Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Sexual Repression, Sexuality Crisis, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, POV Shane Hollander, Autistic Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, At least with the show (idk about the books)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of SnailyMaily HR fics

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-01 Completed: 2026-05-02 Words: 3,346 Chapters: 3/3

The To-Don't List

Summary

He’d been telling himself for years now, this time would be the last time. That after this time, he would finally have enough to sustain him, enough to manage. They should not be doing this. He should not be doing this. He should not even want to be doing this.

Still no text.

This thing with Rozanov had been going on long enough. Shane hadn't been able to put a stop to it yet, but maybe he could try a new approach. He could write a list: "why this has to be the last time".

Notes

In my heart, Shane Hollander is a lister. I just know his notes app is chock full of all his thoughts organised in neat bullet points. It only makes sense that his internalised homophobia/repression would get a list too. This is mostly set in the hookup/situationship era, post-Vegas and pre-tuna melt. I hope you enjoy ♡

If you have read any of my other fics, please be aware this is not a funny one! We're getting into feelings on this fine spring morning (or whenever you're reading this).

Chapter 1: Write

Losing to the Raiders always stung a little extra, and an overtime loss had its own signature bitterness. Shane had dipped out of the commiseration drinks and was wallowing in his hotel room alone, waiting to be summoned by text by the man responsible for that loss, who was probably still out celebrating the win with his team.

As soon as he’d stepped off the ice tonight, all the calm and focus had been zapped from Shane’s body, leaving behind an itchy feeling he just couldn’t scratch. It was always like this in Boston. At least when they played in Montreal, it was his home turf, he was the one who could choose to send the text. Not that it was much of a choice, he always did. But here, he was like a dog waiting to be told to fetch.

He checked his phone again: still no text.

It had been enough times now that he should have lost count. He hadn’t. But he should have. Normally Shane was an expert at doing what he should. He should stick to his meal plan, so he did. He should wear his Reeboks, so he did. He should smile politely and give his well-practised answer to ‘how does it feel to be a role model to young Asians?’, so he did. ‘Should’ always came first. No excuses and no exceptions. That is what made Shane the best.

He knew this thing with Rozanov was not something he should be doing. That was almost the first thing that crossed his mind when he’d passed him that water bottle on the cold hotel gym floor after the draft. Almost. But that day, just like Shane himself, that thought had suddenly come second. In fact, whenever Rozanov was concerned, the thought of what Shane should do, always came a second too late, always pipped to the post. By this feeling.

It didn’t have a name. Maybe Shane could have named it if he had tried, but that was definitely not something he should do. It wasn’t a temptation, not a want, not exactly a need, no, it was more like… a hunger. Like whatever this thing was between them it was some kind of sustenance, a macro he didn’t realise he should have been tracking, a deficiency his blood work had never detected. And every time they had these secret meetings in dark rooms, it was like swallowing a whole tub of vitamins. Too much all at once, and yet still not enough.

He’d been telling himself for years now, this time would be the last time. That after this time, he would finally have enough to sustain him, enough to manage. They should not be doing this. He should not be doing this. He should not even want to be doing this.

Still no text.

It was pointless really. He’d tried to talk himself down so many times. Sometimes, in a similarly dark hotel room somewhere on the west coast, he’d finally convince himself. He’d think ‘I can manage without this’. He’d delude himself that the next time he received that text, he’d finally say no. Or maybe he just wouldn’t answer. Rozanov would understand. But soon he’d be back in Boston, teeth grinding, toe tapping, forcing his eyes to look anywhere other than his phone screen.

Shane never coped well with losing, and tonight he was going to lose twice. It wasn’t like he could even blame this one on bad luck or team injuries. No, Shane was the only one responsible for this failure, for this lack of discipline. Normally a loss only served as motivation for him to win next time. Rozanov beat him in the Prospect Cup, so he beat him the next year; Rozanov beat him in the draft so he beat him to Rookie of the Year; Rozanov won the cup first so he won it the next year. So why didn’t that work for this? In fact, it was almost the opposite: each time he gave in, it made it harder to resist.

Still no text.

Maybe he was going about this wrong. Maybe it was just like that time in juniors, when his coach had made him train with a left-handed stick for a full month. He’d felt stupid, dropping pucks like it was his first time on a rink again. He didn’t understand why his coach felt he deserved this humiliation – was it some kind of punishment? Was it supposed to humble him? Make the rest of his team feel better about themselves because they could almost keep up for once? It was the first time in his life he didn’t want to go to training. He had almost got to the point of pretending to be sick just to avoid the embarrassment. But he didn’t.

No, instead he had sat down at the kitchen table with a notepad and a pen and he’d written “reasons I need to go and train with a stupid backwards stick even though I don’t want to” at the top. He had sat there for at least an hour, and managed to come up with 14 reasons, not least of all was “because I’m still better than all of them and I need to prove it”. By the time his dad was jangling the car keys and telling him to fetch his hockey bag, he’d convinced himself.

Maybe that could work with Rozanov? It was worth a try. Shane picked up his stupid silent phone – still no text – and opened his notes app. New note. “Why this has to be the last time”. Bullet points. Okay.

He sat and stared at the empty screen for a moment before he started typing.

• Someone will find out

He gulped. The terror that was normally confined to a pit in his stomach flared for a moment and he felt a little sick.

• They could stop me from playing

He laughed bitterly. Shane knew he was the best player in the league. Rozanov was the only one who could even compete. They scored the most goals, they got the most points, they’d won their team the fucking cup as captains within only a few years – hell, they even sold the most fucking jerseys. He also knew none of that would matter to the league if their secret got out. Rival captains hiding a gay affair? They would be dropped from the league and scrubbed from the record books in no time. He wouldn’t win a second cup, he wouldn’t build a dynasty, his jersey wouldn’t be retired in the rafters above his home rink. No, it simply wasn’t an option.

• I am the captain, I can’t lie to my team

Now it was the guilt’s turn. A hot, heavy feeling rose in Shane’s throat. He thought of Hayden and JJ, of his whole team, who put their bodies on the line for each other every time. He thought of their faces when they had won the cup: pure joy and disbelief beaming across the rink. They looked to him to lead. They trusted him. And he was fucking Ilya Rozanov.

Then, the guilt deepened, rising through his chest. He typed, the screen going a little blurry.

• I can’t lie to my parents

Shane blinked back the tears before they had a chance to fall. His mom had always been his biggest supporter. Even now when he had thousands of fans at every game and he’d had to ask Farah to manage his Instagram inbox because some of them were a little too enthusiastic, none of them had anything on Yuna Hollander. She had bought him his first pair of skates and signed him up for his first team. Since he had joined the big leagues, his mom had given up her whole life to support him, taking care of everything else so he could focus on his performance. Both his parents had watched every game, cheering him on for every win and comforting him with every loss. He couldn’t throw that all away. He couldn’t disappoint them like that. He thought of the way they spoke about Rozanov. His mom probably hated him as much as the fans thought Shane did, maybe even more. He imagined telling her what he let him do to him in the secrecy of dark hotel rooms. He knew his parents loved him. He couldn’t risk losing that too.

He swallowed and took a deep breath before refocusing on his list.

• I’m not gay

Shane sat chewing on the inside of his cheek. He knew he wasn’t gay: he’d had girlfriends before, he’d kissed women – hell, he’d had sex with women. It was never the same as at was with Rozanov – obviously – but it was… fine. He’d just had bad luck. Clearly he’d only been with women who weren’t a good match. That was a thing wasn’t it? Shane was pretty sure it was.

But one day he’d find the right woman for him and that would be that. No more making excuses that he was just ‘stressed’ or ‘not in the mood’; no more closing his eyes and imagining she was someone else; no more sneaking around to hookup with Russian hockey players after dark. No, once Shane met the right woman, all that would go away. He’d be like Hayden with Jackie – although probably with less kids – it would be perfect. No he couldn’t be gay. Not if he wanted that. Right?

A text popped up on the screen.

Lily: Four Seasons. 1464. 10:30pm.

Shane’s heart leapt. Anything he might have been feeling just a moment earlier was forgotten as his body was overtaken by a warm buzz. He checked the time: 10:12. He put his shoes on and grabbed a jacket. Last time. This is the last time.

Chapter 2: Read

Their next game in Boston was almost a stalemate, but Hayden had clinched the win with a rebound off JJ’s slapshot attempt in the the last 3 minutes. It was a tough game, but it felt good to leave with two points, or at least that's what Shane had told the press. It was certainly a much better result than the brutal 4-1 defeat they had suffered against the Raiders on the Montreal ice only a few weeks previously. Shane hadn’t even looked at his list that night; the frustration that had built up inside him had to be taken out on someone, and who better than the smug asshole that had spent the entire third period smirking at him from across the ice?

Shane hadn’t managed to excuse himself from the celebrations this time, but he had gulped down his singular ginger ale as fast as he could, and disappeared back to the safety of his hotel room. He had told himself he wanted an early night.

He stripped and stepped into the shower, falling into his new habit of reciting his list. He had spent most of the lead up to this game alternating between watching tape and reading those words. It was almost a mantra at this point. Shane was determined that last time would be the last time. He wouldn’t be heading to any rendezvous this evening – he couldn’t.

So why did he find himself doing his pre-Rozanov routine? He only realised when he caught himself getting dressed again instead of slipping on his sweats. Before long he was back in his usual position, perched on the side of the bed, desperately trying to not stare at his phone. Poised and ready for Rozanov to make his move. It was like his body had made the decision before his brain had a chance to intervene.

No. He had already decided. This wasn’t happening.

How had he let it get to this point? He knew every reason why this absolutely could not happen – the list was practically etched into his brain. So why was his body refusing to cooperate?

He pulled up the list and read it again.

• Someone will find out

• They could stop me from playing

• I am the captain, I can’t lie to my team

• I can’t lie to my parents

• I’m not gay

He reread it a few times, stopping to consider each point.

He didn’t really need the note at this point, so he closed his eyes and took and deep breath, swapping to his memorised mantra. Tonight he was going to win, finally. He locked his phone and placed it face down on the bed. ‘Someone will find out’. He took a deep breath and fetched his sleep sweats from his bag. It was an old comfy Metros shirt and grey sweatpants emblazoned with an ‘M’. ‘They could stop me from playing’. He started peeling off the shirt he had only just put on. ‘I am the captain, I can’t lie to my team’. He pulled the old t-shirt over his head. ‘I can’t lie to my parents’. He unbuckled his belt and pulled off his pants, folding them neatly in his bag. ‘I’m not gay’. He pulled his grey sweatpants over his legs.

Deep breath.

‘Someone will find out’. He tentatively picked up his phone, carefully keeping the screen pointed away from him, and placed it on the nightstand. ‘They could stop me from playing’. He grabbed his charger and plugged it in to charge his phone overnight. ‘I am the captain, I can’t lie to my team’. He grabbed a glass from the tray on the dresser. ‘I can’t lie to my parents’. He went to the bathroom and filled the glass from the tap. ‘I’m not gay’. He glanced up at his reflection, a determined stony-faced grimace staring back at him.

Deep breath.

Shane got into bed and lay there, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling in the dim light.

His phone buzzed. It was in his hands in seconds.

Lily: The Godfrey, 923, 11pm

Shane stared up at the dimly lit ceiling and gulped. It was like his whole body was on fire. He checked the time: 10:18pm.

‘Someone will find out’.

He could be sneaky. They had been doing this long enough it was easy for them now, and no one had caught on yet. His best friend that he literally shared hotel rooms with had barely noticed that there was a ‘Lily’, let alone who that Lily might be. There was no reason to think they couldn’t keep this up. His whole team was at a bar, they wouldn’t even know that he had left the hotel again, let alone where he had gone.

‘They could stop me playing’.

They could fucking try. Everyone knew Hollander and Rozanov were the best. They basically were the league at this point. The whole reason they had this stupid fucking rivalry is because the MLH saw an opportunity to reverse their luck and it had worked. Viewership had risen immediately and crowds had never been louder. Ticket sales, jersey sales, everything was up. Shane knew this secret could end an MLH career overnight but could it really end his? The MLH was many things but it always followed the money. Even if they somehow found out – which was absolutely not on Shane’s agenda – surely they would choose whichever action lined their pockets the most. Shane could work with that.

‘I am the captain, I can’t lie to my team’.

Clearly he fucking could. He had been for years. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t working. He’d taken a team that was only just treading water and brought them a cup within 5 seasons. They were top of their division again this year, practically guaranteed a playoff spot already, and the odds had them as favourites to win it again this year. Consecutive cups. If Shane could win them two in a row, he was pretty sure they could forgive whatever lies he fed them.

‘I can’t lie to my parents’.

Shane loved his parents. He truly did. And he knew they only wanted what was best for him. But he was a grown man. He could make his own choices, and they didn’t need to weigh in every time. They knew everything about his life. They had access to every calendar; they had a key to his apartment, to his cottage; they knew every detail of every contract, of every commercial deal he had ever signed. Was it really so bad to have something just for himself?

‘I’m not gay’.

Yeah, he wasn’t. And one day he would find his Jackie, just like Hayden did. He couldn’t really picture what she might look like, but she would be pretty of course. He’d take her to meet his parents, and maybe her parents would be hockey fans too. They would be disgustingly in love and get married and probably have a couple of kids. He’d complain about how difficult roadies were without her, and they’d have sickeningly sweet phone calls before and after every game. He’d be just like all the other guys on the team.

But he’d known most of these guys before they got married. He might not have joined them in many clubs over the years, but he knew they’d had plenty of fun. Yeah, they obviously weren’t hooking up with players on rival teams, but they weren’t exactly saving themselves for marriage. So why couldn’t Shane do the same? There was no reason he couldn’t hook up with whoever he wanted. One day, when he met his future wife, he would be able to give it all up easily. But he hadn’t found her yet, so until then, Rozanov would have to do.

He reread the message. It was 10:21. He got out of bed and got dressed again. He could have this one.

Chapter 3: Delete

Chapter Notes

Shane had always loved how the early morning light reflected off the gentle ripples of the lake. He watched it dance on the ceiling as he drifted into consciousness. He could feel the warmth radiating from where Ilya’s body was draped over his, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept peacefully, soft breath against his collarbone. It had only been a few days, but Shane was already becoming accustomed to waking with their bodies intertwined.

Two nights ago Ilya had told him he loved him. Yesterday, Shane had introduced him to his parents. Today he woke with his boyfriend in his arms. They had a plan to build a life together. He pressed his nose into Ilya’s soft curls, as if the faint smell of shampoo and smoke would convince him that any of this was real.

His mind drifted lazily back to all the years of hotel rooms. To waking up alone after secret nights spent together. To all the touching and kissing and fucking, to being as close as two people can be whilst still trying to hold the other at arm’s length. To trying to delude himself every time that he would somehow be able to give this up. To trying to convince himself to stay away as if he had ever really had any say in the matter.

Shane remembered his list. He breathed a soft laugh into Ilya’s curls, feeling them dance against his face. It had been a long time since he had last recited those words. He thought back to all the times he had tried to use them to bully himself out of seeing Ilya. It had never worked. Not once. He had been stupid to think it would. As if a few words and bullet points had any chance against this.

Carefully, trying not to wake Ilya, Shane reached over and lifted his phone from his night stand. He held it up above Ilya’s head and opened his notes app, his fingers navigating back to his list with practiced ease. Three dots. Delete. He snuggled his face further into the soft mass of hair, pressing a gentle kiss onto Ilya’s crown. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth spread through him. This wouldn’t be the last time. He hoped there never was a last time.

Chapter End Notes

Only a short one to finish, I hope you enjoyed! Just didn't want to leave us wallowing in the angst when we'd all rather be in the cottage ❤︎⁠