

"Hayden!"

"What? You snatched the most handsome bachelor out of the market! Imagine the voices of thousands girls moaning when they realise that Ilya Rozanov is already married and has a husband!"

"Hayden, I swear I will murder you before Ilya gets to it."

"Back to your threats, I see how it is." Hayden winks at him. "But I still want those tickets to Rozanov's next match that I was promised!"

"No promises!"

Back at home, Shane buries himself under blankets, wearing one of Ilya's hoodies. It's not just because the whole house is freezing since Ilya decided that turning off the thermostat was a good idea—but also because Shane finds himself completely emotionally wrung up and desiring to turn into a caterpillar and wake up for spring.

Somehow somewhere in the warmth, he manages to doze off, with his head resting against the couch and the book he's been reading already forgotten. He wakes up only when the front door slams, followed by the familiarity of Ilya's steps and his whistling. He barges into the living room in his post-training glory, in sweatpants and a bag thrown over his arm and locks completely dishevelled. Shane watches him with sleepy, affectionate amusement, his heart skipping the exact moment Ilya registers his presence and arrives at his side, no hesitation.

But when he leans in for a kiss, Shane pushes him away, hands firmly planted on Ilya's chest.

"You stink. You need to shower first."

Ilya pouts—of course he fucking does.

"I rushed home after a hard training to see you, and that's the greeting I get? That's not nice of you, Shane."

"You'll get your nice greeting after you shower."

"Da. I need my kiss."

Ilya disappears in the bathroom, but Shane keeps smiling, his head pleasantly fuzzy and basked in warmth. It's either the blanket or Ilya's presence, or maybe both, that build an impenetrable fort around Shane, making his limbs loosen, one by one; and by the time Ilya gets out of the shower, Shane is drifting almost in the outer space.

Ilya notices—he always does, always clocking every single detail and grimace on Shane's face.

"Can I have my kiss now?" he asks, standing above Shane, leaning forward till they almost touch. The almost physically hurts, and Shane would have caught the fabric of Ilya's clothes were he wearing any, and since Ilya's chest is naked, Shane has to hold onto his arms.

"Yes. Please, Ilya—"

Ilya doesn't hesitate. The kiss is possessive, exactly what Shane needs right now—to be both claimed and reminded that his safe space isn't a physical place, but it's a person, his favourite person under the whole sun, his husband, Ilya Rozanov.

Maybe that's what the mystery of love is actually about, he thinks. Maybe that's what the poets meant when they sang about being whole and healed and arriving home.

Being with Ilya is like drinking sunshine. It gives Shane a sensation of bliss, and even when they separate, hungry for air, he doesn't stop staring at Ilya, his thoughts and hair a complete mess.

And Ilya has the audacity to call Shane his solnyshko, his sunshine, as if he weren't a man utterly drenched in it, the sun's incarnation that turns everything on his way into flames.

Not that Shane minds.

"Hi," he breathes. "How was your training?"

"Hi." Ilya moves his thumb across Shane's lower lip before leaning in for another kiss. They saw each other in the morning, but it's never enough. "It was good. We're all ready for the Cup, I think. Unfortunately it also made me hungry, so—"

Ilya drifts away, his eyes appraising the bundle of Shane settled on the couch.

"Blanket and hoodie? Aren't you too hot?"

"It's freezing in the house, Ilya. I don't know how you can wear no t-shirt or anything at all—"

Ilya's smile is smug, and Shane already knows he's in trouble.

"I'm—like you said—human heater. Your personal human heater. You're not going to need any of those layers in a few minutes."

Shane shakes his head. "Oh yeah?"

"Da. Obviously. First I seduce you with food, second with my body heat. Sounds like a good plan, yeah?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Have you eaten?"

Shane considers lying, but he's never been good at lying at Ilya's face, not when Ilya is hyperfocused on him, tracking every word and expression.

"—no."

Ilya isn't condemning. He simply moves into the kitchen, probably to check the state of their fridge—it's probably quite pitiful, the shelves empty and white since they haven't gone grocery shopping this weekend.

"I'm ordering pizza. Want anything specific?"

"No."

He knows Ilya will order his usual, no further questions asked, and he appreciates the days Ilya can just take charge without overloading Shane's executive function—which definitely isn't working properly today.

Surely enough, he hears the phone call with the pizza guys—one pepperoni, extra spicy, and one quattro formaggi, two types of cheese instead of four—Ilya always calls it a profanity, but he still orders it for Shane. He returns promptly to the couch, phone in his hand, and sits, maintaining enough space between them to feel like the Grand Canyon.

Instead of wiggling closer, Shane simply and unceremoniously puts his feet in Ilya's lap. What highly amuses him is how Ilya starts kneading his feet with one hand, using the other to hold the pilot and browse through the channels on their luxurious TV. He finally stops, having found a hockey match to watch, and his attention back to Shane's limbs, movements steady, digging deep into the tissue while also warming Shane even through the socks.

Shane is content with simply watching the way the TV light dances in his hair, like shrapnels of ice caught in the blonde storm, the way Ilya's eyes track all the movements of the puck, commentary sharp and biting when he clocks a mistake—

"Why they let dinosaurs play?"

Shane glances towards the screen, and recognises Scott Hunter, Ilya's archenemy.

He may not be a fan of hockey and he might know less about it, but Hunter doesn't resemble a dinosaur. He's steady on his skates, good on the passes, and assists to two goals his team scores.

"You're just jealous."

"Of what?" Ilya asks offended. "I'm a better player than him."

Well.

"He scored more goals than you in the last game you played against each other," Shane says, if only to tease Ilya, and he knows his husband is about to get feral. He can't resist a small smile.

"Just one more!"

"He's better, then."

"You're shitting me," Ilya huffs. "I've got better stats this season. And the previous one. And the season before that. I scored forty goals this year alone. Fifty two assists. Got all the speed records in the last All Stars Game. Hunter is much slower than me. He's literally a dinosaur. Was there when the rest of them died."

"Wait till he wins the Stanley Cup."

Ilya eyes him.

"You're going to choke on these words."

"Oh, really?"

Even when Ilya leans forward, like a predator, his eyes sharp and grin feral, Shane tries to maintain his composure. He's not supposed to crack when Ilya merely looks at him, but—

He's always been weak for Ilya Rozanov and it's no different this time.

"You're literally the worst ragebaiter I've ever seen," Ilya says, now close enough to kiss Shane, but not quite touching him.

"Ragebaiter. Wow." Shane's eyes immediately flick back to Ilya's lips and then back to his eyes. He is weak. "And who's the best ragebaiter you've ever met?"

"Me. Of course."

In a sharp move, Ilya leans away, back to his king pose with arms spread across the back of the couch, and Shane is left completely flushed up and overheating from the proximity and the almost of touching, but he refuses to remove any of his layers or come back crawling to Ilya.

It's a game he knows all too well—all that teasing, ideal to keep him bothered and thinking about Ilya, as if he weren't doing it all the time already. He's, however, too stubborn to admit to his weakness, so he leans his head against the back of the couch and crosses his arms.

If he won't yield, Ilya still might.

He closes his eyes with the intention to wait and rest, but his thoughts immediately enter a fast-spinning carousel. It centres around Hayden and the conversation they had today instead of staying in the lane of warm fuzzy feelings invoked by Ilya.

The thing is that the entire conversation went surprisingly well, even with Hayden making new discoveries and learning even more about Shane's lies. It's mostly the fact that Hayden didn't get angry again, but seemed to be rather—at peace with everything? Shane can't really comprehend or believe it; it's way too good to be true, and he fully expects to wake up soon—

"I can hear your thoughts, you know. What is it?"

Shane opens his eyes upon Ilya's voice effectively stopping the carousel. His husband isn't even looking at him, enthralled by whatever is happening on the TV screen, but somehow somewhat he's picked up on Shane's spiral.

Ilya Rozanov is fucking psychic, Shane is sure of it.

"Nothing. Just thinking," he says, stretching his hands above his head.

"How did it go with Pike?"

Shane hesitates, then decides to tell the truth.

"Better than I expected," he says, fiddling with the hoodie strings, mostly to gather his thoughts. "Nothing exploded, actually, and I think we made up. It may take a while before things go back to the way they were before, but—overall, it went well."

"But you're not satisfied?"

Shane furrows his brows. "It's not that. I am happy with the way it went, and fuck—Hayden knows that we're married, Ilya. He apparently came to this conclusion himself after you called him from my phone at night. He knows we're sleeping in the same bed. Now that I think of it, it's rather obvious."

Ilya barks out a laughter, his golden locks shaking.

"I knew he could do it once he turned on his brain."

Shane, in return, lets out a long-suffering breath. "Shut up, you did not. Anyway, the point is that now he knows, and I'm glad."

"What's bothering you, then?"

Shane shrugs, his eyes meeting Ilya. Yet again, he's folding, coaxed to admit the truth he can barely handle himself.

"It feels like a dream. Too good to be true, you know?"

"Ah. Things go well for once and Shane Hollander still thinks he's living a nightmare?"

"It's a logical assumption!"

"Mmm. No. Is fatalistic. Catastrophic thinking, yes?"

"You care about it as much as I do."

Ilya shakes his head. "I don't care about Pike and his peanut brain. I only care about you."

"Admirable sentiment."

"I'm serious."

Whatever Shane planned to say next, it's gone with the ringing of the doorbell. Ilya gets up the same instant, unbothered by the fact that he isn't wearing a goddamn t-shirt; he returns two minutes later with the boxes and plates and cutlery, knowing that Shane prefers to eat pizza like a civilised man.

Shane gets rid of his blanket and digs into his pizza, realising he's been really hungry. And no wonder, he has barely eaten today. He doesn't even mind watching the game as they eat, though the puck isn't easy to follow and the camera constantly keeps it out of frame. Then he's even happier to settle against Ilya's chest on the couch, wrapped tightly in his husband's arms—much warmer than his favourite blanket.

And hell, he loves Ilya playing with his hair.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Ilya suddenly says, his hand never ceasing the gentle motions though now he moves downwards, trailing his fingers across Shane's face.

"Flatterer."

"I'm serious." Ilya is tender when exploring the freckles scattered across Shane's cheeks, eyes all soft and warm. "Can I see you?"

"I don't think I have any energy left for sex."

"I know. I'm not asking for that. I just want to see you. Touch you."

Okay, Shane could never say no to that request.

With Ilya's help, he gets rid of the hoodie first and smiles as Ilya runs his hands across his bare arms, up to the sleeves of the t-shirt, then back to Shane's wrists. Ilya's hands are warm, calloused, and incredibly loving.

It gives Shane the courage to take off his t-shirt, too; he watches Ilya drink him in, with all the imperfections, paleness, taut muscles. It's still incomprehensible to him how someone like Ilya Rozanov could consider him, plain old Shane Hollander, someone enough to love. It bewilders him completely how someone so drenched in the sun could ever step into Shane's shadows, taste them, and decide to stay.

Or maybe that's unfair to say—Ilya's sunshine also has its eclipses, darker days that come and go, and Shane has never loved him any less for it. He supposes it works the same for Ilya, but still—it doesn't feel fair to Ilya to hand him the weight of Shane's nightmares. He doesn't want to poison his husband with shadows since he prefers to bask in his sunshine.

But when Ilya looks at him like he hung up the moon and the stars in the sky, his body begs for recognition, and it sings under Ilya's gaze and touch, ruining Shane for anyone else. Truth be told he's been ruined ever since Ilya laid eyes on him in that wretched bookshop but in moments like these, Shane is reminded of it with a force of a hurricane. He doesn't even mind getting too close to the sun since he could never be burned.

"I love you," Ilya mutters against Shane's skin, both in English and Russian, in-between kisses, and Shane wants to bottle that sound and sensation it wakes—only to keep them forever.

"You're beautiful," that one still stuns Shane despite having heart it countless times over the years, especially since Shane Hollander barely imagined himself to be anything more than boring.

"You're perfect," and that one makes him choke and pull Ilya up for another hungry kiss that conveys everything Shane isn't capable of putting into words. No language could express his love for Ilya, so he resorts to gestures, suspecting that Ilya's own desire to touch stems from the same root.

"Thank you, my sun," Shane whispers back, wishing it was enough, that he were enough.

They end up in another tight embrace, but it feels different than all the previous ones—there's love and forgiveness and acceptance and protectiveness. It's the best place to be under the sun, and Shane's heart settles down even with shadows twirling in his blood.

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 10: Scared

Chapter Notes

"Are you okay?"

Shane pokes Rose in the middle of the lecture, deciding that it's time for an intervention. Rose has been quite quiet the whole week, which in itself isn't a bad thing, but coupled with her vanishing energy, it makes Shane's concern grow.

"Yeah!" Rose answers, way too bright, and Shane immediately knows she's lying.

He decides to poke her further—maybe not too hard since they are still in class, but enough to get something out of her.

"Coffee after class?" he asks, and he's relieved to see Rose nodding.

"Only if we go to that new French café. I've been dying to try their watermelon smoothie."

"Deal."

They head there right after the lecture, Shane whistling and Rose quiet during the whole walk. It's unusual for her, and Shane keeps glancing her way, trying to decipher what the grimace means and what caused it. He comes up empty.

He pays for their drinks, both of them getting the watermelon smoothies, and they settle by the table near the window, with a nice overview of the backyard garden. The smoothies are actually good, though a bit sweet, and Shane thinks he'll have to counterbalance it later with something bitter.

"How are you doing?" Shane asks gently when it's clear that Rose won't speak of her own accord. "I feel like it's been ages since we've properly talked. Not counting in my recent breakdown."

"It has been, hasn't it? You look happier though."

"I am, but that's a story for another day. I wanted to check on you first. Is everything alright?"

Rose sighs, setting down her glass. When she looks up at Shane, her eyes seem glassy.

"I guess you'd have learned it anyway," she says. "It's about Svetlana."

"If she hurt you—"

"No, no. It's not that. Or rather—not completely. We're hurting each other, I think."

"I thought you were doing good. I saw you both at the party and I thought—"

"We are good together, but long distance is killing us and none of us feels ready to compromise. It's hard, you know? I have my whole life here, in Ottawa, I haven't graduated yet and I have my job here too, and she—she has hers in Los Angeles. That's eight hours, even by plane. We have phones, we have Skype, but—it's too little. It's not enough. But there's nothing else we can do at this stage. So we keep arguing."

"I'm so sorry, Rose."

She shrugs. "It is what it is. You and Lily also had a long-distance relationship for a while, didn't you?"

"For a few years, yeah."

"How did you handle it? I knew you got up married in the end, so it went well, but—the in-betweens. How did you do it?"

"We just took every chance we could to meet. We skyped often. We sent each other stupid messages and even more stupid memes." Shane twirls the straw in the glass before looking up at Rose. "It was hard. It still is when he leaves for his games and I know I can't follow because my life is here."

He mindlessly uses Ilya's real pronouns, but Rose doesn't even bat an eye, though she surely does notice.

"Games? I thought it was about business trips—oh. That makes sense, actually." She smiles softly. "You haven't talked much about him, so I assumed."

"I know. I'm trying to pull him out of the closet, now. It's what I argued with Hayden about, actually. It didn't go well."

Rose reaches out to touch his hand. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready for."

"It's okay. I wanted to tell you anyway. I know you're curious about our story, especially since he and Sveta are life-long friends. And I kind of owe you an explanation."

"Okay."

"Lily's actual name is Ilya Rozanov. He's a hockey player, top one in the league. We met when we were both seventeen. He was already making waves in the hockey world, becoming a rookie in Boston, and I was plain John Doe working in a bookshop he liked to visit. He returned every time he could, we ended up exchanging phone numbers, we started talking and calling each other every single day till he transferred to Ottawa to be closer. Then we got married."

"Oh. Wow. Shane, I—I'm so happy for you."

"I appreciate it. Thank you." Shane smiles softly. "It was hard, of course, especially dealing with the distance and his fame. I'm not fully out of the closet and we're keeping our relationships under the wraps. I know I lied about many things related to him, and I'm sorry about that. I—I had to protect him. I had to protect myself."

"You don't have to explain yourself. I understand."

Shane exhales. It feels like a big weight being removed from his back with Rose's gentle understanding.

"The point is that we survived. It may sound like a cliche, but—life is like that sometimes. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me, to be honest, and I wouldn't even dismiss the difficulties if they led to such a good outcome. The pain was worth it, in the end, because I love him very much and he loves me back. I don't know if it will be the same for you, though. It may be. It may not. To me, it was. I'm not sure if it helps."

"It does. Thank you, Shane."

"If you'd like to talk to someone about the Sveta situation, with someone who actually knows her, I can give you Ilya's number. I mean—only if you'd like."

Rose nods enthusiastically. "That would be super helpful. Not to say that you aren't helpful—and I'm also very grateful for your perspective. I'm really glad that it worked out for you and Ilya. I'm just—I'm not sure if it will be the same for me and Sveta."

"Would you like it to be?"

"Yes," she replies without hesitation. "I'd like it to."

"Then I believe it will work out." Shane nods with conviction. "I got some tickets to Ilya's game tomorrow. Do you want to come? Hayden is also going, and we're planning to grab dinner afterwards. You could join us."

"I'm not a hockey fan."

Shane shrugs. "Neither am I, but since my husband is playing—"

"Okay, okay, understood. Eh, why not? One should try everything in life, right?"

"Correct. And you get to know Ilya, which is a win in my book. Plus you get a free dinner."

"You got me, alright."

"Fantastic. Tell me more about your relationship with Sveta, then. I want all the tea."

SHANE: Win for me 😘

HUSBAND ❤️: I shall 🙂‍↕️

Being in the arena with Hayden and Rose feels surreal, but makes it less anxiety-inducing for Shane. He wears Ilya's jersey yet again, shame reduced almost to nothingness, and he's the first one to clap once Ilya appears on the ice.

"You got a fine husband," Rose whispers into his ear, making incredulous laughter bubble in his throat as he stares right at the players warming up.

"I do, alright."

Ilya is popular, of course; he earns himself a wild round of applause, even bigger since they are playing on the home ice and they've also thrown their opponents off the play-offs. If they manage to win tonight again, they'll be able to write another team off in a series of incredible victories, on the verge of rewriting hockey history.

When the game starts, Shane can't look away from Ilya. He doesn't care about the puck—it appears within his view only when Ilya is in control of it—he's mostly interested in the way his husband owns the ice, always attracting attention, commanding it even when he's currently not the main player. He loves how shameless Ilya is in his domain, unapologetically shoving people out of his way and sticking his stick where it doesn't belong.

It's hot.

It's like he's hunting down his prey and having the fun of his life while doing so, and even his smile is both killer and mischievous, particularly when he scores his first goal in the game. The public explodes in applause, and Shane is one of the first to jump off the seat to cheer.

Things get even more heated in the second period, both teams getting desperate to get through the game winning. Shane tenses in his seat, already having a feeling of an impending doom even though he doesn't fully understand where it comes from. It may be the line of Ilya's shoulders getting more and more tense with each passing minute, or his chirping getting more angry than amused. He's still toying the other team players, baiting them into attacking him and giving his own team an opening, but—

It may be the energy shifting.

And when it happens—

When Ilya trips over and falls—

When he hits his head against the ice—

When he doesn't get up—

"Sorry, guys, I gotta go."

Shane bolts. He doesn't think, he just runs down the steps, through the crowd, through the corridors, his thoughts chanting only one word—Ilya, Ilya, Ilya—and he pushes his legs to move faster.

He's out of breath as he reaches the team's internal corridor, only to be stopped by the people guarding the entrance—

"Sir, you really can't—

"I'm Shane Hollander, I'm his emergency contact," he responds, barely coherent when anxiety threatens to throw him off balance. They still won't let him in, treating him like an intruder when all he wants is to get to Ilya.

Then salvation comes in the form of Ilya's coach—

"Let him in!"

It's a blur of steps and people, but Shane ends up in the ambulance with Ilya, holding his hand the whole time. It's unusually cold, and Ilya is still unconscious, and there's stripes of crimson clinging to his golden locks, and Shane can't stop shaking.

"Will he be okay?" he dares to ask the serious-looking medic adjusting Ilya's oxygen mask. She isn't meeting his eyes.

"It's out of my hands."

It's abso-fucking-lutely unhelpful, and Shane finds nothing to comfort him throughout it.

As soon as they arrive at the hospital, Ilya is taken away to the trauma unit while Shane is told to wait in a sterile waiting room in the restricted part of the hospital.

Having nothing better to do, he wears his way in the floor, walking from the door to the window and back, then again from the door to the window and back, and—

What if Ilya never wakes up?

He hit his head pretty hard on that ice, so what if—

A sudden incoming message momentarily pulls him out. It's a message from Hayden, one he can barely read through tears soaking his cheeks.

HAYDEN PIKE: we're coming to the hospital

HAYDEN PIKE: do you need anything?

HAYDEN PIKE: do you know how he's doing?

Shane sniffles, wipes his nose with the sleeve of Ilya's jersey.

SHANE: Nothing yet.

SHANE: Thank you.

Hayden and Rose arrive twenty minutes later. They bring hectolitres of black coffee and their quiet support—Shane accepts both. He knows it's going to be a long night.

Even with the cup in his hand, he returns to his mindless walking till Rose says, "Sit down, Shane. You'll wear out the tiles."

He sits down for exactly five seconds before jumping off again. He just can't sit calmly and wait while Ilya's whole life and future is being determined, when he might not wake—

Fuck.

"You know, I've been wondering for a while how the hell you can allow that apartment without working," Hayden casually says, leaning against his knees.

"What?"

"I'm just realising that since your husband is filthy rich, you're also rich by extension." Hayden grins while Shane stares at him, incredulous. "Holy fuck, it all makes sense now. You don't even have to work till the end of your life."

Shane sighs. "I told you I'll be getting a real job once we graduate."

"Which is?"

"I don't know. Something to do with science, for sure. I might teach college kids and study things in the lab in the meantime."

Rose pokes him gently. "That sound wonderful."

"You could teach science in Russian. Actually, why Russian lit?"

"Hayden."

"No, Rose, I want to know. It's always been a mystery to me, so maybe Shane here can shed some light on it. Why did you pick science and Russian literature? Science, I understand. But the other thing? Was it because of Ilya?

"Partially." Shane shrugs, turning towards Hayden. "I wanted to learn Russian and read the classics because I wanted to understand him, yes. We come from completely different cultures, completely different environments, and I feel that I can get closer to him that way. Plus he makes an effort to speak English. I can make the same effort learning Russian."

"But that's not all."

"No. That's not all. See, I've always liked books. I liked reading. I worked in a bookshop, that should have clued you in, Hayd. But the thing is—both science and literature are trying to describe the universe, though in different ways, with different tools. Physics kind of shows how the world behaves, tries to explain it with basic laws of physics, the movement, the attraction, the pull—and literature tries to understand the mystery of life. Of hurt. Of love, too, maybe."

"They'll make a poet out of you."

Now, Shane can't help but grin. "Maybe. I wouldn't mind." Now that he's a bit calmer, he asks, "Is the game still going on?"

"Yeah, they had to resume, but I think they'll be done soon."

Hayden is right—mere fifteen minutes later Ilya's team barges into the waiting room and halts only upon seeing Shane leaning against the wall and his friends perched on the plastic chairs. Shane recognises some of them—he's known their faces from the games and Ilya's photos and colourful stories, obviously, but they probably don't even know him.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them demands to know.

"Are you Ilya's WAG?"

"Ilya's what?" Shane repeats, utterly baffled. "WAG?"

"Wife and Girlfriend? I man, obviously, you're not a girl, so Husband and Boyfriend? Significant Other?"

Shane really blacks out. He's unsure what he's even supposed to say to that, because obviously, he is, but—

"I'm Shane Hollander," he ends up saying, and reaches out to whoever is closest.

"Wait, Shane? You're Ilya's Shane?"

"Are there other Shanes?"

He's utterly confused at this point and he wonders if he's been accidentally sent to another universe. His hand hangs between him and the hockey players since nobody has decided to take it. He drops it.

"So it is you! Cap has been talking about you quite a lot, but refused to let us meet you. Now you really have to come to one of our afterparties, meet other WaGs…"

"Uh—"

"Alright, let him breathe." The coach steps in and pats Shane's arm. "How are you doing, son? Do you know anything?"

"No, not yet. We're still waiting for news."

"Okay. Let's sit down. Looks like it might be a long night."

It is a long night.

Shane spends the majority of it slouched in the uncomfortable seat. His anxiety is spiking, but not spiralling out of control thanks to all the people who are there waiting with him. Obviously, it's not the same as Ilya grounding him, but it's enough for now.

"Mr. Hollander?"

He instantly stands up as the doctor peeks into the room.

"That's me."

"Please follow me."

Shane follows, his heart beating wildly as he waits for the beheading. The seat in the doctor's office is a bit more comfortable, but he still perches on the edge of it.

"Is he okay?" Shane rushes to ask.

The doctor just smiles warmly at him, seemingly unconcerned, and it eases some of Shane's anxiety. His hands won't stop shaking though.

"He will be. He's stable, and his life is not in danger, Mr. Hollander. He's sustained a broken arm and a lot of bruises, but otherwise he's unharmed. We'd like to keep him overnight and possibly tomorrow on concussion watch since he hit his head pretty hard on the ice, however the scans aren't showing any brain damage or even swelling. His head might still hurt."

A huge weight drops from Shane's chest. He feels like he can breathe again.

"So he will be okay?"

"Yes, Mr. Hollander. He will be okay." The doctor nods. "Would you like to see him? It's past visitor hours though, so the rest of you will have to wait."

"Yes. Can I stay overnight with him?"

"Yes. The nurse will take you to him."

"Thank you. I'll just let our friends know."

He returns to the waiting room feeling much lighter than before. The lull of conversation stops immediately when he's spotted, and they all stare at him, expectant.

"He's okay," Shane says, trying to hold in all the emotions threatening to spill. "A broken arm and bruises and possible concussion. Nothing life-threatening. He will be okay."

The cheers are so loud that they might wake half of the hospital, but Shane will take it. He's swarmed in hugs and smiles, and for once he appreciates every single one even though normally he hates being touched. It's just the fact that he has all of that quiet support—both from his friends and Ilya's, people who are important to both of them.

"We'll come back tomorrow to see him," the coach says. "Text us if you need anything."

"Of course. Thank you."

Shane nods at them when they slip out of the waiting room. Then he turns back, towards Ilya's room, and carefully opens the door.

Ilya is sleeping.

As Shane approaches his bed, he realises that Ilya is as pale as the sheets he's covered with, but he looks unharmed, save from the bandages wrapped around his left arm. Shane assumes it's the one that took the brunt of the fall.

Ah, fuck.

His Ilya—

He moves a chair closer to the bed and grasps Ilya's hand. Ilya doesn't wake up, though he turns his head towards Shane, as if seeking him even through sleep. And Shane breaks down completely, letting tears fall over his cheeks.

He knows Ilya will be okay, he does, but—

The kind of anxiety he's experienced today isn't easy to shake off. He really doesn't know what he'd done had he lost Ilya on the ice today. The fall looked really serious, and when Ilya didn't move—Shane really tries not to think about what he'd have done if Ilya sustained more serious damages, if he never woke up.

He takes another shuddering breath, leaning his forehead against their entwined hands.

He falls asleep, half-sprawled across Ilya's bed.

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 11: Bargaining

Chapter Notes

Shane wakes up to hands carding through his hair. Sleepily, he raises his head—and meets Ilya's eyes, fully awake though soft, maybe even slightly worried though it's not Shane who's currently hospitalised.

"Hi," Shane whispers, the memories of the previous night slamming back into him, making him shiver. He takes Ilya in, checking all over his body wrapped in the hospital sheets. Besides the bandaged arm, nothing else seems to be amiss. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

Ilya doesn't seem overly concerned, and Shane rolls his eyes. He knows Ilya has a high pain tolerance, so he decides not to trust his stubborn husband—after all, the doctor mentioned a broken arm and a possibility of concussion. Still, he's relieved to know that his worst nightmare hasn't become reality. One broken arm, they can surely survive.

He swallows hard.

"You scared me."

"I'm sorry."

Shane is really tempted to climb into Ilya's bed to hug him, but the rational part of his brain reminds him it's not a good idea, even if they are in a private room. He settles on gently squeezing Ilya's hand, trying to convey what he can't put into words.

"I'm going to call for a doctor, okay? They should check up on you."

Ilya groans, going even as far as to roll his eyes, and Shane is secretly fond of it. The nurse appears quickly upon Shane's summoning, and starts performing all the necessary check-ups, which Ilya handles without much groaning but with an obvious disdain for being coddled.

"It's looking good, Mr. Rozanov," the nurse says, scribbling some mysterious notes on her clipboard. "No signs of concussion. You'll be discharged in the afternoon. For now, just rest. Breakfast will be here soon."

"Thank you, nurse."

Shane politely waves her off and turns back towards Ilya, already far too amused and smiling.

"Are you going to be my nurse now?"

"Ilya!"

Hiding his blush is really hard, especially when Ilya is looking at him like that, in that fond-amused-predatory way.

Luckily for Shane's sanity, Ilya dozes off right after the breakfast. He'd love a nap, too, but he has to deal with calls first—he's not Ilya's manager, however still there's a lot of paperwork to handle and people to notify. He delegates whatever he can to the actual manager, and he ends up calling Ilya's coach from Ilya's own phone.

"Hi, Coach Wiebe, it's Shane Hollander," he says as soon as the coach answers. He doesn't take his eyes away from Ilya, sleeping calmly on the bed. "Ilya is okay. He will be discharged in the afternoon."

"That's good news, son. Do you think the team could visit?"

Shane hesitates. "Yes, but maybe not everyone at once. He's quite exhausted, and I don't want to overwhelm him."

"Of course."

In the end, there's five Centaurs arriving to see Ilya, plus their coach, and Shane watches them all interact. He remains planted by the window, the hood covering his head and hiding his tired eyes, but he's smiling.

It's good to see Ilya in a good mood, even if partially it might be caused by the high dose of painkillers he's received. He's sitting straight on the bed, joking around with his teammates and listening to them recount the last part of yesterday's game, and smacking one of the guys for a reminder that he will sit out the final match for the Stanley Cup.

"You should have told us you have such a fine husband, though, Captain," Shane hears and immediately goes to pinch his nose, because he already knows that medicated-high Ilya has no filter.

"I do, right? He's just the prettiest! Shaaaane!"

Shane just waves at them, his cheeks burning, and he wishes to be able to tell them don't mind me. After the night he's just had he definitely has no desire to entertain people he hardly knows besides Ilya's stories, pictures and watching the games. Really, all he wants is to get out of the hospital hell and take a good nap.

Alas.

"Introduce yourselves," Ilya grumbles at his teammates and they all raise like obedient puppies to shake Shane's hand and say their names, ones Shane tries to diligently remember and associate with their faces.

"Luca."

"Zane."

"Troy."

"Evan."

"Wyatt."

"Shane Hollander. Nice to meet you, guys," Shane says, trying not to laugh as the players still check him out, apparently unsure if he's real. Well, fair enough—they haven't known of his existence till yesterday, so it might be hard to process.

"We're so adding you to the WaGs group chat. Give me your number," one of them says. Shane thinks it might be Zane, but fuck, he's definitely too sleep-deprived for any of this.

"I'm not sure if I that's a good idea—"

"The girls will love you, Shane."

Still, he hesitates before glancing at Ilya over Zane's arm. Ilya just mouths, "It's up to you", which is completely unhelpful. If he's added to that chat, more people will know of his relationship with Ilya, and the risk of them being outed on accident exponentially grows. Shane isn't sure if he's ready for that.

But then again a lot of people already know, so—maybe it doesn't matter anymore.

Eh. Fuck it.

"Alright," he decides, "but please put me under a nickname. It's still not public knowledge that we're married."

"Our lips will be sealed. What nickname you want that under?"

"Jane."

He sees Ilya grinning from his spot on the bed and he catches himself smiling, too. He's been so used to hiding behind Jane's name that it doesn't even sound weird anymore. And the guys don't even comment on it—Zane just notes down the number and then they return to Ilya's bed.

Still, Shane isn't left alone for long—Coach Wiebe joins him by the windowsill, his own amusement slipping through.

"They are good boys," he says lightly, but Shane's heart hammers. "But I think you should prepare for your secret getting out, sooner or later. I'm sorry we ambushed you like this."

Shane nods, his shoulders tensing up even as he looks at Ilya.

Truth be told, he's expected as much. The more people know, the harder it is to keep their secret under wraps, he knows it, and now that the whole Ottawa team found out—someone is bound to sell them out, sooner or later, on purpose or not.

And if it happens sooner—

"It's alright," he says. "We'll handle it. We've got statements prepared for the public—if it leaks."

Shane haven't thought about them in a while, but it's true, there are two separate documents revised by the legal and PR teams sitting quietly on their laptops.

"Good. I hope it won't come to this, but you have my full support if it does."

Shane nods, then smiles towards Ilya, still occupied with the conversation. "How is he? As a captain?"

"He's—he really loves these guys, and he loves the game. He reads the people well, and he can adapt to whatever happens during the game. He knows to motivate them, which is also very valuable—I don't really know how he does it, he just opens them all up and gets the message across."

"That checks out." Shane fiddles with the sleeves of the hoodie. "He's always been like this—a bit nervous about the pressure in the beginning, I think, but he thrives as a leader. And I think he genuinely enjoys it. Plus he loves the guys."

"True. What about you? You never wanted to play hockey?"

"I thought about it, but I'm not good at sports. I'm much better at academics," Shane sighs softly; still, there's no disappointment in him. "I do support Ilya's career, though. I know it's not the easiest sport to handle, but he does it well. And he loves it."

"I'm glad that he has you, too. None of us wouldn't be here without the support we're getting."

Shane blushes, hiding his hands deeper in the sleeves of the hoodie, but deep inside he's happy with that piece of information. He'll get to tease Ilya later about this, about how enamoured the whole team, coach included, is with him, but now—now he enjoys this weird feeling of domesticity even with people he doesn't know.

Ilya is discharged in the afternoon, and Shane takes him straight to their home with a thin ledger of doctor's recommendations.

It quickly turns out that the patient Ilya Rozanov has no patience for his recovery period and bargains with the doctor's orders. Shane, in turn, is quite tempted to tie him to the bed.

"Shaaane, are you going to be my nurse now?"

"No. Sit down. You're supposed to be resting."

Yep, tying Ilya to the bed is a good idea, especially as he pouts at Shane for being manhandled to stay sitting on the couch. Shane is mindful of Ilya's broken arm, but Ilya himself barely pays any attention to it as he flaps his arms around.

And, of course, restlessness causes Ilya to start bargaining.

"Give me back my phone—"

"Absolutely not. You're on concussion watch, Ilya."

"But I don't have an actual concussion!"

"Wasn't your head killing you mere fifteen minutes ago?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to be doing if not scroll through social media all day?"

"Stop bargaining. You're supposed to get rest."

"Resting is boring."

"It's not boring. You can take a nice nap, you can read something, you can listen to music—"

"Boring."

"You will have to learn how to rest, Ilya."

"You're absolutely not watching a hockey game tonight."

"Why the hell not?"

"Concussion watch! You're supposed to be resting!"

"I am resting!"

"No screens! No TV! No hockey games for you till the end of the week!"

"You're cruel."

"I know. For your own good, though."

"Fuck it."

"Maybe I could…"

"Absolutely not."

"But—"

"No."

"Shane. Solnyshko. The sun of my life. My darling."

"What do you want."

"You know what."

"What."

"Can I just watch one game? One period?"

"No."

"What am I supposed to do then? I already had three fucking long naps. I ate. I contemplated all of my life choices, marrying you included. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Will you finally shut up if I read to you in Russian?"

"I might."

There are unexpected side effects to coming out, as Shane learns in the following weeks. It turns out that he has more people supporting him and Ilya that he's thought, and they all show up in regular intervals to help them both out.

His parents bring home-made meals and groceries and make sure they both get enough sleep, Hayden and Jackie show up to keep Ilya company—sometimes even with their kids, the Centaurs constantly raid the house looking for snacks and recounting stories from their recent practices and the recent hockey gossip. Shane is glad for all of it, especially since he has to go back to classes, too.

The most entertaining is watching Ilya babysitting Hayden's kids—they take all of his attention, and in those rare moments Ilya isn't even mad about it. Shane was worried, at first, knowing his husband's tendencies to corrupt all innocent beings in his vicinity, but it turned out that he's been building a good relationship, particularly with the twins. He even hung the drawing the girls made for him on the fridge, smiling and still vehemently denying getting any enjoyment from the twins' shenanigans. Shane knows, however, that Ilya is enjoying their company.

Ilya is also hell-bent on recovering with the speed of light, whining when informed that he isn't allowed to go back to training and play hockey till his arm heals. He still shows up during practices, too used to torturing his team members to skip it altogether. Luckily for himself, he shows no worsening of the symptoms besides the headache in the first days following the injury plus a armache from his broken bones.

Shane and Ilya also end up developing a new routine—reading a book together right before going to sleep. Ilya almost always picks a book in Russian, and Shane reads it out loud, Ilya's functioning arm wrapped around him as Russian slips out of Shane's tongue. He remembers struggling with the Cyrillic when he started his degree—it was probably the hardest part of the whole course—but now it's incredibly easy to translate the script into words even though he sometimes needs help with pronunciation. Obviously, his accent isn't as good as Ilya's, but he's trying, and gets approving kisses from Ilya for his efforts.

Ilya is a shameless teacher. He imprints all letters of Russian alphabet in Shane's skin with kisses and his fingers till Shane forgets his name and all English and French words.

Even as he lies there loose-limbed and with head filled with the stars and Cyrillic letters, he thinks he should be the one catering to Ilya's needs, not vice versa—but Ilya seems unconcerned.

"I have to repay my sexy nurse, no?" he says with that infuriating smirk that both makes Shane blush and hate himself for reacting like a teenager.

He thinks he'll never stop being in love with Ilya, even though that love has been refined and reshaped by the years they've spent together. The same kind of love used to scare him before, even when he observed it in his parents—it seemed far too big to be sustainable or healthy, far too big for one single heart to hold. Yet, it seems incredibly easy to love Ilya, Shane thinks as he cards his hands through Ilya's locks. Ilya has passed out on his lap some time ago, all after half an hour ramblings about missing the most important match this season.

He wouldn't give any of this up for anything in the world. It still fills him with disbelief, the way Ilya simply chose to be with him, with intense devotion and a protective streak, especially when he could have anyone else, when he actually had famous people at his beck and call, when he was mentioned on the Vogue covers as the most handsome bachelor of the hockey world.

And Shane is deeply grateful for that, for having the chance to love this blonde Russian menace with a thick skin and a soft heart, always standing up to protect the people he calls his family, but rarely himself.

Shane is also painfully aware that he wouldn't be able to handle Ilya's disappearance at this point. He doesn't even handle Ilya's absence well when he's away from Ottawa to play in other cities, let alone imagine dealing with an actual fatal incident—

That thought alone hurts.

His phone rings with a new message and he picks it up, trying not to jostle Ilya. It's a message from an unknown number, announcing that he's been added to a group called 'CENTAURS WAGs', and he barely holds up his laughter.

UNKNOWN NUMBER 1: Hi Jane, welcome to the Centaurs WaGs group! This is Cassie Boodram!

UNKNOWN NUMBER 1: Girls, this is Jane. Ilya's WaG.

UNKNOWN NUMBER 2: WHAT

UNKNOWN NUMBER 3: Rozanov got locked down????? 😳🫨🤩🥳

UNKNOWN NUMBER 2: RIGHT WE WANT DETAILS

UNKNOWN NUMBER 2: ALSO HELLO JANE

UNKNOWN NUMBER 2: (This is Caitlin Dykstra. Evan's wife.)

SHANE: uh

SHANE: hello

UNKNOWN NUMBER 3: So what's your secret? How did you do it? He's been shooting down everyone in the last three years!

CASSIE BOODRAM: Please don't mind Lisa. You absolutely don't have to answer that.

CAITLIN DYKSTRA (EVAN'S): CASSIE STOP SPOILING OUR FUN

CAITLIN DYKSTRA (EVAN'S): ROZANOV GETTING LOCKED DOWN IS A FUCKING EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD

LISA ???: 😔

LISA ???: In all seriousness, congratulations! And welcome!

SHANE: Thank you. It's very nice to meet you all!

CASSIE BOODRAM: We're doing a barbecue the next weekend. Everyone is invited.

CASSIE BOODRAM: You too, Jane. No pressure though.

Shane hesitates, reading through the whole convo again. They all seem nice, but—meeting them in person seems like going through a coming out yet again. On the other hand, it would be actually nice to talk to people who are just like him, working ordinary jobs and being ordinary people, not famous sportsmen. It would be nice to have others to talk about their significant others and maybe ask how they handle the loneliness—

Hm.

And if Ilya goes to the barbecue, Shane would have a shield.

SHANE: I might join you.

LISA ???: 🤩🥳😏🤗

Chapter End Notes

I've been listening to Laufey's Madwoman on repeat the whole week, and the beauty of this masterpiece helped me get through this chapter 🙂‍↕️ I've also plotted the whole thing out, and we're like 1-2 chapters away from the end! 🫨

Me irl judging every word I wrote in this chapter and this week in general:

Thanks for reading and for your support 🫶 ILY 🫶

Chapter 12: Loved

Chapter Notes

"I brought you something."

Shane peers into the bag, suspicion imminent; the inspection only reveals a violet box of Japanese sweets shaped in maple leaves.

He looks up at Hayden; his friend still hasn't moved from his spot on the doormat and instead adapted a face of a pleading puppy.

"What is this?"

"Nothing."

Hayden tries to play it off, and Shane decides to let him off the hook this time. They don't have time for this, anyway; they have to get going for the game.

Shane drives, but the nervous energy is too hard to contain—it's buzzing in his fingers as he holds onto the steering wheel. He keeps peeking at Ilya curled by the window, his own frustration tangible. It's been bursting at its seams for days now, causing Shane to walk on eggshells—not because he's wary of Ilya's feelings, but rather due to his unwillingness to add salt to the wound.

To be fair, he'd be pretty frustrated in Ilya's place, too, so he's understanding even as he tries to make his stubborn husband sleep more and stop wearing holes in the carpet as he talks about strategy of a game he's not going to play.

By the time the game day comes, though, Shane is done with listening to it and starts plotting to smother his dear husband with a pillow. As much as he loves Ilya Rozanov, he also loves silence.

"It's the fucking Stanley Cup, how am I supposed to stay still?!"

At this point, Shane only rolls his eyes.

Even though Ilya isn't playing, Shane wears a sweatshirt with his number. It makes Ilya smirk before they leave the house. Shane almost leaves it behind when they get to a passionate make-out session and some of the clothes accidentally start coming off. It's only Hayden's arrival that stops them.

And now as they enter the arena, he keeps close to Ilya, subconsciously trying to shield him. The crowd is wild even without the captain participating in the game—it's the most important match of the season, after all—and Ilya's fists remain tightly balled at his sides. While Shane and Hayden go straight to the stands, Ilya disappears to talk to his team.

Shane knows the details of the speech he's planning to give; Ilya has tried all of its versions on Shane himself. The final one is strong, impressive even to Shane's ears, and he whispers all of his words of pride and praise into Ilya's skin when they make love that evening.

"You're the best captain Ottawa has ever had," he repeats between kisses and moans, "and I'm so, so proud of you."

He pretends not to see Ilya's eyes getting wetter by the second.

And now he waits for Ilya to return, he absorbs the atmosphere of the stadium and chats idly with Hayden. The crowds are wild tonight, and no wonder—the finals always attract a lot of attention and feelings.

Then Ilya finally returns, his eyes bright but body still tense. He doesn't sit tight either; even before the game starts, he's leaning over the railing, chirping at his teammates and barely minding his hurt hand. With each passing second he looks more pissed, and Shane knows it's about to get worse.

"Think he'll jump over onto the ice?" Hayden comments, lazing in his seat. For some reason, it pisses Shane off.

"Leave him alone. He's just anxious."

Hayden has a weird smirk on his face—one that makes Shane suddenly very self-aware.

"You're as protective of him as he is of you."

Well. It's not like Shane can or even wants to deny the accusation.

And then the game finally starts with a standing ovation for the home team.

"It's not a good ending of the season for the Centaurs' Captain, Ilya Rozanov, who got injured in the previous game and hasn't been cleared to play today. Can the Centaurs handle the pressure and win the Cup without their main star?"

Shane rolls his eyes as the commentary booms above the arena. The hosts are really igniting the atmosphere—he knows for a fact that one of them is from New York, hostility towards Ottawa dripping from his words.

"Who needs two stupid arms to play hockey?" Ilya grumbles under his breath as he turns to sit next to Shane. "I could have scored with just one!"

"I don't think your coach would have appreciated that."

"And New York is facing a problem of their own—they have been unable to reach for the Stanley Cup for the past ten years. Can they break the curse today?"

Ilya scoffs. "With Scott Hunter playing like a dinosaur? I don't think so."

"He's been playing well recently," Hayden counters, and Shane thinks he probably wants to set Ilya on fire. "And he's not that old."

"He just got lucky."

"Nah. He's gotten better. I think it's that new coach—I heard he really put them all to work."

"Or he's just gotten some dick."

Not even Shane's sharp glare can stop Ilya. Or Hayden, for that matter.

"No, but you might be right," Hayden says. "His good streak started right after he came out with Kip."

"See!"

Shane wants to smack them.

"That's offensive," he cuts in. "Can you both stop it?"

"It's true. I also play better when I've gotten some dick."

"Ilya."

Ilya obediently shuts up, Shane's distress too palpable for him to ignore. He mouths, "Sorry", and turns his full attention back to the game.

Shane's attention, however, remains fixed on Ilya instead of the teams buzzing with adrenaline and the need to win.

Ilya on the stands is different than Ilya on the ice.

When he plays, his energy is contained, all aggression and brute strength loaded into handling the puck. He likes to show off his skills, so he acts dramatic at the times, especially when he throws his opponents off kilter, but his muscles and mind are tightly in control, like a sharpened skate blade ready to cut the surface of the ice.

And Ilya sitting next to Shane today is much angrier. He screams with the crowd, insults every single player making a mistake regardless of their team, and spews words in Russian Shane has never heard in his life. His body tries to move in the limited space the way it would on the ice, and he does his best to contain the tension.

He fails spectacularly.

"And the home team loses another point! Let's see if they can recover from it! For now, New York is leading two to zero—"

Seeing Ilya is about to jump off, Shane grips his hand and forces him back into his seat.

"Your team is going to win."

"I should be down there! It's my team! I should be playing with them—"

"I know."

"I'm their captain—"

"I know."

"I should be down there scoring—"

"Ilya." Shane decides to take Ilya's face in his hands, forcing him to look down. "They will win precisely because they're your team and you're their captain. You have trained them well."

He's shocked to see teals welling in Ilya's eyes. The sounds of the arena temporarily quieten, and it's just them in their small bubble.

"Shane…"

"I know it's hard to watch from the stands. But they will win."

They hear an uproar from the Ottawa team, the stands going crazy yet again, and they both turn his heads towards the ice.

"Looks like the Ottawa team swore vengeance on New York! It's now a tie!"

"See?" Shane adds, smiling. "They are already evening out the score."

Ilya nods and Shane releases him. At this point Ilya seems calmer, though he continues to chirp at New York and scream well-timed tips to his team. And with each passing minute, the Ottawa team gets closer to victory—once they achieve the advantage, they hold.

And hold.

And then they score another goal, straight into the net in a ruthless, Ilya-like move.The arena explodes, and the commotion on the ice is the biggest Shane has ever seen. This time Ilya can't be stopped. He slides right over the railing, almost breaking other parts of his body too, and goes right to celebrate with his teammates.

Shane watches, leaning against the railing. He can't stop smiling either, especially since the Centaurs' joy is simply contagious as they pile up for a group hug and the celebration of their captain and every player who scored tonight.

The Stanley Cup is raised up, and the families start flooding the ice to celebrate with the players. Shane allows himself to feel the same overwhelming explosion of joy and maybe just a pinch of jealousy—he can't join them so freely.

Ilya turns to wave at him, and then his hand stretches out in an invitation.

Shane hesitates. He knows what it means, and he also knows that Ilya would respect his decision, whether he chose to decline or accept. He looks down at his balled hands and considers throwing caution to the wind. After all, he's always wanted to come out on his own terms and conditions, and he dearly wished to be able to show up next to Ilya, unabashedly and proudly, enough to make the world know that Ilya is his and only his.

He might be bit possessive, sue him.

And so, his legs are moving before his brain catches up, and he's gliding down the benches towards the entrance to the ice, and for a long heartbeat everything is quiet, everything narrows down to Ilya's face as he waits with arms wide open for Shane to crash into.

It's a collision of two stars, ending in an earth-shattering kiss. Shane initiates it without remorse, and Ilya kisses back despite initial shock. To be fair, Shane has surprised himself, too, but he has no regrets even as the sounds of the arena return with full force and he hears applause and whistles.

His cheeks are a bit red as they separate, but Ilya's bright smile is everything.

"Hello there, husband," he says, echoing his own marriage vows, and this time it's Shane who tears up.

"Hi," is all he manages to say before they are swarmed by Ilya's teammates again. There's not a single person in there who wouldn't be cheering for them and congratulating as loud as possible, and he feels a big weight falling off his shoulders.

He hasn't expected the public coming out to feel like this—like acceptance even from people who don't know him at all. Sure, he's probably started a public storm, one they've been preparing with Ilya for months, but his heart is settled.

They are celebrating a double victory tonight.

Shane turns off his phone and does his very best to keep away from any social media and messages in general. The uproar after their kiss on the ice was indeed as big as expected, and now both he and Ilya are under scrutiny.

In the evening following the game, Ilya spends more than an hour on the phone with his agent and PR team, with each passing minute getting more and more agitated. It amuses Shane to no end, especially with the way Ilya gets defensive about their own peace. At the same time, he's incredibly grateful for it.

Then they post a joint announcement, the one prepared ages ago, and go to the barbecue organised by the Boodrams immediately afterwards. It's an excellent diversion strategy, and Shane is also immensely grateful for it, as in the WaGs chaotic barbecue he's able to forget about seeing his own name thrown out in the public, people stalking his profiles, and his own classmates asking if it's true, if he's really going out with one Ilya Rozanov.

He was planning to use Ilya as a shield, but he's promptly kidnapped by Cassie Boodram who adopts him on the spot and takes him on a house tour, introducing all guests and forcing a can of ginger ale into his hand. As the last stop of the tour she takes him to the kitchen where the WaGs are making colourful drinks and gossiping. Attaching names to specific faces is difficult, but Shane does his best, even if the whole group intimidates him at first.

What he doesn't expect is the girls going feral upon seeing him.

"Jane! It's so nice to finally meet you!"

"That kiss on the ice was sooo hot—"

"How did you even manage to lock Ilya down?!"

None of them comments on the fact that Jane turned out to be a man, all of them equally excited for him.

"Actually, my name is Shane," he says awkwardly, staring into the floor. "So uh—thank you?"

It gets easier. The women return to exchanging the newest gossip about the league; they are talking about people Shane has no interest in knowing, but they also make a conscious effort to include him in the conversation, which is really nice. They don't know him well either, besides of the fact that he's attached to Ilya, and they owe him nothing. Still—that warm, affectionate kind of acceptance they showed on the ice and in their previous group conversations hasn't vanished. They all seem to have adopted him on the spot.

"So Emma broke with Brian two days ago and yesterday she was already kissing Malcolm from the Falcons team, can you imagine?"

"Aren't Falcons and Tigers enemies?"

"They are! The hostility is even worse now—"

"Okay, but have you heard of the party the Bears threw after their previous game? I heard like three players got alcohol poisoning and threw up all the way in the bus—"

"No way! What did they drink, vodka?"

"I heard it was a lot of very colourful drinks, not just vodka."

"Oh, by the way, a few players from the New York team have gotten sponsorship from the whisky company. I don't know, it feels weird, don't you think? I'd understand pairing up with Dior or something, like some of us here are doing, but alcohol?"

"Yeah, it sounds problematic."

More drinks are made, and the conversation flows.

"I think your husband is burning the meat, Cassie," Lisa says, looking out through the window. "We'd better join them."

"He promised to stay away from the grill!"

They return to the gardens and Shane drifts back to Ilya's side. Ilya doesn't pause his conversation with Evan, but wraps his arm around Shane to keep him close; it allows Shane to settle against his chest. He listens to the conversation only half-heartedly, words passing through and falling out, but he's happy to be right there.

The thing is—showing affection for Ilya out in the open, among his friends, is one of the most powerful feelings Shane has ever experienced. It feels a bit strange, to be allowed to have it, but not awkward, not even when Ilya ends up pulling him onto his lap while they wait for the meat and veggies to grill.

"—got any holiday plans now that the season's over?"

Shane raises his head to glance at Zane, his attention snapping back to reality.

"Eh, no," Ilya answers, his hand wrapping tighter around Shane. He has a limited range of movements, with his other arm still in a sling, but he seems to be completely at ease, his body relaxed more than it's ever been this week. "We're thinking of a having a mountain retreat, but nothing confirmed yet."

"Ah, I know just a place in Canadian Rockies if you're interested. It's a SPA resort, but honestly it's so good and the nature around—"

"What do you say, Shane?"

"I'm not opposed."

"Not opposed means yes." Ilya smiles, kissing Shane's neck. "Send the info, Boodram."

Ilya's good mood is hard to beat.

They settle around the table when the food is ready, and even Shane eats more than usual. The meat straight from the grillage tastes of spices and smoke, and he can't resist getting his plate full. He helps Ilya to do the same, pointedly ignoring his husband's remarks about his non-functioning arm, and settles down with his food and another can of ginger ale. Cassie must have collected everyone's favourite drink orders and interrogated Ilya about his, because he most certainly hasn't told any of the WaGs about the goddamn ginger ale.

It makes him feel warm, the same way the sunshine does today.

"I really like that statement you made on your socials," Lisa comments when the conversations irrevocably turns towards their own coming out. "It makes total sense, and I know it shouldn't feel like this, but I admire your bravery."

"Yeah, and please don't listen to all those people spewing stupid nonsense about your relationship. They are just nasty and jealous."

Shane peers at Lisa and squints his eyes.

"Have there been many comments?" he dares to ask. "We haven't checked."

"Your statement and kiss on the ice went viral."

Shane feels faint. "Jesus."

"It's not bad," Cassie rushes to say. "Most of it is positive, I promise, plus the league and the team are all siding with you. You should really ignore the rest."

Easier said than done, but then Ilya's hand finds his, and Shane remembers that he's not facing the storm alone.

"We got you, no matter what happens."

Everyone gathered at the table echoes the same sentiment, making Shane's heart well with gratefulness. He feels loved.

That feeling never passes, even as they head home after the barbecue, together with Ilya—in silence, both deep in thought, but holding hands the whole way back. It's present in the way they kiss in the corridor after shedding their shoes and Ilya pins him against the wall. It's tolling in Shane's head as they find themselves in their sheets, in their bed. It gets imprinted in Shane's skin as they make love, soft promises and reassurances whispered alongside it.

And then, as he lies next to Ilya, already sleeping soundly, he thinks he may never know the answer to the big philosophical questions he encounters both in physics and literature he likes to study, but he does know one thing—

What's the mystery of love, if not stepping into the unknown hoping you'll be held?

Chapter End Notes

There's only a small epilogue left, guys!! We're almost done here, can you believe it? 🥹

Me irl staring in disbelief at all of your fabulous comments and the fic stats:

As always—THANK YOU 💚

Chapter 13: Epilogue

Chapter Notes

@karmastudy reposted a photo:

look how sweet they are together 😍

Replies:

@hockey_stan19 Is that Ilya Rozanov?? Who's next to him? Is he another hockey player?

@4holidays2 He's not. I don't think he's anyone famous.

@linello_syv omg sleuthing time????

@larnapede posted:

omg guys i think i recognise this guy—he's a student at University of Ottawa!!!

Replies:

@glaas_hanne OH MY GOOOOOD YOU ARE CORRECT

@glaas_hanne THIS GUY IS IN MY RUSSIAN LIT COURSE

@pauline239st He speaks Russian? Do you guys think he started learning it because of Ilya?

@crocodile_crocs WHAT IS HIS NAME I NEED TO KNOW HIS NAME

@NHL_Gossip_Magazine posted:

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are the new hottest pair of hockey, following their viral kiss on the ice after the Centaurs hoisted up the Stanley Cup. It turns out they've known each other far longer than anyone could assume—for at least six years.

Responses:

@camil90000 🤨

@farnellapolll Imagine hiding a relationship for six years straight

@ilyarozanovfan11111 I'm obsessed with this.

@hollanov_crazy Okay but they look so good together????? 

@hornett_player posted:

There aren't any photos of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov on the ice from before that SC night. No photos, no sightings, no record of acquaintance. They must have either really protected their privacy, or the whole thing is a PR fraud. Wouldn't be surprised if it was the later.

Responses:

@ilyarozanovfan11111 Stop slandering them. They protected their privacy specifically BECAUSE of people like you.

@hornett_player Is it slander if I'm telling the truth?

@centaurs4life posted a gif:

I've discovered that Shane has attended most of Ilya's home games. We even got photos of him wearing Ilya's jersey!

Replies:

@angel_ Awh I love it! look how big the sweatshirt is on him and he still manages to look good in it!

@field_daisies posted:

HOLLANOV ALERT HOLLANOV ALLERT

GUYSSSSSSSS LISTEN THEY ARE MARRIED

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT

Replies:

@farnellapolll What???

@200anon Of course the fags are together lol

JOINT STATEMENT FROM ILYA ROZANOV AND SHANE HOLLANDER

We've been together for six years.

We've been married for almost one.

Love has found us in the most unexpected moment, and now we get it to show it to the world—unabashedly and unapologetically. 

Thank you for the support from all over the world. It means a lot to us how many people have declared their alliance with us and celebrated our coming out. At the same time, we're asking you to respect our privacy—our marriage have come out to the public, but we still ask to keep it separate from hockey and our public appearances.

We're really happy together. Thank you for sharing it with us.

Ilya Rozanov & Shane Hollander

Chapter End Notes

Aaaaaand that's it!!

Thank you very much for reading, subscribing, kudosing and commenting—I appreciate every single one of you checking out this story 💚💚💚 It's been a pleasure to go on this journey with you!

While the mystery of love is complete, I still plan to write the prequel I have mentioned in some author notes. It will take some time to write, so in the meantime I invite you to check out my other HR fics 💚

With love,
KMC

Edit 25th of August, 2026:

I made some edits following up writing the prequel. Here's a quick summary for those interested:

- I checked and fixed up the timeline and all ages (the twins' ages, the friendship timelines etc.)
- I also fixed some minor plot continuity errors (Ilya and Shane live in a flat, not a house, which I accidentally once described)
- Rose and Shane were never together
- Shane and Hayden became friends later than Ilya and Shane.