Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Hayden Pike, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Shane Hollander Leaves the Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of 【Translation 】Twin Stars

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-14 Words: 22,525 Chapters: 35/35

【Translation 】Twin Stars

Summary

This deviates from the original timeline (the Montreal vs. Boston game has been changed from April 2017 to February 2017).

Shane was traded to the Boston Bears.

Notes

OOC warning ⚠️

First time writing
I do the translation by myself. But English is not my mother language and someplace I use AI to help translate, so there are some place become weird. I know my writing is very naive, and I know nothing about hockey. Comments are welcome, but I will read them but not change 🫰 Because, like Hudson, I am also a selfish, greedy little prick.

For the best reading experience, please read the Chinese version.

• A translation of 双星 by Kelly0v0

Chapter 1: Awakening

Chapter Notes

February 2017 — Montreal

"Hmm... Where... where am I?"

Shane woke up slowly, forcing his eyes open against the harsh, blinding white light. The dizziness clung to him, and he felt a little nauseous. The sharp pain in his head and collarbone also helped him understand that he had just suffered a serious impact injury.

Oh right, the collision. I was slammed hard into the boards by Marlow during the game. So, how did the game between the Voyageurs and the Bears turn out?

Yuna, who had been by Shane's side since yesterday, noticed he was awake. She immediately pressed the call button by the bedside to summon a doctor.

"Thank goodness, you're awake. I was so worried. Okay, I'll call the doctor. Don't move for now," Yuna said, her face tired, trying to soothe Shane who was attempting to sit up.

"Mom.. the game... how did our game go?"

"Honey, wait. The doctor's coming. We need to wait for the examination results first."

...Doctor's examination in progress...

"The X-ray shows your collarbone is fractured. The bone will need time to heal, like patching a hole in a wall," the doctor said. "But what we're more concerned about is your concussion. While the CT scan shows no bleeding in the brain, recovery from a concussion requires rest......"

Concussion. Broken collarbone.

Even if the team won, I can't continue in the playoffs. At this point, Shane could no longer focus on what the doctor was saying.

"... ...These are the main points for the patient to note. Rest well and recover," the doctor finished. After the nurse hung up the IV drip, they both left the room.

"The Voyageurs lost the game, but you tried your best, ......" Yuna comforted him, gently stroking his face.

"Mom, I'm a little tired. I need to rest now," Shane said, forcing a weak smile. "You're tired too, Mom. You should go home and rest. You heard what the doctor said."

"Alright, rest well." Yuna closed the door and left.

Shane curled up in bed, thinking.

We lost. Our team lost.

At such a critical moment, I got injured and had to leave the game.

What will my teammates think?

And what about the team's arrangements for the next game?

Oh, and also... also... the anxious look on Ilya's face right before I lost consciousness.

I need... I need to tell him... I'm... okay...

Overcome by the medication and exhaustion, Shane fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter End Notes

I tried to make a fan make video

https://youtu.be/oDDf7wqxUlE?si=A7VhxOutkUyjRNyp

I wanted to share with you all.

Chapter 2: Hospital Visit

The next day

Click

The hospital room door opened, the sound drawing the attention of Shane, who was feeling hazy after just receiving painkillers.

Ah, it's Ilya. What is he doing here?

"Ilyaaa~~" Shane reached out, trying to grab hold of Ilya.

"Okay, okay." Ilya came over, took his hand, and said gently, "You scared me. What did the doctor say?"

"Concussion and fractured collarbone, can't play in the playoffs, but"

"Could have been worse." Ilya tightened his grip on Shane's hand, the weight lifting from his heart. Thank God he was okay. He was okay.

"Sorry I didn't tell you right away. I'm okay. Um... I think I remember what I forgot to ask you."

"The most important thing for you now is to rest," Ilya soothed, but Shane interrupted him. "I'm gonna ask you, will you come to the cottage this summer?"

"Hollander..."

"Don't go to Russia. Come to my house. We'll have so much fun, so private, no one will know..."

"Hollander, you know I can't do that......"

Shane's eyes were wide, glistening with unshed tears as he looked up at him, pouting. "We could have a week or even two. Completely alone together."

(Ilya: 💘 Cute)

"Maybe, maybe."

Bang "Hé, cap! Ça va ?---" (Hey, captain! You okay?) J.J. pushed the door open, his voice cutting off abruptly as he saw Rozanov standing by the bed.

Hayden's voice came from outside the door. "J.J., Shane only just woke up not long ago" He followed J.J. into the room, his expression turning to shock. "...Rozanov?"

"Tabarnak (Fuck), Rozanov, what the hell are you doing here? Your teammate Marlow crashed Shane into the boards like this. We don't need your fake concern. Or maybe you're here to finish the job?" J.J. snarled at Ilya.

"He's just here to check on me, that's all," Shane soothed J.J., subtly releasing his grip on Ilya's hand and shooting Hayden a pleading look.

Hayden sighed lightly. "Alright, J.J. It's not like Rozanov can do anything with us here. Rozanov, thanks for the visit. You can leave now."

"Fine. I'm going. See you next season." Ilya reverted to his usual attitude, a sarcastic smirk curling his lips as he left.

"Câlisse de Rozanov, qu'est-ce qu'y fait icitte, ......" (God damn Rozanov, what the hell is he doing here...) J.J. continued complaining to Shane.

But Shane could no longer focus on what Hayden and J.J. were saying. Feeling the fading warmth in his hand, his mind was stuck on one thought: trying to figure out if Ilya had actually agreed to come to the cottage.

Chapter 3: Trade Rumors

2 weeks later

After examination, Shane was cleared to leave the hospital and recover at his parents' house. The coach had visited him during his stay, but after discussing the extent of his injuries with the doctor, he'd left with a look Shane couldn't quite decipher.

Ring

Yuna called out, "It's Hayden on the phone." Shane answered, "Hey, buddy, what's up?"

Hayden's urgent voice came through. "Shane, have you seen the news? Twitter's saying you might get traded. No way, I'm going to ask the coach about this." Click Shane didn't get a word in before Hayden hung up.

Shane stood frozen, then took a deep breath and opened Twitter. He saw a report from a well-known NHL insider:

Sources say Montreal Voyageurs captain and center Shane Hollander could be a trade candidate. The team is reportedly looking to bolster its forward lines for a playoff push. Hollander (injured, out for the playoffs) has a full no-move clause, so any deal would require his approval... ... #NHL #TradeDeadline

The comments section was chaos.

"No way, they can't trade the captain who led them to two straight Stanley Cups!"

"He has an NMC, so he probably wouldn't agree, right? But being hurt for the whole playoffs... management might want to clear cap space."

"Shane's gonna be heartbroken seeing this 😭"

His head was buzzing. Missing the playoffs didn't mean he'd miss next season. His injury would be fully healed in six months. He never imagined the team would put his name out there as trade bait before March.

Yuna noticed Shane's distress and came closer. She saw the report on his phone.

She hugged him, muttering almost to herself, "No way. They can't give up on you. You led them to two Stanley Cups, you did so much for that team. They can't be stupid enough to trade you..."

Shane opened his team group chat. Messages of support were flooding in from his teammates:

JJ: This is impossible, Cap. We've got your back.

Drapeau: Hayden just went to find the coach to ask about it.

With trembling hands, Shane dialed the team GM's number.

Beep... beep... beep...

Connected. He put it on speaker.

"Shane... you saw it." The GM didn't deny it, just stated it calmly.

Shane fell silent. The GM's flat reaction confirmed his suspicion. Yuna's voice was raspy as she asked, "Are these reports... just rumors?"

"Nothing's official yet. But... talks are happening."

After Shane hung up, he walked woodenly into his bedroom and locked the door. Don't cry. Crying means you've lost. Don't cry... He slid down, his back against the door, sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, face buried in his arms.

---

Lily

Lily: Shane, you okay?

Lily: I saw the reports.

Lily: Want to talk?

Lily: Please... whenever you want to talk, I'm here.

Chapter 4: Lily

Two hours had passed since the reports broke. In that time, Yuna had been furiously contacting lawyers, barely containing her rage at Montreal. "I just grilled the GM again. They said the team's tight on cap space, and with Shane's injury taking him out of the playoffs, they need a forward who can play now to bolster the lineup."

The lawyer reviewed Shane's contract. "Mr. Hollander's no-trade clause is ironclad. There are no exceptions, no caveats..."

"That bunch in Montreal wants to trade him to the Boston Bears! They know damn well Shane would never agree to play on the same team as his rival, Rozanov. This is coercion!"

"Yuna, let's at least ask Shane what he wants first." David, equally furious, tried to calm her down.

Ugh... so loud... wait, Boston Bears?!

Shane jolted upright from his curled-up position on the floor. Ilya's team, the Bears?! Had his phone buzzed? Straining to listen to his parents and the lawyer through the door, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through the messages, ignoring the flood from his teammates.

Lily

Lily: Please... whenever you want to talk, I'm here.

Shane: They want to trade me to Boston.

Lily: Is it true?! That's great!

Lily: I mean, it would be great if we got to be on the same team.

Lily: Oh. You have to know, ever since the All-Star Game, I've missed being on a team with you. Crushing opponents together feels amazing.

Lily: Especially if the opponent is a 10,000-year-old dinosaur 😈

Pfft. Ilya always had a way of making Shane laugh.

Shane: You're an asshole.

Shane: I'll think about it.

Lily: ❤️

Lily: Just imagine it, Hollander and Rozanov on the same team. The media would lose their minds. The fans would lose their minds. Montreal would regret this forever 😈

Shane: You really want me in Boston? Not worried about the locker room exploding?

Lily: The most important thing is, we wouldn't have to sneak around anymore.

Lily: No more pretending we're enemies.

Lily: No more waiting for me alone in that apartment of yours.

Lily: You could just move in with me.

Shane stared at the phone screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a long time. The tightness in his chest from the trade news seemed to ease, gently pricked by Ilya's words. His eyes felt a little hot, but a smile tugged at his lips unbidden.

Just then, a knock on the door. David's voice: "Dinner's ready. Come out and eat something. We can talk it through together."

Shane wiped the corner of his eye, took a deep breath, and stood up.

He wasn't fully ready to face the world yet.

But at least he knew that if the worst-case scenario happened, he wouldn't be alone.

"Ok, Dad. I'm coming out now......"

Shane: Give me some time.

Shane: I gotta deal with the no-trade clause first.

Shane: And... I need to talk to my parents first.

Lily: Ok ❤️

Chapter 5: The Choice

“Mum, which teams are actually interested right now?” Shane asked, casually twirling some pasta onto his fork.

“Ottawa and Boston have both expressed interest so far,” Yuna replied, her voice laced with worry. “But Shane… you still have full NTC protection. I will not let anyone push you around. Our lawyer is already preparing to challenge Montreal—their process violates the contract. We can go to arbitration if we have to…”

Shane set his fork down carefully. He looked up, meeting his parents’ eyes with quiet determination.

“I don’t want to stay in Montreal anymore. I’ve been loyal to that team—everything I had—but they were ready to trade me like I’m just another asset.” He paused, voice steady. “I’ve decided. I’m going to Boston.”

The table fell instantly silent. The only sound was the soft clink of a fork against a plate.

“Boston…” Yuna repeated the word slowly, as if testing it. “You’re serious? With Rozanov on the same team?”

Shane nodded, holding their gaze. “Montreal already treated me like a bargaining chip once. I’m not giving them a second chance to do it again. This time, I get to choose.”

“Shane…” David spoke gently, leaning forward. “We’re not against Boston. If that’s what you want, we’re behind you one hundred percent. But the trade isn’t that simple. Montreal still holds your NTC. Right now, they’re panicking—they’ll try to talk you out of it, or shop you to someone else. If you’re dead set on Boston, the lawyer can lean hard on ‘breach of the spirit of the contract’ and ‘coercive trade practices.’ We can force their hand.”

Yuna nodded, her usual strength returning to her voice. “The paperwork is already in motion. We’ll have a video call first thing tomorrow morning with the lawyer and your agent—your wishes will be documented clearly. In the meantime, I’ll reach out to Boston’s GM myself. We’ll feel out their offer: cap space, draft picks, what they’re willing to give up.”

She paused, her eyes softening as she looked at her son. “No matter where this ends up, we’ve got your back. Always.”

Shane’s throat tightened. His eyes were stung. “I know. I love you, Mum. Dad. Thank you—really.”

Yuna stood, walked around the table, and pulled him into a tight hug—the same way she used to when he was little and had taken a bad fall on the ice.

“Silly boy,” she murmured into his hair. “Thank you for what? I promised myself the day you first put on those skates that I would protect you for the rest of my life.

David clapped his hands together, breaking the moment with a lighter tone. “Alright, alright, it’s settled then. Tomorrow the three of us will meet with the lawyer and agent. Montreal wants to dump you in a trade. Fine. We’ll make them pay the highest possible price to send you exactly where you want to go.”

He grinned, gesturing at the cooling plates. “But first—let’s finish dinner before it gets cold. I didn’t slave over this meal for nothing.”

"Yes, sir."

---

Shane: I talked it through with my parents.

Shane: They said they'll support my decision.

Lily: 😎 Great

Lily: shit

Lily: I'm suddenly kinda scared.

Shane: Scared of what?

Lily: Scared this is real.

Lily: You're really coming to Boston.

Lily: We're really gonna be on the same team.

Lily: I'm gonna see you in a Bears jersey every day, glaring at me in the locker room, on the ice... and then at night, when we get home, I can just pin you against the door and kiss you.

Shane: Is that all you ever think about?

Lily: Not just that.

Lily: We can practice together, lose together, win together.

Lily: When we lose, I can yell at you. When we win, I can hold you.

Shane: You're really that sure Boston will sign me?

Lily: I already told the team, if Hollander comes, I'll re-sign for five years.

Shane: You... you actually said that?

Lily: Of course.

Lily: I told them, if Shane Hollander comes, we're lifting the Stanley Cup.

Lily: So hurry up and get to Boston already 🥹

Lily: I'm waiting for you.

Lily: No matter how long.

Lily: But you know me, waiting's not my strong suit.

Lily: So come quick.

Shane: Yeah.

Chapter 6: Dust Settles

Chapter Notes

April 2017

The trade was finalized at the end of April. The Montreal Voyageurs sent Shane Hollander to the Boston Bears in exchange for two first-round draft picks, a young forward prospect, and cash considerations. The deal was packaged and shipped like any other transaction.

The media and the fanbase exploded.

#HollanderToBoston trended for days.

The fanbase split down the middle. Montreal diehards branded him a traitor in every comment section and forum. Shane’s supporters fired back: Montreal betrayed him first. They put him on the block while he was still in a hospital bed.

The Voyageurs group chat removed him the same day the trade was announced. The last message in the thread was a voice note from JJ.

“Hollander, you’re really gonna wear that fucking black-and-gold jersey? Tabarnak, je le savais!( I fucking knew it! )That time Rozanov showed up at the hospital… you were already planning to jump ship, weren’t you…?”

Shane listened to it once. Then he deleted the entire thread.

Good. At least now he wouldn’t have to keep seeing how quickly they turned on him. It was almost laughable—they were the ones accepting the trade like it was nothing, but the second they heard Boston, it became betrayal. He was the one being traded, yet somehow he was the villain.

A private message popped up from Hayden.

Hayden: JJ’s just pissed. They all are. But I get it. You have the right to choose your own path. Just… don’t hold back when we play each other next season.

Shane: I won’t.

Hayden: Good. Take care of yourself, buddy.

---

June 2017 — Ottawa

Shane’s rehab had reached the final stage. The collarbone had fully knitted. The lingering dizziness from the concussion only showed up now when he was overtired. Every day he laced up in his parents’ backyard and glided slowly around the small synthetic rink they’d set up years ago. The familiar hiss of steel on ice was the only thing that quieted the noise in his head.

He was curled on the couch with his parents, half-watching the Stanley Cup Final on TV, when his phone buzzed.

Lily: How’s your head?

Shane: Better. Brace comes off in a few days.

Lily: Great

Shane: How about your ribs?

Lily: Killing me

On screen, the New York Admirals had just clinched the Cup. Scott Hunter stood at center ice, hoisting the trophy high. Then he waved toward the stands.

Kip Grady came down from the crowd.

Scott grabbed him by the jersey, pulled him onto the ice in front of the entire arena—and the entire world—and kissed him. Deep. Unapologetic.

The building erupted. Cheers, gasps, a frenzy of camera flashes.

The broadcaster’s voice cracked with disbelief. “This is… not something you see every day… Scott Hunter has just… come out. The first active NHL player to do so, live on national television…”

Shane was still staring at the screen, stunned, when his phone rang.

He answered without looking. “Holy shit, did you see that? Scott Hunter just—”

“I’m coming to the cottage.”

Chapter End Notes

COTTAGE!!!!

Chapter 7: Rendezvous

July 2017 — Ottawa

Shane sat in the Jeep, fingers tapping nervously against the gear shift. He’d been waiting outside the airport for almost twenty minutes now. Every time a tall figure emerged from the sliding doors, his heart lurched—only to sink again when it wasn’t him.

Finally.

There he was: the infuriatingly familiar Russian asshole, pushing a luggage cart like he owned the place.

Ilya tossed his bags into the trunk, then yanked open the passenger door and folded his long body into the seat.

Shane didn’t wait for him to buckle up. He threw the Jeep into drive and pulled out of the spot before Ilya even had the door fully closed.

Ilya leaned back, immediately scanning the interior with mild curiosity.

“This is a Jeep,” Shane said, reading his mind. “Practical. Good in the snow. Way more useful than those show-off sports cars you collect.”

“Hmm.” Ilya made a noncommittal sound. Clearly, he still preferred his collection of flashy supercars, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached over with one large hand and gently rubbed the tip of Shane’s ear—already flushed red from the moment Ilya climbed in.

The rough pad of his thumb dragged slowly, deliberately.

Shane’s ear burned hotter.

“You know,” Ilya murmured, voice low and amused, “when they announced you were coming to Boston, our locker room lost its fucking mind.”

Shane’s grip tightened on the wheel. “…What did they say?”

“Marlow jumped up first. ‘What the fuck? Hollander’s coming? Wait—no, I’m the one who fucked him up. He’s not coming back to murder me, is he?’” Ilya let out a short laugh. “Someone straight-up asked me, ‘Rozanov, did you know about this?’”

Shane’s ear got a light pinch. He jerked his head away instinctively. “And what did you tell them?”

Ilya leaned in close—too close—hot breath brushing Shane’s skin. “I told them, ‘Of course I knew. He’s mine now.’”

Shane slammed on the brakes. Hard. Thank God there was no one behind them.

He whipped his head around, face flaming all the way to his neck. “Jesus Christ, Ilya!”

“Kidding.” Ilya grinned, smug and satisfied at the reaction he’d provoked. “I actually said, ‘Hollander’s a good player. We need him.’ Then I shut up. But the way they looked at me… like I’d lost my goddamn mind.”

“I thought we’d still be rivals on the ice,” Ilya added quietly, almost wistful. “But you actually came, Hollander.”

He slid his hand over Shane’s on the gear shift, lacing their fingers together.

Chapter 8: Embrace

Shane pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the cottage and killed the engine. He turned to Ilya. “We’re here.”

Ilya pushed the door open and circled around to the back to grab his luggage. Shane beat him to it—shoving Ilya’s hand aside, bending down, and hauling the heavy suitcase out of the trunk himself.

“Hey—” Ilya frowned. “I can carry my own bag.”

Shane ignored him. He dragged the suitcase toward the house without looking back. “How’re your ribs?”

Ilya followed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “Almost good as new.”

“Then stop acting tough.” Shane pushed open the wooden door. There was a trace of indulgence in his voice that he didn’t even notice.

Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the serene lake outside. The interior was simple and warm—no unnecessary luxury, just the quiet comfort of home in every detail.

Ilya kicked off his shoes at the threshold, stepped into the living room, and slowly turned in a circle. “Wow… this place is beautiful.”

Shane set the suitcase aside, slipped off his own shoes, wiped his hands on his jeans, and gave a slightly shy smile. “I didn’t buy it. I had it custom-built.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, tone teasing. “Mmm-hmm. I know, Mr. Landlord.”

Shane burst out laughing. “Shut up.” He headed toward the master bedroom, pretending to think seriously. “So… which guest room do you want?”

Ilya answered immediately. “One with a king-size bed.”

“Every room has a king-size bed.”

“I also want an en-suite bathroom.”

Shane made an exaggerated show of reluctance, sighing dramatically. “Hmm… looks like the only room with a private bathroom is mine.” He stopped in the doorway. “Sir, I’d love to accommodate your requests, but…”

He never finished the sentence.

Ilya grabbed him by the waist and shoved him into the master bedroom. The door slammed shut behind them with a solid thud.

Before Shane could even steady himself, Ilya pushed him down onto the mattress.

“So now I’m your captain,” Ilya murmured against Shane’s ear, voice low and rough. “Doesn’t that mean I get the best room?”

His hand slid up Shane’s thigh, fingertips dragging with deliberate, teasing pressure.

Shane’s breathing hitched, but he played along putting on an innocent, aggrieved expression. “Cap, you can’t treat your teammate like this…”

Ilya chuckled darkly and leaned down to claim his mouth. Shane’s arms hooked around Ilya’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss on his own.

When they finally broke apart, gasping, Shane’s voice came out hoarse. “I might… not last long. It’s been too fucking long since we…”

Ilya pressed their foreheads together, breathing just as ragged. “Me too.”

Shane blinked. Then he grabbed Ilya’s wrist. “Wait—you too? You haven’t… with anyone else…?”

Ilya cut him off with another quick, hard kiss. “No. Hollander, it’s not a big deal.” He locked eyes with Shane, voice gravelly. “I will do anything if it will make you touch my dick right now.”

Shane cupped Ilya’s face with both hands. “Yes, my captain.”

Ilya’s eyes darkened instantly. That was it—he snapped. He pressed Shane fully into the mattress, weight heavy and possessive.

Their kisses turned deep and brutal. Ilya’s tongue forced its way past Shane’s lips, claiming, sucking hard. His hands yanked Shane’s T-shirt up and off; rough palms slid from stomach to chest, thumbs deliberately brushing over sensitive nipples.

“Mmm…” A muffled groan escaped Shane’s throat.

Ilya kissed lower—neck, collarbone, chest—each press of lips followed by a light bite, leaving faint red marks. When he closed his mouth over one nipple and swirled his tongue hard, Shane arched off the bed with a broken moan.

“Ah… Ilya…”

Ilya’s fingers were already working Shane’s fly open. He tugged jeans and underwear down in one impatient motion. Shane’s cock sprang free—fully hard, tip glistening. Ilya didn’t hesitate; he took the head into his mouth, tongue flicking over the slit.

“Nngh!”

Ilya sank deeper, throat tightening as he bobbed, one hand wrapping around the base to stroke in rhythm. Shane’s breathing turned frantic; his thighs clamped around Ilya’s shoulders.

“Ilya… I’m… I’m gonna—”

Ilya pulled off right at the edge, lifting his head with a devilish grin. “Not yet.”

He stripped himself quickly, reach into the nightstand drawer for lube and a condom. He slicked his fingers generously and worked Shane open—slow at first, then deeper.

“I have one question,” Ilya murmured, fingertips brushing Shane’s prostate. “You said you keep a dildo in this drawer too?”

“Mmm—don’t ask, just—fuck—hurry… give it to me…”

“Want what? Tell me.”

“Oh god—” Shane trembled. “I need you inside me.”

“Good boy.”

Ilya rolled on the condom and pushed in slowly.

“Uhn!” Shane sucked in a sharp breath as Ilya filled him inch by inch.

When he bottomed out, both let out long, satisfied sighs. Their bodies locked together—after months apart, muscle memory took over like no time had passed at all.

Ilya started moving—slow, powerful thrusts that hit deep every time, making Shane’s whole-body shake.

“Nn… so deep…”

Pleasure crashed through Shane in waves; his thoughts scattered. His breathing grew desperate. His arms wrapped tight around Ilya on instinct.

“Hah… Ilya… I love you.”

Those words shattered the last of Ilya’s control. His pace turned fast and brutal. He buried his face against Shane’s ear, kissing roughly. “Я тоже тебя люблю.” (I love you too.)

With a low growl, he thrust deep one final time. They came together—hard, shuddering, spilling inside and between them.

The room filled only with their harsh, uneven breathing.

After a few minutes, Ilya eased out gently and cleaned them both up. Then he pulled Shane back into his arms, chest to Shane’s back, holding him close.

“I have a plan,” Shane rasped, voice still wrecked. “Let’s be honest with each other. For these two weeks… let’s just say what we’re actually thinking. How we really feel.”

Ilya laughed softly against his hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll try.”

Chapter 9: Hot Dogs

Chapter Notes

I want to make up for the regret that they didn't get to eat hot dogs in ep06.

After they had lain in bed for a while, Ilya leaned over and pressed a kiss to Shane's forehead. "I'm starving."

"I already defrosted some hot dogs. Just need to grill them."

---

Shane went outside, expertly setting up the grill, lighting the fire, and bringing out a pack of hot dog sausages and buns.

Ilya came out of the bedroom and saw Shane busy at the grill. He couldn't resist walking over and wrapping his arms around him from behind.

"Why are you grilling so many?" Ilya asked, his chin resting on Shane's shoulder.

Shane flipped a hot dog. "The recipe was for eight, so..."

"You can't do math? Cut it in half."

Shane shot him a glare. "Leave me alone."

"No." Ilya's arms tightened around his waist, and they just stood there together in comfortable silence.

---

“You were right,” Shane admitted, halfway through his second hot dog. “I should’ve cut it in half. Normally I’d just take the extras to my parents, but then they’d know I had someone over.”

Ilya took a bite of his own, chewing thoughtfully before asking, “By the way… what did your parents think about you getting traded to Boston?”

Shane slowed down, the hot dog suddenly less interesting. He swallowed, then answered quietly.

“They were pissed at first Montreal just… dumped me like that. But they understood why I waived the NTC. You must know my mom takes loyalty seriously. Seeing the team do that to me really got under her skin.”

He took another bite, chewing slowly. “What surprised them more was that I chose Boston. They supported the decision, but I couldn’t tell them the whole truth. That Boston was one of the options… but wanting to be on the same team as you were the real reason.”

Ilya listened without interrupting. After a few seconds, he asked softly, “Do they know you’re gay?”

Shane froze for two full beats. Then he exhaled. “Of course not. I haven’t figured out how to tell them yet.”

Ilya didn’t rush to fill the silence. He thought for a moment, then spoke carefully.

“I think you could tell them that part first. Just that you like men. You don’t have to say who you’re with right now.” He reached over and laced their fingers together on the table. “The rest… you can tell them later. One step at a time. Okay?”

Shane looked down at their joined hands. After a long moment, he nodded.

“…Yeah. I’ll try.”

Chapter 10: Night Talk

The night had fallen completely. The lake surface was a perfect black mirror, reflecting only the flickering orange glow of the campfire.

After finishing the hot dogs, Shane had built a small fire on the deck behind the cottage. The logs crackled and popped, sending occasional sparks spiraling into the dark sky. They sat side by side on the old wooden chairs.

Ilya’s voice came out lazy and content. “So… what do we do now?”

“Hmm.” Shane gazed at the rising flames, thinking. “Sit here and look at it.”

Ilya stared at the fire for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Wow. Canada is fun.”

“Shut up!” Shane laughed back, shoving him lightly.

A soft chime cut through the quiet night.

“Who?” Ilya turned his head.

“My mom.” Shane glanced down at the screen. “She’s telling me to decide on a place in Boston soon. She even sent a few nice listings.”

Ilya went quiet for two beats, then asked in a deliberately casual tone, “Ah… my house still has room…”

“Oh!” Shane let out a light laugh. “You want me to move in with you?”

Ilya shrugged. “Not scared if people find out. Let them guess.”

“I’m not worried about that part. It’s just… how do I explain it to my parents?” Shane sighed.

“I believe your parents won’t mind.”

Shane didn’t answer right away. He just watched the fire dance. After a long moment, he suddenly asked, “So… have you talked to your brother lately?”

Ilya’s voice paused. “Mmm. No.”

“Oh. Right.” Shane fell silent too, his tone dropping. “I’m sorry.”

Ilya shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. I was just thinking… my family is all fucked up. But my mother—she was a good person.”

“What was her name?” Shane asked gently.

Ilya closed his eyes, remembering. “Irina. She was beautiful, elegant, funny… She was just… too sad. My father treated her badly…”

Shane reached over quietly and pulled Ilya closer. Ilya let himself sink down, resting his head in Shane’s lap. Shane’s fingers moved slowly through Ilya’s curls, stroking gently, giving him space to stay lost in the memory.

Woooo-ooo!

A sudden, eerie call sliced through the night.

“What the fuck is that!” Ilya jolted upright, nearly launching himself out of the chair.

“A loon.” Shane was shaking with suppressed laughter, shoulders trembling.

“A what?”

“A loon. It’s a bird.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide, expression somewhere between horrified and ridiculous. “What the fuck kind of bird makes a noise like that?”

“A loon.” Shane pressed his lips together, barely holding it in.

“Stupid Canadian wolf bird.”

Shane finally lost it—full, bright laughter spilling out. “You’re such a coward.”

Ilya shot him a glare.

Shane kept going, teasing. “Canada doesn’t just have loons. There are Canada geese too. Those things will chase you down and bite you. And you can’t even fight back—they’re protected.”

He looked down at Ilya, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Still think Canada is fun?”

Ilya buried his face in Shane’s stomach, voice muffled. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Shane laughed softly, ruffling his hair. Then, quieter: “Want to go back inside?”

“No.” Ilya lifted his head, looking up at Shane. He reached up, grabbed the front of Shane’s shirt, and tugged him down into a kiss.

“I want to stay here… just a little longer.”

Chapter 11: Caught

The July lake water was cool and clear, cutting straight through the heat.

Ilya floated in the water, only his shoulders and messy, wet curls visible above the surface. He splashed a huge handful of water at Shane, who was sitting on a large rock by the shore, laughing like a kid who'd just gotten away with a prank.

"Shane, come swim!" Ilya yelled towards the bank.

Shane scrambled back. "No. What if my phone had been in my pocket?"

"Your phone's been ringing inside the house all morning," Ilya said, wiping the water from his face.

"Well..."

Before he could finish, Ilya was already wading out of the water, shaking his wet hair (Shane thought he looks like a golden retriever shaking off water).

 "Give me a kiss."

Then he bent down, cupped Shane's face in his hands, and kissed him without hesitation.

"You're cold," Shane murmured, his tongue lightly tracing Ilya's lower lip.

They spent the rest of the afternoon like that, splashing and playing by the lake.

---

They finally got out of the lake.

Shane walked toward the cottage, toweling off his hair while droplets still dripped down his neck and back. Casually, he asked, “You want pasta or burgers?”

“Burgers. But I'm not that hungry yet. We could do something else first. Hmm~” Ilya’s eyes lit up at the sight of Shane’s damp hair. He backed Shane up against the doorframe, pressed him there, and kissed him hard. One hand slid down to squeeze Shane’s ass.

Shane was breathless by the time they broke apart, but he deepened the kiss anyway. “Is that all you ever think about?” His voice came out fond, teasing.

Clang.

A sharp, metallic crash rang out from inside the house.

Both of them froze. Shane shoved Ilya away instantly. They spun toward the open door.

Yuna stood in the living room, staring at them in pure horror. A plastic container of salad lay overturned on the floor, greens scattered everywhere.

“Yuna, what’s wrong?” David’s voice came from outside, followed by quick footsteps. He stepped in, followed his wife’s wide-eyed gaze—and froze solid.

Shane’s brain short-circuited for two full seconds.

Then panic exploded inside his skull.

WHAT THE FUCK. GOD DAMN JESUS CHRIST.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

Why the hell are my parents here? In my cottage? Right now?

What do I do? How do I explain? Should we run? Or—

He made the split-second decision.

Without a single word, Shane reached back, grabbed Ilya’s hand—still dazed and confused—and yanked him straight through the living room, past his stunned parents, and into the bedroom.

The door slammed shut with a resounding bang.

Silence.

Inside the bedroom, Ilya finally caught up. “Your parents. Yes??”

“Yeah. How the hell are they in my cottage…?” Shane nodded frantically, voice shaking. “God, what do I do? This is a fucking nightmare…”

He slid down the door until he sat on the floor, knees to his chest, face buried in his arms. The image of his mother’s horrified expression looped in his head.

Everything was ruined.

Ilya crouched in front of him, rubbing Shane’s short, damp hair. “Maybe… this is a chance to tell them.”

Shane’s head snapped up. His eyes were red. “But I’m not ready! I’ve been fucking lying to them! To everyone!”

He stood and started pacing the small room, breaths coming faster and faster. “What are they going to think of me? Are they going to hate me…?”

Outside, an engine roared to life.

Both froze. They rushed to the window.

Yuna and David’s car was already backing out, tires kicking up dust. It peeled away down the dirt road like they were fleeing the scene, disappearing into the trees.

Shane’s face went even paler. “They… they left.”

“Breathe. Deep breaths.” Ilya grabbed his arm gently.

Shane followed mechanically, chest rising and falling.

“What do you want to do now?” Ilya asked softly, pulling him into a loose hug.

Shane closed his eyes, forcing himself to think. He exhaled long and was shaky. “I need to go to their house first. Then… fuck, how do I even explain this?”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Shane blinked. “You’d do that?”

“Yes. If it helps.” Ilya took Shane’s still-trembling hand and laced their fingers together.

The panic was still there, roaring under his skin—but now there was a thin thread of courage holding it back.

“Okay,” Shane said, voice steadier. “We should probably get dressed first.”

They changed quickly into dry T-shirts and shorts. Shane snatched the car keys.

The drive to his parents’ house took only ten minutes.

On the way, Shane kept tapping the gear shift. Ilya watched him quietly, then reached out and gently took Shane's hand, pulling his fingers away from the gear shift and interlacing their own.

Chapter 12: Confession

The car stopped in front of Shane’s parents' house.

“We’re here,” Shane said quietly, fingers still locked tight around the steering wheel. The brief calm he’d managed during the drive evaporated the second he saw the familiar front door. He muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “Let me do the talking.”

“Okay. No problem,” Ilya replied softly.

“Fuck. Maybe you should wait in the car.”

Ilya raised one eyebrow in that unmistakable way that clearly said, Are you serious? I already came this far. Didn’t you just say I was coming with you?

“Fuck. Never mind.” Shane read the silent sarcasm perfectly.

They got out. The lights were on inside the house. Through the living-room window, Shane could see the silhouettes of Yuna and David. They’d obviously heard the car and stood up.

Shane pushed the door open. Ilya followed right behind him.

“Hello? It’s me. It’s… Shane.”

Yuna and David stood in the center of the living room. Yuna was still holding an empty glass, like she’d forgotten it was in her hand.

Shane swallowed hard. “Mom. Dad. I… I think we should talk.”

Yuna spoke first, words tumbling out in a rush. “We made too much salad. We thought we’d bring some over to you…”

David chose his words carefully. “We just… didn’t know you had… company.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I lied to you.” Shane forced himself to meet their eyes. “I’m gay. I was going to tell you. Soon. I just… sorry. I wish I’d told you sooner.”

He reached back and took Ilya’s hand, pulling him forward a step. “This is Ilya Rozanov. I invited him here.”

“Hi,” Ilya said, voice a little dry.

The air in the room felt like it had turned to glass.

“He’s…” Shane faltered, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Lovers,” Ilya supplied.

Shane whipped his head around. “Don’t say it like that. It’s gross.”

Yuna’s brows knit together. She looked from Shane to Ilya, clearly confused. “But… you two are rivals. You hate him?”

David jumped in. “You used to say he was the worst player, that he had no hand-eye coordination.”

“No, we actually…” Shane started, then stopped, scrambling for the right words. “I… I don’t. I mean. I… love him. Actually.”

The room went so quiet they could hear crickets outside the window.

Shane rubbed his temple, trying to de-escalate. “Can we… sit down?”

Everyone was tense. They moved to the kitchen table like it was a neutral zone. Yuna automatically grabbed glasses and poured ice water for everyone.

Yuna and David exchanged a glance.

“We’ve actually… wondered if you might be… gay,” Yuna said carefully.

Shane took the glass she offered. “When?”

“Well. For a while now.” Yuna sat down, remembering that dinner six months ago when they’d talked about the Swiss princess.

“We know you pretty well, Shane,” David added. “What we didn’t suspect was that you and…” He paused, glancing at Ilya. “…Rozanov were so… close.”

Ilya cleared his throat, trying to sound friendly. “Ilya. You can call me Ilya.”

“Okay. Ilya.” David nodded. “So… when did this happen?”

“A long time ago…” Shane said, guilt creeping into his voice.

David suddenly lit up like he’d solved a puzzle. “Oh! The All-Star Game! You two had so much chemistry.”

“Um… no. It was before that,” Shane said, face heating.

“Wow. Wow. Wow…” David exhaled.

“So when?” Yuna pressed gently.

Shane took a deep breath. “Since our rookie season.”

Yuna and David stared, stunned into silence.

“No. That’s not right. Was before that,” Ilya corrected casually.

Their eyes went even wider.

Shane mentally begged Ilya to shut up.

Yuna finally found her voice again, still shocked. “So you’ve been… in love since…”

Shane and Ilya nearly choked on their water at the same time.

“No—no—no—” they said in unison.

“Just… um… you know…” Ilya tried to help.

“Ilya!” Shane hissed, mortified.

Yuna understood immediately. David was still processing. She leaned toward him and murmured, “Lovers.”

Shane’s ears went scarlet. “No one is allowed to use that word again!”

"Okay, I think we need a drink," Yuna suggested, getting up to grab some wine from the cabinet.

Chapter 13: Boyfriend

Chapter Notes

David opened a bottle of vodka bought from a Russian grocery store. Ilya took a careful sip and expressed surprise at being able to taste the flavor from home.

"So, why did you end up with Ro... Ilya?" Yuna asked, taking a sip of her drink, still getting used to the new name, her voice a little awkward.

David nodded too. "We're both still a bit surprised. You've always had such a reputation as a ladies' man."

Ilya didn't deny it. "Emm... It is not untrue."

"Ilya likes both," Shane quickly added.

Ilya put down his glass, his tone becoming serious. "I have been with lots of women, but I finally found out that I have only been in love with Shane, just one."

"Me too. Just one." Shane turned to look at Ilya, his eyes full of softness. He echoed quietly, "Only loving one person too."

Their eyes met across the table, their feet pressed together, just like at that press conference years ago. Something in the air seemed to quietly warm between them.

After a moment, Yuna stood up, her voice gentle. "I need to go outside and calm down for a bit."

Shane glanced at Ilya, then got up and followed her.

He saw the redness in Yuna's eyes, and a wave of guilt washed over him. "Mom, I need to tell you, I really tried, but..."

Yuna turned, a little surprised that Shane would think that. She didn't speak, just stepped forward and pulled him tightly into her arms. "You don't have to explain anything to me. I'm just a little sad you didn't tell me."

Her voice was as gentle as when she used to tuck him in as a child. "I'm so proud of you. Forgive me for not making you feel like you could trust me."

Shane's eyes instantly welled up. He hugged her back, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I forgive you, mom."

They stood there holding each other quietly for a long moment. Finally, Yuna pulled back, wiping the corner of her eye. "Okay, okay, enough of that. What's the plan?"

---

“So you chose Boston because of Ilya?” Yuna asked when they returned to the table.

Shane nodded. “One of the reasons. Also, Boston’s roster is stronger than Ottawa’s. I’m planning to talk to the coach about whether I should stay on the second line or move to the wing—left wing on the first line, maybe…”

While Shane and Yuna discussed his future lineup, David and Ilya had drifted into talking about food and drinks.

Ilya tested the waters. “Shane said you’re the cook at home.”

“Yes?”

“I live alone in Boston. I cook for myself sometimes. Shane told me your beaver tails are good. I want to try making them.”

David’s eyes lit up. He launched into the recipe with enthusiasm. “Oh, the way I do it is… I add a little maple syrup myself, but Shane says the calories are too high to eat them often…”

“No problem. I burn a lot. I eat high-calorie stuff occasionally.”

Yuna remembered something. “Shane, have you decided where you’re living in Boston yet?”

Ilya glanced at Shane, then offered carefully, “I asked Shane if he wants to move in with me. My place is just me anyway.”

Shane nodded. “I want to. But I’m worried it’ll draw too much attention.”

Yuna and David exchanged a look. Yuna took a slow breath, voice gentle but tense. “So… you haven’t thought about coming out?”

Shane shook his head, voice rough. “We… we don’t have plans right now. Maybe not before retirement…”

Yuna’s brows furrowed, full of heartache. “No. That’s sad.”

David cleared his throat, trying to shift gears. “Have you talked to Scott Hunter?”

Ilya nodded. “I did. At the awards in June. But I didn’t tell him about me and Shane. What he did… it really changed something in me.”

Yuna agreed quietly. “He was very brave.”

She paused, looking at Shane. “Shane, actually… you could live with Ilya. It would be a good way to show people you’re close without saying anything outright. Or you could tell a few trusted friends first.”

Shane listened, but his brain was spinning faster and faster. This was all happening too quickly. He’d just been caught in the worst possible way, his parents had found out his boyfriend was his lifelong rival, they’d accepted it—and now they were casually discussing cohabitation and coming out.

He dropped his forehead onto the table, arms folded around his head. His mind buzzed.

Ilya shook his shoulder gently, voice full of worry. “Shane. Shane. Are you okay?”

Shane’s voice came out muffled. “I’m fine. I’m just… freaking out.”

Ilya rubbed the back of his head softly. “We are good here. Your family is here. And your boyfriend. And we are okay here. Everything is good.”

Shane lifted his head at the word. “My boyfriend?”

It sounded good. Too perfect to be real.

Ilya smiled. “I think so. Probably.” He cupped Shane’s face and leaned down to kiss him slowly, deliberately, like sealing the title.

Yuna watched them, finally starting to believe. “Since their rookie season.”

“Summer before,” David corrected.

Chapter End Notes

Beaver Tail: a classic Canadian dessert

Chapter 14: Plan

Chapter Notes

I would call them King of Deals and King of Ideas.

During the off-season, Shane and Ilya looked for a new agent, since Yuna couldn't constantly travel back and forth between Canada and the US. They eventually chose Farah Jalali.

Farah was friendly and diligent. She helped Shane apply for his US visa. She initially planned to also help arrange Shane's housing, sending him a list of apartment options.

But Shane said, "No need, I already have a place to stay."

"Oh? Where?"

Shane hesitated for a few seconds before answering, "I'll be living with Rozanov."

Farah froze. "What? Ilya Rozanov? Aren't you two..."

Shane nodded, trying to act casual. "Yeah. But we're teammates now."

Though surprised, as an agent she couldn't interfere too much in her clients' private lives. She just smiled. "Okay, as long as you're happy. But if you ever need to move, I'm here to help."

In the last week of the break, Shane gradually moved his things from his Montreal apartment to Ilya's place. Box after box arrived, and Ilya helped carry them upstairs, complaining as he went. "Shane, how do you have so much stuff? You're like a princess."

Shane glared at him. "Shut up! You are an asshole."

When Shane opened a box of clothes, Ilya came over, picked up a blue shirt, and asked, "Why do you have so many of the same style in your closet?"

Shane snatched it back. "None of your business!"

Ilya laughed loudly, hugging him from behind and kissing his neck. "Okay, okay. You look good in everything. But these clothes... new ones are needed."

Shane turned and kissed him. "Then you buy them for me."

Ilya's eyes lit up. "Deal!"

Finally, everything was organized. Shane and Ilya lay on the bed, finally able to rest.

Shane lay on his side, head resting on Ilya's arm, listening to him talk softly.

Ilya told him funny stories about the Bears team, people and things in Boston, fun places to go, his favorite restaurants.

Shane listened quietly, his eyes bright. He wanted to know more about this person, this man who was now his boyfriend.

Ilya suddenly changed the subject. "Oh, by the way, my childhood friend Svetlana, she lives in the US now. I mentioned before, I don't want to keep using my Russian passport... I might marry her, get US citizenship."

Shane's breath caught, his eyes instantly reddening. "You want to marry her?"

Ilya turned his head to look at him, his tone calm. "Just for the citizenship."

Shane's voice trembled. "But is it really worth getting married just for that?"

Ilya pretended to look troubled, sighing. "I have a problem right now. I like women. Every time I go to clubs, bars, there are so many beautiful women all around me..."

Shane's heart ached. "Sounds rough."

Ilya grinned mischievously, leaning close to his ear. "These women, they are so sexy and fun, but it's no matter. I cannot stop thinking about this short fucking hockey player with these beautiful freckles... with a weak backhand."

Shane's tears turned to laughter as he pushed Ilya's shoulder. "With a weak backhand? Why do you even need US citizenship?"

Ilya's smile faded, his eyes turning serious. "Because I want to be with you. But if we come out, I can't go back to Russia..."

Shane grabbed Ilya's hand. "But no matter what, don't marry Svetlana. We can figure something out together."

Ilya nodded softly. “Got it.”

---

Middle of the night

Shane couldn’t sleep. His mind kept spinning. Then something clicked.

He quietly reached for the iPad, opened the browser, and started searching.

Fifteen minutes later, he shook Ilya awake, voice excited.

“I have an idea…”

Ilya cracked one eye open, groggy and hoarse. “What? What happened?”

Shane shoved the screen in his face. “I found a way for you to get U.S. citizenship. You can apply for EB-1A.”

Ilya rubbed his eyes. “Shane, it’s three in the morning… what the hell is EB-whatever?”

Shane spoke fast, like he’d memorized it. “EB-1A. Extraordinary Ability immigrant visa. You qualify. First—you’ve been playing for Boston since 2009. Residency time is more than enough. Second, your salary as captain is way above the threshold. Third, you’re a top-tier professional athlete. First-round draft pick, Stanley Cup champion, MVP awards. All of that proves it.”

He took a breath. “And the best part? Pay for Premium Processing—fifteen-day decision. I checked other players’ cases. Most get approved in about a year.”

Ilya stared at him for several long seconds.

“Hollander… you’ve been thinking this far ahead?”

Shane nodded. “I do. About this.”

“You want that? To be together?”

Shane’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it was steady. “I do. So much it terrifies me.”

Ilya suddenly rolled over, pinning Shane beneath him. Their foreheads touched.

“I love you.”

It felt like years of drifting had finally found anchor.

Shane was too stunned to speak at first. Then his voice cracked.

“Holy shit.”

He cupped Ilya’s face and kissed him hard. “I love you too.”

Ilya’s eyes are red now. He buried his face in Shane’s neck, voice muffled.

“I think my mother would have liked you.”

She had been gentle like that too. Always turning home into a safe place.

The next morning, Farah received a new request: to help Ilya Rozanov apply for a green card.

Chapter 15: First Day

Chapter Notes

Again I don't know hockey, but I tried.

September 2017 — Boston

It was Shane’s first official day reporting to the Boston Bears. They’d both woken up ridiculously early. Shane was visibly nervous, pacing circles in the living room.

Ilya sat at the kitchen table, eating tuna melt. "Shane, you've circled the living room three times already. I'm getting dizzy. Hurry up and eat breakfast."

Shane stopped pacing and rubbed his forehead. "I know, but I'm worried..."

"Everyone already knows you've joined Boston. What are you worried about?" Ilya took a bite of his sandwich, his tone light. "Besides, you're riding with me over there..."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about. People will speculate about our relationship..." Shane's voice rose slightly.

Ilya smiled and pushed the rest of the sandwich toward him. “Thinking too much won’t change anything. Maybe they’ll just think it’s our new way of pissing each other off.”

Shane sighed. "Fine."

---

The car pulled into the players’ parking lot at TD Garden. Shane took a deep breath and turned to Ilya.

He gave Ilya’s shoulder a small push. “You go in first. I’ll wait five minutes.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, clearly exasperated. “Come on. Is this necessary?”

“Yes!” Shane glared. “We’re teammates now, but we’re not at the point of going public. If someone sees us getting out of the same car…”

Ilya sighed dramatically and opened the driver’s door. Before he stepped out, he leaned over and whispered against Shane’s ear, “See you in five minutes, Hollander.”

Shane’s ears turned red instantly, but he still shoved Ilya out of the car with determination.

Ilya laughed as he shut the door and headed toward the players’ entrance. Shane stayed in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard clock, counting down the seconds.

Exactly five minutes later, he glanced around nervously, pulled on a baseball cap, ducked his head, and hurried inside TD Garden.

---

The Locker Room

The moment Ilya walked in, he was immediately surrounded.

Carmichael leaned against his stall. “Rozy, where’d you disappear to this summer? Back to Russia?”

Ilya tossed his bag into his locker and shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

Marlow sidled up with a smirk. “Cliff, look at Cap’s ears—he’s blushing. Bet he spent the whole break with some Montreal girl.”

Ilya shot back instantly. “Russians don’t blush!”

St-Simon piped up from across the room. “By the way, Hollander’s actually coming to our team. Never thought he’d agree. Rozy, you two aren’t gonna fight on the ice, right?”

Ilya turned, a slow, meaningful smile spreading across his face. “Fight? With Hollander here, how could we not win the Cup?”

He paused for dramatic effect, then added casually, “What if I told you we’re friends? Would you believe me?”

The locker room exploded.

“Fuck off!”

“You two have been rivals for years!”

Ilya sighed and spread his hands. “Believe it or not. Hurry up and get changed—we’re hitting the ice.”

---

Coaching Room

Knock knock.

Shane pushed the door open. “Hi. I’m Shane Hollander.”

Head coach LeClaire and the GM both stood up, faces breaking into warm smiles.

LeClaire shook his hand firmly," Hollander, welcome! Hope you like the Bears!"

“Of course.” Shane returned the handshake with a polite smile.

The GM clapped him on the shoulder. “Someone will show you around. Your stall’s already set up in the locker room—everything’s ready.”

LeClaire grinned. “Rozanov talks a lot of shit. If he gets too obnoxious, just tell me. I’ll chew him out.”

Shane gave a wry smile, thinking to himself: You can yell at him all you want—he’ll just come home and complain to me later.

But out loud he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not here to start trouble. We’ll get along fine.”

LeClaire patted his shoulder. “Good. The guys should be ready for the ice by now. Go get changed.”

---

When Shane reached the locker room, it was empty. His teammates had already left to warm up on the ice. In the silent room, his #24 jersey hung in the most prominent spot. Next to it sat a new pair of skates, the laces already loosened, as if waiting for their owner.

Shane stood at the doorway, feeling a mix of relief and a strange sense of loss.

Good. Don't have to deal with curious looks from teammates.

If Ilya had been there changing in front of him... he couldn't even imagine how he'd react.

Calm down. Calm down.

He took a deep breath, walked to his stall, and started to get changed.

Chapter 16: New beginning

The moment the jersey settled over his shoulders, the black-and-gold B gleamed bright against his chest. It felt surreal—wearing colors that had never belonged to him. Shane looked down at his own number 24. He was no longer Captain Shane Hollander of the Montreal Voyageurs.

He was Shane Hollander of the Boston Bears.

A voice called from outside the locker room door. “Hollander, you ready?”

Shane took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped out. “Coming.”

He glided to the edge of the ice. Coach LeClaire was already in the center circle, voice booming.

“…Last season we got knocked out in the second round of the playoffs. This year the goal is crystal clear—we’re bringing the Stanley Cup back to Boston! Rozanov, I’m still talking. Eyes up here!”

Shane’s arrival made the previously rowdy ice go quiet in an instant. LeClaire turned, spotted him, and nodded.

“Shane Hollander. Everyone knows who he is, and now he’s one of us. Welcome, Hollander.”

Shane gave a quick nod and tried to slip quietly toward the back row, hoping to blend in and disappear.

But Ilya’s voice cut through the silence like a slap shot.

“Hollander! Over here!”

LeClaire immediately whipped around and rapped Ilya’s shin pad with his stick. “Behave yourself, Rozanov. Hollander, ignore him.”

Ilya rubbed his shoulder with an exaggerated pout.

Shane thought, Fine. He squared his shoulders, glided to the middle of the group, and stood among his new teammates like he belonged there.

LeClaire cleared his throat. “Alright, everyone. Today’s an intra-squad scrimmage. We’re shaking up the lines. First unit: center Rozanov, right wing…”

He continued reading off names.

“…Second line center: Hollander…”

---

The whistle blew. Scrimmage started.

Ilya won the opening face-off cleanly and snapped the puck to his winger. The black-and-gold jerseys moved fast across the blue line. Shane positioned himself at the second-line circle, watching the familiar chaos unfold in front of him. A few months ago these were the guys he had to hit. Now they were his teammates.

“Hollander, focus!” Hammersmith muttered behind him.

Shane snapped back. Marlow had already crossed the blue line with the puck.

Shane dropped back, sealing the passing lane. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ilya cutting diagonally toward the slot—that bastard even raised an eyebrow at him mid-stride, the corner of his mouth curled in that infuriating smirk.

Dream on.

Marlow centered. Ilya one-timed it—stonewalled by the goalie. The rebound pinged off the boards. Shane beat St-Simon to the puck, using his body to shield and hooking it back with his stick.

“Our turn.”

He exploded up ice, eyes scanning for options. The familiar hiss of steel on ice filled his ears—this rhythm never changed, no matter what color jersey he wore.

As he crossed the blue line he faked left, pulled the defender, then snapped a hard pass to Carmichael trailing behind—

“Goal!”

The puck hit twine.

Teammates swarmed him, tapping his helmet. Shane caught his breath and looked across the ice. Ilya stood on the other side of the net, slowly peeling off his gloves, that same smug smile still in place.

He mouthed two words across the distance.

Not bad, Hollander.

---

The scrimmage ended. The whistle blew. Shane's team won.

Teammates crowded around, patting his helmet. Carmichael yelled, "Hollander, you son of a bitch! That was a beautiful pass!"

Shane gasped for air, smiling a little sheepishly. His gaze drifted over the crowd, automatically searching for Ilya—the Russian bastard was standing on the other side of the net, slowly taking off his gloves, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

Shane rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading.

Chapter 17: Welcome

That night, the team threw a welcome party for the new season—and for all the new faces—at a bar right next to TD Garden.

The second Shane pushed open the door, he was hit by a wall of noise.

“Hollander!!!!”

Carmichael charged first, one arm slung around Shane’s neck, the other waving a beer. “Come on, come on drink! First practice together and you already play like that? Montreal must be kicking themselves. We stole a fucking gem!”

Shane was half-choked by the hug but laughed and tried to pry him off. “I… I don’t really drink.”

Marlow pushed through the crowd next. His face carried a trace of awkwardness—he was the one who’d hit Shane hard enough to fracture his collarbone last season. He raised his glass quietly. “Hey, Hollander. This one’s on me. About last time… I didn’t mean to—”

Shane looked at him, then smiled. “I know. Part of the game.”

Marlow exhaled in visible relief and broke into a big grin. “Fuck, I’m starting to like you.” He slapped Shane’s shoulder hard and shoved a beer into his hand anyway.

Ilya appeared from the back of the crowd. “Hollander’s the boring one who usually only drinks ginger ale. Give him a ginger ale.”

St-Simon spun around, surprised. “Rozy, how do you know that?”

Ilya shrugged like it was obvious. “I told you—we’re friends.”

Hammersmith leaned in with his beer bottle. “ESPN’s been calling you rivals since your rookie seasons. On the ice you two went at it hard.”

Shane gave a small laugh. “Actually, same rookie year. On the ice—rivals. Off the ice… we talked sometimes.”

Ilya stepped a little closer and added under his breath, “All-Star Game, though? Finally got to play on the same side. Been waiting for that.”

The room erupted—whistles, table-slapping, laughter. Someone yelled, “Rozy, you planned this shit years ago!”

Shane's ears turned red, but he still raised his glass of ginger ale (the one Ilya had forced on him) and clinked it against Ilya's beer. "To new beginnings."

Ilya winked, voice low enough for only Shane to hear. “To us.”

Glasses clinked. Laughter rolled through the bar.

---

Amidst the Bears' warm welcome, Shane quietly retreated to a corner. The clinking glasses, the teammates' laughter and teasing, the loud banter—all this noise made him a bit breathless. Back in Montreal, he'd never really liked these events, always finding an excuse to leave early and retreat to his apartment to watch game footage or read. Today, even though his new teammates were friendly, he still found it... too loud.

He watched Ilya in the center of the chaos—Carmichael and Marlow flanking him, beers flowing, that big, reckless grin on full display. A couple of the younger guys were already chatting up girls at the bar. The energy was climbing higher.

Shane made a quiet excuse and slipped out.

---

Lily: Where'd you go?

Jane: I left early.

Jane: A bit tired today.

Lily: Then I'll come back with you.

Jane: No need. Stay with your teammates. I don't want to interrupt.

Lily: I'm leaving now.

Chapter 18: Bathroom

Back home, Shane showered first, changed into a comfortable t-shirt and shorts, and lay on the bed. He closed his eyes, replaying the day in his mind.

Ilya burst in, smelling of alcohol, his eyes bright with an intensity that was almost startling. He lunged directly at Shane, pinning him to the bed.

"Smells like alcohol. Go shower first." Shane sniffed him and frowned, pushing him away slightly.

e me a kiss.” Ilya’s voice was rough and amused. He dipped his head and kissed Shane hard, murmuring against his lips, “You have no idea how hot you looked today in that Bears jersey. One of my fantasies—tackling you right on the ice during practice.”

Shane laughed breathlessly into the kiss. “One of your fantasies? What are the others?”

Ilya’s eyes darkened. His hand slid down Shane’s side, fingers tracing the waistband of his shorts. “You on your knees sucking me off. You moaning my name over and over in bed. You—”

“Okay, stop.” Shane’s face flushed. He shoved at Ilya’s chest. “Shower first. Or nothing happens.”

Ilya grinned wickedly but obeyed sort of. He stood, grabbed Shane’s wrist, and tugged him toward the bathroom. “Then you help me wash.”

Steam filled the bathroom quickly. Hot water poured from the showerhead, cascading over both, blurring the edges of everything. Shane sank to his knees on the slick tile. Water droplets clung to his lashes as he looked up at Ilya through the mist.

He started slow—tongue tracing lightly from base to tip. Then he opened his mouth, taking the head in, warm and wet, sucking gently. Ilya cursed under his breath, hips jerking forward just a fraction.

Shane went deeper, relaxing his throat, letting Ilya slide further.

His head moved in steady rhythm. Ilya’s breathing turned ragged.

Every so often Shane glanced up—through the steam he could see Ilya’s face twisted in raw pleasure, eyes dark and possessive. The sight alone made Shane harden painfully against his own thigh.

“Shane…” Ilya’s voice cracked.

Shane didn't stop; he quickened his pace instead. Ilya finally couldn't hold back any longer. With a low groan, he thrust his hips forward and released deep into Shane's throat. Shane swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, then slowly pulled back, a thin silver strand still connecting his lips to Ilya.

---

Afterwards, wrapped in towels, they returned to bed.

Ilya asked, "So, first day in Boston. How do you feel?"

Shane lay on his side, head resting on Ilya's arm, staring at the ceiling. He spoke quietly. "...A bit unreal. The teammates are welcoming, practice went well, but I still feel like an outsider. In Montreal, I was used to being the captain, used to being relied on. Here, I'm just the new guy."

Ilya ruffled his hair. " I know. It takes time. You’ll settle in."

Outside the window, Boston’s night lights glittered quietly. They curled together under the covers, breathing slowing, bodies warm and close.

Chapter 19

Hollander Switches to Rival Boston: Betrayal or Rebirth?

by Kelly.S

2017-10-03

When news broke in April that Shane Hollander was being traded to the Boston Bears, the entire hockey world erupted in uproar.

The former captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, a two-time Stanley Cup champion, the youngest player in NHL history to score 100 goals—was sent to his team's archrival of nearly a century.

"I thought it was an April Fool's joke," one Montreal fan said in an interview, their voice still carrying the shock from four months ago. "Hollander was our captain. He was the symbol of Montreal. How can you trade away your symbol?"

But the trade did happen. The Montreal Voyageurs traded Hollander for two first-round draft picks, a young forward, and a sum of cash. And Hollander, the player dubbed "Canada's Hockey Golden Boy," was about to don the black and gold jersey he had tried to destroy in countless battles.

Immediately after the news broke, Hollander's former teammates remained silent. But as time passed, cracks began to appear.

Gilbert Comeau, Hollander's forward linemate during his Voyageurs days, publicly expressed his dissatisfaction in an interview in July.

"Betrayal? Yeah, that's what I mean." Comeau said into the camera, his tone unguarded. "Hollander was our captain. We fought together for so many years. And then he turns around and goes to Boston? The team that gets its effigies burned by fans every time they come to Montreal?"

In stark contrast to the uproar in Montreal, the Boston Bears' camp remained—silent.

In the nearly five months since the trade was completed, the Bears' official channels have released no information about Hollander's role for the upcoming season. The team's GM only gave vague statements in interviews, saying, "Hollander is an excellent player, and we'll find the best position for him."

The best position? Center or wing? First line or second? — None of these questions have answers.

The most intriguing aspect of the whole affair is Ilya Rozanov's attitude.

The Boston Bears captain, Hollander's rival of nine years, only posted one tweet after the trade was announced:

"Welcome to Boston, @ShaneHollander24. See you at training camp."

Short, official, utterly devoid of emotion.

But eagle-eyed netizens noticed that after this tweet, Rozanov liked a few fan comments. One read, "Rozanov and Hollander on the same team? Is the world ending?"

Another read, "I can't imagine what will happen in the locker room. Will they fight?"

Both were liked.

As for the man himself, Hollander, he has virtually disappeared from public view. Before the trade, he only posted one Instagram—a photo of himself in rehab with the caption 'Coming back soon.'—and hasn't updated his social media since. Rumors suggest he spent the entire summer in his hometown of Ottawa, focusing on recovery.

Currently, Hollander has not granted any interviews. The Bears' season opener will be at home in October against the Toronto Guardians, where fans will see him wear the # 24 black and gold jersey for the first time.

@HabsFan4Life

This is the most disgusting trade I’ve ever seen. Hollander was our soul. How could he go there? Comeau is right. This is betrayal. I already burned his jersey.

@NHLNeutralFan99

As an old-school fan, I’ve seen a lot of trades—but Hollander to Boston is the first one that makes me wonder if I’m the crazy one or the league is.

@BearsBlackAndGold

I’m so hyped for training camp. Are they gonna throw punches in the locker room or what?

@ShanesFreckles Wherever Shane goes, I go. Always.

----

Yuna

Yuna: Shane Yuna: David and I are coming to Boston

Yuna: We’ll be there for your home opener

Yuna: Love you ❤️

---

Hayden

Hayden: I saw those reports.

Hayden: That Comeau guy, seriously...

Hayden: J.J. and the others are still trash-talking, but I'm not part of it.

Hayden: I just wanted you to know, I don't blame you.

Hayden: I remember when I rushed to ask the GM that day, he told me, 'It's a business decision.'

Hayden: Betrayal? Who betrayed who?

Hayden: I'll be watching the season opener. Jackie says she'll wear your new jersey. Don't ask me where she got it from, probably online.

Shane: Thanks.

Shane: Say hi to Jackie for me. Tell Arthur and Ruby that 'Uncle Shane will do his best.'

Chapter 20: Holiday with Shane and Ilya

Chapter Notes

08:00 Bedroom

Ilya cracked one eye open, voice thick with sleep, and reached out to wrap an arm around Shane’s waist. “Why’re you up so early?”

Shane gently pried his hand away, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. “Habit. Go back to sleep. I’ll make breakfast.”

Ilya grunted, rolled over, and buried his face in the pillow, going back to sleep.

08:30 Kitchen

Ilya finally shuffled in, yawning hugely, hair a complete bird’s nest. He immediately came up behind Shane, arms sliding around his waist, chin dropping onto his shoulder. “Morning.”

Shane turned his head just enough to kiss him back. “Morning. Want a smoothie? I just made one.”

Ilya glanced at the glass of dark green sludge and wrinkled his nose. “No thanks. Looks disgusting.”

“It’s healthy! Protein, spinach, banana, almond milk—”

Ilya grabbed coffee instead.

09:00 Home Gym

They jogged side-by-side on the treadmills. Shane's pace was steady, his breathing calm; Ilya occasionally glanced at him, then silently increased his speed just a little.

Shane said nothing, but increased his speed a little too.

Five minutes later, they were both sprinting.

"You... are you... so childish!" Shane panted.

Ilya laughed, hit the stop button, and leaned on his treadmill, breathing hard.

"You started it."

"I did not!"

"You did."

They looked at each other, then both burst out laughing.

11:00 Living Room

Freshly showered, they collapsed on the couch. The TV was playing hockey highlights in the background. Ilya suddenly got excited and pulled up a YouTube video.

“Look! I found this Shane Hollander goal compilation!”

The screen filled with clips of Shane’s best goals from past seasons—breakaways, snipes from the point, dirty tips in front. One after another.

Shane leaned against his shoulder, smiling. “So you admit I’m the number one player in the NHL?”

Ilya shut that down immediately. “No way. I’m number one.”

“Proof?”

Ilya closed the video, tugged Shane fully into his lap, and wrapped both arms around him. “Proof is—you’re in my arms right now.”

12:30 Dining Room

Lunch

Ilya forked a piece of beef and looked at Shane's bowl. "I still don't know why you're eating bird food."

Shane ate his quinoa and cod salad. "It's a macrobiotic diet, good for health."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Bird food."

"Fuck off."

13:30 Yuna's phone call

hey were back on the couch scrolling phones when Shane’s rang.

Yuna. He answered and put it on speaker.

“Shane!” Her voice burst through, bright and full of energy. “How’s Boston? Training wearing you out?”

“Mom—” Shane smiled. “We’re good. Ilya’s right here. We just finished lunch.”

Yuna laughed. “Is Ilya being nice to you?”

Ilya leaned in. “Yuna! I’m an angel!”

14:00 午睡

16:00 Boston Streets

They headed out to wander. Ilya dragged Shane into a bookstore. Shane paused in the foreign-language section and picked up a beginner’s Russian textbook.

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Why are you buying a Russian book?”

Shane flipped through the pages. “I want to learn Russian.”

“You can just ask me to teach you.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.” Ilya’s voice dropped. He leaned close to Shane’s ear and murmured something in Russian.

Shane looked up. “What does that mean?”

“Любимый.” He repeated it slowly. “My love.”

Shane’s ears went pink. He whispered the word back, pronunciation a little off.

18:00 Restaurant

Dinner at a low-key Italian restaurant. They ordered pasta and wine, chatting and laughing about funny moments from training

19:00 Living Room

They sprawled on the couch playing PlayStation. Ilya picked “Shane Hollander” as his character. Shane picked “Ilya Rozanov.”

“You just took a penalty!” Shane yelled.

“No I didn’t! That was a clean hit!”

“Clean my ass!”

Shane dropped the controller and lunged, trying to wrestle Ilya’s away. They ended up in a tangled heap—laughing, cursing, shoving—until the game was forgotten.

20:00 Bathroom

They lay together in the bathtub. Shane leaned against Ilya, complaining, "It's too cramped."

Ilya leaned down and kissed him. "Did you have a good day today?"

"Yes." After a moment, Shane suddenly said, "That word you said in the bookstore... say it again."

"Любимый."

Shane repeated it, his pronunciation a little off.

Ilya laughed, gently correcting him in his ear, over and over.

21:00 Bedroom

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ilya whispered. "Милый."

Chapter End Notes

Lюбимый: my love, my dear
Милый: my sweetheart, my darling

Chapter 21: Opening Night

October 2017 — Boston

TD Garden was packed—nearly twenty thousand fans filling every seat. The opening music thundered through the arena. The announcer’s voice boomed over the big screens and speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to NHL opening night! Tonight it’s your Boston Bears taking on the visiting Toronto Guardians. And all eyes are on one man: Shane Hollander, the former Montreal captain, freshly traded to the team he’s battled for years—now skating alongside his longtime rival Ilya Rozanov. Still no word on his exact role this season…”

In the locker room, Ilya stood in the center, clapping his hands together, his voice ringing out. "Tonight is our first game of the season! This team has me, it has all of you—there's no way we're losing! Let's go wipe the floor with Toronto!！"

The room exploded—sticks banging lockers, fists colliding, roars of agreement. Shane stood quietly in the back row, watching. He’d given plenty of pre-game speeches as Montreal’s captain, but none had ever carried this kind of raw, infectious fire.

The team filed onto the ice. Shane took his spot on the bench and scanned the stands. There—his parents, wearing black-and-gold Bears jerseys instead of blue-and-white. A few familiar faces nearby held signs supporting him.

The puck dropped.

Ilya won the face-off against Toronto’s Dallas Kent, flicking it cleanly back to Carmichael. Boston’s first shift attacked hard.

Five minutes in, the Bears were dominating.

“Carmichael with the puck—over the blue line—back to Rozanov—Rozanov on the left wing! He beats the defender—shoots—and scores! Ilya Rozanov opens the scoring for Boston!”

The building erupted. Black-and-gold waves surged in the stands.

The game rolled on. Another face-off. Ilya squared off against Ryan Price. Price shouldered him hard; Ilya staggered.

“Price!” Marlow charged. “You motherfucker!”

Whistle. Marlow headed to the box.

Power play for Toronto.

Toronto capitalized. Dallas Kent received the puck at the blue line, faked out the Bears' defender, and passed it to Troy Barrett in front of the net—

Troy Barrett shot! Goal.

"Third period now, and Boston's Hollander is taking over for Rozanov. Looks like the coach is betting the game on Hollander."

Shane Hollander seized a counter-attack opportunity, intercepted a pass from Dallas Kent, and broke away solo towards the Toronto net, unleashing a precise shot.

"GOAL! Shane Hollander! He's scored his first goal as a Boston Bear!"

Game over. Boston 2, Toronto 1.

The arena erupted. Teammates rushed over, slapping his back, tugging at his helmet.

After the game, Shane faced the media scrum.

Reporter: "Shane! Your first goal on home ice in Boston. How does it feel?"

Shane smiled, "It feels great. Everyone played well together. It was a great team effort."

Another reporter: "What's your relationship with Rozanov like? You were fierce rivals, now you're teammates. Is it awkward?"

Shane’s smile stayed easy, "We competed against each other for years. Now we're teammates. I respect his abilities, and I'm looking forward to winning together."

The questions grew sharper.

"Did you choose to be traded to Boston as a way to get back at Montreal?"

"What do you think about your former teammates calling you a 'traitor'?"

The PR handler stepped in smoothly. "Thanks everyone, that's all for tonight."

Chapter 22: Drunk

Chapter Notes

I doesn't drink alcohol, so the writing might not be very good.┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌

Locker Room

Shane had just stepped out of the shower, hair still dripping, when a thick arm hooked around his neck from behind.

“Hollander!” Marlow’s voice boomed with excitement. “Hurry up and get changed—we’re waiting for you!”

Shane instinctively opened his mouth to decline, but before he could get a word out, Carmichael appeared on his other side, slinging an arm over his shoulders.

“Come on, man,” Carmichael grinned. “You haven’t even seen Boston nightlife yet. You’re not skipping tonight.”

Marlow nodded vigorously, teeth flashing. “We won today, tomorrow’s off—perfect night to celebrate! You and Cap both scored. We’re not stopping till we’re trashed!”

Shane sighed, resigned. “Fine… just for a little while.”

Nightclub

The music was deafening, colorful lights flashing in the dim space. The Bears players had commandeered a few sofas in the corner, the table covered with bottles.

Shane had barely sat down when Marlow shoved a drink into his hand without asking.

“We won! Tomorrow’s free!” Marlow declared. “Loosen up—no one’s going home sober tonight!”

Shane stared at the glass. The guys were all laughing, shouting, clinking drinks. The energy was infectious. Maybe… one wouldn’t hurt.

He lifted it and took a sip.

Smooth on the way in, sweet, with a coffee flavor and a hint of cream.

Hmm? Not bad.

He took several more sips.

Across the room, Ilya was also in a drinking battle with Carmichael and the others.

Carmichael raised his glass. "Roz, another round!"

Ilya raised an eyebrow, threw back a shot of vodka without hesitation, then casually turned the glass upside down on the table with a smug look. "Russians don't get drunk."

"Keep going!"

Shane's stereotype about Russians drinking vodka like water grew even stronger.

Before long, Ilya had already gotten St-Simon under the table. He turned to look for Shane and saw him sitting there, staring blankly.

Ilya walked over.

“Hey. Hey. Hey.” He waved a hand in front of Shane’s face. “Hollander… you okay?”

Shane slowly lifted his head. His eyes were glassy. He stared at Ilya’s face for several long seconds, then—very seriously—said, “You look so good, handsome.”

Ilya froze.

Shane suddenly reached out and grabbed Ilya's chin, his voice soft and wobbly. "Wanna come home with me?"

Ilya, "..."

He concluded—Shane Hollander was completely, utterly drunk.

Just then, Carmichael walked over. "What's going on?"

Ilya calmly positioned himself in front of Shane. "Hollander's drunk."

Shane mumbled in protest, "I'm not drunk! (I'm not drunk.)"

Carmichael's eyes went wide. "Just one?!"

Ilya glanced at the empty glass in Shane's hand, then turned to look at Marlow. "What did you give him?"

Marlow looked a bit guilty. "...Baileys White Russian."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Why did you think someone who doesn't usually drink could handle vodka?"

Ilya steadied Shane by the shoulders. "I'll take him home."

Then, under the watchful eyes of Marlow and Carmichael, he half-guided, half-carried Shane out of the club.

Marlow stared at their retreating backs, frowning. "Are Roz and Hollander really that close? He even knows where the other one lives?"

Chapter End Notes

Baileys White Russian: Baileys + Vodka + Coffee liqueur

I don't really try it.

Chapter 23: Drunken behavior

Chapter Notes

Ilya called an Uber.

Shane was unusually well-behaved, sitting still without fidgeting,

but he cannot stop talking.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My place.”

Shane blinked slowly, squinting at Ilya like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You look… really familiar.”

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” Shane nodded solemnly. “You’re so handsome!”

The Uber driver in the front seat stifled a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.

Ilya closed his eyes and took a deep breath, deciding not to engage with the drunkard anymore.

They were finally home. Ilya hauled Shane inside, and as soon as the door closed, Shane started acting out again. He stared intensely at Ilya and said, “You're hot, and I really like you... but I have a boyfriend already.”

Ilya paused for a second, then laughed. "I am your boyfriend."

Shane frowned, trying hard to process this for three whole seconds, then mumbled, "Oh yeah... I think so..."

Ilya sighed and started the long process of getting him ready for bed: jacket off, shoes untied, shirt swapped for a loose sleep tee. Shane cooperated like a big cat the whole time, occasionally reaching up to touch Ilya's face, murmuring, “So pretty…”

Just as Ilya was about to get up, Shane's hand grabbed his shirt.

"We’re not have sex tonight？"

“We’re not having sex tonight?”

Ilya froze.

He mentally swore he would never let Shane touch alcohol again. He hadn’t expected the man’s tolerance to be this low—or his drunk personality to be this clingy and shameless.

“Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”

Shane didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rolled over, straddled Ilya’s hips in one clumsy but determined motion, and declared, “I want to have sex with you!” Then he dove down, kissing messily, hands tugging at Ilya’s shirt, teeth grazing skin wherever he could reach.

Damn

Ilya felt a surge of heat coursing through his body from the teasing; he was becoming rapidly aroused.

His hands locked around Shane’s waist, and just as he was about to flip him over and pin him down...

And Shane suddenly went boneless. He flopped forward, faceplanting directly onto Ilya’s chest… and started snoring softly.

Ilya was speechless. "...Really?"

Shane stirred slightly, nuzzling against his chest, finding a comfortable spot and continuing to sleep.

Ilya gently rolled him to the side, pulled the covers over him, and looked at his peacefully sleeping face, sighing in resignation.

Fine.

It had been a long day. Everyone was tired.

But how the hell was he supposed to sleep like this?

Eventually he gave up, gently rolled Shane to the side, tucked the blanket around him, and headed to the bathroom.

Quick hand job. Cold shower. Done.

---

The next day

Shane woke up, finding himself in bed, his head pounding. Fragments of the previous night flickered intermittently through his mind.

Ilya walked in carrying a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Hollander.” His voice was slow, amused. “You said some… very interesting things last night.”

Shane buried his face in the pillow. "Shut up! I don't want to hear anything."

Ilya laughed out loud, sat on the edge of the bed, placed the coffee on the nightstand, and leaned close to his ear. "You said I was very handsome, you really liked me, but you had a boyfriend... then you asked if I wanted to go home with you."

Shane sat up abruptly, his face red all the way down to his neck, grabbed a pillow and threw it at him,"Ilya Rozanov！Shut up! Not another word!"

"It's okay," Ilya pulled him into a hug. "It was pretty cute."

Shane, muffled against his chest, his voice tiny as a mosquito. "I'm never drinking again."

Ilya chuckled softly. "Yeah, you'd better not." He paused, then added, "But... if you want to ride on me next time, do it when you're sober."

Shane buried his face deeper.

Chapter End Notes

I like this chapter the most.

Chapter 24: Detective Squad

Chapter Notes

After the brief break, everyone threw themselves back into the games and training. The rhythm of the 82-game regular season was like a machine that never stopped.

Yuna and David called occasionally. Shane's mom always asked the same things: "Are you eating well? Are you sleeping well?"

Shane would smile helplessly every time. "Mom, we're adults, not kids."

David's voice would come from the background, "Yuna, give me the phone, I want to talk to Shane—"

"No, I'm not done yet."

Online, the doubts about Shane joining Boston gradually faded. The initial fury was diluted by time, and most fans accepted the reality—at least here in Boston. But Montreal fans kept up the stream of insults. Some hoped he'd come back, others burned his old jerseys.

Montreal's new season was indeed telling. New players integrated slowly, the atmosphere in the locker room under the new captain was tense, mistakes piled up during games, and defensive holes were everywhere.

Meanwhile, the outside world was no longer as shocked by the teammate relationship between Shane and Ilya. After all, now that they were on the same team, continuing to emphasize their 'rival' image seemed boring. The media shifted their focus elsewhere, and fans began to accept that they really could coexist peacefully off the ice.

---

Meanwhile, in another corner of Boston, a secret meeting was underway.

St-Simon knocked on an apartment door.

A low voice came from inside: “Password?”

“8124,” St-Simon rolled his eyes. “Dude, is this really necessary?”

The door swung open. Marlow yanked him inside.

“Why the sudden group chat emergency?” St-Simon shrugged off his jacket and dropped onto the couch. “Ryan and Brad here too? What’s going on?”

Carmichael slid him a beer and kept his voice low. “Because we found something. But first—you all swear to keep this quiet.”

Hammersmith raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. Spill.”

Carmichael took a dramatic breath. “I think… Rozy might be living with someone.”

The room went dead silent for one second.

Then St-Simon exploded. “What?! For real?!”

“This is huge. That's our captain, the legendary playboy Ilya Rozanov.”

Marlow nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Our captain. The guy who used to bring home a different girl every weekend.”

Carmichael kept going. “First clue: Rozy barely goes to clubs anymore since the break ended.”

Hammersmith frowned. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

Marlow jumped in. “There’s more. He won’t let us come over to his place anymore. We used to watch games at his apartment all the time. This month? Not once.”

St-Simon thought for a second. “Maybe he’s just focused because Hollander’s here now?”

“No way!” Marlow waved his arms. “When he’s stressed, he smokes. Like, a lot. But this season? Not a single cigarette.”

Hammersmith leaned forward, intrigued. “So… Rozy’s keeping us away from his place because he’s got a girlfriend living there?”

“Exactly!” Marlow’s eyes lit up.

“No more clubs—because he’s spending nights with her.”

“No smoking—because she hates the smell!”

St-Simon sucked in a breath. “It all adds up! I knew something was off. In practice he’s not hitting as hard as usual. He’s saving energy for his girlfriend. The Siberian Wolf turned into a goddamn golden retriever.”

Marlow suddenly remembered something. “Wait—didn’t Rozy used to text some girl from Montreal all the time? What was her name… Jane?”

He kept going, momentum building. “Think about it. He’s suddenly super tight with Hollander now. Maybe Jane’s a Montreal fan, so Rozy made friends with Hollander on purpose—just to get closer to her when he visits!”

Carmichael summed it up. “Conclusion: Ilya Rozanov—our resident playboy captain—has a girlfriend. And they’re living together.”

A beat of silence. “…Why hasn’t he told us?”

Another beat.

Carmichael sighed. “Maybe… he’s not ready yet.”

Marlow nodded seriously. “We wait for him to bring it up.”

“But at least we know.” St-Simon leaned back, smug. “Our captain’s in love.”

They all raised their beers.

“To Rozy’s girlfriend!”

“To Jane!”

---

That Night, Ilya's Apartment

Ilya sneezed.

Shane looked up from his book. "Catching a cold?"

"No." Ilya rubbed his nose. "Кто обо мне плохо говорит?"

Chapter End Notes

Кто обо мне плохо говорит: Who’s talking trash about me?

Chapter 25: Christmas

24 December 2017 — Ontario

The car rolled to a stop in the familiar driveway. Snow had been falling all afternoon, blanketing the roof and lawn in soft, unbroken white.

“You nervous?” Shane asked.

Ilya turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Do I look nervous? Have you ever seen me nervous?”

Shane didn't say anything. He just reached out and took Ilya's hand.

It was wet.

Covered in sweat.

Shane bit back a smile and stayed quiet.

Yuna opened the door.

“Hi, Yuna.”

“Hi, Mom.” Shane leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Yuna smiled, patted his face, then reached for Ilya and pulled him inside. “Come in, come in—it’s freezing out there.”

“The tree looks great this year,” Shane said.

David poked his head out from the kitchen. “Decorations are all bought. We’re putting them up later!”

Yuna handed Ilya a mug of hot cocoa. “Cold?”

Ilya took it. “Not too bad.”

“Shane usually helps decorate,” Yuna said with a small sigh. “But with games right before Christmas this year, it just didn’t work out.”

Ilya thought for a second, then reached into his bag and pulled out a box.

“Kind of a shame,” he said, handing it to Yuna. “This is for you. Eggnog. I picked it out.”

He regretted it the second the words left his mouth. Too much. Way too try-hard. Like a high-school kid meeting the parents for the first time. He’d spent way too long googling “what gift to bring to Canadian Christmas dinner.”

Yuna took the box and smiled warmly. “You didn’t have to. Having you both here is enough.”

Before dinner, Yuna pulled out Monopoly.

“Come on!” She spread the board across the coffee table. “Loser does dishes!”

Shane gave her a look. “Mom, last time you said loser does dishes, you won—and we still did them.”

“That’s because you all lost!”

Shane and Yuna turned into Mr. Landlord and Mrs. Businesswoman, building hotels, bankrupting everyone.

Ilya watched them for a minute, then leaned toward David and whispered, “They do this every year?”

David sighed. “I’ve been losing for twenty years.”

---

Christmas Eve Dinner

David and Yuna had gone all out: roast turkey, stuffing, pudding, and the eggnog Ilya brought. Shane and Ilya decorated the tree together—Ilya deliberately hanging ornaments crooked just so Shane would stretch up on his toes to fix them. They bickered and laughed like two overgrown kids.

Dinner conversation turned to hockey. Ilya frowned. “Why hasn’t Scott Hunter retired yet?”

Yuna laughed. “He’s experienced. Don’t underestimate the veterans.”

The next thirty minutes turned into an impromptu strategy session. Shane relaxed in a way Ilya rarely saw—arguing tactics with his parents, trading playful jabs, laughing freely.

---

"There's no guest room left," Yuna said, her tone as casual as commenting on the weather. "You'll have to share a room, sorry about that."

Shane's ears turned red.

Ilya nodded. "No problem."

They squeezed into the single bed—much smaller than the king-size Ilya was used to—but Shane curled against his chest felt warmer than anything else in the world.

25 December

Oatmeal and milk were set on the table.

"Such a healthy breakfast," he said to Shane. "Only in your house."

Shane kicked him under the table.

David came out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of freshly baked cookies. "Your presents are under the tree. Ilya, there's one for you too."

Ilya froze.

He walked over. Among the pile of wrapped boxes was one with his name on it.

He opened it.

A blue hand-knit sweater.

Yuna stood beside him. “Everyone in this house gets one.”

Ilya looked up. Shane was opening his own red, same pattern.

Ilya stared down at the sweater in his hands. Words failed him.

He hadn’t received anything like this in… years.

His voice came out rough. “Thank you.”

Later, he pulled Shane aside and took a small box from his own bag.

“For you.

”

Shane opened it.

A photo.

An unreleased photo from their first commercial shoot together. In the picture, they weren't wearing the fierce expressions they had during games; they were both laughing happily.

It was from the summer before their rookie season.

The day they first kissed.

"How did you get this?" Shane asked quietly.

"I found the photographer's name and email," Ilya said. "I asked if he still had those photos. He sent me some, and this one was my favorite."

Shane stared at the photo, speechless.

Ilya continued. "Our apartment could use some pictures of us together." He paused. "Our home. Just us."

Shane looked up at him, his eyes a little red.

"I got you a gift too," he said.

He pulled out a small box containing a pair of custom mugs, printed with Russian words. One read "Я — его," the other read "он — мой" (I am his, he is mine).

Shane was a little nervous, his voice soft. "Для тебя, мой любимый." (For you, my love.)

His pronunciation wasn't perfect, but Ilya understood. He pulled Shane into a tight hug, his voice choked. "This is the best Christmas I've ever had."

In the living room, Yuna and David pretended to be busy, but they couldn't hide the smiles on their faces.

Chapter 26: Return to the Scene

January 2018 — Montreal

Locker Room

Ilya stood in the center, clapping his hands sharply to quiet the room.

“…One more thing.” He paused, eyes flicking to Shane for half a second before sweeping over the whole team. “Tonight we’re going to make Montreal understand—they made the biggest mistake of their lives trading Hollander to us. We’re going to slaughter them. And we’ve got a secret weapon.”

The room exploded sticks banging lockers, fists pumping, roars of agreement.

---

The announcer's voice echoed. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is the ultimate rivalry showdown! The Bell Centre is packed, but the atmosphere tonight is... different."

The camera panned across the stands. Montreal fans held up signs. Some read "Welcome Back Shane," but many more read—

"TRAITOR"

"HOLLANDER GET OUT"

The moment Shane stepped onto the ice, the arena erupted in a deafening chorus of boos.

The announcer continued. "Tonight's focus is undoubtedly Shane Hollander, the former Voyageurs captain, returning to the Bell Centre for the first time as a Boston Bear. More importantly, will this game become Shane's revenge against Montreal?"

On the ice, players from both teams warmed up.

Shane could feel the stares on his back.

JJ hadn't contacted him since the trade news broke.

Hayden's gaze met his from across the ice, filled with concern. They locked eyes for a second and gave each other a slight nod.

Talk after the game.

See if we can get dinner.

Suddenly, Comeau skated over, a nasty smirk plastered on his face. His voice was low but clear. "Hollander, you bitch, how the hell did you convince Boston to take you in? Did you suck them all off one by one, beg for it?"

Ilya's temper flared instantly. His fists clenched, ready to charge and throw a punch. Shane grabbed his arm, shaking his head slightly—don't start a fight before the game.

Comeau backed off a step but didn't stop. "What, Rozanov's gotta stick up for his little boyfriend now?"

Shane turned, staring coldly at Comeau. "You're still spouting the same garbage as always. I'm really glad I'm not on your team anymore."

Comeau opened his mouth to retort, but the referee's whistle blew. Both teams took their positions.

"The players are in position—no, wait, Boston changed their formation! Rozanov at center, Hollander on left wing... What is the coach thinking?"

On the ice, Shane stood at left wing. They'd practiced this tactic countless times, but this was its first use in an official game.

"The game begins. Montreal's Comeau wins the face-off, passes to a teammate. But Rozanov is relentless, steals the puck back, drives forward, and passes to Hollander on the left wing."

Shane received the puck, faked out the goalie with a deke.

"0-1! Hollander scores with a beautiful wrist shot!"

Montreal fans responded with a chorus of boos.

As Shane skated across center ice, Ilya rushed over and slammed into his shoulder, muttering low, "Nice job."

The game continued. Ilya received a pass from a teammate and scored backhand.

"0-2! Rozanov extends the lead! Montreal is in a dire situation now, still scoreless since the opening..."

Before the announcer could finish, Shane capitalized on a Montreal defensive error, took a long pass from Marlow, and scored again.

"A clean finish! 0-3!"

The game entered the third period. Montreal was visibly rattled, still pointless since the start.

Shane received a pass from Carmichael. Comeau deliberately body-checked him, his shoulder slamming hard into Shane's chest.

Comeau sneered, muttering insults under his breath, "Cheap sellout bitch."

Shane dropped his gloves.

"Hollander drops the gloves! Comeau too! They're throwing punches!"

Shane's fists landed on Comeau's face. Once. Twice. Comeau's nose spurted blood, splattering across the ice.

"Players from both sides swarm in, joining the brawl. The refs rush in, trying to separate them—"

The officials pulled them apart. Shane was assessed as a 10-minute major penalty. Comeau, with a fractured nose, was escorted off the ice by medical staff after examination.

"This is rare. Hollander doesn't fight often. Last time was against Scott Hunter..."

The penalty ended. Shane returned to the ice.

In the final five minutes, Boston got an offensive opportunity. Shane received a pass from Ilya, broke away alone, and shot!

"0-4! Hollander scores his third of the night, completing the hat trick!

5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

Game over! Boston crushes Montreal!"

Teammates mobbed him, slapping his back, tugging his helmet. Ilya was the first to reach him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Chapter 27: Hayden

Post-game

Shane waited in the corridor for a while.

When Hayden finally came out, he was alone.

Hayden walked over and punched Shane’s shoulder—hard, but not angry.

“You fucking asshole,” he said. “Hat trick? Against us?”

Shane laughed softly. “Sorry.”

Hayden sighed, then pulled him into a quick, tight hug.

“I missed you,” he muttered.

“Me too.”

Hayden stepped back. “Wanna come over for dinner? Jackie says she misses you too.”

Shane hesitated. “Let me tell my teammates first.”

Lily

Lily: Where are you? Lily: Cliff and the guys are asking if you’re coming to celebrate

Jane: Tell them I’m going to Hayden’s place.

Lily: And me?

Jane: Go with them.

 Lily: 🙃

Jane: I promise I’ll be back by 10.

Hayden House

When Jackie opened the door, her face lit up. "Shane!" She opened her arms wide with a smile. "Long time no see!"

Shane hugged her. "Yeah, it's been a while. How are the kids?"

Before he could finish, two little missiles came charging from the living room.

"Uncle Shane!!!"

Jade and Ruby latched onto his legs from both sides, nearly knocking him over.

Shane laughed, ruffling their hair. "Hey there, little ones. You've both grown so much!"

Hayden came up from behind, lifting one in each arm. "Alright, alright, let Uncle Shane get inside. Arthur and Amber are already asleep, and you two should be too."

"No—!" The twins chorused in unison.

Hayden ignored their protests and herded them back to their bedroom.

While Jackie was in the kitchen getting dinner ready, Hayden and Shane sat on the living room couch.

Hayden spoke first. "How's Boston treating you?"

Shane shrugged. "They're all great, just a little wild sometimes."

Hayden chuckled. "Well, they are Bears." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "Sorry I couldn't do anything when you got traded."

Shane shook his head. "It's fine. It was management's decision, nothing you could control."

Hayden sighed. "JJ and the others wouldn't listen to my explanations either."

"I know," Shane said. "Actually, I talked to my agent about it. If it really became necessary, we'd issue a statement explaining things. But now... the timing isn't right."

Jackie brought the last dish to the table and sat down beside Hayden.

Midway through the meal, Hayden suddenly asked, "So, how are things with him?"

Shane was caught off guard. "Who?"

“Rozanov.”

Shane tried to play it casually. “We’re just teammates. That’s it.”

Hayden raised an eyebrow. “I thought you couldn’t stand him.”

Shane gave a small laugh. “He talks a lot of shit. That’s all.”

"Yeah?" Hayden's eyebrow stayed up. "If you don't like him and can't deal with him yourself, I can help you beat him up."

Shane choked on his food, laughing. "No need! Really, it's fine. He gets along well with me as a teammate. We work well together."

"Alright."

Jackie suddenly asked, "Have you met any nice girls in Boston?"

Shane's hand froze. He put down his fork and looked at them seriously. "Actually, there's something I've wanted to tell you. Something I've kept hidden for a long time, and I still haven't come out about it."

Hayden and Jackie exchanged a glance, sensing the gravity of the situation. They nodded. "We'll keep it confidential."

Shane took a deep breath. "I'm gay."

Hayden was the first to speak. "...Wow."

Shane's heart sank.

But Hayden continued, "Sorry, it's not homophobia... I'm just really surprised."

Jackie reached across the table and took Shane's hand. "Thank you for trusting us. We'll keep it a secret, I promise."

Hayden nodded too. "Buddy, it must have been so hard for you, keeping this secret all this time."

Shane's eyes felt a little hot, but he held it together. "I was afraid you would... push me away."

Jackie frowned. "Why would you think that? We're friends."

Shane didn't say anything, just looked at her.

Jackie sighed, stood up, and came around the table to pull him into a hug. "Shane, no matter who you are, you're our friend. Always."

Hayden stood up too and patted his shoulder.

---

Hayden drove Shane back to his hotel in Boston.

“So…” Hayden started, trying to sound casual. “You’ve had someone this whole time? Wait—Boston Lily?”

Shane was quiet for a second. Then: “Yeah.”

Hayden laughed softly. “Bring him around sometime. We really don’t care.”

Shane looked out the window. “Maybe.”

In his head he thought: How do I explain that my boyfriend is the guy I used to hate more than anyone?

When he walked into the room, Ilya was sitting on the bed, arms crossed, looking impatient.

Shane went straight to him, leaned down, and kissed him.

“It’s only 9:30.”

Ilya didn’t move. His voice came out a little sour. “I’ve been waiting forever. What were you and Pike doing for so long?”

Shane shrugged off his jacket and sat beside him. “You didn’t go out with Cliff and the guys?”

Ilya shook his head. “They went to clubs. Girls. Drinking. I’m not into that anymore.”

Shane tilted his head. “So what are you into now?”

“You.”

Then Ilya pulled him in and kissed him—slow, deep, possessive.

They melted into each other.

Chapter 28: Svetlana

The lock clicked. Ilya pushed the door open. Shane followed behind, dragging his suitcase.

The back-to-back-to-back road trip had left them both exhausted: a tough loss in Tampa, a narrow win in Detroit, and another defeat in Buffalo. Shane just wanted a shower. Ilya just wanted to collapse into bed and not move for twelve hours.

Then they heard noise.

From the bedroom.

Ilya tense instantly. His body shifted—instinctively, putting himself between Shane and the hallway.

“Who’s there?!”

The apartment’s security was top tier. No one got in without authorization. Shane’s heart kicked up. His hand was already reaching for his phone to call 911.

"Surprise!" A female voice rang out, followed by a stunningly attractive woman emerging from the bedroom.

Both Shane and Ilya froze.

Then Ilya burst out in Russian,"Бля, Почему ты здесь？"（Fuck, why are you here?）

Svetlana, seeing Ilya's genuinely shocked expression, laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. Then her gaze landed on Shane behind Ilya, and her smile froze.

Svetlana stared, her eyes darting back and forth between them. "Я просто хотела сделать тебе сюрприз. А почему здесь Голландер?" (I just wanted to surprise you. Why is Hollander here?)

Shane watched the two Russians rapidly conversing in their native tongue, his head starting to ache. He finally couldn't help but interrupt, using his less-than-fluent Russian, "Прости, можем перейти на английский? Мой русский ещё недостаточно хорош, чтобы общаться с вами." (Sorry, can we switch to English? My Russian isn't good enough yet to keep up with you.)

Svetlana’s eyes flew open.

“Hollander—you speak Russian?!”

Then she whipped back to Ilya.

“No—wait. The real question is—why is Hollander here?!”

Ilya took a long breath. He dropped his bag by the door.

“We just got off the plane. Let us put our stuff down first.”

He turned to Shane.

“Shane—this is Svetlana. Like I told you before.”

Shane nodded. He quickly set his suitcase aside. His brain was still spinning.

Childhood friend. The one who was almost going to marry him “for the green card.”

He carried his bag into the bedroom, set it down, and came back out.

By now Svetlana was slowly scanning the apartment. It looked different from her last visit. A second pair of slippers by the entrance. Two mugs on the coffee table. Books Ilya would never read. A pair of reading glasses on the couch.

She seemed to put it together.

The three of them sat around the dining table. The air was thick with awkwardness.

Ilya broke the silence first.

“Svetlana has a key. For emergencies.”

Svetlana nodded quickly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve texted first.” She paused, looking between them. “So… you two are living together?”

Shane choked on air and started coughing. Ilya just nodded calmly.

“Yes.”

Shane shot him a worried look. Ilya squeezed his hand under the table.

“It’s fine. Svetlana can be trusted. She’ll keep it quiet.”

Svetlana’s gaze lingered on their joined hands for a second. Then she lifted her eyes and gave a slow, knowing smile.

“So… Shane is Jane?”

Shane blinked. “Sorry?”

He hadn’t expected her to know the name.

Ilya rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish.

“Svetlana noticed I was texting someone called Jane all the time. She’s also the one who made me realize I felt… different about you.”

Svetlana laughed—light and genuine.

“Compared to that? I’m more surprised you’re serious about someone. Let alone Hollander.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind that I’m with a man?”

Svetlana looked at him steadily.

“I think you’re happier. More relaxed. This place feels alive now. That’s enough.”

She gestured around—at the books, the glasses, the second pair of shoes.

“None of this was here before.”

Ilya suddenly got smug.

“Shane decorated. Shane bought the mugs.”

Shane smacked his shoulder. “Behave.”

Svetlana asked, “So what’s the plan? Does the team know?”

Shane shook his head. “Nobody knows. Except my parents. And Hayden and his family.”

Ilya turned sharply. “You told Hayden?”

Shane met his eyes. “He’s my best friend.”

Ilya didn’t say anything, but his face looked like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.

Svetlana laughed again and patted Ilya’s shoulder.

“If you ever decide to come out, start with the team. I think they’d handle it fine. This is America, after all.”

Shane nodded. “We’ll think about it.”

Svetlana turned to Ilya, tone more serious.

“And Russia? You might not be able to go back.”

Ilya shrugged,“My father was gone. Andrei cut me off. I don’t miss it.” He paused. “Besides, I already applied for the green card.”

“Good.”

The conversation shifted to hockey. Svetlana was sharp breaking down league tactics, player matchups, line chemistry. The three of them ended up talking shop for nearly an hour, the awkwardness melting away.

Eventually Svetlana stood.

“It’s late. I should go.”

Before she left, she leaned in and kissed Ilya’s cheek.

“Take care. Stay in touch.”

Chapter 29: Punishment

Chapter Notes

warning:A little bit about bondage

The door clicked shut. The apartment fell quiet.

Shane stood in the entryway, looking at Ilya. “So… ‘stay in touch’?”

Ilya stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Shane from behind, and rested his chin on his shoulder. “Just friends. Like you and Rose Landry.”

Shane huffed. “Okay, you win. But I’m still jealous.”

Ilya paused. Then he laughed—low and delighted. “Are you jealous?”

Shane turned in his arms and glared. “I didn’t give Rose a key to my place.”

Ilya’s smile deepened. He leaned in close, voice dropping. “So… what do you want to do about it?”

Shane’s hand shot up, grabbed Ilya’s collar, and yanked him toward the bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind them.

“I’m punishing you.”

Ilya let himself be pushed back until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He watched Shane pull a coil of soft rope from under the bed and couldn’t help laughing. “Since when did you get into this?”

Shane’s face went scarlet. “Shut up!”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. "Alright then. What do you want to do, my master?"

Shane's ears burned even hotter, but he steeled himself. "Put your hands behind your back."

Ilya complied.

Shane took the rope, wrapped it around his wrists a few times, and tied a slipknot. He looked up and asked, " Too tight?"

Ilya moved his hands. "It's okay."

Shane pushed him onto the bed and straddled his waist. First, he slowly unbuttoned Ilya's shirt, one button at a time, revealing his solid chest and abs.

Hockey players always had ridiculous bodies.

He bent down and pulled off Ilya's pants, leaving her only in her underwear. Through the fabric, he could feel his penis.

Hmm. Huge.。

Ilya’s voice came out rough，" When did you turn into a sex maniac, Mr. Lots-of-Sex ?"， His hands were tied behind his back; he couldn't move.

Shane leaned down and bit his collarbone, then stripped off his own clothes, straddling Ilya's waist naked, slowly grinding his hips against that rigid length.

Ilya's breathing became ragged. All he could do was watch Shane tease him, each movement deliberately slow, as if punishing him.

"Please." Ilya's voice was rough.

Shane looked up, knowing full well. "For what?"

Ilya looked at him. His eyes were full of desire, and restraint. Tied up, unable to move, he could only look at Shane with pleading eyes.

Shane thought that look—full of desire, yet patiently enduring—was incredibly sexy.

"Not now."

He reached for the lube, knelt up, and turned so his back faced Ilya. He slicked his fingers and reached behind himself. In the low bedroom light, his ass flushed pink as he worked one finger in—then two—stretching slowly. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. His breathing grew uneven. His cock leaked against his stomach.

Ilya watched every second. His wrists strained against the rope. “Shane… untie me.”

Shane didn’t answer. He added a third finger, scissoring, opening himself. When he was ready, he turned around, straddled Ilya again, and slowly sank down.

Ilya’s cock filled him inch by inch. Shane moaned low in his throat at the stretch. He paused when he bottomed out—adjusting—then started moving. Slow rolls at first, then longer strokes. He rode Ilya like he was using him—controlling every angle, every depth, chasing his own pleasure.

Ilya’s voice cracked. “Shane. Untie me.”

Shane panted. “It’s a slipknot… just pull…”

Ilya yanked once. The rope fell away.

In a heartbeat he flipped them. Shane’s back hit the mattress. Ilya pinned his hips and thrust in hard—deep—setting a brutal rhythm.

The rhythm instantly became fierce.

Ilya drove into him deeper each time. Shane's moans came in broken gasps, his nails scratching red marks down Ilya's back.

---

"Happy now, jealous Mr. Lots-of-Sex ?" Ilya asked quietly.

"Much better."

---

The next day

Locker Room

Carmichael squinted at Ilya’s back while he changed. “Rozy… what the hell happened to your back? That’s a lot of claw marks.”

St-Simon leaned over for a look. “And look—rope burns on his wrists. Someone got tied up last night.”

Shane’s ears went instantly red. He turned away and pretended to be very focused on lacing his skates.

Ilya caught his eye across the room and smirked—slow, filthy, full of meaning.

“Yeah,” he said loudly enough for the whole locker room to hear. “Last night was… rough.”

Shane’s face burned hotter.

Chapter 30: Hunter

Chapter Notes

I really can't write articles about ice hockey, so let me be lazy this time.

May 2018 — New York

This year, Boston made it to the playoffs again. Last season, the Boston Bears were defeated by the New York Admirals, missing out on the Stanley Cup Finals.

The game was intense, the score tight, stretching all the way to overtime.

Then, Shane scored.

Game over. Boston advanced.

After the game, the teams lined up for the handshake.

Ilya skated up to Scott Hunter, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. "Hunter, want to grab a drink?"

Scott raised an eyebrow, his tone wary. "What? Trying to murder me?"

Ilya shrugged. "Not me. Someone wants to invite you."

Scott paused for a second, then saw Shane standing behind Ilya.

Shane nodded. "It was me."

Scott's curiosity was instantly piqued.

---

Bar Booth

Half an hour later, the three of them sat in a quiet bar booth.

Hunter picked up his beer and went straight to the point. "So how come you're so chummy with Hollander?"

Ilya started to make another dig at Hunter, but Shane put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Shane took a deep breath and said plainly, "Actually, there's something we wanted to ask you."

Hunter raised an eyebrow, watching their interaction, and smiled. "Your relationship is a lot closer than the media reports." He paused. "So, what did you want to ask?"

Shane took another deep breath. "I'm with Ilya now."

Hunter was stunned for two seconds, then chuckled softly. "I actually thought about that possibility."

Ilya raised an eyebrow. "You're not surprised?"

Hunter shook his head, leaning back in his chair, his tone relaxed. "That time I fought with Hollander on the ice, his reaction was pretty strong."

Shane remembered.

It was a game two years ago. He and Hunter got into a scuffle, almost came to blows. Hunter had said something at the time that Shane had never forgotten—

'You're starting to sound like him.'

Back then, Shane felt Hunter knew about their relationship, which was why he'd said that.

He asked Hunter, "What did you mean by that at the time?"

Hunter shrugged, a bit awkward. "I was just saying it at the time. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Ilya laughed. "You just said it randomly and guessed correctly?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "You shut up."

Shane also apologized. "It's okay. I overreacted."

Ilya chimed in from the side. "But that time you kissed your boyfriend on the ice, that really shook the whole world."

Hunter laughed out loud, for once not arguing back.

Shane hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What we wanted to ask... is about coming out. Will the team accept it? The GM, the coach..."

Hunter looked at them, his expression turning serious.

"It won't be easy," he said. "But I can tell you this—I was scared shitless too back then. But when I actually said it, I found out there were more people supporting me than I ever imagined."

He leaned back on the sofa, his tone softening. "You could start by talking to your agent, your coach, your GM. See how they react. Take it slow."

Shane nodded.

Ilya, for once, didn't argue. He just listened quietly.

Hunter stood up and raised his glass. "Good luck to you both."

Three glasses clinked softly.

Hunter set down his glass and headed for the door. Just before leaving, he turned back and said, "Next time we meet, my boyfriend would probably like to meet you guys too."

Chapter End Notes

Scott Gardar Hunter

Chapter 31: Before the World Hears Me

End of May 2018 — Boston 

Shane and Ilya sat on the couch, facing Farah. Her desk was piled high with documents, but she wasn't looking at them. She just sat with her arms crossed, looking at them.

"What?" Farah raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me you two are together?"

Shane froze. "...How did you know?"

Farah sighed, long and theatrical. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m your agent, remember? Both of your mailing addresses are the same. Every time I call one of you, I can hear the other one in the background.”

Ilya rubbed the back of his neck and said nothing.

arah leaned back further, her tone softening. “I knew this day would come eventually. But why now? Why tell me today?”

Shane took a slow, steady breath. “We want to come out.”

Farah’s eyes widened. “You’re serious.”

Ilya and Shane nodded at the same time—firm, no hesitation.

Farah stared at them for several long seconds. Then she laughed—quiet at first, then brighter.

“Okay. Looks like nothing I say is going to change your mind.” She sat forward again, already shifting into work mode. “Then let’s talk about how. I’ll start drafting a public statement. We need something clean, honest, but not sensational.”

Shane spoke quickly. “I’ve thought about the wording. We can say we became teammates, started respecting each other, built a friendship… and then feelings developed.”

Farah nodded. "That's convincing, and not too outrageous."

Ilya interjected, "Actually, we've been together for almost 9 years."

Farah immediately held up her hand. "Stop. I don't need the details. I only know that after you come out, I'm going to be busy handling the PR for both of you."

Shane couldn't help but smile, adding, "Before we come out publicly, we want to inform the team first."

Farah looked at them, her expression turning serious. "I need to make sure you're not treated unfairly. The only active NHL player who's come out so far is Scott Hunter. Your situation is more complicated—two top stars, and former rivals at that."

She paused, then said, "But don't worry. I'll help you sort it out."

Ilya, with rare sincerity, said, "Thank you."

Farah waved her hand. "Don't thank me. It's my job."

---

A Few Days Later Team Meeting Room

LeClaire and the GM sat at the head of the table. The players formed a loose circle around them. Shane and Ilya stood at the front. The air felt thick.

Shane spoke first.

“We have something to tell everyone. Ilya and I… we’re together. Not just teammates. Lovers.”

The room went dead silent.

Then Carmichael broke it.

“…For real?”

Shane nodded.

LeClaire rubbed his temple, voice low. “I… didn’t see that coming. But I don’t care. You’re players. Your private life is your private life.”

The GM nodded. "The team will protect you. Coming out is your decision. The NHL should be inclusive of LGBTQ+, and we'll support you fully."

Shane breathed a sigh of relief.

Then St-Simon raised his hand, a look of dawning realization on his face. "So... our suspicion that Rozy had a secret live-in lover was true."

Ilya froze. "What the hell? What the fuck are you doing behind my back?!"

Hammersmith scratched his head awkwardly. "Back then, we thought you'd had a personality change over the break, didn't want to go out anymore..."

Marlow chimed in. "So we figured you must be in love, and living with someone named Jane. We just didn't think it was Hollander."

Ilya narrowed his eyes. "You guys could guess I was living with someone, but you couldn't guess who Jane was?"

St-Simon blinked. "What do you mean?"

Carmichael suddenly widened his eyes and slammed the table. "Oh my god. Shane is Jane."

Shane's face instantly turned red.

He turned and glared at Ilya. "Ilya Rozanov! Can you explain why everyone seems to know about Jane?!"

Ilya looked a little guilty for once. "...Marlow saw me texting you once... and they noticed I'd been messaging someone named Jane for a long time... and it just spread."

St-Simon couldn't help but laugh. "Even a Siberian wolf tucks its tail between its legs."

Ilya shot him a death glare. St-Simon quickly looked away.

Carmichael was grinning now. “So we spent months trying to figure out who Jane was… and she was right here the whole time?”

Marlow whistled. “Guess that means we’ve got two couples in the locker room now.”

Carmichael blinked. “Two?”

Marlow pointed at Shane and Ilya. “Them.” Then pointed at him and empty air. “Me and loneliness.”

Chapter 32: The Final

Chapter Notes

I couldn't find the full team name and player names of Detroit, so I just used a few random names.ヾ⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉ

June 2018 — Boston

The announcer's voice echoed through TD Garden. "Hockey fans here and watching at home, welcome to the NHL Finals. Tonight's game features the Boston Bears hosting the visiting Detroit Engine."

On the ice, players from both sides took their positions. Ilya stood in the center circle, facing Detroit's Grant.

The whistle blew.

"Grant wins the face-off. Detroit launches their first attack, passes to right wing Whitaker. Whitaker shoots—saved by the goalie!"

Boston's several breakouts were all intercepted. The puck seesawed back and forth at center ice.

"Counterattack! Detroit capitalizes! Shot—it's in! Detroit scores first! End of the first period, Boston Bears trail 0-1!"

The second period began. Marlow came off, replaced by Shane.

"Rozanov at center, Hollander on left wing—this combination has appeared a few times in the playoffs, and it always brings surprises."

The whistle blew. Ilya won the face-off in the circle and passed to Shane.

"Hollander receives the puck! Accelerates across the blue line! Fakes out Whitaker—shoots! Goal! The score is tied 1-1!"

By the third period, both teams showed signs of fatigue, collisions becoming more frequent.

Shane received a pass from Carmichael, preparing to break through, when Detroit's Grant body-checked him hard from the side.

Ilya came charging over. "You son of a bitch!"

The two collided.

"A fight! Rozanov and Grant. Players from both sides swarm in. The refs rush in, trying to separate them."

The brawl lasted half a minute before the officials finally pulled everyone apart.

"Grant gets a 5-minute major penalty, Rozanov gets 2. Boston gets a power play! This is their last chance!"

Carmichael passed to Shane. He faked out Whitaker and scored.

"2-1! Boston takes the lead!"

The final countdown began.

The crowd's countdown was deafening.

Buzzer.

"The game is over! The Boston Bears defeat the Detroit Engine 3-1 to win the Stanley Cup! Their first championship since 2014!"

The ice flooded with people. Teammates tore off their helmets, embracing family and friends. The Cup was passed around.

Shane and Ilya locked eyes. Yes, they were going to do something big.

Then Ilya reached out, pulled him into his arms, and leaned down to kiss him. Shane kissed him back immediately, his arms wrapping around Ilya's neck.

"...wow... ladies and gentlemen, I can't believe my eyes—Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are kissing! Following Scott Hunter, another pair of players came out on the ice! And it's the league's most famous former rivals—Rozanov and Hollander!"

Shane looked at him and suddenly laughed. "You're crying."

Ilya glared at him. "I am not."

"You are."

"Shut up."

Then they kissed again.

The cheers erupted once more, louder than before.

Chapter 33: Come out

Post-game Press Conference

The press conference room was packed. Cameras, microphones, flashing lights—all aimed at the two people on the dais.

Shane and Ilya sat side-by-side in the center. Beneath the table, their hands were quietly clasped together.

Reporters clamored, hands shooting up. "Just now on the ice, you kissed each other. Does that mean you're coming out?"

Ilya leaned into the microphone, his voice calm. "Yes."

The room erupted. Flashes went crazy.

Another reporter jumped in. "Your relationship was once defined by rivalry—how did it develop into this?"

Shane took the microphone, his tone measured. "We never really had a rivalry from the start. That was a label ESPN forced on us."

He paused, glancing at Ilya.

"We became teammates on the same team. Then we developed mutual respect, then friendship, and finally..." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "We developed feelings for each other."

A third reporter's tone was sharp. "Doesn't this just confirm that you 'betrayed' Montreal?"

The team PR person started to stand up to intervene, but Shane was already speaking. "Regarding my departure from Montreal, it was an internal decision by Montreal, not my personal choice. If you have further questions, please direct them to Montreal."

The reporter tried to press further, but more hands shot up, voices clamoring for attention.

"Will your relationship become a burden to the team?"

"Did your teammates know beforehand?"

"Rozanov, you've always been known as a playboy. Suddenly coming out and being with Hollander—is there more to the story?"

"Was the kiss a calculated PR stunt?"

The questions grew more intrusive. The team PR person finally couldn't take it anymore, stepping in front of them. "Thank you everyone. This press conference is now over. Thank you all."

Locker Room

The space was unusually quiet. Most of the team had already left—some to celebrate with family, others too tired to stay.

Only Shane and Ilya remained.

Shane leaned back against the wall and let out a long, shaky breath.

Ilya stepped in front of him, looking down.

“You okay?”

Shane nodded once—then shook his head.

Ilya didn’t speak. He just reached out and pulled Shane into his arms.

Shane buried his face in Ilya’s shoulder. “I’m… tired.”

Ilya pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We did it.”

They stood like that for a long minute—quiet, holding on.

Then a small noise.

The door cracked open. A head poked in.

St-Simon, cautious. “Uh… I forgot my towel…”

Ilya didn’t let go of Shane. He just reached behind him, grabbed the nearest towel, and threw it.

St-Simon yelped and ducked back out.

The door clicked shut again.

Farah had already released the official statement. Social media lit up almost instantly.

@yuna_hollander

 I am so proud of you two. Love you forever. 💙🖤

@roselandry_offical

Finally! Waited so long for this. Love you both! ❤️

@SvetlanaVetrova

 Я так горжусь тобой, Илюша ❤️ (I’m so proud of you, Ilyusha ❤️)

@NHL

Congratulations to the Boston Bears—2018 Stanley Cup Champions! And congratulations to Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov on publicly sharing their relationship. The NHL welcomes and supports the LGBTQ+ community. 🌈🏒

@scott_hunter

You two deserve every second of this moment. 🌈🏒

And then the rest—fan replies, supporter messages, even people who had never watched hockey before:

“Congratulations.”

“We support you.”

 “You’re not alone.”

Shane scrolled slowly through his phone. His eyes felt hot.

Hunter was right.

There were more people on their side than he’d ever imagined.

Ilya kissed his hair again. Softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

The locker-room door cracked open once more.

St-Simon’s voice floated through the gap,“…Can I come in now?”

Ilya grabbed another towel and threw it.

St-Simon's yelp echoed from the hallway.

Chapter 34: Reflection

Chapter Notes

During I was writing this, I thought of some lyrics.

That it's finally me and you, and you and me
Just us, and your friend Hayden
Do-do-do-do-do-do

June 2018—Montreal

After the relationship went public, life changed.

Not for the worse—just… freer.

They could walk down the street side by side without glancing over their shoulders. Hold hands in restaurants. Post photos of each other on Instagram without worrying about every caption being dissected.

Hayden invited them over. Shane hesitated at first, knowing Hayden's instinctive reaction to Ilya was always to snipe at him.

But Jackie added on the phone, "The kids are asking to see 'Uncle Shane and his handsome friend.'"

Shane caved instantly.

When Hayden opened the door and saw Ilya standing there, a complicated expression flashed across his face—the kind that said I should say something, but I really don’t want to. He cleared his throat, “Hi.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk already in place. “Pike. You gonna set a good example for the kids or what?”

Hayden's face darkened.

Shane sighed, pushing Ilya forward. "Alright, alright, let's just get inside."

Hayden closed the door and crossed his arms, staring at Ilya. "I still can't figure out what you see in that jerk."

Ilya immediately fired back. "Hey, Pike, just because you can't beat me at hockey doesn't mean you have to insult me."

Before he could finish, Jade and Ruby came barreling out like two little missiles. "It's Ilya Rozanov! In person!" "Are you really with Uncle Shane?"

Ilya crouched down. "That's right, little princesses."

He was promptly grabbed by one hand each and dragged into the living room to play with toys.

Shane and Hayden sat on one corner of the couch, watching the kids treat Ilya like a jungle gym. Amber slept soundly in Hayden's arms.

Hayden was quiet for a moment, then spoke. "Never would have guessed. Boston Lily was Rozanov all along."

Shane chuckled softly. "I thought about telling you, but I never found the right moment."

Hayden watched as Ruby climbed onto Ilya's back, then turned back with a resigned look. "He's a jerk. Are you sure about this?"

Shane turned to look at him, his tone calm. "I know it's hard for you to believe. But you also know I've been with 'Lily' for a long time."

He paused, watching Ilya across the room, roughhousing with the twins.

A smile tugged unconsciously at Shane's lips.

"I love him," he said. "And he loves me."

Hayden was silent for a long moment.

Then he sighed. "...Alright."

Jackie brought the last dish to the table. Ilya and the twins stopped playing and came over for dinner.

"Is Uncle Shane your husband?" Ruby asked.

Ilya startled. "No."

Jade then asked Shane, "Are you his husband?"

"That's not how..." Shane started, then stopped. "We're not married."

Jade and Ruby asked in unison, "Are you going to get married?"

Shane and Ilya locked eyes. Shane's expression screamed "help me."

Ilya's expression replied "deal with it yourself."

Jackie laughed from the sidelines, setting down her plate. "Uncle Shane and his friend aren't at that stage yet."

The twins looked disappointed.

---

Back at the cottage that night, Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Marriage,” he muttered to himself. “What does marriage even need?”

He googled for half an hour. His head hurt worse.

Legal documents. Marriage license. Witnesses. Signatures. Notarization. A whole list of things he didn’t understand.

Finally he gave up and called Farah.

“Farah. I need your help.”

“I want to get married.”

There was three seconds of silence on the other end.

Then Farah laughed. "Finally. Alright, I'll handle the paperwork."

Ilya lowered his voice. "Don't tell Shane."

After hanging up, Ilya fell into another dilemma.

The ring.

They were hockey players. During training and games, they couldn't wear any jewelry. The ring would just sit in a locker, only taken out to look at occasionally.

He wanted something he could carry with him always.

After much thought, he chose a necklace.

Chapter 35: Proposal

July 2018— Ottawa

Shane glanced at Ilya as they stood in the cottage kitchen. “Mom’s going shopping and asked me to help carry stuff.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t Yuna ask me?”

Shane patted his shoulder with a grin. “Because I’m more reliable than you.”

Ilya clutched his chest in mock offense. “Looks like I’m no longer Yuna’s favorite son.”

Shane laughed and headed out the door.

After Shane left, Ilya could finally put his plan into action.

---

When Shane returned to the cottage, the sun was already setting.

Shane frowned. "What's going on? You didn't turn on the lights?"

Ilya suddenly stood up, grabbed his wrist, and said, "Come with me."

He led Shane down to the lake.

It was pitch black.

Ilya pressed a remote in his hand, and electronic candles flickered to life all around them. Warm golden halos surrounded them layer by layer, the heart-shaped clearing in the middle like a stage designed just for the two of them. The lake reflected the points of light, like it was scattered with stars.

Shane's heartbeat began to race.

He had imagined this scene before. I wondered who would speak first, where it would happen.

But standing here now, his mind went completely blank.

Ilya knelt on one knee before him.

"What is this?" Shane asked softly.

Ilya looked up at him, his expression firm and steady. "I've been thinking about a lot of things."

"We've wasted so much time, years of denial, then years of hiding what we are to each other."

"Ilya——"

"Could you not interrupt?" Ilya smiled wryly. "For once in your life?"

Shane shut up, but his eyes were already red.

"Now that we can live in the light," Ilya fumbled to pull a necklace box from his pocket, "I want to face the future together with you."

Shane's eyes burned, his voice trembling. "Ilya..."

"Shane, I want to spend every day with you, every season, build a happy family together." Ilya took a deep breath, opened the necklace box, and said solemnly, "Shane Hollander, will you marry me?"

Shane stood frozen, processing the words. Tears silently streamed down his face. Suddenly, he replied in Russian, "Илья Григорьевич Розанов, я согласен." (Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, I do.)

Ilya stood up and pulled Shane into a tight hug, fastening the necklace around his neck.

"How did you know my full name?" he asked, his voice a little shaky.

Shane leaned against his shoulder and smiled, " Because I was planning the exact same thing."

He pulled a small black velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a pair of simple rings.

"Too bad you beat me to it," Shane said quietly. "I lied about going to help Mom carry things just now."

Ilya held out his hand, and Shane slipped the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly.

"When did you secretly measure?" Ilya asked.

Shane blushed. "While you were sleeping." He held Ilya's hand, murmuring softly, "It looks so good."

Ilya leaned down and kissed him, his voice choked. "We can wear the rings during the day. When we need to take them off... we can hang them on the necklaces."

They embraced, the necklace and rings shimmering together in the candlelight.

In that moment, they finally had a complete future.