Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Luca Haas/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Luca Haas, Zane Boodram, Evan Dykstra, Wyatt Hayes, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Hayden Pike, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Brandon Wiebe, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Nick Chouinard, Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Relationship Reveal, POV Outsider, POV Multiple, 5+1 Things, Spoliers for The Long Game, no beta we die like shane's heterosexuality, Fuck Montreal, Shane Hollander deserves all the love, Secret Relationship, Kind Of, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian

Language:

English

Series:

Part 7 of HR Alternate Relationship Reveals, Part 1 of every kiss, it gets a little sweeter

Collections:

RainyBugs_Hollanov_Yay!, Outsider POV My Beloved, how dare you make me feel emotions (/pos), No thoughts just gay hockey, The best pairings to bask in, Emeralds_Late_Night_Reads, Works to reread, Read & Loved Heated Rivalry Fics, Centaurs fics I love love love, *Heated rivalry melts my heart*, I need sunshine ☀️🏒 ~ Heated Rivalry (Game Changers) fics, Heated Rivalry, Absolute Favourite Fics

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-07 Completed: 2026-04-28 Words: 30,402 Chapters: 7/7

they (don't) know about us

Summary

A second, then a blur. Ilya knocking over one of the kitchen island stools to engulf Shane. His shaking frame holding Shane so tight, Shane felt himself shaking back. He could only hold on back, just as tightly.
“Please.” Came the strangled voice by his left ear. “Please, tell me.”
And who was Shane to ever deny a wish of Ilya Rozanov.
“I’m signing to Ottawa. Tomorrow. If you would want to come with.”
And then Ilya was shoving him back, holding him close to his face. “Of course. I drive. Of course I come.”
Or
Shane, fed up with Montreal, signs to Ottawa before their relationship is revealed. While he doesn't plan on keeping that a secret for long, he asks Ilya to let him get to know the team first, before they come out. To maybe have a normal season. Meanwhile, the rest of the Centaurs are going crazy trying to figure out what is going on between their captain and Shane Hollander and why they keep showing up in the same car??

Notes

Hello hello!
So this one is a multi chapter fic - this time on purpose! I can’t promise regular updates, but do trust I want to see this through! Each chapter will feature a different POV and roughly follow directly after the previous one.
!! As a potential trigger warning for the first chapter, I will be dealing with the shittyness that is the Montreal Voyagers treatment of Shane coming out so please take care of yourself before reading it! Worst case, you should be able to start with chapter 2 (where those events will be mentioned but not discussed in depth) without missing out on too much. This first chapter is a bit of a doosy, but the rest should be much more light-hearted and fun!
For timing context - this takes place around a similar timeline as The Long Game, just Hayden's videos never revealed their relationship aka I wanted to play around with the idea of the boys being on the same team and still trying to keep their relationship a secret :)
Title from One Direction cause once a fangirl, always a fangirl
I know nothing about hockey so please ignore anything about that, if you do see any typos though, please let me know!!
Here's a Russian translation of this fic by the lovely CreateWorldswithWords: https://ficbook.net/readfic/019d97c7-2fae-70a7-9058-d0d5383bd1d4

Chapter 1: they don't know about the I-love-yous

Chapter Notes

Shane doesn’t think he’s ever been so scared to tell Ilya something. Which is crazy, given everything unspoken between them over the years. 

There were periods where Shane could have written full novels full of the things he was too scared to tell Ilya. How much he loved the way his hair looked when he let it run natural. Even more when he’d just run his hands through it. He had wanted to ask, for years, how and when Ilya noticed his love for Ginger Ale. Wanted to know how Ilya even knew the specific brand. Shane had wanted to ask what was awaiting them; what Ilya’s future plans were, in a world post NHL. He wanted to know Ilya’s favorite breakfast foods and what times he liked to take his meals. He wanted to shift his schedule to meet Ilya’s. Which side of the bed he preferred and if he wet his toothbrush before applying tooth paste (spoiler, he doesn’t, but Shane finds out he loves him enough that it really doesn’t matter. On the bad days, he just shuts his eyes when he sees Ilya with a toothbrush and pretends). 

Most days then, he had felt like he was bursting with questions. Like, if Shane had loosened his self control barely an inch, all these questions would come tumbling out and there would be nothing he could do to reel them back in. 

They’d gotten better about communicating. Knowing Ilya, impossibly, loved him back sure made it easier to release all the questions he had from the dam he had built behind his lips. They could, and had, talked for days, voices going hoarse but never ending. Love, even in the whispered words.

Yet, even with that knowledge, Shane was still trembling at the idea of approaching this topic with Ilya. 

***

Let us rewind. How did we get here? 

If you asked Shane, his first response would be an instinctual “I don’t know.” Which was only partially a lie. The truth was, he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been hiding from the truths pressing down around him. How long he’d ignored the stabs, complacent and bleeding out. 

But if he took a deep breath and really thought about it, it all started when Scott Hunter came out. 

Shane didn’t even see the scars of pain and misery until months later. Too wrapped up in that summer of change, of freedom, in the cottage to bother checking his phone. He had shut himself off from the rest of the world to just be with Ilya and in doing so he had missed the first shots being fired. 

Not that Shane was ever really active in the team's group chat, but he was usually pretty good at trying to keep up with what conversations were going down. He rarely stepped in or participated, but he knew his role as team captain did mean, technically, there were times where it was his responsibility. And this had definitely been one of those times. 

It had started half-way tame, with soft jabs and quiet outrage when Scott Hunter kissed Kip Grady (a name Shane learned quickly post cup final game) on the ice. Some of his teammates kept their jokes to the general bullshit between teams. Shitting on the Admirals and lamenting how “this should of been their year!” but somewhere, in the hundreds of messages Shane read much too late, a shift occured. Away from the team and towards hate. Homophobic jokes and thinly veiled death threats sat attached to the names of the men he shared the ice with most days out of the year. Men, who he had once been proud to lead and call his own, transforming into beasts and monsters, writing and uttering words Shane had pretended not to hear over the years. Quips tossed around the locker room. 

Maybe it was his fault, really. Maybe if he had said something, that first day as captain, he could have stopped it then.

Ilya was gone, his smell still lingering on Shane’s sheets when he had finally gotten around to charging his phone again and had opened the group chat. It was probably a good thing, Shane recognized afterwards, that he hadn’t read those messages in front of Ilya. It was probably a good thing Ilya hadn’t seen him go pale, fall apart. Throw up, when he got to the worst of them. Hadn’t seen how he stood under the scalding shower water and attempted to scrub all the unseen words off his skin until the water went cold. 

Shane had the hours of Ilya’s flight to Boston to fall apart and put himself back together. To answer Ilya’s phone call, the second he landed on the runway and pretended the croak to his voice was from missing Ilya, terribly, and not the rawness of stomach acid lingering. 

It had almost been worse, that first practice back. Seeing the same men in person, again. Having to deal with the mental gymnastics of putting those disgusting words to each face and yet, still see them day after day. To still be part of the same team. 

Team. What did that word even mean anymore?

Shane had tried to bring it up. Multiple times, those first weeks back. He had never been able to bring himself to address the messages in the group chat, but he had promised himself he would speak to the team, as a whole, about how unacceptable that behaviour was. He’d had a whole plan. Sit them down, to speak calm but firmly. He’d practiced at home, alone in front of his bathroom mirror. He wasn’t going to make this about him, or Scott either. It was supposed to be a general talk. To remind them that hockey was for everyone.

He made it all the way to calling them into an extra meeting after practice before he froze. Sitting, perched on a seat in the first row of bleachers, all eyes on him. The relaxed grins, smothered yawns from his teammates so familiar he had a moment of doubt. Maybe he had gotten them mixed up. Maybe he had misread the messages, or saved their numbers wrong. After all, this was a team he had been playing for almost a decade now. He knew them. Had thought them to be good men. He’d met their wives, their children, a good part of their parents. Had led them to the cup two years in a row. 

And then someone, near the back, Shane didn’t even have the bandwidth to sort the voice to the name, called out to their final player, their rookie, who was still on the ice, “Come on, hurry up, you fa-”

“Alright.” Shane had felt his mouth move. Heard his voice echo across the mostly empty ice. He wasn’t in control here, the words flowing out before he could stop them. “That’s enough. That’s fucking enough.” Shocked silence. Shane could feel himself breathing too heavily, pulse thudding in his ears. “I don’t want to hear that word again. Or any of the other, adjacent words, ever again. There is no place for them, here on the ice or in the locker room. And I don’t ever want to see them written or typed in the group chat, either. That is not who we are.”

A long minute of tense stares followed, only Hayden’s approving, small smile, giving Shane the strength to continue. 

“You think it’s funny. I get it. For the most part, I hope you really don’t mean it. But they are never funny. Never not hurtful. And while everyone is free to believe what they want to believe, respect should be honored above everything. Nothing about those words is respectful. Nothing about those words shows this team to be the team we should be. So I don’t ever want to hear them again.”

Silence, again, then, a snort. Again, a nameless voice in the back, heard in a not hushed whisper. “When did Cap get such a stick up his ass?”

“I don’t believe it’s incorrect to be wishing some fucking basic human decency.” Shane let the same heat into his words that he sometimes felt on the ice. Watched his tone have its desired effects. 

Still, a complaint. “Cap, I mean, sure, I can get the no publically posting thing. Those guys are a bunch of sensitive-” rolled eyes. “But it’s not like they’re listening in to our practices or something.”

And Shane knew this was the moment. One, he hadn’t ever pictured, until Ilya. One, he couldn’t even imagine until Ilya. Now, looking back, he was so proud of himself.

Still, in the moment, he had felt like he was going to throw up again. “Fuck that. I’m here.”

He could feel it, in the air. Knew, instantly, that some of his teammates got it. He made himself say it.

“I’m gay. I’m with you on the ice. My locker is within hearing shot of yours. I’ve heard it. Read it. Seen it. And I’ve had enough. This is not who we are. This is not who we should be. I want to believe we are all better than this.”

Shane barely remembered the rest of the conversation. The muffled complaints. The lack of words. The suspicious glances. Tension, in the locker room, so heavy Shane nearly collapsed when he took off his practice gear. He hadn’t been expecting a celebration, especially given the messages, but he had underestimated how powerful the silence could be.

The truth was out now. And Shane tried to tell himself it meant something. He barely heard a homophobic word from his teammates again. Then again, it wasn’t hard. Basically no one was speaking to him. The group chat, inactive. He saw them on the ice, at practice, then that was it. Gone were the invites to drinks after games. Gone were the parties and club nights Shane had hated so much but had shown up at anyway. Gone was the team. 

Shane had never considered himself particularly close with many of his teammates, other than Hayden and JJ, but he was still shocked to reconcile with the stark difference of communication now. No more small talk. Previous conversations seemed to titter off the second he entered the room. When he tried, messy attempts at conversation, he could practically watch the words die in the air between them. It hurt, though a small part of him rejoiced in the distance from those who could say such things, believe such things. 

What hurt the most was Shane could tell the coaches knew something was up. It wasn’t entirely obvious in games yet, but he knew this was affecting their dynamics on the ice. And while he was grown enough now to know something like his sexuality shouldn’t matter on the ice, here, on this team, it did. 

The first major shift was in a game against the New York Admirals. Shane had shook Scott’s hand at the beginning of the game, something he had done a million times before. He hadn’t drawn the connection to the muttered grumblings in the locker room until the first time he was on the ice. 

They were only five minutes into the game when Shane saw the first opening. Could feel it, deep down in his bones. This was his shot. Their first goal of the night. And he was open, undefended. Awaiting the pass. 

He saw the tight look on his teammates face. The quick flash of his eyes, scanning the rest of the ice. The hesitation. The half-assed pass in the opposite direction. Saw the Admirals player scoop up the puck and shoot down the rink.

Shane’s stomach had hurt, so bad in that moment he considered calling over the team medic. Anything to explain what just happened. A rational explanation he was searching for, just out of grasp. 

And then it happened again. And again. And again.

They lost the game. 

The second strike came two weeks later. It wasn’t even a direct hit this time. Shane pulling on his clothes after practice, the conversations in the locker room washing over him. The words “wedding invite” sticking out. Making the back of his neck itch. 

It was one of the younger players, newly engaged and heavily complaining about all the wishes and requests from his bride-to-be concerning the wedding prep. A stress that Shane also felt, his own desk at home covered in a mountain of wedding stuff. They hadn’t even decided on a date - or, hell, if they’d go public before the wedding - but that wasn’t stopping Yuna Hollander from sending Shane everything she found. Half of the envelopes sat unopened. 

Shane tuned back into the conversation to hear a whiny story of hand cramping from signing so many envelopes. Joyful laughter and “Of course you’re invited, man.” Shane shuttered, imagining the pain of sitting through another, awkward team wedding. It might be time to send that tux off for dry cleaning.

And then he never got an invite.  

Watched the videos of the “I do’s!” posted the day after on Instagram, the cheers of his teammates in the background.

Hayden had been invited, though he had been struggling to decide if he’d go or not once he found out Shane hadn’t been, but his children had gotten the stomach virus the week before and he had pleaded sick. It only made Shane feel slightly better. 

This was the first time Ilya had noticed. A cheeky text, probably after seeing the various social media posts, asking why Shane hadn’t sent him any pictures in his favorite tux? The worst part was, gone were the days where Shane could ignore that message and Ilya would be none the wiser. Instead, when Shane couldn’t come up with a non-pitiful reply, his phone rang, Ilya’s worried voice on the line, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” It was also the first time he let Ilya hear him cry over it. 

Once he was all cried out, and finished talking down a murderous Ilya Rozanov, Shane let himself actually think about it. Began to come up with a plan B. Send Farah an email with the wish, not to let Ilya know. 

The final blow came when Shane was alone. Ottawa’s pride night on his TV. 

Ilya had teased him about his jealousy over Troy Barrett, which Shane had always denied, but in that moment, he would think of no better word. Jealous. He was so fucking jealous. He watched Troy come out, on the ice with his team standing behind him. The proud grin from Ilya so bright over his shoulder in the interview shot. Watched, as Troy skated away from the interviewer and into the many, open arms of the Ottawa Centaurs. Barely heard the cheers from the crowds over his own sobs. 

It wasn’t fair. 

He had spent a decade of his life, giving his blood, sweat, and tears to a team who nowadays acted as if he wasn’t even on the ice. A team that did nothing to support him. More the opposite, if he was being truthful. 

He was so happy, for Ilya, for Troy, for Scott, to have found teams and teammates who supported you, no matter who you loved. 

Why didn’t he get to have that? Did he not deserve that too?

Hayden had shown up, sometime that night, unprompted. Had found the mess that currently was Shane Hollander on his sofa and had wrapped him up in a long hug. Had held Shane together as he was actively falling apart. Had answered the phone call from Farah, pain in Hayden’s eyes as he had answered yes, Shane was open to signing elsewhere next season. And Shane let him see, unwillingly but unable to hold himself back, how much this was killing him. How he was barely holding on in Montreal. Hayden had even called Ilya, hours later, hushed words in his hallway as Shane had drifted in and out of sleep. And then, a few hours later, Ilya was there. Ilya was the one holding him together as the world tried to tear him apart. 

He knew Ilya hadn’t judged him for the breakdown. The outpouring of love and support from him was a cooling bandage on his fresh and old wounds. And yet, he was still so scared to talk about what had come of it. 

To talk about the email sitting in his inbox from Brandon Wiebe. 

In the end, Ilya brought it up, unknowingly. 

“So, coach says he has his eyes on some new player. A good player.” He had put the word in quotation marks with his hands. 

They were at the cottage early this season. The Centaurs were improving enough to have made the playoffs this year, but they had lost in the first round to Boston. The Voyagers had fallen apart in the first round as well, against New York. Scott Hunter’s worried looks had been hard to dodge. Shane knew he knew something was up. 

“Someone good?” Shane managed, focusing heavily on stacking their dinner dishes in the dishwasher not to look at Ilya.

“Hm. So good, apparently. He told me after the loss to Boston. To make up for it, he had said. Promised next season would be different.” Ilya’s voice behind him was normal. Shane was pretty sure Ilya hadn’t realized the mountain of a secret he was talking around. 

“At the rate you guys are improving, I’m not sure a really good player is necessary for that to be true next season.” Shane fought to keep his answers neutral, setting the pan to soak in the sink.

“Bah, we don’t need it, yes. We made playoffs! Who would have believed that, even last year?” A beat, then, “But it would be nice. I feel like we are really coming together, yes. We have good bones, you could say. Star center and captain. Good goalie. Promising players and rookies. But I can’t help but feel like there is one last part, missing. Keeping us back from reaching our full potential.” 

Shane made himself face Ilya. “And you think, what, this new player could be your missing piece?” God, he hoped he was. Wished he was, desperately. But he also didn’t know what Ilya was going to say, finding out Shane had been keeping this from him for weeks.

Ilya gave a one shouldered shrug. “Maybe. It wouldn’t hurt. But I’m not sure who he means. I did not think any of the good players were looking at Ottawa.” Shane could see his brain working and felt the words rising on his tongue. But he held himself back so Ilya could say, “I mean, anybody who is someone would go to New York or Boston after this season. That is the place to be. Ottawa is still a step down.”

“And a pay cut.” Shane let out, damning the consequences. 

Ilya’s eyes lit up, curious. Shane felt a satisfied hum vibrate through him. Ilya hadn’t missed it. He could practically feel him putting it together.

“Yes. It would be. Especially after Barrett and I, and with the way Hayes is playing, I’m not sure how much more we have to offer. I’m sure I could ask-”

“Eight million a season.” Shane cut him off. 

“Oh.” Ilya’s eyes were boring into him. “That’s nothing.” 

That’s what Shane’s mother had said too. And a part of him had twinged, his ego bruised at the offer. But he also knew it was all Ottawa had to offer. 

Shane lifted his shoulder in a weak shrug. “It’s not nothing.” He saw the moment Ilya finally made the connection. His mouth, opening in a silent gasp. Eyes wet and wide open, disbelieving. And suddenly Shane was smiling. The weight, that had been accumulating slowly but surely over the years finally shifting off his shoulders. “Besides,” He started, surprised to find his own eyes wet and throat tight. “I feel like we’ll save enough money living together to make up for it.” 

A second, then a blur. Ilya knocking over one of the kitchen island stools to engulf Shane. His shaking frame holding Shane so tight, Shane felt himself shaking back. He could only hold on back, just as tightly. 

“Please.” Came the strangled voice by his left ear. “Please, tell me.”

And who was Shane to ever deny a wish of Ilya Rozanov. 

“I’m signing to Ottawa. Tomorrow. If you would want to come with.” 

And then Ilya was shoving him back, holding him close to his face. “Of course. I drive. Of course I come.”

There were many tears that evening, but Shane liked these tears. They were so happy. Shared. A symbol for everything fought through and for better days tomorrow. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen Ilya this shaken, nearly speechless for hours as they held each other close and weathered the memories that had brought them here. 

It was only hours later, when they both recovered enough that Shane approached the second topic he had been fearful of.

“I’m fine with them knowing I’m gay.” His voice was a whisper in the darkness, but he knew Ilya was listening. “But could we maybe wait to tell them about us?”

A deep, steadying breath. “Yes. Of course.”

“I do want to tell them, eventually, but I want to meet them as me. Just me and not that they would think I just moved there for you or something. Which I kind of am, but that’s not the point. I’m still my own person. Not, well, god, this is hard to explain.” Shane rushed out. 

“It’s ok. I understand.” Ilya’s fingers were smoothing through his hair. “But, Shane, sweetheart, we are not Montreal. They will be ok with it. When we tell them.” 

Shane was thankfully all cried out for the evening, otherwise he was pretty sure that would have set him off again. 

“I know. I see it, through you. And I’m excited to tell them. But I also want to get to know them first.” He raised his head to meet Ilya’s eyes, gleaming in the darkness. “Are you ok to wait a little bit more?”

A kiss brushed against his forehead. “Shane, for you I would wait forever.”

Shane let himself be tucked in against Ilya, the warmth starting to pull him towards sleep. Still, there was one last, little point.

“I think we do have to tell Coach Wiebe, though, tomorrow.” At Ilya’s questioning hum, Shane hid his reddening cheeks under Ilya’s chin. “He may have made it clear in his emails that he knew why I chose Ottawa.” Shane could tell Ilya was satisfied with that, but there was still one last thing. “He included HR paperwork about relationships in the workplace.”

Ilya’s booming laughter, all around him, was marvelous. 

Chapter End Notes

Ahhhh Shane Hollander my beloved. You deserve this!! And everything!!

Please excuse any plot problems this potentially causes, but I am addicted to putting Shane in situations where he's shocked by the amount of love and support he recieves.

Chapter 2: one touch and I was a believer

Chapter Notes

Before this gets going, thank you so much for all the love and support you guys have given this fic so far!! Not only does it help give me the writing bug but it also warms my heart and soul to see how many people are enjoying the little fics I put out in the world :)
Now, we return to one of my favorite nerds ---- Wyatt Hayes!! Also, all the swearing in the beginning of this chapter is inspired by my own bad habit of swearing when stressed…
Also, this wasn't supposed to be this long of a chapter, so no promised that the coming ones will be similar lengths, but apparently I had a lot I wanted to say

“Hayes, man, I need you to be normal about this.” Bood was holding Wyatt hostage, both hands heavy on his shoulders. 

Which, while Wyatt had no problems with what was going on, just to make that clear, he was still very confused. Really he hadn’t planned on seeing any of teammates today. This late into the off season usually most of them were on their final trips and vacations far away from Ottawa. Today, though, apparently Wyatt hadn’t been the only one to want to squeeze in a work out on the good equipment in the team gym.

“No problem. I can be normal.” If only Bood would let him go, then Wyatt could check his phone. What was happening? Was the trailer for the new Spiderman film leaked or something? Did Sony and Disney finally get their heads out their asses and realize Tom Holland’s Peter Parker and Across the Spiderverse crossover opportunities were actually so so cool? 

It was only when he saw Evan on the floor, legs and arms spread out like a starfish while Nick looked like someone had slapped him on the rowing machine next to him - the very still and not moving rowing machine despite Nick’s body being braced in position - that Wyatt felt the first trickle of unease. 

“I can try to be normal.” He amended as Bood’s strange gaze continued.

There was a long moment, only Evan’s hyper breathing to be heard, before Bood began pulling Wyatt further into the team gym. “I think you should sit down.”

“Oh shit, what happened?” Wyatt wanted to check his phone for a very different reason now.

“No one’s hurt.” Bood was quick to offer, pulling Wyatt more insistantly now, towards a bench next to the free weights. Wyatt let his feet follow Bood’s steps, mind still racing. What could it be?

“Fuck, did someone get traded?” Wyatt knew his voice was cracking, but fuck, the team had been so good last season. They couldn’t mess it up now. Not when things were really getting good.

“Jesus fuck, just tell him.” Came Evan’s voice, high and squeaky.

“Not until he’s sitting. Look at what it fucking did to you.” Bood was pushing him down now. Wyatt heard and felt his legs slap down against the cold metal. His stomach felt like it was down there, by his feet. It didn’t help that Bood was too pale, now that Wyatt was really looking at him. Part of him was tempted to hold out a hand and feel for a fever. Something was up. And if it was affecting all of them like this, it had to be hockey.

“Not Roz?” His next question was barely a whisper. He could barely force the words out. But who else could it be? Wyatt had also been swept away in the stardom of Rozanov, shocked and scared to meet their captain a few seasons back, but then he had gotten to know Ilya. Not Rozanov, hockey number one asshole, but Ilya. Their wonderful captain, who sometimes looked so alone Wyatt resisted the urge to take him home after a bad practice. He knew he hadn't been the only one on the team who had noticed, who worried.

“Not what you’re thinking. Jeez, you’re much too negative here.” Bood had finally let go of Wyatt, seemingly satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well, with how you lot are acting, what the fuck am I supposed to think?” Wyatt fought to keep the anger out of his words. He was never one to raise his voice, even now.

“Hollander didn’t resign with Montreal.” Came the estranged sentence from Nick, who still looked frozen in place. 

“What?” Wyatt made a move to stand, but Bood was quick to push him back down. “Fuck that, what?”

“Oh no, you’re staying seated for this one. I can’t have another player passing out on me. Coach would kill me.” Bood ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “It’s true. The news is going to break later today.”

Wyatt felt his mouth gape open wide. He wished he could say he was thinking through all the possibilities here, but there wasn’t a concrete thought in his brain. He didn’t know how to imagine Shane Hollander not in Montreal blues. 

“Roz is going to lose his shit.” Evan was giggling now, wild and manic. 

Wyatt could only nod and agree. Not that he thought Ilya would be mad, but, still. Yes, the Montreal and Boston rivalry had been broken by Ilya first, but, fuck, where was Shane going?

“Where did he resign?” Wyatt felt like he was practically vibrating in his seat. Fuck, if this information wasn’t even released yet, it’s not like he just look it up. But how the fuck did Bood already know this?

Instead of an answer, Bood let out his own strangled laugh, both hands coming to his hair now, pulling at it and giving Wyatt a crazed grin to complete the look. 

“Roz is going to lose it.” Evan was repeating, over and over again quietly. 

And that’s when Wyatt first had the thought. The possibility crossed his mind. Flew by, really, a shooting comet of impossible possibility. An event that only happens every couple hundred years. 

“Bood. Tell me it ain’t so.” Wyatt started, his hands coming up to cover his gaping mouth. “Tell me he didn’t sign to Ottawa.”

Bood’s barking laugh was all the answer Wyatt needed, really. He felt all the blood drain down, his brain struggling to operate on minimum capacity. Distantly he heard Bood laughing, saying “Hey, at least you got it on the first try. Dykstra thought Hollander was going to Boston first!”

This wasn’t bad news, rationally, but Wyatt could see some merit behind Evan’s repeated mumblings. Sure, a team with one of the greatest hockey stars was great. Flourishing, actually. But two? And then, of all two, Hollander and Rozanov? Hockey’s biggest rivals?

“Whose idea was this?” Wyatt felt himself snap back to reality, whoops there goes gravity. He needed answers. 

This question seemed to one not asked yet, as Evan and Nick both slowly sitting up to face Bood, who still stood in the center of the gym, hands in his hair. 

“That’s where things get crazy. Like, fucking batshit crazy.” Bood turned to face Wyatt, his face gaunt. “It was Hollander’s idea.” 

“We’re so fucked.” Evan groaned at the same time Nick threw a fist up in the air with “This is our year, baby!”

Wyatt had more questions. Too many questions. “How the fuck can we afford him?” At Bood’s awkward shoulder shrug, the next, “Does Roz know?”

“I mean, he’s the fucking captain so I hope so.” Was all Bood had up to offer.

Next question: “How did you find out about this?” Wyatt knew Bood had some connections in the media side of things, but nothing that could warrant this. This was ground breaking. Game changing. There were sure to be riots - two of hockey's biggest suddenly trading to a perceived joke of a team like Ottawa, only years apart. All eyes would be on them. 

Bood still looked haunted. “The fucking lockers. I went to go get some stuff set up, just some clothes to change into later, but they were all out of order. Shifted.” He threw a hand out towards Evan, “Dykstra’s name was where mine was last season, my name over yours, Hayes. Everything was different. So I took a look around. Find the cause. What was different.” A muffled laugh. “And then I saw them, right next to each other. Hollander and Rozanov. And I went and fucking asked Coach. Cause there was no fucking way.” 

“Shane Hollander’s signed to Ottawa.” Wyatt didn’t speak it as a question, though everything in him wanted to. But, if Coach Wiebe was saying he had, then Wyatt would just have to shift to this new reality. Oh my god, this was actually so cool. He was going to share a locker room with Shane Hollander. Oh my god, he was going to play on the same team as Shane Hollander. Oh my god, Shane Hollander could be his friend. Nick really might be onto something. Wyatt didn’t want to jinx them, not even this early into the season, but with both Roz and Hollander on their team? Who could stop them? Wyatt let his head fall forward, nearly between his knees and tried to take a few deep breaths. Thank god Bood had made him sit down.

And, as if things weren’t crazy enough, this is how Roz and Hollander found them.

Wyatt saw the door swing open in his peripheral vision a half second before he heard Ilya’s booming voice, “And here, also a very sexy place. Team gym. Where all the magic happens to get better than Montreal.” 

And then the two men, the two superstars of the NHL stepped into the now absolutely silent gym. Wyatt, head half turned up, was frozen, breathing suddenly a foreign concept. Based on the choked noise he heard from Bood, he wasn’t the only one experiencing difficulties. Both Ilya and Hollander froze, Wyatt watching them take in the sight before them. Evan, still starfished out on the floor, Nick half on, half off the rowing machine, Bood standing stock still between two treadmills. Wyatt, perched uselessly on the weight bench, not a weight in use. 

Wyatt watched Ilya take it in, really, unable to really look at Hollander yet. He watched the shocked gaze first, as if Ilya really hadn’t been expecting to see anyone yet, on his personal tour for Hollander. Then, confusion and a flash of concern as he took in his teammates. Finally, humour, as he rolled his shoulders back and leaned in, close, too close, to Hollander and stage whispered. “As you can see, we are already back, hard at work.” 

Wyatt instantly knew he was teasing but that didn’t stop the blush from spreading across his face. This was Shane fucking Hollander. And they looked like a bunch of fools. 

But when Wyatt chanced a look at Hollander, he didn’t see disgust or disappointment, or even laughter. No, Shane Hollander looked terrified. He was hiding it well, most of his face neutral, but his eyes gave him away, panicked and fluttering back and forth between the four of them and Ilya. 

“Um.” Shane Hollander started. “Hi.” 

And suddenly Wyatt was transported back to Ilya’s first day. How scared they had all been, how nervous they had been to impress Mr.Rozanov. But Wyatt had forgotten all those thoughts when he had taken a second to take in Ilya and had seen the same fears and worries reflected back at him. As if, being one of hockey's top stars didn't protect him from the basic human need of wanting to be liked. Which, in retrospect, it was probably so alienating in moments. No wonder Ilya had been so nervous.

Though, if anything, Shane looked even worse. 

Wyatt forced his body to move, feet nearly stumbling as he stood up too quickly. A few short steps had him in front of Shane, and Wyatt had a half wild thought of realization that Shane was shorter than him. Almost encircled by Ilya. Protectively. Like Ilya thought he needed to protect Shane from Wyatt. Like Shane looked to Ilya for comfort. Huh.

Never mind that, Hayes. Introductions. He forced his hand out. “Wyatt Hayes. Heard I’m your new goalie.” 

Shane's hand was slightly shaky in his. A handshake that started out weak, and then suddenly, as if Shane was shocked with electricity, firm and full of fake confidence. Wyatt pointedly kept his face neutral.

Defect. Take the attention off Shane in the moment. Let the man breathe. 

“So, Roz. Was there going to be a message in the group chat sometime soon, or all the rest of the poor souls going to have to find out with the rest of the mortals?” Wyatt took half a step back, giving both men a bit of space but still close enough to fix Ilya with his ‘i’m not mad just disappointed’ look. 

It was there, in the second it took Ilya to respond that Wyatt finally noticed the tension in Ilya's shoulders. The glint of fear in his eyes. Sure, Shane being nervous was explainable, but what would Ilya have to be afraid of?

But Ilya's cocky grin and bark of laughter erased all the evidence before Wyatt could look closer. “I was thinking of just adding him to group chat. Making him introduce himself.”

Shane’s body shifted in a silent gasp, a heated glare emerging so suddenly and almost reflexively Wyatt almost didn't believe the contradictory calming of the air around them.

“What?” Shane was asking, voice slightly quiet but no longer hesitant. “You were really just going to throw me to the wolves and let me fend for myself?”

Wyatt watched, mesmerized as Ilya lit up, his grin slipping into something real and playful as he swung a hand in the air lazily. “We are Centaurs. Not wolves. Keep up, Hollander. This is your team now.”

Shane seemed to be forgetting they were there, voice rising. “Well excuse me for not thinking. I guess I just assumed it was the job of the team's captain to introduce any new players. Or do you not do that here?”

Ilya leaned in close, grin turning sharp. Feral. “Ah. 15 minutes.”

What? Wyatt was no longer following this absolute masterpiece of a conversation.

“What?” Shane echoed, but Wyatt could swear there was a fond beat to his tone. His mouth almost forming a grin.

Ilya leaned back, out of Shane’s reach, turning his gaze to the ceiling, with a devious grin Wyatt recognized from when Ilya knew whatever he was about to say would piss the other off. “15 minutes. That's how long it took you to challenge my role as captain. Such a shame, Hollander. I would have thought you would have at least waited until first official practice.”

A part of Wyatt tensed at the words. The shocked laugh from Evan behind him served as a sudden reminder that he wasn't alone in watching this two man show. Which was good, because Wyatt was definitely going to have to ask Bood, Evan, and Nick if they had also seen what happened next. Because, well, did that really just happen?

Shane Hollander, legendary captain who had brought his team all the way to the cup for the first time in decades, jabbing Ilya Rozanov with a pointed finger like they were back in grade school, hissing “That's not fair. You tricked me into that one.” Ilya, laughing, light and joyful like he was blind to the absolute pissed off Shane Hollander right next to him, who was still ranting, “I mean, just put me in the group chat? Let them find out from the news? What would I even say? Oh hi. No, this isn't a mistake that I'm here. Yes, Rozanov actually does have my number because yes, yes! We are actually friends. And now teammates. Yes, I fucked off from Montreal because those guys are a bunch of assholes. Glad to meet you all? Fuck you, Rozanov.” 

Wyatt didn't think he'd ever heard Shane Hollander talk like this. Or ever say so many words at once.

He also couldn't think of a time that Ilya Rozanov had looked more at peace. Not even on the ice did he look this relaxed. What the fuck was going on?

Bood shifted into Wyatt’s view, throwing an arm around Wyatt's shoulder and saying, far too loudly to be a private conversation, “I think Roz has finally met his match.”

And strangely, both men froze. Shane, eyes wide, retreating back into himself slightly. Ilya, walls that Wyatt hadn't even been aware of sliding back into place. But it was better than the first moments in the gym. New, uneven footing but more rooted. 

Ilya's smile was less fake as he asked, “Well, given that Wyatt didn't start hyperventilating, how did you all already know?”

“Hyperventilating?” Came the quiet confusion from Shane.

“Oh, I definitely lost my shit when Bood told me you're joining the team.” Wyatt shrugged when Shane finally met his gaze for the first time. “I'm a huge fan.”

“Of?” Oh, ok. That hurt. Wyatt was glad to see the same undercurrent of pain he felt mirrored on Ilya's face.

“Of you.” Wyatt started, gently. “Like, a mega fan. I mean, how could I not be? You're Shane Hollander. And to find out I get to play on the same team as you? God, I hadn't even dreamed of this.” 

Bood was nodding beside him, “Dykstra passed out when he found out.” Evan’s squawking protest behind them startling Shane. Ilya's hand instantly raising, gentle on Shane's shoulder. Shane, relaxing but blushing. Interesting.

“Yes, yes.” Loud and confident again, “Shane Hollander. Blah blah blah. Will someone answer my question? It was in English, yes?” Ilya fixed them with a mock glare, but Wyatt could have sworn his eyes looked near tears. Pride, shining out. Was that for them? Or Shane?

Bood scoffed, launching into a retelling of his locker room discovery instantly but Wyatt barely listened, eyes still focussed on Ilya's hand on Shane's shoulder. His thumb, sweeping back and forth along Shane's collarbone. Steadying. Grounding. Shane listening intently to Bood’s story, seemingly at peace with Ilya's hand so close to his neck.

Shane's groan pulled Wyatt's gaze back up. “Really? We had to be next to each other?”

“What? You think this is my fault?” Ilya's voice seemed to rise when he was just talking to Shane, his words coming out faster and freely.

Shane propped a hand on his hip and fixed Ilya with such a look that Wyatt heard an echo of Bood’s words in his head. Ilya had finally met his match. “Oh, and I'm supposed to believe this to be a coincidence?”

“So what?” Again, hands thrown up in the air, a lightness to the movement so unlike the Ilya Wyatt knew. “It doesn't matter. Maybe this is good thing, no? The captain looking out for new player, yes?” 

“Oh no, you are not turning my own argument against me. I'm going to talk to Coach Wiebe about this.” And with this, Wyatt, Bood, Evan, and Nick watched Shane Hollander march out of the team locker room, a stumbling Ilya Rozanov following him with half formed protests and pleas.

At the door, Shane paused, shooting them a small grin. “It was nice to meet you guys.” Before continuing down the hall, Ilya in tow.

Again, silence in the gym. 

Then, laughter. “Holy shit. Roz has really met his match.” Nick was fully on the floor now, clutching at his stomach as he laughed.

Bood was shaking his head, still looking towards the door. “I think we know who is really in charge now.”

Evan, finally sitting up from the floor, still pale, “Is it just me, or was Hollander kind of scary there?”

Wyatt, who was inclined to agree, offered up an alternative, “It was like watching an old married couple bicker.” 

The ding of their phones, a quick look showing Ilya adding a new contact to the team group chat without warning set them off again.

***

As much of a fever dream that day in the team gym was, and you better bet Wyatt was going practically every other day to check if Shane Hollander's locker was still there, he had expected that to be the most shocking moment. Had ranted, hours, to his wife about those most amazing five minutes with Shane Hollander, trying to get all the fan energy out before he needed to turn on his best version of professional for the upcoming season. He needed to be Shane Hollander’s teammate (and friend, hopefully), not his fan. And he thought he did pretty well. That last week, he thought and talked about Shane Hollander so much, he would be burnt out. It helped too, to see Shane's awkward messages in the group chat, a mix between polite niceties or berating Ilya. 

Then they had their first official practice. And Wyatt got to see, to experience, the magic that was Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander on the ice at the same time.

Usually there would always be a few stragglers, late to early morning practices, but this day it felt like everyone was there much too early. When Wyatt had shown up, a whole 15 minutes earlier than his usual 10 early, the locker room had been nearing half full already. 

“Holly here yet?” Wyatt asked Evan as he began to change into work out gear for the pre warm up he always liked to do before getting on the ice. Bood had declared, once everyone had been made aware that the new number and teammate in the group chat was Shane Hollander, that Hollander had been too long to type or say, so Shane was officially crowned Holly, or Hollzy by his new team mates. Ilya hadn't replied directly to that declaration, but had taken to replacing Shane's name in any relevant messages with a holly leaf emoji. Shane, for what Wyatt could glean over text, seemed mildly overwhelmed by the action but had yet to put out a word against it. Wyatt wondered what they'd called him in Montreal, if anything.

“Not yet.” Evan was nearly ready for practice but seemed to be putting on his socks very slowly, face half turned towards the door. Waiting. Hell, it seemed like the entire team was waiting for Shane Hollander to arrive. Wyatt was glad to have the first meeting over with. He could be normal. He had to be normal. Shane deserved normal.

The door swung wide open, a tense moment where it felt like everyone in the room held their breath, but it was only Luca. Their rookie, who really wasn't a rookie anymore after last season, but given that Shane was their new player this year and they sure as all hell weren't going to be calling Shane Hollander rookie, Wyatt found it hard to break the mental habit.

Luca’s gaze swung around the room, his shoulders slumping when he also didn't see Shane. 

“It's ok, kid.” Nick placed a hand on his shoulder and led him to his new locker placement. “He'll be here.” 

Luca nodded slightly, before fixing the team with a hard look. “He's actually a part of the team, yes? This isn't like some prank or something?”

That earned a few chuckles as Nick laughed and promised he'd seen Shane Hollander in the flesh here, but Wyatt couldn't help but sympathize. Luca hadn't been quiet about his admiration for hockey's number one player last season, even once famously, the first time they got him drunk, breaking Ilya's heart. Their captain, helping Wyatt and Bood practically carry their rookie back to the hotel, had not missed his chance to ask, “And, who's your favorite player rook?” To which Luca had giggled loudly, sighing dramatically and swooning as he said “Shane Hollander!” Bood had laughed so hard he'd nearly dropped Luca. Wyatt remembered Ilya pretending to be so offended, but he's also still been the one that insisted on staying with Luca all night, just in case he got sick. 

Luca's question seemed to loosen the atmosphere in the locker room, conversations and reminiscing over past pranks pulled bringing a semblance of normal back to the room. So normal, in fact, that no one reacted at first when the door swung open to reveal Ilya and Shane, still a good twenty minutes early to practice.

There was a moment, just a breathless intake, where Wyatt had to pinch himself. Shane Hollander was really here. Then, back to normal.

“Morning Roz, Holly.” Wyatt called. “Can you please assure Haasy that Holly here isn't a prank so he can start sleeping through the night again.” He felt a slight tinge throwing Luca under the bus like this, but better to let the jokes out now than have one of the other guys tease Luca about it later. 

“Ha ha. Hollander is too boring for prank.” Ilya again with a hand on Shane's shoulder, guiding him towards their neighboring lockers. “Yes, good morning. Good to see you all. Yes this is Shane Hollander, second best hockey player, I know. How boring.” And then he dropped his voice lower, stopping briefly to introduce Shane to the players they passed, his hand never not touching Shane. 

It was a bit surreal, but also, just like the start to any more season. The welcoming stretch of his muscles in the warm up, the comforting smells of the rink, Roz dotting on their new player. Though, well, usually he wasn't this touchy with them. Maybe there was some merit behind their stories of being actual friends?

Shane was quiet, hesitant and always in Ilya's bubble. He gave a stuttered, short hello during Coach Wiebe’s welcoming speech but this man, Shane and not Hollander, was so different from what Wyatt had seen during the games on ice. Not meak or weak, but shy, uncomfortable. He kept reminding himself of how it felt, those first weeks with a new team. Wyatt's experience with trading or switching had always gone relatively smoothly, but he'd also heard some of the rumors. Wild, outrageous stories of Shane's final season in Montreal. Tales so disgusting he barely let himself think about them for the sake of his blood pressure and restraining himself from sweeping Shane into a hug and never letting go. Given all that, it was a wonder Shane was brave enough to try again. To open himself up again to a new team. One with Rozanov, of all people.

And then they got on the ice. Started the first drill. 

It was like night and day. Ilya had whined, quite childishly and playful, about needing to show their new teammate how it was done around here, before shooting off like a bullet, the typical relaxed and staring warm up lap around the ice turning into a one man race. Wyatt hadn't been the only one to huff at Ilya's antics, saw more than one pair of rolled eyes and watched Luca flush in second hand embarrassment for their captain. 

Wyatt had been tempted to skate closer to Shane, say something about ignoring Ilya's attempts at instigation, but Ilya was already back, panting and grinning down at Shane.

“If you need to go a little slower, that's ok.” 

A collective groan, cut off by Shane's triumphant grin. “This is just a warm up, no? I'd hope you could go faster than that.” Before he too, was speeding away, nearly a blur on the ice as Ilya laughed openly and freely. 

Wyatt turned to send their Coach a helpless glance, to get him to control this madness if Ilya wasn't going to, but he found the man with an almost evil grin. A glint in his eyes as he watched Shane finish the lap around the ice with a proud nod. 

And that's when Wyatt truly began to understand the absolute madness that was in store for them this season. 

He could practically feel the sore muscles already. Could feel the cheers of the crowd, all around them. Could see their chances for the playoffs wide open in front of them. 

With Shane Hollander on their team, they were going to be unstoppable.

Chapter End Notes

Next up....Zane Boodran!

Chapter 3: they don't know about the up all night

Chapter Notes

Welcome back to this new chapter!! Apologies for the slight delays, things got a bit crazy in life again but this fic was my safe haven every night as well as all the lovely and supportive comments on the last chapter - thank you so so much!!

Zane Boodram wasn't sure what was worse: how tired he was after the absolute insanity that was practice with Roz and Holly - fuck it was still cool that he could call him that - or the basically sleepless nights thanks to his one year old son, Milo. Cassie, his beautiful beautiful wife, was definitely carrying more of the burden during the day and when he was away, so Zane tried to keep up the night shift with their son. It had gotten easier, especially after they had finally gotten over Milo’s sleep regression, but then Shane Hollander had joined the Ottawa Centaurs and Ilya Rozanov seemed to have lost his mind.

Right now, in his car up way too early to make their morning flight out to Boston, Zane would say Roz and Holly were worse. But god fucking damit, they were also so much better for it. Zane had been playing for Ottawa for many seasons and he's never felt the energy he felt now. It was frantic, almost feral. Spurred on by Roz sure, but Zane felt the leftovers of last season. The Centaurs making the playoffs for the first time in years, only to be knocked out in the first round of playoffs. A miracle in itself but it wasn't enough. They wanted more. A certain, specific golden cup. 

And with Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov playing on their team? Sharing the first line? Let's just say, Zane had a good feeling, deep in his bones.

But first, he had to catch this flight. 

There was something almost poetic about their first game being against Boston this season. Roz had played against his former teammates multiple times last season, but given that this was the team that had beaten them in the playoffs, Zane knew it wasn't only Roz who was itching to get some payback this season.

And Holly, for all his polite and quiet words at practices so far (excluding when he talked to Roz; Zane would swear those were two different people, Holly around them and Hollander around Roz) had grinned, sharp and startling mean when Barrett had asked him, the end of last night's practice, if he was excited to play against Boston. “They got something coming.” Holly had practically growled, sending Roz into hysteric giggles and Barrett nod seriously. Apparently that part of the rivalry was still holding on. Which was absolutely fine for Zane. Fuck Boston.

He pulled into the parking lot outside the private air strip, parking next to Roz’s jeep he had followed in.

Half asleep, he nearly swung his car door right into Roz's opening passenger door. A startled hiss of fear and a quick yank back saved them both from a rougher morning, Zane’s gaze whipping up to meet the equally surprised, wide eyes of Shane Hollander. Who was getting out of Ilya Rozanov’s car. Who was apologizing profusely and helping Zane out of his car once his own door was closed. Whose bags were in the back seat of Roz's car, almost a matching set to those of their captain.

Maybe if Zane had slept more than three hours that night, he would have questioned something more in that moment. But, in the state that he was, all he managed was a lazy arm wrapped around Holly's shoulder, grumbling about how nice Roz was being to their newbie. 

His brain did question why Holly was blushing, the red sticking out in the street lamps, but he couldn't bring his lips to form the words. That was a matter for another day.

Zane pulled Roz into a good morning hug, blinking wearily at him as Roz held his gaze for a beat too long. “What?”

Roz looked like he had so many things to say, which had Zane holding back a groan. But the man said nothing, a much too bright grin on his face as he pulled Zane in for another hug and then took off towards the jet waiting for them, Holly trailing behind them. 

Roz practically had a skip in his step. He must be so excited to beat Boston. 

Zane couldn't blame him, but he was definitely going to need a nap on the plane and at least two caffeinated drinks before he could join in.

The Centaurs didn't have designated seats on the plane, but Zane knew just about everyone's favorite spots. He stopped halfway back, pulling himself into the empty row across from Hayes and Troy with a welcoming nod.

Usually, Roz would be itching to push past him, his favored seat at the back of the plane ever since their near plane crash last season. Something about that being the safest place to be.

But the over energetic Russian didn't follow him back. A fact Zane only realized as he was settling in and caught a look towards the front of the plane where Roz was shooing Holly into an open row with flappy hands and a brighter grin on his face. Watched as Roz plopped himself down in the seat, the top of his curls turning to keep facing Holly. 

A seat near the very front of the plane.

Ok. Well. That was another thing Zane could think about later.

That was the last thought Zane remembered having before he woke up to the jolt of the wheels touching down in Boston, a louder and much more awake team around him.

The motions were the same. Deboard the plane. Take a bus to the hotel. Listen to Hayes talk down Luca Haas in the row in front of him, the poor boy just having learned he was sharing the first line with Roz and Holly for their season opener game. Minimally unpack in their hotel rooms - Zane was sharing with Barrett this season, at least when Harris wasn't coming along - and then off to one last practice before the game.

“You think Haasy’s gonna choke?” Nicky asked, leaning against the half wall separating them from the training rink as they watched Luca run drills with Roz and Holly.

“Fuck.” Zane bit out a curse as the kid nearly missed a pass from Roz, teetering on the ice for a breathless second before he was skating fast to connect the pass to Holly. “Maybe. I wouldn't blame him.”

“He's got it.” Barrett was perched on the bench behind them, eyes glued to his phone but Zane had heard the second pep talk he had given on the walk over to the rink before practice.

“Well, one things for sure. Boston won't know what to do with ‘em.” Nicky knocked his shoulder against Zane’s and hopped over onto the ice at Coach’s call.

The raw scrape of the ice was quicker than Zane could turn, Roz all but tumbling into him as he jumped the boards.

“Boodman. Did you see that wonderful pass from our rook?”

A following, answering scrape and much more graceful jump.

“He's no longer a rookie, Rozanov. You got to stop calling him that.” In a tone Holly seemed to reserve for Roz. Rough, direct but half the time Zane could swear it was more to mask a smile than out of any true annoyance.

“Well maybe if someone hadn't maxed out our capabilities this season, I wouldn't have to be calling him that.” 

Zane raised an eyebrow, eyes ping ponging between the two. Did Roz know how much they were paying Hollander? The guys had been trying to figure it out, but the news had been kept quiet. Too quiet. Maybe this would be the moment.

But Holly didn't take the bait. “I want to look at the clips from your last game against them again. I could swear that one defence man was favoring his left side.” 

Zane held back a groan, avoiding eye contact with Roz as he answered what seemed to be Holly’s most popular request with a laugh and passed him the captain's iPad. Watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Holly typed in Roz’s password without asking. 1410. 

Barrett shifted next to him, no longer on the bench. Zane caught his gaze and raised a single eyebrow. He knew what Barrett was doing. What they both were doing. It had started a few weeks back at that first practice. They had all been slightly starstruck to be around Shane Hollander and when the man had requested to run through some tapes from previous practices, they had practically clambered over each other to assist him. But then it had kept happening. Again, again, again. And it wasn't a quick, view and done. No, Holly was meticulous, hunching down, close to the screen, ignoring Roz’s teasing remarks about glasses as he entered another state of being. Zane had been first worried, watching Holly call out critiques or suggestions to various players, that Roz would feel intimidated. It was, after all, very captain-like behavior. Something Holly seemed to be unable or unwilling to turn off after Montreal, but Roz had taken it all without complaint. Had let Holly fill this role so naturally and smoothly Zane hardly remembered a time before it. Encouraged it, even.

And if Zane and Barrett were now trying to inch away from Holly’s circle of awareness with the hope to avoid being wrapped into another lecture or too detailed questions about a moment too quick to be caught on camera, well, Zane wasn't afraid of admitting his own fear here.

This time, Holly seemed too wrapped up in his brain, quiet mutterings to Roz, to notice them and before he knew it, Zane was being called back on the ice, leaving the wonder duo behind.

A couple hours later, Zane was once again reminded how cool this season was going to be.

“Oh my god, Boodman, pinch me. I think I'm dreaming.” Hayes was whispering, a hand clasped on Zane's arm.

Zane turned a head over his shoulder once he'd finally got his head through his jersey to follow Hayes’ line of sight to the miracle happening right across from them.

Two jerseys, matching colors and designs, only the two names, spread across muscled shoulders telling them apart.

Hollander and Rozanov. In black and red.

Distantly, Zane reached out two fingers and gave Hayes a light pinch.

“Ow. Thanks.”

Zane grunted in response, catching Haas’ awestruck look a few lockers down with a chuckle. Oh this was going to be so fucking awesome. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this fucking excited to get on the ice. It felt like his skin was itching.

“Ilya, no.” Pulled Zane’s attention back to their two top players, Holly now standing a step away, glaring up at Roz with his hands on his hips. “No.” For half a second, Zane felt like he was the one getting a talking too. Holly really had that look down.

But instead of loud protests or embarrassed grumblings, Roz grinned right back. Face bright and excited as a kid in the candy store. “Can't change it, Hollander. Already spoke to Coach. Besides, it only fair.” 

Zane watched, fascinated, as Holly almost seemed to stamp his foot. “Ilya.” Hissed again, “You're the fucking captain. Not me.”

Roz was strapping on his skates, body language so at ease as if Holly wasn't about to explode next to him. Zane could see Hayes, also watching the interaction with a curious expression.

“Yes, I'm captain. So I helped decide. But this is for you.”

“But it's Boston!” Holly fully threw up his hands at that, seemingly oblivious to how many listening ears they had.

“Yes, and you always like to have the first shot against them. Do not act like I do not know this, swe-, ahm, Hollander.” Roz was lacing up his second skate now.

“You know fully well that was because-” the sharp look of Roz’s upturned face cut off Holly. Roz’s grin was wider now, lit with some emotion Zane couldn't place. Almost, hunger?

Before he could think of it more in depth, Roz stepped back, clapping a hand on Holly’s shoulders before he started making his rounds. Zane knew Roz preferred to talk to all the players individually rather than some big speech, especially this early on in the season.

By the time Roz made it to him, Zane had mostly pushed the strange conversation with Holly to the back of his mind, but Holly's piercing gaze over Roz’s shoulder made him ask, “What were you and Holly arguing about?”

Roz’s gaze snapped up to his face, carefully blank for a moment before a smile appeared. “Arguing? No. Hollander was just being stubborn. But he will get the first face off.” At Hayes’ sudden inhale next to them, Roz’s smile turned wry. “He gets antsy if he doesn't. You know how he is.” And with that he moved on, down the line.

That was the thing. The kicker, really. Zane didn't know how he was. Hell, he had only been playing with Holly for a couple weeks now. Sure, he was beginning to get to know the man behind the legendary stories, but this night was still going to be the first time they would be sharing the same side of the ice.

Yet, Roz seemed to know him. Knew, apparently, how he liked to play against Boston. Which wasn't too much of a surprise really, given their history, but paired up with countless little moments over the past couple weeks, that knowledge still stuck out to Zane. Roz knew how Holly took his tea, in the quiet moments before an early morning practice. Roz knew to pass over the iPad, wordless and unasked during practice. Roz had fixed him a plate at the one barbecue Zane had managed so far. Roz apparently drove him to their flight this morning.

And, if that wasn't strange enough, Zane had started to pick up on something more alarming. Holly knew Roz. Holly knew when to, with just the tilt of his head, challenge Roz to a race down the ice, pulling the man out of his head. Knew when to call Harris to bring over Chiron after a rough practice two weeks back. Zane could have even sworn he saw Holly tape one of Roz’s sticks, but he's pretty sure he hallucinated that one.

Zane knew, if he turned and met Hayes' eyes, he'd see the same confusion mirrored, but he held himself back. They had a game to play. To win. He could think about this later. Maybe with a drink.

When Holly’s name was called for the first face off, the shocked gasps and grumblings filling the stadium, Zane couldn't help his own amused snort as he shifted on the ice. Fuck yeah. Here they were. Boston was not ready for them.

And they weren't. Not three minutes into the first period, Holly scored his first goal of the night, right off an assist from Roz and Zane felt it, deep down in his bones. They were winning this game. The startled cheers and the two men crashing into each other in celebration seemed to only aggravate the Boston players further. Zane grinned, readjusting his grip and settled in for a rough game.

Rough it was, his muscles, built back up from practice still protesting as he slammed or was slammed into again and again. But Holly and Roz kept scoring, almost as if they were two halves of the same hockey demon on ice. 

Hayes stood, blocking Boston's attempts again and again, tensions rising as the third period finally started, the Centaurs up 4-0. 

With five minutes left on the clock, chaos broke out. Zane was no stranger to stupid words thrown, mean chirps a normal part of hockey. Hell, he played with Ilya Rozanov, he knew how annoying that man could be, but the fight wasn't instigated by Roz this time.

Boston's newest player, a trade from Florida that Zane kept forgetting the name of because the team entirely tried to rebrand him as their new star center instead of by his actual name, had been playing dirty all night. Zane had caught clips of the back end of many inappropriate sentences throughout the game, but this was the first time he was close enough to hear the full chirp.

The Boston player, locked in a battle with Roz for the pick, slammed Roz back against the boards with a not so quiet bite of “What? Are you nothing without Hollander here to be your bitch?” And then suddenly Roz’s gloves were gone and fists were flying.

Muscle memory kicked in, Zane pairing up with another Boston player before the refs broke up the fight, sending a bloodied Roz straight to the box for a two minute penalty.

As the game shifted back, with Holly coming out to replace Roz on the ice, Zane could feel the last five minutes weighing heavily down on them. The rest of the game was going to be a battle. 

His brain shifted into pure game mode, a quick overheard interaction on the ice only coming back to him later. Roz, skating out of the penalty box to join Holly on the ice, a questioning look on his face. He stopped, too close to Holly, but Zane was close enough to hear. “He fucking deserved it.” In too calm of a tone.

Was still close enough to hear, “We'll talk about this at home.” A beat, then, “But I am proud of you for lasting that long, Ilya.” And then the puck was dropped and they all sprung into action.

At the end, they one 5-2 with a final goal from Luca that had Roz hollering like it was the game changing goal. 

Zane hardly recognized Holly as they stood on the ice to shake the other team's hands, such a mix of glare and smirk on his face transforming him into someone Zane had yet to meet. It was definitely someone he was glad to have on his side of the ice. He had a quick thought, a question really, of how much this had to do with Boston? Or would Holly always be like this? Terrifying. Terrific.

The come down in the locker room was glorious, Roz instant that they all accompanied him to one of his old favorite bars, the first round on him. The bright lights of the club - “This isn't a fucking bar, Rozanov.” Holly had complained as Roz had pushed him through the doors with a hand between his shoulder blades - and booming music only continued the celebrations. They had an early flight the next morning so Zane stuck to beer, but let himself be pulled out to the dancefloor. Enjoyed the settling feeling in his bones, the one that had started with that first goal, of change this season. He danced his heart out, laughing silly with Hayes as the joys from the night washed over them. Tried to catch Roz in the crowd, to bring him into this joy, when he spotted him near the door, helping Holly pull on his coat, hands lingering as he pulled his old rival out into the night. Gone before Zane had even finished his first beer.

Another thing Zane should probably think about, but then a new Lady Gaga song started and he was lost again.

Chapter End Notes

Zane is really stuck in denial here whoops. We blame it on the lack of sleep with a baby in the house! It's really all right there but does it register? Nope!
Up next....Troy Barrett!!

Chapter 4: they would be jealous of us

Chapter Notes

Do I still have a final paper to write? yes
Have I finished it? no
Did I spend the last three nights staying up late finishing this chapter instead? also yes

in other words...
welcome to the madness

Harris' ceiling had four cracks in it. Shane refused to call Roz by his first name in front of people but kept slipping up when he thought no one was listening. The clock ticking down the hall skipped every fourteenth second. They took one car to practice but two cars to games unless it was an away game. The room smelled faintly of sex, Troy being too lazy to change the sheets an hour ago. Roz and Hollander were driving him insane.

“I can literally feel you thinking about them.” Came the sleepy grumble from Harris’ shadowed figure, tangled in the sheets next to Troy. 

“I thought you were asleep.” Deny deny deny.

“I was.” A shift, an arm sneaking around his waist. “Troy. Sweetie. It's late. Let's go to sleep.”

Troy forced out a sigh. A deep breath. For a second, Harris relaxed against him. Probably slipping back to sleep. Then, “Don't you think it's at least a little suspicious?” 

Another grumble. “I think they are entitled to their own privacy.”

Troy huffed. He knew that was right, but “We're their teammates though.” He hoped Harris knew he was included in this we. Troy was working on being more mindful of sneaking that into casual conversations.

“Who they don't have to tell all their private details to.” Harris was still grumbling, but the fact that he was still speaking full sentences told Troy that he really did have him here. He knew Harris was just as curious but wasn't letting himself explore it. It's part of what made him a better person than Troy. Oh well. Troy was fine being a bad influence here. Ilya deserved it.

“I just think there's something there. It's not normal.” He knew he'd said this sentence before, multiple times in fact, to just about anyone who'd listened. But the thing was, the more he repeated it, the more the answering protests to it seemed to weaken.

Like now, with Harris’ “I mean, if they managed to become best friends even with that rivalry hanging over their heads for a decade, I do think they really do care for each other.”

Best friends. No, that wasn't it. They were best friends like Troy and Harris were best friends. Which would mean - no. He wasn't letting himself go there. It was a line he had drawn in the invisible sand in his mind, sometime during that first practice back, when he had watched the pure chemistry Roz and Shane had on the ice and something in the back of his throat had tightened. It had been electric. Real. And he wasn't touching it.

At least, that was the promise he'd made himself that first practice. Now, weeks later, Troy was beginning to admit to himself that maybe that promise had come from a place of, admiration. To call it lightly. It had been made with only the utmost respect for Shane Hollander (cause as much as he loved Roz, that man was an absolute menace and lost all of Troy's control on his patience after the third time he'd interrupted his date night with Harris to pet Chiron - the man would literally drive over and just pet their dog for ten minutes and then leave), but after a dozen practices with Shane Hollander and definitely more than a dozen bruises from Shane Hollander (or Roz, but because he was showing off for Hollzy) Troy could feel his resolve to keep that promise wavering. Hence the questions.

“I swear Hayes sees it too.” He carded his fingers through Harris's hair lightly, the answering grumble warming him up from the inside.

“I'm honestly surprised Wyatt hasn't just appeared at our doorstep to rant about it, post practice.”

Troy felt his cheeks flush and was grateful for the combination of darkness and Harris's sleepy state protecting him from teasing. But, our. God. He needed to get himself together.

“Yeah.” See. That was mostly a normal reply. His voice was only kind of shaky. He could be normal.

Harris shifted against him, pulling Troy as if to get him closer, to share the same breaths. “Ask him, tomorrow. If this will finally bring peace to your late night, overthinking brain.”

Troy let the words wash over him and finally actually considered the possibility. Pulling Wyatt aside and just, asking? What he thought he saw? Maybe sharing a bit about what was haunting his every free thought.

“And, if he agrees with me? What then?” 

A snort of laughter. “Then invite him to dinner.” Came the broken grumble, but there was a playfulness behind the words. “Lord knows you all won't be done talking about it anytime soon.” 

That…actually wasn't such a bad idea. Give them space to talk things through far away from any chance of being overheard.

“Sound like a plan?” Harris' question was more muffled and cut off on the last word with such a large yawn that made Troy's heart clutch dangerously. Being in love was not for the weak.

“Yeah.” Also a mostly normal response. 

“Good. Now, sleep.” Harris elongated the final syllable, nudging his nose under Troy's shoulder, ticklish and cold.

“Ok, ok.” Troy wiggled back, keeping his arm around Harris so he wouldn't get too far away. “You feel like making dinner for three tomorrow?” 

“Troy. Sleep.”

“Dinner?”

“Fine. Yes. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

As Troy finally began to fade into unconsciousness he had one final thought: Ilya seemed more well rested this season. What the hell did that have to do with Shane Hollander?

***

“I'm going to ask you something and I need you to keep your face blank.” Troy hissed out, hiding his lips behind the span of his jersey that he was definitely taking off slower than normal.

Wyatt shot him a concerned look, but after a second gave a slow nod.

“Harris is of the opinion I should talk about my theories with you, and if you would be interested, there's a dinner plate at his place after this with your name on it. But you gotta promise me you'll be normal about this here.” Troy turned so he was facing his open locker, keeping his head slightly tilted to watch Wyatt's confused head tilt. 

“Theories? Is this about the team's Spider-Man ban? Because boy oh boy, I had not marked you as team Parker but you are full of surprises Barrett.” 

Troy suppressed a sigh as he forced himself to at least appreciate the quiet tone Wyatt was keeping. Hopefully the rest of the general noise of the locker room would cover up what was next. Shane was already gone, in the showers but Ilya was still on the other side of the locker room. He should be far enough away, but sometimes Troy felt like Ilya had eyes on the back of his head. Especially when something queer was going on - that meant in the most literal sense.

“No. Though you could probably chat to Harris about it after. He's been adamant about not being a part of the ban.” Wyatt gave a happy little wiggle at that, unlacing his skates. “Remember. No reaction.” Troy reminded, catching his eye. He chanced once last glance across the room, a quick glimpse of Ilya's back being all he needed to whisper the words, “I think there's something up with Roz and Hollzy and Harris said I should talk to you about it.”

He had barely gotten both of their names out of his mouth when Wyatt froze, eyes wide and mouth wide open as he gaped up at Troy.

“Hayes. Get it together.” Troy hissed, fighting every instinct to look around and forced himself to keep undressing normally. 

The snap from Wyatt's jaw shutting was almost comical and much too loud for Troy's ears but after a second and no teasing comments from a certain Russian, Troy figured it was safe.

“Dinner. Tonight. Where we can speak in private. Blink once for yes, twice-” Wyatt held his gaze as he quickly closed his eyes. Once. “Alright. You can come over right away, if you want. Or a little later. We're pretty flexible on dinner time.” 

Wyatt's eyes bore into him. Troy stifled another sigh. “You can talk, if, if, you can be normal.”

The sound Wyatt let out was more than just a normal breath of air, high pitched and slightly squeaky. But, thankfully, quiet.

“Fuck you if you think I'm not coming over immediately. Lisa is working tonight anyway. God, you really had to drop this on me here?” He was almost whiney at the end and Troy fought back a smile. 

“You can wait the twenty minute drive.” 

Wyatt groaned. “Twenty minutes? Can't we take the same car?”

Troy fought the urge to bash his forehead against his locker. “No. I won't be leaving after, dumbass.” 

“Well.” Wyatt huffed, pulling off his own jersey with the air of a disgruntled kindergartener, “You could have still offered to drive me home after.”

“And what? Pick you back up on the way to practice tomorrow?” Moments like this brought back the feeling of surrealism. Troy could have never imagined a conversation like this with Wyatt in Toronto. They weren't friends then. Troy didn't really have any real friends then, other than-, well, assholes.

“Carpooling is better for the environment.” Wyatt tried weakly.

“I'll send you Harris' address. See you soon.” Troy threw the rest of his stuff into his locker and headed off towards the showers, finally letting the grin overtake his face as he heard a third suffering sigh from Wyatt behind him.

***

“Harris, your man is actually evil incarnate.” 

Troy had barely gotten his shoes off when Wyatt's booming accusation followed him in the house.

Harris' head popped around the corner, a wide smile in greeting. “Wyatt, hello! Hope pasta is ok for dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wyatt was already next to Troy, toeing off his shoes and managing to shoot Troy a dirty look at the same time half way successfully. “So, we are officially somewhere private. Talk. Theories.”

Troy chanced a quick glance down their driveway. No black land rover insisting puppy cuddles. Still, he locked the door, ignoring Harris' laughter from behind him.

Finally, following a deep breath, he turned and asked Wyatt the same question he'd asked Harris now a dozen times: “Roz, Hollzy, there's something there, yes?”

And it was like he released a bomb. Wyatt threw both arms up in the air with a cheer, jumping in place as he turned to face Harris, who was still watching with an amused look on his face. “I knew it!” Wyatt was crowing. “I knew I wasn't the only one! Fuck yeah!” At Harris' answering grin, Wyatt whipped back around and reached up to grab Troy by both shoulders, shaking him slightly as he said: “You are a beautiful man, Troy Barrett. May whatever gods that look down upon us bless you and all your loved ones. You have no idea how much I have been needing this conversation.”

“Oh, you're not the only one.” Came the light call from Harris, who had since disappeared back to the kitchen.

“We have to exchange evidence. Trade war stories. You tell me what you know and I tell you what I've seen. And heard. And felt. Because oh my god! This is not normal!” Wyatt was still going, at such a tone that nearly had Troy's ears ringing. Thank god Harris had offered up his place. Troy didn't think he'd also want all his neighbors to be able to participate in this conversation.

“Agreed.” He managed, reaching out a hand to steady a still bouncing Wyatt and herded him towards the kitchen table. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No. No alcohol.” Wyatt was shaking his head. “We need a clear head for this.”

“How about some good old H2O then?” Harris offered from the sink, grinning back at Troy's exasperated look.

“Ah. Yes. Good. So, back to matters at hand. Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. Hockey's greatest rivals, but are they really?” Wyatt caught his eye again and said in a lower voice, “Were they ever, really?”

Troy threw a hand up. “Woah. Before we even go there, there's the present to be accounted for. Here in Ottawa.”

Wyatt took a gulp of the water Harris had placed before them before leaning back and taking a deep breath, finally. “Ah, the Ottawa of it all.” He still had a manic grin but his words were at least coming out at comfortable levels. “That raises the question, again, doesn't it? Why Ottawa?”

Troy didn't want to talk about Ottawa. “It's where we all got traded. Coincidence.” 

That final word had Wyatt leaning forwards, a raised finger to meet Troy's forgotten outstretched hand. “Nope! That's where we got traded, but for Mr.Rozanov and Mr.Hollander, Ottawa was pick number one. The town they set their eyes on. And why could that be?”

“Shane is originally from Ottawa.” Harris answered dutifully, the pride shining through his words as he measured out the dry pasta. 

“I don't see what that has to do with right now. Besides, Ilya moved first.” Troy could feel his brain working, pulling at straws.

Wyatt's bright eyes were full of laughter. “Aye. And, a little geography lesson here, Ottawa is not but a measly two hours away from Montreal. Much closer than Boston.” 

Troy was so rocked by the click in his brain he couldn't stop the gasp. Ah. So that's where Wyatt was going with this. Shit. He hadn't even considered that possibility.

“Holy shit.” Was about all the words he managed as he ran over countless interactions with Ilya last season in his head. All the times before Shane, but, what Wyatt was suggesting, was there ever a time before Shane?

“That's sure one theory.” Harris' voice was firm, but the tilt to his head told Troy he was intrigued. Thinking about it too.

Wyatt threw both hands back up. “A theory. Of course. Not saying it ain't one. But, consider the possibilities. It would explain so much.”

“And, did you just bring theories?” Harris teased, “Or do you also have facts?”

Wyatt's laugh was borderline unrestrained. “Evidence. I brought evidence. You lay your hand down on the table and I'll show you mine.” He turned to face Troy at the last part.

“Alright. Good.” Troy rolled back his shoulders. “So, I think we all agree here, Roz is different this season. Somehow both so simultaneously hyped up on whatever rival bullshit and yet so relaxed? Like, the man actually smiles now?” Wyatt pretended to wipe a tear from his eye as he nodded furiously along. “I mean, I'm sure you see it in practice too, Hayes, but the way they play? It's like there's no one else on the ice? Hell, I'm not even mad about Coach moving me down sometimes to second line cause that actually means I might actually get a chance at the puck!”

“They are crazy.” Harris offered in.

“And the way they are always around each other? Fuck, four months ago I would have laughed at the suggestion of them being in the same room and not killing each other and now? Now I can hardly remember what car Roz drives because Hollzy always drives him to practice!”

“Yes! Oh my god, you've noticed the car thing too?” Wyatt was back to bouncing in his seat but motioned for Troy to continue.

“Yes the fucking car thing. Can we also talk about their speaking without speaking thing? It's like Hollzy speaks Russian mind speaking or something -” 

Wyatt cut him off with a shriek. “Ok, but what if I did you one better with my theory.” He waited until Troy gave a hesitant nod, before the words seemed to tumble out of him: “I'm pretty sure Shane Hollander speaks Russian.” 

“What.” Harris echoed Troy's inner thoughts. God, Troy was so happy Harris was here. He was definitely going to need to debrief this conversation later.

“I'm not one hundred percent sure yet, but like ninety five percent sure Holly understands Russian and seventy five percent sure he can at least speak some of it.”

“Based on what evidence?” Troy couldn't help but prod. 

Wyatt laughed for a second before he leaned in, tapping a finger on the table. “Holly’s blushes. Whenever during practice, when you guys are running reps, especially if it's Roz and Holly, and Holly makes a goal off Roz’s assist, Roz almost always says something to him in Russian afterwards.”

“What, when?” Troy was familiar with the usual sortiment of what he assumed to be Russian curse words that Ilya liked to throw around, but he hadn't noticed that.

“Like, directly after the goal. I'm pretty sure they forget I'm still standing there when he says it. And boy, do some of the things make Holly blush.”

“Ah, that's what's been causing that.” Harris hummed from the stove.

“What?” Troy turned his confusion to Harris. “You never said anything?”

Harris lifted a shoulder. “I wasn't sure it had anything to do with Ilya. But let's just say, Heather has a collection of blushing Shane Hollander photos for any social media occasions that might arise.”

“Fuck, you guys are awesome.” Wyatt was tapping his finger again. “And I swear, one time I heard Holly say something back, in Russian. But they were skating away so I couldn't really make it out.”

“Wow.” Troy leaned back.

“Yep. Too theory right now. You can bet my wife is sick of it.” A beat. “You know, if I didn't respect them both so much, I'd consider sneaking in my phone and leaving Google translate on.”

Harris’ snort of laughter interrupted Troy's internal debate about the moral correctness of that action. “If they're possibly saying what I think would match both your theories, I'm not sure you want that translated.”

“True that.” Wyatt gave a solid nod before fixing his gaze back on Troy. “So, what's your most pressing evidence?”

Troy took a deep breath. Then another. Where to begin?

“Tell him about New York. That's my favorite.” Harris offered up.

Wyatt perked up. “New York? Like, our away game last week?”

“Yep.” Harris confirmed. “He hasn't shut up about it since.”

“Ok, but, you agree, it's highly suspicious!” Troy finally pushed his way back in the conversation, shooting Harris a weak glare before Wyatt's snapping fingers pulled his attention back. “Yes, last week in New York. You know how Ilya always likes to visit Hunter's bar?” He paused for Wyatt's frantic nod. “So he's been taking me along, since last season. Every time we play in New York.”

“So cool.” Wyatt mumbled, looking entranced already.

Troy ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, sure. Except this time, this season, he brought Hollzy too.”

Wyatt snorted. “You're telling me you third wheeled on Roz and Holly's date at the Kingfisher?”

“No!” 

Troy's protest was cut off by Harris' “Oh, most definitely.”

“Irrelevant.” Troy waved Harris off. “I mean, I'm sure you've heard the rumors. From Montreal last season. About Hollander.”

Wyatt shifted back, grin falling from his face. “About Holly being queer and Montreal being fuckass idiots about it? Unfortunately, yes.”

Troy managed a nod through his clenched teeth. God, the next time they played Montreal, Troy really had it in for them if there was even a smidge of truth to those rumors. And the more he got to know Shane, the bigger that smidge got. “Right. Yeah. Those.” He shook his head. “That's why I wasn't so surprised, honestly, that Roz invited Hollzy along. I mean, it's a queer bar. How obvious can you be as captain that we're not fucking monsters like Montreal.” 

“Amen.” Wyatt slammed his hand down on the table, the glasses shuttering.

“Right. So obviously I knew we were meeting up with Hunter and Bennett,”

“So cool.” Wyatt was back to looking enamored. 

Troy wasn't sure if that feeling was for Scott Hunter or Eric Bennett. “Um, yeah, sure. But anyway, Roz didn't tell me Hollzy was coming til we called the cab. That was an interesting cab ride, to say the least.”

“Did they say anything? Drop any hints?” Troy had the distinct impression Wyatt was hanging on to every word.

“Um. No, um, it was really more what they didn't say.” Troy tried to put himself back in the moment, in the stifling tension in the back of that cab. “You remember Ilya's fight with Hunter in third period?” Another furious nod from Wyatt. “Right, so I was expecting some dressing down from Hollzy. You know, good boy Shane Hollander, never throws a punch. And like, at first I thought Hollzy was mad at Roz. Wouldn't even look at him. But then we got in the cab and they both weren't even fucking looking at another. Talking to me as if the other wasn't there and all that shit.”

“Wild.” Wyatt sounded a bit dreamy.

“And then we were at the bar, and to be honest, after that cab ride there was no way you could have paid me any sum of money to sit between the two of them, so I mostly talked to Bennett all night.” Wyatt's face started to fall, and Troy had to hold back a manic giggle as he finally showed his final card. “But, at one point, I think they'd thought I was still gone getting drinks or something, I did overhear them finally fucking talking to each other.” Wyatt perked back up. “Roz was asking something, I missed the first part, but I'm pretty sure it had to do with rooming assignments, cause Hollzy was very adamant he was not going to leave Haasy alone in their room.”

“Leave him alone, like Holly would be sleeping somewhere else?” Wyatt was practically wiggling in his seat again, causing Troy to share an amused look with Harris.

“That's the same conclusion I reached. But then Hunter was back and the conversation dropped. Or, so I thought.” Troy steeled himself for whatever high pitched noise was about to come out of Wyatt. “In the cab back, it was late. I was resting my head against the door. Eyes closed. They must have thought I was out of it, cause they started talking again. And what were the first words out of Roz’s mouth? ‘It's pretty lonely in 1181’. To which Hollzy’s response of ‘Captains get their own rooms, Ilya. That would be too obvious.’ freaking confirmed what-”

Troy would categorize the noise Wyatt made as a squeak, or a squeal really. And at such a loud register too, it started Chiron off too, the two noises bouncing back and forth as Harris giggled by the stove. 

“Oh my god.” Still so high from Wyatt. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. They really said that in front of you?”

Troy shrugged one shoulder. He'd told Harris the story enough times now he himself was half convinced he'd thought it up. “Like I said, I think they thought I was asleep.”

“Fuck. Those idiots. Those lovely, stupid idiots.” Wyatt was back to laughing, collapsed back against his chair. 

“So, you can see why we have similar theories here.” Troy offered up.

Wyatt reached out and awkwardly shook Troy’s face up hand. “Glad to have someone here, together in this madness.” He turned to Harris, “And thank you, Harris, for suggesting dinner.”

“Anytime.” Harris started piling the pasta and sauce onto three plates.

“It was mostly cause I knew you couldn't keep your cool at the rink.” Troy teased, standing up to help Harris bring over all the fixings to the table, waving off Wyatt's offer to help.

There was a moment where they all dug in, Troy and Wyatt both starving post practice leading to the first five minutes of silence all evening.

Then, a new glint in Wyatt's eyes. “So, can we talk about how Holly always calls Roz, Ilya, or are we waiting for dessert to unpack that?”

Chapter End Notes

Harris also has his own evidence, but that's between him and Ilya

Also, so, um, maybe I added another chapter to this fic? Sorry not sorry!

Chapter 5: but I bet you if they only knew

Chapter Notes

Hello!! Apologies for the lapse between delays, life got away from me again (this time in a much more positive, social sense) and I took a short break from writing to join the real world with my friends for a long weekend. But I am back! And so excited for this chapter and the final two to come!
If you may have/will notice, this chapter is bit shorter than others, being in so a bonus, slightly unplanned chapter that kept bullying its way into this fic (even though it was def not a part of the original outline) but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
The pieces are starting to fall into place...

The 25 weirdest things about Roz and Holly

A unedited list by Evan Dyskra with assistance from Bood, Hayes, Haas, Barrett, Chouinard

#1 Holly’s opinion >>> everyone else’s, like seriously Roz, what is going on here? Not that there is anything wrong with Holly’s opinions, in fact, they’re usually so great (hello relaxed stretches at the beginning of practice), but has Roz ever told Hollander no (the year of the great McDonalds ban perhaps a great time for this??)? Also, crazy Roz moments are way down this season (a shocking 3 vs 102 from last year)? Possible connection??? Roz wearing down in old age?? Or domesticated??

#2 They take the same car to practice??? (Seen by: Bood, me, Hayes, Haas, Harris, Barrett (unconfirmed)) Which could mean nothing but??? No one knows where Holly lives??? Is it even on Roz’s way?? Cars seem to alternate?

• Jeep: 15 times
• Maserati: 4 times
• Red Ferrari: 2 times

#3 Roz has dinner with Holly’s parents??? - an unconfirmed rumor from an overheard comment from Hayes, but considering the possibilities, what does this say about the rivalry? 

• Also in consideration, Bood’s drunken recounting of Roz’s argument “I’m Yuna’s favorite child” to which Holly apparently didn’t argue against?? Yuna as in Yuna Hollander?

#4 Holly speaks Russian??? He claims it’s not that much but I swear he understands everything Roz says. Often turns red. Confirmation for Roz’s dirty mouth in all languages? Oh, and there was also that time in the game against Tampa where he punched their Russian player in the mouth for a chirp he refused to translate (Roz foaming at the mouth, see # 17)

#5 Holly is also Anya’s dad?? Quote from Roz, implications??? Stories of them going on walks/hikes together with her? (Props to Harris asking for recommendations for Chiron with that one)

• Chances of Roz and Holly platonically sharing custody of a dog: critically low

#6 They always have to be together. Hotel rooms? Shared (unofficially - Luca alludes to sleeping alone all season). Spots on the bus/flight? Next to each other. Lockers? Next to each other. Arrival to practice? Same car.  Interviews? Together. Honestly can’t remember the last time I saw the one without the other

#7 the rivalry??? Apparently only for the media the past couple years (timeline unclear) but also, still very much alive (see various bruises and muscle aches from practice). They can turn anything into a competition? Warm ups? Goals? Who can get dressed faster? (Current score is: Holly 32 wins vs. Roz 29 wins)

• Hollander hates Boston: confirmed, but seemed lighthearted
• Roz hates Montreal: confirmed, not lighthearted 

#8 Their freakish mind connection: on the ice, in the locker room, anywhere! Silent arguments? Freakish mindpowers when they’re on the same line or power play? No one else exists kind of feelings? Terrifying but also extremely useful

• Roz: 16 Goals, 25 assists (18 to Holly)
• Holly: 21 Goals, 19 assists (12 to Roz)

#9 Holly knew/knows things he shouldn’t? Like, he knew everyone’s names so fast? Even like, everyone’s significant others and children's names? Is this part of hockey god thing or did he have an inside man? (Rozanov??)

#10 Roz gets really, and I mean really, into karaoke nights now. For all we spent last season physically dragging this man to events, we (and by we, I most definitely mean Ilya Rozanov) are now banned from three separate karaoke bars in three different cities. Music choice, is questionable, selections including: 

• “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood, Roz was really, really into this one. Conquincidently, this was the same night Holly brought Rose Landry along
• “Scotty Doesn’t Know” by Lustra, obvious call out to Scott Hunter in New York but the question remains, what doesn’t Scotty know?
• “One More Night” by Maroon 5, slow and sad version? Roz in his feels? Was in Boston - correlation??? 
• "Jolene" by Dolly Parton, Roz was nearly crying at the end of this?? Holly too?? 

#11 Roz is happy? ‘Bad day Roz?’ group chat suspiciously quiet since start of season. His energy levels at all time high? Quiet Roz moments = Holly is there first?? Another freakish mindpower thing? Revisit adding Holly to group chat next week

#12 Ilya??? Shane??? First name usage only in private?? Holly blushes when caught out?? Like, we know these are your first names too??

• Special call out to Roz’s russian nicknames for Holly - Bood has been trying to get a recording for google translate, no success. Both Roz and Holly refuse to translate

#13 sudden Montreal hate? I mean, given the rumors from last season, very much in the right, but Montreal has practically become a forbidden word at practice? Roz gets scary anytime it's brought up. Holly gets quiet. Roz gets more scary. Game in two weeks. We will destroy them. 

#14 domestic arguments?? Potential proof of friendship?? “Feels just like when my parents go at it” - direct quote from Bood. Frequent topics:

• Roz smoking
• Montreal vs Boston past wins
• Holly’s diet
• Gas mileage of a jeep? Four wheel drive?

#15 Coach Wiebe + Holly + Roz’s sudden (or at least finally vocal) hate for Roger Crowell?? Like, this seems personal?? 

#16 they share gear??? See various examples of Roz stealing Holly’s hockey tape, Holly accidentally using Roz’s stick all of practice and not noticing, Roz wearing wrong jersey (Holly was very red? anger?) 

#17 Roz worships the ground Hollander walks on?//Holly gets away with anything. Examples:

• Holly’s fight in Tampa, Roz only reply was “Hot.” Roz carefully bandaged up his knuckles after the game
• No more McDonalds stops?? Cite: “There’s nothing for Hollander there.” It’s been 89 days since a team McDonalds run. Bood is going through withdrawls
• Holly did interview shirtless and Roz ran into wall??

#18 Shane Hollander iPad child?? You can take the C away from the man, but you can’t take the habits. And Roz let’s him? (Running theory, Roz likes being bossed around. But only when it’s Hollander). Warning: you see Holly with the team/captain's iPad, run. He knows Roz's password??

#19 Barrett knows something. He gets this look when Roz and Holly have their moments. Haas swears he’s seen Roz catch Barrett and give him a wink. When questioned, Barrett refused to comment but had infuriating smirk. 

#20 Roz is really touchy with Holly. Too many examples to list here. Baby Haas has been scarred. He's not the only one.

#21 the cottage? Both make references to the aforementioned ‘cottage’, is this the same location?? Rumors of friendship real?? Possible connection to Shane Hollander’s cottage documentary - more research needed

#22 summer camp plans: charity work for mental health but also lgbtqa??? Or is that just coincidence from staff? Woke Roz agenda??

#23 Holly blushes?? Could just be a Holly thing, but possible correlation to Roz? Need to separate them to test independent variables

• Also, see Roz blush count (23 last season vs. 55 this season so far)

#24 Late to practice??? So far the count is up to three times. And they always show up exactly at the same time. Holly, stressed; Roz, blessed. Further confirmation on same car theory??

#25 the Ottawa of it all: why the fuck did both Roz and Holly willingly sign to Ottawa?? Sure, Holly has hometown advantage, but that wouldn’t affect Roz? Unless…

Create a new list? Yes

Title: Roz and Holly - romantic or platonic?

Input: oh my fucking god…

Chapter End Notes

Next up...Lucas Haas! My beloved!!

Chapter 6: they don’t know I’ve waited all my life

Chapter Notes

This chapter goes out to Bookobessedweirdo and their wonderful comments (I highly recommend looking for them, especially in the last chapter)!
Many thanks to everyone who’s supported this fic so far!! Already to have passed 100,000 reads is something I can hardly believe and every day I’m so in awe that so many of you have joined me on this journey! With just one chapter left, I am soaking up every moment of this fic.
And here we are: the Luca Haas chapter. Ah I’m so excited for you guys to read this one!! Luca!! I have spent some time in Zürich so I tried to bring in some mild swiss influences here but I’m not a native so if anything sticks out or sounds silly, please let me know!
Happy reading <3

Luca Haas would like, for the official record, to state that he had them figured out first. Screw Bood and his incoherent ramblings. A polite decline to Hayes’ very in depth fan theories (because that was so absolutely what they were - fan theories. Like this had been going on since 2008? Seriously?). Not even Barrett’s smug smirk could deter him. Luca knew he had won.

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were in love. Like, storybook, sickenly, head over heels in love. 

And Luca had had front row seats to this…masterpiece…the entire season so far. 

There was no more need for theories or hypotheses. There were only the cold hard facts that Luca was so sure about he’d almost bet his Canadian visa on it. (But, like, not actually. He would very much like to stay in Ottawa, legally). 

But how did he get here, you might ask? How could he really prove he knew, before all the others? Well, let us take a little trip down memory lane.

Date: Summer 2021, first practice with Shane Hollander

Luca had survived his fair share of pranks his first official season with the Centaurs. Hazing, some could call it. And maybe, on another team, that would have been what it was. But not in Ottawa. Sure, did he probably blush more the past year than the past five years combined? Maybe. Was it absolutely terrifying watching Ilya Rozanov realize he had been on many of the posters decorating Luca’s childhood bedroom? Absolutely. Were there a couple moments where he was certified gullible when Bood promised him whatever he’s grilled up actually wasn’t that spicy? That had burnt. Literally. But those had all been normal things. Funny, in retrospect. And there had never been a moment where Luca had felt unsafe or disliked. But he was still cautious. Liked to watch for the glint in Evan’s eyes when he explained things. Listened for the muffled giggles as the guys smuggled him new drinks to try. Malort had been an experience. He really should have noticed the gleam in Bood’s eyes at that. He’d fallen for their tricks a time or two. But he had learned from those experiences. 

So, all this to say, when Ilya added a random number claiming to be Shane Hollander into their team group chat one day towards the end of summer, Luca had been a bit skeptical. Like, it wouldn’t have been the wildest thing Ilya had tried to convince the team of. Sure, yeah, Shane Hollander would sign to Ottawa and not Montreal. That was just as likely as Luca getting Blayne’s number - who was NOT his work crush, Wyatt. He just seemed like a cool guy. So what if Luca didn’t like to see any of the other team's physical therapists. Those two things are not connected. 

Needless to say, a hilarious, impossible thought. Shane Hollander in Ottawa.

And then the NHL official twitter confirmed the news. 

Luca had learned to not underestimate Ilya Rozanov. But even this seemed a bit far-fetched for a prank. He’d texted with a few of the guys the days leading up to practice, and had been surprised and comforted to find he wasn’t the only one in this tizzy. Troy’s many grumblings about the bullshit Ilya pulled had proved he wasn’t alone in his questioning. Though, Wyatt was claiming he’d seen Shane Hollander in the flesh. In their gym? Sure. Because that’s what Shane Hollander did in his free time in Ottawa. Luca knew he had to see the man with his own eyes to believe it. 

It didn’t hit him, until the morning of that first practice back, that Shane Hollander signing to Ottawa (like, right, sure) would mean he’d be on the same team as Luca. That Luca would possibly sharing the ice, the locker room, the team bus, with Shane freaking Hollander. While a part of him had still entertained the possibility of this all being a joke, Luca had tried on seven different outfits that morning before he was rushing out the door. Just in case. Not like he was going to instantly change out of it, but it was the principal of the matter. 

The air in the locker room had been tense, no Shane Hollander to be found, but his teammates had been quick to reassure him they were also believers. So really, the options were really mass insanity or Shane Hollander had really not resigned to Montreal. And before Luca had the chance to weigh those odds, there he was. Shane Hollander. Number one player in the NHL. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Ilya Rozanov. In Luca’s locker room. Oh my god, they were breathing the same air.

Luca basically blacked out when Ilya had introduced Shane, making a quick round around the locker room. Luca remembered the feel of the callouses of Shane’s hand in his. The way his hair had been, windswept and effortless. The nervous flick of his eyes but the steady hand from Ilya on his shoulder. 

“Haasy is our latest newbie.” Ilya had said with a nod. “If the team gets too crazy, just keep to him.” 

It wasn’t until Luca was on the ice, legs burning in the warm ups, that he realized Ilya had been speaking to Shane in that moment. Keep to him? Oh god. Did that mean Shane Hollander was going to talk to him? Was Luca expected to produce words - in English - around him? Scheisse. 

What followed had been true insanity. Witnessing the most famous rivalry in the modern day NHL, played on the ice right in front of him. The familiarity of practice had brought Luca back to himself a bit. Enough to laugh over Ilya’s ridiculous chirps and attempts to bully Shane out of his shell. And it worked. Luca had nearly fallen over the first time he caught Shane’s reply. 

“I don’t know what they taught you in Montreal, Hollander, but we share the puck here.” Ilya had called out as they were running drills. 

Luca had been ready to accept the pass, close enough to Shane to hear: “I am sharing. Just not with you. Just ask Haasy.” 

Unfortunately, Shane Hollander saying his nickname was so distracting that Luca promptly missed the very clean pass from Shane. Ilya had just laughed, and Luca had nearly missed the small smile Shane had sent him before he closed his eyes, cringing. 

Maybe, if he hadn’t been so star struck on that first day, he would have seen it then. Felt it. Tasted it. Nowadays Luca could practically see it between them. The tension. The heated looks. The silent communication. Everything that pointed to knowing another person so well they had become a part of you; shared DNA. 

As it was, Luca almost made it the entire first practice before he caught the first glimpse. He was busy, actually using his brain power to form words and mostly complete sentences as oh my god Shane Hollander talked to him. He worked really hard to actually connect with Hollander’s passes. Held himself together. It had been so stressful. And wonderful. Mostly wonderful. But, well, it had also presented him the great opportunity to stop by PT for the first time that season. To attempt to get the stress out of his shoulders. Not for any other reason. 

Blayne had been so tan from the summer break. Luca was pretty sure he only was able to communicate in grunts his entire appointment. Because he was so stressed about Shane Hollander, naturally. 

But, back to the story. Due to him staying later, Luca had been expecting to have the rink mostly to himself. And he had, changing in the quiet locker room, waving to Harris and Troy as he passed by on his way out of the rink. And that’s when he noticed it.

Parked right next to his car, what he later learned to be Shane Hollander’s jeep. With not just Shane Hollander in it.

Afterwards, Luca would ask himself how he even noticed the details so fast. It had been a nerve wrecking practice. Blayne had just had his hands on him for the first time in months. He may have been a bit on edge. Which is why, with the door not even fully closed behind him, Luca noticed the shadow of two heads through the back window of the parked jeep. Leaning close to each other. Very close. And something in him had tingled, bringing his feet to a halt. There was something there. A second glance, at the, wait, were those curls? Was that Ilya? In the driving seat? Luca was nearly one hundred percent sure Ilya Rozanov did not own a jeep. Then who was in the passenger seat?

The soft latch on the door behind him spooked Luca into motion. A step back. What was he supposed to do? Just walk over to his car, parked directly next to the jeep!, and act like nothing was going on? Be normal?

Before he could make a decision or get caught standing awkwardly in the Centaurs parking lot, the jeep started up, lights flashing as it began to pull back. Luca tried his best to not stare obviously, and had to fight the whole body cringe when his eyes met the surprised gaze of the person in the passenger seat. Shane Hollander.

Hollander looked just as shocked to see Luca, but recovered quickly, a weak smile and raised hand for a wave imprinting in Luca’s mind. Luca barely managed to raise a limp hand in response before the jeep drove off. 

Ok, so Ilya Rozanov was driving Shane Hollander home. This was normal, right? A small part of Luca itched to pull out his phone. He knew there was a certain online group that would be foaming at the mouth for this information. A group that would understand the actual still stand in his head right now. But he couldn’t. Not only had he promised himself to leave that world behind the minute he had been drafted, but to betray Shane and Ilya like that? And anyway, what had he seen? Nothing, really.

Just Ilya Rozanov driving Shane Hollander home from practice. Which could mean nothing. 

Date: September 2021

It did get easier, surprisingly, to be on the same team as Shane Hollander. Holly, as they all called him now. Ilya practically forced Luca to partner up with Shane in all the warm ups and sure, Luca had nearly fainted the first time Coach Wiebe had suggested the three of them running drills in practice, but he had gotten better at pretending this was normal. That he could be normal. 

Thankfully, practices with the most heated rivalry duo of the NHL proved to also be otherworldly and Luca often found himself limping into Blayne’s office, distracting himself with other worries for an hour or so. Most of the time, after that, he would barely make it home before he was collapsing into bed and falling deep into the dream world before all his thoughts from the day could catch up with him. 

It was all moving so fast, he didn’t really take the time to think about it until the first time Bood fired up his grill this season. 

Luca had been surprised to get the invite so soon. Bood had been a monster on the ice, like usual, but Luca knew having a new baby at home was probably a lot more exhausting than he could imagine. But Bood had brushed off his worries, promising both he and Cassie were looking forward to the comfort of hosting the entire team again. A return to normal, he had called it. Wyatt had later filled him in that the Centaur WAGs were making sure to show up early and stay late to help out. Which helped Luca feel a bit less guilty. 

He was early, his car still fitting in the last spot on Bood’s driveway. Right behind a familiar jeep. 

Sure enough, Shane and Ilya were already seated on Bood’s back deck, deep in conversation with Harris and Nick. Luca waved his hellos in their direction but was pulled into meeting baby Milo, who sat happily on Cassie’s lap, babbling on to Wyatt’s exaggerated faces. They got caught up in conversation, greeting all the other guys from the team before an unknown time later Luca’s stomach growled so loudly that the entire circle laughed. He had excused himself and moved in the direction of Bood and the endless plates of food awaiting.

After piling his paper plate far too high with hot food, right off the grill, Luca turned to find his previous spot stolen by Nick, now laughing with Wyatt, Cassie and baby Milo. A quick scan led his feet to what he assumed to be Nick’s freed chair. Right next to Shane. Sure. Right. He could do this. 

“Um, hi.” Great start, Haas. 

“Haasy! Sit, sit!” Ilya called, leaning over from the other side of Shane. “Maybe you can accidentally drop one of those wings on Hollander’s plate, no? Spice him up a little.”

Luca chanced a quick glance at the much less full paper plate balanced carefully on Shane’s knees. It was definitely more bland than most of the things he had grabbed. There even seemed to be a piece of plain grilled chicken? Luca hadn’t even seen those.

“Ignore him.” Shane offered up with a soft grin, as if Ilya Rozanov wasn’t right behind him sticking out his tongue at him. “It all looks good, really,” He waved a hand, with a fork? Where had he found a fork? At Luca’s plate. “I just don’t do really well with spice.”

“Boring.” Ilya blew out a raspberry following the word said in a much too fond tone. 

“It takes some getting used to.” Luca decided to follow Shane’s move in ignoring Ilya. “But it’s really good.”

Shane laughed softly before swatting a hand at Ilya’s creeping hand over his plate. “Get your own, asshole.” Again, a much too fond tone. The strangest part though, of all of this moment, was Ilya actually getting up. Sure, with a loud sigh and grumbles of “Hollander.” But he actually got up and left. 

Which left Luca basically alone with Shane. This was fine. He had practiced at practice. 

Luca gingerly picked up one of the wings piled on his plate and raised it slightly to Shane with a nod. “En guete.” Which wasn’t English. Fuck that practice. 

It seemed like the sentiment transversed language boundaries though, as after a small careful bite, Shane fixed his gaze back on Luca and asked, “Zurich, right?”

Luca nearly choked as he attempted to swallow as quickly as possible. Nodding his head worked too. “Yeah. Zürich.” 

“So what, that was German?” Shane was carefully spearing a piece of grilled corn with his fork.

“Ah, jein. No. Swiss German. But I also speak German. That would be then, guten Appetit.” Which obviously Shane would care about the language difference, sure. Luca practically shoved the next bite of food into his mouth to stop the flow of words.

But Shane’s glance was bright. “Swiss German? Is that, what, a dialect?”

Luca chewed again much too quickly, throwing up a wavy hand. “Somewhat. Short answer, yes. Long answer, it’s complicated. We pronounce things differently, a lot differently sometimes. Grammar gets a little iffy when it comes to word genders and such. I understand normal German, Hochdeutsch as we call it, but not every German speaker would really understand all of Swiss German.”

Shane was nodding along, neatly nibbling on his speared corn. “Do you ever get the chance to speak it here?”

Luca froze for a short moment, heart thudding. “Um. No. Not really.” He fought the urge to avoid Shane’s inquisitive look and plowed on. “I mean, I call home weekly. So, there’s that. But I’m also pretty used to living in English. We learned it pretty early on in school and you actually hear English a lot in Zürich, so.” And before he could stop himself, “Plus I got used to conversing in English in online spaces, so it wasn’t a huge adjustment.”

Shane was nodding slightly. “That’d still be huge, though, moving continents. There’s more than just a change in language.”

Luca was surprised to feel his eyes start to tingle. A croaked, “Yeah.” was all he could manage. 

Shane shifted back slightly in his chair. “I can’t say I fully understand what that’s like. I would think Ilya would be able to relate more there. But I do know what it’s like to leave home at a young age, for hockey. If you ever want to talk about that.” 

Luca nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth just yet. 

And then, with a flurry of movement, Ilya was back. (Which, wait a second, Ilya? Had he just missed that?)

“Why is it so boring here? Hollander, did you scare our rookie?”

“I did not!” Shane protested the same time Luca called out the now familiar saying, “Technically no longer a rookie!” 

Ilya raised an eyebrow at them both. “Hm. Well, it’s ok. I am here. Things will stay interesting.” He followed that up by shoving a chicken wing into his mouth with a grin, his plate looking even more overfilled than Luca’s. “Hollander?” Ilya asked around a full mouth, “where did you find fork? This is barbeque?”

Shane flushed, a move that often occurred around Ilya. “Shut up. I asked Cassie.”

“For fork? Hollander, the woman has just had baby and you are asking for fork?”

“First of all, Milo is eight months old. You know this. You sent me photos on the day he was born. Second of all, I just asked where her kitchen was. I got my own fork. Some of us have manners.” 

Luca tried to hide his smirk behind a bite of food, but the glint in Ilya’s eyes let him know he’d been caught out.

“Ah, so you are here being good influence for the children. This is acceptable. Haasy is good at learning helpful things.”

Luca couldn’t help the offended squawk and nearly missed Shane’s laughter. “I am not a child!” Which, he could admit, came out in quite a whine. 

“Sure.” 

Ilya absolutely was not agreeing with him but before Luca could offer up another weak rebuttal, Shane offered in. “There are correct and incorrect ways to act, Haasy.” His voice was serious but the words came out with a smile. “For example, if you are ever unsure how to handle a situation, you can look at whatever Rozanov’s doing,” He paused and Luca watched a heated gaze turn to meet Ilya’s, “and do exactly the opposite.” 

It was Luca’s turn to laugh as Ilya sputtered, the playful banter easing away the tension in his shoulders and the homesickness in his heart. 

It was only later, as he was helping Bood pick up around the back yard after most of the guys that had met, when he finally realized something that had been bugging him since that conversation. It wasn’t the teasing, almost flirting between Shane and Ilya. He was beginning to grow used to that thanks to near constant exposure. Nor was it how the two of them had been practically attached to each other's hips the entire evening. That was also a part of the new normal this season. 

It was something smaller than all that. Why had Ilya sent Shane pictures of Milo when he was born? Last season, long before any thoughts of trades or resigning should have been in order. And Shane knowing exactly how old Milo was, after what, meeting him for the first time tonight? 

Plus, there was the whole Zürich of it all. Most times people would bring up Switzerland, asking and unsure, but Shane had known exactly where he was from. Luca had the impression he had just formulated it as a question as if not to scare him off. Who told him?

Date: October 2021, Boston - first NHL game

At the end of last season, Luca had been comforted by the thought that at least his rookie year was over. Next season, things would be easier. He’d already played his first game. He’d felt the pressure of thousands of eyes on him on the ice. They had even made it all the way to the playoffs. He could do it again. 

And then Shane Hollander happened. And suddenly, as the team was waiting for their plane to finish taxiing on the runway, Coach Wiebe was turning to form a small huddle with Luca, Ilya and Shane.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking. Let’s just give everyone what they are waiting for and get it over with. First game. No longer have it hanging over our heads.”

Ilya nodded along seriously, an uncharacteristically serious look across his face. Luca caught Shane’s confused glance and felt his shoulders sink down a little. Ok, good. He wasn’t the only one lost here. 

“And what is everyone waiting for?” God bless Shane Hollander and him asking all the questions Luca was still trying to process.

Coach Wiebe’s grin turned a bit feral and Ilya let out a dark chuckle. “You, Holly. You and Rozanov. The rivalry on the same side of the rink this time.”

Luca watched, fascinated, as Shane blushed. “But, I mean, we’ve played together before. All Stars games and such.” Was he weak rebuttal but Luca could see the lingering confusion shifting to excitement in Shane’s eyes. Because yes, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were going to play together in an official NHL game for the first time tonight. 

“Holly. This is going to be something else. I can promise you the entire hockey fanbase will be watching tonight. Plus, it’s Boston. We got to go all out.”

Ilya leaned back, almost as if leaning against Shane’s side with the awkward way they were sitting in the row. “So we do the power line.”

“So we do the power line.” Wiebe echoed in agreement. This seemed to be something their coach and captain had talked about before. Which, like, Luca got it. This was going to be the coolest moment. Hollander and Rozanov, sharing a line. 

“Oh. But you’re starting center?” Shane’s worried look tried to catch Ilya’s, but the other man just scoffed.

“My masculinity is not so fragile that I have to start center. I will play wing. For you.” 

Holy shit. Luca tried to keep his gasp in as he realized the true power they were about to unleash. He could not remember Ilya ever not playing first line center, but then again, there had never been Shane Hollander there before. 

Shane and Coach Wiebe started talking out the logistics, and Luca found the courage to ask, “Wait, so why did I need to be here?”

All other three men froze, a growing smile on Ilya’s face causing Luca’s stomach to drop like they were still in the air.

“Luca.” Coach Wiebe started gently. “We need you on the power line. Right wing. Like we’ve been doing in practice.”

Luca was sure his face must have been doing something funny based on Ilya’s giggles and Shane’s concerned looks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Oh.” he managed. “Ok.” Like this was something he needed to agree to. 

Holy shit. He really needed to pay attention to the logistics then. Luca shook his head slightly, as if that would clear his head, before leaning in slightly, letting Shane’s clear and steady voice wash over him. 

And amazingly, that wasn’t even the biggest shock before the game. Troy had been so nice, taking Luca’s apology for stealing his usual spot in stride and even taking the ride to the hotel to talk Luca down off the edge of a mental breakdown at the thought of what was to come. 

“You’ll be fine.” Troy had repeated again and again. “Holly and Roz have got ya. There’s no way anything could go wrong. Best thing to happen to you, really. I can promise you, no one’s going to be paying attention to you. You guys better use that.”

Which was a great point. One that Luca devoted all his brain power to figuring out that he missed roommate assignments and blindly took his key card and followed the rest of his teammates to the elevator. 

On the fourth floor, he focused on counting the doors, following Shane down the hall until he found the right room. Where Shane seemed to also have stopped. Wait, why was Shane putting his key in the door? That was Luca’s room. And whoever his roommate was.

But when Shane sent him a small but steading grin over his shoulder, holding the door open for Luca with his foot, Luca realized who his roommate was. Which, again, holy shit.

“So, it looks like they put us newbies together.” Shane offered up, slightly awkward as the silence began to stretch between them. 

“Hm.” Luca nodded, then froze in the middle of the room. “Um, which bed would you like?” 

Shane seemed caught off guard by the question, a furrow forming between his eyes. “Uh, I guess I’ll take the one closer to the door. I tend to wake up early. Don’t want to bother you.”

“Oh, no. That’s so fine. You can do, whatever.” Luca needed to shut up. Maybe he could lock himself in the bathroom. That wouldn’t be so weird, right?

There was another long, awkward silence as they shuffled around each other, slightly unpacking their clothes for the game tonight. 

After the third mortifying time of nearly running head first into each other, Shane finally let out a strained laugh. “Sorry. I guess I’m so used to rooming with Hayden. I’m not used to doing this yet.”

“Sorry.” Was the quickest response Luca could come up with. “I was kind of surprised to see you here.” Which was a stupid sentence. Stupid English. But Luca plowed on. “I kind of thought you would be rooming with Roz.” Whelp. That was not much better, especially given the panic that flashed across Shane’s face. 

“What? Why? Captains always get the single.” Shane wouldn’t meet Luca’s gaze, not that Luca thought he could look Shane in the eye for this conversation.

“Um, I don’t know. You guys are just friends. That’s why.” Was all he managed to offer up, but whatever he said seemed to relax Shane instead of further setting him off. Luca stifled a sigh in relief. 

“Ah. Well, yeah. But I figured it would be cool to take the chance to get to know the rest of you guys too.” 

Honestly, Luca was really thinking hard about this locking himself in the bathroom plan. Anything to get this conversation over with. He managed a nod in agreement. Sure. Yep. Shane Hollander wanted to be his friend. God. 

Thankfully voices back out in the hall reminded them of their evening plans - and god, how had Luca managed to forget about their plans for the starting line so quickly - and the two of them rushed to grab their stuff and head out. 

The game itself was so electric. Luca had enjoyed their games against Boston last season. Playing against his old team always brought out a fun side of Ilya, but this was next level. Luca couldn’t even put his thoughts into words as the puck slid into the goal directly from his stick and a screaming banshee that was his captain crashed into him. They were so on fire. This could really be their season.

And then there was the quick rush of changing again, and then, a club. Drinks and shots passed around. Luca stupidly agreeing to take five, one for each goal.

At some point, he realized Shane was gone. Which was not a surprise given past events, but did cause some panic when Luca did finally make it back to their room to find it empty. The covers on Shane’s bed still neatly tucked in. 

He debated texting either Ilya or the group chat about it, but fell asleep before he could make a decision.

Shane’s tired grin across the breakfast buffet the next morning left him with even more questions. 

When Luca had managed to pull himself out of bed that morning, Shane’s side of the room had still been empty, bed as fresh as it had been when they walked in. 

But fuck if Luca was going to ask Shane about where he had been. Nope. This was just going to be a mystery that remained unsolved. If only he had known then that this would be only the first time of many. He didn’t tell anyone on the team about it. Just Blayne. He had to get it out somewhere. 

Date: October 2021, first home game

In retrospect, the whole hotel disappearing act should have given them away. Or really, any second of their heated glances and traded bards disguised flirting should have given them away. But Luca didn’t put it together until the first home game. And it wasn’t even based on anything Shane and Ilya did. Or, at least, not something they did directly. 

Luca had vaguely recognized Shane’s parents before the game. Over a decade of following the man on any and every form of social media had prepped him for the first meeting, a quick handshake and a mumbled hello. It was maybe one of those moments Luca had been a little starstuck again. Like, these were Shane Hollander’s parents. The very people who had shaped Shane into who he was. And Shane was introducing them and Yuna Hollander was chattering on about his stats last season like this was completely normal? And David Hollander was clapping him on the shoulder, thanking him for helping Shane feel so welcome in Ottawa, calling him “Son.” so affectionately Luca was afraid he would cry? Crazy. 

But then Ilya had wandered into the team kitchen, where Shane had camped out with his parents after the game, and Luca got to witness a much more insane sight. 

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Hollander’s.” Came Ilya’s smooth rumble and suddenly Yuna Hollander lit up, hockey ramble cutting off mid sentence with an excited, “Ilya!” and then Luca was watching her sweep his captain into her arms like he was a little boy. And Ilya let her. 

David’s chuckle beside him pulled Luca’s gaze away from the pair. David was looking at the pair with such a fond look, Luca was surprised when he spoke, “We’ve met Ilya more than a few times since the beginning of the charity. We’re quite fond of him.” 

Luca swallowed roughly, a shaky nod all he had to offer before Ilya was crying “David! Finally, Ottawa colors!” And a second much too long hug occurred.

A sudden spike of homesickness struck Luca so fast it hurt. It had only been two months since he had last been home but watching Ilya and Shane get pulled into the Hollander’s circle seemed to claw up his insides. 

He thought he was doing a good job at keeping it together when Ilya caught his gaze and froze. Suddenly, Luca found himself being dog piled by an over six foot Russian with a cry of “Luca!” and his laughter won over his tears. “I see you have met the better Hollander’s.” Ilya pulled himself off, but left one arm wrapped tightly around Luca’s shoulder. He could never tell him how much that small move meant to him. How it held him together. 

“Um, yes. It’s my pleasure.”

“My pleasure? Ha!” Ilya’s snort was too loud close to his ear, but Luca was more focused on the sappy look Yuna Hollander was sending them. “See, Yuna. No need to worry. I do not corrupt. Shane teaches the rookies manners.”

“Not a rookie.” Shane and Luca spoke in unison, leading to further giggles from Ilya. 

“I can see that. It is very nice to finally meet you, Luca.” Yuna offered up, before she clapped her hands together. “So, dinner. Then we can debrief on all that went wrong against Toronto.” 

Ilya’s whoop of cheer and Shane’s smile warmed Luca up and yet, he still had to fight back laughter. If you had told him two years ago he would be standing here, two games into the second season of his NHL career watching Yuna Hollander push her sons out the door to get to a dinner reservation on time -

Holy shit. And that’s when it hit. 

Yuna Hollander was treating Ilya as her son. Ilya had seamlessly blended into the Hollander family like he had done it a thousand times before. 

Ilya and Shane.

Holy shit. They were together. Like, in love, together. 

And Luca had just figured it out on a random Friday night, standing in the team’s kitchen. 

“Luca, honey, you could come to dinner too if you liked?” Yuna Hollander called sweetly from the doorway, Ilya’s excited head popping up above her to nod along in agreement. 

Which, any other time and Luca would have said yes. A dinner with the Hollander’s and Ilya Rozanov? Hell yes. But fresh of this realization? Fuck no.

“Um.” Fuck, how to get out of this. “I would love to, really, but maybe another time?” Luca shrugged weakly, a tinge of pain in his shoulder. There, yes, perfect. “I kind of twinged my shoulder in the third period and should probably have PT look at it tonight.”

“Oh no, yes honey, you should get to that.” Yuna looked like she was seconds from calling off the whole dinner to walk Luca down to the PT offices herself.

Thankfully, Ilya’s teasing call of “Next time then, Haasy. Say hello to Blayne for me!” and Luca’s answering blush calmed her down enough to end with a round of quick goodbyes and the four of them were off.

Luca stood motionless in the kitchen for one hundred breaths before forcing his feet forward. 

“I was wondering if I’d see you tonight.” Blayne’s voice cut through the flatlining thoughts in his head. When Luca produced no immediate answer, Blayne was suddenly closer, a warm hand on Luca’s hand. “Hey, woah, what’s wrong?” Quiet but sure. Steady. Exactly what Luca needed.

And suddenly Luca was not overthinking every word that came out of his mouth around Blayne. “If I tell you something, would you promise to keep it to yourself?”

Blayne was still so near. So sweet and sincere with a, “Of course, patient confidentiality and all that.”

Luca couldn’t help the small shake of his head. “I’m not here as a patient.”

“I saw that hit in the third period. You are letting me look at your shoulder.” And the finality in his voice fully brought Luca out of his head. 

“Ok, fine. Not just as a patient. Can I tell you something else though, and you promise to keep it secret? For me?”

Blayne’s eyes were burning into him, a serious look. “Ok. It stays just between us.” God, Luca could kiss him. 

But, no. Fuck. Shane and Ilya.

“So, I just had this crazy theory and I need someone to hear it out. Basically…”

Date: November 2021

“Alright. Fuck. I’ve had enough.” Bood’s aggravated voice cut through the chatter in the locker room, bringing the low chatter after practice to a halt. Bood took a step towards the middle of the room, head tilting as he checked the hallway. “Good. Holly and Roz are still with Harris. This has gone on too long.”

And Luca was suddenly struck with the hope that the rest of his teammates had finally caught up. Which, given how bad Ilya and Shane were getting at hiding, it was about time.

But then the next words out of Bood’s mouth were, “Fuck the McDonanld’s ban. I am getting a fucking Big Mac after practice and all you motherfuckers are coming with me. And we’re not telling Roz.”

And…nevermind. Maybe Luca was still alone in this.

“And then we’re definitely talking about Roz and Holly, right?” Wyatt was half out of his gear but still managing to hop in place, his hand high in the air as if he was waiting to get called on in class.

“After I’ve eaten at least three Big Macs, yes, then we can talk about that.” Bood practically growled. “Let’s get a move on it before Harris wraps up their interview. You all know the place. Don’t breathe a word of this to Roz. Barrett, don’t even tell Harris. That boy can’t lie.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Came Troy’s mocking remark, but at the intense glare, he held up both hands and nodded in agreement. 

Luca felt a buzz, low in his stomach. Nervous butterflies. God, were they finally going to be acknowledging this? Could he talk to someone other than Blayne about this? (Not that it had been a bad thing to talk to Blayne about, heck, he’d even gotten Blayne’s number finally under the guise of being able to rant even on away games. And maybe text him good morning. You know, normal friend things.)

What followed was a quiet, controlled chaos as nearly a dozen hockey players tried to get dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Luca had to remind himself to take normal steps on his way to the parking lot.

The parking lot itself was a mess, Luca could practically taste the joy in the air. Everyone trying to back out too quickly, playful pranksters pretending to jump in front of cars of those who got out faster. All hyped up with the promise of the golden arches and finally, finally debriefing about the shit that was going down this season.

Evan’s list the past two weeks had been the first indicator someone else was finally catching on. Luca still remembered Evan’s drunken ramblings one evening, at a random bar in Nashville, Ilya and Shane nowhere to be found.

“Sooo.” Evan had started by shoving his phone in Luca’s face. He barely made out the blurry google doc on its screen before Evan was saying, “You have any evidence to add to the list?” And let’s just say, Luca learned that night that he had in fact not noticed everything insane going on between Ilya and Shane. And now, sober and hopefully soon full on processed foods, they would actually get to talk about it.

Luca’s hands gripped his steering wheel tight as he watched his teammates drive like teenage boys, racing all around him along the couple of kilometers they drove to the closest McDonalds. He still struggled with the insane (aka illegal) driving behaviour of some of his teammates. Let’s just say, he’ll never get in the car with Nick behind the wheel again.

But somehow they all made it in one piece, the mostly deserted McDonalds parking lot suddenly filling up with way too many expensive cars for the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. And it was a mad race indoors, one Luca hung back and watched mostly, laughing as he watched Bood nearly tackle Wyatt at the door. 

Admittedly, Luca had felt bad for the two McDonald’s workers when they were suddenly faced with a good portion of a NHL team fresh off a three month McDonalds ban. He made sure to tip them way more than his meal probably cost, and he could overhear Wyatt reassuring them, “No, it’s ok. Take your time. We can wait. We have things to discuss anyway. Can we do anything to help?”

And roughly thirty minutes later, 34 Big Macs, 9 chicken sandwiches, 2 fish fillets and countless fries consumed, Luca finally felt brave enough to ask, “Alright. So. Roz and Holly?”

“Hollanov.” Wyatt interrupted, and Luca promptly choked on his fries. 

It took a couple pounding hits from Bood on his back that may or may not have left a bruise before Luca could finally speak, a stray tear stuck in his eyelashes. “Excuse me?”

“Shit, sorry Haasy.” Wyatt passed him over his coke, which Luca took gratefully. “It’s just, Hollanov. That’s their ship name.”

“Ship name?” Came the questioning tilt from Bood next to him and oh my god actually Luca was not ready for this. 

Wyatt launched into a long winded history of shipping culture, which any other time would have absolutely been right up Luca’s alley, but he was too busy reeling with the knowledge that someone else on the team was aware of Hollanov. Fuck, did this mean Wyatt was on tumblr? Or had he seen it on twitter? How long had he been aware of it? What if he had seen one of his- no. Stop. Luca forced himself to take a deep breath. The internet was a big place. A mostly anonymous place. Even if he had ended up in the same spaces as Luca, there was no way Wyatt would know it. Plus, he was kind of the last person Luca expected would make fun of him for that.

He tuned back in just to hear Wyatt going on, “And you know, the media really sells them. Golden boy Shane Hollander, bad boy Ilya Rozanov. It’s a classic trope, really. Now, if we're going to sort them according to the shipping color system, I’d say they’re a red and blue ship. Which, there are some great ships there. CaitVi, Klance, Merthur, Wangxian, Zukka. Spideypool.” 

And Luca was choking again, this time bad enough that Wyatt’s coke nearly came out of his nose. What the fuck? Bood was laughing now, mopping up the mess Luca had made with a handful of napkins while his other hand pounded on Luca’s back again. 

“Whoops. Sorry again there.” Wyatt’s words were apologetic but the light in his eyes let Luca know he was not getting away from him this afternoon without deep diving why he had that reaction to a bunch of made up words. That he definitely knew the meaning of. Fuck. 

Thankfully Troy came to his rescue with an exaggerated sign that Luca bet he practiced in the mirror, “As fun as this is, can we please return to talking about how obvious Roz is.”

“Oh, I think you mean how obvious Holly is.” Evan jutted in, pulling up his chair to their table and pushing back some of the wrappers to plant his hands on the table. “Because, fuck, that man is down bad for Roz.” 

“Um, if we’re talking about it, can we please talk about how handsy Roz gets?” Wyatt threw out with his hands in the air. 

At that, Luca let out a groan and let his face fall down on the table, uncaring. There was something damp on his cheek. Probably ketchup.

Because yes, that’s the one thing he hadn’t mentioned yet. Ilya acting like he forgot how to exist if he was not touching Shane. All parts of Shane.

“Yes!” Bood was nearly yelling now, “How many times have we seen Roz literally grab Holly’s ass? Haasy is scarred for life!”

Luca really was. And he wasn’t even going to tell them about all the times he’s pretty sure he had nearly walked in on them the past couple weeks. Apparently him staying longer after practice to flirt- no, visit, Blayne had also placed him perfectly in line with whatever the fuck Ilya and Shane got down to when they thought the locker rooms were cleared out. Or the random storage closet. Or the back of Shane’s car. Or-, well, Luca could go on. So far, he’s gotten lucky and had managed to avoid actually fully walking in on anything yet, but he and Blayne had begun sneaking out of the rink together, giggling and whispering like it was a secret spy mission to avoid Shane and Ilya. And if, coincidentally this also meant they also went out for ice cream after practice together, Ilya never needed to know Luca had him partially to thank for that. 

But back to the moment. Apparently Luca’s groan and face smash was telling enough. 

“It’s ok, Haasy. It’s just, when two people love each other very much,” Wyatt was trying, a hand taping Luca’s shoulder lightly.

Luca couldn’t hold back his answering huff. “No. I. Don’t. Want. To. See. It. Don’t. Want. To. Hear. It. It’s ew. Like my parents are going at it.” The second the words had come out of his mouth, Luca knew he had made a mistake. 

“Awwww your parents!” Troy cooed, and Luca could hear the smirk on his face and didn’t even bother looking up. “I know Roz would love that.” 

“Oh Roz is definitely dad in this situation. Holly has such mom energy.” Bood added in, not helping. 

“Can we go back to talking about how obviously in love they are, please?” Luca grumbled.

“Love? Oh, sure, so we’ve moved past the whole ‘they’re definitely fucking’ revelation.” Evan tutted, probably adding more notes to the next google doc list.

“Oh boy. Not sure how to break this to you, D-man, but I’m pretty sure they’re engaged.” Wyatt answered much too casually.

And that had Luca sitting up, a rouge napkin still sticking to his cheek. “What?”

“Engaged?”

“Fuck yeah, tie that man down Holly!”

Wyatt had the grace to look embarrassed. “Did none of you also notice Holly wears a ring on his necklace like Roz?”

Which, no, Luca hadn’t noticed that. He still mostly avoids looking too closely at Shane’s neck, especially after the one time he’s pretty sure Shane had a hickey and he really didn’t want to think about the implications of that. 

“Fuck.” Bood shifted back, a hand swiping the napkin off Luca’s face and wiping off the smeared ketchup like it was a second habit. Which, knowing Milo, it probably was. “Roz and Holly, engaged? You know what, I see it.”

“Wait, when did Roz start wearing his ring?” Evan took a pause from his typing to look at Wyatt, which, fair. 

“Hm. I think it was after the plane crash.” Wyatt took a deep breath, deep in thought for a moment before he sat up, “Fuck, you guys.” He drummed his hands on the table. “I think it was right after he missed practice that one time.”

Something settled inside of Luca. Information clinking into place. Connections built. Of course it was then.

“Fuck, Hayes, then your whole ‘Roz moved to Ottawa for Holly’ theory might really be true.” Troy grasped his head between his hands and let out a wild laugh. “I can’t believe it.”

“But, why wouldn’t they just tell us?” Bood finally asked the question Luca knew was in everyone’s heads.

There was a long moment where no one seemed to quite know what to say. Luca had grappled with the question himself many times, and while he didn’t know for sure, he had a pretty good idea.

“Montreal.” Was all he had to say to watch first understanding and then fury fill his teammates eyes. 

“Fuck.” Bood bit out, stiff next to him.

“Yep.” Troy nodded slowly. “As someone who’s played for a shit team, that would do it.”

“But we’re not Montreal?” Evan’s voice was quiet, small. 

Troy was quick to shake his head but it was Wyatt who finally said it, “It doesn’t matter. Holly’s been burned, bad by the looks of it. I wouldn’t blame him if he never told anyone again.”

“Do you think Montreal knows about Roz?” Troy’s head had shot up, worry painted across his features.

“No.” Luca was surprised on how that word shot out of his mouth. Followed by the horrible truth. “This was only about Holly being, queer. I don’t even want to think what they would do when finding out about Roz.”

Shocked gazes and hard faces met his. Luca’s stomach, now way too full, cramped uncomfortably at just the thought of what Shane might have gone through last season. The fact that Shane had gotten out was a miracle in itself, but then to go on and be willing and brave enough to try with another team? Fuck. There was a reason Shane Hollander was the best. 

“I’m going to fucking kill them next week.” Bood was back to growling. Luca could only join in on the echoing of the sentiment.

“What are we going to do about it?” Luca asked, nervously rolling an extra straw between his fingers.

He felt Bood shrug next to him. “Wait them out?”

“Just be really supportive allies and hope they pick up on it?” Evan offered up.

“Let them be fucking dumbass’s about it until it’s really too obvious to ignore.” Was Troy’s suggestion. 

Wyatt nodded at each one, “Put that all together, I guess. We sure as fuck don’t have the right, nor need to make them come out, or anything. But I’m guessing at some point they’ll catch on that we’ve caught on. Until then, we wait. Act like this isn’t the most game changing news this century and play damn good hockey.”

The guys all cheered and Luca couldn’t help but join in. There was a nice beat where they finally began to move their sore bodies, sweeping up all their trash onto trays, when Troy whipped around, “Wait, I’m still allowed to make fun of Roz though, right? I promise to not be too obvious bout it.”

And that's when Luca knew they were all going to be ok. Sure, was he still at risk of being potentially horribly traumatised because Ilya couldn’t keep himself in check after practice? Maybe. But whatever happened, he knew their team would have their backs. 

Montreal was not prepared for what was going to hit them next week. 

Chapter End Notes

And our final narrator is….

Chapter 7: I just wanna tell the world that you're mine, girl

Chapter Notes

Here we go! Final chapter! My heart is torn over finally getting these scenes out (because you know I have been waiting for the reveal!!!) and sadly bringing this fic to a close. It has been a wonderful journey writing this fic and I cannot thank you all enough for taking it with me! Thank you for all the encouraging comments and all you readers who are the reason this fic exists <3

Ilya had always loved playing against Montreal. In the beginning, he wouldn't, or really couldn't, admit to himself or anybody that it was all about Shane. Playing Montreal meant not only having some of the most fun on ice in his life but it often meant also getting to spend precious hours with Shane after, and then later also before, the games. Honestly, for a while Cliff had teased him for having what he called a ‘pavlovian response’ to hearing even just the word Montreal. Ilya had heavily denied that but also, sue him if thinking of Shane Hollander put him in a better mood.

Then 2016 happened and suddenly his relationship with the Canadian city changed. The Boston Bears were quick to pick up the shift and suddenly the “M-word” was no longer heard in the locker room. If only the same had applied for mentioning a certain person named after a certain flower. 

2017 things changed again. But suddenly, with them now being officially together, and Shane introducing Ilya to places like the cottage and making plans for Ottawa, Montreal became less of a place to see Shane and more of a being that was keeping Shane from him.

The final nail in the coffin had followed Shane's coming out. Ilya knew the Centaurs hadn’t put two and two together about his sudden increased interest in beating the shit out of Montreal, but Coach Wiebe had pulled him aside after his third hefty penalty in the season and had given him a stern reminder about keeping his personal life off the ice. Because of course he knew something about that. Ilya had both been proud and ashamed of how obvious his actions were to those who were looking. 

And then, weeks before the new season was to begin, Coach Wiebe was pulling him aside with an unnatural glint in his eyes Ilya could make no sense of until Shane, his beautiful Shane, put together the pieces for him. A season, a couple of seasons actually based on the contracts they had signed, together. On the same team, in the same city, together. Ilya had cried for hours. He had dreamed about this move for years, long before ever moving to Ottawa. A pipe dream, as Marly would call it, being on the same team as Shane Hollander. The first time had been when he had barely beat Shane at the Prospect Cup, 2008. God, seeing him on the ice, even then. Ilya’s entire being had yearned with emotions he'd thought he had long since shut off. But then he was drafted to Boston and Shane to Montreal. And Shane was never coming to Boston. This was a fact Ilya knew as well as breathing. So he had made peace with his dreams, leaving them for the dark and quiet moments when he needed to remind himself there was something good out in the world. But then, Ottawa was not Boston. Yuna and David were in Ottawa. Shane’s heart was in Ottawa. Ilya kept it safe and warm for him. And his waiting had paid off. Here he was, deep into the 2021 season, Shane Hollander right by his side. He woke up in bed, the covers on the other side twisted into the shape Shane left behind as he snuck out for his morning run with Anya. Two cars, always parked in the driveway, lulling Ilya into a feeling of completeness he could barely sum up into words. Their quiet drives to practice in the morning, Shane driving them through small detours to show Ilya some of his favorite places growing up. The first rink he’s played at. The first rink he’d won a game at. The schools he went to. The house he grew up in. Ilya treasured all these moments and hoarded them close to his heart like a dragon. Shane Hollander was his and he was never letting go. 

There were many wonderful moments, being on the same team as Shane Hollander. Playing hockey with someone who could not only just keep up with him but challenged him every day to be better. Having Shane meet his teammates? A dream come true. That was an unexpected blessing about the change to Ottawa. In Boston, Ilya had imagined the two of them ruling the team, high above those they shared the ice with. But in Ottawa, yes while they were technically the strongest on the team, Ilya wanted to share Shane with his teammates. Not just Shane Hollander, hockey god. He wanted to show off the man he loved and have him loved by the people who had grown to love him. 

He understood Shane’s fears, especially after Montreal. It was a major miracle Shane was still playing hockey, in Ilya’s opinion. He had watched Shane’s love for the sport be drained out of him the past seasons, his final season with Montreal cutting wounds so deep Ilya wasn’t sure Shane would recover. 

But recover he had. Now, playing together in Ottawa, Ilya spent all of his energy holding himself back, daily. Working on not showering Shane endlessly with love and devotion and holding back those major parts of himself as he tried to play the normal team captain around the man he loved. He didn’t think he was as successful as Shane had hoped for, but at the end of the day, who was to blame him? 

It was a miracle he got to share the ice with Shane Hollander and Ilya would do just about anything to make sure that kept happening. Even if that meant holding himself back in the game against Montreal tonight.

Ilya watched Shane fold the same pair of shorts for the fourth time. Every neat fold, the smooth brush of Shane's hand to whisk away invisible wrinkles, caused a thud, deep in Ilya's chest. He has used to ignore these pains, ignoring his true thoughts, but the last few years the throbbing had become his constant companion. A daily reminder of his love for a dark haired hockey player. Ilya, done in with the mundane. The urge to climb into Shane's skin and banish anything that spoke against his beauty. 

Instead he had to settle with what was still in his physical limits. “What can I do for you?” Words barely a whisper, barely stirring the air between them.

But Shane was always listening. Always heard everything Ilya said. 

“This is just another game. I shouldn't be so worked up.” Another repeated fold.

“It's not. Another game.” Ilya didn't dare call them by their name. Shane would be hearing that town name enough anyway this week. “It's ok to be nervous.”

Shane's hand froze at those words the same moment Ilya noticed his breath picking up.

A long moment, then, “I'm not nervous.” Before Ilya’s mouth could open, Shane raised his head and his blazing eyes met Ilya's. “I'm furious.” 

“Ah.” Something in Ilya clicked into place. A further puzzle piece in loving and understanding Shane Hollander revealing itself. 

Shane placed the pants down on the rest of the laundry folded between them on the couch. Ilya watched, fascinated by the shift of Shane's shoulders as he breathed deep, heavy. Gave Shane the space to breathe and think.

“I-” Shane started, voice dark and rumbly. “It's not fair. I think I knew that, really. But I also didn't. They were all I knew. What I grew with. Curated. The standard. And I knew things could be better but I kept lying to myself. Telling myself it really wasn't that bad. That I could handle it. Making something out of nothing.” His voice broke on the last word, shoulders heaving now but his voice remained steady as he went on. “And then I was here. In Ottawa. With you, and the team. We spend time on and off the ice, together. They care, about me. About how I'm doing. Look out for me. Like me.” Ilya's eyes were wet, throat tight. “And I'm so fucking furious about it. At myself, for putting up with their bullshit for so many years. At them, for being such bigoted assholes who can't comprehend I'm a capable hockey player no matter who I love. That I am who I am because of who I love. It's so fucking stupid that something like that would even fucking matter. At hockey, for making their behavior out to be so normal and acceptable and that following me for so long. I'm so fucking furious that I'm almost thirty and I'm just now figuring that out.” 

If Ilya hadn't been already experiencing violent feelings towards Montreal, this would have done him in.

“You're right.” Was what he said instead of fuck Montreal. “It's not fair.” He said instead of I'm furious too.

Based on the look on Shane's face, he heard those words too.

“I’m so fucking tired of it.” Shane said the words so heavily, Ilya feeling every syllable like a blow to his heart. “I’m so tired of pretending I’m not.”

It took Ilya three practised deep breaths before he could form words again. “What do you want from me, tonight?”

A crackly laugh from Shane, some of the tension finally lifting off his shoulders. Ilya could finally take a deep breath. “I want to fucking destroy them.” Before Ilya could echo the statement, Shane’s blazing eyes caught his. “I want to win, in such a manner that no one could even think about arguing that my sexuality or who I love would even matter because they have just witnessed the most beautiful game of hockey ever seen. I want to destroy them, so perfectly that every glide of the puck across the ice is a reminder of everything they lost.” Ilya was breathless, captivated. And then Shane went for it all. “And I want you, by my side through it all. I want to be on the ice with you as we show them what we can really be. Not covering for you in the penalty box, not trading lines. I need you with me. Together.” 

Need. Ilya Rozanov would do anything Shane Hollander asked for. He’d even hold himself back from slashing a certain Montreal defenseman he had developed a personal hatred for. 

“Ok.” As if it was that simple. One word, stretched over two stupid English syllables as if that encompassed the headache of an argument Ilya was about to have to embark on. Convincing not only Coach Wiebe and the coaching staff but also Troy Barrett and the other two players on their second line that this complete shift, a power move they only pulled out in dire need or when they felt like having fun, was necessary. Because Shane had asked. So it was happening. 

Shane nodded, a breath shuttering out of him like he had been holding it in for days. “Ok.”

And that was that. Ilya didn’t know how to be anything else.

***

Shane was going to be so pissed. 

Sue Ilya for being unable to hold himself together, but he was pretty sure that anyone in his position would completely understand his complete loss of control. 

Here he was, the stupid blue of Montreal slightly reflecting off the ice, a color no longer worn by Shane Hollander, and instead he got to follow the black and red blur of the splash of the Hollander jersey across the ice because it was his fucking job now. No longer were games against Montreal a fun moment in getting to rile Shane up or slam him against the boards, trying to steal the puck through brute force. He got to do that at practice all the time now, Montreal wasn’t special. Gone were the days where he had to cringe at the imbalance of power between Montreal’s lines, the entire team now at such a level of shit that Ilya was excited when Pike was on the ice. Pike! He'd be worried he’d finally lost it if he wasn’t pretty sure his entire team was having the same realization. Including Shane. 

And Shane. God, beautiful Shane. 

It was always a wonder, sharing the ice with Shane Hollander, the years spanning between them but the rush never losing its pull. But Ilya wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Shane Hollander like this.

If Ilya took the time, tried to step into the shoes of another hockey player or however the stupid English metaphor worked, he could admit Shane could be seen as scary on the ice. What he saw as sexy could be interpreted as terrifying by those less deserving, sure. But Ilya had always laughed at the comments overheard from other players. Could never imagine being afraid of being on the ice at the same time as the greatest hockey player ever, in his humble opinion. But then the first period against Montreal had started and Ilya had the wonder of witnessing his future husband turn off all the mundane tendencies holding himself back and truly let himself go. 

Ilya’s stomach had dropped, making a silly swoopy feeling, as Shane had vaulted over the boards for the start of the game. He had hardly been able to take his eyes off Shane, the man he knew better than the back of his own hand suddenly transformed into a beautiful hockey monster. Watched and felt as Shane transformed into someone he barely recognized. Catching Troy’s wide gaze on the other side of Shane, Ilya had to stifle back a manic grin. This was going to be fun. 

And fun it was. Electric, was another word that buzzed through Ilya’s veins as he connected with pass after pass either to or from Shane. Ilya had lost count of the number of times he had played on the rink here in Ottawa, but he could feel it in his bones that this was the best hockey he had ever played here. Maybe ever. There were no words spoken by the first line. Shane controlling them all with a flick of his gaze or the will of his presence. Troy, seemingly catching on to Ilya’s pointed silence, kept his lips tightly shut as stupid Montreal player after moronic player tried to hurl some messed up combination of words Ilya didn’t let himself hear at them. Didn’t hear, didn’t react. And the status quo caught on. Play after play, there wasn’t a single word said by any Ottawa player on the ice. Ilya filled the observation neatly away, heart swimming with pride. Watched Montreal destroy themselves over it. Watched their play get messier and messier with each ignored taunt. Ilya letting his smirks and wiggled eyebrows doing all the talking in a face off that apparently unnerved the stupid Montreal player so much he was so late to even trying to steal the puck, by the time his stick was moving, Ilya was already pushing off to follow Shane and the puck towards the goal. Allowed himself a risk and missed a chance at a goal as he passed the puck back to Shane before watching it sink into the goal just over the goalie’s right shoulder. A move Shane had learned from him. Ilya couldn’t remember ever being this turned on in a game. And it was making him obvious, he was sure. 

Heart eyes, Pike had called them the past summer. Apparently revealing all the secrets Ilya fought so hard to keep hidden. Ilya had laughed, when Pike had first made the comment, recounting the conversation to Shane with a beat of pride later. Sue him, for being so in love that even the most blind player in Montreal could see it. But those words had also stuck with him. Reminded him how weak he was in the face of love. A narrative he was working over with his therapist but also something he still tried to keep hidden. Because Shane had asked. 

But here Shane also was, making it impossible. So Ilya might just have to live with dealing with Shane Hollander’s fury after this. It was always hot when he got that glint in his eyes, anyway.

During intermission, sweaty and panting in the locker room, Ilya couldn’t keep his eyes off Shane. A small voice that sounded annoyingly like Svetlana in the back of head was trying to remind him of his captainly duties and how his team had really deserved some praise for their points lead and Wyatt’s strength in their own goal, not a single shot from Montreal making it in. But to put all of that into words, Ilya would have to sacrifice some of his brain power away from Shane. Away from looking at Shane. From loving Shane. 

Yeah, he wasn’t doing that. He wasn’t capable of that. 

And something in him had felt it coming. The shift in Shane’s shoulders spelling out his actions long before he watched the love of his life step into the center of the room and raise his voice. 

“I don’t know how to thank you guys enough.” Shane started, all eyes on him. His back was to him but Ilya knew what look was on his face. Pinched and determined. Hands curled into fists at his side. “Not just for the goals tonight, so far, or for the beautiful hockey I am getting to witness tonight, from all of you. I know,” A shuddering breath, Ilya watching a wave of what he now knew to be anger, “I know there've been multiple rumours about why I left Montreal. How fucked up they were when I came out as gay. Why my contract wasn’t renewed. How I wasn’t even going to sign it anyway.” Ilya was pretty sure these were the first time these words were coming out of Shane’s mouth, the slight rush and stumble revealing. How his heart ached. How strong Shane was. How comfortable he had become. “I’m not standing here to talk about any of that. I’m not telling you how shitty they can be to fire you up for the next period, hoping we’ll knock more than a few teeth out. Not that they don’t deserve that, because they do, and more. But I’m here, now, to say thank you. Thank you, for welcoming me back to Ottawa. Thank you for taking a chance on this Montreal reject and turning me back into the hockey player I had forgotten how to be. Thank you for standing behind me at all times, not just in difficult reunions. I can’t put into words how much this all means to me but I do know how to give it my all on the ice. And that is what I will keep doing. Tonight, tomorrow, the rest of my seasons. Because that is what you all deserve. What we deserve.” And fuck, Ilya hoped Shane knew he had basically won the alternative captain position next season with those words right there. “So let’s get out there and show Montreal what we really are. Let’s destroy them with everything we have and make them regret ever coming to Ottawa.”

The resounding cheers were so deafening Ilya hoped Montreal could hear them even through the long and winding hallways separating them. 

The whistling signal to get back on the ice threw the room into even more of a flurry of movement, Ilya temporarily losing sight of Shane amongst the shift of jerseys, his heart thudding in his ears, Shane’s speech still echoing. 

Only the rough grasp of a hand on his arms pulled Ilya back to himself, Bood knocking their helmets together and then staying close to say, “You really picked a good one, cap.” And Ilya felt the ground drop out from underneath him. 

The insane energy wasn’t just his teammates following his example, they were here, standing right next to him, behind Shane. For Shane. Ilya wasn’t sure when the shift had occurred, when he had suddenly become not so alone but somewhere it had occurred. And based on Shane’s words tonight, he felt it too. 

Ilya had to work hard, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat as he managed a rough nod in Bood’s direction before the mass of bodies pushed him out of the locker room. He felt untethered, the blades on his feet suddenly unsteady as his reality shifted around him. 

It had always been him and Shane, alone at the top. No one had ever even come close to touching them and for years that had been enough for Ilya. He had been content to share the lonely world with Shane. To pretend that was enough for him. 

So it was a shock, a full body reset, to realize, seconds before he was stepping back on the ice, that they were no longer alone. To feel the mass of hockey players around him and know that they knew. Knew what they were and didn’t shy away from it or let jealousy taint their thoughts. Knew and supported both of them, together. 

And fuck, Ilya was just supposed to play hockey now? Shift back into what he knew before like his entire being hadn’t just been changed?

And then, as if he could sense Ilya’s internal crisis, Hayden Pike was skating up to meet Ilya for the next face off. An awkward beat as they both watched the signal for the ref who had yet to skate over. A deep sigh coming from Pike before, “It’s good to see him, like this. Again.” Ilya didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know yet, how to make his mouth make words again. Pike took that as a sign to keep talking, voice hushed. “He was falling. I know you saw it too, last season. It was killing him, in Montreal. I thought we’d lost him for good.” The ref was skating up to them now, Ilya and Hayden shifting into position in a move that Ilya’s muscles knew better than his head. But Hayden wasn’t done. “Thank you.” Words so rarely spoken in this position. “Thank you for bringing him back.” 

And Ilya wasn’t even embarrassed to have lost that face off. He knew future Shane would find it funny, cute even, but current Shane was shooting him a wild look, head tilting in a way that Ilya shouldn’t understand but simultaneously was impossible not to understand. And then they were off, Ilya shifting back into hockey player Ilya. Or really, shifting into hockey player Ilya. As all versions of himself were in love with Shane so what really was the difference. 

Maybe Montreal had thought winning the first move had changed the tone, but they had definitely not been expecting an impromptu speech from their former captain to have turned the Centaurs further up a notch. Ilya felt like he was flying, moves across the ice so shift and sure it was as easy as breathing. Another beautiful goal from Shane had him laughing, in delight, pressing a smacking kiss onto the side of Shane’s helmet and holding his wicked smile too close for a beat too long. But Shane didn’t shift away. If anything, he seemed to grow under Ilya’s gaze.

Montreal was trying. Pulling out all the stops. Ilya watched near illegal move after frantic line change but nothing could touch Ottawa. Nothing could touch Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. 

Even if Comeau was trying his best. 

Ilya had watched the Montreal defenceman slam into Shane all game with a fever that seemed personal and he had used every bit of his therapy thoughts to hold himself from going after the man. Especially when stories from Shane’s final season with him echoed through his brain. But in the final period, Comeau seemed to turn it up another notch. Ilya had the faint thought to wonder if the man was on drugs, the manic jerk to his movements on the ice unnatural. The way he targeted Shane no longer converted or minimal.

But Shane didn’t seem to be letting it bother him. Steady and sure, speeding across the rink and neatly avoiding shoves and trips from Comeau like it was second nature. Like all the practice he had in Montreal had truly prepared him for something. And while it made Ilya sick, he couldn’t help but also beam with pride. Shane was taunting Comeau. Ilya wasn’t sure anyone else was seeing it, but he knew how Shane skated. Knew what moves and risks he was normally willing to take. Knew where he usually held himself back. And that was no longer the case around Comeau. Shane was a tease, letting the other player get just close enough, breaths away, before he was gone in the other direction in the blink of an eye. And it was pissing Comeau off. It was beautiful. 

Montreal finally called their time out, halfway through the final period, Ilya taking the moment to lean against the boards, shoulder to shoulder with Shane, legs burning. Undecerinable yelling could be heard across the rink. Music to his ears. 

Then, Shane’s first words on the ice this game. His bright face turning to face Ilya just as the buzzer signaled the end of the break, “This is fun.” And Ilya wanted to marry him right then and there. Fuck the game, fuck Montreal, fuck the NHL. Fuck anything keeping him from Shane Hollander in that moment. The bark of laughter from Shane let Ilya know those exact thoughts were probably reflected on his face, Shane’s gloved hand reaching out to pull Ilya further out on the ice with him, together. Ok. This he could do first. But after, they were really discussing wedding plans again. Maybe Yuna would still be up after the game. 

Things were a blur, again. Hockey seeping into Ilya’s every being as the world shrunk to him, his skates and the puck. So focused, for a crucial second, he missed the first punch being thrown. Automatically filtered out the scream of frustration until the words “Don’t you ever talk about him like that ever again, you fucking asshole!” filtered in from a voice he could never ignore. And then he heard the calls from the refs, noticed the players around him shifting their weight up, off the puck and more into pairing up. As luck would have it, Hayden Pike stood right in front of Ilya, frozen with his mouth open in an expression so stupid Ilya knew automatically he was going to make fun of him later. 

But when Ilya finally turned, an easy arm coming around Pike’s shoulders to steady himself, he felt his own mouth open in shock. 

Across the ice, only a few precious meters away, was Shane Hollander, gloves already dropped on the ice, rearing back to throw what seemed to be yet another punch to where he had Comeau pinned against the boards. Comeau’s face was already so bloody, Ilya knew his nose had to be broken. And Shane wasn’t stopping. Ilya watched, his entire body thrumming, as Shane shifted his whole body weight forward, another sickening crunch echoing on the ice. Comeau was struggling, limbs shaking but pinning into place by Shane’s other arm. The shift of Shane’s body revealing the side of his face, oh his beautiful, furious face, lit up by the rink lights painting an image Ilya wished he possessed the artistic abilities to represent. 

“Well, Comeau had it coming.” Came Pike’s satisfied huff next to him. Ilya gave an answering grunt, unable to tear his gaze away as it took multiple refs and other players to tear Shane off Comeau. Shane’s arm still swinging for one last, unfulfilled punch, glorious and strong in the air. 

The sure strides to Shane’s gait as he skated into the penalty box and the weak attempt at a power play from Montreal pulling Ilya back down to earth enough to remember there was an actual game that needed to be finished here. 

The 5 - 0 win barely registered to Ilya as the roar of the crowd beat down on them. Shane, catching his eye with a smirk as the medical team pulled him by to have a look at the bruises forming on his face from the one punch Comeau must have gotten in and the countless ones forming on Shane’s hand. Troy and Bood practically pulling Ilya down the tunnel and into the locker room where the celebration continued. 

Ilya knew there were many words, celebrations, exchanged around him, but he felt like he was existing in limbo. Waiting for his other half. His teammates bunched up in front of him, all talking over each other in excitement, joy, before finally parting to reveal a sweaty and beautiful Shane Hollander, still in his gear and bloody jersey. Ilya wasn’t sure if the sudden dip in noise was true or just in his head, but it didn’t matter. Shane was here. 

“What happened to ending this game together?” Was what Ilya got out instead of the million love confessions filtering through his brain. 

Shane’s answering laugh told him Shane understood anyway. Ilya knew they knew each other too well now to hide things like that. Knew each other so well yet it was still a surprise as Ilya watched, almost as if he was detached from himself, as Shane launched himself across the room, the bruise on his cheekbone glowing so perfectly seconds before Shane slammed his lips onto Ilya’s and the world fell away. 

Each time kissing Shane was a gift Ilya wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve, but this one stood out. Special in the eyes Ilya could feel on them, special in the way the cheers and words grew in volume, special in the way that Shane kissed him with a wild abandonment that drowned out all else. Ilya pulled Shane closer, needing the reminder of how it felt to be so close. Shane still had his skates on and Ilya delighted in how he had to slightly tilt his head up to kiss Shane, the unfamiliar twist lighting something deep in him. 

Only Shane pulling back, gasping for air, broke them apart. Ilya couldn’t tear his eyes off him as Shane glowed. “I love you.” The words were not whispered, not hidden behind chirps or friendly jabs. Out there and in the open in the Ottawa locker room in front of their entire team. 

And Ilya was taken back to his thoughts from the ice. “I want to marry you. Right now.” 

Shane’s laugh and Wyatt’s whoop of celebration blended together into the most beautiful sound. Ilya wished he could bottle it up and play it on repeat. He never wanted to forget it. Shane, leaning close, “I already proposed first, you asshole.” followed by Bood’s “I fucking told you guys it was Holly. Fuck yeah!” and Ilya could live in this moment forever.

Shane, grinning in his arms, the laughter and love all around them. Ilya finally let it sink in. The realization. “They figured it out, sweetheart.” 

He ignored multiple confirmations and yelling from their teammates as Shane laughed, “We’ve been quite terrible at keeping it a secret, baby.” And fuck, Shane Hollander calling him baby in front of everyone? Ilya could not be held responsible for his actions as he reached up and pulled Shane back down for another dizzying kiss. 

“Oh lord, it’s just going to be more obvious now, isn’t it?” A grumble from Troy met with further cheers. 

Yeah, their team definitely had them figured out. And Ilya was very much ok with that. 

Chapter End Notes

and this is it!!! Thank you!! ❤️💐
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Um so guys what about a bonus fic or two??
Some lovely commenters have left such wonderful ideas (and honestly the whole Blayne thing happened in the Luca chapter and suddenly I needed more of that) and I love this fic too much to let it go just yet!! I will be linking them as part of a separate series - every kiss, it gets a little sweeter so go check that out for more of this AU :)