Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Man in the Crease - Character

Additional Tags:

Disabled Character, Past Injuries, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Canon Autistic Character, Career Ending Injuries, Chronic Pain, First Date, Dating, Podcast

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-12 Words: 10,179 Chapters: 1/1

Back in the crease

Summary

“I will be quick,” Ilya’s voice was unusually quiet. “I wanted to ask…”
“What?” Shane imagined all manner of questions. How are you? Will you ever get better? Is this the life you’re living now, really? Shane fucking Hollander, podcaster? Aren’t you ashamed of this pathetic existence?
“I wanted to ask you out.”
Shane’s brain stopped. He blinked. He might have swayed. “Out where?”
“Out on date.”
“What?”

Years later, after winning cups that should have gone to Montreal, Ilya hears Shane Hollander's voice again. On the popular podcast Man in the Crease.

Notes

Note on timeline: I fudged things a bit. Shane gets a worse hit before he wins his second cup, and this change obviously changes who gets which cup. But somehow Rose is still here, because Shane needs his bestie. But also, I do not care about timelines much, so just consider the whole thing a divergence.

Also, in this version the podcast's recording studio is in Ottawa, because I say so.

I am a sufferer of chronic pain and a late-diagnosed autistic, but I do not watch hockey.

This story now has a mirror version with Ilya being the injured party: Back in Boston

“Welcome to in the Crease, your one stop for all things hockey. I am your host, Connor.”

“And I’m Shaun.”

“And with us today is a very special guest. None other than former Metros’ star center, cup winner, Rookie of the year winner, and I’m sure a bunch of other accolades I’m forgetting; it’s Shane Hollander! Welcome, Shane, to the crease.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“I think we’re the ones who want to thank you. I know a lot of people have been hoping you would step back into the hockey world, even in some small way, so we are very grateful to have you here, so we can talk shop with the man with the highest hockey IQ in… well, in the world, I’m pretty sure.”

“Not sure about that, but thanks.”

“I hate to start with this, since I really do want to focus on the draft, but it will be the elephant in the room otherwise, so I’m just going to come out and ask: how are you these days?”

“I’m doing well, as well as I can, I mean. I’m back on my feet, which was more than many dared hope for. I am as healthy as it’s possible to be, all things considered.”

“Glad to hear it. I know we have all… I hate to say it, but there really is no other word for it… we have all, collectively, mourned the career you could have had. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you. It must have been hell to basically reboot your life plan like that.”

“It’s been… hard, I’m not going to lie. Hockey is the only thing I ever wanted to do, so to not be able to do it, it… fucking sucks- sorry, I-“

“No worries, you can swear, this is a podcast.”

“You should swear.”

“OK, good, but uh… I’m in a better place now. I miss it, obviously. But, I started listening to you guys, and it made me realize I still love the game, even just watching it, and then I heard you reached out, so I thought… yeah, I think I’m ready to talk about hockey again.”

“And we are very happy to let you talk hockey all day, man. Let’s jump right in, shall we. Connor, you got the list of our new hopefuls?”

The last text Ilya got from Shane was “I can’t talk.” Ilya had tried to call, but Shane rejected it.

Ilya had spent the first twenty-four hours after Shane’s hit during the Metros game against Detroit falling apart. He and “Jane” were just a hook-up. He shouldn’t be this obsessed with checking the news, but he had sent a text even though he knew Shane probably was not prioritizing updating his fuck-buddy.

Lily: I hope you are ok.

Twelve hours later, Jane: I’m alive, thanks.

That sounded… ok? Ilya had no idea if that meant Shane was seriously injured or just shrugging it off.

Lily: Good, I was worried.

There, he could say that at least. Shane deserved to hear that he did not wish death on his rival.

Jane: Thank you.

Ilya forced himself to wait another twenty-four hours. Still no official news from the Metros.

Lily: How are you?

No answer.

Six months later, it was official: Shane Hollander would not be returning to hockey for the foreseeable future. Ilya knew what that meant. Shane would never let a press release like that go out unless all hope of a return was gone. 

The news made Ilya’s knees buckle. Hockey without Shane was inconceivable. He had tried to call immediately. All he got was the text.

Jane: I can’t talk.

Lily: Call me when you can, please?

He tried calling again a few days later. No response at all.

After Boston’s next game, a brutal confrontation with the Admirals, Ilya had to face the reporters.

“Any comment on Shane Hollander’s retirement?”

He knew they would ask. He had rehearsed a PR answer. Instead of giving it, he froze. The noise from the gaggle of reporters slowly stilled as well, as though the air had left the room. The microphone picked up his swallow.

“This game is sometimes cruel,” he heard himself say. “When we played against each other, I was the best I could be. But he is not dead. I doubt this is the last we will hear from Shane Hollander.”

He nodded once and left. He slipped into the locker room before the reporters woke from their stupor, their shrill questions being replaced by music from someone’s speaker.

Ilya kept checking the news, wrote a hundred text he never sent, and kept playing. The first time against the Metros without Shane was a joke.

He won the cup again. It should have gone to Shane, a tiny voice inside him said.

Then the next year Scott Hunter took the cup and came out spectacularly. Ilya hated that he couldn’t call Shane about it. He felt the ground shift beneath him and dreamed of Shane there to steady him.

One month after that, he got outed himself. A stupid kiss in a stupid nightclub. His first thought had not been his family, Russia, the press or his teammates. He had only thought how he wished he could explain to Shane that the guy was no one. He pictured Shane’s pinched face when he saw the photo. He wanted to text him and say that he had been stupid and desperate.

But they were nothing to each other. Shane probably did not care at all. He had his own shit to deal with.

Not everyone on the team cared. Since he was clearly bi, many seemed to think it was a European thing. But the team still wanted him to leave on his own accord, to spare them the hassle of harassing him out.

Just when he thought he would lose everything and be sent back to Russia, the Ottawa Centaurs reached out and rescued him.

So, he got to keep playing. He had to build a team from scratch again. Ilya Rozanov, even though he did not deserve it, got to keep playing while Shane Hollander was missing in action. There had been no news since the press release. Shane had become a private person. The world gossiped about him, but the rumors were outrageous or stupid. Slowly, it went quiet.

Ilya stopped reading. He deleted their text thread, though he kept the number. He filtered his news and social media feed so he wouldn’t see any speculation. It was either that or drown in it.

The Centaurs won the cup because Ilya was good at his job. He even felt happy, lifting the cup with teammates who supported him. His life raft.

A tiny voice said that the Metros would have taken it if Hollander had still been there.

On the first practice back after the break, he heard Shane’s voice, and he sounded happy. Or at least, not as hollowed out that Ilya had imagined him being.

“What is that?” he asked. Troy jumped at the question. He had been trying to pair his headset to his phone, but when he pressed play the sound had come from the speaker.

“Oh, it’s in the crease? The hockey podcast?”

“Shane Hollander is a being interviewed?” Why on earth would he agree to that? Ilya thought.

“Oh, no, he’s the co-host now! He’s fucking great, man. He has the best takes. But never mean, you know, like the other two? I think it’s because he gets it-“

Ilya did not hear the rest. He left the gym and downloaded the first podcast app he could find.

He finally heard Shane’s voice again. He sounded… so good. He talked, more than Ilya had ever heard him talk before, and not in the PR way he used to in interviews. The three men had a good rhythm.

He found himself slipping down the wall to sit on the floor outside the gym.

He did not move until the episode finished.

Ilya could not describe the feeling he got when he listened to the podcast. He hated it, but from that moment on he never missed an episode.

Shane never spoke about his private life. But after googling how the man had ended up on the podcast in the first place, Ilya did learn that Shane had come out on the podcast sometime after Ilya’s own outing and move to Ottawa. He went back and found that episode.

“I am obviously not accusing anyone of anything here, but do we think it’s odd that Boston lets Rozanov, who has won them two cups, go to Ottawa right after being outed as bi?” The host, Connor, asked.

“It’s crazy if true. Shane, do you think this is locker-room politics?”

“I won’t be speculating on that, guys.” Shane’s voice was soft, so much better to listen to than the others. “I will say that, as a gay man myself, I would seriously question any team who lets talent walk out the door due to their sexuality.”

“Well said. Obviously, we do not know anything except the official story.”

“But I think we all wish Rozanov a hell of a season with the Centaurs.”

And that was that. His co-hosts had probably known what Shane was going to say, but the sheer casualness of Shane’s voice was world-tilting.

Ilya proceeded to listen to every single episode Shane had been on.

The second time they spoke about him, he nearly stumbled while he was out jogging.

“What are we thinking about the Centaurs vs. Metros game? Will this be the underdog story for the history books? Can Ottawa actually win the cup?”

“I’ll try not to be biased towards my hometown,” Hollander’s voice was thoughtful and amused. “But I think the Centaurs can take the cup, absolutely. In fact, I think what Rozanov has built in Ottawa is… beyond impressive. He has always been one of the best, first draft before me if you’ll recall. He’s a future hall of famer, I think.”

“You heard it here first, folks. Put it on the Hollander predicts board.”

“I am not betting against that.” The other co-host laughed.

“You played together once, in an all-star game, how was he like as a teammate?”

“He was great.” Ilya felt his heart in his throat at how quickly and easily Shane said it. “We…” Shane’s voice got quiet, sad. But Ilya was sure only he could truly hear the emotions. “We had instant chemistry. Assisted me in a great goal, I remember.”

“His reputation as a…”

“Rake.”

“Rake?”

“My girlfriend reads romance novels.” Ilya opened the browser on his phone to search for the term. He grinned when he saw the definition.

“Right, ok, I think asshole has been more commonly used, but when you played, Shane, did you feel his reputation was warranted?”

The silence became prolonged. Ilya froze, wondering why Shane was taking so long to consider his answer. Finally, Shane’s measured voice spoke softly. “No, and I think his team would agree. If he was this big asshole everybody hates he would not have been able to lead cup-winning teams twice, as captain, in two different countries far from his own home. That speaks to his ability to connect with his teammates. It’s the same thing the media did with our rivalry. He was made out by the press to be the bad guy to my “nice Canadian” character. And it was a character. I’m not saying I don’t try to be nice.” The other two laughed. “But it was never what the media made it out to be. We played hard against each other, sure, but I know there was always respect, from both sides.”

“Well said, the media does love a good narrative.”

“We might be a little guilty of that ourselves!”

Ilya listened intently to the rest of the episode, not really hearing the words, but feeling Shane’s voice through his bones.

Shane Hollander joins The Man in the Crease crew as permanent co-host.

Shane normally did not read articles about himself. Since his forced retirement every single article had been a eulogy over the career that would never be, and reading them made him feel like he was dead, not injured. This one, however, he had to skim.

Hollander only needed a single hour on his first appearance on Man in the Crease to prove what we’ve known since his rookie year: the man has the highest hockey IQ in the league. Now, he has finally become a permanent presence.

Connor said in the world, Shane thought, a little smugly. He had been on the podcast two more times before they asked him to sign on to co-host for the rest of the season. Yuna was worried about “going back to work”, but Shane had felt such relief at the thought of a having a routine again, he had jumped at the chance. Even if he sometimes had to ask for accommodation for his aches and pains, the guys were nice about it. They had gotten him a giant ergonomic chair for his first co-hosting episode.

What is even more surprising is that Hollander also knows how to explain hockey to others in an engaging way. His enthusiasm is clear and he never assumes prior knowledge. Every question is answered without any air of superiority.

How do you answer a question with an air of superiority? Shane had trouble imagining what that would sound like.

Although it must sadden him to talk about a game he can no longer play, Hollander never lets it color his voice. Hollander sustained multiple fractures-

Shane stopped reading. He did not need a recounting of his medical history. His hips screamed at him, the pain beginning to feel piercing. He knew he needed to get up and move around a bit. It was a never-ending balancing act. Move too much, he ached, move too little, he locked up. He needed to stretch just right, exercise without too much impact. But he could never find a balance that left him pain free. It was only ever enough to keep him sane.

There had been moments when it had felt like he would never find peace again. During recovery, when it had become clear he would never get back on the ice, he had gone to dark places.

The pain moved around his body like a spider he could never catch. He put too much weight on his left side to spare his right, so the next week his left side was ruined. Suddenly, his shoulder hurt because he kept sleeping wrong. Then the pain would move slowly up his neck as he tensed more and more muscles to compensate, and by the end of the week he would get tension vertigo every time he turned his head.

This was his life now. He still had his family, and Hayden still came by, though that was still painful.

He had stopped texting Rozanov, obviously.

Shane felt shame, guilt, despair and rage whenever he had opened “Lily’s” texts. In a fit about a year ago he had deleted all of it, and then immediately had a panic attack about it.

He told himself it was better for both of them this way. They had nothing more to say to each other.

He wanted to hate him. Ilya was the version of him that got to play hockey. What was the point of hooking up if they didn’t both play hockey? If Ilya thought Shane was boring before, it was nothing compared to him being boring, slow and broken.

Shane had crawled out of his hole of despair only due to his support system, and finally, therapy. He told himself he would find something else. He would never even think about hockey ever again. His therapist did not exactly agree with that plan, but it was the only one he had.

Find something else. Something he could focus on as much as he once focused on hockey. Surely, in the entire world, there had to be something he could do? It was either that or give up.

Then, one day scrolling his very carefully non-hockey curated feed a highlight reel of Ilya popped up despite it all. Like the universe just had to remind him. All of Rozanov’s best shots last season set to some pop song. In an instant, Shane realized two undeniable facts:

Ilya Rozanov was now the league’s undisputed best hockey player. He was beauty on ice. And Shane loved watching him.

So, he watched a game. Then another. Then, considering he had “no job except recovery”, he started reading again. Before he knew it, his hockey knowledge was up-to-date and possibly even more obsessive than before. When he focused on hockey, his brain was quiet.

He realized he would never find anything else. There was nothing else.

When they asked him on the podcast, he made it clear: he would not be there to give an interview about the end of his career. But the guys didn’t want a tell-all tear-jerker, they wanted him to just talk about hockey.

And it was fun. It gave him something. And people seemed to enjoy listening to him, which had never happened to him before.

Before he knew it, people were stopping him in the street and asking about his current job, not the one he lost. The first time that happened, he felt a little lighter. That quick “Love listening to you, man, you got my wife to start watching hockey.” Made his day more than any fan asking for a picture during his Metro days.

Maybe he could be someone other than Shane Hollander, the walking dead. Even if it was just a silly little podcast. And unlike the interviews in the past, the podcast did not care what his face looked like, or that he took pauses. They could just edit those out. He and the guys soon developed signs and tells, so Shane could keep up and know when he was supposed to jump in. It was almost like teamwork.

“You doing good, Shane?”

Shane jumped a little at Connor’s voice. The sound proofing in the studio often made Shane jump whenever the door opened. But this time, he had not noticed until his co-host was right next to him.

“Yeah, good. Is he…uh, here yet?”

“Not yet. I’m just going to check everything over. Maybe you could meet him when he comes up?”

“Uh, sure.”

Shane left the studio, heart in his throat. The waiting area outside was small. Just a couch, a table, a water cooler. The podcast’s logo had been made into a big display on the wall. Other than that, it didn’t look very professional, but it was extremely cost-effective.

Shane knew he should sit and wait. Standing still was one of the worst things he did these days. But he also hated getting up and down from the low couch. Sometimes he felt like half his brain power went to calculating the least painful way to spend every waking minute.

Then the elevator doors slid open, and there was Ilya Rozanov.

He looked more than good. He looked even stronger than the last time Shane had seen him. He had a bag over his shoulder- maybe he had come straight from practice? His clothes were stylish, a nice grey pea coat and a dark red scarf. Despite his winter clothes, his size and strength were still undeniable. His hair was a mass of curls, his face slightly red from the cold-

“Hollander.”

Hearing his name in that accent made Shane’s heart skip. “Rozanov.” He heard his voice but couldn’t really feel his mouth move. “Welcome to the studio.”

“Happy to be here.”

“Mr. Rozanov!” Connor thankfully appeared and the room was filled with greetings, handshakes and instructions of where to put his gear, and then where to sit in the studio, and did he want a headset? Shane felt his face heat as he sat in his special chair, clearly different from the others, bigger, padded.

He busied himself with adjusting the headset and looking over his notes, trying to ignore how Connor helped Ilya with his headset.

Shaun arrived late, and another round of greetings were completed. Finally, they were all in place, and they started recording. There was no producer during recording, so it was just the four of them.

Shane was very grateful he never had to “switch on” right away. The other two always took care of the opening and “house keeping” as they called it. People wanted to hear Shane Hollander talk about hockey, and his co-hosts knew the best way to get him to talk was to not force him to speak until they asked the right question.

This time, however, would be different.

“So, we have with us one of the best hockey player in the world right now, Ottawa Centaurs captain Ilya Rozanov, welcome to the crease.”

“Thank you.”

“This is a rare treat. You seldom do longer interviews. Can I ask what made us the exception?”

“I knew Shane Hollander would not ask stupid questions. We would just talk hockey.”

“Good call!” Connor laughed. “That’s why the people love him. And that’s what we’re hoping for today. So, I’m just going to hand the reigns over to our co-host, and let you guys talk shop. Though us mere mortals might jump in every now and then if we need to clarify something.” Shane chuckled politely along with the others. He glanced at Ilya, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Right,” he had to clear his throat unexpectedly, but was practiced now in turning his head away. “So, I probably should start with something simple. How’s the team feeling after their win, that kind of thing, but I just have to know how you missed that last shot? I feel like you missed a hat trick there.”

For half a second Shane thought he might have messed up spectacularly, but then Ilya threw his head back and laughed, slapping a hand over his heart as though Shane had shot him.

“Hard hitting reporting, Hollander, you are brutal.” Shane’s stomach dropped when he considered Ilya might say something like “you would have made it” – those comments he had gotten a lot of over the years and he hated them – but Ilya did not go that route. “I did mess up, yes. The assist was perfect, I went wide. I kick myself, but team was good.”

“Ilya Rozanov admitting he is not perfect,” Connor chirped in. “That’s a clip for the shorts.”

“I am mortal, as you say.”

“That last play-“ Shane began, and felt thrilled when Ilya fixed him with an interested stare, completely dismissing the other two in the room.

They spoke about hockey nonstop for an hour. Ilya was cocky, of course, and he had a few PR answers when talking about other teams, but mostly people heard their love of the game and not much else.

“I feel like I’ve learned more about hockey in the last hour than the last ten years of our podcast,” Connor said after finally having to interrupt them.

“It is easy to talk when smartest man in hockey is your partner.” Shane blushed fiercely at the way Ilya had said “partner” even though he knew the Russian hadn’t meant it like that.

Connor had a few more comments, then he wrapped up the episode nicely, ending by extending an invitation to Ilya to come back anytime. “Maybe,” Ilya said, smiling. “Though I will need to study harder I think.” They ended on a laugh. Shane finally leaned back and felt the stiffness from having been too focused for the last hour.

“OK, that was amazing guys, thanks so much, Ilya.” The three others in the room stood and shook hands. Shane hated what he knew was coming. He braced himself against the handrests, hoping he might propel himself out of it in time to shake Ilya’s hand and say goodbye without it being terribly awkward.

Connor and Shaun were used to him being slow to get up, and knew he hated it when they waited for him.

“Why don’t I walk you out, and we can maybe get a picture in front of the logo together?” Connor was saying, trying to not-so-subtly usher Ilya from the studio.

“Could I get a moment with Hollander?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure, uh- Shane, you good?”

Shane managed a nod. He had to get up. While Ilya turned to watch the others leave, he pushed himself out of the chair, feeling the stiffness in his hips preventing him from straightening easily. He pushed through it and stood, but it was awkward. His body was clearly tilted slightly forward, braced on the table with his fingertips.

Ilya turned to him and Shane hated how his eyes tracked his stance. He forced himself to step away from the table. Now he was without support. He should be moving, stretching, loosening up, but he was trapped in front of Ilya Rozanov, world’s best hockey player, who was staring at him like he could read everything wrong with him.

“Hollander,” he said.

“Rozanov.”

“Do you need to sit?”

“No-“ Shane bit off the rest when he heard how loud his voice came out. Fuck, he did not need pity from Rozanov.

“I will be quick,” Ilya’s voice was unusually quiet. “I wanted to ask…”

“What?” Shane imagined all manner of questions. How are you? Will you ever get better? Is this the life you’re living now, really? Shane fucking Hollandar, podcaster? Aren’t you ashamed of this pathetic existence?

“I wanted to ask you out.”

Shane’s brain stopped. He blinked. He might have swayed. “Out where?”

“Out on date.”

“What?”

“You are out, yes? Are you seeing someone?”

“No.“ Shane felt light-headed. He was not going to swoon. But his traitorous body made him shoot out a hand to steady himself against the wall. Ilya moved closer, eyes worried. “Why?”

“Why what, Hollander?”

Why on earth would you want me still?

Ilya’s mouth worked, eyes searching. He reached out slowly, and Shane did not even realize he was reaching to touch his face before Ilya’s thumb gently brushed his cheek. He shuddered, closing his eyes.

“If you do not wish to see me again, I will not return. But I had to come. I had to hear a no from your lips. Will you give me that?”

“Okay,” Shane whispered. Ilya withdrew his hand abruptly.

“Okay you will tell me no?”

“No- I mean, okay, I’ll go- um. Fuck,” Shane looked to his feet and took a breath. “Can you please just repeat the question?”

“Will you go out on a date with me, Shane Hollander?”

That’s really what you said, huh.

“Where would we go?” Shane forced himself to look up, to see if the man was serious.

“Dinner is most common, I believe,” Ilya gave a small smile before frowning. “But if you are not comfortable going out, we can stay in, I can cook.”

“I-“ Suddenly, he wanted. He hadn’t really wanted in such a long time the sensation hit him like a defensive line. “Going out sounds… nice.” In public. He wants to be seen with me.

Shane had not dated at all since his injuries. He had come out, simply because he felt he had to, in solidarity with Scott Hunter and Ilya. His co-hosts also used the opportunity to come down officially on homophobia in the sport, so Shane figured he could contribute.

But a public date, with Ilya Rozanov? He still did not believe it.

“You-…” Shane forced the words out, he had to hear the answer. “You really want that?”

“I ask, of course I want. Do you?” Ilya’s hand was hovering at his side, ready to steady him if he slipped further. Shane wanted to reach out and steady himself on Ilya’s solid frame. He was stiff and in pain, and he hated that he couldn’t just focus on Ilya’s face and words.

“Yes… yeah… I want.”

“Good. I still have your number, it is the same?”

“Yeah.” Ilya had not deleted Jane. He felt a tightness in his throat. He was not going to fucking cry in the studio.

“I’ll call you. I have Canadian number now.”

“I’ll… look forward to hearing from you.”

“Hollander,” Ilya said, almost fond, teasing his formal answer.

“Sorry, I mean- Please call me.” He met Ilya’s eyes again, hoping he could convey what he wanted. I will answer this time, I promise. Ilya studied his face for a moment, then nodded, and left.

Shane stood still, listening to the guys talk about getting a picture. Connor called for him and he managed to push off and follow, standing with a bland smile in front of the logo, like they did for most of their guests. Ilya stood next to him, and put his arm around Shane’s middle, holding firm.

After he left, Shane lay down on the couch, stretching out, staring at the ceiling. Connor and Shaun knew he sometimes needed it, so they just padded his shin, said “good work” and left him to it.

Ilya called Shane the next day. Shane almost dropped the phone when he realized who was behind the unknown number. 

“Hello, Hollander.” Ilya sounded… unsure. Shane hoped he hadn’t changed his mind. 

“Hey.”

“I wanted to ask if you were free this Thursday.”

“Uh- yeah, definitely.”

“I think maybe you should pick the restaurant. I have not been to many restaurants in Ottawa. I do not know the best places. Still, it will be my treat.”

“Oh, yeah, I can-“ I have a mental spreadsheet of every place I can eat at depending on the time and date, “recommend somewhere… Frida’s might be good for Thursday.”

“Good. Will you send me your address-“

“Actually, could we meet at the restaurant?” I never know if I need to walk around the block to feel ready to sit for a whole meal, and I feel better when I have control over when I leave the house. “I’m pretty close by, so it seems easier.”

“Okay. Frida’s on Thursday. Seven o’clock? I make reservation.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“See you then, Hollander.”

“See you.”

Shane had to sit and breathe for a while after. Then he saved the number under Ilya.

Shane arrived early, or he thought he was early, but Ilya was already there. Shane spotted him immediately upon entering. His suit was perfect, the dark green shirt open at the collar, the cross visible. He seemed to shine with his golden curls in the soft light of the restaurant. Shane felt utterly shabby in comparison. He had put on a suit, but it probably looked like a prom suit compared to Ilya’s tailored perfection.

He was so caught up in how Ilya looked, he almost forgot to freak out over the fact that they were actually meeting in public. In a restaurant. And not a power-lunch restaurant. A place with pretty curtains and candles on the tables.

“Are you meeting someone?” the hostess brought him out of his stupor. She followed his gaze, and since Ilya was looking back, she put two and two together. She took his coat and led him inside. Shane felt himself blushing at the tiny candlelit table.

He sank into the chair. They had good chairs here, that was why it was on the list.

“You look nice.”

Shane almost snorted at the idea that he was the nice-looking one. Instead, his blush deepened.

“Thanks. You look… good yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Ilya asked about the menu, and they managed a fairly normal conversation about food until the waiter came by. Shane ordered his usual.

“Oh, I’m afraid we had a problem with delivery today, no salmon, sorry.”

“Oh, right.” He glanced at the menu and frowned. “You don’t have the mushroom soup anymore?”

“Oh, no, sorry. It’s clam chowder now.” Shane hated that. “Do you need another minute?”

“Yes, give us another minute,” Ilya said. The waited left. “We go somewhere else?”

“What?” Shane looked up in surprise.

“They do not have what you like. Is there somewhere else close you prefer?” Shane knew the thai restaurant one block over would not be too busy on a Thursday, but the thought of leaving and upending everything made him feel hot.

“We can stay, it’s fine.”

“I want to have nice dinner with you. It’s our first date, Hollander. You should eat something you want. Where else can we go?”

Shane’s mind stuttered at the “first date” so casually slipped into the conversation. He rallied when Ilya lifted an eyebrow in question.

“There’s a thai place down the block that’s good, but it’s not as...” he wanted to say “romantic” but ended up saying “quiet.” 

“But good?”

“Yeah.”

“So you prefer?”

If they left now, they would be at the thai place in about five minutes - provided they had a table (likely) they would be seated and ordered within twenty at the latest - food within forty, they were quick there, so the meal could be finished within an hour twenty, which would still technically be quicker than here, which meant Shane could beg off at around the same time if his pain got too bad - or at least ask Ilya if they could take a walk.

It was either that, or find something new on the menu here, wait an undetermined about of time, and then maybe not be able to eat it.

“… yeah.”

“Okay, then we go, now.”

The waiter returned. “Find anything?”

“Unfortunately, we did not. We will go somewhere else. But, is not your fault. We really wanted salmon. I will leave tip for your trouble.” Ilya stood and took out his wallet.

“Oh, no, sir, you do not have to do that. I am so sorry.”

“Not your fault. Here. We will be back when salmon is delivered.”

Ilya stepped around smoothly, standing by Shane’s chair and holding out a hand. Shane’s first instinct was to be annoyed at Ilya for thinking he needed it, and for doing it in public, but then instinct took over, and he grabbed the hand and pushed, feeling Ilya hold his hand steady against the weight of him. His strength almost left Shane lightheaded. When he turned, he felt Ilya’s hand on his back. Before he knew it, they were outside in the crips cold winter evening.

Shane felt even more uncouth in his duffle coat beside Ilya’s stylish grey.

“Which way?”

Shane directed them. Ilya matched Shane’s shorter stride; shorter than he used to walk.

The thai place had Shane’s order. They had cushioned chairs, and although it was a bit noisier than the other place, it also felt better to hide behind the giant plants and décor. Shane breathed.

“It smells good in here. Good food I think,” Ilya said.

“It is good, I like it here.”

“You eat more than just bird food now?”

“Fuck off. I eat human food. Though my diet has changed. I prioritize a little differently. I still need to eat healthy. A balanced diet is key to pain management.” He didn’t realize he had said his whole spiel before it was out there. Pain management. Now there was no doubt. Ilya just nodded. Shane waited for the questions.

“I stopped smoking.”

Shane’s head snapped up. “Really? Like, for real?”

“No, I smoke fake cigarettes now.”

“Right, of course. Chocolate ones I assume?”

“Yes, very sweet. I like to suck on them.”

Shane huffed a laugh. He hated how his mouth couldn’t stop smiling. It was like nothing at all had changed. But it had. His hips ached in the background of his mind. His left shoulder had been bad all day, fingers tingling on and off. There was a muscle twitch inside his right ear that made it sound like a drum going off inside it every few minutes.

But Ilya smiled at him, and he did not feel it as much, for a moment.

“So. You are good professional journalist now.”

“No, I am not a journalist. If I was that I’d have to abide by their rules. I just talk hockey.”

Ilya nodded thoughtfully. “You do it well.”

“You listen?”

“Yes.”

Shane was grateful when the food arrived. “At least I get to use my hockey IQ.”

“It’s more than that. You make people feel like they have the hockey IQ.” Shane felt himself blushing again.

“I don’t- I just talk. I get carried away all the time. The guys have to interrupt me, reign me in.” Shane chuckled at himself. “I think a lot of people were surprised. But people who knew me, like my parents, are just grateful I have someone else to rant about hockey at.”

“Well, you rant very well. Half the team listens.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That’s how I found out about it.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad.”

The meal went well. Shane asked about Ilya’s time with the Centaurs. Stuff he knew Ilya would not have answered on the podcast. Ilya told him about how difficult things had been after his outing. Neither of them mentioned the fact that Shane had not reached out. Ilya did not ask about his health.

When they finished, it was snowing softly outside.

“You live near?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah, I like living close by the studio.”

“Can I walk you home?”

It felt so nice, but Shane’s mind ran ahead of him. Would Ilya expect to come up? The thought terrified him. He wanted it, so bad it hurt, but he also hurt all over. He wasn’t ready.

“You are thinking too hard, Hollander.”

“What?” Ilya bumped his shoulder gently against Shane’s, smiling. “Sorry.”

“This is nice. A good date, I think.”

“It was. Is.”

“What will we do for our next date?”

“Our next?”

“What, you will say no?”

Shane laughed. “I mean, maybe, you have to ask, right?”

“Will you go on another date with me, Shane Hollander?”

“Yeah, I will.”

When they reached his building Shane gestured with his head, hands stuffed in his pockets against the cold. “This is me.” It was a nice building. Not hockey star levels, but he had been smart with what he had made during his short career, and he had a really good injury insurance. Yuna had been an absolute menace while making sure they all paid out. So, he was comfortable. And now he even had a job again.

“Then I will say goodnight.” Shane felt surprised that he felt a stab of disappointment.

“Right. Goodnight.”

Ilya stepped close, and Shane’s gaze was pulled towards Ilya’s lips. He remembered the press of them. “May I kiss you goodnight?”

“Yes please.”

Ilya’s kiss was chaste, or at least, perhaps it had been meant to be. But Shane opened his mouth almost immediately and made a desperate noise. Ilya cupped his face, and Shane forgot they were standing on the street, in the snow.

When Ilya pulled back Shane was breathing hard.

“You are not making this easy, Hollander.”

“What?”

“Cruel, cruel Hollander. I am trying to be gentleman here.”

“Gentleman?” Shane laughed.

“And now you mock me.” Ilya tsk’ed, shaking his head. “Now I do not know if I want second date.” Shane reached out and grabbed his coat lapel, feeling bold. Ilya allowed himself to be pulled. They kissed again, slow. “Next week, I cook for you?”

At his home, where anything might happen. Shane swallowed past his panic. “Ok.”

“Night, Hollander.”

“Goodnight.”

By the time he reached his apartment, he was shaking a little. But he couldn’t tell if it was due to pain, panic or excitement.

Shane had to call Rose. There was just no other option.

“Hey, Shane, what’s up?”

“I need help.”

“What kind of help?”

“The fashion kind.”

“Oh, wow, ok, say no more. Where are we going?” Shane’s first thought was we’re not going anywhere, it’s just me, but he managed to catch the expression in time to not make a fool of himself.

“Second date. At his home. He’s cooking.”

“Oh- gosh. Can I ask his name?”

“You might freak out.”

“It is one of your co-hosts?”

“What, ew, no.”

“Is he a rookie?”

“WHAT?”

“I’m trying to find someone that would really freak me out. But I honestly can’t think of anyone, so why don’t you tell me.”

“It’s Ilya Rozanov.”

Shane thought the line went dead for a moment. “Rose?”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You are.”

“Trust me, Shane, I am in some kind of freak state, but it is not because I am against Ilya Rozanov and you dating.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

“I mean, the images in my mind right now are… freaky, but also, very appealing. Especially since I know what you look like naked. And Rozanov does interviews half-naked, so all I need is like, a couple more details.”

“Rose! Please.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She did not sound the least sorry. “Ok ok ok. Call me on video and I will help you find something.”

She did, and Shane finally got to tell someone his entire history with Rozanov. He asked her if she thought their dating was a terrible idea. “Shane, it’s the best idea.”

Ilya’s house was gorgeous. The man was too, of course. He answered the door in grey slacks and a shirt in a shimmery blue fabric that made his eyes luminous, sleeves rolled up. His black belt accentuated his waist in that way that made Shane’s mouth water just a little.

They seemed to dance around each other, never quite touching, perhaps afraid of what it might lead to. Ilya had made a miso-based salmon and rice dish. He did explain where he got the recipe, but Shane was having trouble concentrating.

Ilya’s dining room chairs were torture.

They were sleek, modern and utterly adequate for people without pains to sit for an hour or two. For Shane, the mere anticipation of sitting in one made his lower back and hips ache.

But he was used to pretending. Most people were shocked to learn he suffered from pain. He seemed so normal – why wasn’t he playing hockey?

“Hollander?”

“Yes?”

“You did not hear my question, what is wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s good food. I was merely enjoying it.”

“Do not speak like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you are being interviewed.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shane tried to shift his weight to get a better angle at his hips.

“You are in pain.”

“I’m always in pain.”

Fuck, he had not meant to say that. It had been his go-to answer after a thousand versions of “How are you feeling?” “Are you in any pain now?” “How’s the hip?” “How are you today?” The endless check-ins had scraped at his sanity. His parents had finally accepted that their need to know Shane’s status was actually hurting him. Constantly asking him to check himself was like a thousand cuts throughout the day. He had to do it, as part of his mindfulness technique, but he didn’t need it sprung on him randomly. So, he’d become, as Rose put it, “cunty”, as was his right she said, and answered with the simple truth.

Don’t ask me to rate my pain. You might as well ask him the time of day.

“I mean, I’m fine, please don’t worry.”

“Would you be more comfortable on the couch?”

“Please, don’t.” Don’t fuss. Don’t make a big deal about it.

“We can eat in front of the television. Tampa is playing Philly.”

“I know.”

“Come, then.” Ilya rose, taking his plate in one and reaching for Shane’s, who shot his hand out and grabbed Ilya’s wrist.

“Please, let us just eat.”

“We are going to eat. Over there.”

“I can finish here.”

“You don’t need to.” Shane looked up into Ilya’s eyes. “This is not a big deal, Hollander. It costs me nothing to move over there. But it might make the evening better for you. How can you ask me to not do this for you?”

“I just don’t want a big fuss.”

“This is not fussing. This is change in venue.”

“Are we going to change venue every meal we share?”

“Yes, if you need to.”

Shane sighed and closed his eyes. Ilya’s care should be cloying, but his voice was commanding in that way that made Shane melt. He could detect no pity, just simple truth.

“Your couch.”

“I will buy a thousand couches for you to dirty, Hollander.”

“Shut up, that’s insane.”

“I will go eat now before our food goes cold. Join me if you want.”

Shane followed him after gathering himself. Ilya spread the cloth napkin over his lap. It was better, he could lean back a lot more, and the couch was soft. 

Philly won. Hollander had known they would.

“Have you been back on the ice?”

“What?”

“Have you skated since you got hit?”

This was the first time Ilya had referenced his injury directly. Shane kept his eyes on the TV. They were showing the commentary studio, giving takes Shane would find idiotic.

“No.”

“Do you want to go skate with me?”

How do you keep making my head spin? Shane sighed, almost shaking his head, but he felt that same new feeling, he wanted.

“I- Maybe.”

“We could go now.”

“Now?”

“Is empty tonight. I know everyone, though, so even if security comes, they won’t care.”

“Is that where you take all your dates?”

“No.”

Shane’s attempt at levity was not accepted. He forced himself to look over at Ilya. His head was tilted towards the back of the couch, watching Shane, his body relaxed.

“Why do you want me to skate?” Do you think you can fix me?

“I want to skate with you, if you want to. It might be nice, just to be on the ice.”

“I’m never recovering, Rozanov.” It had to be said.

“I did not ask if you want to play hockey, Hollander. But skating, just skating, is good. You walk fine, right? Do you have problems with balance?”

“No- I mean, I can get vertigo, sometimes. If my neck muscles get bad. But it’s almost always when I’m already in bed and turning my head. So, I haven’t had any falls, thankfully.”

“So, you could skate.”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Do you want to?”

That was it. The difference between other people’s concern and Ilya’s. The difference was probably just in his mind, but when Ilya asked him, Shane did not feel like he had to perform as much. It had always been like that between them. All performance was for the ice. And now Ilya’s certainty was making him less embarrassed about his new normal.

“Yes. I thought I would never want to even think about hockey ever again.” He looked Ilya in the eyes. “But you changed that.”

“I did?”

“I saw a video of your first season with the Centaurs. All your best shots.”

“There were very many.”

“Not that many.”

“Must have been very long video.”

Shane huffed, smile tugging. “It was a YouTube short, so it was a minute max.”

“They must have cut so much, but still, this changed things for you?”

“Yeah… It reminded me of… the love of the game, I guess.”

Ilya didn’t answer at first. He looked a little wrecked, his eyes a little glassy. He breathed in through his nose, looking away. 

“I am glad.” He swallowed. “So, you want to skate tonight, or another night?”

“Maybe another night? I feel like I might freak out if we go now.”

“Ok. Third date.”

“Third date.”

Shane felt like maybe they should talk more about what was happening between them, but they had never been good at that. They finished watching the commentary, roasting the tv hosts a little. Then Shane ordered an uber, and when it arrived Ilya walked him to the door. 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Their kiss was chaste, perhaps both knowing anything else would be dangerous.

For the first time in a long while, Shane had trouble sleeping due to excitement.

“This was a bad idea.”

Shane leaned forward, trying to breathe through his nose. His feet were in skates. The familiar pressure was making his stomach flip. What if he freaked out? What if he had forgotten how to skate? What if he fell and hit his head and died right on the ice in front of Ilya?

He might be catastrophizing.

“We can leave any time you want.”

Shane looked up at Ilya. They were both in regular athletic wear. Maybe Ilya thought he would freak out if he saw Ilya in Centaurs gear. He was standing on the ice, waiting. He looked so natural, beautiful, even in just a black hoody.

“No… I want to.”

Shane got up. Ilya held out his hand. Shane took it and stepped over. His right skate did not shoot out comically. He stepped over with his left. There, he was on the ice.

He felt… normal.

He looked up at Ilya. He was smiling. Shane smiled back, then allowed himself to take in the rink, remembering the last time he had stepped out to the thunder of the crowd. It was empty now.

But the roar of the crowd had never been what drew him to the ice. He let go of Ilya’s hand and began skating.

Just a slow easy skate across. He didn’t feel like Bambi – even as a child he had never felt wobbly on the ice. He took to it like a duck to water. That instinct had not gone anywhere.

He could skate. He could breathe.

Ilya came up alongside him, turning and allowing himself to glide backwards so he could look at Shane.

Shane grinned and turned quick, gaining speed as he curved behind the goal.

Ilya was waiting for him on the other side. Shane went in a circle around him, stopped in front on the second pass.

“Looking good, Hollander.”

Something about the comment, the name maybe, shot reality into Shane. Ilya would never chirp at him during a game. This was all just a nice Sunday skate. He would never feel the perfection of moving on ice during a game, in sync with his team.

“Sorry, was that wrong?” Ilya reached out, cupping his face. “We can leave.”

“No,” Shane put his hands over Ilya’s. “I- when you call me Hollander-“

“Shane.”

Oh, that’s better. Just Shane.

Shane managed to nod. “Shane,” Ilya whispered right before they kissed. Kissing on the ice. 

“Ilya.” Their kiss turned hard, devouring.

The sound of a door opening and closing broke them apart, both whipping their heads towards the tunnels. They couldn’t hear steps. Shane’s heart was in his throat.

“We should leave.”

“I told you-“

“But if they find you here with me.”

“I do not care if anyone knows.”

“But-“

“No buts, Shane. I am done hiding. We have been on public date already, yes? I- I want to date you, as normal people do.”

“They might think you could do better.”

Ilya held Shane’s chin, tilting his head and Shane, as helplessly as ever, had to look at him. He knew his eyes were glassy. “No,” Ilya said in no uncertain terms, “I can not.”

“You don’t miss the rivalry part of this? The thrill of- I don’t know, secretly fucking the opposing team?”

“I only ever missed you.”

“Oh.”

“Is that what you want from me? To just be your sexy hook-up? As, what is word, nostalgia?”

“No, no,” Shane shook his head. “I want you. I always wanted… just you.”

“Good. I am here.”

“Good.”

“Then we are on same page, yes?”

“Yes.” Ilya kissed him.

“HEY ROZANOV! You’re not suppose to be here this late, man, come on.”

Ilya grinned over at the security guy. Shane felt himself blush, turning his head the other way. He wasn’t quite sure he was ready to be caught making out with Ilya.

“Sorry, sorry. We go now. I was just trying to impress date. He is very high maintenance. I needed rom-com moment.”

“Sure, Rozanov. You’ve got five minutes.” Shane heard the man walk away and looked up at Ilya.

“Rom-com moment?”

“Yes, I watch many of these movies. There is always big gesture, very important. Were you impressed?”

Shane grinned, “it was perfect.”

They got off the ice, Shane felt lighter than he had in years. This thing with Ilya was real.

“Back to my place, or?” Ilya asked him when they were in the car. “Should I drive you home?”

Shane looked at him and found the same gaze he remembered, filled with raw desire. He nodded. “Your place.”

His anxiety slowly rose as they drove. Ilya lived fairly close by to the rink, but Shane still managed to get in his own head about what was about to happen. By the time Ilya was turning into his driveway, Shane was almost shaking.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” He felt a little outside his own body as he exited the car. Ilya led the way, though he kept glancing back, checking. Shane tried to look excited.  

Once inside, Ilya held out a hand. “You want?”

“I- I want.”

“Come then.” He led the way to the bedroom.

The room was big, with large windows showing a secluded snowy garden. There was even a pond on that side of the house, frozen over. Shane startled when Ilya’s hand slid along his jaw in what should be a familiar move.

Ilya froze. “Shane, you do not have to do this if you are in pain.”

“I’m not.” He was actually almost pain-free in that moment. His anxiety over the situation making it impossible to feel his body at all. He knew from experience that he could crash at any moment. Ilya let his hand slide to Shane’s shoulder, his eyes searching. “I told you, I want this.”

“You are more scared than our first time.”

Shane huffed. “Well, I was a hockey player the first time.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It-“ Shane scoffed. He looked back out into the garden. “Everything. Nothing. I’m-“

“Breathe, Shane, please.” Ilya stepped close to Shane’s side, placing his head on Shane’s shoulder, a small kiss to his neck, his arm snaked around Shane’s waist.

They stood still for a moment. Shane closed his eyes. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

“Nothing.”

“You are still terrible liar.”

“I guess, I’m just nervous.”

“About what?”

“I don’t- I don’t look like I did.”

“You look the same to me.”

“My face maybe. Not…”

“Ah.” Ilya moved, holding Shane and turning him. He pressed their foreheads together. “Do you think I only have sex with hockey players.”

“What? No, that’s not the point.”

“I want you, Shane. You can not imagine how much. You, every inch of you, is beautiful. I know this.” Ilya began kissing his neck, moving up and capturing his mouth. Shane lost himself in the sensations. Ilya undid the zip of Shane's hoody and peeled it off, letting it fall to the floor. 

Ilya's kiss was doing a good job of distracting Shane, but he still shuddered with both arousal and anxiety when Ilya slipped his hands under his t-shirt. Shane shivered at the hot wide hands gliding over his chest and then around to his back. Ilya pulled him close, holding him tightly, the kiss turning filthy. He knew he was not as toned as before, certainly no definition in the stomach like Ilya. It did not seem to matter so much when being held like this.

When they finally parted for air, Shane gasped. He might collapse if he let go of Ilya’s shoulders, but the man was so goddamn strong, Shane wasn’t sure if his feet were touching the floor. 

"Can I take it off?" 

Shane lifted his arms and Ilya pulled off his t-shirt, immediately leaning in and kissing along his collarbone, his hands still touching and gliding everywhere. 

“Let me kiss every inch of you, please," Ilya whispered against his skin. 

“Yes, please."

“You must tell me if we need to move, switch venues so to speak.” Ilya punctuated his statement by squeezing Shane slightly.

“Uh- On the bed then, sooner rather than later, would be a good idea.”

“Very good idea, yes.”

Ilya’s smile was wicked. In an instant he had lifted Shane, hands under his thighs. Shane held on, conscious of his lower weight, but also lightheaded by how easily Ilya picked up.

Ilya kissed him while he walked them to the bed. He placed Shane down slowly, the display of strength leaving Shane with no blood in his head at all.

Ilya kept his promise. Kissing Shane everywhere, and did not seem to mind Shane’s smaller shape or his lack of definition. Ilya removed clothing as he went.

“You too, please, I want to see you too.”

Ilya obliged him very quickly. He was stronger than before, Shane could tell from just looking at him. He was a man at the peak of his career. And he was here with Shane, hard and eager from just kissing him.

“This is new,” Shane said, reaching out to touch a scar on Ilya’s left side, just above his hip.

“Knife fight.”

“What?!”

“Kidding. I fell, Boyle skated right over me.” Ilya was very clearly not in the mood to elaborate, so he leaned forward and covered Shane’s body with his own, settling between Shane’s thighs. Shane gave a pathetic gasp at the full contact, arching and muttered “fuck” as Ilya kissed his chest and neck, grinding them together.

“Ilya, please.”

“What do you want?”

“I really want you to fuck me.”

“It was not what I planned, but I can be accommodating.”

“Fuck, you’re such an asshole.”

“Only one asshole important now.”

“God.”

“No, Ilya.”

“So lame. Shut up and fuck me.”

Ilya took his time, and Shane felt himself blush all over at being so needy. He forgot about the differences in their bodies. He felt pleasure almost without any pain, and when Ilya finally fucked him, he lay back and watched as Ilya moved inside him, muscles working rhythmically. “Shane, fuck, so good for me. You’re perfect. Always perfect”

“You too, so good, Ilya, please.”

Even though Ilya was covered in sweat, breathing heavily, he still managed to not collapse on top of Shane like he might have before. He extracted himself carefully, and flopping down next to Shane, kissing his shoulder.  

“Good?”

“Very good,” Shane confirmed, though he was sticky and his clothes were everywhere, getting wrinkly.

“Will you stay the night?”

“I- I want to, I really do.”

“You have routine… do you take medicines?”

“Yeah, they’re at home. But, maybe next time I could plan a little. Or you could come to my place-“ Suddenly Ilya was leaning over him, smiling, cupping his face.

“I look forward to it.” He leaned down and kissed Shane softly. “Fourth date.”

“Fourth,” Shane smiled. “Did… did we have sex this time because that’s what you’ve learned from rom-coms? Sex after the third date?”

“Yes,” Ilya shrugged. “Is American courting ritual.”

“I’m Canadian, you live in Canada.”

“Do Canadians wait longer? You are saying you are slut?”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.”

“Make me, Hollander.”

They made out for an indiscernible amount of time before Shane finally managed to extract himself. Ilya insisted on driving him home. Shane did his routine, and slept through the night.

When they were finally caught by a camera, it was at Frida’s. There was speculation about why the two old rivals were having a rather intimate dinner together. People referred to their talk on the show as a sign they had become friends. Other thought the venue was a tad romantic for just a chat between ex-colleagues.

Shane attended a game, and speculation grew even more. Could they really be dating?

The podcast never addressed it, but it was noted Shane did not pull any punches when discussing Ilya’s on ice performance. Maybe they were just friends.

Someone posted a picture of them walking and smiling at a park. The way Ilya was gazing at Shane was not collegial.

Ilya was asked about it during a post-game interview. “Do you have any comment about what people are saying about you and Shane Hollander?”

“Sure, my comment is this: I do not know what people are saying.”

Then a video surfaced of them walking into Shane’s building, hand in hand.

There were some ugly comments. People said Shane slept with Rozanov because it was the closest he could get to hockey again.

Then, about six months later. Ilya posted a picture of Shane on his couch, wearing a Rozanov jersey, looking extremely put out, but also clearly loving it. He looked soft and comfortable, and he was giving the finger to the camera while looking at the tv.

The caption read: Sometimes betting against Hollander is good idea. He pouts when he loses, but keeps his word.