Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shane Hollander Is Not A Hockey Player, Alternate Universe - Twitch Streamers, Past Career-Ending Injuries, Identity Porn, Kinda?, Hockey, Lone Boy Wonder Ilya Rozanov, Happy Ending, Hockey analyst Shane Hollander, tuna melt remix

Language:

English

Collections:

ICE OUT HR 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-05 Completed: 2026-06-22 Words: 11,785 Chapters: 4/4

In the Eye of the Beholder

Summary

Still, Ilya can’t help but click back into that stream of the game they’d just played against Ottawa. The streamer’s mic is just as shitty as the footage, but his voice has a soothing quality, and Ilya almost lets that lull him into a strange sort of calm as he pulls his fries from the oven.

Almost.

Because then the broadcast shows this nifty little steal Ilya made earlier, and sh24_hockey stops on that frame. “Sloppy play from Rozanov here,” he announces through the staticky background noise, which – what?

---

Being at the top of the league is a lonely endeavour – until Ilya finds an annoying streamer with astonishing insights, who is strangely familiar…

Notes

vex!! Thank you for supporting ICE OUT. I saw this prompt, and, as you know, was really really enticed :D I had kinda hoped to get this fully written before Voiceteam, but now it’s the middle of jamfest and the final part still isn’t done and I can’t sit on this any longer, so here is the first part.

I am currently planning on posting once a week so I can wrap up the final few plotbeats, as I am incredibly excited to share this.

Thank you so much to met for the beta 💛 and for catching the tiktok-anachronism 😂

This starts about three years later than in canon, because I needed Twitch to be more established ^^ (so Ilya’s rookie season happens in 2013/14 instead of 2010/11)

Chapter 1

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Rozzy-boy?”

Ilya nearly drops his tablet in his haste to lock the screen, which in this case is about the least helpful reaction he could have. Damn. But it’s too late, because Marly is making himself comfortable on the cushy team plane seat next to Ilya, leering at him.

“Oh, that indecent, huh?”

“You are indecent,” Ilya grumbles. “I do not know why I am friends with you.”

“Because you’re my Rozzy-Roz.” Marly grins, jostling Ilya’s shoulder. “I don’t think you really got a choice.”

Ilya rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away from Marly’s touch. “You are worst thing that has happened to me.”

“Eh.” Marly tosses his head, that shit-eating grin still on his face. “I would have picked that shut-out two games ago. Or your minus-three tonight. Or, y’know, getting drafted onto the worst team in the league in the first place.”

“First overall, babyyyy,” Ilya sing-songs, and tries not to think about everything that comes with that particular distinction. Like the constant losing. He’d thought he’d be prepared for it, but – well. It’s something, that’s for sure.

“But, you cannot distract me, Rozzy-babe.” Marly grins again as Ilya rolls his eyes. He can’t help it. Technically, he knows better than to complain about the various nicknames Marly comes up with, because that only makes him worse, but – Rozzy-babe? “What were ya lookin’ at? Some hot nudes? Share with the class!”

“Get your own hot nudes.” Ilya tightens his grip on his tablet. “Or are you saying that is too hard for you?”

Marly just laughs the insult off. “Nah, it’s just easier – after all, why should I, when I could just bother you? No homo, bro.”

Ilya rolls his eyes again. “Nothing. You just surprised me.”

“Aww, that means I’ve been neglecting you! Wanna watch something together?”

Ilya reaches for his tablet, though he remembers what will be on his screen just before he unlocks it. “Actually, I think I will just nap.”

Marly turns to face Ilya and raises both eyebrows in disbelief. “You. Napping. On the plane. That will put us back on home soil in an hour. You really want me to believe you’d fuck your sleep schedule like that?”

Fuck.

Before Ilya can come up with a believable lie, Marly sighs. “Fine, keep your secrets. I will get them out of you eventually. Til then – I’ll grab my gum and tablet, and I’ll even go over tape with you.”

Ilya’s face scrunches up in a grimace without his conscious input. He schools his features, but he knows the damage is done. “No. You win. Let us watch some stupid show.”

“Aww, Rozzy-snoz, you really know the way to my heart.”

Ilya shudders exaggeratedly, but it is kind of nice to settle in with Marly at his side, some American serial playing between them while they share a pair of earbuds.

It’s lonely, is the thing. Being at the top, being the outstanding generational talent. The fact that Ilya is European – and worse, Russian – does not help. Flamboyant, the commentators say. Exuberant, the press writes, and it’s clear that it’s not a compliment. Always good for a laugh, Carts told a reporter the other day, and Ilya couldn’t help but feel Carts was talking about laughing at him, not with him.

He’d thought it would be different, coming to the MLH. That he would finally be among peers.

But there’s something about being the heralded first overall draft-pick, the long-awaited sensation from Russia, starting in the league after a full season was lost to a lockout, that is like a neon flare permanently attached to Ilya.

At least, that’s what it feels like. Certainly, none of the other first-rounders appear to feel anything similar.

Meanwhile Marly, loath as Ilya is to admit it, is a god-send. He doesn’t care that there’s an invisible perimeter around Ilya that Ilya can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t care that the coaches chastise Ilya for everything from his nutrition to his partying to his socialising, which is both too much and too little. He doesn’t care that Ilya is being held up as an example to follow and a warning how not to act, and still being talked about like it’s a given that he’ll be the next captain.

Talk about mixed-messages from the coaches on that one, seriously.

Marly came in at the trade-deadline during Ilya’s rookie season last year, saw Ilya, and decided they were a package deal. Which involves watching tape together, and stupid serials, and going for dinner that is not on the meal plan but closer than what Ilya would get for himself, probably, and working out on adjacent machines in the weight room.

Even if his taste in shows is seriously bad.

“It wasn’t porn,” Marly declares as they deplane.

“What wasn’t porn?” Cons asks, slinging an arm around Ilya’s shoulders even though he’s a good four inches shorter than Ilya. Well, it’s only two according to his Wikipedia, but everyone knows how accurate that is. Connors is a new addition from the off-season, and he also hasn’t gotten the memo that Ilya is untouchable. Ilya bumps their shoulders together, though he keeps it soft enough not to dislodge Cons.

“Rozzy-Roz is keeping secrets,” Marly sing-songs.

“Secrets?” Cons cranes his head to fix Ilya with his eyes gleaming. “What kind of secrets?”

Never mind, Marly is definitely not a god-send. “I do not keep secrets.”

Both of them scoff, in unison.

“Just because I do not yell every thought –”

“Roz,” Cons interrupts, like he isn’t a new guy on the team. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you’ve encountered an inside-thought yet. You just don’t think about certain things, noodle-brain.”

They all crack up, though Ilya is pretty certain they’re not laughing about the same things right then. He loves both of them, but sometimes, he cannot fathom how he keeps fooling them. Then again, neither of them grew up in an entirely different system until they were drafted first over all to save an ailing franchise.

“Anyway, I don’t think it’s porn, because I know you wouldn’t be ashamed about that.”

Damn. There goes hoping that Marly would let it drop.

“And I don’t think it was nudes, because a couple days ago, you couldn’t wait to show them to me.”

“Maybe was special nudes,” Ilya suggests.

Marly snorts.

“Maybe it was a new healthy meal,” Cons suggests. “Would ruin his reputation.”

“Hey!” Ilya complains. “I am professional athlete, I keep my body in form.”

“You’ve just turned twenty. I’m pretty sure your body doesn’t yet care what you put in it and just keeps in form by itself.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. Like Marly isn’t just a couple years older than Ilya himself. “You are just jealous of my smokin’ hot bod.” He winks.

“It wasn’t tape, because we usually watch that together,” Marly continues without taking the bait. “So. Not porn, not tape, not nudes.” He gasps, theatrically. “Oh god! Roz, don’t tell me you have a girlfriend!”

“You have a girlfriend,” Ilya retorts, which is the weakest response ever, but then they’re finally in the parking lot and he can make his escape. Not very dignified, no, but better than enduring more ribbing.

Ilya manages to get all the way to his post-game snack being in the oven before he pulls out his tablet again. His fingers aren’t shaking as he unlocks it, because that would be ludicrous, but his heart does speed up a little in anticipation.

That is also ludicrous. At least there’s no one here to tell.

The screen lights up, the app he’d been on on the plane still open. Except instead of the stream he’d been on, there’s only a purple still now. The account’s name, sh24_hockey, is splashed over it, repeating again and again. A little grey rectangle tells him, Offline.

Disappointment settles sharply into Ilya’s gut. Damn Marly and his distractions.

He scowls at the screen, and then stops.

Offline, it says, yes. But underneath, it continues, Check out this BOS vs OTT — Analysis stream from 2 hours ago.

Ilya’s pulse kicks up up another notch as he taps the square. It opens on the video he’d been on before Marly had interrupted him quite so rudely: grainy broadcast footage that’s unlikely to be from a legal site. No personal camera, no fancy layout showing the chat and subscribers or chat commands. Just old-fashioned colour commentary-style. Ilya tabs back, suddenly curious.

Okay, it’s no wonder – the channel looks pretty new, just two VODs uploaded, and there’s two lone subscribers. Wow. What a loser.

Still, he can’t help but click back into that stream of the game they’d just played against Ottawa. The streamer’s mic is just as shitty as the footage, but his voice has a soothing quality, and Ilya almost lets that lull him into a strange sort of calm as he pulls his fries from the oven.

Almost.

Because then the broadcast shows this nifty little steal Ilya made earlier, and sh24_hockey stops on that frame. “Sloppy play from Rozanov here,” he announces through the staticky background noise, which – what?

Ilya abandons his food on the counter to grab his tablet, absentmindedly shoving two fries into his mouth. That had been a beaut of a move, in his opinion. It hadn’t led to a goal, but they’d been able to get a line-change without Ottawa scoring. Pulling that off should have been a low bar but didn’t feel like it tonight.

“You can see here –” sh24_hockey draws jerky, nearly incomprehensible lines on his screen while Ilya scowls at the diagram that’s supposed to be about a scoring chance on that play. It’s absolute bullshit, of course. He knows there was no way to turn this into a goal, no matter what this stupid sh24_hockey says, and – who even is this guy anyway? Some armchair coach who thinks he’s the next hottest thing?

He has a scathing reply on his tongue, ready to translate it via his fingers, when he finds out that you cannot reply to a VOD. Fuck.

The best thing would be to drop it. But – the guy talks so fucking confidently while having absolutely no clue, and Ilya has never been able to let such a thing drop.

With a vicious stab of his finger, he navigates to sh24_hockey’s streamer page. Well. If he can’t comment on an archived stream – then Ilya will just have to catch the next one live.

He hits the subscribe button, tabs back into the recording, and settles in with his fries to find out what more other takes sh24_hockey thinks worth sharing with his astonishing three viewers.

It’s not until almost a week and a half later that Ilya manages to catch a stream live. He watches streams here and there, but he finds that he can’t watch them on the road because he will end up complaining out loud. Which would be fine, if it wasn’t for Marly being a terribly judgemental road roomie.

He gives Ilya an amused look when he comes out of the bathroom to Ilya cursing under his breath at another ‘sloppy’ turnover where Ilya was in position but the rest of his line wasn’t, just far enough behind that his pass had connected with Webber’s stick instead of Goodman’s. “You know you can see the trainers if you need someone to talk to?”

Ilya’s nostrils flare. With a truly heroic display of restraint, he merely rolls his eyes. “At least you recognise you are not sophisticated enough.”

“Sophisticated, huh? Been reading the thesaurus?”

“I will be reading your thesaurus,” Ilya shoots back, and it devolves into familiar squabbling from there. He doesn’t make the mistake of tuning into another stream in Marly’s presence – or anyone’s, really – again.

“Eyerose81 says, no effing way, that lane was not open from my vantage point.” sh24 snorts. Ilya has no idea what he looks like, but he imagines there’s a contemptuous look on his face. Rich for a man fundamentally mispronouncing Ilya’s username. Ilya’s fingers fly over the keyboard in protest. “Oh, you’re one of those fanboys, I guess.” Another snort. “Guess that makes your username ee-roz-eighty-one…”

Ilya backspaces what he’d written so far and furiously taps on the keyboard again, hitting enter with vigour.

“Not a fanboy, huh?” A third snort. “Sure, buddy, I totally believe Ilya fucking Rozanov is on my stream.”

Oh, U r allowd swears but me u cencor?? Ilya types back.

“Host’s rights,” sh24 replies smugly, and then rewinds to pick apart the play again.

They lose the next game in St. Louis, an embarrassing 5-1 blow-out, eke out a win in overtime against Nashville, and finally get shut out, 4-0, by the fucking Admirals, the building overwhelmingly loud because stupid old Scott Hunter is once again on his first-half-of-the-season streak, and the Raiders are decidedly not.

Ilya kicks his skates off hard enough the blade guards come off. His jaw hurts from how hard he’s clenching his teeth as he squats down do put the guards back on and not leave more of a mess for the equipment managers. It’s not their fault, after all, that the team is fucking hanging Ilya out to dry out there.

Everyone else gives him a wide berth, Marly the only one who sigh and bumps his shoulder, wordlessly, as he passes Ilya on the way to the showers. Ilya keeps staring at his stall, taking deep breaths that barely touch his lungs. His ribcage is too small, and his team is abandoning him out there, the coaches’ gazes and expectations equally heavy as he tries to carry a whole-ass team on his back.

He is but one player, and while he doesn’t expect the others to keep up with him, he currently can’t even rely on any of them. And in a few minutes, the press will be here and demand he tell them what they can do better.

Gerry, their PR manager, must be able to tell that Ilya is just about ready to say unwise things, because through a miracle, he’s not tapped for media. “You owe me,” Gerry says with a wink as he ushers Ilya out of the room, and while he’s not wrong, Ilya just barely manages not to tear his head off for it.

He knows he should avoid any and all media about himself. Even if that media is a stupid hobby analyst on Twitch. Especially if that media is a stupid hobby analyst on Twitch. Still, Ilya taps into the stream with almost morbid curiosity, just in time to hear sh24 say, “And here we see Rozanov way out of position –”

Fuck u, Ilya types, rest of team was way out of position.

Sh24 cuts off in the middle of his sentence and then huffs. “And there he is,” he says, like there’s anyone except him and Ilya. Okay, maybe there are 20 or so other viewers, but that’s basically nothing, is it? “Still convinced you’re Rozanov? Maybe you can enlighten us why he thought it was wise to repeatedly push way too deep into the Admirals’ zone without any coverage or regard for where the rest of his line was?”

If i cld read stupid minds we woudlnt hv lost.

Sh24 just huffs in apparent amusement. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy,” he says, and Ilya is so incensed that he just sends another fuck u and logs off.

He revisits the stream once he’s slept a night. It’s decent background noise for a session on the bike, though his outrage over sh24 makes him pedal faster than is maybe advisable.

Lying on his back in the exercise room, staring up at the ceiling, he can’t quite shake something sh24 said. He’d diagrammed the play in a way quite unlike the coaches had, which isn’t surprising. He probably doesn’t have the same background as the coaches do, after all. Looking at his lines and paths and the breakdown of play progression, Ilya had suddenly understood why last night’s plays had kept falling apart.

He wouldn’t go so far to say that he had been the one out of position, but their line had definitely not been in sync, and sh24’s breakdown had contained a few nuggets that maybe, if Ilya was entirely honest, might hold a kernel of truth. Which would rankle, if Ilya had any breath left in his body.

“You got lucky,” Ilya tells his turned-off phone, even though sh24 isn’t even online and couldn’t hear him even if he was. “Just pure, dumb luck.”

His phone doesn’t answer, which is just as good as agreement anyway.

“Ah, guess I didn’t chase you away,” sh24 murmurs when Ilya joins the stream during dinner that evening. It’s so quiet the mic barely picks it up, like he maybe didn’t mean it to.

Have to tell u ur wrong, Ilya types back, which gets him a startled laugh.

“Am I, though?”

yes

“I don’t think so. But we have a different game to discuss today, sorry, bud.”

shld focus on important games

This gets him snort of amusement but no actual reply, and then sh24 dives into the game on his screen. It’s fascinating watching him break down a game between teams Ilya has no stakes in. Fascinating and a little awe-inspiring. Not that Ilya would say so out loud. Instead, he heckles and argues, and sh24 replies maybe a third of the time, but it’s enough to keep Ilya engaged long after his food is gone.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

I feel like I should add that I have never been either a twitch streamer nor a professional hockey player, but I probably know more about the latter than the former by sheer fannish osmosis. I hope y’all have fun with this regardless!

Another thanks to Met for the beta!

“Is that game tape?” Tiikka asks. He’s leaning against the aisle seat, which does not do anything to make him loom less, and he’s probably aware of it. Ilya ignores him. Mouthy third-liners, jesus. “Didn’t know you joined us mere mortals in watching that. Figured it was alllll Twitch all the time.”

Ilya’s ears pop from the force with which he clenches his teeth, his fingers digging into his thigh through the sudden flood of emotions. It’s just chirping. It’s just chirping he knows how to take, usually, but their losing streak has hit five games, and while Ilya has started getting a better idea of where they’re falling apart, it’s nothing actionable. Nothing the coaches find actionable, either, considering they seem to just be taking stabs into the dark with the line blender and passing drills. It’s grating.

“Trying something new, yes?” Ilya finally manages. “Maybe it is missing magic.” His voice must sound joking enough, because Tiikka just laughs and then moves further down the aisle.

The things is – if Ilya had his choice, he’d be watching Twitch. Well, he’d be watching one specific streamer, just as he has all season long. But sh24 has gone quiet about a week ago without warning, and in lieu of his favourite game analyst picking apart hockey games, Ilya has had to go back to normal tape.

Which is pretty pathetic, so he scowls down at the material even harder.

Maybe sh24 has lost interest. Maybe Ilya chased him away with their argument about Michigans in sh24’s last stream. Or maybe something happened. Do people just abandon their budding twitch streams like that? Ilya doesn’t even know his actual name, or anything that could give him a clue that, like, the guy is still alive. He has to be, right? Maybe he’s been dissatisfied with how few viewers he’s had, even though he’d never given any indication that that was something he cared about that sort of thing. And, anyway, his viewership has been steadily increasing – not that Ilya’s been paying attention to that specifically, but he’d been curious, and the most recent streams usually pulled triple digit viewers, which isn’t bad, right?

And yet, sh24’s streamer page stays stubbornly purple. Offline, it proclaims, while the days since last stream tick up without fail.

And Ilya isn’t worried. He doesn’t even know the guy beyond his streams, beyond his crackly voice with his boring analysis and keen mind and underrated sense of humour, if you ask Ilya. But it’s weird that he’s gone silent this abruptly, isn’t it?

“You need to go out,” Ilya tells his empty apartment a couple of days later, like saying it out loud will make him do something about it. At least it gets him to stop flipping impatiently through the sports channels, looking for something he already knows he won’t find. The games on TV are all so trite, is the thing. Full of anecdotes that don’t actually matter – who played where with whom; Juniors stats that mean nothing in the MLH; notable stats that nonetheless did not result in a Cup for most of the guys. None of them scratch that itch that Ilya had almost forgotten about, that craves a different point of view, that craves for the ice to be shaved clean and put together in a beautiful piece of art.

Which is so needlessly poetic that Ilya really, truly needs to get laid.

He’s just pulled his phone out to text the guys when a notification flashes across his screen. sh24_hockey is live now! Click here to tune in!

Ilya’s tapped into the notification almost before his brain has caught up with his eyes, heart suddenly in his throat.

But – it’s him. It’s actually him, because in his sudden disappearance, he must have acquired a camera, as well as a headset. His image is small in the corner opposite of the game scores, too small to make out the details on Ilya’s phone. Ilya doesn’t think as he grabs his laptop to connect it to the TV. He’s been listening to this guy for months at this point; sue him for being curious what he looks like.

Strangely familiar, is Ilya’s first impression. sh24 is Asian, with dark hair and complexion tanner than expected despite the glare from his lights. Even through the screen, the bags under his big brown eyes are astonishing. He looks good in a way that makes Ilya want to chew on him, that makes him want to catalogue every tiny expression and every movement. sh24 smiles, just a tiny quirk of his lips, and Ilya’s sanity fully leaves the room.

He suddenly, irrationally, wants to see sh24 in person.

“Hello guys,” sh24 says, and that is definitely his voice. “Sorry for the sudden disappearance, I had to get another surgery and it really laid me out, but I’m back now.” The corners of his mouth twitch up once more, just briefly, before he sobers again. “I figured we’d come back with a game from a couple of days ago – Montreal against Ottawa, because that’s a game I would have liked to see. A rare win for the Cens, so let’s dive into how they did that…”

surgary??? Ilya types as sh24 starts up the footage, skipping ahead until the starting line-up is prepared. but u r fine now????

sh24 doesn’t answer him, but Ilya still finds himself settling in, eager to see him break the game down. Montreal is far from a powerhouse, but their defeat at the sticks of the Cens still defied the odds.

Ilya is brushing his teeth when his phone dings. It’s not a sound he recognises, so he unlocks it and squints at the screen.

1 new message from sh24_h… the preview reads.

Heart suddenly back in his throat, he taps into it.

sh24_hockey:
Sorry to just message you like that but I didn’t want to leave your message just hanging. I got a pretty bad injury a couple of years ago. This was hopefully my final surgery, just a bit of rehab left, so nothing to worry about. :)

iroz81:
that sounds terrible (((
but u r better now?
missed ur terrible opinions ))

sh24_hockey
Haha. Yeah, I’m getting better, so the regular schedule should resume until I have to go to rehab.
Physical rehab, I mean. I don’t think I can stream there.
I am already loading up on books against the boredom. ^^

iroz81:
i will miss u ((((
but here is my nr so mb u r not so bored?
[contact attached]

sh24_hockey
Haha.
Thank you.
Even if your spelling is atrocious.

iroz81:
😘 u love it

“Rozzy-Roz,” Marly sighs and shakes his head as he slings one arm around Ilya’s shoulders. “Finally got yourself a steady girl? Hope she doesn’t know about the bunny you picked up last night.”

Ilya reflexively shuts off his phone as he glowers up at Marly to hide how the question zinged through him. “I am much too pretty to limit myself to one girl, so no. No steady girl. Where did you get this idea?”

Marly, asshole that he is, just laughs. “Dude, I have eyes! You keep smiling at your phone!”

“Oh, so is now reserved for girlfriend?” Ilya gives him his best sceptical look. “There is such thing called friend, though I am aware you do not know.”

“Ouch.” Marly swoons theatrically. “Man, you never smile like that when talking to me!”

“Yes, I say this.”

Marly gasps and actually falls to the floor. “I am wounded!”

“Deserved,” Ilya tells him, and then leaves Marly where he is as they’re finally let onto the tarmac to board their plane.

“Roz!” Wiz, one of their vet defence men, grins as Ilya slides into the seat next to him. “Gracing me with your presence?”

“Marly is being idiot,” Ilya says simply as he pulls his phone out again. “I have argument to win, but then we watch your series, yes?” Because unlike some people, Ilya actually has multiple friends.

“Sure, bud,” Wiz agrees, and then busies himself with his own phone while Ilya taps back into his messaging app.

Me (just now):
u r so fucking wrong
we r best team on Laich
no chance stupid METROS wld bet us

sh24 (just now):
Keep dreaming. You can win with any team.

Me (just now):
u willing to bet?

sh24 (just now):
Absolutely. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll show you.

Me (just now):
oh u need pratise? :PP

sh24 (just now):
No, but I think it will be more fun with actual opponents. ;)

Four days later, at a time that miraculously and not at all through careful negotiations aligns with Ilya’s down-time, sh24_hockey kicks off his first non-analysis stream.

Special: MLH 16 with the Montreal Metros!, proclaims the title, which is quite a bold move considering that the Metros, both in real life and in the game, are truly not the team to pick. Even the Admirals, despite being back in their customary skid, would be a better team to get behind.

Still, Ilya has the stream pulled up on his TV, some borderline-Nutritionist-approved popcorn in a bucket next to him, and his phone on Do Not Disturb. The rest of his team has no taste, after all, and he doesn’t need their unsophisticated chirping when he has to see sh24 eat his words.

“Hello guys,” sh24 says as the stream switches to live. The feed comes alive a moment later, zoomed in unflatteringly on sh24’s face. “Sorry, I got a new camera for the occasion, and it’s still a bit finicky.”

This close – and with a much better resolution than before – Ilya can tell that sh24 has freckles, dusted all over his nose and cheeks. He is flushed just a little, cheeks pink under the spatter of dark spots. Ilya’s mouth waters with the need to taste as he greedily drinks in the singht in front of him.

Too soon, sh24 straightens and makes his way to a couch in the background. He is limping visibly, though his gait is mostly steady. Ilya’s heart swells at the sight. By his own admission, sh24 hadn’t been able to use that leg at all a mere half year ago. This is truly astonishing progress, and it’s one thing to hear about it, and quite another to see it with his own two eyes. (Well, Ilya had mostly gotten the bitching, about physio exercises and building up atrophied muscles and the many, many screws and plates keeping sh24’s leg together, but it still counts, he’d wager. Seems like those three weeks at the physical rehab centre were worth the pain.)

“A couple of days ago, a friend of mine –” a burst of something warm and large makes Ilya’s heart swell even further “– claimed that the Raiders are vastly superior to any other team in ‘Laich 16. Of course, he’s a Rozanov fan and thus obviously biased, but I still want to prove to him that he is very much wrong.”

“Rozanov fan,” Ilya echoes and rolls his eyes. He knows his worth, yes, but he wouldn’t go so far to call himself a fan of himself. To be fair, he hasn’t tried too hard to make sh24 believe his actual identity. There’s something freeing to their conversations, to arguing with someone who thinks he’s just a normal dude. Who is irreverent and unafraid and doesn’t hesitate to challenge Ilya.

It’s gotten better over the course of this season, but the rest of his team is still treating Ilya like he’s different, and so does the city, and sh24 doesn’t. So.

It doesn’t make sh24’s claim any less amusing, though.

“And so today an old friend agreed to help me out, and brought along some of his friends, so please say hi to JJ, Hayden, and Josh, from the Montreal Metros!”

Oh.

Within seconds, the chat explodes. No doubt, people will be sharing this all over social media – so even though the Metros are objectively lame, this will probably be pretty good for sh24’s stream. Even if Ilya arguably cares more about it than sh24 himself.

“Thanks, Shane, for having us on.” Boiziau saunters into the frame, waving at the camera, before plopping down besides Shane. Pike echoes him, and Lennert, tall and awkwardly gangly in the way only 18 year-olds really are (in Ilya’s humble 20-year-old opinion), folds himself down in front of the couch.

As they all grab controllers and sh24 – Shane, which also itches at the back of Ilya’s skull in a somewhat distracting manner – pulls up the game, Ilya grabs his phone.

Me (just now):
the metros???
rly?????
& theyr 15th best player?????
???????????????

There is no reply, of course, but it feels good to get it off his chest. Well. Having gotten the actual Metros on board for these shenanigans will probably just stack the deck in Ilya’s favour.

The first time Shane goes viral is just before Christmas, and it’s not even Ilya’s fault.

It’s a clip from another gaming session with a few of the Metros, which is mostly notable because it is another tiny sliver of personal information that Ilya stores away: that Shane lives close enough to Montreal to make that a regular occurrence. The clip itself starts unremarkable; Shane and Boiziau locked in a 1v1 on screen, with Pike somewhere off-camera.

But then Pike says something about power plays, and Shane, still entirely focused on the game, corrects him, citing stats like he doesn’t even need to think about them. It breaks containment with a fact checker on the bottom half of the screen, dinging each time Shane says something correct.

It dings a lot.

Me (7:48am):
omgggggg u made it!!!
[click here to watch this clip on youtube]
[tweet by crysofienocup]

 

sh24 (Shane) (9:12am):
People are so weird.

 

Me (just now):
???
must b strange 4 boring person like u

sh24 (Shane) (just now):
Fuck you.

Me (just now):
😘😘😘

Of course Shane would be unimpressed. Ilya can imagine his deadpan face well, the slightly weirded out expression, how wide his eyes would be. Ilya wants to run his fingertips over the way his brows would be ever so slightly furrowed, wants to brush his hands through Shane’s hair.

Maybe, Ilya can invite Shane to meet up over the off-season, before he leaves for Russia.

Maybe, Ilya can invite himself over for a game of ‘Laich when they’re playing in Eastern Canada.

But first, the All Star game is rapidly coming up, and while it’s Ilya’s second year, the shine of the ASG hasn’t yet worn off. And, well; he has records to beat that he himself set.

“So, Shane, you have exciting news to share, don’t you?” Boiziau asks on what’s become their usual weekly Metros session. Pike, already on the couch next to him, does a poor attempt at appearing collected.

Ilya can’t fault him, for once, even though it’s kind of pathetic. He is grinning at the screen, too, even before Shane opens his mouth, because the news truly are exciting. Maybe for no one as exciting as for Ilya – and that includes Shane himself.

“If you’re so excited about it, why don’t you spill the beans?” Shane suggests drily, which belies the utter disbelief and joy his text messages to Ilya a couple of days ago had contained.

“Well, our beloved analyst –”

“JJ –”

“– and friend…” Boiziau trails off, looking expectantly at Pike.

“… will be joining us at the All Star Game!”

“Thanks to you guys!” Boiziau continues. The chat, filled with over a thousand viewers even though the stream hasn’t even kicked off, floods with excited emojis and chatter.

On screen, Shane shakes his head. “It’s unbelievable, and such an honour.”

“What a good little Canadian hockey robot,” Ilya tells his empty room, at the same time as Boiziau laughs.

“It was fate,” he says.

“JJ,” Shane says warningly, though Boiziau just ignores him.

“You were always supposed to be there, man, if it wasn’t –”

“JJ,” Shane says again sharply, and this time, Boiziau falls quiet.

“Sorry.”

Ilya’s mind is already whirling as things click into place that he probably should have put together months ago.

Shane. Hockey genius. Rehab for a shattered leg. Faintly familiar.

The sudden realisation is electrifying, because this is –

“Shane fucking Hollander,” Ilya says, the name rolling off his tongue like he’s said it every day instead of a handful of times over three years ago.

It makes so much sense. He’d been supposed to be up against Ilya in the draft, though he’d blown out his knee in the Memorial Cup finals that year. Delayed his draft, only to be involved in a collision on the ice that had seen him stretchered off. Career-ending.

It had been but a blip on Ilya’s radar, too preoccupied with the precarious position between his father’s – and his country’s – favour and his dream of the MLH within reach, and then Hollander had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth.

With what Ilya now knows of Shane’s surgeries and rehab to get his leg back into a semblance of working condition, it’s really no wonder.

It’s also no wonder just how genius he is.

Ilya suddenly cannot wait for All Star Weekend to roll around.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Thank God it's Friday?? No, I just wanted to throw this out before the weekend gets super busy, as I’ll be hanging out with friends ^^

As usual, huge thanks to met for the beta!

Time moves weirdly in the days leading up to the All Star Game. It seems to stretch and snap in turns, to the point that Ilya noticeably has lost track of time.

In his pocket, his phone burns with unsent messages. I will see u soon, he’d typed, and then chickened out from sending. It should be a given, really; Ilya is on the roster, and Shane has been announced as a special guest, so obviously they’ll meet.

And yet, Ilya keeps deleting the message every time he types it out – which is far more often than he’d like to admit to – until he finally throws himself out of the house to fuck it out of his system.

It doesn’t work, but at least it keeps him from thinking about it for almost an entire night.

Their performance on the ice is nothing to write home about either, which Shane just clicks his tongue about. At least he agrees that it’s not really Ilya’s fault. The coaches are trying a rotating cast of other players on his right wing, but as well as he clicks with Marly, he yet has to capture the same – or even a similar – kind of magic with anyone else.

Still, they win about as many as they lose, which is better than losing all of them.

Shane (yesterday, 8:24 pm):
If Boston wants to have a chance at the playoffs, they really need to trade for someone for Rozanov's other wing.
Clayton has promise, but he definitely could use another year or two in the minors.
I heard Grabner is up for grabs, and I could see him working with that top line.

Me (yesterday, 8:28 pm):
careful
I think this is collision
or w/e its called

Shane (yesterday, 8:31 pm):
Collusion?
Ah, yes, because you have SO much input on Boston's trades, huh? :D
Are you tuning in for the stream later?

Me (yesterday, 8:32 pm):
[picture attached: laptop hooked up to a flat screen TV, nachos on the table and a Gatorade next to it]
even if nachos are boring kind (((

Shane (yesterday, 8:33 pm):
Healthy nachos won't kill you.
Neither would fruit. [picture attached: Shane’s streaming set up, a plate of cut-up apples next to him.]

Me (yesterday, 8:34 pm):
health freak ((((

 

Me (8:12 am):
happy now?
[picture attached: a stack of wholewheat pancakes with banana, plus a bowl of oatmeal with more banana and berries. A protein shake is sitting next to the arrangement.]

Shane (8:23 am):
I told you it wouldn't kill you!

Me (8:23 am):
fuck u

“Man, you’re antsy as fuck, you alright?” Marly bumps his shoulder into Ilya’s before dropping his hand down to Ilya’s knee. It effectively stills the bouncing. Oops.

“I am not antsy; why would I eat ants for breakfast?”

Gratifyingly, Marly laughs. “Dolt. Excited about the ASG?” You sweet summer child, his voice says, which makes Ilya roll his eyes.

“Getting to play fun, meaningless hockey? Showing everyone who is best? Obviously.”

Marly laughs again. “Man, you actually make me appreciate the fact that they invited me.”

“See, will be cool,” Ilya says, which is dangerously close to admitting to the real reason. Since that would only get him endless chirping, though, he’s glad that Marly accepts his diversion.

It’s just the two of them from the Raiders this year; the league had picked one guy per team, with the rest of the roster filled by fan voting. Not that Ilya really cares about that. The game itself is fun, yes, and so is the skills competition, but it all pales in the face of the real prize this year: Shane fucking Hollander, in the flesh.

It’s a little surprising, actually, that there hasn’t been any sort of big think piece about the one-time boy wonder, taken out of the running before he could ever prove his mettle and now returning to the League as part of their All Star Festivities. There has been very little in terms of him being Shane Hollander at all; the advertising has been for sh24, in fact, like Shane’s actual name is just a footnote. Like his budding career was nothing but a blip; was nothing note-wrothy at all. Maybe it isn’t. And, anyway – his status as an injured former hockey player doesn’t seem like the thing proud, fierce Shane would want to have front and centre when talking about himself.

It’s a sentiment that Ilya can understand, but if anything, the fact that he knows who Shane was only makes the impending meeting all the more alluring.

Two hours.

Two more hours, and then Ilya will be free.

Unfortunately, he’s been telling himself the same thing since dropping his stuff off in his room around noon, before he got ushered to his first media appointment ahead of the games, and it has definitely been well over two hours since that.

“I’m pretty sure you also got the schedule,” Vaughny mutters under his breath when Ilya makes his third snide comment about it.

“You think I read my e-mail?” Ilya whispers back before dutifully shuffling over to get his picture taken again.

Behind him, Vaughny laughs. It’s a nice laugh, almost like it’s not even at Ilya’s expense. How sad that he is always tagging along after old, boring Scott Hunter. “This explains so much.”

Since there’s a camera already pointed at Ilya, he can’t even flip Vaughny off. What a pity.

The Metros, represented by Boiziau and Pike, are on the other side of the room. Ilya’s gaze keeps snagging on them, even though it’s just the two of them, no bashful tag-along with them.

Shane might not even be here yet. His flight had gotten delayed up in Ottawa because of some technical stuff – incoming plane struck by lightning, Shane had texted him with a long-suffering emoji – and Ilya hasn’t been able to keep up with Shane’s itinerary between photo-ops, media, and half-choreographed BTS bits for the fans.

Somehow, Ilya’s brain does not care about that, his eyes scanning the room like Shane will materialise any moment. Which is silly, because this is all players for Team East, which Shane is not, and yet.

And yet.

… Ilya might have a slight problem.

With a sigh, Ilya looks at the camera as directed, and hopes that that fact is not splashed all over his face in the official photographs.

In the end, it happens organically.

They’re all mingling, at the evening event between the day’s skills competition and the next day’s game. The restaurant has been fully rented out for them, with proper tables for the most part replaced by bar stools and those round standing tables. It’s probably to encourage networking between potential sponsors, players, and other influencers… amongst whom Shane also counts, these days. Ilya is probably still prouder of that achievement than Shane himself.

Ilya spots him when he enters, perched on one of the bar stools. Shane is dressed sharply in a suit that compliments his simple cane and surrounded by faces Ilya has seen on his streams: Pike, as thoroughly mediocre on the streams as he is on the ice and yet somehow popular because of Shane; Boiziau, who is a pretty decent guy, little as Ilya likes his defensive plays; Vaughny, whose mixed taste in friends between ancient Scott Hunter and Boiziau is astonishing; and that Metros rookie who he thinks belongs to Boiziau and has become a staple of Shane’s Metros streams.

“Roz!” Vaughny yells when he spots Ilya, waving him over.

Heart in his throat and grin on his face, Ilya makes his way to the little gaggle, nodding at the other players.

“Hey man.” Vaughny pulls him into a bro hug, slapping his back before nodding at their group. “I know these guys are boring –”

“Hey!” Pike, predictably, interjects.

“– but you gotta meet my buddy Hollsy! We played in Juniors together, and he’s legit one of the hockey smartest people I know!”

“I am aware,” Ilya says.

Shane’s eyebrows raise sceptically. “You are?”

“sh24_hockey, yes?” When Shane nods, Ilya adds, “I am big fan.”

The guys snort. “Band wagoner, huh?”

Ilya rears back. “Excuse you – I have been there almost from start!”

“Sure, buddy,” Vaughny says.

Shane hasn’t said anything, eyes locked on Ilya with an unreadable expression on his face. Ilya makes himself meet his gaze, because this is about Shane more than anyone else. “I am iroz81.” He pronounces it eyerose81, just like Shane had that first time. He grins at Shane.

Shane… does not grin back. He has gone pale, his mouth hard. When he stands, it is with jerky movements. His hands are shaking as he grabs his cane. “Fuck you,” he hisses, with enough vitriol that it actually sends Ilya stumbling backwards.

“Wha–” Ilya gets out, but it’s too late.

Shane has already stormed past him, straight to the bar.

“What did you do, Rozzy?” Vaughny asks, sounding as flabbergasted as Ilya feels.

At the bar, Shane flags a waiter down.

“I… do not know,” Ilya replies, far more honest than he means to be.

The waiter places two shots in front of Shane, who takes them, and knocks them back in quick succession, his broad back turned on Ilya. Even so, his muscles are undeniably tight.

“I’ve never seen him react like that,” Pike chimes in, which – right. Awesome. They’ve been having an audience.

“I truly did nothing.” Ilya’s voice sounds plaintive to his own ears. “I promise.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Vaughny says and knocks his shoulder into Ilya’s. “Want this?” He holds his almost full beer out to Ilya.

And Ilya doesn’t, not really, but he still takes the bottle and knocks it back in one go.

It doesn’t fill the sudden hollow in his chest, nor does it make Shane come back, but it does give him something to focus on for just a moment while he tries to figure out where this meeting he’s been looking forward to for weeks has gone so very fucking wrong.

i am outdid if u want 2 talk.

Ilya’s thumb hits send before he can consciously decide to do so.

To his surprise, the message actually gets delivered. A few seconds later, the check marks turn blue.

What does not appear is a reply. Or a typing indicator.

Shane’s status flips back to Last seen: 8:28 pm, and stays on that for the next minute.

Ilya sighs and closes his eyes. Fuck. This is not at all how he wanted this evening to go. He leans against the wall, opening his eyes into the dark night sky.

Fuck.

“Don’t tell me you’re drunk.”

The voice appears suddenly, close enough that Ilya flinches. He’s almost afraid to actually look, but there’s no way around it. With a deep breath, he steels himself and turns.

Up close and alone, Shane is beautiful. He’s backlit by the lights from the restaurant behind them, muffled conversation and laughter spilling out onto the deserted back porch. The light makes his hair glow and his eyes appear impossibly dark, with just enough illumination to make his freckles visible.

“Are you?”

Ilya blinks. “No,” he says truthfully. The urge had been there, but the only thing more pathetic than having Shane Hollander storm away from him with an insult rather than a greeting would have been a public meltdown about it. No. That is reserved for once Ilya is safely back in Boston. Or in his hotel room, more likely.

Shane snorts. The sound is not kind. “Could have fooled me.”

Annoyance spikes through Ilya. “Well, fuck you, too,” he replies, and his enunciation proves his point. “You are not my chaperone.”

Shane snorts again, though this time it sounds almost amused. Of course, that could also simply be wishful thinking.

For a long moment, silence stretches between them. Then, Shane inhales and turns to Ilya. Ilya stubbornly refuses to look back at him.

“Why did you do it?” Shane finally asks, unfairly sad considering he’s making absolutely no sense.

“Why did I do what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Oh. “I did!”

“You joked.”

“I did not! I told you who I am, you did not believe, then I sent you selfie! What more should I do?”

Shane scoffs. “Yeah, and then you dropped it, so – why? Why continue? To make fun of the washed up hockey wannabe?”

The accusation actually steals Ilya’s breath. “I wouldn’t,” he says when his lungs cooperate again.

Shane scoffs again. “Sure.”

Fury surges through Ilya at that. He may be an asshole on the ice, and he likes his pranks, but he is not cruel. Not like that. “That would be terrible thing to do, and I would not.”

“Then why?”

When Ilya looks at Shane, his face is half cast in light. Still beautiful, even in incomprehension. Still beautiful, even after admitting he thinks Ilya capable of such callousness. Such malice. And yet – “Because I like you,” Ilya tells him, his own voice hard. “I like talking to you. I like being just normal with you. No big deal about –” he waves at himself and the room on the other side of the wall, trying to encompass all the things he doesn’t have the English language for “– just. Hockey and plays and boring foods and funny story.” Ilya cracks a smile. “I like you, Shane, and I wanted to keep that. Is that so hard to believe?”

Shane swallows audibly. “You –” he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Ilya takes a step closer, as if drawn by an invisible string. “I did not want to stop chatting. And – I thought we get along so well.”

Shane’s eyes flicker down to Ilya’s lips and then back up, bottomless in the shadows of the building. He swallows again, wetting his lips with a quick motion.

Oh.

The whole situation clicks in Ilya’s mind, and he doesn’t hesitate. He closes that final step, one hand coming up to cup Shane’s jaw as he leans in. Shane’s exhale whispers over Ilya’s lips, and then so do his lips. It’s a brush, nothing more, but it sings through Ilya’s veins like the rakija Sveta had brought back from visiting her uncle in Serbia when they’d been teens.

Shane draws back. “What –”

“Shane,” Ilya murmurs, chasing that sweet taste.

Under his hands, Shane suddenly stiffens. Before Ilya can react, Shane has jerked away entirely. He takes two quick steps back until his back hits the building wall, his fingers on his lip like he can’t believe what happened. “I’m not –” Shane starts. His voice cracks and he stops, swallowing convulsively.

The hollow thing in Ilya’s chest starts sinking. “Hollander,” he says helplessly, reaching for Shane. Shane takes a step to the side, further away from Ilya, like it’s instinct. Ilya’s stomach plummets. Maybe it’s to make space for the hollow thing. “Hollander.”

Shane shakes his head, eyes wide and panicked, and then turns tail and flees.

Ilya can only watch him go.

It’s Marly who finds him an eternity later. “Roz?” he asks. His voice is tentative, like he’s scared Ilya will blow up any moment.

It’s almost enough to make Ilya blow up. Instead, Ilya pastes a smile onto his lips. “I was just about to find vodka menu,” Ilya tells him. His voice is steady, because why wouldn’t it be? “Wanna join me?”

“We have a game to play tomorrow.”

Ilya waves him off. “For shits and giggles.” He brushes past Marly. “And I guess is only fair for shits-and-giggles game if I, what do they say? Even playing field?”

Marly huffs in amusement, but obediently follows. “Sure, buddy.”

He doesn’t ask if Ilya is alright, which probably means the grapevine is working and he knows the answer. It’s not something Ilya wants to think about. In fact, he doesn’t want to think about anything. Which is exactly a job for vodka.

As it turns out, he can still play well enough for the ASG even with a hangover. And with the pounding in his head, it’s gratifyingly easy to think about nothing but the puck on his stick all game long, instead of pretty Canadians and their too plush lips.

A week later, Shane is photographed with Rose Landry, heads bent together and laughing as they duck out of a private Montreal club. 

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

It is not even close to a week since I last posted, but since I had A Weekend™️(went from 34°C to being caught in a thunderstorm with torrential downpour for 1.5h before a gig I’ve been looking forward to for a long time; and while I had a dry shirt to change into, I did not have dry shoes 😂 Either screamed my throat raw at the gig or actually sick), I wanted to treat myself and you guys – so here is the final chapter!

Thank you to met for the beta and vex for the prompt and participation in ICE OUT HR! And thank you to everyone who followe along and left comments and kudos 💛 I’m woefully behind with replying, but I cherish every single one 💛💛💛

“Charming Canadians now, Roz?” Keller grins, his phone in his hand. There is a news article open on it, showing a candid picture from Ilya and Shane meeting. If Keller wasn’t one of their more competent D-men, Ilya would be tempted to throw his skate at him. “I mean, look at him, guys – why does he never look at us like that?”

“Maybe we’re all too ugly,” Cons says. The room laughs.

On second thought, Ilya does have two skates and pretty good aim.

Since that would not help their playoff chances at all, though, Ilya instead lets his mouth stretch into a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes and looks at Keller until Keller looks back.

“Woah.” Keller raises his hands, though he’s still grinning. Genuinely. Ilya hates his team. “No but, for real, do you know sh24?”

“Nah,” Sculls, one of their second liners, cuts in. He’s pulling Keller’s hand down so he can point at whatever picture is on his screen. “That’s Roz introducing himself, can’t you see?”

Keller chuckles, and Ilya suddenly can’t take it anymore. “You are all terrible,” he grouses, somehow managing to make it come out deadpan instead of actually mad, finishes tying his skate laces, and then makes his way to the tunnel. “And lazy. Like this, is no wonder we are barley in contention.”

“Uuugh, spoilsport,” Sculls moans, but he does move back towards his own stall.

At least with the drills the coaches put them through, no one really has enough breath left to chirp Ilya.

It’s a good picture, is the thing. A painful one, too. It shows Shane in profile, his expression even and so beautiful, and Ilya from the front with his grin in full display. For once, Ilya understands what they mean when they say your eyes are smiling, too, because that’s exactly what his face is doing. He looks… good. A little besotted, maybe, but mostly just very excited.

It’s a snapshot from moments before disaster struck and the whole encounter went off the rails.

Ilya still spends far too long looking at it. In private at first, and then because it goes viral and everyone wants to get his quote.

“So, Ilya, you had a chance to meet Shane Hollander, also known as sh24_hockey at this year’s All Star Game. Some call him the greatest surprise of hockey as a hobby analyst who has a very keen eye for the game and a rather unique understanding of the strategy. What are your thoughts?”

Ilya is still panting from his final shifts in overtime during the game, suddenly grateful that he is already flushed and sweaty because even though he knows his meeting with Shane had been captured, the question still takes him by surprise. “Was very brief meeting,” he says, “I only said hi; we did not have chance to talk hockey then.” There; none of that is even a lie.

The reporter laughs. “Do you think he won Rose Landry over with his hockey knowledge? Those two have been seen quite a bit together this past week.”

Something hot and ugly flashes through Ilya. He raises one eyebrow and tilts his head a little as he tries to get his whirling thoughts into a semblance of coherency. “I do not know Rose Landry,” he says, proud when he doesn’t spit her name, “but breaking down plays has not been best ice breaker at bars.”

Gratifyingly, this elicits another laugh from the assembled reporters, which move on to asking Ilya about his actual hockey game.

Meeting – and apparently dating – Rose Landry is the best thing that could have happened to Shane’s online career.

Ilya loathes her even as he can’t help but marvel at Shane’s luck.

(He’d call it Shane’s strategy, but unlike Shane, he isn’t prone to accusing his friends – because no matter what, that’s what they were – of being callous like that.)

They are everywhere: their sightings are splashed all over gossip sites and then Instagram and Reddit, and, as evidenced, it even follows Ilya into the locker room. He cannot escape.

And still, he cannot make himself stay away from Shane’s streams, even as he covers everything except Boston.

“Something very interesting has surfaced online, Ilya,” Carmen Janelle starts. She’s usually one of Ilya’s favourite beat reporters, but Ilya still has a terrifying moment where he’s trying to figure out what he did these past few nights (aside from drink and dance and pick up very willing young women), before Carmen smiles. “You probably don’t remember, but people picked up that five years ago, for World Juniors 2011, you and Shane Hollander – also known as sh24_hockey, who’s enjoyed quite the popularity after breaking down the All Star Game – were set to play each other before he injured his knee and was replaced by Kyle Benner. But first things first – did you watch that breakdown?”

Ilya shrugs, hoping his smile looks natural. “Who has not? He is very good at it. Better when the play is better.” Ilya winks.

“Fair,” Carmen says with a chuckle. “That he is. I was wondering – did Hollander ever blip your radar back then?”

“Of course. And Shane Hollander is not the kind of person you forget.” Obviously, Ilya’s tone says.

Maybe it’s stupid that this is still something he is proud of, even now that they’re not talking. Or rather, not texting. Shane did greet him when Ilya joined the stream yesterday, after all, which had made Ilya feel all kinds of weird.

“A player with that many hat tricks during his Juniors career despite being told he cannot play with his size and build.” Now, Ilya smiles, wide and humourless. “Maybe Canada would have stood chance with him in line-up. Made it to final, at least. When I realised who he was, I was sad I never got to play against him. Would have been nice to beat him.” He winks at her phone camera, and then turns to the next reporter before he can say anything worse.

Even if Ilya wasn’t peripherally aware of the schedules of the teams in their division, he suddenly has a very good awareness of the Montreal homestands – because they culminate in a rotating cast of Metros players on Shane’s couch, playing COD and ‘Laich and even some CS:GO.

It’s fun to watch him play. Fun to hear him break down lanes of attack and plays even outside of hockey, to hear his analysis. To get his understated chirps that burn all the more when you clock how correct he is.

It’s less fun to suddenly be subject of the stream.

“Glib-underscore-helmet asks, have you seen Ilya Rozanov’s statement about beating you?” Shane is playing some puzzle game as sort of a chill “hang out stream”, because that’s apparently a thing he does these days now that he’s become popular through his own charm and being seen with Rose fucking Landry. The Shane snorts and squints at the screen as his on-screen avatar stops a few pixels away from thorny spikes. “Hard to miss. Hayd was incredibly outraged and just had to show me.”

Shane smiles indulgently at the mention of his friend.

no wonder 15th best player on metros wld think so, Ilya types before he can stop himself. To his surprise, Shane’s mouth actually twitches up more when he catches sight of Ilya’s message, even though it’s immediately drowned out by a flood of pro-Metros messages. Damn Shane for his Metros fan base.

“Don’t be mean, iro,” Shane chastises gently.

The nickname based on his screen name shouldn’t zing through Ilya the way it does, so he looks back at the chat. just saying truth.

Shane smiles again. “Well, I think that Rozanov would probably beat me these days, what with my leg and all.”

Ilya sputters in the privacy of his living room and opens his direct messages with Shane. He ignores that the last one is still from the All Star Game dinner, typo and all.

Me (Jan 30, 8:27pm):
i am outdid if u want 2 talk

 

Me (just now):
PROBABLY??
i thot canadiens were HUMBLE???????

There is no reply right away, but Ilya didn’t expect one either way.

On screen, Shane continues, “But he’s welcome to face off against me in ‘Laich, to keep things fair. Try to beat me there.”

Ilya’s nostrils flare. Shane has a win-rate above 80% in the game across all his streams, not that Ilya is keeping count. A viewer started doing that, and now, Shane’s layout includes a little stats corner, which proclaimed a 82% win-rate the last time Shane hosted the Metros before they left on a road trip.

He doesn’t dignify that with a response then, and wanders off to get his post-dinner snack before it gets too late.

“Ilya, any chance we could see you and Shane Hollander face off on the virtual ice? He was asked about your comments the other day and issued something of a challenge.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. He and Shane have gone back to texting on and off now that the ice has been broken again, and while there’s certain noticeable gaps where they’re avoiding topics like Rose Landry or Boston hockey or Ilya’s attempt at kissing Shane, it’s been good and only intermittently painful. Which is why Ilya is pretty confident that Shane had made that comment in jest and wasn’t actually issuing a challenge. “Ts,” he scoffs, “he is streamer, yes? They say many things, rarely put their mouth to their money.”

The scrum titters at that, and another reporter chimes in, “That’s quite a turnabout from your very positive comments the other day.”

Ilya raises his eyebrows and gives him his best condescending look. “I said he is good hockey analyst. Now I am saying that he probably did not mean throw-away comment on stream. I do not see contradiction here. But I thought you were asking me about hockey game?”

By the time Ilya is released from the clutches of the press and has gotten through his shower, there’s a new message waiting for him.

Shane (9:59 pm):
I think it could be fun.
My mom pointed out it would be good marketing for both of us, to lean into the rivalry. Sportsmanlike, of course, but there is opportunity there.

 

Me (10:27 pm):
look at Shane Hollander buisness man

Shane (10:31 pm):
For real, Ilya. I think this could be good.

 

Me (just now):
fine
next time we play in mtl?

It’s the use of his first name that undoes Ilya. Shane, acknowledging properly who Ilya is? Christ. Ilya is hopeless.

At least they won’t play Montreal until the final stretch of the season, which should give Ilya a bit longer to come to terms with what he’s pretty sure is a proper crush on Shane, rejection at the ASG and all.

“You’re spending your off-day going to New York City, to play ‘Laich ‘16 against Shane Hollander?” Marly gives him an incredulous look that has Ilya crossing his arms.

“Yes. Sometimes big name players are asked to do league promo. I know you do not know this from experience, but is thing that happens.”

Marly does not take the bait. “Just let me get this straight. You’re voluntarily going to spend time with Shane fucking Hollander, less than two months after he broke your fucking heart?”

Ilya actually rears back. “I – he – that is lie! That is rumour! He did not – Russians do not get their hearts broken.”

Marly gives him another meaningful look. “Okay, a) I have picked you up often enough after getting your ass dumped by pretty girls to know that you very theatrically like to tell me how badly your heart has been broken, and b) I was there, though you probably do not remember through the monster hangover you got after talking to him.”

Ilya wordlessly stares at Marly.

“Just, buddy – it’s none of my business, and I’ll be there to pick up the pieces afterwards, but it’s my duty as your best friend to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Ilya remains speechless, though for quite a different reason. Finally, he manages to clear his throat. “Fuck you. I always know what I am doing.”

With a disbelieving snort, Marly shakes his head. “Well. I’ll be here for the aftermath. Guess we all had to be twenty and make dumb decisions.”

“I am twenty-one,” Ilya tells him.

Marly bumps their shoulders together. “Yes, a baby.” Like he isn’t just two years older than Ilya himself.

“And is just playing a game.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” Marly sighs, but he does it quietly enough that Ilya can pretend he didn’t hear. He’s fortified; he can survive meeting Shane Hollander in the flesh without making an ass out of himself.

Ilya is nursing a beer at the hotel bar when someone slides into the seat next to him. He glances over, and just barely manages to contain his reaction at the recognition.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Shane fucking Hollander says after a moment, smiling. He signals the bartender for something to drink, and Ilya uses that to actually look at him.

In person, Shane is magnitudes more gorgeous and compelling than on stream. His tanned skin seems to glow, speckled with freckles like tiny constellations, and there are flecks in his eyes that Ilya wants to categorise until he knows them by heart. He’s dressed sharply in slacks and a buttoned shirt open just far enough to show a hint of his collarbones, enticingly biteable.

A beat too late, Ilya shrugs. “We start filming early tomorrow. They put me up in hotel.”

Shane smiles again. “I’m glad. I… was hoping I’d be able to catch you. Get a do-over.”

This makes Ilya turn to him fully, one eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“Hi,” Shane says and holds out his hand between them. “Uh, Ilya Rozanov? I’m Shane. Hollander. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ilya looks from Shane’s hand up to his face, and then finally reaches out to grasp it. His grip is firm, his fingers slightly calloused and just a hint of sweat. It’s somehow relieving to realise that Shane, too, is just a little nervous about this.

“So have I.” Ilya squeezes Shane’s fingers before he makes himself let him go. “I am excited to meet you.”

“Still?” Shane asks, a little self-deprecating as he accepts his own bottle from the bartender.

For a moment, quiet stretches between them. Then, Ilya takes a fortifying breath and looks over at Shane. “So. Are you here alone? Or… using the opportunity to explore?”

Shane chuckles and shakes his head. “No. I mean, yeah, I’m alone. My mom considered accompanying me, but she had work obligations she couldn’t get out of. She’s a huge fan of the city.”

It’s interesting, but not quite what Ilya wanted to know. Damn Shane for actually making him say it. “So… Rose Landry did not come along?”

Again, Shane chuckles. This time, it sounds a little bashful. “No. Uh – we’re not… It’s not a thing, anymore. She’s lovely but, uh. We’re not compatible.”

Ilya blinks. Not compatible? He’s reasonably sure he knows what the word means, but he’s usually heard it in terms of line chemistry. Not used for romantic relationships. He makes a mental note to look the word up. “I’m sorry,” he says when he realises Shane must be waiting for an answer for him. He’s not, really, but it’s the thing to say.

Shane huffs in amusement. “Eh. I think she’s great, just… not for me.”

What is for you? Ilya almost asks, but they still have a promo thing to film tomorrow, spending all day in each other’s company. While he’s generally a proponent of bad ideas, that is a step too far into masochism even for him. “How noble,” he says instead.

Shane smiles and takes a sip of his beer.

A little desperately, Ilya casts around for something to say to get rid of this stilted, awkward stop-and-go. “You know, this is magic,” he finally says, which makes Shane’s head whip up to look at him. “You suggest playing video games, and suddenly coaches let me out of practice.”

“Well, they certainly have bigger issues at the moment than your line,” Shane says derisively, and that is safe territory.

And suddenly, talking to Shane is easy, like it’s been over text, and Ilya doesn’t even bemoan the fact that they don’t make it back to his room at the end of the night.

He finds Shane at breakfast the next morning. His plate is filled with egg and a whole-wheat roll and something green that’s probably spinach, making him look more like an athlete than Ilya’s indulgence in white bread with jam. He’ll get his protein from a shake, but with no trainers around, there’s no one to scold him.

Except Shane Hollander, it seems.

“I looked up the word,” Ilya says before Shane can open his mouth to give voice to his disapproving look at Ilya’s choice of breakfast. “Compatible.”

“What?”

“I thought I knew what it meant. But I wanted to check.”

He can see Shane think for a moment. “Oh.”

“You and Rose Landry…” Ilya doesn’t know how to end that sentence. Or, he doesn’t know without revealing too much.

“Yeah. Not compatible. Not in that way.”

Interesting. Ilya swallows, but Shane is already going on, “And – I know it probably doesn’t mean anything. But. I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes?” Ilya croaks, heart suddenly in his throat.

“About what I’ll do. With my life. And – BU reached out. About a potential position on the coaching staff.”

The words knock Ilya’s breath from his lungs.

“And – at the ASG. Outside. Anyway. Nothing’s set in stone, but I’ve been thinking about taking it.” Shane has dropped his gaze to his plate, but now he’s looking up, meeting Ilya’s gaze head-on. It steals the last of Ilya’s breath, blood pounding in his ears so loud he’s scared of missing Shane’s next words. “I’ll be in Boston. And… maybe… you’d like to spend more time together?”

It’s stilted. It sounds like Shane is fighting against his every instinct to say this out loud. It’s almost naïve.

It’s still the best thing Ilya has heard all year.

“You are asking me out.”

Shane flushes even more and ducks his head. He shrugs, then nods more decisively. “I am.”

It’s a terrible idea. Ilya is still an MLH star and Russian and his father is a cop and so is his brother. But even as all those reasons flash through his mind, he’s also starkly, undeniably aware that there is no universe where he’d be able to deny Shane Hollander. “I would love that,” Ilya finally replies, his own voice shaking. Shane exhales all in one rush, like he’d been holding his breath. “But only after I beat you at your own game.”

That makes Shane laugh, sudden and unguarded. Ilya feels himself fall another bit for him. “Keep dreaming, Rozanov.”

“Not necessary when reality is so sweet,” Ilya replies, his heart soaring in his chest.

The words turn Shane’s smile more bashful, and Ilya suddenly cannot wait until their obligations for the day are done and he can get Shane all to himself.

It’s a dizzying thought, made more so by the prospect of a future where he’ll have Shane close by.

For the first time in a long, long while, Ilya cannot wait to reach that future.

Chapter End Notes

The recognisable dialogue has, of course, been borrowed from the show and is not mine ^^