Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Victor St. Simon, Coach LeClaire (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

sleepover, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Snow, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Pre-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Ilya Rozanov, Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Teasing, Porn with Feelings, Yearning, no beta reader I'm going in raw, Condomless Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, POV Ilya Rozanov, Unreliable Narrator, Protective Hayden Pike, Anne of Green Gables References, Light Angst, Light Choking, Rocky Horror Picture Show References, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Mario Kart References, Characters Playing Mario Kart (Video Games), Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, LGBTQ Ally Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov Friendship, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, POV Hayden Pike, POV Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Canon - Game Changers Series & Heated Rivalry (TV) Combination, Playlist, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Recipes, Snowed In, Forced Proximity, Got a Beta Reader after Chapter 15, Loss of Parent(s), Flashbacks, Coming Out, Original Character(s)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-25 Updated: 2026-10-19 Words: 108,495 Chapters: 19/22

So You Need a Place to Stay?

Summary

A snowstorm strands the Boston Bears in Montreal with not enough hotel rooms and nowhere to go in their rival’s city.
On a reckless impulse, Ilya volunteers to stay with Shane Hollander.
His teammates think it’s a joke.
Shane plays along.
No one knows they were in the same bed just hours ago.

Notes

Chapter 1: Call Him

Chapter Notes

llya knew that Coach LeClaire of the Boston Bears was a serious man, and when he spoke, he didn’t mince words.

“Boys, looks like we’re going to be in Montreal for the next few days.”

Ilya’s heart flipped, even as the rest of the team let out a collective groan that echoed through the hotel lobby.

He stood with twenty-two other large men, all clutching suitcases, surrounded by dozens of staff.

A short, perky woman in a smart plum blazer approached the coach. “I’m sorry, Mr. LeClaire. I called around, but because of the snowstorm and your unexpected stay, we only have eleven rooms available for all of you.”

LeClaire nodded. “Hmm. Thank you, Teri. We’ll take them.” He turned to the group.

“Alright. We usually book eighteen rooms, we’ve got eleven. We’re going to get real cozy, boys.” He paused. “Anyone have contacts in Montreal you could stay with?”

There was a flicker of discomfort on his face. They were, after all, in their biggest rival’s city.

Shane’s face flashed into Ilya’s mind, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

From the back, Aud piped up. “I’m from Laval, Coach. I can call someone, I’ll stay with my parents.”

Cliff Marleau cleared his throat. “Uh… I got a… someone I could probably stay with.” His ears turned red.

A few guys snickered. Someone lightly punched his arm.

“I played with Boiziau my rookie year in San Jose” St. Simon added. “I can probably stay with him.”

Ilya stared straight ahead, forcing his face neutral, like he had nothing to say.

He wanted to say something.
He wanted to shout it.

I want to stay with my boyfriend.

Of course, he didn’t say it out loud… Still, the word sat warm in his chest. Boyfriend.

He loved saying it, even if it was only to himself, and to Shane, and that one time six months ago at Shane’s parents’ kitchen table at the cottage.

Every time he said it, Shane had blushed so hard. Remembering his cheeks, flushed deep, freckles darkening. It made Ilya’s heart flutter, and, God, his body reacted in ways that were not helpful in public. His dick throbbed lightly.

“I just called my sister,” Simard, the equipment manager, cut in. “She’s in Pointe-Claire but out of town. Said there’s room for me and four others.”

A cheer went up.

“Party at Simard’s!” someone shouted.

LeClaire nodded, visibly relieved. “Good. That covers most of us. As for the rest…”

Ilya blinked.

He had been daydreaming… again. He had missed the last minute entirely. Before he could overthink it, he cleared his throat. “I have somewhere to stay.”

The room shifted. Heads turned.

“I stay with Shane Hollander.”

Silence—

Then the entire lobby erupted into laughter.

Ilya swallowed.

Even his coach, who Ilya secretly called "very serious man", was chuckling.

Did he just make a mistake? Probably. But St. Simon was staying with Boiziau, it wouldn’t be that crazy.

“No, I really can,” Ilya insisted. “We know each other since juniors.”

Carmichael and Marleau exchanged a look.

“Wh—what?” Marleau scoffed. “You hate him!”

“I do not hate Hollander,” Ilya shot back. “He is on-ice rival. But I know him longer than you even.”

The laughter started to die down.

Ilya could do this. He and Shane had already started to draw up the paperwork for the foundation to link the two of them as friends and not rivals, he told himself. We planned to be friends in public.

LeClaire studied him. “You did visit him after his injury… You really think you could?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, steady now. “He would say yes. Hollander is Canada’s Golden Boy, how could he say no to stranded Russian immigrant?” Ilya added, thickening his accent a little at the end.

The room burst out laughing again.

“Want me to ask Boiziau for his number?” St. Simon called.

“I have number, I said we are friends, no?” Ilya chirped.

Carmichael grinned. “Fine, call him. We gotta hear this shit.”

Ilya’s stomach dropped. But he moved anyway, already pulling out his phone. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he had to sell this. Fast. Ilya swallowed as he quickly grabbed his phone. He was smart though and perceptive enough to know he would need to make a big show of it in time to not only text and warn Shane but also change his contact from Jane to Hollander in his phone.

He stood up, hands in the air, and said, “Okay, Bears! How much do you want to bet? I stay at Canadian Prince of Hockey's home over next 3 days?”

Carmichael yelled, “I bet he hangs up on you the second you ask.”

Ilya said, “Okie, I write down dumb bet. If not, you owe $50.”

“I bet you both kill each other by day one,” Marleau added.

“No way is he even answering your call, dude,” St. Simon scoffed.

Other players placed their dumb bets. Meanwhile, Ilya was using this distraction to text Shane: “I’m going to call you, whole team is here listening, I told them we are friends, don’t have panic attack act like I didn’t text you.”

And changing his contact from Jane <3 to Hollander, his heart squeezed a little at the temporary change.

The bets piled on.

Ilya didn’t write a single one down.

He didn’t need to.

He hit call.

It rang once.

Twice—

“Rozanov? Why are you calling me?” Shane’s voice cut through the speaker. “Gloating on your win wasn’t enough, asshole?”

The lobby exploded.

“Hollander, you wound me,” Ilya said, gripping his chest and slipping easily into the act.

“What do you want, Rozanov? It's early.”

“Hollander, do not lie. You are up doing yoga and eating oatmeal!”

A quiet breath of laughter slipped through the phone.

“…What do you want Rozanov?”

“I have favor to ask,” Ilya said brightly.

“Uh-huh. I’m not giving you hockey tips, Rozy. We’ve been over this.”

Laughter rippled behind him from his team.

“Wait, is Hollander funny?” he heard Cliff whisper.

“Hollander, whole team snowed in. No hotels. I need you to be good Canadian citizen and let me stay with you, yes?”

A pause.

Then a sigh, but Ilya could hear the smile in it.

“So you’re saying no one wants to room with you because you're so annoying?”

A few guys snorted.

Ilya said nothing.

He waited.

“…Fine,” Shane said. “You can stay... Just a few days. But I only have one guest room and you are not playing my MHL 16 again. Last time you made my character do dumb shit.”

“…holy shit,” Marleau breathed.

Ilya smirked. “Okie. I text you address.”

“Oh, I'm your Uber driver now too?”

“Nyet. I take Uber. Probably nicer car than yours.”

A rustle. Keys. A quiet exhale.

“I'm on my way, Rozy.”

They hung up.

Ilya turned, spreading his arms.

“Boys, I am millionaire. You all owe me so much money.”

The room erupted, half laughter, half protest.

Ilya shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing his grin into something cocky, something careless.

Not the truth.

Never the truth.

Deflect, deflect, deflect.

It’s what you do best.

Because none of them knew…

Ilya knew Shane would be there in about 20 minutes. He knew because less than two hours earlier, at 4:30 in the morning, Ilya had kissed his sleeping boyfriend on the temple, slipped out of Shane’s bed, pulled on his clothes in the dark, and left to catch the team flight with a sigh and his eyes watering.

Chapter End Notes

I have the next part semi mapped out.
I wanted this to be a one-shot but decided they needed more. This first part is chaste, but wait til they get home...

I updated some grammar errors someone pointed out for me. Thank you

Chapter 2: Yeah, Me and the Boys in the Hotel Lobby

Chapter Summary

Shane enters the lobby.
The Boston boys have some questions.

Chapter Notes

All italic words are Ilya's inner monologue.

I am not a native Russian speaker, please let me know any translations need fixing.

Chapter 2 title are lyrics from Cinderella by Remi Wolf. (I lowkey want an edit to this song on socials for HR because it really fits.)

The lobby had not calmed down. If anything, it had gotten worse. Ilya leaned against one of the pillars, arms crossed, pretending like he was not watching the front doors every five seconds.

“Ten bucks says he chickens out,” Carmichael muttered.

“He already answered,” St. Simon shot back.

“Yeah, on the phone. In person he’ll remember he hates your guts,” Marleau added, glancing at Ilya.

“I do not have guts you need worry about,” Ilya said dryly. “Only your money.”

A few guys snorted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carmichael waved him off. “We’ll see, Rozy.”

Ilya rolled his shoulders, trying to shake out the tension. He knew Shane was coming. He knew.

Still—

His stomach felt tight.

Because this? This was different. This was not quiet. Not hidden. This was his entire team standing ten feet away, waiting to watch it blow up in his face.

The front doors slid open. Cold air rushed in. And then…

Shane Hollander walked in. My Shane. Moya llubov, Moy milyy, Moy paren’ (My love, my sweet, my boyfriend)

Like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t walking straight into a room full of his biggest rivals. The lobby went dead quiet.

Someone actually let out a low, “no fucking way…”

Brave.

Shane paused just inside, snow dusting his shoulders, eyes scanning the room. They landed on Ilya. And something flickered. Gone just as fast. Shane shoved his hands into his pockets and walked forward, Ilya could tell he was doing his absolute best to look casual, however casual was not in Shane’s DNA, as least not when he was out in public. His shoulders were up to his ears, his face was stern, his back impossibly straight. 

Casual Shane, his Shane, was only seen by a few lucky people and Ilya was one of the chosen ones. He looked again at Ilya, exhaled and relaxed slightly trying to look like he hadn’t just driven across the city for this purpose. 

“Well,” Shane said, stopping a few feet away. “This is weird.”

A few guys laughed nervously.

“Little bit,” Carmichael muttered.

Ilya pushed off the pillar, stepping forward.

“Hello, Hollander.”

“Rozanov.” Shane nodded

Flat. Easy. Like always. Like nothing.

Up close, Ilya could see the details no one else noticed. The slight flush in Shane’s cheeks. The way his jaw was set just a little tighter than usual. They would attribute it to the cold outside but Ilya knew it was nerves.

Good boy. Ty sdelan iz kamnya, kak gorgul'ya. (You are made of stone, like a gargoyle)

“So,” Shane said, glancing around at the team. “You all just hanging out or…?”

Moya milaya gorgul'ya (My cute gargoyle)

“You’re seriously letting Rozy stay with you?,” Marleau cut in immediately, folding his arms. 

Shane didn’t even look at him. 

“Yeah,” he said simply.

Silence.

Then chaos of a dozen voices.

“Jesus Hollander, you’re a fucking Boy Scout…” Marleau said

Look at my Shane.

“Are we being Punk’d?” one of the rookie’s chirped

He is so brave for me.

“You serious right now?” Ilya couldn’t tell if that was Aud or St. Simon

I’m going to devour him the moment we get home.

“You lose a bet or something guys?”

Dom… YA chto, tol'ko chto skazal «dom»? (Home… Did I just say home?)

Ilya felt his mouth twitch.

Shane shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Storm. No rooms. He asked.”

“You hate each other,” Carmichael said flatly.

Shane finally looked at him. “On the ice.”

A beat.

Then he added, “He’s less annoying off it.”

The room erupted.

“BULLSHIT!”

“Since when?!”

Ilya scoffed, stepping closer. “Excuse you. I am delight all times.”

Shane glanced at him. “Debatable.”

Their shoulders brushed. Light. Quick. But enough.

Carmichael’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, what the hell is this?”

“Whaaaaat?” Ilya asked innocently.

“This,” Carmichael gestured between them. “This whole… whatever the hell this is.”

“Is called helping teammate in time of need,” Ilya said. “Very heroic. You should try sometime.”

“Teammate?” Carmichael questioned

Oooops, Shane is not his teammate. Except he is. He’s always on my side. Blyat! (Fuck!)

“Yeah, I’m not crashing at my rival’s house,” Marleau said.

“You do not have charm for it,” Ilya shot back. “We are teammates on All-Stars no? We skate circles around notorious asshole Dallas Kent and annoyingly happy Carter Vaughn”

A couple guys laughed. Still… The looks hadn’t gone away. Too many eyes. Too much attention. Shane shifted slightly, like he felt it too. 

It will be ok moy solnyshko, you are the sun they cannot see this, it’s too bright for them to see this. (My sunshine)

“Are you coming or what?” he said, looking at Ilya. “Or do you want to keep doing whatever this is all day?”

Ilya grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I am coming,” he said.

“Yeah,” Carmichael muttered. “You are.”

Ilya shot him a look. Carmichael was strangely perceptive, and Ilya made a note to keep an eye on him later. 

“Do not worry,” he said. “I come back alive. Probably.”

“Doubt it,” St. Simon called.

“Text us when he murders you,” Marleau added.

“I bury him in snow,” Ilya said easily. “No one finds body.”

That got a bigger laugh.

Shane huffed under his breath, already turning toward the door. “Jesus Christ.”

Ilya followed, close enough to feel the heat of him, but not touching. Not here. Not with all of them watching. The doors slid open again, cold air hitting them both. Behind them, the noise started back up immediately.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Dude, I’m telling you, something’s weird….”

“Rivals don’t do that!”

“They did play well together in Tamp…” 

The doors shut. Silence. Snow fell steadily outside, soft and constant. For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Shane exhaled. “Well,” he muttered. “That was insane.”

Ilya let out a quiet laugh. “You did good.”

Ty takoy smelyy, lyobov’ moya. (You are so brave my love)

Shane glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” Ilya nodded. “Very convincing. Almost like you do not like me.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

But there was a smile there. Small. Real. They started toward the car. Side by side. Not touching. Close enough.

“Your team is going to talk,” Shane said after a moment.

“They always talk,” Ilya replied. “Now they have new material.”

Shane huffed. “Yeah. Great…”

A beat. 

Then, quieter…“You sure about this?”

Ilya didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Shane snorted. “Yeah, me neither.”

They reached the car. Shane unlocked it, gripping his keys in his hand. 

“You think this is bad idea?” Ilya asked

“Yeah,” Shane said, opening the driver’s side door. “It’s crazy”

Another beat. Neither of them moved right away. 

Then Ilya smirked. “But is also good one. Three days of snowstorm, cozy in bed”

My mouth around your cock.

Shane looked at him for a second.

Then shook his head with a smile, climbing into the car.

“Get in, Baby.” Shane said with a smile his face couldn’t contain. 

And Ilya did.

Chapter End Notes

I love the idea of Ilya referring to Shane's public persona as a cute lil Gargoyle. He's made of stone are guards his little castle. Also, canon Ilya and I would be about 3-4 years a part in age, and I'd like to think Russia got access to "Gargoyles" the cartoon TV show a few years after it aired which would put Ilya in the perfect spot to watch the show as a kid. 1. The gargoyles were hot! 2. That show is a reference for me far too often. I think Ilya would be into it.

Like most dual language speakers, Ilya switches his inner monologue between English and Russian. I do this, although I do not speak Russian, I speak two languages and find myself switching.

Thanks for the love and kudos.

The next chapter is very... domestic. I plan on updating soon!

Chapter 3: So Domestic

Chapter Summary

For the first time, Ilya and Shane don’t have to hide, at least not completely. Under the cover of a snowstorm, a simple mundane grocery trip turns into something more... stolen closeness, quiet devotion, and the thrill of being almost truly seen. Between a carefully maintained lie, Ilya begins to imagine a life where this kind of ordinary intimacy could be real.

Chapter Notes

This chapter is twice as long because I wanted to give them this. They deserve to be seen as they really are. It's as close as they can get while still hiding their biggest secret. I think we forget the longing of normalcy sometimes.

Ilya was elated. Not only was he going to be with Shane for three whole days, there was no need to hide it. His chest felt open, and there was a lightness to the air around them and a static electricity between them. 

Shane took an exit Ilya was unfamiliar with. He glanced over at Shane with a questioning look and thought, 

Maybe he WILL murder me? I flew too close to the sun. I enjoyed this too much. 

“We gotta get food, supplies. Three days of snow, We gotta go to the store,” Shane said.

“Oh,” Ilya said. “Okie, I wait in car.” Shane glanced over briefly with a quizzical look on his face and grabbed Ilya’s hand.

“No, we don’t need to do that. We can go in together,” Shane smiled.

So brave. 

Ilya looked at Shane as they pulled into the parking lot, eyes wide with wonder. Something so simple, so domestic. Ilya could have never imagined it, but Shane was right. They could. They had a built-in story, a justification, a reason for their proximity this one time. He was going to make the most of it. 

When we get home, you will be on your back. I ya potseluyu kazhduyu vesnushku. (And I will kiss every last freckle.)

The snow was falling in soft sheets around them. Shane and Ilya stepped out of the car, shivering slightly with excitement and anticipation and maybe a little of the bitter cold surrounding them. They instinctively stayed close. Not touching, not openly showing anything, but close enough that Ilya could feel the warmth radiating off Shane’s jacket.

“Okay,” Shane muttered, rubbing his hands together and pulling out a small piece of paper from his pocket. “We need basics. Food, supplies… candles?”

“Candles? How romantic” Ilya grinned. 

“Fuck off Rozy, I meant the survival kind” Shane said seriously 

“Mm, yes. Survival mission. But also… we make delicious food.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “I make you my favorite. You eat, I am happy.”

YA prigotovlyu dlya tebya retsept moyey mamy. (I will make you my mother’s recipe.)

Shane chuckled. 

Ilya’s grin widened. “Good.” As a statement but also a question of affirmation. 

He simultaneously fought the urge to grab Shane’s hand and also to hide away. He glanced around, already plotting how to navigate the aisles to Shane’s comfort level. 

Shane tossed him a side glance. “I have this list” Reaffirming Shane’s need for order in the chaos that was Ilya in a grocery store. 

Moya malen’kaya kamennaya gorgul'ya (My little stone gargoyle)

Ilya groaned as he pulled the cart out of the row “Of course you have list” sarcastically.

Kogda tvoy kamen’ raskoletsya dlya menya? (When will your stone break for me?)

The store lights glimmered across the snow-dusted glass doors. Inside, the warmth hit them immediately. The familiar smell of bread, coffee, and fresh produce wrapped around them like a blanket. Ilya’s eyes lit up. “Mm… Bread, butter… oh! And cheese!” He practically skipped toward the dairy section, his excitement obvious.

Shane shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I am genius,” Ilya said seriously, grabbing a small basket. “You carry list. I push cart and put whatever I want in it. Win. Win.”

Ilya caught up to Shane who started walking down the spice aisle, rolling it carefully beside him. Their proximity was… electric. Every time Ilya brushed past him, every time their shoulders bumped slightly, it felt dangerous but excitingly domestic. 

Eto moy lyubimyy den’. (This is my favorite day)

People glanced at them as they moved, but it wasn’t strange enough to draw attention, just two people running errands. Two people who happened to be some of the most well known Hockey players in the league who had been pitted as rivals since they were just teens. 

But, Ilya and his team were snowed in. They needed temporary housing. That was their cover, their justification.

We are safe moya lyubov’ (my love).

A lilting song played on the speakers above them that made Ilya feel even more domestic, the scene in front of him, Shane looking at some spices in French Ilya could not read... It felt like just another Wednesday.

I want this boring life. I need this boring man. Look how cute he is. I want to bite him. Just one little... 

“This is insane,” Shane muttered, interrupting Ilya's thoughts.

They weaved through the aisles. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Grocery shopping like normal people.” Shane said.

Ilya huffed out a laugh. “Normal people? Hollander you have special assistant to shop for you since you are such big Hockey star?” 

“What? No… Asshole! I meant-” Shane protested

“I am kidding. You are Hero! You come save stranded Russian immigrant in terrible snowstorm. Save him from sleeping in same room as Brad Hammersmith who snores like Bear and never washes socks because of stupid stinky superstition” Ilya said, louder than needed in-case anyone was paying too much attention to them. 

Shane smirked. “Hero, huh?” He tilted his head at Ilya, giving him a teasing glance. “And this heroic plan… involves you cooking?”

Ilya’s cheeks warmed. “Yes. You taste. You like. You eat all. Very special recipe. Very good soup.” He paused, emphasis on the ‘P’ in soup. His eyes glinted as he leaned towards Shane and his voice lowered “Maybe… I impress.”

Shane lowered his chin, looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. “You impress me everyday”

Ilya’s breath caught and his lips pursed together for a brief moment. 

We are in public and you shed your stone for me moya gorgul'ya. 

To break himself from spiraling into absolute heart eyes for his Shane he laughed softly, ducking down another aisle together. Shane’s hand brushed against Ilya’s as he reached for a bag of coffee grounds, and Ilya’s heart jumped. He pretended to inspect the packet of protein in the cart, as he smiled. He was acutely aware of every inch of Shane next to him. The snowstorm outside, the pressure of their teammates’ eyes earlier, it all melted away in this small domestic bubble.

Eto byli by my, lyubov’ moya? A chto, yesli by my byli prosto samimi soboy, a ne tem, kem nas ozhidali uvidet’? (Would this be us my love? If we were just us and not what they expected us to be?) 

They moved through the store quickly, but carefully. They knew they wanted to hurry as it was still early morning and Montreal would be waking up to news soon of the snowstorm and more patrons would be coming into the store. But Ilya didn't want this to end. This was the first time since they were 18 that they could be seen together outside of the context of Hockey. Ilya dreamed of this more often than he cared to admit to himself. When he would be in a store in Boston he imagined what Shane would want. When he went to a cafe' in the Back Bay he would think "What is my Shane's order? I should know this." He dreamed of being retired and fighting over which brand of fiber to get. He longed for this exact brand of boring. 

Shane grabbed canned goods and this awful looking protein pasta, while Ilya focused on fresh vegetables, meats, and the ingredients for his mother’s recipe; Shchi, a rich, savory soup that Ilya always loved. His mama would make it on especially cold days and as Ilya picked out the ingredients he held each to his chest like precious treasure. He did this automatically, and hadn’t noticed until he caught Shane grinning when he glanced over. 

“You really know how to make this… special recipe?” Shane whispered as they passed the deli counter as Ilya looked for fresh sauerkraut.

Ilya smiled slyly. “Yes. But is… very secret. Only share this with…”

The man I will marry one day.

They both were staring at the cold case between the produce and fish section. Shane’s lips twitched in amusement as he brushed his body lightly against Ilya to grab a fresh batch of tsukemono (pickled vegetables). 

Ilya looked at it. “What is taaa-sookie-monyo?” he tried to sound out as he resumed leaning against the cart handle trying to look casual and not focus on the sparks that flew straight from that touch to his cock. 

He peeked at Shane, who chuckled but couldn’t hide the small, fond smile tugging at his mouth.

“Tsukemono” He corrected. “It’s pickled vegetables. My mom usually makes it, but I ran out. I was supposed to go this weekend, but looks like that’s not happening.” 

The worked their way through the store picking out what Ilya was sure others would describe as the weirdest selections of ingredients and foods. Items two athletes; one from Russia, the other a Japanese Canadian would find essential. But to the world would not fit into the box they put them in, in their minds.  Shane grabbed a 6 pack of “100-Hour Candles”, and Ilya grabbed a yankee candle called “Warm Linen” because he liked the smell. Shane grabbed batteries, and Ilya grabbed a puzzle. Shane loaded multiple gallons of water onto the bottom of the cart and Ilya grabbed a pack of ginger ale and and a pack of coca-cola. They did so quietly, wordlessly, one matching the other without much fuss. 

This feels right. This feels like home. 

They navigated to the checkout, sliding their very full cart and loading it down the conveyor. Ilya held his breath hoping the cashier would not recognize HIM at least. Shane was impossible to miss in Montreal. He was on billboards, commercials, he was their golden boy. The cashier was middle aged woman who barely seemed to register the customers in front of her, far more focused on scanning the items and inputting the produce codes. Ilya started to exhale when suddenly he heard…

“QUOI!?” (WHAT!?) 

Ilya felt Shane stiffen behind him as Ilya loaded the last item he could reach onto the conveyor belt.  He looked up and the bagger was holding an apple, mouth agape staring at Ilya and then to Shane and then to Ilya again.

Time to put on a show Ilya.

“Oh you are big Boston Bears fan?” Ilya smiles at the young man.

The kid, probably seventeen or eighteen just stared. 

“Do not worry, I will sign apron for you” Ilya says sarcastically 

“Toi…” He said in Quebecois then corrected himself in English “Y—You’re… Shane Hollander et… you’re…” the young man stammers mixing French and English (You)

“Yes, yes I am best play in league, donating my time to second best player in league, we can both sign something if you are wanting—”

The cashier is still scanning items albeit slower now as she looks up and stares quizzically. 

“He… uh…” Shane starts

“You hate each other” the bagger says in a thick accent where hate sounds like ‘ate’. 

“Ahhhh yes, on ice he is rival, but today he is hero! Entire Boston team is snowed in, we have nowhere to stay. Hollander is Canadian Prince of Hockey yes? He has castle we all stay at!” Ilya says chuckling a little at the end. 

“M— mais, can…how… I…” (but)

The kid is really stammering now.

“Je peux signer ton chapeau, mais pas Rozanov; ce chapeau prendrait feu si sa signature figurait sur un chapeau des Voyageurs”. (I can sign your hat, but Rozanov can’t, that hat would catch on fire if his signature was on a Voyageurs hat)  Shane responded in what Ilya can only assume is the most perfect French. 

The bagger laughed and shook his head. 

“Non, je pensais simplement que je ne verrais jamais” (No, I just thought I would never see…)

Ilya was always the one to smooth unexpected things over, he was always the one with perfect deflection tactics, but here, now Ilya felt like he could do nothing. He could only understand the words ‘Rozanov; and ;Voyageurs; so he responded to that. 

“Hollander stop telling people I am better than all Voyageurs teammates combined!” 

He could tell Shane was nervous. But the built-in armor of the team being snowed in made Shane, His Shane, bolder than he had seen before. He noticed the look of determination on his face. A mix of his on-ice persona and the steadfast gaze he had given Ilya that late night in the cottage when he had stayed up to draw out a plan for their charity, and for Ilya to move to eventually Canada when he becomes a free agent. 

Ilya smiled with one hand coming up to cover his mouth to hide his true grin… he was trying to play it off.

The bagger laughed again, shaking his head, clearly overwhelmed but delighted. The tension cracked just enough.

“Can… can I get picture?” he asked, holding up his phone with shaky hands.

Shane hesitated. Just a beat.

Ilya didn’t. But swallowed hard. He hoped it was imperceptible to the people around him. 

“Of course,” he said easily, handing the phone to Shane. “Hollander, take our picture”. 

Shane rolled his eyes. 

I will be jester because you are gorgul’ya (gargoyle) but I know deep down you are my knight in this castle we have built around us, moy llyubov (my love).

“I joke, of course! We will pay for our groceries and then take photo with number one Boston fan” Ilya said. 

They finished checking out, making small talk with the bagger, and Shane mentioned far too many times to remind the kid that the Boston Bears were snowed in. And Ilya continued to over exaggerate Shane's “heroic gesture”. 

“He will be knighted by queen for taking in Boston Bears” Ilya said snidely

"He wants Lady Byng to add to his many many trophies" 

"They will name street after Hollander in Montreal AND Boston for this" 

"Statues will be erect... that cannot be word" Ilya paused his face scrunching to remember the correct word in English

Shanes face flushed and said "Erected..." as he rubbed his forehead. 

“You… were very good on ice... en même temps (together)... in All-Stars game” the bagger complimented

“Ahhh yes, we are now best of friends after embarrassing Dallas Kent!” Ilya chuckled

The cashier gave the total and Ilya practically lunged to pay before Shane but Shane had already swiped his card and Ilya clicked his tongue in protest. 

“First you agree to house me, now you pay to feed me? Hollander, I cannot allow this! We stop at Timmy’s before we get to castle, I owe you timbits!” Ilya laughed to further ingratiate himself with his new found Canadian fan. 

The cashier agreed to take the photo, and Ilya stepping just close enough to Shane to make it look natural. 

Casual. Friend but not close friend. Once a year teammate. Nothing more.

Everything more.

The woman snapped the photo, and the kid, named Mathieu thanked them both about six times, and then suddenly remembered he had a job to do and went back to bagging. But the air had shifted.

They were seen now.

Not fully. Not truthfully.

But enough.

Close enough.

Outside, the cold hit them hard again, biting through layers as they loaded the car. Neither of them spoke at first. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full.

Full of everything they couldn’t say inside. The trunk shut with a heavy thud.

Shane leaned against it for a second, hands in his jacket pockets, exhaling into the cold air. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Ilya huffed, with a smile but not looking at Shane. “Mm. I am very charming. I save us.”

“You always think you save us,” Shane shot back, but there was no bite to it.

Ilya stepped closer, just slightly, enough that their shoulders almost touched again. “We save us.”

Shane looked at him then. And Ilya could feel his gaze. He looked towards Shane, really looked.

And for a second, the parking lot, the snow, the world… none of it mattered. They had just won a battle. The war was on-going. But they were storming their castle. They had spent almost a decade building up walls to keep everyone on the outside out. It was meant to keep them safe, but they didn't realize they also kept each other out. The castle built around them was supposed to shield them, but had they been locked in the tower this whole time? 

As they took a beat and stared at each other, both of their eyes were shining. From the cold, from the emotions pouring over them, from the first time experiencing something everyone else in their world took for granted. Running an errand together. 

“Get in the car, Rozy,” Shane said quietly.

But his voice had changed.

Chapter End Notes

Don't worry... the smut is coming! But we gotta earn it first!

Chapter 4: Safe Inside These Walls

Chapter Summary

After their domestic little shopping trip, Shane and Ilya make it back to Shane's apartment and things heat up.

Chapter Notes

CW:
Smut incoming!
No Condom Sex

The door barely clicked shut before the shift happened. It was immediate. Ilya let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. Obvious to each of them and the walls they shared too infrequently. 

The quiet of the apartment wrapped around them, warm after the biting cold. Bags hit the counter one by one, the rustle of groceries being allotted to their assigned spots, loud in the stillness. The storm outside howled faintly against the windows, sealing them in.

We are fully safe now moy lyubov’. (My love)

They placed the groceries on the counter and then glanced at each other briefly. This is really happening. Ilya reached into a shopping bag, pulling out produce, setting it carefully on the counter like this wasn’t absolutely exhilarating. Like his pulse wasn’t racing. 

“You got… a lot,” Shane said. 

“Mm, yes,” Ilya hummed, not looking at him. “We survive three days. Maybe four. Maybe five. Very prepared.”

Shane snorted softly. “Yeah. Very.”

Silence again. Shane moved to the fridge, opening it, bending slightly as he started to organize things inside. Methodical. Intentional. Ilya wanted to scoop him up then and there, but he knew from Shane’s food run at the Cottage that Shane needed to put all the items away before they could move on to other things. They continued in near silence, as they both put items away in the pantry, the fridge, freezer, hall closet. Ilya was unpacking the last bag when…

“Ilya.” Shane said quietly.

Ilya froze for half a second before straightening, turning just slightly. “Hmm?”

Shane was closer than expected. 

“Everyone knows we’re here… together.” Shane said flatly.

Ilya craned his neck around as he unpacked the last bag to look directly at Shane. 

Ilya’s lips parted slightly trying not to smile. “Yes.”

Shane looked bewildered, Ilya knew what he did next would either send Shane spiraling, or ease his worries. 

“They think they know why Solnyshko.” (Little sunshine)

Ilya took a small step closer. Shane didn’t move.

“But they don’t.” Ilya said with a smile

Another step. Ilya could feel the heat of Shane’s breath and body, could see the stiffness in his body.

Shane’s breath slowed, deepened. “No,” he said softly. “They don’t.” A slight smile crept over his face, Ilya watched as his shoulders dropped. 

The space between them shrank. Ilya watched as Shane looked around the kitchen, the only things left to put away were the candles. 

“Fuck it” Shane said breathlessly and pounced on Ilya like a rabid kitten. 

They had done this before. A hundred times. In hotel rooms, in borrowed spaces, in stolen hours that always felt too short. They had had a taste of normalcy at the Cottage but it was in secret. No one knew they were there. 

But this… This was different. The world knew they were here. Together. And still had no idea. And that thought made Ilya feel very very horny. 

Shane had Ilya pinned against the counter, laughing into their next kiss as they broke away briefly to get some air. 

“Clothes. Off. Now” Shane said

“So bossy” Ilya growled

“Fuck off” Shane said though a laugh

They were tearing at each others clothes and walking their way to the bedroom. Once everything but their underwear was off, Ilya guided Shane to the bed. 

“We do not have to rush moy lyubov’(my love), we can take our time, we have three days” Ilya said in a low voice. 

Shane looked at him with a smile “We do have three days, so maybe I make you beg for it” 

Ilya sucked in a breath and went to kiss Shane but instead he was chasing his lips. 

This is new…

Shane brushed passed Ilya taking off his boxer briefs and headed into the shower with a quick wink behind his shoulder “Wait for me” 

Ilya let out an exhale. He hadn’t seen this side of Shane often. Typically, Shane liked Ilya to take charge, Shane would beg for it, and Ilya would tease Shane until they fucked. At the cottage, Ilya got a taste of a more confident Shane. It was hot and although Ilya liked their usual dynamic,  switching it up once in awhile was sexy. It was all Ilya could do not to follow Shane into the shower and beg to fuck him right there. 

Shane didn’t make him wait long, Ilya was still hard with just the thought of Shane. 

Shane rounded around the bathroom door looking like an absolute god. His beautiful naked body was still dewy from the shower. A white towel wrapped around his waist. His perfect powerful frame, although not as bulky as Ilya’s looked strong, sleek and sculpted and absolutely stunning. 

Who sent you to me?

Shane walked to Ilya, his hand came up, slow at first, like he was giving Ilya time to process. Ilya let out a groan. 

“Fuck Shane, Ty izvayan bogami (You are sculpted from the gods)” Ilya whined

Shane placed his hand on Ilya’s chest and kissed him slowly. Ilya’s lips parted, returning the kiss and deepening it.  His head filled with thoughts of wishing this could be their daily routine if they weren’t who they were. 

How did I get so lucky?

Shane’s hand slipped down towards Ilya’s cock and all of Ilya’s wishful thoughts turned to liquid hot lust. Shane let out a noise as he pushed down Ilya’s briefs and wrapped his hand around Ilya’s throbbing cock. He pushed Ilya onto the bed, threw off his towel and straddled him, his muscular thighs framing his beautiful cock as he hovered over Ilya’s pelvis. Shane slowly started kissing his neck, and leaving little pecks on his chest, and down his abdomen. Leaving small temporary red marks in spots. Not enough to bruise, but enough to feel. 

“Pl—eeeeasssse, Let me fuck you Hollander” Ilya grunted

Shane smirked and worked his way down to Ilya’s inner thighs nipping and kissing on his most sensitive erogenous zones. Ilya was so hard, Shane was able to take his cock into his mouth easily with no hands. 

Look at you… Magic Trick, No Hands! 

Ilya smiled to himself and then let out a deep moan throwing his head back as Shane took him deeper into his mouth. Shane cupped his balls, applying light pressure on his perineum where he knew Ilya loved to be pressed to lightly teasing his prostate. 

Ilya bucked up into Shane’s throat unintentionally from the acute pleasure and unsurprisingly, as Shane had had years of becoming an expert on all things Ilya, opened his throat and took Ilya to the hilt. 

“Fuuuuuck” Ilya growled. 

Shane slid his mouth off of Ilya with a pop and started to crawl up and straddled Ilya again, stroking his own cock a few times and reaching his hand back to spread his cheek lighting grinding himself. Ilya reached for the lube and slicked his fingers, and worked his way to Shane’s ass. 

Working the fingers around Shane’s eager hole and teasing it a little. With the first finger in, Shane let out a little whimper. Ilya couldn’t get as much purchase from this angle, but he suspected Shane wanted it, so when he eventually started thrusting himself down on Ilya’s fingers, he knew how badly Shane wanted him. 

“Mmmm Shane please, I need to be inside you” Ilya pleaded. 

“Fuck Ilya, get inside me baby” Shane said breathlessly

He knew Shane wouldn’t be able to resist much. Yes, they had fucked just last night, but the anticipation on the ride home from the store, it was palpable. 

Shane groaned and backed up on Ilya’s torso, aligning himself with Ilya’s cock which had gone untouched for the last 6 minutes… but who was counting.

Shane lowered himself onto Ilya’s cock. Shane’s pulsing heat enveloped Ilya’s head. It was then that Ilya realized neither Shane nor he had reached for a condom. His eyes widened. They hadn’t done this before. They talked about it, sure, they were exclusive, and neither of them had been with anyone else for a year, but it just hadn’t happened. 

Ilya let out a guttural sound he would have been embarrassed by if not for the intense pleasure of what he was feeling. It was all he could do not to thrust into Shane as Shane lowered himself inch by inch making sounds that Ilya felt down to his toes. 

“Shane, fuuuuuuck I don’t know if…mmfh…. will last” Ilya pleaded. 

He had never once fucked anyone without a condom. The sensation, although familiar, was warmer, more visceral and incredibly intimate. He was overcome with emotion knowing the trust that was between them. Knowing this would be their forever.

“It’s ok baby, you… feel… so… good” Shane said, barely audible as he finally took the full length of Ilya’s cock inside of him. His breath catching on the last word. Shane gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing and started to grind his hips back and forth slowly as he hitched forward with his arms on either side of Ilya on the bed. 

Ilya grabbed Shane’s hips just to grab onto something for purchase as this absolutely stunning man took his whole cock inside of him and rode him. He loved Shane’s hips. He loved everything about Shane, but the beautiful tiger stripes that accentuated his beautiful body sent Ilya into a frenzy the first time he saw them. 

As Shane started moving, slow at first and then Shane being the disciplined athlete he was, started bobbing his entire body up and down on Ilya’s cock with the grace and determination of a professional athlete at the top of his field. Beads of sweat formed and Ilya was so gone in his euphoria he was almost soundless. He was about to cum, but Ilya was determined to last longer, and seeing his gorgeous, stunning, sexy as fuck boyfriend riding him in his bed after doing something as domestic as grocery shopping and all of his teammates KNOWING they were here, and feeling ALL of Shane with no condom?  It was too much. 

Ilya grunted, tearing himself out of his near catatonic state and flipped them. Shane let out a whimper and then a growl that was more like a kitten than anything threatening as Ilya put his boyfriend on his back. That was the only small protest as Shanes legs wrapped around Ilya’s waist and pressed him encouraging him to go deeper. 

Ilya took a moment just to stare into Shane’s eyes as he entered him slowly. Shane, his Shane, was so beautiful. He was always beautiful of course, but the uninhibited, angelic and open look he was giving Ilya now, Ilya hoped he could remember this exact face until his dying day. 

“My turn, moy lyubov’ (my love)” Ilya said as he nuzzled into Shane’s neck and kissed him on his pulse point. 

“I love you sweetheart” Ilya said as his slow thrusts turned more desperate and quickened. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Ilya”(I love you) Shane said back and they kissed deeply and wordlessly knowing how special this moment was. 

Ilya felt Shane close around him and Shane let out a beautiful sound as he reached completion. Two more thrusts and Ilya was also coming, but inside Shane. Shane let out a breathless “ohh” as Ilya’s hot cum entered him for the first time and Shane hugged him even closer. 

Ilya was kissing Shane on the face, on his temple, on his neck on his lips.

 “Ya tebya lyublyu, Ya tebya lyublyu, Ya tebya lyublyu” (I love you, I love you, I love you) Ilya whispered through the kisses

I am fully gone. I have never loved someone like this. I will do anything, ANYTHING for this man.

After some time, it could have been one minute or ten, Ilya was so euphoric he had lost all sense of time. Ilya rolled off of Shane, his softening dick hitting the cold air and Ilya immediately regretting it. 

I would stay inside you forever, it’s the safest place I know.

They stared at each other. Shane smiled then got a hopeful look in his eye. 

“Ilya…” he said almost too seriously.

“Can we…” He hesitated. 

Ilya looked at him, sensing the hesitancy. 

“Cottage rules Shane, just be honest sweetheart” Ilya said steeling himself

Are you having doubts? Are your walls coming back up?

“Can we just pretend, for the next few days that… that this is, normal. That we get to do this whenever we want to, and that you being here is…” Shane’s eyes were glassy. “Can we pretend this is our everyday?”

 Ilya’s looked at Shane, his elbow propping him up. Ilya’s heart felt like it would burst wide open. 

Vot ty gde, (There you are) You have let me into your castle. 

“Yes sweetheart, it is what I want too” Ilya smiled

Chapter End Notes

As a reminder, I do not speak Russian. All Russian is through google translate, please correct me if you see issues and are a native speaker.

Next chapter...
(There's a knock at the door...)

Chapter 5: I Look To You To See The Truth

Chapter Summary

Snowstorms are for making warm soup
For falling deeper in love
For dancing in a kitchen
and... for friends?

Chapter Notes

This is the recipe I'm following for Ilya's Shchi: https://youtu.be/vMdMWRt2O_g?si=q_w6mL36tVVSXoby

Here is the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6JWmwoVV8c1dmdvZWTNuOK?si=36689d1e57d14148
I spent a lot of time curating this. It is in this order purposefully.

Kind comments keep me fed. Thank you all for reading!

Ilya woke first from their post coital nap. This was not unusual. Although Shane often got up first, Ilya liked to luxuriate in bed and just watch the rise and fall of Shane’s chest. What was unusual was waking up without the dread of having to leave. No schedule. No quiet exit with a soft kiss to his sleeping boyfriend. No careful reconstruction of distance. Just… this. 

Shane was half on top of him, one leg thrown over his hips, face pressed into Ilya’s shoulder like he had no intention of moving for at least another hour. His breath was slow, even. He was completely out. Ilya loved the unguarded openness of Shane’s face when he slept. He got to see this face in fleeting moments when Shane was awake. Mostly in the wake of an orgasm, but this face, Shane’s sweet sleeping face was special. He suspected not many got to see it. Shane’s parents of course, and probably stupid Hayden Pike since he still insisted on rooming with Shane during roadies even though Shane was a big enough star to ask for his own hotel room. Ilya exhaled with a huff thinking he had to share this special sleepy Shane with 12^th best Voyageur Pike!  

Shane stirs, and Ilya smiled softly, brushing his fingers through Shane’s hair.

I’m so lucky, you trust me to see this face.

Good thought. Yes… a good thought. But also a dangerous one. How could he love something so much yet he couldn’t always hold on to it. 

Ilya stayed there, just watching him. Memorizing. The way Shane’s face softened in sleep, the absence of tension, the way his mouth was slightly open like he had forgotten the world existed.

He thinks of how gargoyles turn to stone by day when they are being perceived, but by night they awaken. How they don’t realize how vulnerable they are when they are unmovable stone. 

Shane roused, and Ilya pressed a light kiss to his temple before carefully shifting out from under him. Shane made a small noise in protest.

“Mm. Stay,” Shane mumbled.

Ilya paused. Then smiled.

“I make food,” he whispered. “You sleep, solnyshko.”(Sunshine)

A pause.

“…okay,” Shane muttered, turning over and already gone again.

——————

Ilya pulled on the  pair of sweats he had left somewhere in the trail they had left behind and stole one of Shanes All-Stars shirts from 2014 and immediately got to work. The kitchen felt different, far less charged. Still warm. Still theirs. He moved easily, confidently, like he belonged there. Because right now, he did. As he started gathering the ingredients he remembered his kitchen from childhood, and the smells wafting around his home. His mother asking him and Alexei to chop the cabbage and potatoes while she created the rich warm broth. He had picked Shchi because it was something that would be Shane approved but this was also his love language. He was able to make food at the cottage, but it was with ingredients Shane had gotten. This… was his childhood. A part of his mama. A part of his soul. He lined everything up with precision, nodding slightly to himself.

If he doesn’t like it, do not cry.

“Shchi,” he said under his breath. Ilya smiled to himself remembering a phrase in Russian he rarely gets to use anymore “Na ser’yoznykh shchakh”(On serious shchi) Shchi is cabbage soup. Somehow, it also became a nickname for face. Why? Ilya had no idea. Russians are strange. Soup is face. This makes sense to no one. Not even Russians. So when someone’s face is serious, they say, “Ah, he is on serious shchi.” So Ilya chuckled as he prepared Shchi for his Shchi-ayne… he laughed again to himself and thought:

I could be a comedian if hockey does not work out, Shchi-ayne would hate it. 

Behind him, there was the sound of footsteps dragging. Ilya didn’t turn.

“I told you to stay in bed,” he murmured

“Mmmph, but I like being near you,” Shane replied, voice rough.

Ilya glanced over his shoulder. Shane looked so cute. Hair everywhere, one of Ilya’s hoodies thrown on with nothing underneath, boxer briefs that show off his perfectly toned thighs, eyes sticky with sleep and brow furrowed.

Absolutely perfect.

“You look…” Ilya said smiling.

“Shut up…” Shane muttered, dropping onto one of the stools.

“Like Furby…” Ilya chuckled

“Like a what?” Shane shot a betrayed look over to Ilya

“Like little weird babble toy from childhood. Furby” 

Shane cracked one eye open. “Ilya…”

“Yes, you are Furby now” Ilya teased lovingly

“…great.” Shane puffed. 

“You always call me something weird! Like tomato or lawnmower and now that creepy toy!” 

And gargoyle and cabbage soup and love of my life and now Shchi-ayne.

Ilya laughed “Oh, you love it moy lyubov’(my love)”

Shane shrugged, conceding.

Ilya moved through the kitchen like it’s a cathedral, every motion careful, almost reverent.  Ilya added the smoked short ribs to the pressure cooker with spices and bay leaves and water and set the timer for one hour. 

He prepped the vegetables starting with the carrots and the onions. The cabbage waiting like an altar offering. Shane leans against the counter, entertained, watching like it’s a show he didn’t buy tickets for. Ilya holds up a head of cabbage like it’s a rare jewel.

“Is cabbage. Very important. You do not disrespect cabbage,” he says like Shane’s life depends on it.

“Are you threatening me over a soup Rozanov?” Shane says quirking an eyebrow

“I am… not threatening. I am instructing,” Ilya says with a wink. 

I want to have this, the real version of this, with you moy lyubov’(my love)… all the time. One day we will. 

Shane reaches over to steal a thin slice of carrot. Ilya swats his hand away, but softly, almost teasing letting Shane steal one. 

Shane grins. “This is called, Schai-yee?” 

“Mmmm… sort of. It’s pronounced more like ‘She’. 

The pressure cooker beeped and Ilya let out the steam. The apartment filling with the the delicious smells of rich broth and onions and home. 

—— —— 

Something warm, slow, and deeply familiar that settled into Ilya’s chest like a memory he hadn’t visited in a long time. Home. Ilya stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the pot with careful attention. Steam curled up around his face, softening the edges of everything. The windows had fogged slightly from the heat, the storm outside still relentless, snow tapping gently against the glass. The condensation droplets on the windows reminded him of Shane’s freckles. 

I see him everywhere. It’s why I’ve always been his.

Shane had gone off to shower fifteen minutes ago, leaving Ilya to his thoughts. Here we was, in his very hot boyfriends home. Making him the soup that his mother made for him on the coldest of winter days. Some of his fondest memories from childhood that he could bring into the present. He had put on music. A playlist that he had shared with Shane a few months ago so they could both add to it if they heard a song that reminded them of the other. 

As Ilya stirred the broth and looked for the Sunflower oil to cook the carrots and onions in. He was swaying to a familiar upbeat song when he felt a presence behind him, Shane was… hovering. A hand came around to grab another raw carrot.

“You are hovering like weird sea bird.” Ilya said without turning.

“I thought I was a Furby”

“Well now you are like seagull, you come in with no sound and swoop on my food.”  Ilya said not too seriously

Shane huffed. “I can help.”

“No, moy solnyshko ( my sunshine), let me make this for you, it is special” Ilya said

[I got my mind set on you]

“Eat protein bar if you are hungry, this will be another hour or so” He waved his hand, gesturing toward the pantry where the protein bars were located. 

 [I got my mind set on you, got my mind set on you]

Shane went to grab the bar when Ilya swooped behind him, chest to back and bopping to the music. Shane chuckled as “Got My Mind Set on You” by George Harrison filled the kitchen. Ilya knew Shane wasn’t that much of a dancer, at least in public. But Shane turned around and met Ilya’s gaze, grabbed his hand and bopped with him. Ilya knew from the many many times they had had sex that Shane had a good sense of rhythm but Shane… could dance. Not like barely getting through it, he was… matching Ilya perfectly. Ilya still had the wooden spoon in his hand and as he lifted his hand to turn Shane he lovingly swatted Shane in the butt lightly with the spoon. 

[And this time I know it’s real, the feelin’ that I feel]

Shane laughed as he said “Asshole!” 

Ilya pulled him into a kiss. They crashed into each other smiling through the kiss. 

“I love you” Shane said

Ilya felt like maybe instead of the snowstorm, he had gone into a coma. Maybe this was a dream. This all felt too… perfect. “I love you too Shane”. He said, eyes a bit glassy. 

Their foreheads pressed together as the song ended and Fade Into You by Mazzy Star started. 

Ilya pulled Shane closer and grabbed his hand, entertaining their fingers on one side as Shane put his other hand on Ilya shoulder. 

[I wanna hold the hand inside, I wanna take the breath that’s true]

Shane laid his head on Ilya as they slowly swayed, and Ilya layed his cheek on Shane. 

The carrots could wait to be cooked. At least for another 5 minutes.

Ilya could feel Shane’s breath on his neck and then Shane pressed in tighter. He kissed Shanes temple and squeezed his eyes shut.

My heart. Ves’ moy mir. (My whole world) is right here in my arms. 

Ilya opened his eyes and brought his hand to Shane’s cheek

[Fade into you. I think it’s strange you never knew…] 

Shane tilted his chin up for Ilya to kiss him

[KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK]

“What the fuck was that?” Ilya whipped his head towards the door

Shane stiffened, stepped back from Ilya and immediately stopped the music using his smart watch. 

Back to your stone moy gorgul’ya(my gargoyle) 

[KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK]

“Uhhhh….” Shane looked at Ilya with big saucer eyes

Ilya knew it couldn’t be Yuna and David. Shane had called them in the car between the store and Shane’s place. Ilya looked at Shane who looked like he was also going through the same process as Ilya but came to the realization— 

“Oh god” Shane gulped

“Shane, I’m using my key! Rozanov, I’m going to kick your ass if you’ve done ANYTHING to him.” Said a voice behind the door

Ilya for the briefest moment remembered a moment five years ago having to jump out of the window of a 2^nd story apartment when a woman he took home from a club neglected to tell Ilya she had a boyfriend. Ilya could hold his own, but not naked against a man wielding a baseball bat. 

“Shane…” Ilya was confused and then remembered, wait HE was the boyfriend and WHO THE HELL WAS THIS?

Ilya felt a flash of anger, he hands curled and Shane laid a hand on Ilya’s chest and looked into his eyes to calm him. 

“Hey Hayden, give me a sec buddy!” Shane said as casually as he could muster

Pike? Hayden fucking Pike!? 

Ilya groaned, “Pike?” 

Shane walked to the door as the keys jingled and Pike turned the doorknob bursting in. 

“Shane! I’ve been calling you! What the fuck man?” Hayden said exasperatedly

“Hayden, what are you doing here? Are Jackie and the kids okay?” Shane said with a worried tone, but his body language was protective. He was clearly blocking Hayden’s path to Ilya. 

Ilya had resumed cooking. It was all he could do, because if Hayden fucking Pike looked at him with murder eyes, and Ilya’s hands weren’t busy, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to pummel him for ruining one of the most romantic moments of his fucking life! 

“Shane, what the FUCK are you doing with Ilya Rozanov in your apartment?” Hayden barked

Ilya still felt a flutter of jealousy, because Hayden didn’t sound like a best friend, he sounded like… like a jealous lover and Ilya did not like that one bit. 

“Hayds, how’d you even know…” Shane started

“It’s all over the internet! You took a picture with some employee at Marche’ Epicure. I’ve been texting you and calling you for hours” Pike hissed

“Oh…” Shane said

Ilya could hear the panic in Shane’s exhale

“Hollander is my hero! Whole team is stuck in Montreal. Whole team bet I could not get Hollander to let me stay here, and I am now a rich man” Ilya said, trying to relieve the tension

“So you are using Shane for a bet?” Hayden said accusatorially 

Ilya continued to stir the broth even though he didn’t need to, it was the only thing keeping him from walking over and punching Pike’s dumb face. 

“Hayden, Rozanov and I… are friends” Shane shrugged 

“What— no, that’s… WHAT?” Hayden said, incredulously

“We… we got to know each other at the last All-Stars game, he’s not so bad... I mean technically… I met him in Juniors” Shane trailed off

“Shane… This is… you don’t have to do this! Put this fucker up in a hotel? He can afford it, he has like a hundred fancy cars.” Hayden spits 

“Hayden it’s fine! He’s making food, He’s been nice” Shane says calmingly

Hayden steps around Shane, and Shane steps back to line up with him. Putting a hand on Haydens bicep to slow him. Ilya really didn’t like how comfortable they seemed to be this close to one another. 

Is Hayden Pike Bi? Had he and Shane been together ever?

Shane would have told Ilya if they were anything. Shane had shared every sexual encounter he had had outside of Ilya at the cottage. It was a very short list. And nowhere did it mention Hayden Fucking Pike!

“Roz, I swear to god… if you are doing this shit for some sort of publicity stunt, to piggyback off of Shane’s…. Shane’s kindness” Hayden looked at Ilya with fury in his eyes

Ilya met Hayden’s eyes

Oh. Pike… you absolute idiot. That look. I know that look. You are in love with him. 

Ilya knew that look. He knew it, because he was wearing it too. 

YOU are in love with Shane and Shane has no clue because he’s only had eyes for me. Too bad twelfth best Voyageur I met him first!

He wanted to pity him, so instead of actually doing it, Ilya only imagined walking over to Shane, grabbing his hand and then punching stupid Pike in the face. Ilya imagined Pike grabbing his nose and doubling over as Ilya passionately dipped Shane to kiss him in front of Pike and flipping him off to add literal insult to injury. 

“Pike, go back home, we are fine here” Ilya chuckled looking back at the soup and finally breaking eye contact with Pike

“Hayds, I’m sorry I didn’t answer, I was conserving my phone battery in case the power went out” Shane said pleadingly

It was then that Ilya heard the scuffled sound of rapid footsteps up the stairs leading to Shane’s apartment. 

“Where is he?” Ilya heard in a thick Quebecois accent

J.J. Boiziau was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath

“Oh, for the love of…” Shane said

“Capitaine, Nous sommes là pour le mettre dehors.”( Captain, we are here to kick him out)

“JJ…you didn’t…neither of you needed to come. For fucks sake, close the door it’s freezing out there” Shane whined

Ilya had stopped stirring. He could easily handle Pike, but a two-on-one situation would be tricky. JJ was taller that him, and had nearly as many penalty box minutes. Shit. Ilya looked at the Shchi, and at the onions waiting to be softened and sighed. 

Roses not thorns Ilyusha he heard in Sveta’s voice

“I did not know I would be making soup for so many, but luckily we bought a lot.” Ilya smiled at the two men who were snarling over Shane’s shoulders.

Shane turned slightly to look at Ilya with a grateful smile and Ilya could see the mixture of love for him, and the annoyance of his dumb well meaning friends. Shane’s eyebrows raised in a questioning look. 

Ilya sighed, looked at the two men who were here to slay the beast with pitchforks. They loved his Shane too, albeit differently he hoped. They loved him enough to drive in a snowstorm to save this beauty from the beast. 

“Guys, let’s sit down” Shane gestured to the couches in the living room that was adjacent to the kitchen. 

“Ilya, come sit if you can” Shane looked over at Ilya pleadingly

“ILYA?!” they both said

Shane sighed and patted the cushion next to him, gesturing for Ilya to sit next to him. 

Chapter End Notes

I love these boys, I want them to have all the romance! But we gotta have a little angst too! They are so in love but still a little scared and they have so much to give one another.

Re: The Playlist

Here Comes Your Man - The Pixies - Ilya heard it in an uber to the Boston airport before a flight to a Montreal/Boston Game. He smiled and added it to the list

Quelqu'un m'a dit - Carla Bruni - Shane heard this during a photoshoot for a cologne ad. The men's groomer had it playing when he was styling Shane's hair - he had to Shazam it, because he knows very little about music but he loved the lyrics and they reminded him of his Ilya

I Will - Mitski - Shane heard this at a coffee shop Rose dragged him to when he was in LA playing. All he could think of was Ilya. He saved this one before they were together, but he added it to the playlist once they did

A Sunday Kind Of Love - Etta James - Ilya added this. He remembers his mom playing this on a small radio in the summertime in their backyard. She would hang laundry on a line to dry and sing with it. She learned a little English from her Etta James and Billie Holiday CD's

I Got My Mind Set On You - George Harrison - Shane added this. He was at a teammates wedding just before the pre-season started it made him tap his foot. He thought about dancing with Ilya at their wedding if they get to have one.

Fade Into You - Mazzy Star - Ilya first heard this in an episode of CSI: MIAMI while sitting on his couch. He watched CSI when he first moved to the US to help him process English more quickly. He got the DVD box set for himself because rewatching episodes helped with processing and understanding. This song was at the end of Season 1, Episode 1 and it always made him think of the stupid hockey player with the beautiful freckles. He made the playlist originally because of this song.

Hey Lover - The Daughters of Eve - Ilya added this. Slightly to tease Shane because he apparently hated the word. But Ilya always referred to Shane as lover in his head and still sometimes does. He first heard it on the playlist of the Bears equipment manager Simard.

Kiss Me - Sixpence Non The Richer - Ilya added this after watching a dumb rom-com Sveta insisted on watching with him. It was called "She's All That" it made him think of Shane because he though the girl looked really good in glasses and she didn't need a makeover at all

Linger - The Cranberries - Shane added this song after spending an afternoon with Jackie and the kids. Hayden had to visit his parents and Shane went to help out with Ruby, Jade, Arthur and Amber. It was on Jackie's playlist and she joked that the girls had Shane wrapped around their fingers and he thought "They aren't the only ones" So he added it.

Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex - Shane heard this while watching one of Rose's movie. It was a shot of a sweeping city scape showing two people who couldn't spend time together separated because of some time warp thing but Shane thought of how much he wished he and Ilya had more time together too so he added it to the playlist

Space Song - Beach House - Shane went to a launch party for a brand he was repping. Everyone there was fashionable and far cooler than he had ever felt in his life. He was drinking a ginger ale and trying to fade into the background. He started to panic and Ilya somehow knew from 2000 miles away to text him in that moment and ask the dumbest question: "You are at dumb fancy party... who do you think has biggest stick up butt?" This song was playing and he heard "Fall back in to place" and that's how Ilya makes him feel. When Shane starts to spiral into Space, Ilya grounds him. He added it.

Electric Love - Børns - Ilya heard this when he was stuck going to a club with Cliff and the guys after a win. He was sitting in a booth ignoring a woman who kept hitting on him. This song came on and he heard "Baby you're like lightning in a bottle, I can't let you go now that I got it" He got up and was texting Shane before he even got to the club door. "I'm going to Skype you in 20 minutes, I need to see you naked.

Lovers Rock - TV GIRL - Shane heard this and smiled. He heard this on the bus when one of the Rookies took over the playlist. It reminded Shane of their "relationship" early on. Now that he was on the other side of that angst it made him smile fondly. He added it

The Night We Met - Lord Huron - Shane and Ilya both heard this when they were at the Cottage when Ilya decided to make pasta and said he liked music when he cooked. Shane turned on the radio. This came on and they listened to it wordlessly. After the song ended they both said "I never..." in sync and then Ilya let Shane finish "want none of you...I want all of you...Always" Ilya smiled. "We should add it" and they did.

More added later. Ran out of allowed characters in notes.

Chapter 6: You Mock Cabbage, Cabbage Remembers

Chapter Summary

When concern brings Shane’s friends to his door, Ilya finds himself in unfamiliar territory. What starts as concern spirals into an unexpected dinner

Chapter Notes

Okay, I know some of you weren't terribly happy with Hayden and JJ interrupting that moment. But we gotta have some tension sometimes.
I had fun chirping Hayden!

Ilya crossed the room and sat where Shane had patted, close enough that their legs nearly brushed, but not touching. Not obvious in a way anyone could point to.

Close enough.

Shane shifted beside him, subtle but grounding. Like something settled. Ilya pretended not to notice. Hayden sat there for a moment, looking between them like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that had been dumped out too quickly. JJ hovered by the door, sighed, then crossed the room and dropped onto the larger couch across from them.

“Guys, what the fuck? We’re good here,” Shane said easily. “Promise.”

Hayden nodded, but didn’t fully relax. “You had me a little worried there, man. Big storm coming in, no texts, and suddenly you’re trending on twitter because you went grocery shopping with…” He gestured vaguely toward Ilya.

Ilya lifted a hand in a small wave. “We had celebrity appearance. You would not know what that is”

JJ snorted. Hayden huffed a quiet breath.

“Hollander and I, we have big sponsorship with cabbage,” Ilya added, with completely serious tone.

Shane let out a soft laugh beside him, but Hayden still looked unconvinced.

Ilya bumped his shoulder lightly into Shane’s, then leaned back into the couch, crossing one ankle over his knee.

“Careful,” he said. “You mock cabbage, but cabbage remembers.”

Shane made a quiet noise, half laugh, half please behave. Ilya decided to ignore it completely.

JJ’s expression softened. “We were just worried about you, Capitaine. We didn’t know if… if he maybe came here to beat you up.”

Ilya turned, offended. “What? I am hockey player, not psychopath!”

Hayden glanced toward the kitchen, ignoring that entirely. “You’re apparently cooking now too?”

“Of course,” Ilya said. “I break into apartment, I make soup, I beat up Hollander, I ruin life. Very standard evening.”

JJ coughed into his fist, clearly trying not to laugh. Hayden shook his head, a reluctant smile slipping through. 

“You’re both insane.” Hayden sighed as he shook his head

“We saw what the internet was saying and also—” JJ froze. “Oh merde(Shit). St. Simon is still in the car.”

“He’s what?” Shane, Hayden, and Ilya all said at once.

Ilya noticed Shane rub a hand through his hand in exasperation. Making his hair stand up again. My Furby.

“I can go get him, yes?” JJ was already halfway standing.

Shane dragged the hand that was in his hair over his face, exasperated, then glanced at Ilya.

Ilya smirked back, easy, reassuring. Honestly, it might even help, not being the only Boston player in the apartment.

“Sure,” Shane said sarcastically. “Let’s make it a party.”

JJ hurried out. The door shut.

And just like that, it was quieter. Hayden’s eyes drifted back to Shane again. Checking. Always checking. Ilya caught it. Of course he did. He tilted his head slightly, watching Hayden watch Shane.

Curious.

Then, because he couldn’t help himself-

“Do you always do this?” Ilya asked casually.

Hayden blinked. “Do what?”

“Hover,” Ilya said. “Like nervous mother before first day of school.”

Shane choked on a laugh, turning it into a cough.

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sorry for caring if my best friend doesn’t answer his phone during a snowstorm when the last known thing I see is him in with someone who openly hates him and is known for accruing a shit ton of penalties on the ice .”

“Ah,” Ilya nodded thoughtfully. “So you are very close. This is good friendship.”

“It’s called paying attention,” Hayden shot back.

Ilya smiled, just a little sharper now. “Then you know Shane is careful with who he chooses to be around.”

A beat.

Shane went very still beside him. Hayden’s gaze flicked between them again. Not accusing. Just… thinking.

Pike is very good friend. Stupid. But good friend. And maybe he likes my boyfriend… I still cannot tell. Either way, will be fun to tease him. 

Ilya let the moment stretch exactly one second too long, then broke it himself with a shrug.

“Anyway,” he said lightly, “you are all lucky. I made Shchi.”

“…I’m not staying,” Hayden said immediately.

“Oh, you will,” Ilya replied.

The door opened again before Hayden could respond.

JJ stepped back in, shaking his head. “Roz, if this tastes half as good as it smells…”

“It will change your life,” Ilya said.

Heavy footsteps followed behind him.

“What the fuck is going on, Boiziau? I thought we were going to the store and now you have me walking into some random—OH.”

St. Simon stopped short, taking in the scene.

Shane on the couch. Ilya standing now. Hayden looking mildly irritated.

“Merde…”(Shit) St. Simon checked his watch. “Marly’s winning the betting pool. Look, if you brought me here to-”

“Winning?” Shane looked between him and Ilya.

“Ah yes,” Ilya said easily. “Many of my teammates bet on you not picking me up. Or you murdering me in snowstorm.”

“Yes, well after you left Roz, the real bets started,” St. Simon added, pointing at him. “We all put money on how long you’d last before Hollander here kicked you out.” 

Shane’s expression shifted, subtle, but Ilya felt it immediately.

The walls. Back up again. One stone at a time. The softness from ten minutes ago was completely gone. Ilya’s stomach dropped.

No. Not today. You will not disappear today.

Ilya straightened slightly, stepping in before the silence could settle too heavily.

“We are starting charity,” Ilya said, like it was obvious. Like they were late to their own announcement.

Shane blinked beside him.

Hayden frowned. “You’re what?”

Ilya gestured vaguely between the two of them. “Him. Me. We played together at All-Stars, we realize media makes everything… dramatic.” He waved a hand. “Rivalry, enemies, very boring story.”

JJ leaned against the couch, listening now.

“So we give them better one,” Ilya continued. “We work together instead. Charity. Good press. Everyone happy.”

These were almost Shane’s exact words which he pitched the idea to Ilya in the wee hours in the morning at the cottage, but the context was a half truth. 

No one sees us Solnyshko. Only what we want them to. 

St. Simon let out a quiet, impressed whistle.

Hayden’s eyes moved to Shane. Searching. Waiting.

Shane hesitated, just for a fraction of a second then nodded. 

“Yeah. It’s… something we’ve been talking about. Maybe this summer”

Ilya didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to. He could hear the relief in Shane’s voice and it settled low in his chest.

“See?” Ilya said lightly. “No kidnapping. No murder. Just very wholesome collaboration.”

JJ huffed a laugh.

St. Simon shook his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

 Some of the tension in Hayden’s shoulders eased.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “That… actually… kinda… makes sense.” A beat. Then, quieter. “You could’ve just said that.”

Shane rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… wasn’t exactly planning a press release tonight Hayd.”

“Mm,” Hayden hummed

For now. Ilya finally glanced at Shane. Just for a second.

Stay. Moy lyubov’ (my love) 

———

Ilya had made enough soup to hold them over for a few days if it had just been the two of them. Shane was very regimented with portions, always thinking ahead, always controlled. Ilya, however, had not planned for 4 additional grown athletes to descend on the apartment.

An hour later, there were six bowls laid out.

St. Simon had texted Marleau at one point and he replied with something about his Montreal hookup being a nurse and getting called on shift and boredom winning out over good judgment, and now the space felt… full. 

Loud. Warm.

Shane moved beside him at the counter, assembling a hearty salad with the same quiet efficiency he brought to everything. Their shoulders brushed once, twice, neither of them reacting. But they both noticed.

For a moment, as they plated the food, their eyes met. Just a glance. A shared smile. Small. Private. Ilya felt it wash over him.

This is what I want.

For a second, just a second,  it was easy to pretend. Like this was normal. Like they did this all the time. Like this was theirs.

“Careful,” Ilya murmured under his breath as he handed Shane a bowl. “You look very domestic. People will start to suspect things.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “Shut up and pass me the spoons.”

“Yes, of course,” Ilya said, solemnly. “I live to serve.”

“Yeah, clearly,” Shane shot back, but there was a smile there he didn’t bother hiding.

They carried everything out together. No one said anything about it. But it didn’t go unnoticed either.

The first few bites were quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

Then-- 

JJ nodded immediately. “Yeah, okay. I was not expecting this.”

St. Simon pointed his spoon at Ilya. “You’ve been hiding this? This is criminal.”

“Rozy’s got skills” Marleau said, as he ate another bite. 

Hayden took another bite, slower this time, like he was reassessing something. “Yeah…okay, this is actually really good.”

Ilya leaned back in his chair, pleased. “Of course it is. You doubted cabbage. Now you learn.”

Shane shook his head, smiling into his bowl.

“It’s the sauerkraut,” he said after a second. “It’s…” he paused, searching. “It reminds me of something my O bāchan(grandma) used to make called Sanratan-men. It’s different but it’s bringing up some nice memories” Shane beamed

Ilya looked at him and couldn’t help but beam back and then he absentmindedly started doing one of his favorite things. Counting Shane’s freckles as some disappear in the crease lines of his smile. 

Marleau cleared his throat.

Oooops

“Good,” he said, quieter now. “Then it is doing its job.”

Shane met his eyes for half a second. That same look from the kitchen. Warm. Open. Then gone just as quickly.

———

Alright,” JJ said, grabbing a controller. “Who’s getting embarrassed first?”

“Oh shit, Hollzy! You got MHL 13?” Marleau asked.

Shane smirked. “You’re in my house. You already know the answer.”

“Some 3-on-3 action, St. Simon?” Hayden said.

Ilya dropped onto the floor in front of the couch, settling near Shane’s knee. His arm brushed Shane’s calf, light, absent.

Neither of them moved.

“You boys are going to go home crying,” Ilya said, picking up a controller like he was about to perform surgery.

Marleau flopped down next to Shane. Ilya smirked.

The game loaded. Trash talk started immediately.

“Are we all just… picking ourselves?” Shane asked.

“I always pick Bears” Ilya said, like this was obvious. “Unless I pick Admirals, but only when I want to laugh. They make Hunter skate like newborn deer. Very tragic. Like Bambi on ice.”

“That’s you in real life half the time,” Hayden muttered.

Ilya gasped. “Excuse me. I am elegance. I am poetry.”

“You’re a turnover machine,” Hayden shot back.

“Lies,” Ilya said calmly. “Defamation. I will sue.”

“Yeah? With what lawyer?” Marleau laughed.

“I will represent myself. I am very convincing.”

Shane snorted. “You’d get distracted arguing with yourself.”

“I always win those arguments,” Ilya said.

“Oh my god,” Shane laughed, leaning forward. “Just start the game before he gives himself a pregame speech.”

“I already did,” Ilya said. “You missed it. Very inspiring. There were tears.”

“From who?” JJ asked.

“Everyone,” Ilya said. “Mostly me.”

St. Simon chimed in “ Ok is it teammates or couches?”

“Couches!” Marleau said enthusiastically “I’m not passing up playing with Hollzy” then winked at Ilya

What was that?

So it was Marleau, Shane and Ilya against St. Simon, JJ and Hayden. 

The puck dropped. Immediate chaos.

“Ugh” Hayden muttered. “How do I…?”

“Are you serious right now?” Hayden groaned. “I wasn’t ready!”

“You were born not ready,” Ilya shot back.

Shane laughed, shoulders shaking next to him. “Holy shit Hayd, you really aren’t good buddy.”

In Hayden’s square he had skated into the neutral zone and then crashed himself into the boards. 

“Pike, somehow you are worse in-game then on ice” Ilya laughed

“You just checked me!” Hayden complained

“Yes. That is part of hockey.” Shane chirped back

“I didn’t even have the puck!” Pike whined

“Who knew Hollzy could play dirty?” St. Simon laughed

“I don’t play this stupid game all the time,” Hayden muttered. “Some of us have lives.”

The whole room laughed. 

“I’ve got kids, assholes,” Hayden shot back. “I don’t sit around playing video games all day.”

“That is fair,” Ilya nodded. “You are busy raising future people.”

A beat.

“Still, you are very bad.”

Shane choked on a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” Hayden said. “I get one moment of respect—”

“And then we return to truth,” Ilya said, scoring again. “2–0.”

JJ leaned back. “This is getting ugly.”

“It was ugly when he picked up controller,” Ilya said. “Now it is tragedy.”

“Dude, I have not played in like… years!”

“And it shows,” Ilya said.

St. Simon scored a goal making it 2-1

“Rozy,” Shane said, grinning, nudging him lightly with his shoulder, “you’re insufferable when you’re winning.”

“Ahhhh Hollzy, Roz is all bark no bite. Nicest guy on the team and all the Rookies love him. They follow him around like he hung the moon. Seriously, a really good captain”.

“That’s true,”  St. Simon said.

“Thank you.” Ilya said trying not to feel too giddy “I am raising future people, like Hayden”. 

Was… was Marly wing-manning him?

Hayden groaned as he got checked again. “Oh my god, leave me alone!”

“No mercy,” Ilya said. “This is safe space for no one.”

“You just said I raising future people!”

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “And today they learn their father loses.”

“Jesus Christ.” JJ laughed

Shane was fully leaning into him now, laughing openly, not even pretending to hold it back.

His leg pressed to Ilya’s shoulder.

He Stayed.

“Alright, alright,” Shane said, wiping at his face. “Roz, relax, Hayds getting upset”

“And I have legacy,” Ilya shot back.

“Your legacy is being annoying.” Hayden said

They laughed. 

“And your legacy is…” Ilya tilted his head, considering. “being very loving father who is terrible at video games.”

Hayden dropped his controller on the couch for a second. “Yeah, I really do suck, huh.”

On screen, his player spun uselessly in the corner.

The room erupted.

“Oh my god, he’s still going!” JJ wheezed.

“Leave him,” Ilya said, barely holding it together. “He is exploring.”

“Exploring what?” Hayden shot back. “The boards?”

“His inner self,” Ilya said. “Very brave journey.”

Shane leaned across the coffee table, grabbing Hayden’s controller and nudging the joystick. “Here, Hayd, you gotta, no, not like that—”

“I am trying!” Hayden said slightly frustrated but laughing 

“You’re not even facing the play!” Shane had tears in his eyes from laughing

“I have kids, Shane!” Hayden said making fun of himself 

“That doesn’t affect your thumbs!” JJ teased

They dissolved again, the kind of laughter that came easy, overlapping and loud and impossible to stop once it started.

Eventually, the game evened out, less chaos, more actual play. Hayden got one in and threw both arms up like he’d won a championship.

“YES, there we go!” He wooped

“Charity goal,” Ilya said immediately.

“Shut up.” Hayden said not seriously

“Scorekeeper felt bad.” Shane said

Hayden’s mouth dropped “I will leave.” He broke into a smile. 

They played another game. All six of them against the computer as the Admirals just to laugh at how the game had animated Scott Hunter

Ilya continued to chirp Hayden but he passed the puck a second later. He let Hayden carry it and didn’t say anything about how he shot it nowhere near the crease. 

— — — 

Time slipped.

Games blurred into each other, controllers traded, alliances shifted and dissolved. Someone  put music on low in the background. At some point, Ilya disappeared into the kitchen and came back with more water, more snacks, moving through the space like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was theirs. Ilya found himself watching the evening unfold in pieces. The way Shane nudged JJ out of the way with his hip to set something down. The way Hayden didn’t even look up when he grabbed another drink.
The way no one asked permission. No one hesitated. Comfort. Easy. Uncomplicated. For once.

Ilya leaned back against the couch as Shane sat back down. He wordlessly handed Ilya his favorite snack and as Ilya grabbed it he noticed Marly looking at Shane head tilted slightly. 

“Alright, we gotta bounce,” JJ said eventually, stretching as he stood. “We never went to the store.”

St. Simon stood to join him. “Yeah this was fun guys, the team isn’t gonna believe this”. 

“Same, I’m headed out” Hayden added, grabbing his stuff. “And apparently I need to go home and practice so I don’t get embarrassed like this again.”

“Your children already know,” Ilya said. “You cannot hide this from them.”

“Goodnight, Roz.” Hayden fist bumped him and then hugged Shane

“Drive safe, we know you are not good with controls” Ilya chided

“Oh my god, I’m never living this down am I?” Ilya could hear as the three men headed out the door.

JJ clapped Ilya on the shoulder on his way out. “Good food, man. Seriously.”

Ilya nodded. 

The door opened, then closed.

And just like that, quiet. Well. Quieter.

Marleau lingered.

He leaned back against the arm of the couch, not in any rush, watching Shane disappear into the kitchen again with a couple empty bowls.

Then his gaze slid to Ilya.

A pause. Ilya could feel something in the air shift.

“Soup was good,” Marleau said casually.

“Of course it was,” Ilya replied, just as easy.

Another beat.

Marleau smirked slightly. “You uh… have never cooked like that for any of your teammates.”

Ilya didn’t answer right away. Just looked back at him.

“No,” he said.

Marleau nodded once, like that confirmed everything.

“Mmm hmm” a small smile pulling at his mouth.

Shane came back in, drying his hands on a towel. “You heading out too?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Marleau said. Then, to Ilya, lighter but not really, “Good thing you didn’t get murdered in that snowstorm, huh?”

Ilya huffed. “Yes. Big win for everyone.”

“Especially you Roz,” Marleau said.

There it was again. Not heavy. Not accusing. Just… aware. Ilya held his gaze for half a second longer this time.

Then-

“Drive safe Marly” Ilya said.

Marleau smiled, small and knowing.

“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”

Another pause.

“Both of you.”

He pushed off the couch, stepped forward and pulled Ilya into a hug. Longer than usual. Not a quick teammate thing, something steadier. Intentional.

Ilya stilled for half a second… then returned it.

Marleau pulled back, glancing over at Shane.

“Take care of my buddy here, Hollzy,” he said. “He’s one of the good ones.”

Shane nodded, quieter now. “Yeah. I know.”

Marleau grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. No big moment. No speech. Just that. The door clicked shut behind him.

— — — 

Ilya exhaled slowly and turned to look at Shane who was already looking at him. Ilya suspected they wore the same expression. 

Shane let out a small breath, something softer than anything he’d allowed all night. “Your friend,” he said lightly, “he’s very observant.”

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes… he can be.” 

A beat

“Is that… a problem?” Ilya asked unsure

“No,” Shane replied, just as quiet.

Then, after a second:

“I think… maybe I like it.” A smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah?” Ilya grinned as he started toward him.

“Yeah.” Shane nodded as their bodies collided

Ilya lifted Shane up as Shane’s arms wrapped around his neck and Ilya spun them once and then lifted Shane onto the kitchen counter. 

“And your friends are very… unobservant” Ilya laughed as he pressed his forehead into Shane’s chest

“Oh my god baby, they came here to… to like beat you up!” Shane chuckled

Ilya laughed remembering the dumb look on Hayden’s face when he first saw him. 

They both laughed into each other. 

“This was good day, we danced, we threw unexpected dinner party, I humiliated Pike” Ilya said as he nuzzled into Shane

Shane’s hands were rubbing Ilya’s back. “This was a good day Baby. Very weird. But it almost felt like… like our future.” 

Shane leaned down to kiss the top of Ilya’s head.

“Now let’s clean up before you fuck me on this countertop” He whispered and Ilya growled. 

Chapter End Notes

Sanratan-men: Sanratan (or sanratan-men) is a popular Japanese-Chinese hot and sour soup noodle dish characterized by a thickened, spicy-vinegary broth. Although Shchi is very different, the vinegar tang in both soups is what reminds Shane of this taste.

SMUT and ROMANCE and a VERY SAPPY ILYA will be happening soon.

Should I do a quick chapter from Marleau's POV?

As always your comments keep me fed. Please let me know if you're enjoying this and if not: [Don't like. Don't read.]

Chapter 7: Cliff Loves Stories Like That (POV: Cliff Marleau)

Chapter Summary

Cliff didn’t overthink it. That was the thing, if he thought too hard about it, he probably would’ve stayed put. Let the night play out, hear about it later in the locker room like everything else. But something about it itched.

Rozanov. Hollander. Being Friends. Soup? Weird.

Chapter Notes

Ask and ye shall receive!

I loved writing Cliff!

Cliff Marleau was on a couch surrounded by decorative pillows, the smell of coffee still lingering from this morning. All 220 pounds of him sank into cushions that were far too soft, the kind that swallowed a person whole and would absolutely punish his back later. But that was a problem for later.

He tugged at the soft cream-colored throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over his lap, more out of habit than necessity, then reached for the remote. The apartment wasn’t his. And he’d never been here alone. At least not for long stretches. It felt different when it was empty, quieter in a way that wasn’t lonely, just… still. No expectations. He was looking forward to that.

Beátrice had left not long ago, already halfway into her twelve-hour shift at the hospital. She’d kissed his cheek on the way out, quick and easy, like everything between them had always been. He liked her. She was sharp, funny, and completely uninterested in complicating things. The first night they met at some crowded bar, music too loud, her laughing into his shoulder, she’d told him straight up she didn’t have time for anything real.

That had worked perfectly for Cliff. 

Cliff had always been upfront. No gray areas, no promises he couldn’t keep. Boston was never meant to be permanent for him. When hockey was done, he’d go back to Canada. That had always been the plan. Still was.

Which made things… complicated.

Meeting someone in the States meant asking them to leave everything behind, eventually. Meeting someone back home meant asking them to do it now. Either way, it ended with someone reshaping their life around his—and he didn’t like the weight of that.

So instead, he kept things simple. Easy. Temporary. That didn’t stop him from missing closeness though. 

He missed home most of all. Just the familiarity of Canada. It hit him in weird moments, hearing a certain accent in a grocery store, catching a broadcast from back home, stepping off a plane in Canada when the Bears had an away game and feeling something in his chest loosen just a little. Even if they were nowhere near his hometown of Barrie, Ontario, it still felt like something familiar. Like he could breathe a bit easier.

He flipped through channels now, half-paying attention. Sports highlights, some reality show, a rerun of Being Erica. Nothing stuck. His thumb kept moving, slow, absent.

Then…

Green. Wide, sweeping fields. A dirt road cutting through it. A farmhouse he knew before the camera even settled.

Cliff paused.

A second later, a small, knowing smile pulled at his mouth as he let the remote rest against his chest.

Anne of Green Gables.

The 1985 one. The good one.

He exhaled quietly, sinking a little deeper into the couch despite himself.

Cliff Marleau was the youngest of five kids. Four older sisters who had absolutely dominated the TV growing up. Back then, it had been less of a choice and more of a takeover, him wedged between them on the couch, protesting just enough to keep up appearances while secretly getting pulled in anyway.

Only… it hadn’t really been much of a protest. He’d liked it. The pacing, the quiet, the way everything felt a little bigger than it was, like emotions mattered more to Anne than anyone else in the world. He never admitted it, obviously. Would’ve gotten chirped into oblivion for liking such a thing, but it was a Canadian classic and an absolute treasure. It didn’t play nearly as often in the States, and he couldn’t keep a box set of it, so he had bought the digital copy on Amazon Prime. But seeing it “in the wild” on TV with commercial breaks and all, now this was nostalgia! 

Cliff shifted, pulling the blanket a little higher as Matthew Cuthbert brought Anne home in the wagon.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, settling in. “Just for a bit.”

But he didn’t reach for the remote again and settled himself into the story as it unfolded.

— — — 

On the screen, Anne had just broken the slate over Gilbert’s head after he called her “Carrot.” Cliff had always liked this part as a kid. Now, it felt… unnecessarily violent.  Which, considering what he did for a living, was probably ridiculous. He huffed a quiet breath.

People change. People were allowed to change.

Hell, if Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander could be friends, he could think a redheaded girl committing minor assault was a bit much. His attention drifted back to the screen. He liked the beginning best. When everything was still uncertain. When Anne talked too fast, felt too much, burned too bright for her own good.

And Gilbert, just there. Steady. Watching. Lightly teasing. Meeting her exactly where she was, whether she liked it or not. Cliff’s mouth twitched, something almost like a smile. He’d read the books too. Required reading back in school. Most guys skimmed them, but he remembered actually paying attention. Taking his time. There was something about it. The way Anne felt everything so loudly. The way Gilbert never seemed shaken by it, just… matched her. Cliff sank a little deeper into the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. He loved stories like that.

— — — 

He must’ve dozed off. When he blinked awake again, Anne was older and living in Avonlea. 

Cliff squinted at the clock. “Shit.” Longer than he meant. 

He dragged a hand over his face and reached for his phone. A handful of texts from the guys in the Boston Bears group chat. 

Chirping him for staying with his “hookup.”

A couple bets on whether Rozy was still alive.

One suggesting Hollander had already buried him in a snowdrift off the A-520. Cliff huffed a quiet laugh.

Then…

A separate text, this one from Victor St. Simon. He opened it.

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
Mon amie,(my friend) you will not believe this

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
I’m at Hollander’s

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
I’m with Rozy and Boizau and Hayden fucking Pike

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
Rozy’s making soup

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
It’s weird

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
I know you’re at your girl’s but when you come up for air respond to this

“What the fuck?” He said outloud to absolutely no one. 

Marley:
What? Oh man You all good there?

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
Yeah it’s just-

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
Weird? 

‘Vicky’ St. Simon:
Roz is wearing an apron

Marley:
I gotta see this. Beátrice had to work. I’m bored, not doing much. 

Marley:
Send me the address Heading over. 

Cliff didn’t overthink it. That was the thing, if he thought too hard about it, he probably would’ve stayed put. Let the night play out, hear about it later in the locker room like everything else. But something about it itched.

Rozanov. Hollander. Being Friends. Soup? Weird.

So he grabbed his jacket, muttered something to the empty apartment about “fresh air,” and was out the door before he could talk himself out of it. By the time Cliff stepped into Hollander’s place, the energy had already settled into something… easy.

Too easy.

Voices overlapped from the living room. Laughter. Someone chirping. Rozanov, obviously. Cliff toed off his shoes seeing that there was already a pile of them near the entry way. 

Hollander chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Relaxed. Actually relaxed.

Rozanov at the stove tasting broth with a spoon. 

St. Simon, Boiziau, and Pike sitting on the couches looking mildly weirded out watching some highlights reel on ESPN.

Cliff’s brows pulled together slightly.

Huh?

“Marley, just in time for soup!” Rozanov chimed. 

Rozanov moved through the space like he belonged there.

Not visiting. Not hovering. Belonged.

Cliff watched him cross the kitchen without asking, grabbing something from a cabinet like he already knew where it was. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Cliff leaned against the back of the couch, arms folding loosely.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “What’d I miss?”

“Pike and Boiz—  J.J. Came to beat me up!”

“ J.J. Left Vicky in car—  LIKE DOG” Roz laughed

Hollander snickered as he chopped up what looked like heirloom tomatoes and plopped them into a giant salad bowl. 

— — — 

Then they were all sat at the dinner table. Like it was a proper dinner party. The kind Carmichael and his very sophisticated wife would host. 

Cliff was surprised at how Rozanov and Hollander moved around each other. He had only known them to be rivals. He liked Hollander sure. The kid was talented. Polite. Canadian. He would see him at awards shows and All-Stars games and have some minimal interactions. Always courteous, kind of a square, if Cliff was being honest. Of course on the ice when they were matched up he was formidable. Playing against him was… baffling. Usually Hollander could predict moves three steps ahead of everyone. That’s maybe why Cliff felt so bad when he laid him out last season. 

He had called Hollander over the Summer to apologize for the hit, and the kid apologized back to him! He was so fucking Canadian.“It’s alright Marley, everyone gets their bell rung eventually...sorry for freaking you out” Hollander said matter of factly. “Hollzy, you really are a true Canadian for apologizing to me when I’m trying to apologize to you” Fucking Canada’s Prince of Hockey

But Roz, he knew Roz. He LIVED with him during Roz’s rookie season. They continued to hang out when Roz got a place of his own the Summer after going back to Russia. Go to bars, clubs, they would even on occasion go do dumb shit together like catch a movie, go to the driving range… Roz was dog shit at golf. They even went Go-Kart racing. He knew Roz and this… this was a side he’d never really seen.  

In the eight months they had lived together, he never made anything like this. Burgers, shitty half hearted pasta, eggs in the mornings sure. But never a recipe from home. Maybe he’d matured? 

He watched the other guests completely miss how Hollander absentmindedly pushed all of the celery in the salad bowl away with the tongs before serving Roz his portion. 

How the hell did Hollzy know Roz hated celery? Cliff knew that. But Cliff had known the guy for nearly a decade. 

He watched as they exchanged uncomfortably long eye contact after Hollander compared the soup to something his grandmother had made. 

The fuck is happening?

He watched as Ilya stared absolute daggers at Pike when he clapped Hollander on the shoulder as he talked about Hollzy having game enough to date Rose Landry.

Did Roz also date Rose Landry? Or want to? What is happening? 

Cliff was so enthralled with whatever the fuck was happening, he had ignored his bladder until it was screaming. 

“Bathroom?” he asked, already halfway standing up.

“Down the hall and….” Hollander answered back without looking because he was smiling at Rozanov again exchanging some wordless conversation.

Cliff nodded, heading that way, he hadn’t really heard the rest of Hollander’s directions because his head was filled with so many questions about the two of them so Cliff opened the first door he got to. It was a bedroom. The main one by looks of it. It had a king sized bed with rumpled sheets and an ensuite bathroom. Ooops.

He started to close the door to find the bathroom he was looking for when he noticed something he didn’t expect. A bag. A Boston Bears duffle bag. A team issued one. Just like his. Just off to the side, half tucked near the foot of the  bed. Not tossed. Not forgotten. Placed there. 

Cliff slowed slightly, glancing at it without stopping. Rozanov’s 81 stitched on the side, a C beside it. Much like Cliff’s was with an A next to his number 7. 

Cliff’s gaze flicked down the hall then back to the bag.

He didn’t linger. Didn’t need to.

“Huh,” he muttered under his breath.

Then he kept walking to find the bathroom. 

Hollander was rich. Like top earner, contract of a generational talent rich. Maybe his guest bedrooms had ensuites and personal photos and a book and glasses on the nightstand. 

Roz didn’t wear glasses. 

Again not having heard anything past “Down the hall” from Hollander and he opened the next door. This one was clearly a guest bedroom. It had a slightly smaller bed. Decorative pillows that reminded him a little of Beátrice’s house and the bed was completely untouched. 

“Huh,” he muttered again under his breath.

On the third try, he found the bathroom. Thankfully. 

— — — 

Cliff Marleau had always known Roz to be a wild one. From that season they lived together and for all the years after that there was one thing that was always consistent; Roz had mad game. Sure, Cliff did well for himself. But Rozy… he made heads turn. Cliff guessed it was the whole European thing. Girls thought accents were hot. But also, and Cliff wasn’t into men but he had eyes, Roz was hot. He had chiseled featured, piercing blue eyes, he could probably be a model if he wasn’t too busy deke-ing around opponents, chirping everyone on the ice and being one of the best all-time scorers in the league. The team used to say that he would fuck anything with two legs, but Cliff knew better. Roz was discerning. He had some regular hookups in different cities, a Russian girl with curly hair who was impossibly beautiful, she would come to some of the home games and Roz would leave with her, arm wrapped around her shoulders. A blond woman he would see sometimes in Denver for awhile, really hot, kind of stoic. Last year, Roz would hang with this really cute girl in Boston sometimes that had dark hair and freckles. Most of the women he went home with from clubs were absolutely stunning.  But Cliff and Roz had the same philosophy up front. They were always honest. This was just sex, don’t expect anything else. And then there was the Montreal girl. Cliff hadn’t seen her but knowing Roz as well as he did, she was something special. 

Roz had regular hook-ups in several cities, but he got this special smile on his face every time they were about to go to Montreal. Cliff had snuck some glances on flights and bus rides and found out her name was Jane. Other than that, he had no clue. Usually the girls would wait by the players exit and Cliff would catch a glimpse of them, but in Montreal Roz would leave straight away out the doors and be on his way. 

Wait… why the fuck wasn’t Roz with Jane right now?

— — — 

They had finished their second game of MHL 13 and this time they had aligned as teams. Bears v. Voyageurs. The Voyageurs were losing because Pike was absolute dog shit. 

“Maybe some music would help,” someone muttered JJ, maybe.

Cliff grabbed the iPad off the side table. “I got it.”

No one argued. He tapped the screen, pulling up Spotify. Paused. A playlist already open.

Made Me Think Of You Jane + Lily

Cliff stared at it for a second longer than necessary. His thumb hovered. It was a list of love songs. Cliff scanned it and the pictures on the profile of the share list was a loon and a bear. 

Jane? Uhhhh…

The playlist had been paused half way through Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You”

Cliff typed in Summer Hits because he wasn’t about to resume play on what he could only describe as a playlist that looked like the mixtape of two lovestruck teenagers. 

He hit the first playlist which was called “Summer Hits of the ’2010’s’ and hit play and a Ke$ha song started.

Jane… and Lily… Made Me Think of You…

Jane… and Li—

Shane… and Lil—

Cliff went still.

Ilya.

…no.

His stomach dropped.

He set the iPad down a little too carefully, like it might explode if he didn’t.

He excused himself to the kitchen to refill his water. 

What in the actual… okay, oooookay Cliff, this is cool… it’s cool. You’re not freaking the fuck out. You’re LGBTQIA+ friendly. Your niece is gay! You watched Brokeback Mountain and cried. You wrap rainbow tape around your hockey stick on Pride nights. This is norm— THIS IS WEIRD! I don’t care if Roz is gay.. Bi? Queer? I don’t know. It’s just Hollander? Really…Hollander!

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander.

They are RIVALS. The entire league had built two fucking franchises around them. Around their rivalry and they are what?! SECRETLY FUCKING? No… SECRETLY IN LOVE? 

Cliff paced around the kitchen.

That playlist was NOT ABOUT FUCKING. It had ‘Sunday Kind of Love’ by Etta James on it. It had Linger by The Cranberries. Oh dear god these two were MADLY IN LOVE!

Cliff had walked into the kitchen without his glass to refill his drink. 

Fuck!

He opened the fridge to grab something, anything. 

Ginger Ale, yeah! Yeah that’s that good. 

He wasn’t ready to go back into the living room yet. He was panicking. He absent-mindedly opened and shut drawers to just busy himself. 

Opened a drawer. Cutlery. Knives. Spoons. Forks. Closed the drawer. 

Opened another drawer. Spatula. Ladle. Slotted scoopy spoon thing. Closed the drawer. 

He remembered somewhere maybe it was a Youtube video about mindfulness exercises. Just listing things you see to help calm you down. 

Yeah this was working. 

He opened another drawer. Thermometer. Tongs. Squiggly thing he couldn’t remember the name of… WHISK! And then he closed the drawer. 

It would help if I knew the names of more kitchen shit.

He opened the next drawer. Batteries. Flashlight. Lighter. Lube. LUBE?! As in KY Jelly. And the tube was definitely half full. He closed the drawer more quickly this time making noise.  

OH. MY. GOD. 

“You good in there Marley?” Hollander called out

“Oh yeah Hollzy, just uh… texting my uh… my Beátrice” he panicked.

Shit fuck fuck!

“YOU’RE Beátrice? Marley, you got a girlfriend in Montreal?” Roz teased

No but you have a BOYFRIEND in Montreal. 

“Shut up Asshole” He said

Breathe. 

Cliff thought about how many years Roz had been texting Jane. Was it… it had at least been six years. 

At least. 

And then he thought about his niece. His sweet, brave niece. Fifteen when she came out. His sister, her mom’s side had been supportive. But her dad’s parents hadn’t. He remembered the tears when they didn’t show up to her birthday. The way she hesitated after he had found out, like she wasn’t sure if she still got to run into his arms the same way. 

He remembered that pause. And then the full relief he could feel in her body as he scooped her up into one of his trademark Uncle Cliffy bear hugs. 

He thought about the pressure at school. The things his sister had told him. How hard it had been for her, and that was here in Canada. With people who loved her. With a lot of supportive family and friends. 

He remembered her graduation. The rainbow lei. The way she beamed.

He remembers going with her to Pride in Toronto. The flower crown she’d shoved onto his head, laughing while he waved that tiny flag like an idiot just to make her smile.

It had all still been hard for her. And she wasn’t under a microscope.

Not like Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

Cliff swallowed.

He knew pressure. National level. Media. Expectations. And he wasn’t even close to what those two carried. He was famous sure. But they were mega stars. Hollander and Rozanov especially were faces of a franchise. Hollander was the face of a country, picked apart for everything.

And Roz—

Cliff’s grip tightened on the counter.

Roz, who came from Russia.

Where this wasn’t just complicated.

It was dangerous.

Cliff choked on the air he was breathing. His heart dropped. The kitchen suddenly felt too small. Too warm.

Ok Cliff. You can’t… You gotta… fuck! This is INSANE. 

He squeezed his eyes shut until he was seeing stars. He thought of Rozanov’s rookie year. How young he looked, how that layer of bravado was masking a terrified 19 year old who had been plopped into an entirely new country where he barely spoke the language. He thought of Shane Hollander winning Rookie of the Year and how young he had looked walking onto the stage in an ill-fitting suit and gave the shortest most awkward speech. 

He thought about how good they both were on the ice, and how he thought they had hated each other. How Roz loved chirping Hollander in the media especially. Every interview even when they weren’t playing Montreal, Roz would somehow bring up Hollander. Calling him boring. Calling him ‘second best hockey player’. 

And then he thought of Gilbert Blythe, leaning over his desk to whisper “Hey Carrots” into Anne Shirley’s ear and pulling on her pigtail.  And her standing up and hitting Gilbert Blythe over the head with her slate.

“Son of a—” Cliff let out a short laugh with an exhale while shaking his head. 

Ok. You gotta be Uncle Cliffy. You gotta show up for these two in anyway you can. 

He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulder back, steeled himself and grabbed his can of ginger ale to walk back into the living room. 

As he sat next to Hollander, Shane glanced at him with a smile. 

Freckles. The son of a bitch had freckles just like Anne Shirley did. 

This took the whole rivals to lovers trope to a completely new level. But Cliff does love stories like that. 

Chapter End Notes

I'm a BIG BIG BIG fan of Anne of Green Gables. It is formative. I love Anne with an E but as the youngest of 5 siblings, I too was forced to watch the 1985 version as a kid and boy was I glad I did!
True OG Enemies to Lovers!

Sometimes Victor St. Simon is St. Simon sometimes he's Vicky!

We will resume regular storyline soon!

Chapter 8: Statistically Significant Joy

Chapter Summary

SHANE POV! (Smut Smut Smut!)
Shane recognizes a deviation in his own patterns because love and safety render them unnecessary.
Kitchen sex. Gargoyles. A queer cult classic. It's got it all!

Chapter Notes

True story time:
This started as a one-off as I've mentioned before. I had MOST of the story written up through the guys coming over and eating soup and playing video games. (Originally it wasn't soup! It was Pelmeni) It was a shorter version. About 7,000 words total. Just before I uploaded it, I re-read it again and started adding little flourishes here and there, and subtext and Ilya's inner thoughts and I thought... Hmmm? Let's do 3 chapters.
So I wrote out the first chapter, and then the second and I felt like it just wasn't going to be enough for these two boys.

I planned then on 5-6 chapters. But as I kept writing I would come up with new ideas. In the shower. On the way to work. On my way to the store. And thought "Fuck it... I gotta give them their due" All that being said, the Cliff chapter was my first chapter I hadn't had mapped out at all and free-balled it. And this chapter is the second instance of that:

Writing Shane scared the shit out of me. I almost scrapped this chapter. I started it, and re-started it a few times. Shane's voice is so different than Ilya's and I love him so much that I did not want to do him the disservice of writing him poorly. I had to tap into a much younger far more buttoned up version of myself to access my version of Shane and honestly I adore him, I hope you do too.

Also also: If you know me in real life... no the fuck you don't... and this chapter has SMUT! So be warned.

Mean, median, and mode are all methods of finding the center of a data set. Shane understands data: Patterns. Distribution. Outliers. He understands how to take something messy and inconsistent and reduce it to something clean. Something that makes sense. If he were being honest with himself, completely, uncomfortably honest he could apply the same framework to Ilya Rozanov.

Every interaction. Every soft touch that lingered half a second too long. Every fleeting moment in a hotel room that was stolen away from them too quickly. Every game on the ice where awareness of him sat constant and unshakable, like background noise Shane couldn’t turn off. Every softly lit morning at the cottage, light filtering in through the windows. Every message. Every notification. Every time Shane’s chest tightened before he even opened it.

A data set, if he reduced it.

Measurable. Trackable. Finite.

He could break it down into minutes. Seconds. Individual moments, isolated and examined.

The mean: The average of it all would suggest something steady. Manageable.

The median: The midpoint would eliminate the extremes. Strip away the moments that felt too big, too overwhelming to categorize properly.

The mode: …

Shane’s breath catches, just slightly.

The mode is the value that appears most often.

The most consistent outcome.

The thing that repeats.

Shane doesn’t need to calculate it. Doesn’t need to run the numbers. He already knows.

Joy.

It’s not scientific, as conclusions go. Imprecise. Not particularly useful in predicting outcomes or controlling variables. It doesn’t always account for risk regarding outside factors. For consequence. For what happens when the data set could possibly end.

But it’s accurate.

And for the first time in a long time, Shane finds himself less interested in controlling the result and more interested in seeing what happens if he lets go.

———  

Shane stands in the kitchen, watching his very hot, very sexy, very nurturing boyfriend put away the last of the leftovers and wipe down the counter.

Shane had just finished loading the dishwasher “the correct way” as Ilya had mocked, right after Shane had silently rearranged everything Ilya had already placed.

He steps in behind Ilya, wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing his forehead between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades.

“This felt like…” Shane starts, but the words stall out somewhere between this thoughts.

“…our future?” Ilya finishes, turning in his arms.

Shane doesn’t answer. 

I hope so.

Ilya’s eyes meet his, something soft and certain in them, before his hands slide down to Shane’s thighs. He lifts him, easily, like Shane weighs nothing and turns, setting him up onto the counter with careful precision.

The movement is practiced now. It was familiar and comforting. 

Shane remembers feeling far too vulnerable the first time Ilya had done this. Now it felt like an act of reverence and care. The first few years, vulnerability felt like walking into deep water without knowing the drop-off point.

Now it feels like a hand at the small of his back. Lulling him into gently lapping waves. Steady and calm proof he won’t disappear beneath the surface.

It’s overwhelming sometimes, how quickly Ilya can pull him out of his head and into feeling.

Into being. 

Like he always does.

“Where did you go Solnyshko?” Ilya says with his lips brushing Shane’s jawline

“I was just…” Shane hesitated

“Cottage Rules Shane” Ilya whispered firmly

“I was thinking about how vulnerable I felt the first time you lifted me” Shane said shyly

Ilya craned his face back from Shane’s. His brow furrowed and his eyes studying Shane’s

“I did not know you do not like…” he started

“Oh Ilya I…” Shane interrupted

“No, I will never do again Shane if you do not wa--” Ilya continues

“I want it!” Shane says firmly, then softens  “I love it baby. I was just thinking about how much has changed. For me. For us. All of it.” 

“Oh” relief washing over Ilya

Let go. Holding back scares him as much as letting go scares you. LET GO. 

Shane kissed the corner of his mouth working his way sideways to the sensitive part below the ear and sighs into Ilya’s ear “I like being vulnerable, only for you”

This awakens something in Ilya who tenses and digs his fingers into Shane’s hips and leans into kissing along his neck. 

Wordlessly Ilya lifts his arms and Shane pulls off the t-shirt he’s wearing. It was Shane’s shirt and was a little tight across his chest. Shane tossed it towards the far side of the kitchen island. Ilya’s hands lightly tugged at Shane’s pants hem, prompting Shane to prop up his hips as Ilya pulled them down along with his boxer briefs. 

Shane admired the sharp jawline, the beautiful curls, the piercing eyes that took on different colors depending on the light. Sometimes a stunning grey/blue hue and other times he would catch flecks of green. 

They kissed again this time more desperately as Ilya parted Shane’s lips with his tongue and crashed into his mouth. Shane lightly sucked on it causing Ilya to groan. They parted and Ilya was already propping Shanes knees onto the counter as Shane took off his own shirt. 

Fuck Ilya looks so good. Like a god or a superhero or a—

Ilya wasted no time. He travelled down to Shane’s already hard cock and sucked the head into his mouth placing his large hand around the shaft and licking around the tip. He tenderly flexed the cock to Shane’s stomach and licked the sensitive shaft up and down before fully enveloping it into his mouth. 

Warmth. 

Ilya worked Shane’s cock over for a minute or so as sounds escaped Shane’s mouth that later he would describe as whimpers. Ilya’s mouth left Shane’s cock and he groaned at the lack of his boyfriend’s mouth around it. 

Ilya travelled down, placing one hand on Shane’s knee indicating to him to spread wider while dragging his tongue along his balls, to his hole. Ilya flattened his tongue to lubricate Shane completely as his tongue massaged gently around the opening. 

Shane gasped as Ilya’s finger entered him, testing first then slowly pushing in and lapping the walls finding Shane’s prostate. 

Ilya…

Shane threw his head back exposing his neck as Ilya’s hand crawled up his chest and squeezed his pec and crept his way to his throat applying light pressure around it for just a moment. 

Shane moved his hips and groaned letting Ilya knew he wanted more and Ilya opened the draw near them to find the lube. 

Shane had a flicker of a thought—

Did anyone open that drawer when they were over, we should be more… 

FUCK Ilya…

Ilya had lubed his fingers entering another finger into him making Shane writhe as he stretched around them. Shane fucked himself back and forth on Ilya’s fingers making Ilya bit his lip and groan “Fuck Shane” 

If I could bottle up a sound, it would be that one.

 The one where Ilya said Shane’s name in the throws of desire. When his accent grew as thick as his cock and the desire pulsed through every over pronounced letter. 

Ilya...

Shane was not opposed to begging. He wanted Ilya inside him now. He wanted the stretch and pain he knew would come from not enough preparation. Shane sat up more and grabbed the lube Ilya had left on the counter and reached for Ilya’s cock. Ilya looked at him inquisitively as normally Shane let him control the pace of this. Shane grabbed Ilya’s wrist and pulled it back, ignoring the loss of the fullness of Ilya’s fingers. Shane watched his boyfriends face betray him for just a moment. A flash of shock on his face. While Shane poured the lube onto his own hand, wrapped it around Ilya’s hard cock and stroked it a few times. After it was properly lubricated, he slicked the remaining in-between his own cheeks locked eyes with Ilya and slowly leaned his forehead onto his boyfriends. 

 I’m here. I need you. This is all of me. 

“Fuck me now.” Shane panted into Ilya’s lips

That was all the instruction Ilya needed. His hands wrapped around Shane’s hips pulling him to the edge of the counter. His ass teetering off the side. Ilya grabbed Shane’s ankles and lifted them to his shoulders, lined up his cock and pushed in. 

The familiar stretch was accompanied by the exhilarating feeling of too much too soon. He could feel himself clench but breathed through it. Shane was still not used to this new sensation of skin to skin. Of them not using a condom. It stripped something open in Shane, left him raw in a way he didn’t know how to hide.

I’m yours. 

Ilya…

I’ve always been yours. 

Ilya please…

They had spoken about it over the Summer, but wanted time and testing and for it to be right. It was a step of trust, a promise of tomorrows, it was incredibly intimate. Shane had never. Ilya had never. It was something only the two of them had shared with one another. 

“Deeper” Shane hissed through gritted teeth

Ilya growled and pushed further in as he gripped Shane tighter probably fighting not to rip him apart. 

“Rip me apart baby” Shane snarled

This sent Ilya rocking into him to the hilt. 

Shane let out a choked gasp as he felt every bit of Ilya’s cock. Ilya’s hips pressed against Shane’s ass. 

“Mmmhmm keep going baby” He whimpered

Ilya looked wrecked already, as he started to rock into him gently.

Too gentle.

Shane had no leverage like this and he was starting to regret it. He used his legs to bend his boyfriend’s body so his face was closer to his. 

“Ilya...” Shane said looking him in the eye. “Fucking wreck me!” 

Ilya looked surprised for a moment before something feral settled in. Then he moved the way Shane had been wanting all along.

‘Ilyaaaa-ah-ah-ah” Each ‘ah’ a result of each thrust. 

Shane’s entire body was electric. His boyfriend was one of the top athletes in the world. His stamina was incredible. His body was sculpted not only for looks, but for power. It was built for tremendous speed on the ice, for checking 220-pound men into the boards, for enduring impact after impact without hesitation, and with each thrust, Shane could feel all of it.

Every hour Ilya had spent in the gym. Every year of discipline carved into muscle memory. Every controlled shift that could have been overwhelming for anyone else…

But it wasn’t.

Because Shane had spent the same decades learning discipline too. Learning control. Learning how to hold himself steady when everything inside him wanted to fracture or flee.

He was Ilya Rozanov’s match. On the ice and off it. 

And between them, it wasn’t force.

It was intention. It was choice. It was theirs. 

And it was the safest Shane had ever felt letting go.

——— 

Shane didn’t remember the exact moment Ilya had lifted him. He remembered the aftermath in fragments instead. The way his limbs felt heavy in a distant, almost abstract way. The steady rhythm of Ilya’s breathing against his neck. The quiet murmur of something in Russian he didn’t quite catch but understood anyway.

He let himself be carried. Couldn’t analyze the logistics of it, the weight distribution, the effort it must take. When Ilya had carried him before, it was for short distances and Shane was holding himself up. He hadn’t been cradled in someone’s arms and carried like this since he was in the Timbits league and he hurt his ankle and his dad had carried him to the car. 

Safe.

He just… let it happen. That alone felt statistically significant.

The couch dipped as Ilya sat next to him, adjusting Shane carefully, like placement and alignment mattered. Shane ended up half draped across him, his head tucked beneath Ilya’s chin, one of Ilya’s arms still wrapped securely around his back. 

Trapped? No.

Shane exhaled.

Contained? No. Anchored. Yes. Held. Yes.

Ilya— 

The distinction mattered.

“I’m getting blanket,” Ilya murmured, pressing a soft kiss into Shane’s hair before shifting out from under him.

There was an immediate, noticeable drop in temperature. Also significant. Shane tracked him absently as Ilya moved toward the hall and watched the easy efficiency of it, the way his body seemed incapable of not being purposeful even in rest.

Shane had felt this level of bliss a few times before in his life. Once after first meeting up with Ilya in a hotel room after the CCM shoot. Another after they first had sex. Another after winning his first cup. 

Each one had followed the same repeatable pattern: 

Bliss.

Recognition.

Suppression.

That was the recognized pattern. An almost immediate instinct to contain it. To make it manageable and reduce it down before it could become something… dangerous. Something that could be taken away.

But this…

This didn’t feel like a spike. It didn’t feel temporary. It felt… sustained.

The only other time he had felt something close to this was at the cottage.

He thought back to that night in bed. To Ilya saying “I could marry Svetlana” so he could be safe from going back to Russia, and the way Shane had responded with the only tools he trusted. Structure. A plan. Something tangible they could both hold onto. That had been the compromise.

Emotion, translated into action. That had always been the way.

And then Ilya responded and broke him completely open.

The space in his chest where Shane had kept it all contained. The carefully regulated system. The deeply guarded secret he had spent years fortifying, layer by layer. Data points, contingencies, reinforced walls.

A moat. Stone. Gates. Control.

And Ilya said, “I love you.”

Three words.

And every wall, every lock, every carefully constructed failsafe, every equation and pattern and dataset he had ever relied on to keep himself steady… Collapsed.

Not shattered violently. Just… rendered irrelevant.

“Holy shit.” Was the only response he could muster as the walls fell. 

And with it, something surged forward, unchecked and undeniable. Recognition. Want. Need. Desire. Something deeper than all of it, something that couldn’t be categorized into anything.

Something whole. Something that didn’t need to be solved.

“I love you too.” Shane said and he had felt it for much too long before saying it

“Shane.” Ilya said from down the hall. 

There was something in his tone. Something… amused.

Shane pushed himself up slightly, blinking as Ilya had pulled him from his daze “What?”

Ilya was standing at the end of the hall holding well… objectively speaking… an excessive amount of supplies: Snacks. Bottled water. Extra batteries. Flashlights. A fully stocked “in case we get snowed in and civilization collapses” level of preparation.

Ilya looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

“…You already had supplies for apocalypse?” he asked amused.

Shane felt heat creep up his neck instantly.

“It’s just I…” he started, then stopped, recalibrating. “It’s… I…”

Ilya just looked at him eyebrows still raised in a scolding way but clearly suppressing a smile.

Shane exhaled, shoulders dropping a fraction. “…I wanted to know what it would feel like.”

“To survive 100 day blizzard?” Ilya asked, deadpan.

Shane shook his head, smaller now. “No, to… shop for that with you. Like, planning for something together.”

Shane lifted a throw pillow over his face so only his eyes showed, to hide the flush of his cheeks.

Ilya’s expression shifted. Not teasing now. “You are idiot and I love you” 

Then, inevitably he dumped the supplies onto the coffee table in front of Shane to display his shame in full glory in front of him. 

“Look at you, you are nesting,” Ilya said, very seriously.

“I am not nesting,” Shane shot back immediately.

“You have emergency snacks categorized.”

“That’s just efficient.”

“You have three flashlights, Shane.”

“One is a backup.” Shane snapped back

“Well now you have four because we got one at store.” Ilya huffed a quiet laugh

Shane exhaled “I know” as he slunk down further 

“You are so cute Moy gorgul'ya (my gargoyle)” Ilya choked out

Ilya’s eyes went wide and he inhaled sharply

“Moy gorgul’ya? What does that mean? It sounds like Gargoyle?” Shane blurted

Ilya said nothing. 

“Ilya… what does it mean?”

“Ilya…”

“Please tell me you didn’t just call me a gargoyle Ilya?”

Shane watched as his boyfriend’s cheeks turned redder and redder. 

“Furby, Seagull, GARGOYLE… Ilya these are not cute things!” Shane exclaimed

Ilya looked almost forlorn for a moment then his face twisted into the familiar teasing glance

“But you looooovvvve it Solnyshko (sunshine)… see I call you sunshine too” he teased

“Yeah but gargoyle?” Shane huffed crossing his arms. He knew he was pouting a little but it felt insulting. 

“Shane, gargoyles are so cuuuteee you are so cuuutttteeee. You are gorgul'ya (my gargoyle) it has been my secret nickname for you for long time. I never say it to you because…” 

“Because it’s an insult!?” Shane pouted

“No…” Ilya said quietly “Because you are always… guarded. Always stone. But not around me. Not anymore. Around me, you come to life. You keep everyone out but me…” 

Shane’s mouth opened, then closed. Gargoyles were not, statistically speaking, considered flattering. There was a general lack of desirability associated with stone creatures perched on buildings.

Shane looked at his sweet boyfriend. Really looked. The one who had snuggled him, welcomed his friends even though the assholes had come over with the intention to… kick him out? Beat him up? Instead Ilya fed them soup, his mother’s soup. How Ilya had danced with him in the kitchen, how he lovingly pulled back on chirping Hayden even though Hayden was truly SHIT at MHL 16, how he had absolutely wrecked him not 10 minutes ago until Shane was spinning his limbs didn’t work so he carried Shane to the couch. How Ilya was holding a blanket to cover Shane up with and getting ready to watch a movie with him. At how this gorgeous, nurturing sweet man had plans in motion to leave the second home he’s ever known and the MHL team that had drafted him to go to a team that was consistently one of the worst 5 teams in the league just to be closer to Shane. At the way Ilya’s shoulders had shifted, just slightly inward. The way the teasing had fallen away at the edges, leaving something more uncertain underneath. The faint tension in his mouth, like he was bracing for impact. Waiting. For Shane to reject it. To reject him.

And suddenly the data set changed.

Shane exhaled slowly, some of the rigidity leaving his posture as he recalibrated.

“…They’re not meant to be cute,” Shane said finally, quieter now. “They’re meant to protect structures from damage. To divert water. To keep everyone out…”

He stopped himself. That wasn’t the point, or maybe it was exactly the point. Shane’s brow furrowed slightly, gaze drifting for a second as he ran it through: Function, symbolism, intention. Guarded. Stone. Watching.

Letting very little in. 

Except…

His eyes flicked back to Ilya.

“…Except one person,” Shane finished, softer.

Shane swallowed, something warm settling low in his chest.

“You didn’t say it like an insult,” he admitted. “You said it like…” He hesitated, searching. “Like it was something you liked.”

Ilya’s expression shifted again, relief threading through it. “I do,” he said simply.

Shane considered that. Turned it over, examined it from multiple angles. A creature built to withstand weather. To endure. To stay in place while everything else moved around it. A constant. Something that remained.

Shane huffed out a small breath, shoulders dropping the rest of the way.

“…It’s still a terrible nickname,” he said, but there was no heat in it now.

Ilya grinned immediately. “You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” Shane corrected.

“Lies.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but he shifted closer anyway, leaning into him with a quiet, deliberate kind of intent.

After a beat, almost under his breath, “…Solnyshko is better.”

Ilya’s arm tightened around him instantly, pleased. “I will use both.”

Shane made a soft, resigned sound, but didn’t move away. He just stayed there, warm, grounded, and, despite all available evidence to the contrary. Unarmored.

— — — 

Ilya tossed the blanket over Shane.

“We watch movie,” Ilya announced.

Ilya was already reaching for the remote and started flipping through the available movies on the streaming service. Shane and Ilya had seen a lot of movies. It was one of the perks and (sometimes setbacks) of constantly being on planes. 

After five frustrating minutes of perusing more recent movies, they got to the ‘Cult Classics’ section. 

It landed on a block with a giant pair of red lips. Silly lettering that looked cartoonish yet spooky and an oddly attractive woman? Laying across the mouth. 

Shane started reading the bio and he felt Ilya looking at him. “You have not seen this?” 

“No? Should I have?” Shane shot back

Ilya turned fully facing him, genuinely offended. “This is essential Shane!.”

“That’s subjective.” Shane huffed

“This is not subjective,” Ilya said firmly. “This is culture.”

Shane narrowed his eyes slightly. “What culture?”

“Gay culture Shane! Queer Culture. You are gay and have not watched this!?” Ilya scolded

“I don’t… I don’t know… I wasn’t” Shane started

“Yes, yes you are baby gay even though you have been sucking my cock for long time we know this!” Ilya said matter of factly “Not even in secret you do not watch this” Ilya made a tsk tsk clucking sound with his tongue. 

“Well is it good?” Shane asked incredulously “Because it looks...”

“Is it GOOD? IS IT GOOD HE ASKS” Ilya says as if there is another person in the room“Shane, you are sitting. You are learning. You will learn Time Warp dance before I let you sleep!” 

— — — 

The opening alone was… unexpected.

Shane sat forward slightly, attention sharpening in that familiar way, tracking patterns, tone, presentation. The exaggerated movements of the lips. The deliberate theatricality. The lack of subtlety, which paradoxically made everything feel more intentional. The lilting music laced with lyrics referencing old movies Shane was only half familiar with. 

“This is—” Shane started.

“SHHH!” Ilya said, already too invested.

Shane shot Ilya a look. Brow furrowed.

Rude.

The large campy font displayed “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”

The structure was unconventional. Tonally inconsistent by design. Characters exaggerated to the point of caricature, yet somehow… incredibly magnetic.

Brad and Janet. 

Shane’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He recognized that dynamic. Had lived adjacent to it. The expectation. The performance of normalcy. The way everything felt scripted in advance. The way it had never quite fit. Uncomfortable. Predictable. Confining.

He shifted slightly closer to Ilya without thinking about it.

Then…

Dr. Frank-N-Furter appeared oozing of confidence and sex and--

Shane blinked. “…Huh.”

Ilya made a small, satisfied sound. “Hm, yes.”

“This is not…” Shane started, then stopped, reassessing. “This is not my usual…”

“Type?” Ilya supplied, amused.

“Yeah,” Shane said, but his tone lacked conviction.

“Tim Curry is everyone’s type” Ilya laughed

There was something very compelling there. Confidence without apology. Presence that demanded attention without asking for it. A kind of chaos that you wanted to get swept up into.

Shane glanced sideways at Ilya. Then back at the screen.

“Yeah, I see it.” he admitted quietly.

“Of course you do,” Ilya said.

Rocky appeared later, all physical perfection and constructed ideal in the skimpiest gold speedo. Shane was retroactively sad he hadn’t seen this as a teenager because this man probably would have made him feel things. 

Shane studied him, head tilting slightly. Then glanced over to Ilya. 

“Hmmph” Shane murmured.

“What?” Ilya asked.

Shane looked back at the screen. “Almost as hot.”

Ilya barked out a laugh. “Almost?”

Shane finally looked at him, expression calm, certain. “HE’S almost as hot as you… You have better form. And better hair. And a better face…”

Ilya looked deeply pleased with that.

“but I would NOT kick him out of bed” Shane teased and Ilya smacked his leg lightly and went in to tickle him. 

—

By the time the movie reached its midpoint, Shane had stopped trying to categorize it entirely. It didn’t fit neatly into anything. Which, he realized, might be the point. He tracked themes instead. Freedom. Identity. The rejection of expectation in favor of something louder, messier and more honest.

He felt Ilya’s fingers tracing absent patterns against his arm grounding him. 

Shane leaned into it, letting his head rest fully against his boyfriends chest.

No analysis needed there. Just data collection.

And the emerging conclusion was still the same. Consistent. Repeating.

The most frequent outcome, the median, the mean, the mode:

Joy.

Chapter End Notes

I LOVE LOVE LOVE RHPS and got to be Columbia in a Shadow cast years and year ago. Tim Curry is near and dear to my heart and I very very luckily got to see him live on stage in an interview show once. I consider myself a very privileged human to have done so. Although RHPS was not my queer awakening, it absolutely affirmed many many many things for me as a 14 year old witnessing it at a High School cast party at a friends house for the first time. Main one being, I love a confident man in heels and in makeup. And I love me a red-headed little cutie pie tap dancing lady!

Hope you enjoyed. I have some ideas for the next chapter. But no timeline for its release for now.

Chapter 9: The Place He Lands

Chapter Summary

Morning finds Ilya with Shane in his arms and no desire to ever let go. But outside their apartment, the world keeps moving. They know they should check their phones, they know... but they need one more adventure before they do. So they retreat deeper into Shane’s private world: morning touches, old memories, convenience store runs and a peek into Shane's life from Ilya's POV as Ilya get's a little taste of his own medicine.

Chapter Notes

Thank you everyone for your patience.
As I stated before I had Chapters 1-6 laid out and mostly written before I even posted. So working on Chapter 7 and 8 were fun to write on the fly.

I loved them so much, but chapter 9 was a struggle for a few reasons:

1) I know the outside world once they face it won’t be as… happy little bubble.

2) I tried and failed to code some social media chapters. I’ll be honest, I have 2 chapters of social media stuff I might just scrap! We will see

3) Life was busy for me, and I needed a little more time.

What I did end up writing came to me TODAY. I also want to shout out @abienne for the prompt of cars sliding down ice, because it reminded me of my failed attempt to ice grandparents driveway once as I butt slid all the way down it one way and then somehow when I got to the sidewalk another 5 feet in another direction! Using my own experiences to inform my writing.

I wanted to give Shane and Ilya a less stressful interaction, and some playfulness! Enjoy!

ALSO:
[WORDS] words in brackets are mouthed to one another.

Day 2

Ilya woke before Shane. He didn’t move. For a long moment, he simply existed inside the moment. Warmth was radiating from Shane in his arms, Shane tucked against him, still half curled into his side, one hand fisted loosely in the blanket like he’d fallen asleep mid-thought and needed something to anchor him there. He looked younger like this. Softer. Less burdened by the world, the obligations and the anxieties he carried with him.

Beyond the curtains, the world outside was bright white and sharp, wind dragging the snow sideways across the windows in long, restless streaks. Cold and unrelenting. It reminded Ilya of the sharp edges of Moscow. Of holding himself in tight, controlled lines at all times. Of learning early that survival meant never staying still. Always moving. Always orbiting and certainly, never close enough to be held.

Ilya’s arms tightened around Shane, almost unconsciously, pulling him closer. The warmth of him settled deeper into Ilya’s chest, constant. A pull he did not have to resist.

This was gravity.

Warm.

He could stay like this forever.

Shane stirred with a quiet inhale, like he was surfacing slowly instead of waking all at once. His fingers flexed slightly against Ilya’s chest.

“Morning solnyshko (little sun)” Ilya murmured.

Shane blinked, disoriented for half a second, then softened immediately when he realized where he was and who was next to him. 

“…Morning baby.” His voice was rough and sleep-heavy but his mouth was turned up into a smile. His hair was fluffy, sticking out in parts like a dandelion in springtime. 

Adorable.

Ilya pressed his lips against his temple and mumbled, “is still snowing.”

Shane tilted his head just enough to glance toward the window, then back at him.

“Good.” Shane smiled back.

Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh. “Very selfish of you, Hollander.”

Shane shot him a pouty look, then shrugged.

Something in Ilya’s chest gave way, softening all at once, the last of that restless edge easing out of him as he pulled Shane a fraction closer. Like whatever part of him that felt like it always had to be in motion had stilled. Like he had stopped orbiting. And found where he was meant to land.

He knew, distantly, that they should get up. That there would be messages, emails, missed calls, notifications. The outside world, waiting exactly where they had left it. But neither of them moved.

They stayed like that for as long as they could. Holding back the inevitable river of expectations that awaited them. Ilya hand his hand braced along Shane’s back. Shane’s fingers were tracing idle patterns over Ilya’s ribs. Small, absent kisses pressed wherever was closest. Until Shane’s body shifted, just slightly. Ilya felt it before he saw it, that subtle tightening, the quiet recalibration and the awareness outside of their snowcapped bubble. And then the familiar crease appeared between Shane’s brows.

There it is. Moya milaya gorgul'ya (My cute gargoyle)

Shane exhaled. “…We should probably check.”

Ilya didn’t want it to end. This bubble of domestic bliss. He groaned lightly. 

Shane looked at Ilya his face softening. “Let’s do something first.” 

I could get used to this.

“Solnyshko, I am worried you will be sore” he grinned but was half serious. 

“No, I mean yes… but later. I meant I want to go out” Shane stammered.

Ilya looked at the window then back at Shane puzzled

“In this? You want to go out and what? Have snowball fight?” 

“No, there is a little store down the hill, I have something I want to pick up.” Shane said hopefully. “…and then we can check in with the world.” He lightly grumped

“You need to pick up more 100 hour candles?” Ilya teased

Shane laughed and pressed his face into Ilya’s chest before playfully shoving him away with a flirty “Fuck off” as he pushed off the bed and into the ensuite to shower. 

Ilya got up and went to start the coffee. He hadn’t really been in this place for an extended period of time. It had been six months since they had made things official, but Ilya flew back to Boston straight from the cottage and Boston had played Montreal and Ottawa only two times since then. All the moments they had had in this place were fleeting, with a very unmovable deadline of games and flights and practices. He started to take the place in, in a way you could only do when you were alone. He looked at the whiteboard Shane had on his fridge. The careful lines of caloric intake and workout outputs. 

A daily checklist that included things he knew Shane did automatically like: 

[   ] Make Bed

[   ] Check E-Mails

[   ] Make Smoothie

[   ] Read 30 minutes

He had seen it before, but never studied it. Shane’s handwriting was very neat and some how all the lettering was the same height and size. Somehow his writing looked… happy. It almost betrayed the outer persona Shane had curated to the outside world. Shane’s handwriting made Ilya think of his native Cyrillic and how Shane would be a natural at it. He smirked. 

As the coffee pot began to boil, he wandered down the hall, away from the main bedroom and toward a door left slightly ajar. He couldn’t remember if it had been open before, but he didn’t think much of it. 

The room was clearly part guest room, part office. Tidy in the deliberate way everything in Shane’s apartment seemed to be. Along one wall were framed clippings and photographs marking different stages of Shane’s career. Across from the bed hung three jerseys in large shadow boxes.

Team Canada.
The Montreal Voyageurs.
World Juniors.

Ilya stepped closer to the last one.

The jersey Shane had been wearing the first time they ever played against each other.

He stared at it for a moment, remembering the sharpness of that night. How young they had both been. How furious Shane had made him immediately simply by existing so calmly across the ice. How Ilya had wanted to beat him, rattle him, crack that perfect composure open just to see what was underneath.

His gaze shifted to a larger frame beside it: a collage of photographs.

Shane with the Cup lifted high above his head, joy split wide across his face. Shane with his parents on the ice during the celebration, his parents faces flushed with pride. A full team photo, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder around the trophy. And another of Shane, J.J., and Hayden holding the Cup like an oversized baby, grinning so hard it looked painful.

Ilya smiled despite himself.

Then the smile faded into something quieter.

A small sadness moved through him, familiar and dull-edged. He hadn’t been there to see Shane win it in person. Hadn’t seen the confetti fall, hadn’t heard the crowd, hadn’t watched Shane’s face in the exact second a lifetime of work became real.

And even if he had gone…

He couldn’t have gone down to the ice. Couldn’t have wrapped his arms around him in front of cameras. Couldn’t have kissed him the way the other players kissed the people they loved without thought. 

His mind flashed, uninvited, to Scott Hunter grabbing his boyfriend by the face and kissing him at center ice after their championship, the crowd roaring like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ilya exhaled slowly.

He thought of his own Cup win. The noise of it. The cameras. Champagne in his eyes. Teammates shouting his name, bodies colliding into his, joy everywhere and nowhere to place the part of it that mattered most. Triumph threaded clean through with something lonelier.

A celebration so loud it nearly drowned out the silence waiting underneath it.

He wondered, suddenly, if Shane had felt the same.

If he had stood there smiling with the trophy in his hands while some private absence moved quietly beside him. If joy had arrived whole for Shane, or if it too had come split down the middle.

For some people, joy was public.

For others, it lived in shadows and in hotel rooms at four in the morning before anyone else was awake.

He shifted, looking over some of the other photos.

Hayden, Shane, and a woman Ilya assumed was Hayden’s wife, Jackie. Shane was wearing Hayden’s sweater with the number 35 and PIKE across the back, while Jackie and three kids all wore Hollander jerseys. Hayden looked performatively offended, arms thrown wide, everyone else caught mid-laugh.

Ilya smiled despite himself.

There was an entire life outside of him that Shane had been living. Birthdays and dinners and inside jokes. Summer days and holiday mornings. Children growing taller between visits. A thousand small moments that had nothing to do with secret hotel rooms or stolen weeks in cottages or glances across center ice.

He wanted, suddenly and fiercely, to belong to that life too.

There were more photographs of Shane in hockey gear, younger and younger as they went. In one he couldn’t have been more than ten, standing in oversized pads, trying very hard to look fierce and failing completely.

I wish I could have known you then. I want to have always known you.

As Ilya turned toward the opposite wall, he saw his own face staring back at him.

His breath caught.

It was Shane looking a little sullen, and Ilya grinning ear to ear. Ilya was holding up one finger. Shane was holding up two. The photo had cropped out the third draft pick, and Ilya couldn’t even remember his name.

He moved around the bed for a better look, then took one step back too quickly. The backs of his legs hit the mattress and he dropped onto it with a startled huff. He barely noticed.

His eyes stayed fixed on the wall. He looked back at himself inside the gold frame, at his own stupidly happy grin beside Shane’s carefully neutral expression.

Draft day.

Before we knew anything. Before we knew everything.

Another gold frame hung beside it. The photo was in black and white. Mid-faceoff. Their bodies angled toward one another like magnets pretending to be weapons.

Ilya suspected it was from their very first MHL against one another. Even then, the tension between them had been visible enough for someone else to capture it.

Another from the most recent All-Stars game in Tampa. 

Another clipping.

Another.

Another.

His throat tightened.

All this time. All this fucking time.

The door moved softly beside him.

“My mom put this room together.”

Shane’s voice was quiet, but Ilya could hear the smile in it and the trepidation.

Ilya turned.

Shane stood in the doorway in boxer briefs, hair still damp from the shower.  Beautiful and nervous and trying not to look nervous. He gestured once toward the room.

“She wanted it to feel… like home when I bought the place.” He swallowed. “Most of the hockey stuff was her idea.”

Ilya nodded once, unable to trust his voice yet.

Shane shifted his weight.

“But…” He glanced toward the wall, then back at Ilya. “I asked her for these.”

His hand motioned toward the framed photos of them.

The draft photo.

The faceoff.

The All-Star picture.

Ilya felt something inside him split open so cleanly it didn’t even hurt at first.

“You asked for… me?”

Shane’s cheeks pinked instantly.

“I asked for photos that mattered to me and told her these mattered the most.”

Ilya stared at him.

Then at the wall.

Then back at him.

“Shane Hollander,” he said softly, voice wrecked around the edges. “You never showed me this….”

Shane frowned. “Well it’s just a guest bed—”

Ilya crossed the room in three strides.

Shane barely got out a surprised sound before Ilya had him by the waist, lifting him clean off the floor and kissing him hard enough to interrupt whatever correction he’d been about to make.

When he set him down again, Shane was flushed and blinking.

“Ilya—”

“You had shrine.”

“It is not a shrine.”

“It is room of me.”

“It is a guest room and an office!”

“It is guest room and office of me.”

Shane groaned and covered his face with one hand.

“It sounds much weirder when you say it like that.”

Ilya pulled his hand away gently.

“When did you put these up?” Ilya raised his eyebrows

Shane blushed an even deeper shade and groaned

“Since before?” Ilya questioned

Shane nodded and quietly said “Yes” 

“You kept me,” he said, quieter now.

Shane stilled.

Ilya’s thumb brushed the pink in his cheek.

“Before I was yours in real life,” he continued. “You kept pieces of me anyway.”

Shane’s eyes softened.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get the real thing,” he said quietly. “So I kept what I could.”

That one hit like a body check. Ilya made a wounded sound low in his throat and buried his face in Shane’s shoulder.

“Baby,” Shane said, laughing softly now as he wrapped his arms around him. “Are you crying in my weird hockey guest room?”

“No,” Ilya muttered into Shane’s shoulder.

“You are.”

“I am having eye sweat, is different.”

Shane’s hand slid into his hair and whispered “Okay.”

They stood there in the room built out of trophies and old versions of themselves, holding each other like something long delayed had finally arrived.

And in the kitchen, the coffee kept brewing.

———

Shane and Ilya stood in the foyer by the front door, bundled up in layers. 

Shane had on thermal leggings beneath sweats, thick wool socks, boots, a hoodie, his heavy winter coat zipped all the way to his chin, gloves, and a knit beanie pulled low over his ears. He looked deeply practical and annoyingly cute.

Ilya stared at him from the doorway.

“Shane.”

“What?”

“You are dressed like small child whose mother does not trust weather report.”

“It’s cold.”

“It is Canada cold, not Siberia cold.”

“It is Montreal in a blizzard.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, stepping closer. “So normal weather.”

Shane rolled his eyes and reached for the door.

Ilya caught him first, wrapping his own scarf around Shane’s neck and looping it twice with efficient hands.

“You need the scarf,” Shane pointed out.

“I am Russian. We generate our own heat.” Ilya laughed

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is. Russian blood is warmer”

Shane’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Ilya leaned in and kissed the bit of nose visible between scarf and hat.

“Come, little marshmallow.”

“I hate you.” Shane chided

“No you don’t.”

“No,” Shane admitted, opening the door. “I really don’t.”

The cold hit instantly, sharp and bright. Even in the hallway, Ilya was already silently regretting not having the scarf. They emerged from the building and snowbanks rose in clean white walls along the edges of the walk, and the wind moved powder across the street in glittering sheets. The corner store as Shane had told them was only two blocks downhill, Ilya could only see about 10 feet in front of them, so he trusted Shane to lead the way. 

They got about half a block, their boots crunching through snow and then Shane stopped so suddenly Ilya nearly walked into him.

“What?” Ilya gasped

“It’s iced over.”

Ilya looked down dismissively. “It is sidewalk.”

“It’s ice under the dusting of snow.” Shane pointed ahead. “See?”

There, unmistakable in the thin layer of powder, was a trail of evidence:

Footprints. Then two deeper impressions. Then the perfect round stamp of someone’s butt.Then a long drag mark downhill.

Ilya stared.

Shane folded his arms. “I’m suggesting we walk on the grass.”

“The grass is also snow.” Ilya chirped

“The grass has traction.” 

“What are you? Ice whisperer Shane?”

“We will both fall on our asses if we walk on that Rozanov.”

“Mr. Highest Hockey IQ! Mr. Can Read The Ice!” Ilya mocked 

Ilya sniffed and stepped boldly onto the sidewalk. “I am from Russia. Ice respects me.”

Shane laughed once. “That is absolutely not how phy—”

Ilya’s feet shot forward. His arms windmilled with shocking elegance for a man losing a battle with gravity.

Then he landed hard on his back with a grunt and slid three feet downslope stopping with a grunt.

For one stunned second there was silence.

Gravity.

Then Shane doubled over laughing. Not politely, it was full body, helpless laughter that bent him in half.

“Oh my God…” Shane wheezed. “You absolute idiot.”

Ilya lay there in the snow, offended and winded.

“I was sabotaged.” 

“You said ice respected you!”

“It usually does!”

Shane laughed harder.

Ilya tried to stand with dignity and flipped onto his stomach to get a better hold. He then slid a few feet further and Shane scream laughed “You look like a SEAL!” 

The wind was blowing hard and Shane’s yell was barely audible. Ilya huffed and was able to stop himself. He put one knee under him. One boot planted. He rose halfway…

Then slid again and sat back down with a furious thump.

That sent Shane into another fit as he started walking seemingly unbothered on the icy grass toward Ilya. 

“You are crying,” Ilya accused.

“You deserve this.” Shane said still laughing 

“You are terrible…” [BOYFRIEND] Ilya mouthed the last part

“I’m a great” [BOYFRIEND] Shane said, wiping tears from under his eyes. “I told you to use the grass.”

Ilya glared up at him. Then held out both gloved hands.

Shane stared.

“Help me.” Ilya grunted

“You mocked me for bundling up AND for suggesting the grass” 

“Help me, solnyshko.” Ilya looked up pleadingly

Shane stepped carefully near the edge of the sidewalk, still grinning, and took both hands. He braced himself, leaned back, and hauled Ilya up into him sure-footed and strong. Reminding Ilya of how lucky he was to be dating a man who could easily lift him. 

Ilya surged upright, momentum carrying them chest to chest, and Ilya squeezed onto Shane as his feet found the grass. For a moment they just stood there in the blowing snow holding one another laughing.

Ilya wanted to kiss him but knew he couldn’t, even with no one around, it was too risky. So instead he hugged him a little tighter and let go. 

“Thank you for rescue.” Ilya said bashfully

“You’re welcome.” Shane was still chuckling

“And you say nothing of this.” His eyes squinted

“I’m telling everyone we’ve ever met.”

“I will push you into snowbank Hollander.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

They continued downhill on the grass. Ilya, noticeably more humble. Shane, unbearably smug.

At the bottom of the block, warm yellow light glowed from the little corner shop windows, soft against the white blur of the storm.  Inside, it was warm and smelled of a mix of savory and sweet. The shop was small but immaculate, every shelf faced forward with quiet precision. It had the comforting clutter of a place built over years instead of designed all at once. A few aisles held convenience store staples like chips, canned soup, batteries, gum, aspirin, maple cookies, ketchup chips, instant macaroni. Another was lined with Japanese groceries: neat rows of ramen, bags of rice, spices, Pocky, matcha candies, canned coffees, seaweed snacks, bottled sauces with bright labels  Ilya couldn’t read. 

A glass case by the register held fresh onigiri, sandwiches, and pastries wrapped neatly in wax paper. There were handwritten signs in English, French, and Japanese. A faded Montreal Voyageurs schedule was pinned beside a lucky cat that waved endlessly near the till. Someone had tucked a tiny Team Canada flag into the plant by the window.

Everything about it felt cared for. Clean floors. No dust on the shelves. Soft music playing somewhere behind the counter. The kind of place where the people who worked there remembered your name if you had been in more than once. 

“Ohayō gozaimasu, Sato-san,”(Good morning Mr. Sato/respectfully) Shane said

An older man immediately came from behind the counter and pulled Shane into a hug.

“Sha-kun! You are here in this weather?” 

Shane’s face softened instantly. Ilya noticed.

“You wanted Kanso Kaisō so badly?” the older man said warmly

Shane looked at him, the edges of his smile peeking out beneath the scarf.

“No. I still have plenty,” he said. “I wanted to check on you and Mrs. Sato… and I’m making saba no shioyaki tonight.”

He hesitated.

“And… I wanted to finish the meal properly… with taiyaki” he said more shyly

Ilya watched the exchange, struck by how easy Shane looked here. Almost light, unarmored. He had seen Shane relaxed before, but rarely with anyone outside his smallest circles.

“And who is this?” the older mans gaze was now fixed on Ilya with open curiosity. 

Shane looked at Ilya reverently then fixed his face to be stoic and cleared his throat. “This is… Ilya, he is… we work together. Ilya this is Mr. Sato my neighbor. He and his wife Mrs. Sato own the store” 

Ilya nearly laughed

“Oh, you are on Sha-kun’s Hockey team?” 

A beat.

Ilya looked at Shane then back at the man.

“Yes, I play Hockey” Ilya said, not knowing exactly what he should say. 

“Ilya plays for a different team, but his team is snowed in until the storm clears” Shane added

“I am professional enemy.” Ilya said not being able to help himself

Mr. Sato burst into delighted laughter.

“Oh my God,” Shane mumbled, barely audible.

Mr. Sato smiled warmly.

“Well, I am glad you finally brought someone here besides your parents, Sha-kun. I was beginning to think you preferred living like a little mountain hermit up there on the hill” 

He looked between them again, slower this time. Taking in the matching snow on their shoulders. The scarf around Shane’s neck that was very clearly not Shane’s because without realizing it, Ilya had given him one that was from the FIFA World Cup and had CSKA Moscow on it. 

Mr. Sato took in the way they stood angled unconsciously toward one another, bodies already accounting for the other’s space.

Ilya recognized that look immediately. Old people always knew everything.

“Mm,” Mr. Sato hummed.

Shane stiffened by half an inch. Ilya noticed that too.

“You walked here in the storm together,” Mr. Sato said mildly. “Must be a very good friendship.”

“Yes,” Shane said too fast.

“No,” Ilya said at the same time.

They both turned to one another. 

Blyat.(Fuck)

“I mean… yes. Shane is very good friend…” Ilya said quickly. “But I do not walk in snow. I fall.”

He turned slightly and pointed to the back of his pants, visibly soaked through.

Mr. Sato chuckled .

Saved it.

“Ilya, you are Russian?” Mr. Sato asked.

“Yes.”

“And you are the one falling on the ice?”

Mr. Sato laughed harder now, shoulders shaking.

Shane made a strangled sound beside him and turned away, clearly trying not to start laughing again.

“It was sabotage,” Ilya said with dignity.

“Did Sha-kun push you?” Mr. Sato asked.

“No. Sabotage by all of Canada.”

That did it. Mr. Sato was laughing. 

Shane bent forward, laughing into his scarf.

“I warned you,” Shane said, voice muffled. “I literally warned you.”

“You used trick psychology.” 

“I said use the grass.”

“You said it smugly.”

Mr. Sato wiped at his eyes.

“Sha-kun, this one is good for you,” he said.

Shane straightened immediately. “Sato-san.”

“What….What?” the older man said innocently. “He is loud, dramatic, falls down, and makes you laugh. Very healthy to have friend like this one.”

“I am not dramatic,” Ilya said.

They both looked at him.

Ilya frowned. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

Mr. Sato nodded as if this confirmed everything.

From up the stairs, a woman’s voice called out sharply in Japanese.

Mr. Sato answered back, then smiled.

“My wife says to stop teasing you boys and ask what you need.”

“She can hear all this?” Shane asked, horrified.

“She hears everything,” Mr. Sato said proudly.

A moment later, Mrs. Sato appeared through the doorway carrying a tray of delicious smelling pastries? Ilya noticed they were all shaped like fish. 

“Perfect timing, we have fresh taiyaki Sha-kun” 

 She was small, elegant, and had the unmistakable air of a woman who tolerated foolishness only when it amused her. She took one look at Shane. Then one look at Ilya. Then at the wet backside of Ilya’s pants. Her eyebrow lifted.

“You fell,” she said flatly

Shane made a choking noise trying not to laugh again.

“It was black ice,” Ilya said as dignified as he could

“Mm.” She clearly did not believe him.

She set the tray down and kissed Shane on the cheek and embraced him like he was family.

“You brought a friend.” She said matter of factly but her eyes betrayed the stoicism 

Shane opened his mouth. “Yes, Sato-s— ” he said cautiously.

“Call me Yamiko Sha-kun” and she squeezed his arm lightly

“Yes, Yamiko-san ”

Mrs. Sato looked back at Ilya, then at the scarf wrapped around Shane’s neck.

“And your friend gave you that scarf.” She said as if it were fact and not a question

Shane glanced down, cleared his throat. “It was cold.”

“Mm.” 

She gave one small nod, then turned and disappeared into the back without another word.

A moment later she returned holding a thick wool scarf in both hands. She walked directly up to Ilya and, before he could react, wrapped it around his neck with the brisk precision of a field medic and the authority of a mother who had already decided he was incapable of taking proper care of himself.

“There,” she said, patting the knot once. “Now you look less stupid.”

Mr. Sato barked out a laugh behind the counter.

Shane made a sound somewhere between a cough and a strangled chuckle.

Ilya blinked down at the scarf, then up at her.

“…Thank you Mrs. Sato” he said carefully.

“Mm,” she replied. “It is cold out there. You should know better. You are from a cold place.”

Shane snickered behind him.

Ilya felt simultaneously scolded and cared for. It was shocking.

Shane and Mr. Sato tried to stifle their smiles as Mrs. Sato briskly moved behind the counter, suddenly all business again.

“Sha-kun…”

“Yes, sorry. One red bean and one custard, please,” Shane said quickly.

“You are eating sweets during the season?” Mrs. Sato ask with a slightly shocked tone

Shane hesitated. “Just… today.”

Her gaze sharpened. Then she shot a look at her husband, the smallest smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“I will give you extra then,” she said with a sharp nod. “You need your strength for all the cardio you’ll be doing.”

Both Shane and Ilya stiffened.

“Wh—what?” Shane asked, face reddening.

“To carry your Russian friend back uphill.” She said perfectly blank

The two men broke into laughter again.

Ilya crossed his arms in protest. He was not used to this. Not used to being chirped and not chirping back. Not used to strangers folding him so easily into warmth. But the frown on his face gave way when he caught Shane looking at him.

Shane’s eyes were soft with affection, bright with laughter, and so openly full of love that Ilya could do nothing but smile back.

“Here… take this, Ilya-kun,” Mr. Sato said, clasping a hand warmly on his shoulder. “You like chocolate right?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “I am not like Shane. I eat normal.”

Shane made an offended sound.

Mr. Sato handed him a chocolate bar wrapped in bright paper with Japanese writing across it.

“These were Sha-kun’s favorite when he first came to Montreal,” he said. “He would come here and stock up. That is how we met him.”

The man smiled at Shane with deep fondness, then back at Ilya with a gentleness that caught him off guard.

“Thank you,” Ilya said quietly.

He looked down at the chocolate bar in one hand, touched the scarf at his throat with the other, then glanced toward Mrs. Sato and smiled. She pretended not to notice.

Shane handed over a fifty-dollar bill. Mrs. Sato reached for the register, but Shane was already backing toward the door, calling out thanks over their protests about giving him his change.

“We’re going home before he falls again,” Shane called over his shoulder, laughing.

“I will not fall again,” Ilya said stiffly.

The second he stepped outside, his boot slipped on the threshold and Shane caught him by both elbows.

Mr. Sato nearly folded in half laughing.

Mrs. Sato only nodded once and said “Good catch, Sha-kun.”

As the door swung shut behind them, Ilya heard her laughter finally break free.

———

They had made it back up the hill with no incident as Ilya made his way back up through the grass. By the time they got inside, both of them were flushed from the cold. They stamped snow from their boots in the entryway and peeled off layers one by one.

Shane had just tugged off his coat when he reached out and poked Ilya square on the nose as it poked out through the scarf Mrs. Sato had wrapped around him.

“Who is the cute little marshmallow now?” he asked.

Ilya chuckled, catching Shane’s wrist and kissing the inside of it before letting go.

“They are very nice.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, smiling with a softness that lingered. “They are.”

He bent to untie his boots, voice turning quieter as he spoke.

“When I first came here, I didn’t really have anyone. I was alone a lot and missed home. I missed my mom’s cooking. I missed my old routines. It was hard.”

Ilya said nothing, only listened.

Shane shrugged out of his sweater and draped it over a chair.

“I found that store and they had so many things my mom used to make me. It felt… familiar. Safe.” He smiled faintly. “Mrs. Sato even made me nikujaga and okayu whenever she could tell I was especially homesick. She always said she’d made too much.”

“You knew she made it for you,” Ilya said.

Shane glanced back at him, smiling. “Yeah, it was… more than I could have asked for.”

Ilya watched the expression on his face as he moved through the apartment, warmed more by memory than the heat. There was something deeply tender in the way Shane spoke of them. Something rooted.

“They live above the store,” Shane continued. “After a few months of me going there every Monday I was in town, they asked for my hockey schedule so they’d know when I’d be around. After that, she started making me things all the time. Invited me up to their apartment and I would eat with them a few times a month”

“That is so sweet, Shane.” Ilya leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely. “They are almost like family now yes?”

“Yes,” Shane said with an easy nod. “Very much like that.”

He paused, then added almost shyly, “They don’t really watch hockey, so I knew they wouldn’t recognize you. They don’t really even know that I’m… like… good.”

Ilya barked out a laugh.

“Shane. You are in commercials. On billboards. You are best…” he caught Shane’s look and corrected himself with theatrical reluctance, “second best player in league. They know.”

“I don’t think they do,” Shane said, serious as ever. “They mostly watch Japanese channels. Their sons know, though. They’re a little younger than me. One lives in Toronto, he’s an architect. The other’s at university in Vancouver.”

“It is nice they have you,” Ilya said softly. “And you have them.”

Shane’s expression gentled. “Yeah.”

Then, as if it were the most obvious detail in the world, he added:

“After that first year, I moved into this building because it was conveniently located to the store.”

Ilya stared at him.

“Shane.”

“What?”

“You moved homes… for snacks?”

“It was more nuanced than that.”

“You relocated your life for emotional support food?”

“No it’s just...”

“I know… I was…” Ilya smiled at him

Ilya pushed off the wall, stepping closer. Something warm and helpless bloomed in his chest.

Because there it was again. The thing Shane never announced, never dramatized, never seemed to realize about himself.

When Shane felt safe, he committed. Entirely. Quietly. Permanently. 

Moya milaya gorgul'ya (My cute gargoyle)

He built his life around the places and people who let him breathe. Even if it seemed insane to the rest of the world, it was perfectly logical to Shane. 

Ilya reached up, brushing melted snow from Shane’s hair.

“Solnyshko,” he murmured, smiling. “You are cutest, most sentimental man I have ever met.”

Chapter End Notes

Sato-San: -San is a way to refer to an older person known to you with respect.

Sha-kun: Shortened Shane and -kun is a way to refer to younger people you are familiar with in Japanese

Kanso Kaisō - Dried Seaweed

Saba no Shioyaki - grilled mackerel

Taiyaki is a popular Japanese fish-shaped cake, similar to a waffle, with a crispy exterior and soft interior, traditionally filled with sweet red bean paste (anko) but also commonly filled with custard, chocolate, or sweet potato. 

NEXT TIME: Shane shares food his mom makes him. And they get a glimpse of what their teams and the rest of the world think they are doing.

Chapter 10: Some Constants Are Chosen

Chapter Summary

SHANE POV:
Shane has always trusted data more than people, until the world gets too loud and he has nowhere else to turn. As everything unravels, Ilya holds steady, Hayden starts to understand, and the truth they’ve kept contained for years begins to surface. Not everything breaks under pressure. Some things just become impossible to ignore.

Shane inhaled slowly.
Numbers were constant.
Reliable.
Predictable.

People however…

Shane’s hand stilled on the counter.

People changed.
Contexts shifted.
Variables multiplied.
But not always.

The thought came quieter this time. Less defensive. Some people stayed. Not because they had to like family, but because they chose to. Even when it was hard to.

Chapter Notes

Some more back story on Shane through memories of his own grandparents.

This is where the angst happens y'all! Prepare for some spiraling, but don't worry! Someone is there to catch him. Just like he will be for Ilya! They got this. They got each other.

A few things:
Shane is always hardest on himself. He is a 'prepare for the worst' kind of guy. I can relate!

This is not a forced outing fic. Comeau is a dick always. ALWAYS. We haven't seen the socials yet. Those will be mostly fun.

Shane Naoki Hollander loved familiar things, he loved the comfort of what was known to him. “Sentimental,” Ilya had said, already halfway to the bathroom, chuckling to himself as he went to shower from his fall in the wet snow. Shane frowned slightly at the word. He wasn’t sentimental. He just preferred… consistency. 

Predictability. Known variables. That isn’t the same thing as ‘sentimental’ Is it?

Shane started in the kitchen. He set the taiyaki aside for later and began prepping for their lunch. Saba no shioyaki. Grilled mackerel.

It fit his macros. It was efficient. And… It was a piece of his own history. His own childhood that he could share.

Simple. Precise. Familiar.

Grilled mackerel was something Shane associated with his grandparents. He loved when his Obāchan (grandmother) would make it. And in its familiarity he drew comfort. Shane remembered his routine after school:

Same route.
Same sidewalk.
Same turn at the corner.

His grandparents’ house closer than his own.

The door always unlocked.

Upon stepping into the warmth of their home, he was always immediately met with the same greeting; “Kii-chan, Gakkō wa dōdatta?(Kii-chan, How was school?) and hit with the familiar smells of:

Dashi. Mirin. Ginger. Hōjicha tea.

Rice cooking. Always rice cooking.

His Obāchan(grandmother) was warm and kind and would call him Naoki and Kii-chan. His grandparents were the only ones to do so and when they passed, no one called him that again. He missed it sometimes. There had been a day, he remembered it clearly, when he had asked them to call him Shane instead. He had stood in their kitchen, small but resolute, trying to match the version of himself the outside world seemed to understand better. The box the world put him in.

“We will if you want us to, but Naoki is who you are to us always.” She smiled softly, brushing his hair back as she always did when soothing him. 

“Your name is special. ‘Nao’ means direct and honest just like who you are”

She moved her hand to his chest

and ‘ki’ means tree,” she had continued, patting her hand lightly over his sternum. 

“You are like a tree, sturdy, resilient. Something that grows and does not break.”

“We want you to have these” She had paused, searching for the right word. “… tokusei(traits) as you grow up Kii-chan” 

“Tokusei?” Shane asked unfamiliar with the word

“Hai(yes)” she had said, resolutely “Tokusei is like… it’s who you are, what you are made of.”

Shane considered this very seriously

“You want me to be a tree?” he asked earnestly

His Ojīchan(grandfather) had laughed from his chair in the dining room, low and warm, the kind of laugh that filled a room without asking permission.

“Anata wa itsumo, totemo sotchoku desu ne (You are always so direct.)” his Ojīchan(grandfather) had said, shaking his head. Then softer, but more certain “You will always be Naoki to us.”

The memory settled instead of ending, like it had nowhere else to go. Shane stood in the kitchen now, fingers resting lightly against the counter, the smell of salt and fresh fish rising faintly in the air.

His Obāchan had been warm in a way that didn’t demand anything from him. She didn’t ask him to perform. Didn’t ask him to explain. She just… made space for him and fed him and soothed him. Let him exist exactly as he was with no expectations except that one. “Let us call you who you are to us”. 

His grandfather was loud but steady. Always smoking outside, even when it was cold. Always reading a newspaper or a book, anything within reach. The smell of tobacco always clung to his clothing in a way Shane wanted to hate but only found to miss in its absence. Shane remembered him as strong and kind. Shane noticed, around what his grandparents called “Westerners” his Ojīchan grew quiet like he was containing an entire side of himself only the lucky few got to see. But with family and close friends, Ojīchan was his full self. 

He remembered Ojīchan would often be at the middle of a gathering telling a story too quickly in Japanese for Shane to catch all of it. He would talk with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like it was hanging on for dear life. Like it could fall to its doom at any moment but Ojīchan never slowed to notice. He was animated and often made everyone around him laugh. 

Shane admired him, and felt like they were nothing alike. 

But then in the quiet times, after school, at the dining room table before food was served, his Ojīchan would sit down and play chess with him or help him with his homework. Mostly math.

 “Language is different,” he would say, tapping his newspaper lightly. 

“But numbers…” he would grin “…numbers are always the same.”

Shane liked that. He liked predictability and firm outcomes. Like solving equations. He struggled when things required interpretation. Essays. Opinions. Anything that depended on how he felt instead of what he knew. He spent so much time fitting himself into what people expected, he rarely stopped to check in with himself at all.

But at his grandparents’ house his mind went quiet. Not empty. Just… still. He hadn’t realized how rare that feeling was until it was gone.

Obāchan and Ojīchan had been constants. A steady space of home.

When they passed, one not long after the other, the pattern broke.

No replacement. No substitute variable. Just absence.

Shane inhaled slowly.

Numbers were constant.

Reliable.

Predictable.

People however…

Shane’s hand stilled on the counter.

People changed.

Contexts shifted.

Variables multiplied.

But not always.

The thought came quieter this time. Less defensive. Some people stayed. Not because they had to like family, but because they chose to. Even when it was hard to. 

Shane’s mind flickered.

The couch.
The weight of Ilya beside him.
No expectation. No performance. No need to explain.

Just… space.

Ilya feeding him his mother’s recipe.

Dancing in the kitchen together.

Driving in a care letting silence exist without filling it.

Allowing Shane to exist without ant expectation of him.

His chest loosened slightly at the memories flooding in.

It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. But it was…

A variable with the same outcome?

Familiar in a way that didn’t demand anything from him.

Safe.

Shane exhaled slowly.

“"Listen, these women, they are so sexy and fun, but is no matter. I cannot stop thinking about this slow fucking hockey player with beautiful freckles and a weak backhand, and he drives a terrible car... I am always wishing that these women were him."

The memory of Ilya’s voice settled over the thought… reinforcing it. Shane’s fingers relaxed slightly against the counter and he smiled. Not everything was unstable. Not everything shifted. Some constants weren’t given. They were chosen. And right now, that was enough. Enough to try. Enough to move forward instead of away. 

Behind him, the phone sat. Waiting. Whatever was on it was;

Not predictable.
Not contained.
Not safe.

Shane rolled his shoulders and neck releasing the tension.

He looked at the ingredients on the counter. Lined up in neat sections. Dry goods, spices, meat, rice.

Order.
Predictable.
Familiar.

He remembered Obāchan’s hands cupping his small face.

“Sturdy. Resilient. Something that grows and does not break.”

Her voice echoed in his mind. Shane reached for the phone. Not because it was safe. But because he wasn’t facing it alone.

He turned off airplane mode.

——

First to ping through were the texts. Some from yesterday and others from just this morning: 

Mom:

Mom: Honey, are you okay?
Mom: I saw a lot about you and Ilya online
Mom: Please call me when you can

-

Mom: Ok. I know you called on your way to your place but now I’m getting worried.
Mom: Shane it will be fine. It’s just rumors nothing substantial 

Mom: Honey, I tried calling you and Ilya, you both aren’t picking up. 

—
Mom: I’m, worried. Please one of you answer, I know I talked to you yesterday, but please call me back. 

Mom: Shane, I texted Hayden he said no ones seen you or Ilya since yesterday.
Mom: I’m calling Hayden to go check on you. Please don’t be mad. 

————

Hayden:

Hayden: BRO
Hayden: WHAT is happening
Hayden: Why are you grocery shopping with ROZANOV
Hayden: CALL ME! He better not have done anything. I’ll kick his ass. 

—

Hayden: SHANE ANSWER YOUR PHONE
Hayden: I’m coming over. I called JJ we’s on his way too

—
Hayden: That was fucking weird, but the dude made good soup. I told Jackie I’m getting MHL 16 and she laughed and said they don’t even make it for the Playstation I have anymore. Now I got to get a whole ass new console. 

—
Hayden: CALL YOUR MOM

—

Hayden: Your mom keeps texting me, she wants me to go over there because you’re both not answering your phones
Hayden: Why does your mom have Rozy’s phone number?
Hayden: Fuck dude I don’t want to go over there again but I will
Hayden: CALL ME ASSHOLE! Or I’m coming back over! 

———

JJ: mon gars (my guy)😂😂You and Rozanov grocery shopping?
JJ: you two look domestique as fuck
JJ: Was it for PR? I support but also ???

—

JJ: Capitaine Hayds is freaking out. You good mon amie (my friend)?
JJ: Hollzy fucking answer your phone
JJ: I just picked up St. Simon headed to your place. Going to kick his ass if he did anything

—

JJ: Je ne vais pas mentir(Not gonna lie), Rozy’s a good hang. Didn’t think I’d like him but Il est drôle(he’s funny).

JJ: Still laughing at you chirping Hayden. Rozy’s brings out 

—

JJ: Support the charity shit. C’est intelligent (It’s smart). If you need any help I’m down.
JJ: St. Simon has a bet 

———

Unknown number:

You good?

———

MTL Voyageurs 

Shane hesitated. Then opened it. The messages were already chaos.

Gagnon: This photoshop?

[Picture of Shane, Ilya and a grocery store employee]

Laine: Is this real?

Wilson: Dafuq?

JJ: Hollzy what? 

Hayden: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? 

JJ: 😂😂😂😂😂

Laine: Cap why are you with rozanov?

Wilson: WTF?!

Gagnon: nah nah nah explain

Couilliard: Cap you look like you live together 😂😂

————

Shane’s grip tightened on the phone.

———— 

Comeau: what is this soft shit? You guys filming a commercial or something?

Drapeau: yeah this looks staged

Comeau: looks kinda sus ngl

Hayden: shut the fuck up Gil

JJ: yeah relax mon amie. Cap is probably doing some commercial or something. 

Comeau: im just saying, rivals don’t grocery shop together unless something weird is going on

Laine: i’ll fight him either way

Mitty: Cap? you good?

Comeau: WTF? You guys this? 

TMZ: CAP ON CAP!!! Hockey Rivals Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov Spotted Grocery Shopping Together 👀

JJ: Connerie(bullshit)! All those tabloids are fufu Gil. Stop with that shit. 

Hayden: I’m not clicking those links. 

Comeau: Dailymail: PUCK BUNNIES SHOOK!!! Rival Captains Look REAL Cozy Buying Groceries

Comeau: More pics in that one, not just with the fan, it’s of them smiling at each other

Comeau: Cap this better be for some prank

Drapeau: Now it’s on ESPN! ESPN: You Will Not Believe Which Hockey Rivals Were Seen Grocery Shopping Together

JJ: Just heard from Vicky St. Simon. Looks like the Bears got snowed in and don’t have enough hotel rooms. I gotta go pick him up. 

Hayden: This is making less sense

JJ: Vicky and I did our rookie year in Tampa. Good guy. Dunno why Cap with Rozanov tho 👀

Mitty: Maybe the league asked Cap to house Roz since no one else is nice enough? 😂

Laine: Fuck yeah 

Laine: Maybe? I’d never. 

Wilson: nah this is PR 💀

Wilson: It’s weird as hell but it’s  PR

Gagnon: zoom in on the second pic

Gagnon: Why is Roz looking at cap like that?

Hayden: BECAUSE IT’S A PHOTO

Comeau: nah say it

Comeau: go ahead

Gagnon: like he knows him

Gagnon: like they’ve done this before

Laine: 💀💀💀

Mitty: ok chill

Mitty: we’re not doing this

Hayden: ^^^ What Mitty said. STFU

Comeau: I’m just asking questions

Comeau: cuz this don’t look like hate. Hollzy don’t you hate Roz? WTF

Drapeau: yeah rivals don’t look like that

Laine: or they just got caught off guard?

Laine: y’all acting like you’ve never smiled in a pic

Wilson: thank you

Gagnon: nah it’s still weird

Mitty: weird doesn’t mean anything

Mitty: could be league stuff

Mitty: promo

Mitty: charity

Mitty: whatever

Comeau: league doesn’t do grocery store promos 💀

JJ: you’d be surprised mon amie

JJ: league does a lot of dumb shit

Hayden: THIS

Gagnon: or they’re about to announce something

Wilson: trade???

Laine: nah no way

Comeau: or worse

Hayden: don’t start

Comeau: I’m serious

Comeau: rivals don’t hang out unless something’s wrong

Drapeau: yeah this is off

Comeau:
HOCKEY HIGHS: CHECKMATES TO CHECKOUT LINES?! These Two Are TOO Comfortable

Wilson: 😭😭😭

Laine: nah people online are reaching. That’s too much

Gagnon: still doesn’t explain it

Mitty: Cap hasn’t said anything yet

Mitty: maybe wait

Drapeau: yeah because what do you even say to this

Laine: “CAPTAIN UNDER FIRE!!! Hollander’s Leadership Questioned After Viral Pic”

Wilson: ok that’s bad

Laine: yeah that’s not funny anymore

JJ: Did any of you say some shit to media?? If you did we’re gonna have some fucking issues. Tighten the fuck up.

Gagnon: Yo Cap you gotta say something

Comeau: yeah Cap
Comeau: explain this shit

Hayden: Until we hear from Shane, no more bullshit in here

Hayden: You have an issue with Cap, call me

JJ: Hollzy ignore all of this

JJ: mon gars call me

Mitty: Cap? Anyone text him separately? I did I’m worried now

Laine: …Cap?

——

Hayden: JJ and I just left Hollzy’s place. He’s good. Roz is there but so was Marleau, JJ, St. Simon and I

JJ: It’s chill mon amies. STFU with that TMZ Connerie

Mitty: Glad to hear Cap’s ok

Laine: right. Still doesn’t explain why he isn’t saying shit in the chat

Mitty: Where tf is the rest of the team? Ain’t got shit to say?

————

Shane couldn’t deal. He swiped to the next chat. A new one: 

Soup Boys

JJ: naming this chat “Soup Boys” and you cannot stop me

St. Simon: approved

Marleau: bold choice

Hayden: absolutely not

JJ: Pike you got walked in your own house

Hayden: I haven’t played in YEARS

St. Simon: and yet you chose to chirp

Marleau: confidence was high

JJ: execution was not

Hayden: you’re all dead to me

JJ: Cap and Roz fed us and you embarrassed yourself in front of both teams

JJ: generational performance

St. Simon: soup was unreal tho

Marleau: yeah Rozy doesn’t usually share like that

JJ: hmm

St. Simon: what

JJ: nothing

Hayden: Ugh more shit on the internet. 

Hayden: how’s your room taking all this

St. Simon: laughing mostly

Marleau: yeah

Marleau: they think it’s hilarious

JJ: figures

Hayden: ours…

JJ: yeah

St. Simon: that bad?

Hayden: it’s

Hayden: not great

JJ: lot of noise

JJ: people talking who shouldn’t be talking

Marleau: yeah that tracks

St. Simon: media too?

JJ: yeah

Hayden: it’s everywhere

Marleau: Cap say anything?

JJ: no

Hayden: We left before you did Marly

JJ: yeah. Guess we should have told them to check their phones

JJ: Any word from Rozy on your end? Nothing from Hollzy

St. Simon: nope

Marleau: Nothing here. 

JJ: how’s Roz handling it

St. Simon: which is… concerning

JJ: Hollzy Roz why aren’t you answering 

Hayden: Shane probably turned off his fucking phone to conserve battery. 

JJ: Roz is too busy making more soup 

Marleau: don’t joke I’ll go back

St. Simon: same

—

Hayden: Fuck. Shane’s mom just texted she wants me to go over there and make him answer his phone

JJ: Damn. 

St. Simon: Godspeed bro. Even I have heard of Yuna Hollander’s legendary bossiness. You better run. 

Hayden: I hate all of you

JJ: we love you too

Marleau: tell Roz to check his phone when he feels like it

Hayden: Fuck, ok! I’m heading over. I got kids! But fine make me do it

JJ: She didn’t text me. 

————— 

The messages kept coming. Shane’s thumb hovered over the screen.

This is pattern formation.

Users assigning meaning to incomplete data.

Reinforcing it.

Repeating it.

Scaling it outward.

Shane’s breathing was getting tighter.

The data. It should stabilize.

Eventually.

It should resolve into one dominant interpretation.

But it wasn’t.

Conflicting inputs.

Contradictory conclusions.

No baseline.

No fixed point to cling to.

————

Shane swiped back to the Team Chat

—— 

MTL Voyageurs 

Berkes: Cap’s probably turned off his phone to conserve. We are supposed to lose power today. it’s probably nothing. they were drafted same year

Olsson: yeah, not that weird

Comeau: nah it’s weird, you don’t hang out with bears players like that

Drapeau: especially him

JJ: TF G? Connors was a Voyageur and traded to the Bears.. It’s not that big of a deal. You are acting like it’s WWII shit. 

Hayden: Also it’s none of your business who Cap hangs with. 

Comeau: everything on this team is my business

Shane’s vision narrowed slightly.

They’re assigning meaning, without confirmation.

Without data. And some of it….

Shane swallowed hard.

Some of it isn’t wrong.

His chest tightened.

“They’re saying things that aren’t fucking true,” he said quietly to the empty kitchen.

“And some that are.”

His hand started to shake.

I don’t know which is worse.

The room felt off, his breathing quickened and his hands felt… numb? 

There is no model for this. No way to predict outcome.

No way to contain spread once it reaches this scale.

“This is how things get out of control.”

Shane set the phone down and then immediately picked it back up.

No. I need to respond. To mom, to Rose, to my team. 

They needed to understand. He just needed to explain.

He switched apps again. That was the third mistake. 

A barage of notifications. 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

The photos were everywhere.

The grocery store.

The space between them too small.

Too close.

Too obvious.

Shane closed the app before he could read anything

————— 

Shane breathed in. Looking at the ingredients. 

Separated. Not whole. Just small parts of a grander thing. One small glimpse of an entire thing. You could make assumptions about each part, but how would you know unless you waited for the finished product? 

Shane remembered a warm summer day. He was about 9. His Obāchan had packed a lunch for him to bring to hockey day camp. Usually his mom did, but she was away that day for some reason. He was excited because Obāchan had made his favorite. Grilled Mackerel. He could still remember the way the lunchroom had gone quiet when he opened the container. The reactions. A collective recoil.

“Ew.”
“What is that?”
“That smells like fish.”

He had closed the container immediately. Not because he didn’t like it. Because it didn’t fit. He didn’t fit. He was different. Other. Not the same. The memory didn’t end. It just… stayed there. Like it was happening now.

The lunchroom.
The smell.
The silence.

“Ew” echoing in his head. Shane’s fingers tightened against the edge of the counter.

Close the container. Contain it.

Remove the variable.

Return to baseline.

He swallowed hard.

That’s what this is. Same pattern. Just a different scale.

The room felt way too small suddenly

His breathing hitched, sharp, uneven.

In.

Too fast.

Out…

Not enough.

His chest tightened like something was pressing inward from all sides, compressing, constricting. 

No. No, this is… This is manageable. This is just input overload.

He could solve that.

Reduce variables.

Isolate.

Control.

His vision flickered.

The edges of the kitchen blurred slightly.

The phone buzzed again. He flinched.

Too loud.

Everything was too loud.

Too fast. Too many… 

Shane braced both hands on the counter, knuckles whitening.

Numbers are constant.

Reliable.

Predictable.

People… 

A sharp inhale. Too sharp. His lungs didn’t fill all the way. So he tried again and then again.

Not enough air.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice thin. “Okay…”

It wasn’t okay. His hands were shaking now. Wrong. Everything felt wrong.

The counter was solid under his palms. That was something.

Anchor point.

Known variable.

He focused on it.

Wood. Smooth. Cool.

His breath stuttered again, catching halfway in his chest.

No. No, no, no please no. 

This is loss of control. System failure.

Shane leaned his back against the kitchen island, and his knees buckled before he could correct for it. He slid down the side, hands still along the edge, then dropping the rest of the way to the floor.

Cold tile. Hard. Real.

His vision tunneled. The kitchen tilted slightly, like the world had shifted off its axis by just a few degrees.

“Okay—okay—”

He couldn’t get enough air. He tucked his head between his knees. His chest pulled tight, faster now, breaths shallow and rapid and wrong. Pins and needles racing up his fingers. He tried to steady them against his legs. It didn’t work. Nothing was working because people were unpredictable… 

“Ilya—”

It came out broken. Barely sound.

He swallowed, tried again, weaker this time.

“Ilya… help.”

—

The bathroom door opened. He could hear footsteps. Fast.

“I am here—”

He could hear the steps stop cold once he entered the kitchen.

Shane on the floor unable to look up could only use his other senses. He could hear Ilya’s breath stop but more so he could feel his presence. Just like when they were on the ice in the All-Stars game. He just knew. Shane was Curled in on himself, one hand gripping his shirt like it might hold him together, the other braced uselessly against the tile. His breathing was oo fast, too shallow, eyes unfocused, not tracking.

Wrong.

Everything about this was wrong.

Ilya moved immediately. No hesitation.

He dropped to his knees in front of him, close his hands hovering for half a second before settling carefully, one at Shane’s wrist, grounding, the other light against his shoulder.

“Hey—hey—look at me,” Ilya said, voice low, steady, controlled in a way that did not match the sudden spike of fear that must have been in his chest. “Shane? Solnyshko. Look at me.”

Shane’s eyes flicked up to meet Ilya’s, but couldn’t focus.

Ilya’s breath hitched again.

“I can’t—” Shane’s voice broke. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Ilya said immediately, firm but gentle. “You can. I am here. Nothing is happening to you. You are safe. Can you tell me did you get hurt?”

Shane shook his head no.

“Did you see something?”

Shane shook his head yes. 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

“Shane did you turn on your phone?”

Shane shook his head yes. 

“And it was not good?”

Shane closed his eyes, he could feel the tear that had been floating on his lashes finally fall against his cheek. 

Ilya tenderly wiped it away and kissed the top of his head. 

“Whatever it is Solnyshko, we are here together.”

Shane shook his head yes.

“Do you need me to hold you?”

Shane needed a second to process that. He didn’t know. He just felt wrong. 

Ilya didn’t ask again he just kept his hands on Shane’s wrist and shoulder and moved his thumb in soothing circles. 

“I— We— They can’t know. I’m not ready. I—” Shane tried to say

“It’s ok moy lyubov’. (My love) We will figure this out. You have me now.” Ilya said calmly. 

Shane looked at Ilya then and shook his head and Ilya knew it was not just a response to his sentence but also a response to his earlier question, so he wrapped his arms around Shane squeezing him. 

A knock slammed against the door. Hard. Urgent.

“Hey uh SHANE, open up buddy, your mom sent me over here!”

Hayden? Please… 

Ilya didn’t move. Didn’t look away from Shane.

Shane’s fingers tightened weakly around Ilya’s sleeve and didn’t look at the door. 

Another knock.

“Shane, I know you’re in there!”

“Rozy?” Hayden’s voice, sharper now. “Hey man you mind opening the door!”

Ilya’s jaw tightened.

“Key,” Ilya called out, not raising his voice, not breaking focus. “Use your key Pike.”

The lock clicked almost immediately.

The door opened.

Footsteps slow at first. 

Hayden stopped short when he saw them.

Shane on the floor.

Ilya kneeling in front of him arms braced around Shane’s.

Everything stilled for half a second.

Then Hayden moved.

“Shane—hey—hey—” he dropped down on the other side, reaching… 

“I got him Roz,” Hayden said quickly, already shifting closer. “Move, I got him—”

Shane felt himself flinch. A recoil.

His hand tightened, weak but desperate, into Ilya’s shirt.

“Ilya—” barely a whisper now, cracked and raw. “Please—”

Ilya didn’t move. Didn’t even look at Hayden.

His hand stayed steady around Shane, thumbs pressing lightly, grounding.

“Pike, you can be here because you are his friend, but I am not moving” Ilya said quietly.

Shane closed his eyes again. He couldn’t think. Only hear what was around him. 

Ilya holding him and Hayden hovering close enough to catch him if needed. 

He heard the tones of Ilya’s voice. Quiet, not aggressive, just… immovable.

Shane and Hayden had shared a line for many years. Much like he had an instinct for where Ilya was at all times, he also knew where Hayden was. He could feel Hayden glaring between the two of them, frozen. He knew Hayden was caught between instinct and what was right in front of him.

Shane’s breathing stuttered again, uneven.

“I can’t—” he choked, shaking his head. “I can’t—”

“Roz, this happens sometimes. Not a lot, but when he gets overwhel—”

“I know,” Ilya said again, softer now. “Shane, Solnyshko. Breathe with me.”

He drew in a slow breath, exaggerated just enough to follow.

“In.”

Held.

“Out.”

Again.

“In.”

———

Shane’s chest hitched, trying to match it. Not quite. But closer.

Ilya didn’t rush him. Ilya never felt the need to fill the silence. He just stayed, he was solid. A constant.

He could hear Hayden also matching Ilya’s instructions. Shane wasn’t sure if he was trying to help or because he needed it to, seeing Ilya and Shane embracing like this. 

Shane felt Hayden sit back a little. Shane opened his eyes for a moment. And saw his best friend Watching. Recalculating. Because this was not something rivals did. 

“In,” Ilya repeated, quieter.

Shane’s breath stuttered again. Then steadieda little more.  

He was able to think again. Able to focus. 

He still had noise. He still felt tilted. But it was enough. For now.

——— 

Shane’s breathing didn’t fix all at once. It dragged itself there. Piece by piece. Each inhale still caught at the top of his chest, like it didn’t trust the space it was moving into. Each exhale shaky, uneven, but… longer than before.

Shane’s fingers loosened slightly in the fabric of Ilya’s shirt. The room came back in fragments.

Tile under me. The cabinet behind me. Ilya holding me. Hayden is… here. 

The sound of his own breathing, too loud, but slower now.

And Hayden. Across from them. He was quiet. Shane’s eyes flicked toward him again and immediately away.“I’m—” his voice was raw. “I’m okay. I’m okay, thank you”

It wasn’t convincing. It wasn’t supposed to be. Neither of them called him on it. Neither of them pushed it. All three of them stayed exactly as they were.

Which, for Hayden, was effort.

“Yeah,” Hayden said quietly. “I know buddy.”

“I’m okay.” Shane repeated more solidly this time

Shane swallowed hard.

Nodded once.

And Ilya shifted slightly then, not pulling away, just adjusting so he was a little less directly in front of him. Giving him space without leaving.

Shane looked at Ilya then Hayden then back to Ilya.

His breathing hitched once more, then settled. The sharp edge was gone. His hand finally slipped from Ilya’s shirt. But it stayed close, almost hovering, like he hadn’t fully decided yet.

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, voice barely above a whisper.

He knew it was wrong the second it left him.

Ilya and Hayden both said “No” in a reassuring way

Shane didn’t answer right away because he didn’t have one.

Too many variables.

Too many points of failure.

“Just…” he exhaled shakily. “I…”

Ilya shook his head once. “No.”

Simple. Final. Not dismissive, just… not accepted.

“You don’t apologize for breathing,” he said.

Hayden huffed a quiet, almost-laugh from the side. It wasn’t really humor. More… recognition.

“Yeah,” Hayden muttered. “We’re not doing that buddy, you’re good.”

Shane closed his eyes briefly to ground himself again. When he opened them again, the room stayed where it was supposed to. That was good. Ilya finally leaned back a fraction, giving him a little more space now that his breathing had evened out.

“Water,” Hayden said, already pushing to his feet. Hayden moved to the counter, quick, efficient, like he’d done this before… because he had, and came back with a glass. He didn’t hand it over immediately, he waited until Shane’s hands had steadied enough to take it.

Shane took a sip and then another. The cold helped.

Something solid. Something real. Something measurable. 

Shane focused on that.

Temperature. Pressure of the glass in his hand. The way his fingers wrapped around it, still a little unsteady, but responding. Obeying. He swallowed again and forced his eyes to track the room properly this time.

Ilya.

Close. Still. Watching him like he was something fragile and not pretending otherwise.

Hayden.

Further back. Shoulders tight. Not moving in unless invited.

Numbers were constant.

Reliable.

Predictable.

People however…

Shane’s hand stilled while holding the glass.

People changed but people also… these people… his people were always here.

Contexts shifted. Variables multiplied. But Shane could predict support from his people. 

Shane exhaled slowly.

“I’m okay,” he said again.

It sounded more like him this time. His body didn’t fully agree. His chest still felt… tight like he’s just come off a long shift on the ice. Like it remembered something his brain hadn’t finished processing yet but Shane shifted, testing his legs. There was a lag but he was solid.

“I need…” he started, then paused, recalibrating the sentence. “I should get up.”

“I got you,” Ilya said matter of factly. 

Shane didn’t argue. He let it happen.

Ilya’s hand slid under his arm, steady, grounded. Not pulling. Just… there. Giving him something to push against instead of forcing movement. Shane used it. Shifted his weight forward. One knee under him. Then the other. Shane got to his feet. He was foggy but upright and that was something.

“Okay,” he muttered. Not to them more to himself.

Ilya didn’t let go right away.

Shane noticed. Hayden noticed. Neither commented on it.

“Do you want to go to the couch or bedroom?” Ilya asked

“No, not our bedroom, just… we need to explain” Shane said as he shot a glance at Hayden

Shane caught Ilya’s expression change when he said “our bedroom” and he nodded ever so slightly. 

Ilya and Hayden let Shane lead the way. Both of them hovering closely just in case, but saying nothing. Shane registered it. Filed it away.

——— 

A constant in numbers is a value that does not change. In mathematics, it is fixed. It is independent of variables, untouched by shifting conditions. While everything around it can move, scale, distort, or collapse, the constant remains exactly what it is.

In an equation, it’s the part that doesn’t respond to input.
In a function, it holds steady while everything else varies.
It doesn’t interpret. It simply is.

And that’s its power.

A constant is a point you can return to when everything else is in motion.
A known value in an unknown system.
A quiet certainty inside complexity.

It doesn’t need to prove itself.
It doesn’t need to react.
It doesn’t need to change to remain true.

It holds.

Unmoved.
Untranslated.
Reliable in a way that doesn’t ask anything from you except recognition.

In a world of variables, a constant is not loud.

It is steady.

Shane knew he was sitting with his two chosen “constants”.  

———

Shane swallowed.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen counter. To the phone that was still sitting there, waiting. The outside world. Unpredictable. Shane dragged his focus back to Hayden. 

Start there.

Known variable.

Safer input.

“I turned my phone back on,” Shane said, voice quieter now, but stable.

“That was…” he exhaled once. “Probably a mistake.”

He didn’t look at either of them when he said it.

“I probably should have waited” looking at Ilya then. “I just didn’t expect…” he stopped.

Recalibrate.

Breathe. 

“I expected the… noise,” he corrected. “I didn’t expect the scale.”

Hey looked again at Ilya who are searching his face. 

Shane could feel his own fingers clamoring for purchase against his own knee. 

He watched as Ilya tracked the movement. His jaw tightened.

“Some of it’s wrong.” Shane huffed “and some of it… isn’t.”

Shane’s gaze dropped. Then lifted again, this time to Hayden.

He knew he had to be direct. Intentional.

“I saw the team chat,” Shane said looking at his best friend.

“Buddy…” Hayden said almost apologetically  “I can tell the all off more.”

His eyes flicked briefly to Ilya.

Then back.

“No. I don’t… I just need time. But no. I can handle Comeau. We just… I need to explain Hayden.”

Too many variables. Too many interpretations. Uncontained.

Shane knew he needed to just say it. 

Shane swallowed again.

His chest still felt tight.

But his voice held steady.

He reached beside him, palm up and Ilya knowingly slide his own hand on top of Shane’s. The warmth of it steady and grounding.

“Hayds… Ilya and I are together” Shane stated

“Yeah I kinda got that back there” Hayden nodded eyes a little watery either from not blinking or hold back emotions Shane couldn’t’ be sure.

Shane looked at Ilya and attempted a smile. Ilya was letting him take the lead but looked ready to respond if it was needed. Shane nodded at him having an entire conversation in just a glance and Ilya leaned over, pecked his cheek and said, “I’ll make some tea for you. Hayden coffee or tea?” 

Hayden was still looking lost and a bit dumbfounded but managed to mumble out the word coffee, and Ilya walked back into the kitchen giving them both space. 

——

Shane could hear the familiar clicking of the heat turning on for the kettle where Ilya was keeping himself busy in the kitchen. Ilya gave him space, but was still there if needed. Shane knew he would have to navigate this delicately. He knew Hayden would be shocked, then would probably question it. Not the gay part, the Rozanov part. He knew he’d have many questions. 

Shane sighed and cleared his throat and said “Okay… now you know. It’s true, we are together” 

“So you’re like hooking up? Buddy there’s gotta be like…other dudes” Hayden said

“Hayds, no.” Shane shook his head “Not for me, I tried, we both tried to… not be together, but he’s always been it for me and I think… it’s  the same for him.” 

“What do you mean always?” Hayden leaned in

“We’ve been together… well not together but yes, together… in one way or another for years” 

“YEARS?” Hayden sputtered “Shane what? How long?”

“Rookie seas— well the summer before really” Shane blushed

“WHAT?” Hayden gasped “… that’s longer than you’ve known me”

“I told you that, I told you I knew him longer than you”

“Yeah but… like—”

Hayden dragged a hand over his face, and Shane tracked it automatically.

Stress response. Processing delay.

Good. It’s not anger.

“that’s not… casual, man. That’s—”

Hayden stopped, clearly needing to recalibrate.

Shane waited.

Didn’t fill the silence.

He knew better.

“Okay, wait. Back up.”

Hayden leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You’re telling me… this whole time? Draft, rookie year, all the bullshit between our teams—”

He gestured between them.“—that this was happening at the same time?”

Shane nodded.

“Yeah. Well not this” Shane gestured toward the kitchen “But we were… hooking up” 

Hayden blinked. “That’s insane.” No hostility just awe.

“When? And what about Lily?”

Shane exhaled quietly.

“Yeah… so, Lily is--” Shane’s eyes shot to the kitchen

“Oh my god, OH MY GOD LILY IS HIM?” Hayden stretched his arms out in shock

“Lily… Ilya… I feel so fucking dumb… Shane this whole fucking time?” he gasped

Shane nodded

“And you hate each other,” Hayden added.

“On the ice,” Shane corrected.

Shane’s fingers pressed into his knee. Grounding himself. 

Hayden’s gaze shifted briefly to the kitchen.

Shane followed it without turning his head.

Sound of ceramic. Water heating. Ilya moving. Still there.

Constant.

Hayden looked back and sighed at him “That’s not fake. He’s making you tea, he made you his mom’s soup, he made ME eat his moms soup” Not a question just a quiet conclusion.

Shane swallowed. “It’s one hundred percent real Hayds, he’s really great”

Hayden nodded once. His eyes searching and landing somewhere passed Shane, on a memory. 

“Fuuuuck” Hayden’s hands landing on his forehead. “But he chirps me so bad Shane and it’s like accurate shit too” Hayden said defeatedly

He gestured again, smaller this time.

Toward the kitchen.

“C’mon buddy him of all people?” he huffed out a laugh

There it was.

Not this is wrong.

Not this is a problem.

Just acceptance albeit through some teasing.

Shane felt the answer settle before he said it.

“Yeah. Sorry man. We both… tried. For years we tried not to be this but I… He loves me. I love him”

Hayden leaned back. Looked at the ceiling again. That’s where Hayden goes when something doesn’t fit yet but he’s trying to make it all make sense for him. He does this when the coach pitches a new play, he did this when he found out he was having twins, he did this when Shane tried to explain his macrobiotic diet. 

“Jesus Christ, Hollzy…” he said perplexed “I thought you two were gonna kill each other half the time.”

Shane’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Yeah.” He smiled “We thought that too.”

They sat there silently for a moment. Letting the reality of this settle between them. 

“We didn’t plan it,” Shane said finally. “It just… didn’t stop… and then… it grew.” 

Hayden stilled. “And what about Rose Landry? Was that…” 

Shane winced. “That was… real”

Hayden’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at the kitchen again.

Shane tracked the gesture.

“It was me, being… an idiot.” Shane said wearily “Ilya wanted more, I just wasn’t ready”

Hayden’s mouth opened and then he closed it again. Then he leaned in, dropping his voice like this was classified information.

“So HE” Hayden pointed to the kitchen “wanted to be YOUR boyfriend and you dumped him and dated ROSE FUCKING LANDRY?” still whispering 

Shane couldn’t look Hayden in the eye anymore and gave a minimal nod staring at the ground. He knew he had fucked up epically. He had had guilt about it pretty much since the moment he closed the door to Ilya’s house the day he ran off. But he never really thought he’d have to explain it to anyone else, especially his best friend who was clearly looking at him like he was a monster. Guilt welling up in his chest again. Something he had filed away but not fully resolved. 

“Dude… “Hayden leaned back, then forward again like his body couldn’t decide where to put the information. “those are like two of the most epic pulls I have ever seen!” Hayden marveled 

“What do you mean?”

 “I did not see this coming… AT ALL. Shane buddy, I’m not gay but I have eyes bro! Roz is hot, like really hot, and he’s like the best hockey player...” 

“Second,” Shane muttered automatically.

Hayden blinked. Then huffed a short laugh.“Jesus Christ, of course you’d say that right now.”

Shane smirked.

 “… and you dump him and go date Rose-fucking-Landry of the X-Squad? Who is like epically hot. And then you break up and he what? He takes you back? Shane I’m…” 

“Hayden, I just wasn’t ready, I fucked up, but I didn’t know if I was gay or wh—”

“Okay, so let me get this right,” he said, slower now, “You’ve been… whatever this is—”

Shane opened his mouth.

Closed it. Didn’t correct him.

“—for years,” Hayden continued, “you finally get to a point where he wants more-”

Shane’s chest tightened slightly.

“—and your response is to panic and date a literal mega-star because in some insane way, you want to prove you aren’t gay?”

Shane exhaled. “…kind of, yes. I mean she was attractive and we got along so I thought…”

Hayden leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. Same position as before. Slightly different context.

“Unbelievable.” But there was no heat behind it. Just disbelief.

“And with Rose it was?” Hayden asked, quieter now.

“It wasn’t good” Shane said matching Hayden’s quiet tone. “She actually… helped me realize I’m gay, definitely gay” 

“Oh my god” Hayden huffed. “Of course YOU would need to sleep with Rose Landry to realize you’re gay.” Still whispering but a little louder. “And what about… him? There is no way he’s—” 

“No, Ilya likes both. He’s bisexual” Shane stated

“Okay… okay yeah that tracks” Hayden pondered for a moment and asked “So what you went crawling back and he forgave you?” 

“Basically yeah, I mean I didn’t think he would, I wasn’t sure if he had moved already” 

“Shane what I just witnessed in there” gesturing to the kitchen again “It looked like he’s loved you and known you for a long time. I don’t think one… hiccup… even if it was Rose Landry… would change that” Hayden reassured him

From the kitchen the kettle started to whistle. He could hear Ilya taking it off the heat and the water pouring, being intentionally louder so they would know he was coming. 

Hayden whispered again quieter now “Do not tell him I said he’s a good hockey player… or that he’s hot” 

Shane laughed

“Don’t tell me what?” Ilya came in with a tray. 1 mug of tea, and 2 coffees with cream and sugar on the side and some cookies for Hayden and Ilya and seaweed and nuts for Shane. 

“How… domestic” Hayden said as flatly as he could, but Shane could tell he was kind of impressed with the spread. 

Shane felt the shift in the room. No judgement. Just assessment. 

Ilya set the tray down with the same care he did everything else and sat next to Shane on the couch and grabbed his coffee. 

Shane could smell the toasty aroma of the hōjicha that had been steeping. 

The combination of tea, something warm, something small to eat felt…  familiar. He smiled and remembered coming home after school to his grandparents home and he smiled. 

Maybe I am sentimental?

Shane reached for the seaweed without thinking.

Muscle memory.

Pattern.

Return to Normal.

And for the first time since turning his phone back on, he felt wholly and completely stable.

Chapter End Notes

Obāchan (grandmother) is a more affectionate term for grandmother when referring to your grandmothers to others you typically say sabo however Shane is not fluent in Japanese and only knows it conversationally.

Ojīchan (grandfather) in Japanese.

Kii-chan - nickname for Naoki. I decided on this over Nao-chan, which is also great. But using the last syllable felt more Shane to me. IDK!

Hōjicha is roasted green tea. It’s really really delicious and has an almost nutty flavor profile. Highly recommend trying it!

I was the kid with the weird lunches no one wanted. When I was young myself and a friend would eat on a bench away from the others because we didn't have lunchables or 'ham sandwiches' or 'pb&j' we had steamed vegetables and waso bread and occasionally fish! We write what we know right?

I will be posting the following chapter really soon, it's almost all written. It's Ilya's POV and it's mostly funny. Ilya deals with fear differently than Shane, and also uses humor to calm Shane's fears.

As always, please leave your comments.

Chapter 11: What We Gather Carries Forward

Chapter Summary

There’s a lot happening.
So they make dinner.
Somewhere between butchered carrots, perfect rice, and things finally said out loud, Shane and Ilya figure out what it means to stay.

Chapter Notes

We have TWO POV'S this chapter: Ilya AND Shane! I thought about doing Hayden as well but I think I'd give that little weirdo his own chapter.

Irina Rozanova flashback.

A far more emotionally stable Ilya.

A new layer of Shane.

When Ilya thinks "Yes 12th best hockey player on Voyageurs, I've known him longer than you" This is an Ilya thought, and he is unaware that Shane/Hayden knew each other at hockey camp <3

Ilya POV: 

Ilya was perceptive. Not many knew that about him. His outwardly brash demeanor covered it well. A loudmouth tease who was deliberately chaotic was easy to underestimate. But he had the rare ability to be both the observer and the observed at once. It made him dangerous on the ice. He was athletic and talented, that was obvious, but it was his ability to read, to anticipate, to track, to adjust seamlessly, that made him formidable. He didn’t just react, he observed so he could arrive early.

From the kitchen, he could hear the voices carried in pieces. Listening for tone more than language and he didn’t have to hear every word. Tone was what mattered. Hayden’s was steady and calm, sharp at times but more in disbelief than anger. Then slower and more hushed, but in that way the a best friend does when he’s sharing his inner thoughts openly versus accusatory. 

Ilya leaned one hand against the counter, listening. Not for the words meaning, but for pattern and the tone. For the rhythm of the conversation. He didn’t need details. He needed to know Shane was still breathing evenly. That his voice, when it came, would hold. He had learned to listen like this, for patterns a long time ago.

In Neskuchny Gardens, walking beside his mama on the way home from school, he would track the subtle shifts in her, the way silence settled heavier on certain days, the way her hands stilled, the way her steps lost their usual bounce. He didn’t understand it fully then, only that something in him told him to act. So he did what any child would do for the mama that they loved so much, anything to make her smile. 

In the fall, the trees in the gardens slipped from green into gold, the light catching in their branches like something fleeting. He would run ahead along the winding paths, small hands gathering acorns one by one. He brought them back like offerings, pressing them into her palm. She would turn each one slowly between her fingers, inspecting it with exaggerated care, as if it held some secret only she could uncover, before her face softened, brightening into a friendly smirk. “Hmm… not quite, Ilyusha. Go look for another.” He never questioned it. He just went. Again and again. Until they were near the exit of the park, always near the exit and he would gather the last of them to show her. He would bring them to her, breath held without realizing it and she would laugh. “Ahhh, this is the one Ilyusha,” She would exclaim, dropping all the others. “How did you find it! You are so clever!” Then she would reach into her pocket, placing nuts or seeds into his palm. “We cannot steal a squirrel’s meal. Now go replace it. They will like this more.”

A trade. Always a trade.

When they played this game, the sadness would loosen its grip on her. Not disappear completely, it never did, but soften enough to let the light reach her. Her shoulders would lower, just a fraction. Her steps would lift, lighter, almost buoyant. The weight she carried would shift, if only for a moment.

“Eto khorosho,”(This one is good.) she would say softly. 

And Ilya, small and quiet beside her, would feel it. He had done something right. He had read the pattern correctly. He hadn’t had language for it then. He didn’t realize he was learning anything at all. That he was maybe locking himself into his own patterns. He only knew that if he watched closely enough, and if he paid attention enough, he could get ahead of it. Soften the fall. Make something hard… easier, more buoyant.

It was pattern recognition. It always had been. He did it until the pattern ended. And his mama was gone. 

On his last trip to her grave, before leaving Moscow for the final time, he had looked for one. It was cold. The dirt on the ground was crusted with frost, stubborn beneath his boots, his socks soaked through as he moved beneath the old oak trees. He dug anyway. His hands were numb, his movements slower as the cold settled deeper. Anyone watching might have thought he’d lost his mind but he didn’t care.

It took nearly an hour. But eventually, he found a good one.

Perfect.

“Prosti, belka,”(Sorry, squirrel.) he murmured as he picked it up. 

The acorn sat in his palm, small and complete. He turned it once between his fingers, testing its weight, its balance and examining it thoroughly. Then reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of pistachios he had gotten on the way to the park. 

A trade. Always a trade. 

He crouched, pressing them into the hollow where the acorn had been.

“Eti vam ponravyatsya bol’she.” (You’ll like these more.)

The gesture was familiar, and it made him smile. 

He stood slowly. The cold had worked its way through him now, into his hands, his feet, settling somewhere deeper. He didn’t care.

Some things you didn’t fix. You just… carried.

The walk to her plot was longer than he remembered. Or maybe he just felt it more. The light was fading, sunset was thinning into something quieter, less defined. He moved through the cemetery by memory alone, his grip tightening on the acorn in his palm to help ground himself.  He reached her plot as the last of the light was slipping away.

“Privet, mama.”(Hello mama)

This grave was a fixed point. A point in space that would not move, no matter what he did. He had orbited it since he was twelve. Always returning because here…is where she stayed. In Moscow. At the back of a cemetery lot worn with time and disrepair. The yellow flowers he paid to have placed each week were already wilting at the edges.

Temporary things. Replaced. Again and again.

Ilya stood there for a moment, the acorn resting heavily in his palm.

Small. Whole. Familiar. A constant.

He turned it once between his fingers, the way she always had when he would hand her one to examine. Then crouched. Carefully, deliberately, he set it at the base of her headstone.

A trade. Always a trade.

But this time, he knew it would be the last time. 

“I will not be coming back mama,” he said quietly. The words felt strange in his mouth. 

He exhaled once, steady.

“I found someone.” he paused and looked up at the sky that was darkening with each passing minute. “He sees me.”

“And I love him mama… and I think… I think he loves me back.”

He let the words sit there as if almost expecting a reply. 

“I think you would like him,” he added, softer now.

“He’s… boring.” He smiled. “And he’s kind.” 

Ilya’s hand hovered for a moment over the acorn, like he wanted to take it back with him, like he didn’t want this to be the last time he could be here. But he didn’t. He let it rest there. Let it stay. Not something to carry this time. Something to leave. 

He straightened slowly, the cold pulling at him again as he stood.

“I’ve told you about him, but I don’t know if you can hear me when I’m not here with you… I hope you can.”  

The tears came without urgency. Quietly, as if they had simply decided it was time. He reached out, brushing his hand over the top of the headstone. A familiar gesture. A habit that had outlived its purpose. Or maybe, had become its own purpose. He nudged the acorn slightly closer to the stone with his toe, settling it beside the flowers.

An offering. A memory. Proof that he had been here. One last offering for her to examine. He could almost hear her voice echoing her delight. 

He stayed for a moment longer.

Some things you carried. And some things, you learned to leave behind, even if your hands remembered the weight of them.

———

The kettle whistled pulling Ilya from his memory. Ilya exhaled slowly, reaching for the mugs without looking. Muscle memory. Repetition. Another kind of pattern.

Water. Heat. Time.

He didn’t need to be in the room to know Shane was coming back online. He could hear it. Shane’s voice was less measured. He even heard some laughter. 

He caught one word clearly.

“YEARS?”

Ilya smiled and it pushed away the memories that had pulling on him moments ago. He could hear the disbelief and indignation from Hayden and lightly chuckled to himself. 

Yes 12^th best hockey player! I’ve known Shane longer than you! Now what?

Ilya was grateful Hayden was here, and grateful Shane had a friend, but it didn’t stop him from being a little bit of a bitch. It wouldn’t be very Russian of him to just roll over and like the guy instantly. 

He went to the pantry looking for snacks he felt Shane might like, as well as himself. Hayden would have to deal with it if he liked neither, but he suspected he would like Ilya’s cookies over Shane’s seaweed snacks, so he grabbed a few extra. 

See I am nice.

Hayden said something else a little faster. A reaction perhaps?

Then Shane replied quieter. And Ilya knew, without needing to see him, that Shane was looking down. Avoiding eye contact. Saying something that carried weight. His tone edged with guilt.

Ilya closed his eyes briefly. He could step in. Interrupt. Redirect. He knew how. He recognized the pattern. The moment where tension could be softened, where he could shift the trajectory just enough to make it easier. He had done it his whole life.

But…

This was Shane. Shane wasn’t something he had to fix. There wasn’t something to return. Wasn’t something to leave behind so the world stayed in balance. Shane simply was Shane. And he loved Shane. Always. And Ilya didn’t need to manage Shane or his emotions, he just needed to be by his side as Shane would stand by his.  

Ilya exhaled slowly. Letting the instinct pass. He intentionally moved the cups onto the tray loudly so Shane and Hayden would know he was coming. A signal of ‘I’m coming back.’ 

———

Hayden stayed for another hour. Long enough for the room to settle into something that felt almost normal. They talked hockey, which was always safe ground. Hayden sipped his coffee, nodding along, letting the rhythm carry him. But Ilya watched, not the words but the space between them. The way Hayden’s eyes tracked Shane and Ilya now. The slight delay before he responded. The clear recalibration. When Ilya’s hand rested on Shane’s thigh. Hayden smiled reassuringly but his eyebrows gave him away. He wasn’t angry or uncomfortable, just adjusting to the new reality.

When Ilya stood to clear the mugs and pressed a brief kiss to Shane’s temple, Hayden didn’t comment. Just smiled again in an act of acceptance and support. But his eyebrows again…

Ilya noticed that. Hayden was still catching up. Still… disbelieving. It was supportive but it was also honest. Adjustment took time. Ilya respected that and he also thought Hayden was very very dumb. Shane could do worse in a best friend. 

He chirped Hayden about the video game from yesterday, light, easy, something to keep the surface moving. Hayden fired back automatically. That part hadn’t changed. When Shane got up to use the bathroom, the tone of the room shifted again. Hayden adjusted slightly on the couch. Ilya sat back, studying him for a moment. 

There it was, the overlap. Different roles in Shane’s life but they wanted the same outcome. They both cared. They wanted Shane to know he was safe. That was enough.

“Tell me,” Ilya said, tone even, direct. “Is the team… okay?”

Hayden paused.

So Ilya said more precisely “Will he be okay?”

Hayden exhaled, leaning back, hand dragging over his jaw.

“There’s always a few assholes,” he said. “You know how it is.”

Ilya nodded once. He did. Even without looking at his own phone yet, he knew there would be some comments he didn’t like. Hockey was built for it. 

Hayden glanced toward the hallway where Shane had disappeared, then back.

“But yeah,” he added, quieter now. “I think he will be.”

Then, firmer “I’ll make sure of it.”

Ilya held his gaze for a second. It was measured. 

Then Ilya nodded at him. “Good, we will both need… support. If it… gets… bad.”

“He’s got it, with more than just me. We look out for each other.” Hayden confirmed

“I have Marley, it’s good to know Shane has you” Ilya said

Another constant. Not the same as Ilya. But steady in his own way. That was enough he hoped.

———

SHANE POV: 

The kitchen was quiet again after Hayden had left. Shane stood at the counter, hands steady, movements deliberate. 

Saba no shioyaki.

Simple.

Predictable.

Reliable outcome if executed correctly.

He was excited to make it for Ilya. 

He again grabbed the set of fillets from the refrigerator. Ilya must have put them away when he was in the kitchen earlier. He had previously washed the fish and rubbed a small amount of sake over the top. 

Shane set the fillets skin-side down on the tray, inspecting them. A silver-blue sheen, clean cuts. No lingering odor beyond the expected brinyness. He dried the fillets with a towel and reached for the salt. It was a high-quality coarse sea salt he had gotten from Sato’s market. He sprinkled it evenly across the surface, watching how it caught in the ridges of the flesh, how it clung to the skin. He paused to let it draw moisture. Ten minutes minimum. Fifteen was better. So he set a timer.

Next variable.

Rice. Short-grain. He rinsed it in the bowl, swirling gently, watching the water cloud and dumping it. Again. And again. Until it ran transparent. He drained it carefully, then transferred it to the rice cooker.

Rice to water ratio 1:2. Plus a small margin. He adjusted it slightly. He always adjusted it slightly like his Obāchan had. Lid closed. Button pressed. Click. Contained system. Predictable output.

Behind him, he could feel Ilya observing.

“Why do you wash it so many times?” Ilya asked.

Shane didn’t turn.

“Surface starch,” he said. “Reduces gumminess. Improves texture consistency.”

“Oh, okay, maybe that is why when I try it is very… clumpy. I only wash once”. 

Shane nodded slightly.

“Yeah, probably.” He chuckled. 

Shane remembered a moment when he was young and his dad attempting to make rice one night. It was terrible. So his mom taught them both how to make it, just like her and Obāchan. 

“I’ll teach you next time baby” glancing at Ilya over his shoulder and smiling. 

“I would like that” Ilya beamed.  

Next was salad. Kōhaku Namasu. 

“Would you like to help?” he asked knowing Ilya was being patient but wanted to learn.

“Yes please, I will be best assistant” 

“Sous Chef” Shane corrected

“Sue what?” Ilya asked

“It’s called a sous chef… like second-in-command. Kind of like an alternate captain,” Shane said, immediately aware of how that sounded.

Ilya’s head tilted.

“Oh,” he said slowly. “So now you think I am alternate captain?”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the peeler.

“That’s not—”

“Mm,” Ilya cut in, stepping closer, already reaching for the daikon. “So I am second. Very humbling. I will remember this.”

“You’re not…” Shane started again, then stopped.

Because Ilya had already picked up the peeler incorrectly and at an angle that suggested imminent injury.

Shane turned fully.

“…no. Baby, here…” he said, grabbing Ilya’s hand to stop whatever that was.

“What?” Ilya asked, already dragging it across the daikon in a way that was quite frankly offensive. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I am athlete,” Ilya said confidently. “I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”

“That’s not…let me show you” Shane stepped in, taking the peeler from him before he could injure himself or the daikon or both. 

Ilya let him. Easily. Maybe too easily, like that had been the goal.

“Okay,” Shane said, resetting, placing the peeler properly back into his hand. “Like this.”

He adjusted Ilya’s grip.

“Thumb here. Fingers here.” Shane added, demonstrating once. “Short strokes,” 

Ilya watched, then smiled.

“Short strokes…” he echoed. “Normally you like—”

“Oh my god,” Shane huffed, already turning away.

Ilya nodded, overly serious.

“Yes, chef.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Yes, captain,” Ilya corrected immediately.

Shane paused. “…that’s worse.”

“Ah,” Ilya nodded, completely satisfied. “So I return to captain. Very good. I accept my role.”

Shane couldn’t help it, he laughed again, softer this time. The tightness in his chest eased. Behind him, the timer ticked quietly. Ilya started peeling again. Still not great but better. The strips were uneven. Slightly too thick and Shane noticed. He opened his mouth to correct, then stopped. He watched instead.

It didn’t need to be perfect. That wasn’t the point.

“Is this acceptable to you, captain?” Ilya asked, holding up a piece like he was presenting evidence.

Shane glanced at it.

Crooked. Inconsistent. Completely wrong.

“…it’s fine.”

Ilya’s mouth twitched. “Liar.”

“Okay, it’s not great,” Shane admitted, reaching over to fix the angle slightly. “But it’s…” Shane smirked “…functional.”

“Functional,” Ilya repeated, nodding. “Oooh. High praise.”

Shane shook his head, but there was a full smile there now. Ilya leaned his hip lightly against Shane’s and bumped him.

“Do not worry,” Ilya said casually, reaching for a carrot this time. “If cooking fails, I will distract you. And make it up to you in bedroom, Solnyshko.”

“How charming,” Shane said automatically.

Ilya gasped.

“Excuse me. I am extremely charming.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Is same thing,” Ilya said easily. “I landed hottest man I have ever seen. This proves charm.”

Shane snorted.“Not according to Hayden.”

Ilya froze. Turned slowly.

“What?”

His brow furrowed, already gearing up for a fight Hayden wasn’t even present for.

“Hayden said you are ugly?” Ilya asked, deeply offended. “I will kill him.”

Shane laughed, shaking his head.

“No, no, that’s not…”

He hesitated. Because he really shouldn’t say it. Because Hayden would absolutely kill him.

But…

Ilya was looking at him like this mattered. Which, for some reason, made it matter.

“He told me not to tell you,” Shane said, trying and failing not to smirk. “And you can’t chirp him about it.”

Ilya straightened immediately. Serious.

“I will not chirp,” he said, and Shane could tell he was lying.

“You promise Ilya?” Shane pressed. “I’m not kidding”. 

Ilya nodded once, solemnly realizing Shane was serious. 

“I am man of integrity.”

Shane held his gaze for half a second longer affirming his seriousness. 

“He called you an epic pull.” Shane couldn’t stifle the smile as he said it. 

Ilya broke immediately.

A sharp, surprised laugh that turned into something bigger, doubling over slightly as it hit him.

“Epic pull,” Ilya repeated, delighted. “Pike said this?”

Shane nodded, still smiling into it.

“He will kill me if he knows you know.”

“Oh, I will treasure this forever,” Ilya said, wiping at the corner of his eye. “I will not say it. I will simply… know it.”

“That might be worse.” Shane laughed

“Yes,” Ilya agreed easily. “Much worse.”

Their laughter came easier now and it stayed longer.

And it still surprised him.

Because an hour ago he couldn’t breathe.

Shane shook his head, turning back to the bowl, but his movements were lighter now. Less rigid. The precision was still there, but it wasn’t… clenched.

Behind him, the timer ticked down. Seven minutes left. Ilya went back to the carrot, still uneven, still too thick, but committed now like it was a personal challenge. Shane watched him for a second.

“Angle it less,” he said, stepping closer again. “You’re fighting it.”

“I am not fighting,” Ilya said, adjusting anyway. “I am negotiating.”

“With a carrot?”

“Yes.”

Shane laughed again. Ilya glanced at him then, quick, assessing. Shane felt it, he knew it. The check-in. The pattern. Ilya made everything feel easier. Feel lighter. Feel steadier.

“Ilya…” Shane started, quieter now. The word sat heavier. Closer to what was waiting on the counter for them. Their phones. The messages. Everything outside this perfect bubble. 

Ilya didn’t look at him right away. Just kept peeling. Letting Shane decide if he wanted to continue. Shane exhaled slowly.

“Thank you” he said

Ilya stopped peeling and looked at him

“Shane, you do not have to thank me.” 

Shane noticed the even steady tone in which he stated it. 

“But I freaked out… for the third time I freaked out!”

Shane flashed back to the cottage when his dad walked in on them. And then again at his parents kitchen table when they were sitting down eating pasta and figuring out logistics. 

“Shane,” Ilya said, warm and even, cutting through it without force, “panic attack is not ‘freak out.’”

Shane stilled slightly.

“You did not break,” Ilya continued, softer now. “Your body did what it needed to do when there was too much going on. That is not… failure.”

Shane’s jaw tightened.

Too much input. System overloaded. 

It felt like failure. 

“I should be able to… handle it,” Shane said quietly.

Ilya shook his head once.

“You did handle it.” Then he looked at Shane again “You asked for help.”

Shane swallowed. Because that wasn’t how he had categorized it.

He had labeled it as loss of control.

Ilya was labeling it as a response to rebalance himself.

Ilya stepped a little closer, not crowding him but just enough to remind Shane of his presence. 

“We are not going to pretend this is easy,” Ilya said. “It is not. There is… a lot happening right now.”

Shane let out a small exhale and met Ilya’s eyes again.

“Yes?” Ilya nodded. “So we take it one thing at a time,” 

Shane blinked.

Too many variables but if taken sequentially would be easier to tackle. 

“We do not solve everything at once,” Ilya continued. “We finish this.” Pointing at the food they were preparing. “We sit. We eat. Then we look at phones together.”

Together. 

The word settled inside Shane’s chest. Even with his parents and with Hayden he felt like he was a burden, like he was a problem that needed to be solved. 

Ilya tilted his head slightly, studying him again, but softer now.

“And also…” he added, quieter, more careful with the words this time, “I will not always be… balanced.”

Shane frowned slightly.

Ilya went on.

“There will be times when you feel like this,” he said, not looking away. “And there will be times when I feel… sad.”

A small pause. “And I will not know why.”

Shane’s eyes flicked to him.

That, he hadn’t expected fully.

“I will need you to be here,” Ilya said simply and touched his chest. “And you will be.”

“That is… how you say… familiar?” Ilya frowned slightly, then clarified

“Like… known. Not changing. You can expect it.”

Shane’s brain caught on the definition immediately.

Familiar.

Known input.

Repeatable.

Reliable pattern.

A constant.

Shane nodded again. 

“When you feel… unbalanced, you tell me. And I need to learn to be brave like you and tell you when I feel sad.” 

Ilya moved closer to him now and help Shane’s shoulders. 

Shane could feel his chest loosen. 

Because that… that he understood. Not perfect balance always. Not equal distribution always.

But presence.

Consistency.

“You are braver than me, solnyshko,” Ilya said softly. “You ask for help when you need it. You asked me to come to the cottage. You came to me… after…” he exhaled lightly, searching, “…after you made mistake and still came back to tell me it was more than just… hookup.”

Shane closed his eyes 

Yeah only after running-

Shane felt Ilya’s forehead press gently against his own. It was warm and close, far too close to hide anything. 

“And I know what you are thinking,” Ilya said, a small smirk in his voice as he leaned back just enough to look at him fully. 

Shane opened his eyes to see Ilya studying his face and looking at him with an expression Shane could only describe as reverence. 

“You are thinking, ‘yes, I ran though,’” Ilya said.

Shane’s breath caught.

How… how does he always know?

“Yes, you did,” Ilya continued, not unkind. Just factual. “I made you tuna melt. I asked you to stay. I called you by your first name.” A small pause. “And it scared you.”

Ilya smiled then, not mocking, just certain.

“But Shane,” Ilya went on, voice softening, “I did not communicate well with you.”

Ilya kissed his forehead

“I was… idiot.”

Shane blinked.

That, didn’t fit. Shane had been the one to fuck up. Shane had been the one to run and not communicate. 

“You weren’t—”

“Shane,” Ilya cut in gently, shaking his head. “I asked you if you like girls! I asked you to stay. I made you food. We watched TV.  I changed… everything between us without saying what I meant.”

He hesitated, searching again.

“No… without saying what I felt.”

Oh

“I put you in position that was not…” he frowned slightly searching again for the right word, “not familiar.”

Shane nodded once and kissed Ilya on his forehead this time. 

“Good,” Ilya said, softer. “Because I made you stand in something unknown. Without warning. Without… agreement.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I understand now why you ran.”

How did I get so lucky?

Of all the variables, of all the possible outcomes, of all the people… the sample size alone made it impossible. Millions. Billions. Paths branching endlessly. Different cities. Different drafts. Different teams. Entire timelines that could have split apart with one missed conversation, one wrong choice, one moment in Saskatchewan that never happened the way it did.

The probability narrowed with every condition applied.

World Juniors. Hockey. MHL. Same orbit. Same years. Same ice.

He found the one person who didn’t require translation.
Who didn’t approximate.
Who didn’t shift under pressure.

The one person who read him, who knew him and stayed anyway.

———— 

Ilya’s POV:

Shane had made him meals before. But they usually involved quinoa and spinach. This was different. Ilya was excited to have something that was personal to Shane in a way he hadn’t experienced with him before. As they finished cooking, Shane had started talking, really talking about his grandparents. Small stories at first. Then more. And Ilya had asked questions, because he wanted to hear all of it, and because every time he did, Shane’s face would light up. Not in the way it did on the ice, or even yesterday when they were all hanging out with the guys.

It was softer, warmer. Like he was stepping into something he trusted. Ilya had watched that more than he had paid attention to the food.

Now, sitting at the table, he picked up his chopsticks again and broke into the mackerel.

The skin gave with a soft crackle, the flesh beneath separating easily, flaking in thick, pale pieces that glistened with natural oils. It was rich, more than he expected. The flavor savory and deep, the salt pulling everything forward without overwhelming it. It coated his tongue, lingered just long enough to feel deliberate, then settled.

He took another bite, slower this time.

This wasn’t just food. This was memory, carried forward and shared with him.

Ilya glanced up at Shane, who was humming, just slightly, much like he had yesterday when he was eating the soup. Ilya had never noticed him humming while eating his horrible macrobiotic meals.

A tell.

Shane was enjoying himself.

“You did not tell me you can cook like this,” Ilya said, tone light but honest underneath it.

Shane didn’t look up immediately.

“I’ve told you,” he said. “You just don’t like spinach.”

“And quinoa,” Ilya corrected, offended. “You cook things. But not like this.”

Shane glanced up then, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

“Do you not like it?”

Ilya blinked, almost startled.

“Solnyshko,” he said immediately, “this is best meal you have ever made. I am now sad you only bought two filets.”

He took another bite to prove the point. Shane smiled and did a small, satisfied shimmy, likely completely subconscious.

Ilya felt something settle in his chest.

Because this, this was new. Yes, the food was new. But more than that. This version of Shane. The one who shared his past.

Ilya loved finding new layers of him. The world knew the version Shane allowed: controlled, structured, composed. Ilya had known early on that he was drawn to what existed underneath that. The moments that slipped through. In hotel rooms across different cities, when Shane forgot to hold the line so tightly. When he softened, when he let himself be seen without filtering, without adjusting.

Shane on his back moaning in ecstasy. Shane pressing a kiss to his forehead when they had just finished and Shane was still in the fog of being sex drunk off of Ilya’s cock. Shane riding him and locking eyes with him just before orgasming. 

There had been a moment, once in a stairwell, after they first had sex, when Shane had looked at him, completely unguarded. Open in a way that didn’t belong to the ice, or the media, or anyone else. Shane had looked so raw and beautiful. They had kissed so tenderly… and Ilya had understood something then. If he stayed in that moment too long, he wouldn’t leave. And it had scared him enough that he disappeared for six months. Even back then, he had known. He was already in too deep. He knew he had seen a side of Shane Hollander, Golden Boy of Canada, Rookie Of the Year, Perfect Hockey Prince… that no other person on the planet had seen. It had only been for him, and that was the most intoxicating drug he could imagine. A man who was already his equal in so many ways, a man who he already knew to be the most beautiful man he had ever met had more to him than that. He had more. So much more. And Ilya had been the one to see it first.

And once he saw it, there was no version of the world where he could pretend it didn’t exist. 

Ilya reached for the pickled carrots and daikon next, the sharp vinegar cutting clean through the richness of the fish. Bright. Precise.

He nodded to himself.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “This makes sense.”

Shane blinked at him.

“What does?”

Ilya gestured lightly between the dishes.

“The balance,” he said. “You like things to… make sense together.”

Shane paused, then nodded once.

“Yeah. I think that’s just Japanese cooking though. This is exactly how my Obāchan made it”

Of course.

Ilya smiled slightly.

He took another bite of the fish, slower now as the meal dwindled, letting it settle, grounding himself in it the same way Shane grounded himself in systems.

Warm and steady. And across from him, Shane was still there eating and humming. Ilya didn’t need anything else. This would be enough. Forever. 

———

“We should…” Shane gestured towards the phones

“No,” Ilya said gently. Not in a sharp or dismissive way. 

Shane paused they were on the couch, wrapped in blankets next to one another.

“They’re…” Shane started

“We need dessert” Ilya finished for him. “We will need the....”

“Taiyaki.” Shane finished for him

“Yes, Taiyaki… I want it, it will help us” Ilya added, softer.

“You’re right” Shane nodded “I should have thought of that” 

Shane got up and Ilya followed him. I will get soothing candle and you will get yummy dessert. “Then we do this,” he said simply.

Ilya grabbed the “Fresh Linen” Yankee candle and lit it on the coffee table as Shane put the taiyaki in the toaster oven.

“It tastes better like this” Shane smiled although worry was showing in his eyes

“Remember, we check together this time.” Ilya soothed

Shane nodded. “Okay.”

Ilya bumped his shoulder lightly again.

“Also,” he added, tone shifting just enough to pull Shane back from the edge again, “if Pike knows I am ‘epic pull,’ I assume rest of your will form line to congratulate me because if anyone pulled epically it is me”

Shane huffed. “They’re forming a line for something, yeah.”

“Good,” Ilya said, completely unfazed. “I will greet them with soup.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is now.”

Shane shook his head again, but the smile stayed. And this time. it didn’t feel like it was going anywhere.

They settled on the couch, warm Taiyaki in paper towels, blankets on their laps and a candle lit even though it was still daytime. 

It was Ilya’s first time turning on his phone, so he had more notifications than Shane. 

Unlike Shane he went straight to twitter and the first thing he saw made him laugh so hard he nearly fell off the couch. 

This was going to be just fine…

Chapter End Notes

Neskuchny Gardens - Wooded park in Moscow once an aristocratic estate, with a 1950s rotunda, an outdoor theater & stone bridges.

Obāchan (grandmother) is a more affectionate term for grandmother when referring to your grandmothers to others you typically say sabo however Shane is not fluent in Japanese and only knows it conversationally.

Ojīchan (grandfather) in Japanese.

Saba No Shioyaki Recipe: https://sudachirecipes.com/saba-no-shioyaki/#wprm-recipe-container-8820

Kōhaku Namasu Recipe: https://japan.recipetineats.com/pickled-carrot-and-daikon-recipe-kohaku-namasu/

Taiyaki is a popular Japanese fish-shaped cake, similar to a waffle, with a crispy exterior and soft interior, traditionally filled with sweet red bean paste (anko) but also commonly filled with custard, chocolate, or sweet potato. Named after the sea bream ("tai") and baked in a fish-shaped mold, it's a beloved street food often enjoyed hot, especially at festivals, and has gained international popularity with modern variations like ice cream-filled cones. 

For the social media chapter I made what I can only describe as the WORST fake photo of Shane, Ilya and Mathieu the store clerk. I used no AI, only photoshop and it's so bad! It's making me laugh. I may or may not use it.

Chapter 12: Family, No Exceptions - Hayden POV

Chapter Summary

Hayden's POV!

Hayden Pike has spent most of his adult life loving Shane Hollander like a brother.

But did you know they met before they played for Montreal? From the moment fourteen-year-old Hayden watched a younger Shane skate circles around older players in Lake Placid, awe turned into friendship, and friendship into family. But after a viral grocery store photo exposes Shane and Ilya Rozanov’s secret relationship, Hayden is forced to confront a painful truth: one of the people he loves most has been carrying something enormous alone for years.

Chapter Notes

Oh boy this fic got some attention and I was NOT prepared!

Couple things:
A little bit of the AO3 writer curse happened. I lost a crown! Bit into a delicious caramel and POP there it went. Ooof. RIP to my dental stability.
BUT I promise the next chapter will be out sooner than this one took. I was originally working on the SocMed chapter and it started becoming this massive beast, and I couldn’t leave y’all hanging any longer.

This Hayden POV actually came to me while I was on a road trip. I started frantically writing pieces of it into my Notes app because I knew if I didn’t, I’d lose the feeling of it. Today was the first day I really had time to sit down and map the whole thing out properly.

A few things about the Hayden I’m writing:
Book/show Hayden is aiight, but I wanted to give him a little more meat on the proverbial bone. Hayden isn’t instinctively emotionally self-protective the way Shane and Ilya are. Not because he’s naive, but because he was raised inside safety. That’s the core of him.
His defining trait also isn’t his hockey talents. Shane and Ilya are both obsessive in different ways, but Hayden experiences things emotionally first. He’s fascinated by hockey more than obsessed with it.

He sees Shane before Shane really knows how to let himself be seen. Not romantically, more fundamentally as a person.
And Hayden’s greatest fear isn’t failure or losing hockey. It’s being unable to protect the people he loves. And Hayden loves Shane.

I know when I wrote from Ilya’s perspective, that Ilya suspects Hayden is IN LOVE with Shane, but Ilya is also hilariously biased and slightly insane when it comes to Shane. Hayden loves Shane deeply, this much is true, but Hayden is IN LOVE with his wife. Shane is his family.
Hayden does NOT idolize Shane.
Almost everyone else does.
Hayden humanizes him.
That’s why Shane trusts him.

CHAPTER 12: Family, No Exceptions - Hayden POV

Hayden Andrew Pike was the only child of Barbara and Michael Pike. His parents wanted a big family of their own but it just wasn’t in the cards. Both of his parents came from large families and, instead of growing up with siblings, Hayden grew up with cousins and neighbors and family friends. His family was close knit. Loud. Warm. Somebody was always hosting something. Birthdays, barbecues, hockey watch parties, Boxing Day dinners that somehow turned into sleepovers for half the cousins by the end of the night. Hayden would spend entire weekends running through backyards and basements with a rotating pack of kids his age before retreating back home at the end of the night to a quieter house that always somehow still felt full despite only having three people in it.

His parents doted on him in the way people do when all the love they meant to divide between many children has nowhere else to go. When he was young they signed him up for karate, soccer, t-ball and hockey. They wanted him active. They wanted him surrounded by other kids. They wanted him to have community.

Hayden liked it. Hayden’s love language became community. 

He liked being busy. He liked noise. He liked belonging places. He would ride his bike, winding through his neighborhood, down to the river and back on Sunday mornings on his paper route, tires humming against the pavement while the city still felt half asleep. He got invited to every birthday party. Every bonfire. Every school event. His social calendar had been full for as long as he could remember.

As he got older, and his coaches and parents recognized he excelled in hockey, the other sports slowly fell away. Karate first. Then soccer. Then baseball. Hockey remained.

And Hayden didn’t really mind.

There was something intoxicating about the speed of it. The rhythm. The feeling of skating hard enough that the cold air burned your lungs while your body somehow still begged for more.

His parents signed him up for hockey camps and special programs to further hone his skills. One summer, when he was in his teens, he was flown to the States to participate in the CAN/AM High-Level Training Clinic in Lake Placid, New York.

Six days and five nights of the most intense drills, workouts, scrimmages and conditioning Hayden had experienced in his life. That was where something turned a corner for him.

He had always been good. Usually the best or one of the best players on his teams. But Hayden didn’t yet have the terrifying discipline that separated great players from extraordinary ones. He was naturally talented and naturally athletic and, most of the time, that had been more than enough to… skate by (Pun intended).

But all of that changed the first time he lined up against a kid named Shane Hollander.

Hayden was still playing center at the time. As he skated into the historic arena that once held the Olympics in Lake Placid. He lined up for the puck drop, excitement buzzed low in his stomach. The kind that made your hands twitch against your stick before puck drop.

The boy across from him looked younger than him. Smaller too. Almost soft-looking in a way that didn’t make sense for elite hockey. Dark hair tucked beneath his helmet. Serious eyes. Quiet.

Hayden remembered thinking, with the absolute confidence of a teenage boy who had not yet been humbled properly:

“I’ve got this in the bag.”

The puck dropped and before Hayden could even react, the other boy had stolen it cleanly and was already skating toward the goal. Hayden pushed after him instinctively, but even then he knew he wasn’t catching him. The other boy moved unlike anyone Hayden had ever seen at that age. Not just fast, unbelievably so, but also graceful. Every edge carved into the ice connected seamlessly into the next like hockey made more sense in his body than it did in anyone else’s. No hesitation. No wasted motion.

And then he scored. He remembers coaches talking about a “prodigy” and that was the word Hayden would remember years later.

Hayden coasted past the net afterward slightly stunned, heart pounding from more than exertion. He wasn’t jealous, or even angry. He was awestruck. He found himself watching the boy skate back toward his team to celebrate the goal, the movement so smooth and natural it barely looked like work at all. Then he looked around, realizing his jaw was agape and felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. But somewhere underneath the embarrassment of being beaten so cleanly, something sharper started to settle in Hayden’s chest.

For the first time in Hayden’s life, losing didn’t make him want to pull away from someone’s talent. It made him want to rise toward it.

Determined not to let that happen again, Hayden found himself looking forward to the next face-off instead of dreading it.

This time he was ready. Or at least he thought he was.

The puck dropped.

Hayden reacted faster this time, but the other boy’s stick was lightning quick, scooping the puck effortlessly to the side before skating around him with the most powerful, dynamic edges Hayden had ever witnessed up close outside of a Toronto Guardians game.

Hayden chased him immediately this time.

Hard.

But somewhere between the blue line and the net, awe crept in again despite himself.

This kid is unbelievable.

He scored again, this time with a backhand shot so gorgeous Hayden would remember it years later outside of professional games.

“Pike!”

His coach’s voice snapped through the arena soon after.

Hayden skated back toward the bench, chest heaving, still trying to process what he had just witnessed.

Because for the first time in his life, Hayden understood there were levels to talent. 

And this kid… this weird quiet kid who moved like he’d been born with skates attached to his feet, was operating on an entirely different plane of existence.

During the break between periods, Hayden walked back toward the locker rooms while his teammates buzzed around him.

“I heard he only eats sushi,” Marnelli said. “That’s why he’s so good.”

“I heard he doesn’t speak English,” another added. “That’s why he never talks.”

“What? No way. He’s Canadian, of course he speaks English, you idiot.” Piped Grimes

“Canadian? He looks Asian. No way is that dude Canadian.” Shouted Teegarden

“His last name is Hollander, that’s not an Asian last name.” Kurpieski said

“Maybe he’s adopted or something.” Grimes chimed back in

“I dunno man but that guy is crazy. He skated around Pike like he was still in peewees.” Boyd laughed

“Dang Pike, you’re catching strays over here.”

The boys laughed. Hayden didn’t.

A strange sick feeling had started settling low in Hayden’s stomach somewhere during the comments about Shane being Asian. About his last name. About whether he was “really” Canadian. Hayden was one of the younger kids in the 14–16 league, and he was honestly a little scared he’d get punched if he spoke up, but even he knew what he was hearing wasn’t right.

And worse than that, the reason for it was obvious.

Shane had embarrassed them.

Earlier that day Hayden had overheard staff and coaches talking quietly amongst themselves about how this “prodigy” had only barely qualified for the league after turning fourteen in May, while some of the boys making comments about him would be seventeen within the month. They were older, bigger and louder.

And still none of them could hold a candle to him on the ice.

Hayden could feel his blood beginning to boil as the boys kept laughing.

Because they weren’t talking about Shane like he was another kid anymore. They were talking about him like they needed to explain him away somehow. Shrink him down into something less threatening. Less extraordinary. Something they could categorize instead of admitting he had just outplayed all of them.

And underneath the casual cruelty and dumb teenage commentary, Hayden recognized something else immediately.

Nobody else understood or had even appreciated what they had just witnessed.

They thought the story was that they had all gotten embarrassed by a kid who had barely turned fourteen and stood nearly a foot shorter than most of them.

But standing on that ice, chasing helplessly after a younger player who moved like hockey had been coded directly into his nervous system, Hayden had felt something entirely different.

Wonder.

And for the first time in his life, Hayden wanted to work harder not because he was afraid of losing, but because he suddenly understood how beautiful greatness could look up close.

Their team still lost that day.

But Hayden managed to score once against Hollander in the third period, and afterward, while his teammates celebrated around him, Hayden found himself looking across the ice instead.

Toward Shane. 

Toward the kid who had changed something in him permanently over the course of a single game. 

He didn’t want to celebrate with his teammates.

Honestly?

He wanted to hug Shane.

Because somehow, in the span of three periods, this weird quiet kid had made Hayden want to become something better than he had been that morning.

——

The next time Hayden saw Shane Hollander was draft day. Four years had passed since Lake Placid, but Hayden recognized him instantly anyway. Not because of the cameras. Not because of the swarm of reporters and agents and executives orbiting around him like satellites around a planet. But because Shane had already become somewhat of a sensation in Hockey circles. 

Hayden himself had gone thirty-second overall in the draft, which honestly exceeded even his own expectations a little. He’d been thrilled just hearing his name called. He had nearly cried. His mom and dad actually had cried once the cameras moved away.

But Shane Hollander had gone second overall. Hayden thought he should have been first over Ilya Rozanov but was grateful for Shane being drafted to Montreal. 

Hayden kept hearing “Generational talent. Franchise cornerstone. Future of hockey.” around the two top players. 

Hayden remembered thinking both Shane and Ilya looked a little miserable in the middle of all of it. As they stood standing in the large ballroom being herded around to different media. Hayden stared at Shane, “Boy Wonder” in the the suit didn’t fit quite right. The sleeves were slightly too short and the shoulders sat awkwardly, like Shane had grown too fast between fittings. He was constantly flanked by two adults Hayden assumed were his parents while coaches, GMs, media staff and agents cycled around him endlessly for handshakes and photos.

Shane smiled when expected. Answered questions. Shook hands.

But every time the cameras dipped away for even a second, his expression flattened almost immediately into something tired and distant. Like he was enduring the night more than enjoying it.

Hayden kept trying to find a moment to say hi, but every time he thought he had an opening, another executive or reporter appeared beside Shane.

Still, Hayden couldn’t stop watching him. Not in a weird way. Okay maybe a little weirdly. But mostly because four years later Shane still carried the same gravity around him. The same strange intensity Hayden remembered from Lake Placid. Eventually Hayden noticed Shane drift briefly away from the crowd toward one of the drink stations near the side of the ballroom. 

Before he could psych himself out, Hayden walked over.

“Hi,” he said quickly. “I’m Hayden. Hayden Pike. I also got drafted to Montreal.”

Shane looked up immediately. And for one split second Hayden watched recognition happen in real time.

“You were at Lake Placid,” Shane said almost instantly.

Hayden blinked. “You remember that?”

Shane looked mildly confused by the question.

“You were hard to forget,” he said simply.

Hayden barked out a surprised laugh.

“Yeah, because you skated around me like I was a traffic cone?”

To Hayden’s surprise, Shane’s mouth twitched slightly.

Not a full smile. But close.

“I remember thinking you recovered weirdly fast the second time,” Shane admitted after a moment. “Most people got embarrassed and stopped challenging me after the first face-off.”

Hayden shrugged. “Well yeah. You were unreal out there man. I wanted another shot!”

Something about that answer made Shane go quieter for a second.

Hayden watched as Shane studied him with eyes that seemed wary but wise. 

“That goal you made, in the third, it was a beauty” Shane smiled at him

Hayden would realize later that Shane was probably already used to people reacting strangely to him by then. Either idolizing him or resenting him or trying to prove something against him.

Awe without bitterness was probably rarer than Hayden realized.

Before either of them could say anything else, one of the Montreal assistant coaches suddenly appeared nearby.

“There you are, Hollander,” the man said warmly before glancing between the two of them. “Oh good, you boys have met already.”

Shane visibly straightened again almost instantly, posture tightening back into something more formal.

Mask back on.

Hayden noticed that, he always noticed things like that.

“Pike,” the coach continued, clapping Hayden lightly on the shoulder. “You better get used to this guy. You’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other.”

Hayden grinned immediately.

“Works for me.”

And for the first time all night, Shane actually smiled back properly.

And for the first time in Hayden’s life, he felt like he had some pull towards a near complete stranger he had never felt before. An almost protective big brother instinct even though they were only six months apart in age. 

———

The third time Hayden saw Shane Hollander was during training camp.

And rather fortuitously, they’d been assigned cubbies right next to each other in the locker room. Hayden remembered standing there that first morning trying very hard not to look too excited about it while pretending to organize tape he absolutely did not need to organize.

Training camp was chaos. Prospects everywhere. Coaches barking. Equipment managers moving around in practiced patterns while nervous rookies and a few vets from the minor leagues attempted to look significantly calmer than they actually were.

Nothing was guaranteed there. Not roster spots. Not contracts. Not futures.

Hayden had gone into camp realistic about his odds. Thirty-second overall wasn’t nothing, but it also wasn’t the kind of draft position that guaranteed patience from an organization. If he was lucky, he’d make the cut.

If not?

Back to the minors, some college classes and another year of waiting. He’d made peace with that possibility before arriving. At least he thought he had.

Then Shane Hollander walked into camp and suddenly Hayden wanted the impossible.

Because being around Shane made everybody sharper whether they intended it to or not.

Even at eighteen, Shane practiced like something hunted him.

That was the first thing Hayden noticed this time around. His insane discipline. 

He was talented. His shots on goal were insane. Even the skating, though that still looked unfair in person was other worldly.

But Shane Hollander’s discipline during training camp was unmatched. 

Shane ran drills at full intensity whether coaches watched or not. He stayed after practice without being asked. He listened so intently during meetings it was almost unnerving. Every rep mattered to him. Every mistake registered immediately behind his eyes.

And somehow, despite all of that intensity, he was still quiet.

Shane wasn’t unfriendly, but his smiles were contained.

The other prospects orbited around him constantly anyway. Coaches praised him openly. Scouts hovered. Older players tested him during scrimmages like they wanted proof he was human after all.

Mostly, Shane answered by embarrassing them.

Hayden loved it.

The first real conversation they had happened because Shane swore quietly under his breath while trying to retape one of his sticks.

“You okay there buddy?” Hayden asked from beside him.

Shane glanced over briefly before looking back down at the tape job.

“It folded weird.”

Hayden blinked.

“That’s what you’re mad about?”

Shane looked up again, completely serious. “Yes.”

And for some reason that made Hayden smile. 

“Want some help?”

That earned him the smallest, most reluctant twitch at the corner of Shane’s mouth.

Progress.

After that, talking to Shane became easy.

Not because Shane offered much freely at first. He didn’t.

But Hayden had grown up surrounded by people. Loud people. Quiet people. Awkward people. He knew how to sit comfortably beside silence without trying to crush it.

So he talked enough for both of them initially.

About drills.

About coaches.

About teammates.

About the terrible food they had to have at lunch.

And slowly, over the week, Shane started talking back more.

Little things at first.

Correcting Hayden’s terrible tape technique.

Complaining quietly about how loud Vederov chewed.

Hayden learned quickly that Shane was funnier than people realized. A precisely accurate level of funny. The kind that slipped out unexpectedly and caught you off guard. And underneath all the structure and discipline and impossible talent, Hayden started noticing other things too.

Shane forgot to eat much when he was stressed. He got quieter when overwhelmed instead of louder. He hated being touched unexpectedly after bad practices. He organized everything meticulously when anxious as did Hayden and that was something they shared. And every single time Shane stepped onto the ice, something in Hayden still sparked alive watching him.

Wonder.

Still wonder.

Only now it existed alongside something else too.

Protectiveness.

Because the more Hayden got to know him, the more obvious it became that the people who made decisions looked at Shane Hollander and mostly saw what he could do for them.

The franchise prospect.

The future captain.

The generational talent.

And people competing against Shane Hollander mostly seemed to see him as something to survive. Or resent. Or explain away so they didn’t have to admit someone that young could genuinely be that extraordinary.

Very few people looked at Shane and seemed interested in the actual person underneath all of it. But Hayden was looking and maybe that was the beginning of everything.

———

A week into training camp, Hayden walked back into the locker room after practice to find a couple of prospects half-dressed around Shane’s cubby while Shane himself silently unlaced his skates.

“You probably don’t even gotta try in scrimmages,” one of them said. “Management already decided you’re making the roster before camp even started.”

Another snorted.

“Yeah, must be nice being Hockey Canada’s little prince.”

Shane didn’t look up.

That bothered Hayden immediately.

Not because Shane looked hurt but because he looked resigned and almost used to it.

The same strange feeling from Lake Placid twisted low in Hayden’s stomach again.

Different words. Same insecurity underneath.

The prospects weren’t stupid. Everybody at camp had seen Shane play by now. They knew exactly why the organization was obsessed with him. But somehow people always seemed to need there to be another explanation anyway.

Luck.

Favoritism.

Marketing.

Anything except:
he really is that good.

One of the guys nudged Shane’s stick lightly with his skate.

“You even human, Hollander? Or did they build you in a Hockey lab somewhere?”

A couple of the guys laughed.

“Heh” Shane forced a laugh from his throat

Hayden watched the way Shane’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly beneath his compression shirt. Small enough most people probably wouldn’t notice.

Hayden did.

And suddenly he was fourteen again, listening to older boys try to explain Shane away because they couldn’t stand being outplayed by him.

Only this time Hayden was bigger too. And this time he wasn’t staying quiet.

“Nah, I think he’s just better than you guys. Tough break.”

The locker room quieted slightly. 

One of the prospects from the minors, probably five years older than both of them and whose name Hayden hadn’t bothered learning, scoffed.

“Oh yeah? You his bodyguard now, Pike?”

Hayden shrugged casually as he pulled tape from his stick.

“Nah. I just think if an eighteen-year-old keeps ruining your self-esteem this badly, maybe that’s something to unpack privately dude or to your therapist.”

A couple nearby players barked out surprised laughs. The prospect rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath before finally backing off.

Hayden dropped onto the bench beside Shane afterward and leaned over slightly.

“What a douche-canoe,” he whispered.

Shane still hadn’t looked up, still focused on his skates, but Hayden heard the quiet chuckle anyway.

“Yeah,” Shane murmured.

And for some reason, that tiny laugh felt like winning something.

After showers, the locker room slowly started emptying as players packed bags and tried not to visibly panic about the inevitable cuts the next morning. Hayden had no idea if he’d done enough to stay. Realistically, he knew there was still a decent chance he’d get sent back down to the minors for the year. But he also knew something else now too. He wanted to be friends with Shane Hollander. So before he could overthink it, Hayden cleared his throat awkwardly while Shane zipped up his bag to leave. 

“Hey,” he started. “You wanna come by mine sometime this weekend?”

Shane glanced up immediately.

“We can grab a beer,” Hayden continued quickly. “Or we can get one of those smoothies you drink.”

For a second Shane just stared at him like he genuinely wasn’t sure how to process the invitation.

Then finally:

“Oh you noticed that?”

Hayden snorted. “Buddy, you drink something neon green every morning, it looks radioactive.”

To Hayden’s surprise, Shane laughed properly this time. 

And suddenly Hayden had the weird, unmistakable feeling that this moment mattered.

“Sure,” Shane said, still smiling slightly. “How about tomorrow? After practice?”

Hayden’s stomach dropped a little.

Because suddenly he realized there was a very real possibility he’d be cut tomorrow morning, and then this whole interaction would become deeply awkward.

“Yeah,” Hayden said carefully. “Assuming I’m still employed by then.”

Shane blinked once.

Then, very matter-of-factly:

“You’re making the team.”

Hayden barked out a surprised laugh.

“Oh yeah? You psychic now too?”

“No,” Shane said simply. “You recover fast, have since Lake Placid.”

Hayden stared at him.

Immediately, his brain flashed back to Lake Placid. To being fourteen and getting skated around like he was standing still while Shane Hollander quietly observed him in return and then in the third period, him finally getting the puck in their face-off and skating for his life toward the net with Shane easily catching up to him. He shot it to Boyd, deked around Shane, Boyd passed it back and he slapped it into the upper right corner. 

“You remember that?” Hayden asked again, a little incredulous.

Shane looked faintly confused for the second time that night.

“You think I don’t notice things too? You pulled that same move on Vederov today!”

And there it was again.

That strange feeling Hayden kept getting around Shane.

“Well that’s either flattering or terrifying.”

Shane shrugged slightly as he pulled his bag onto his shoulder.

“You’ll survive.”

There was a certainty, devoid of arrogance that Shane had. Like it was a fact and not an opinion.

Like Shane had already decided Hayden belonged there.

And weirdly, that meant something.

Cool,” Hayden said easily, grabbing his own bag. “Then tomorrow you can come over and explain why your smoothies glow in the dark.”

To Hayden’s surprise, Shane rolled his eyes. “It’s spirulina.”

“That sounds fake.” 

“It’s not fake.”

“Agree to disagree.” Hayden said as he clapped Shane on the shoulder and noticed he didn’t flinch at the touch. 

———

Hayden could remember those moments now and recognize them as significant, but at the time they hadn’t felt monumental. After that first summer, Shane had simply become… Shane.

His friend. Then somehow, without Hayden even noticing exactly when it happened, his best friend. And eventually something even steadier than that. His brother.

Life had unfolded around Shane naturally after that. Easy. Immediate. Shane became threaded into nearly every important memory Hayden had from adulthood. They shared opinions on teammates, girls at bars, coaches they hated, prospects they liked, restaurants they swore by in every NHL city.

Hell, Shane had been there the night Hayden met Jackie. Actually, Shane had been the one to immediately lean over and mutter:

“Lock it down because there is no way you land a girl that smart and that pretty twice.”

It was a chirp, obviously. But Hayden remembered hearing the sincerity underneath it too. And Shane had been right. Shane helped Hayden shop for engagement rings even though he complained the entire time. He helped Hayden and Jackie pick out their first house. He showed up in jeans and an old hoodie to help them move furniture even after playing a road game the night before. When the twins were born, Shane was already waiting at the hospital somehow despite Hayden never remembering calling him.

That was just Shane. He was present he was reliable. Showing up for people was how Shane showed love. He was threaded into the very structure of Hayden’s life so completely that eventually Hayden stopped distinguishing between “family” and “Shane.”

Because Shane was family.

Hayden had spent his whole childhood wanting siblings without fully realizing it. Maybe it was something passed on from his parents want for a large family. Hayden has friends, and even cousins but Hayden craved someone permanent. Someone built into the shape of his life automatically. And somewhere between training camp chirps and late-night beers and moving boxes and weddings and hospital rooms, Hayden had found one in Shane Hollander.

Which was why driving home tonight felt like something inside him was splitting painfully down the middle. Hayden gripped the steering wheel tighter as tears blurred the road ahead of him.

Hayden wasn’t angry. Not really. God, he understood why Shane had hidden this. He understood the risks better than most people probably ever would. Hockey culture could be brutal. Cruel in quiet ways. Careers changed over less. Reputations changed over rumors alone.

And Shane-- 

Shane had spent almost his entire life under a microscope. Hayden understood all of that. He understood why Shane had protected this part of himself so fiercely. Why Shane had protected Ilya. But somewhere underneath all that understanding was another feeling Hayden couldn’t quite shake loose.

Grief.

Because Shane had carried something this enormous alone for years. And Hayden hadn’t known. Not even close. The realization hollowed him out every time he thought about it. Not because Shane was with Ilya.

Honestly, after the initial shock wore off, Hayden could weirdly see it. The intensity. The push and pull. The obsession. It actually explained a horrifying amount in retrospect.

No, the thing breaking Hayden’s heart was realizing Shane had suffered beside him all these years while still believing there were pieces of himself Hayden couldn’t be trusted to hold safely. Hayden’s chest tightened painfully. Because he would have. God, he would have. He would have protected Shane with everything he had.

He already did. One the ice of course, but off it too.

Shane was the first person Hayden called after anything monumental happened. The first person he texted when Jackie got pregnant. The first person he trusted to hold one of his newborn daughters. Shane had sat at Hayden’s kitchen table at two in the morning eating an honestly insane amount of kale in a salad while Hayden spiraled about mortgages and weddings and becoming somebody’s husband and somebody’s father.

So how had Shane gone so long believing this had to stay hidden from Hayden?

The answer came immediately, cruel and obvious.

Because the world had taught Shane that being fully seen came with consequences.

And suddenly Hayden was fourteen years old again, listening to older boys in a locker room try to shrink Shane into something easier to understand after witnessing something extraordinary.

Only this time the thing Shane was afraid of people seeing wasn’t his talent.

It was himself.

Hayden scrubbed quickly at his face with the heel of his palm at a stoplight, jaw tightening hard.

He didn’t blame Shane. Not even a little.

But somewhere deep down, Hayden still felt like he’d failed him anyway. 

If anything, Hayden hated himself a little for not realizing sooner just how lonely Shane must have been inside all of this. Carrying something this enormous while still showing up every day like nothing hurt. Like nothing scared him. Like he could balance every piece of himself indefinitely without eventually cracking under the weight of it.

And somehow, even now, Shane’s first instinct was to look sorry, for not telling him.

That nearly destroyed Hayden.

Because if there was one thing Hayden understood with absolute certainty, it was this:

Family protected each other.

No conditions.

No hesitation.

No exceptions.

Hayden had spent his entire childhood surrounded by people who showed up for each other automatically. Loudly. Completely. His parents. His cousins. His aunts and uncles. Love in the Pike family was never quiet or conditional. Once someone belonged to them, they belonged fully.

And Shane belonged fully.

He always had.

Hayden gripped the steering wheel tighter as emotion climbed painfully into his throat again. He couldn’t change the years Shane spent afraid. Couldn’t undo the silence his best friend had had to endure. He couldn’t go back and become the person Shane maybe needed sooner. But he could make damn sure Shane never questioned it again. For the rest of his life if he had to. Because Hayden loved Shane like a brother.

And there was nothing more important than family to Hayden Pike.

Chapter End Notes

CAN/AM is a real Hockey camp. I did some research y'all! And one of them is in Lake Placid where the 1980 Olympics were: https://www.canamhockey.com/camps/youth/lake-placid-new-york It's where "Miracle On Ice" happened, but as Canadians Hayden and Shane probably care less about it than an American would.

Chapter 13: The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known

Chapter Summary

After a grocery store photo of Shane and Ilya goes viral, the internet does what it does best: speculate wildly. Memes, ship names, PR theories, and cilantro discourse spiral across social media while Shane tries very hard not to catastrophize himself into oblivion. But somewhere between the panic, the blanket cocoon that makes him look like a little babushka, and Ilya turning internet chaos into “the cinema of the internet” Shane realizes something unexpected: visibility is not the same thing as disaster. Because every time fear threatens to pull him under, Ilya keeps guiding him gently back toward them.

Chapter Notes

Y’all… my bookmarks doubled?? Thank you all so much for the love. Seriously though, thank you for all the kind comments and messages. They genuinely carried me through the last few weeks while I tried to figure out the best way to approach this chapter.

AHHHH this social media chapter has brought me both immense joy (making memes) and immense suffering (trying to keep the emotional tone of the fic intact while making fake tweets!)

Also yes these are photoshopped images but NOT AI:

The first one: the parking lot/car photo. This was shot while they were getting into the car. It was shot w/o their knowledge. That’s the one everyone is memeing.
(And honestly… I’m weirdly proud of this photoshop.)

The second one is the grocery store pic with Mathieu, the store clerk. That’s the one that dropped first. I combined like 3 stock images for it.
(I hated this photoshop so much by the end that eventually I just stared at it and went “you know what? fuck it!”) I am prepared for photoshop chirps bring em!

Chapter 13: The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known

They had settled onto the couch sometime after dinner, though “settled” was probably generous considering Shane currently looked like a deeply unhappy babushka(grandmother) wrapped tightly in a gray blanket while glaring down at his phone like it was a bomb he needed to defuse.

Ilya, meanwhile, had made the tactical decision to open The Bird App first. Mostly because if the world was ending, he preferred reconnaissance. Also because Shane was visibly trying not to catastrophize himself into another spiral and Ilya knew from experience that silence was dangerous territory for him right now.

Shane’s breathing had steadied after dinner. The color had returned to his face. He was functioning again. But Ilya could still feel the tension humming beneath everything, tight and over-controlled in the way Shane got when he was trying very hard to hold himself together.

So… alas... reconnaissance.

Ilya opened the app and immediately barked out a laugh.

Shane’s head snapped toward him suspiciously.

“What.”

“Hollander,” Ilya wheezed. “We are memes.”

Shane frowned deeper immediately fully enforcing his babushka-esque aesthetic. 

“That’s not comforting.”

“No, solnyshko, look.” Ilya shifted closer until their hips pressed together beneath the blanket and angled the phone toward him. “These are funny.”

The first image was of them near Shane’s car in the parking lot, looking at one another that someone had clearly took without them knowing. 

-----

@HockeyHubs12 reposted 🔁 :

 -@Mtlbenchlurker: WTF?

-@Penaltyboxbabe: Honestly “I’m lovin’ it” 

-@Hole4Hollander: No way does “alphabetize my spice rack” Hollander even eat fast food! 

---

“Solnyshko look, look...” he huffed. “This meme says I am McDonald’s, you are Burger King… this is a good one because I am so much better than you at Hockey like McDonald’s is so much better at breakfast than Burger King?”

“What?” Shane looked personally offended as he leaned over to look at Ilya’s phone. “At least my label has King in it.”

“Yes but I have McGriddle. I am better.”

“That’s not even a real argument.”

“It is if you have tasted a McGriddle Shane.” Ilya says almost seriously “Oh and this person says you alphabetize spices.” His serious face cracking into a smile. 

Shane huffed “…I organize them by cuisine.”

Ilya turned toward him with visible delight.

“What it’s efficient.” Shane scowls

“You made little system for flavors.” Ilya chuckles

“That’s just called cooking Ilya”

“I know but also,” Ilya corrected solemnly. “That is called being tiny kitchen dictator.”

“Tiny? Ilya I’m two hundred pounds and play professional hockey…” 

Ilya nuzzles his nose into Shanes cheek and pecked him “I know, I know moya malen'kaya babushka”(my little grandma) soothing him. 

“I am not a little grandma! That’s so weird Ilya” 

“You are wrapped in blanket like lady who sells pelmeni on street in Moscow” Ilya chided as he booped Shane on the nose and Shane faked like he was going to bite Ilya’s finger off. 

“How dare you! I need finger for scrolling!” Ilya gasped

---

@PuckLuckDeb: Mutual hatred. Mutual obsession. Mutual stomach problems.

-@Refsarestillwrong: These are SENDING me 

-@HollanderIsHottie: Of course Rozanov would be Taco Bell, the guy is toxic

                      ↪BostonB4Lyfe: If by toxic you mean delicious and up all night then yeah

                                    ❤️@IlyaRozanov81 liked this tweet

---

Ilya chuckled "I'm going to heart this one... it is funny because it is true."

Shane just shook his head "Ugh keep scrolling" 

---

@Julestakesthebow:

-@katiefromBoston: Accurate. 

-@feralbutonline: A Denny’s HATES to see me coming 

-@LJwrites: Ded! 💀💀💀

---

"Hmm, I do not get this one" Ilya said and looked at Shane quizzically 

"Don't look at me" Shane shrugged

Ilya felt Shane's chin lay on his shoulder as he continued scrolling through the memes and photos and comments. He felt a little self-satisfied with the fact that Shane was relaxing. He snuck a glance over and Shane was still wrapped up in the blanket like a babushka but slightly less frowny and Ilya pecked him on the lips and continued scrolling. 

---

@BuzzFeed ✓⃝:

-@alexrantsdaily: Who even are these people? 

             -@AllHattysAndNattys: You don’t know Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander? ::eyeroll::

                          -@alexrantsdaily: Am I supposed to?

                                    -@AllHattysAndNattys: Two of the top Hockey Players in the league?!

                                                  -@alexrantsdaily: I don’t do sports

-@RozysChirpFarm: Of course Hollander is the Morning Person. #AccurateMemeisAccurate

---

"Solnyshko! We are on BuzzFeed! We are famous!" 

Shane's brows furrowed, "We are already famous Ilya" 

“Yes, but now we are internet famous.” Ilya scrolled excitedly. “This is different... ecosystem.”

"Ooooh I hope they make quiz: "Which Best Hockey Player Are You? Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov?" Ilya chimed

“They wouldn’t just put the two of us,” Shane said automatically. “They’d probably put like… Scott Hunter and some others.”

Ilya looked horrified. “Scott Hunter? He is so old. That would be insult!”

“He’s thirty-four.”

“Exactly.” Ilya said smugly.

"Also this is very true" pointing at a comment "You are most morning person I know" 

"I'm not that bad, I just like to start off the day with a run" Shane retorted

"Shane, at cottage I woke up at seven in the morning and you were reorganizing those kitchen spices! Like you said from 'alphabetical' to 'by cuisine'. At seven in morning Shane!" 

“Well... I was wanting to reorganize them the day before but you distracted me” 

“You got package from amazon and you were excited to use it! I wake up and you had little label maker shipped, it was so cute!"

Ilya barked out another laugh as Shane buried his face deeper into the blanket with a 'harumph' noise. The sound settled warmly into the room. Nothing like earlier. Ilya looked over at him then, really looked. At the way Shane’s eyes no longer darted toward his own phone every few seconds. At the way his shoulders stayed relaxed beneath the blanket. At the way he was arguing now instead of spiraling. He was present. Still a little overwhelmed, but anchored again.

"I love you solnyshko" he beamed

And Ilya had the sudden urge to bite Shane. He once googled this, because sometimes the sensation was overwhelming. One time when Shane was standing for the Canadian National Anthem, all Ilya wanted to do was skate over and bite his nose. In the search bar he typed: "Why do I want to bite person I am attracted to and sometimes dogs" and found out it is called cuteness aggression. 

Ilya refrained...for now and continued scrolling: 

---

@DUOLINGO ✓⃝:

-@neutralzoneangel: The corporations are on board

-@mtlsticktap: Literally Me!

ESPN ✓⃝: 🔗Rivals or Roommates? Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov spotted at Grocery Store in Montreal

-@voyageurspuckpick: What the hell?

-@BostonsCreaseGremlin: PR Stunt 100%

-@HockeyStud1979: Who the hell goes Grocery Shopping like this? What are they hiding?

         -@puckdropchaos: If they were hiding something why would they take this photo?

-@JeanVJeanie: I go to school with Mathieu he said they were really nice! 

---

Shane groaned a little uneasily next to Ilya

"There is always going to be talk Shane, we are ok. And this guy is right!" Ilya said pointing at @puckdropchaos' comment; "We weren't hiding, we have valid excuse of snowstorm and we were careful"

Ilya could feel Shane’s jaw tense beside him and decided to scroll past the bullshit before Shane could start cataloging every comment into some internal threat assessment matrix. More replies blurred upward as he scrolled.

Most were stupid. Some genuinely funny. Occasionally they hit a little too close to home. But Ilya could work with that. 

---

@SFBART ✓⃝: All the more reason to ride Public Transport

-@SanJoseSharks ✓⃝: At least get our guys in the meme!

-@SFSealions ✓⃝: Tell me about it! 

-@HlndrHockeyNews: Other teams being salty is highkey hilarious 

@puckmageddon: Why do they look like divorced dads forced to reconnect through shared custody of a crockpot?

@Fashionistyah reposted 🔁: It's literally so true

-@CharisH: Amen to this

-@goalhornrat: Hollzy absolutely handed Roz his wallet to hold because his coat “had better pocket distribution”

-@mtlpuckchaos: Roz looks like the type to lose his keys twice a week and Hollander would be annoyed about it

-@feralhabsfan: Meanwhile Hollander probably owns seventeen tiny organizational pouches

@HOFORHOLLANDER: Do they have a shared Notes app grocery list yes or no?

-@HollanovStan: This is cinema actually.

-@PenaltyBoxBabe: The domesticity is becoming impossible to ignore

-@souponside: Character development ❤️

-@SportsGuyReal: I’m begging you all to remember they are professional athletes.

-@InTheCreasewithKev: This is perfffff

-@PuckProbs: ☠️☠️Ded! ☠️☠️

---

Ilya made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

“Oh my god,” Shane muttered immediately, dragging the blanket higher over the lower half of his face.

“You did ask me if we needed cilantro,” Ilya pointed out helpfully.

“That is not the point.” Shane muttered from under his blanket

“It is a little bit the point.” 

Shane glared at him over the blanket but Ilya could see the mirth in his eyes.

Ilya smiled instantly.

There he is.

Still embarrassed, yes. Still overwhelmed probably. But he was here. Enjoying this, at least a little. Not disappearing inside himself. Not spiraling so far ahead into possible consequences that he stopped existing in the present with Ilya entirely.

The realization settled warmly in Ilya’s chest.

Because earlier tonight Shane had been sitting on the kitchen floor struggling to breathe through the weight of too many possibilities crashing into him at once. Now he was hiding inside a blanket arguing about cilantro.

Progress.

Carefully, casually enough that it would not feel like scrutiny, Ilya let himself study him for another second. The tension in Shane’s shoulders had eased slightly since dinner. His breathing was slower now. Even the way he leaned against Ilya beneath the blanket had changed, unconscious and familiar instead of tight with vigilance.

Good.

Ilya knew better than to push too hard once Shane started finding his footing again. Shane hated feeling handled. Managed. Observed too closely when he was already overwhelmed.

So instead, Ilya nudged their knees together lightly and kept scrolling through the memes like this was normal. Like they were just two idiots on a couch after dinner. Which, technically, they were. Only now the internet apparently believed they were divorced fathers shopping for soup ingredients during a snowstorm.

And honestly, there were worse narratives.

---

@MemesDaily: And another one… 

-@PauliesWalnuts: This is anti-Italian discrimination 😂

    -@HockeyHavenIRL: “This rivalry sponsored by gravity.”

-@LemonsandLace: “Pasta sauce seeing a fresh white shirt: 👁️👄👁️”

@TheInquisitor: 🔗“Rivals Or Reconciling After The Divorce?” Secrets Behind Their Decade Long Romance

   -@HollanovStan: I’ve been saying this since 2011 and everyone called me insane.

              -@PucksOverFeelings: You people see two men standing near each other and start planning a wedding.

                        -@ActualSportsFan: The internet has destroyed the concept of friendship.

@MentallyatCostco: Divorced Dads Club

@Costco ✓⃝ reshared this: 🔁 We support this 

        -@mtlmatters: The Costco social media admin resharing is CRAZY work.

               -@PuckBunnyCentral: costco admin said: "gay rights actually"

                       -@BeyondtheShift: This is not helping the allegations.

-@PenaltyBoxBabe: They absolutely argued over paper towel brands 10 minutes before this.

-@RealSportsTalk: I miss when hockey discourse was about hockey.

@TheCut ✓⃝: Meme about a Meme

-@Hollanov2481: That kitty wants his cucumber! 

@LetsBeSoFRFR: Anyone else struggling with the new AirPods?

-@HollandersHot: Accurate

-@weirdlyinvested: Yeah but sometimes AirPods WANT to be in a toilet 

@WILDCATSFOREVER: Enemies to Lovers Trope

-@TroyandGabriellestan: This is perfection and I barely know hockey

-@HollanovTruthrrrr: It could happen

@OneTruePuck: I said what I said…

-@habs4life: No because the sexual tension in one grocery store photo could power Montreal for a week

-@nattylightning: They look like divorced dads reconnecting through soup

-@BlueLineBitch: Y’all are weird. Maybe they’re just friends??

-@Bigpuckenergy: Counterpoint: no heterosexual man has ever looked that fondly at another man holding grocery bags 

                    -@HollanovTruther: and we are here for it. 

                    -@HollandersFreckles: honestly if this is a romcom I support their journey

                    -@icedcoffeeandicing: not to sound insane but this photo healed something in me

                    -@Hollanov4Ever: i support whatever weird little domestic thing they have going on          

                    -@lesbians4hockey: your honor they are literally co-parenting reusable bags

---

SHANE POV: 

Shane groaned and dragged both hands over his face, the familiar tension beginning to creep back into his shoulders and neck.

Meanwhile, beside him, Ilya immediately lost composure. “Oh my god,” he laughed, dropping backward dramatically into the couch cushions.

Which honestly just annoyed Shane further.

How could he possibly be laughing right now?

“This is a nightmare, Ilya,” Shane said, staring down at the screen again. “It’s like they know.”

“No, solnyshko, this is…” Ilya huffed, still grinning. “Internet cinema.”

Shane shot him an accusing look and then glanced back at his stupidly relaxed boyfriend who was clearly not taking this seriously enough.

“Baby,” Shane said helplessly, “I genuinely do not understand how you’re laughing at this.”

The grin on Ilya’s face softened instantly at the word baby. He reached over beneath the blanket and squeezed Shane’s knee lightly.

“Because there will always be this, Shane,” Ilya said gently, gesturing vaguely toward the endless stream of opinions. “People on internet always make stories. It is one opinion of many.”

Ilya handed Shane the phone “just look solnyshko”. 

“Yeah, but…” Shane frowned and tilted the phone closer to him.

He could feel Ilya watching him carefully beside him, but not intrusively. Just present and steady. Shane inhaled slowly through his nose and forced himself to actually read instead of react.

Okay. You can do this. Ilya is here. It's not the end of the world. It's just some stupid tweets. 

He scrolled upward again. Then back down. Reading more carefully this time. And suddenly something clicked into place.

“They…” Shane frowned slightly. “Most of these people don’t actually think we’re together.”

Ilya hummed beside him.

“No. Some yes. Most no.”

Shane kept scrolling.

A lot of the comments were jokes. Memes. People projecting dynamics onto them because the internet liked doing that to athletes and celebrities constantly. Some people thought they were secretly dating. Some thought hockey fans had collectively lost their minds. Some thought it was PR. Some just thought it was funny. Some called them divorced dads. 

And weirdly…it helped.

Because the reactions weren’t unified. There wasn’t some massive unavoidable consensus forming around them. It was just noise. Thousands of people throwing interpretations at a photograph because that was what the internet did. The data set was too broad. Too inconsistent. Which meant he didn’t actually need to control it. That realization loosened something unexpectedly in his chest. And buried underneath all the noise were also people being… Nice. Supportive even.

They were… entertained. Curious. Weirdly invested in the possibility of happiness between two people they didn’t even know.

Shane paused on one comment a little longer than the others.

@PucksAndKisses:
okay but they genuinely look happy??? like soft happy???

Something shifted strangely inside him reading that.

Soft happy?

Beside him, Ilya had rested his chin against Shane’s shoulder at some point while they scrolled, one hand still warm against Shane’s leg like he had absolutely no intention of moving it anytime soon.

Shane exhaled slowly. Measured. Intentional.

And maybe Ilya was right.

Maybe this wasn’t catastrophe.

Maybe this was just visibility.

And maybe those weren’t the same thing after all.

——— 

Beside him, Ilya shifted slightly, pressing closer until Shane could feel the warmth of him fully along his side beneath the blanket.

“See?” Ilya said softly after another moment. “World did not explode.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Shane, moya milaya gorgul'ya(my sweet gargoyle).” Ilya snorted. “We are ok. We will talk to your mom, and get good statement. It is easily explained, just like whole team knows”. 

“I know” Shane looked back down at Ilya’s phone in his hand. 

“I know too.” Ilya’s voice stayed gentle. “Look at me solnyshko.”

He reached over and nudged the phone downward slightly so Shane would look at him instead. Staring back at him were beautiful blue-green eyes. He wished he always had this gorgeous of a view while worrying about the world.

“You think if one day we tell people, everyone suddenly becomes monsters?”

Shane’s mouth tightened faintly. Not because he fully believed that. But because part of him had always prepared for the possibility anyway. He saw as Ilya tracked the thought on his face immediately.

“Some people maybe,” Ilya admitted with a small shrug. “Internet always has idiots. Hockey especially has idiots.” He paused. “But there are also…” he gestured vaguely toward the phones again, “…all these people.”

Shane glanced back down at the screen instinctively.

People laughing.

People making memes.

People arguing.

People calling them cute.

People insisting they were definitely just friends.

People insisting no straight man had ever looked that fondly at another person holding reusable grocery bags.

The reactions blurred together into something strangely human.

Messy. Contradictory. Absolutely, undeniably human. 

Shane found himself exhaling slowly through his nose. Beneath the blanket, Ilya’s thumb brushed slowly back and forth against Shane’s knee in an absent rhythm that somehow grounded him more effectively than any breathing exercise ever had. Shane leaned into it unconsciously. Ilya reached up with his other hand then and cupped Shane’s jaw gently before leaning in to scatter light kisses across his face. When Ilya pulled back, Shane caught the look in his eyes immediately. There was no scrutiny there, nor assessment, just recognition. Like Ilya looked at him and saw all of him at once. The panic from earlier. The embarrassment. The part of Shane still bracing instinctively for consequences. The part trying to logic his way through uncertainty. The part secretly relieved to still be sitting here laughing about memes instead of drowning in fear. Ilya always looked at him like none of those things cancelled each other out. 

“And yes,” Ilya added, grinning now, “most people seem to think this is PR stunt anyway.”

“A PR stunt,” Shane repeated flatly.

“Yes.”

“For what exactly?”

Ilya gestured vaguely toward the kitchen.

“Soup.”

That startled a laugh out of Shane before he could stop it.

“We are not promoting soup!”

“We could,” Ilya offered. “I think we have strong market with divorced fathers demographic.”

Shane dropped his forehead briefly against Ilya’s shoulder, laughing quietly despite himself.

“Pike liked it,” Ilya chirped. “And he is future divorced father.”

“Hey,” Shane nudged him immediately. “Don’t joke.”

“Oh, you think Pike can keep beautiful woman like his with bad hockey and video gaming skills alone?”

Shane barked out a surprised laugh. “That is incredibly rude.”

“It is incredibly true.”

“Jackie adores him.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed solemnly. “Because she is saint.”

Shane shook his head, still smiling into Ilya’s shoulder. "Yeah she kind of is" 

Ilya grinned and nudged his knee beneath the blanket.

“Ugh... Ok... I like Pike,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “He loves you very loudly.”

The words settled softly into Shane’s chest.

Because Hayden did. Always had. There had never been anything restrained about Hayden’s loyalty. It existed openly. Almost casually. Like it was expected, like breathing. Like showing up for Shane was the easiest thing in the world. Shane sometimes forgot not everyone loved that way until Hayden reminded him.

“You like him because he loves me?” Shane asked quietly.

Ilya looked at him like the answer should have been obvious.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I will love anyone that loves you like that, every version of you, because it means they truly know you.”

God. This man is everything. 

Something in Shane’s chest tightened painfully at that. Because most people loved versions of him. Carefully edited pieces.

The captain.

The prodigy.

The composed one.

The dependable one.

The good one.

The easy version.

But the people Shane trusted most in the world were always the people who had somehow found their way past all of that anyway.

Hayden with his loud uncomplicated loyalty.

And Ilya—

Ilya, who looked at Shane sometimes like he could see every hidden frightened complicated piece of him all at once and had somehow decided to stay anyway.

Shane leaned forward slightly and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Ilya’s mouth.

“You’re very sentimental tonight,” he murmured.

Ilya grinned immediately.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Near-death experience of falling on ice and then the great cilantro scandal changed me forever.”

Shane snorted and shoved lightly at his shoulder.

“Idiot.”

“Your idiot.” Ilya grinned.

"Yeah, my idiot" as Shane kissed him again.

Earlier tonight everything had felt sharp around the edges. Dangerous. Like one photograph had somehow tilted his entire world sideways. But sitting here now with Ilya warm against him beneath the blanket, internet chaos humming harmlessly through their phones while they argued about memes and PR theories and cilantro… it suddenly felt smaller somehow.

Manageable.

Not because the fear had disappeared entirely. It hadn’t. But because Shane was slowly realizing something he had maybe never fully allowed himself to consider before. If this eventually became public one day… that he would not actually be alone inside it. The realization settled carefully into his chest. The fear remained, only now it existed alongside something gentler. Something hopeful.

Beside him, Ilya rested his forehead briefly against Shane’s temple.

“And for record,” he murmured softly, “if world ever gets access to full us? They will love me.”

Shane hummed. “They would absolutely love the real you Ilya.”

“I know.”

“They’d tolerate me.” Shane mumbled

Ilya pulled back just enough to stare at him in genuine disbelief.

“Shane Hollander. Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“You are beautiful hockey prince with sad eyes and best freckles. People have built shrines for you.”

That startled another helpless laugh out of Shane. And maybe that was the strangest part of all of this. Not the memes or the speculation or even the visibility. It was realizing that every time fear threatened to pull him under, Ilya somehow kept guiding him gently back toward them instead. Back toward the couch beneath the blanket. Back toward laughter. Back toward warm hands resting against his leg and stupid arguments about cilantro and the steady presence of someone who saw far too much and stayed anyway. Ilya never let fear become the only thing in the room between them. He wouldn’t let it. There was always something else alongside it.

Humor. Warmth. Acceptance. Love, threaded stubbornly through every moment of panic until Shane could finally breathe around it again.

And maybe that was the real mortifying ordeal of being known. Not visibility itself. Not even the possibility of being perceived publicly. It was allowing another person to see every fearful, overthinking, tightly controlled part of you so completely and realizing they loved you more because of it, not despite it. It scared Shane for a very long time. It kept Ilya at arms length for far too long. It even kept him from telling Hayden. But in the past six months, much of that had changed, and Shane was the better for it. So maybe, just maybe he could be known a little more and that would be okay. 

Chapter End Notes

I hope you liked it! If you did: write a comment! If you didn't: write about it in your journal!

I had to remember it's not 2026 and did SEVERAL current meme vibes and then went back and did more 2016-ish phrases like "Highkey" and "And another one..." So alas no mogging and looksmaxxing memes.

Chapter 14: The Blizzardening

Chapter Summary

Snowed in during "The Blizzardening," Cliff volunteers for pizza duty and spends the walk realizing he's been watching Shane and Ilya's love story unfold for years without knowing it. By the time he reaches the condo, he knows exactly what kind of friend he wants to be.

Chapter Notes

Hello my cuties!

Oh my goodness! I can only apologize for the quite frankly INSANE delay of updating. Trust me when I say I never forgot about it! But life has been... life-ing.

I fully intended to update this weeks ago before my work trip and vacation but life had other plans.

Here is a little Cliff POV chapter!

I know how I want this to end. And I have a fun epilogue written, now I just need to get the in-betweensies!

Chapter 14: The Blizzardening

Cliff was starting to regret not staying at the hotel. He liked Béatrice just fine, but she was a nurse, which meant she had been called into work despite the blizzard currently swallowing most of Montreal whole. The news anchors had started referring to it as “Snow-pocalypse”, “Snow-mageddon”, and, most offensively, “The Blizzardening”. That last one made Cliff cringe every single time it was delivered in that grave, polished, end-of-days anchor voice usually reserved for elections, royal deaths, and asteroid impacts. 

Apparently this storm qualified. Which was how Cliff found himself alone in his Montreal hookup's apartment watching a weather reporter dramatically gesture at snow that was, admittedly Cliff thought… pretty dramatic. 

“Hmmph, The Blizzardening," Cliff scoffed to himself.

The reporter repeated it. Cliff immediately changed channels. Different station and the same damn graphic flashed across the screen. 

Cliff groaned as he grabbed his phone and opened the Bears group chat just to do something… anything… else.

—— 🏒🐻BOSTON BEARS BOYSSSSSS🐻🏒—— 

Marley:
If they call this shit the Blizzardening one more fucking time...

Carmichael:
I kinda like it.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Geez, Carmikey you would!

Marley:
What are you losers doing?

Carmichael:
Trying not to murder my roommate.

Shellsy:
Hey fucker! I'm your roommate!

Carmichael:
Why are you typing this when I'm in the bed right next to you?

Shellsy:
🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Speak for yourself. Boiziau's place is sweet.

Aud:
Honestly I'm having a great time being back at home. But my parents still haven't changed my bedroom from high school.

Marley:
So Care Bears sheets or what Audi? 🤣

Aud:
STFU Marley. They are just green. But I am sleeping in a twin bed surrounded by participation trophies.

Carmichael:
You would have participation trophies Audiiiii 🤣 Pics or it didn't happen.

Aud:
Absolutely not.

Marley:
Meanwhile I'm trapped alone in a nurse's apartment watching reruns of Degrassi and the news

Carmichael:
Next Generation or the Original?

Shellsy:
The fuck is a Degrassi?

Marley:
Fucking Americans 🙄

Carmichael:
We are never rooming together again Shellsy 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 #JTandLiberty4ever

Cliff laughed, although the sound felt oddly loud in the empty apartment.

The weather reporter was still gesturing dramatically on mute. Cliff watched her brace herself against another gust and wondered whether Béatrice would even make it home tonight. She had texted him ten minutes earlier to say the hospital had already asked staff to prepare for the possibility of staying overnight. He suddenly felt weird being in her apartment without her, more than with her… he was also bored out of his mind.

His phone buzzed again.

—— 🏒🐻BOSTON BEARS BOYSSSSSS🐻🏒—— 

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Marley, is your girl's place near Hollander's? Boiziau's is only about a mile away from there. We could probably meet up again?

Aud:
Booooooooo. No. I have FOMO. 

Carmichael:
No no let him cook I’m bored AF at the hotel.

Carmichael:
Is Boiziau's place big enough for some of us at the hotel to come?

'Vicky' St. Simon:
No.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
But Hollander's is.

Carmichael:
👀

Connors:
👀👀👀

Shellsy:
👀👀👀👀👀

Roz :
Absolutely not.

Carmichael:
Why not Cap? C’mon

Marley:
Hollzy likes peace and quiet, guys.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
He also likes me!

Roz:
That's not what I've heard.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Rude.

Carmichael:
Cap ask Hollander if we can come hang? Hotel is getting boring AF.

Marley:
...

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Roz, make more soup! Boiziau and Hollzy can invite Pike back over so we can laugh more at his shitty MLH 7 skills.

Shellsy:
Oh shit.

Shellsy:
Hollander's got MLH 7?

Shellsy:
I bet his place is a fucking palace.

Roz:
No. He lives in tiny hovel.

Roz:
No room for whole team. 🖕

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Hollzy's place is mostly normal looking.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
But it's not small, Roz, c'mon.

Connors:
Party at Hollzy's!

Marley:
You don’t get to call him Hollzy Connors! You’ve never even talked to him off the ice.

Connors:
Then why do you guys? 

Marley:
Because I said, and I have the A! Guys, maybe not a great idea. The rest of the Voyageurs are gonna be pissed.

Carmichael:
Wait. Roz how you dealing with all the internet bullshit? How’s Hollander?

Roz:
Is good. Is all bullshit internet. 

Connors:
Gotta admit though it’s weird you two are friends

Roz:
And yet I call you friend and you are terrible. 

Cliff stared at the screen.

He'd known Ilya was seeing someone more seriously for months.

Jane. 

At the time that was all Cliff had known. A name. For years, a few mysteriously blocked-off evenings. But this season was different. The occasional "can't tonight" whenever the team wanted to go out after a game became a known response almost every night. 

Then yesterday had happened.

Jane… Roz’s Montreal girl that made him blush and smile that specific smile had become Shane.

The Shane Hollander.

Looking back, Cliff almost laughed at himself. The way Roz always disappeared whenever Boston played in Montreal or vice versa. It all seemed painfully obvious now.

What caught Cliff's attention was how quickly he'd shut down the idea of everyone coming over.

Absolutely not.

Protective. 

Cliff smiled to himself.

That was new.

Roz had never really been like that before.

Hell, a couple of years ago Cliff had accidentally hooked up with a woman Roz had seen the week before. When they realized it over breakfast, Ilya had simply shrugged, made coffee for both of them, and asked if Cliff wanted eggs.

There had never been jealousy. Never any territorial bullshit. If anything, Ilya had always been almost suspiciously relaxed.

But this...

It was different.

Like he'd instinctively decided Shane's apartment was their space before he'd even had time to think about it.

Possessive bastard.

Cliff's grin widened.

Cliff’s phone pinged and a new chat popped up.

——🍲SOUP BOYS 🍲——

'Vicky' St. Simon created group

'Vicky' St. Simon changed group name to 🍲SOUP BOYS 🍲

'Vicky' St. Simon added ‘Marley’, ‘Roz’, ‘JJ’

‘JJ’ added ‘Pike’, ‘Hollzy’
 

Marley:
🍲🍲🍲🍲🍲🍲

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Soup Boys need a reunion?

Roz:
Do not call us that.

Hollzy:
The Soup Boys? 

JJ:
🤦🏾‍♂️🤦🏾‍♂️🤦🏾‍♂️🤦🏾‍♂️🤦🏾‍♂️

Pike:
SOUP BOYS? I’m kinda here for it tho.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
LIKE A SECRET CLERRRB

Roz:
I hate every single one of you.

Marley:
😆😆😆😆😆😆

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Hollzy would you want a rematch? But with like more bears? They are getting squirrelly at the hotel.

Hollzy:
The entire team?

Roz:
Vicky I will kill you. I said no already. 

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Not just like

'Vicky' St. Simon:
half 😜

Roz:
Vicky you are now my least favorite on team. Worse than Carmichael

——ROZ CAP 🫡——

Marley: Hey Cap! This might be a good thing. Get the heat off of you and Hollzy

Roz: Fine 🙄 

Marley: I’m serious. Maybe invite a few Voyageurs and see if we can make this a thing.

—— 🏒🐻BOSTON BEARS BOYSSSSSS🐻🏒—— 

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Texting Hollzy since Cap is being a troll that won’t let us pass his bridge.

Roz:
I hope hotel collapses.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
I’m at JJ’s fine with me 😜

Carmichael:
Fuck off.

Roz:
I will not make soup for whole team.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Hollzy said we’re good to gooooooo.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
But give him an hour.

Connors:
LETS GOOOOOOOO

Aud:
ROAD TRIP

Marley:
It's literally a blizzard.

Aud:
BLIZZARD TRIP

Roz:
You all owe me money from bet.

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Seriously though...

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Are you making more soup?

Roz:
No.

Roz:
Hollander says he can pick up pizza down hill.

Roz:
Or I order and one of you fuckers pick it up.

Carmichael:
Make famous soup.

Roz:
Never in my life will I make soup for you Carmichael.

Carmichael:
Wow.

Carmichael:
Hostile work environment.

Marley was reading over the text humming and laughing to himself when he had a thought and swiped to the Soup Boys chat

——🍲SOUP BOYS 🍲——

Marley:
I can pick up the Pizza come over a little early and help set up

'Vicky' St. Simon:
Hollzy you need anything from us?

Roz:
We maybe need more 100 hour candles

Hollzy:
STFU

Marley:
Any other Voyageurs coming?

Pike:
Invite went out. Looks like Mitty’s coming

——ROZ CAP 🫡——

Marley: Please tell me more than just Pike, Boiziau and Mitty are coming to Hollzy’s from his team

Roz: What do you expect. Montreal are dicks

Marley: Fuck dude. You need anything else?

Marley: I’ll pick up 5 pepperonis, 3 combos, 1 hawaiian, 1 vegetarian, 1 cheese for fucking Carmichael. 

Roz: Salad

Marley:
😂

Roz:
I am serious.

Marley:
...you're becoming him.

Roz:
Fuck you. It’s for him. Hollander will not eat pizza. 

Marley:

That’s fucking adorable.

Roz:
🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

Marley:
How much is he going to make you eat?

Roz:
If I eat it’s because I want it.

Marley:

Cap, I’ve known you since you were a Rook and I’ve never seen you eat a Salad until yesterday and now I’m about to watch you eat one for two days in a row 

Marley:

Cliff laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.

Yep. Roz had it bad.

Good.

Honestly... Cliff was happy for him.

He thought back over the last few months and then over the last few years and about ‘Jane’.

Always Jane.

The last few months Roz went from secretly smiling at his phone and blushing on occasion to being more openly ‘unavailable’

"I've got plans."

"Can't tonight."

"Already promised Jane."

At first Cliff was surprised, because Roz was always flaunting the women he went home with. But Jane remained mysterious. 

Then Jane had become Shane.

Shane Hollander.

Cliff smiled to himself.

Honestly, Roz could do a hell of a lot worse.

The guy was one hell of a hockey player. Maybe the best in the world, although Cliff would rather eat a skate than ever admit that out loud.

But that wasn't really it.

Shane always seemed... decent.

He played the game the right way. Didn't dive. Didn't throw cheap shots. Didn't seem interested in becoming a star, he just was one. Every interview Cliff had ever seen, Shane somehow managed to redirect the attention back to his teammates, even when the reporters were practically begging him to make himself the story.

That inadvertently endeared him to Cliff.

Then there was...

Well. Everything else.

The bastard looked like he belonged on magazine covers.

Somehow he'd made it this many years in the MHL with every tooth still in his head, modeled for Rolex, and every couple of months another website would put out some list of Hottest Hockey Players and at the top was always Shane fucking Hollander.

Of course Roz picked that guy.

Cliff snorted to himself.

Honestly, if he were into men...

Yeah. He got it. The dude was… stunning. 

Cliff looked toward the window again.

The weather reporter hadn't been exaggerating. Snow was coming down sideways now, whipping between the buildings so hard he could barely see the apartment across the street.

His phone buzzed.

Béatrice:
Hospital's making up beds for staff. I probably won't be home tonight ❤️

Cliff frowned.

Nobody should be driving.

Nobody in their right mind would voluntarily leave the apartment.

Which meant, naturally...

Half the Boston Bears were about to march through a blizzard to Shane Hollander's living room.

He opened his contacts and hit Béatrice's name.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hey."

He tried to sound cheerful.

"So... probably not making it home tonight?"

A tired sigh answered him.

"Honestly? No. Maybe tomorrow. It's getting pretty bad out there."

"...Mind if I borrow your scarf and hat?"

"...Cliff."

"What?" he said, already smiling.

"Please tell me you're not going out in this."

"It's not that far. I'm just walking up the road to grab pizza, then heading over to Hollzy's place."

"...Hollzy?"

Cliff smiled.

He liked talking to Béatrice. And, admittedly, Cliff was a gossip. Not about serious things. About harmless things. 

Like Aud flossing in bed every night even though everyone thought it was disgusting. Or the rookie who was so homesick he found an excuse to fly back to Buffalo every off day. Or the time Carmichael asked the social media guy to watch his pet lizard, it almost certainly died, got replaced with an entirely different lizard twice the size, and Carmichael spent three weeks proudly telling everyone, "Guess he just had a really good shed and grew.”

That kind of gossip.

Not this.

"Yeah... Shane Hollander," Cliff said carefully. "He's letting a few of the Bears crash there since everybody's losing their minds at the hotel."

He wasn't about to tell anyone it was only Roz there and why.

"Shane Hollander?" Béatrice asked.

"The hockey player?"

Cliff snorted.

"Yeah. I mean... I’m a hockey player it’s not that...”

"Cliff." She cut him off

"What?"

"He's not just another hockey player."

“…What?”

"I'm serious." She “scoffed “He's basically a god.”.

"Hey. What the fuck?"

Béatrice laughed. "You know what I mean.”

He smiled despite himself as he reached for her scarf by the door.

“He’s just a dude Bea.”

“Well next time you’re in town, I wanna meet that dude. He’s… Canadian royalty” 

Cliff shook his head and attempted a sound of offense. But he knew exactly what she meant. 

"Have fun storming the castle."

"I'm storming a condo."

“No way does the Canadian Prince of Hockey live in a Condo.”

He laughed “I’ll bring your scarf back."

"You'd better." She joked “Be careful, Cliff."

"I will."

He ended the call, pulled on the borrowed scarf, grabbed his wallet, and headed for the door.

Outside, the wind immediately tried to convince him this had been a terrible idea.

———

The second Cliff stepped outside, he understood why every news station in Canada had collectively lost its goddamn mind.

The wind hit him hard enough to make him stumble.

"Jesus Christ."

Snow immediately found its way down the back of his collar. Six blocks. It was only six blocks. Just a normal walk. Tonight it felt like hiking across the goddamn Arctic. By the time he reached the pizza place his cheeks were numb and he'd already questioned every life decision that had led him to this fateful walk.

The little neighborhood pizza shop somehow still had its OPEN sign glowing.

A handwritten piece of paper was taped to the register.

YES WE ARE OPEN.

YES WE STILL DELIVER.

NO WE DON'T KNOW WHY.

Cliff laughed.

"Pickup for Marley."

The teenage cashier looked him over.

"You walked?"

"...Apparently."

Five minutes later Cliff was back outside balancing an unreasonable amount of pizza.

Five pepperonis. Three combos. One Hawaiian. One vegetarian. One enormous salad.

Because apparently Shane Hollander ate vegetables on purpose.

The wind immediately tried to steal the salad.

"Oh, absolutely not." He tucked it tighter against the stack.

As he started toward Shane's condo, the city was quiet. Snow swallowed sound. The small bit of traffic was slower. The sidewalks nearly empty.

It reminded him of Christmas mornings back home when he was a kid. Four older sisters still asleep upstairs for once. His dad already outside clearing the driveway before anyone else woke up. His mom humming in the kitchen while cinnamon rolls baked.

The whole world seemed to pause when enough snow fell. Maybe that was why everyone wanted to be together tonight. Nobody wanted to be alone.

His thoughts drifted back to Ilya.

Roz.

God.

Six years.

Six years of him teasing Roz about his ‘Montreal Girl… Jane’.

Jane, Jane, Jane.

“Jane and I are not… serious.”

“Jane lives too far we cannot be anything Marley”

“Jane is very into health”

“Jane has a very important job, she is best at it” 

The son of a bitch had been telling the truth the whole time.

Just...

Not all of it.

Cliff smiled despite himself. He wasn't even mad. Honestly, it was kind of impressive. Then another thought settled in:

He'd spent the quite a lot of time thinking about his niece.

Thinking about the MHL.

Thinking about rookie Ilya.

Thinking about rookie Shane.

Thinking about how terrifying this had to be for them.

Now another question kept following him through the snow.

How do I help?

Not by pretending nothing had changed. Obviously, something had.

He knew now. He didn’t know if he was the ONLY one who knew. 

No. That felt impossible. This thing had been going on for years. 

Did Pike know? 

“Fuck” he muttered, half from the cold, half from the bewilderment of the situation

Helping meant acting exactly the same.

So Cliff ran through a mental checklist. 

No staring.

Don’t make them explain themselves.

Remind Roz to move his bag.

Don’t make them explain themselves.

Be cool.

Don’t make them explain themselves.

If somebody starts asking questions... Ask Carmichael about literally anything so he drones on.

Don’t make them explain themselves.

Ugh…. Cliff really wanted to know how it all happened. How they got together. How long really? How? When? What?

Cliff loved stories.

Always had.

Maybe that was growing up with four older sisters. Maybe it was just who he was.

He loved hearing them.

Loved telling them.

Loved reading the little "How We Met" pages whenever one of the fiancees of his teammates made a wedding website.

And these two?

Jesus.

This would've been his favorite story of all time.

He wanted to know everything.

The first conversation.

The first text.

Who kissed who.

Whether one of them had spent years being too stubborn to admit it.

He wanted every ridiculous detail.

But...

It wasn't his story. 

Hell, he'd spent an entire roadie telling everyone about the time Carmichael accidentally replied "Love you" to the arena plumber after they were saying their goodbyes when vacating for the season. Carmichael insisted it had been muscle memory. Nobody let him live it down for three months.

That was funny. That belonged to everybody.

This...

This belonged to Shane and Ilya.

So Cliff would be good and wait for whenever they wanted to tell it.

If they wanted to tell it.

Until then... It stayed with the people they'd trusted. Simple as that.

Even if he did want to know every crazy happenstance that ed to these two becoming… playlist making little loverboys! This was like one of his sister Katherine’s hallmark movies or some shit. 

The thought settled something inside him. He adjusted the pizzas against his chest.

He knew he needed to adjust his expectations. He knew he loved to tell stories and that Roz knew he loved to tell stories. 

His latest anecdote he'd loved telling was about Carmichael spending twenty minutes looking for his phone while using the flashlight on that same phone to search for it. He said nothing the entire time, while Carmichael frustratingly chided him for not helping him look. 

A gust of wind nearly ripped the lid open on one of the boxes.

"Jesus... Only one more block…”

Another memory surfaced.

Rookie Ilya. Nineteen. Only a few months into the season. He could tell Roz was still translating more than half the words in his head before answering. One road trip, somebody had started chirping him because he'd mixed up sheet and shit.

The whole bus had erupted.

Except Cliff.

He'd just leaned across the aisle and said, "Buddy, English is my first language and I still sound like an idiot most days."

Roz had looked at him for a second.

Then laughed. Really laughed.

It had been the first genuine laugh Cliff had ever heard from him.

After that, Ilya had started sitting beside him on flights.

Cliff had always figured it was because he was easy. Easy to sit beside. Easy to talk to. Easy not to talk to because Cliff was content to listen to music or watch whatever movie was on. Maybe that was why this mattered so much. Somewhere along the way, without either of them ever saying it out loud... They'd become real friends. The kind where you didn't have to keep score.

Ilya… Roz… his Captain now was secretly a softie and Cliff had always known that. He suspected it’s why he refused to get serious about anyone. Roz liked taking care of the people he loved. As a rookie Ilya had learned everyone's coffee order before he could remember everyone's name.

Nobody asked him to. He'd just started showing up with an extra cup in the mornings.

One for Cliff. One for whoever had been first at the rink.

"Two cream?"

"I actually take one."

"...Tomorrow one cream."

And tomorrow it was perfect. By Christmas he'd memorized the whole rooms orders. 

Cliff grinned. 

There had been one road trip where Cliff found Ilya sitting alone with a little notebook. English on one side. Russian on the other. Whole pages of hockey slang.

Wheel.

Chirp.

Beauty.

Pylon.

Cliff had laughed when he saw "beauty."

"You know that's not actually calling somebody pretty, right?"

Ilya had looked genuinely horrified.

"...What?"

The two of them had spent the next hour filling three pages with hockey words and Cliff’s explanations of each. By the next season Roz was the chirping god among men. Having memorized the entire notebook and then some. The dude was smart as fuck and used it simply to be a menace. Anne Shirley would have called them “kindred spirits”. 

He still had about a thousand questions. He hoped one day they'd answer them. He also hoped they never felt like they had to. The condo building finally came into view through the snow. Warm light glowed from the lobby windows like a beacon. Cliff smiled.

Well.

Time to spend the Blizzardening with my favorite hockey player in the world...

...and Shane Hollander.

Chapter End Notes

I love Cliff and Ilya's friendship. They are so cute!

Chapter 15: Best Asshole

Chapter Summary

Cliff Marleau learns three important things during a Montreal blizzard:
Ilya Rozanov is disgustingly in love with Shane Hollander.
Shane Hollander owns an alarming amount of lube.
And apparently professional hockey players trapped in a condo will turn into middle schoolers the second you give them pizza, video games, Scattergories, and a sleepover.

Cliff knows their secret now and he's totally team Hollanov!

Chapter Notes

Hello my cuties!
I am finally FINALLY posting this chapter. This took awhile. Life is life-ing! A lot. But I promise "I would not leave you like this" I plan on finishing this as soon as I can. Please be patient with me <3 In the meantime, I want to say I appreciate all comments and all the love and for those of you who have shared their love of this fic on various social medias you are so sweet!

I love writing as Cliff but do not fret. Ilya and Shane POV's are coming back!

As a heads-up I re-read this chapter and noticed some formatting issues as well an idea that came to me as I re-read it so I added a few things as of Sept 8th, 2026

Chapter 15: Best Asshole

The elevator dinged. Cliff shifted the pizza boxes higher against his chest to free his hand and knock on the door. 

Before he could knock, it swung open.

Shane stood there in gray sweatpants and an old black hoodie that Cliff was almost positive belonged to Roz.

"Hey." Shane blinked. "...How are you already here?"

“Canadian determination? And… I walked”

"In that?" Shane balked

Cliff shrugged. "The Blizzardening is no match for me.”

That earned him exactly the kind of eye roll he'd hoped for.

"Come in before you catch something.” Shane worried

Shane is such a grandma.

Warm air hit him immediately. The condo smelled incredible. Something sweet with vanilla and cinnamon was being baked

“Marley” Ilya appeared around the corner carrying a mixing bowl and wearing an apron.

Roz looks like a grandma too.

Cliff took in the scene and chuckled to himself at the blaring domesticity of it all. 

“You made it here early.” Roz grinned that way too wide grin that rarely made appearances. 

“Hey, I brought enough pizza to feed a small country."

"Good." Roz gestured to the table for Cliff to put the boxes down.

Cliff put the tower of boxes down with Hollander’s sad salad teetering on top before bringing up the whole reason he hoofed it to the apartment early. 

"...Cap." He steeled himself to sound more serious. 

"What?" The grin on Roz’ face faltered

"...We uhhh… we need to talk."

Roz frowned. "...Now?"

"Yes."

Shane looked between them.

"I'll...  go put the next batch in the oven?” Shane grabbed the mixing bowl from Roz.

Marley raised his eyebrows at the adorable scene of his captain and his teams best known rival being so… familiar with each other. 

“Snickerdoodles” Roz said trying for matter-of-fact. “Is Shane’s dad’s recipe” a light blush going over the Russians face. 

Russians do not blush my ass…

The second Shane disappeared into the kitchen, Cliff grabbed Roz gently by the sleeve and steered him three feet toward the hallway.

"What?" Roz scowled

Cliff lowered his voice.

"You two have approximately..." He looked around the condo.

“…fifteen minutes before the whole team walks through that door."

"...Yes?"

"...Have you looked around this apartment?" 

Roz blinked. "...Apartment looks same."

"Oh my God." Cliff pinched the bridge of his nose. "The bag dude.”

"...What bag?" Roz looked around the living room 

“Your roadie bag."

Roz’s eyes widened. "...Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Cliff said sarcastically 

Roz frowned then started off down the hall towards the main bedroom. Cliff heard Roz muffling to himself in Russian which usually meant a string of insults to himself and he emerged carrying his duffel bag looking distressed and a little embarrassed. 

"I am idiot.” Roz shook his head in disbelief 

“Dude, it’s fine. But luckily everyone else yesterday was a dumbass…”

Roz hurried it into the guest bedroom.

Cliff followed after him. Roz was putting his bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. 

“Ok…step one” Cliff said. 

Then his eyes drifted to the bed that was clearly not slept in. He looked at Roz who was staring at the frankly insane amount of pillows and he ruffled the blanket a bit and dislodged several of the pillows to make it look lived in. 

“What the fuck is with all these pillows?” Cliff said

Roz started to chuckle. “I know, I told him is crazy amount of pillows”

Cliff looked around the guest room at the images on the wall filled with Shane. "...Jesus." As he grabbed one of the decorative pillows.

"Hollzy!" Cliff yelled. "Why does your guest bed have enough throw pillows to build a fucking fort?"

From the living room Shane called back, “Shut up! I don't know! My decorator did it!”

Roz grinned. “I told you solnyshko, is crazy amount of pillows no one has this many pillows”

Hollander appeared in the doorway looking a little harried 

“What are you doing… oh fuck.”

Cliff saw as realization dawned on Hollander’s face. His doe eyes widening as he took in the scene and Ilya’s roadie bag. 

“Jesus, Cliff… we… didn’t even think…” as he looked back and forth between Cliff and Ilya and then down the hallway at his own bedroom.

“That’s why I came early.” Cliff said “I know and I don’t care. But someone might and well… you gotta be smarter than this guys”. 

Cliff noticed them looking at each other. Hollzy had watery eyes. 

“Marley… uhhh it’s… just that...” Hollander stammered

Cliff could see the panic behind his eyes

“—I don’t care” Cliff interrupted what he assumed would be a spiral of excuses and justifications for the bag being in his room. 

“I…” Now Cliff was stammering, “My… my niece is gay… uhhh queer… sorry… Just I don’t care, love who you love… not that I’m… I mean fuck who you want”

“We love each other…” Roz was not interrupting him and beaming at Hollander. 

“Very much” as Roz walked around Cliff to grab Hollanders hand.

Roz was beaming at Shane and Shane was fighting a small smile

“You won’t tell anyone right?” Hollander was looking at him

“No… I would never. Guys… I’m cool with it!” Cliff tried again.

Jesus, why did saying I’m cool with it immediately make him sound like someone who was absolutely not cool with it?

“Like… I don’t care. At all. You’re you. He’s him. You guys are…” Cliff gestured between them. “Together. Great. Love that for you.”

Love that for you? Jesus Christ.

Rozy’s mouth twitched. At least one of them was enjoying Cliff’s slow death.

“I just don’t want you thinking you have to explain shit to me,” Cliff continued. “You don’t. I don’t need an origin story. Or when you figured out you liked guys or how long you’ve been…or who hit on who first…”

Cliff looked at Roz. “Actually I have some guesses there.”

“Fuck you,” Roz said cheerfully.

Shane cracked a smile. There it was. The panic was still there, Cliff could see it around his eyes, but at least Hollander didn’t look like he was about to throw up anymore.

“What I’m saying is nothing changes,” Cliff said. “You’re still Hollzy. Cap’s still an asshole.”

“Captain Asshole to you” Roz said.

“Captain of his asshole to him” Roz smirked

“Ilya—” Shane admonished

“Ignoring that.” Cliff said knowing he’d hear more later “And I’m still gonna tell both of you when you’re being fucking idiots. Which, yesterday, you were.”

Cliff pointed toward the bag.

“Because your roadie bag with your literal name and a giant Bears logo was sitting in his bedroom while half your team is currently trudging through “The Blizzardening” to come hang out here.”

They both looked at him like kids with getting caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

“Now… about that playlist”

Cliff watched as the normally steely faces of the two most fiercest captains in a very dangerous sport looked at each other.

“The…Playlist… guys… c’mon?” Cliff said

He exited the room walking back into the living room again and pointed at the iPad. Flicked on the iPad again…and brought up Spotify. 

❤️ Cozy Mornings with you

Created by: Jane

Saved by: Lily

"...Seriously guys… ANOTHER Playlist? How many do you fuckers have? C’mon!”

Cliff only had time to see the first song on there which was 'I Will Give You Everything' by The Skydiggers

An absolute Canadian classic to be fair but JESUS these are the sappiest motherfuckers on the planet he thought to himself

Roz’s face went completely blank. Shane scrunched his eyes closed and put a palm over his forehead. Roz snatched up the iPad so fast he nearly flung it across the room.

“How do we sign out, solnyshko?” Roz asked, shoving the iPad at Shane.

Cliff took a slow breath.

“Okay… here, give it to me. I’ll sign into mine, you sappy fucking lovebird assholes.”

“...Thank you,” Shane said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Cliff scanned the room again.

Blankets.

Normal.

Candles.

Normal… kinda.

Board games.

Normal.

Kitchen...

Normal.

Wait! Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Cliff scrubbed a hand over his face.

“...Guys.”

Roz looked almost offended. “What?”

“The lube.”

Shane groaned behind him.

Roz, meanwhile, slowly turned toward the couch, shoved a hand between two cushions and pulled out a bottle.

Cliff stared at it.

What the fuck.

Shane made a tiny choking noise and squeaked out an“Oh my God.”

THERE’S MORE? These two are insane. 

Roz gave the bottle a little shake and smirked “What? Is convenient.”

Cliff pointed at the bottle. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t know about that one.”

“ Secondly, convenient for fucking what? You can’t walk 20 feet?”

“No, my Shane he likes—”

And Shane wrapped a hand over Rozy’s mouth and said “Okay that’s enough of that, sorry you found that Marley…”

“I meant the one in the kitchen drawer.”

Shane stopped. “Oh my God”

Shane covered his own face with both hands.

Roz started laughing, Cliff joined in.

“I hate you both.”

“You don’t,” Cliff and Roz said at exactly the same time.

Shane peeked through his fingers.

“I do a little bit.”

They continued laughing

“We never have people over!” Shane groaned.

“Solnyshko, is fine. We fuck. Cliff knows we fuck. We are all adults here.”

Shane slowly lowered his hands.

“Ilya, I am begging you to stop saying we fuck.”

Roz frowned.

“Why? Is true. Fine. We make love”

“Ilya no… that’s worse!” Shane groaned “Sometimes things are inside thoughts.”

Cliff fucking cackled. “Sorry, Hollzy but this is great.”

Shane looked like he wanted to crawl inside one of his forty-seven decorative pillows and suffocate.

Cliff looked between the two of them, his captains goofy lop-sided grin, his rival teams captain’s ears had turned a shade of red Cliff had not seen before. 

Roz shoved the bottle of lube into his pocket and Hollander had a scowl on his face as he stalked off toward the den like he was on a mission

“Is fine moya milaya gorgul'ya (my cute gargoyle). Cliff will look out for us. Pike too.” Roz said to Hollander’s back.

Cliff stopped laughing.

“...Pike?”

Roz nodded.

“Pike knows?”

“Yes.” Roz sounded annoyed

Fucking Pike?

Of all the people who could have figured this out before Cliff, somehow fucking Pike had beaten him?

“Wait.” Cliff pointed at Roz. “Pike knew before me?”

“Mmmm kind of.”

“Pike?”

“You keep saying his name.” 

“Because I need to make sure we're talking about the same Pike.”

Roz snorted.

“How the fuck did Pike figure this out?”

Roz sighed. “He did not figure out anything. He walked in on something.”

Ah.

Cliff's eyes went automatically toward where Shane had left. Cliff immediately held up a hand.

“Nope. Never mind. Don't need it.”

“Good,” Roz said.

“Don't even want it.”

He did a little.

He absolutely fucking did.

But some stories weren't his.

Cliff turned back to the iPad before his curiosity got the better of him.

“Ok all logged into mine. The only thing I have to hide on here is the Anastasia soundtrack but honestly it slaps so whatever” Cliff muttered

Hollander walked back into the living room with five bottles of lube bundled awkwardly in his arms. His cheeks were pink, his hair had gotten all mussed up from frantically searching the condo, and one stupid little piece was sticking straight up in the back.

He looked like a very anxious squirrel gathering the world's most inappropriate acorns. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around, eyes wide, like he was desperately trying to remember where he'd buried the rest of his winter supply.

Cliff bit back a laugh.

Fucking Hollzy.

All pink-cheeked and wild-haired, clutching an armful of Astroglide.

Then he flitted off into the hallway.

“Thank you, Cliff.”

Roz walked over to the bookshelf and reached for what Cliff assumed was a book. Instead, he pulled two packets of lube from between The Game by Ken Dryden and a Macrobiotic Meal Prep cookbook.

Cliff stared. Of course.

From somewhere down the hallway Shane called, “I found the hallway one!”

Cliff chuckled and looked at Roz, who just shrugged and gave him a knowing grin.

“Jesus, is there any surface in here you two haven’t fucked on?” Cliff chirped.

“...Probably the laundry room.” Said Shane who was apparently back in the living room

Cliff looked down.

Somehow Hollander had reappeared and was now on his hands and knees checking under the coffee table. The armful of lube was gone, Cliff assumed it had been stashed somewhere safe, and his hair looked even worse.

Roz raised his brows.

“...Shane.”

Shane stopped.

Cliff watched his eyes go wide.

“...Oh my God, Ilya. Shut up.”

Roz's grin spread.

Shane scrambled back to his feet and flitted off again.

Cliff laughed.

Jesus Christ. He was like a fucking hummingbird.

Shane darted off towards where Cliff could only assume was the laundry room. 

Cliff couldn't help but smirk. Hollander could stare down reporters after a Game 7 loss without blinking. He could face opponents who outweighed him by fifty pounds, and deke around them like they were statues but apparently a few hidden bottles of Astroglide turned him into a cute little panicked squirrel.

Cliff could see exactly why Roz was so down bad for this guy. Even if Cliff didn’t swing that way. Hollander was one of the best hockey players Cliff had ever seen. A total fucking machine on the ice. He could anticipate his opponents' moves, skate like a demon, and his accuracy on goal was, objectively speaking, pretty fucking swoon-worthy.

And then off the ice he was this awkward, warm guy running around his apartment with five bottles of lube in his arms and his hair sticking up everywhere.

And the freckles.

Cliff hadn't really noticed the freckles before.

Huh.

He was still chuckling to himself about Hollzy the panicked little freckled squirrel when he turned back toward the living room and realized Roz was looking at him.

Actually.

Not looking.

Watching.

Jesus Christ. Spooky.

Cliff went still.

He knew that face. Every guy who'd ever played against Ilya Rozanov knew that fucking face.

Cliff suddenly felt like the T-Rex had spotted him in Jurassic Park.

Don't move.

Maybe his vision is based on movement.

"...No…” Roz said blankly

"Wh... what?" Cliff was baffled

"Stop thinking about him naked."

Cliff blinked.

"I wasn't— I’m straight dude…”

"You were." Roz didn't even sound annoyed it was more like he was stating a fact

"I know this face."

Cliff opened his mouth. Closed it again.

"...I was just thinking...”

Roz raised an eyebrow. "Mmm.”

"I was just seeing, errrr wondering, I mean…”

"...No." 

Cliff sighed. "...Okay."

Roz nodded once. “I know he is beautiful.”

He said it like he was stating that snow was cold.

“He does not know this,” he said softly.

His gaze drifted toward the hallway where Shane had disappeared.

“He thinks people see captain. Hockey player. The mask.” Roz gestured vaguely in front of his face.

“I see…”

He paused, searching for the English.

“…everything.”

Roz chuckled.

“And I see everyone who looks at him.”

Cliff smiled. “Not everyone is looking at him like that.”

Roz gave him a look.

“You were.”

“Okay, Jesus. I was just… seeing what you saw in him”

Roz smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

Then his eyes drifted back toward the hallway.

“He is perfect.” A tiny smile pulled at his mouth. “And he does not know it.”

Cliff just stared at him. “…Jesus, Roz.”

“What?”

“You’ve got it worse than anyone I’ve ever met.”

——

Cliff felt this weird swell of happiness for his friend. For Roz. For Ilya.

This kid who had come to North America full of piss and vinegar and carrying a chip on his shoulder the size of fucking Russia. He'd drink himself stupid, fuck pretty much anyone who hit on him, and sometimes disappear into his apartment for an entire three-day break, emerging only when they had a game or practice and when asked about it Roz would always answer “Sorry was hungover”. 

Cliff had never totally bought the hangover thing. There had always been a sadness to Roz. Even when he was being an asshole. Even when he was making everyone laugh. Cliff had seen enough of him over the years to know there were days when getting out of bed seemed harder for him than playing three periods of professional hockey.

And now look at him.

Standing in Shane Hollander's living room in an apron, baking Shane's dad's fucking Snicker-doodles, while Shane ran around the condo collecting their apparently industrial supply of lubricant.

Cliff had to smile.

Somewhere along the way, Roz had found someone he could give all that softness to. All the shit he'd spent years guarding like it was classified information had a direction. The stupid playlists. The pet names. The baking. The way his whole fucking face changed whenever Hollander walked into a room.

And Shane seemed to want all of it and hold it close. 

That was the part that really got Cliff.

Shane hadn't somehow fixed Roz. Cliff didn't think Ilya needed fixing. He'd just given him somewhere safe to put all that love he'd apparently been carrying around this whole time.

Which, Jesus Christ, was apparently a lot of love. 

Cliff looked at his friend who was still staring toward the hallway.

And there it was again. That look.

Cliff felt a little pang in his chest that surprised him. He'd never looked at anyone like that. He'd loved people. He'd had good relationships. He'd missed people after they were gone and pictured futures with people that, for one reason or another, never happened. But he'd never been gone like Roz was gone. Completely fucking stupid about another human being. The kind of love where the other person leaves the room for thirty seconds to hunt for lube and you're still looking at the doorway like maybe the sun had set with him. 

Fuck. Cliff wanted that. He hadn't known he wanted that until right fucking now.

——— 

A knock echoed through the condo. Vicky's voice carried through the door.

"HOLLLLLZZZZYYYYYY! CAAAAAAAP”

Cliff looked at Roz.

"You ready?"

Roz sighed.

"...No."

"Perfect."

Cliff grinned. "That means we're exactly on schedule."

A second round of pounding hit the door.

“HOLLANDER! CAP! Cmon we are cold!”

“Jesus Christ,” Shane called from somewhere down the hall. “I’m coming!”

Cliff looked toward the hallway.

Nothing.

“Uh… Hollzy should I just—?”

“ONE SECOND.”

Roz looked at Cliff.

Cliff looked at Roz.

“What is he doing?”

“I do not know.” Roz answered

There was a crash.

Then, “I’M FINE.”

A few seconds later Shane came flying around the corner, hair somehow worse than before, his clothing was disheveled

“Okay. I think I got everything.”

Cliff looked him over.

Pink cheeks.

Wild hair.

Slightly out of breath.

Jesus. If the goal was to make it look like he and Roz weren’t fucking, Hollander currently looked like he’d just been interrupted doing exactly that.

“Fix your hair.” Cliff said

“What?”

“Your hair Hollzy.. It’s--”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Shane immediately flattened both hands over his head.

“Nothing, you look cute” Roz said.

Cliff turned to him.

“Cap.”

“What? I like.” Roz shrugged

“Of course you fucking like it. You’re the problem.”

Another knock.

“CAP! OPEN UP!”

“Ilya.” Shane pointed at him. “Apron.”

Roz looked down. “Oh.”

Yeah. Probably not great.

Roz yanked it over his head and tossed it toward the kitchen.

It landed directly on the floor.

Cliff stared at it.

These two were going to get caught before the pizza got cold.

“Okay.” Cliff pointed between them. “You guys know how to act normal around each other, right?”

“Yes,” Shane said immediately.

“Cap?”

“I am always normal.” He was looking at Hollander with adoration

“Okay, we're fucked.” Cliff said

Shane made a strangled noise.

“Can we please just open the door?”

“Hold on.” Cliff pointed at Roz. “No touching him.”

“I know.” Roz sounded petulant

“No staring at him like that.”

Roz's eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

Cliff gestured vaguely at his entire face.

“Like… that. The thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“The fucking…” Cliff looked at Hollander for help.

Big mistake.

Hollander was looking at Roz.

Roz was looking at Hollander.

And there it fucking was… 

Cliff snapped his fingers between them.

“THAT. Jesus Christ. Stop doing that.”

They both looked at him.

“What?” Hollander asked.

“You guys do this heart-eyes thing.”

“We do not,” Roz said.

“You absolutely do.”

“What eye thing?” Hollander asked.

“I don’t know! You look at each other and have a whole fucking conversation.”

Roz glanced at Shane.

Shane glanced back.

Cliff threw up his hands.

“You’re doing it right now!”

Roz laughed.

Which made Hollander smile.

“Oh my God.”

Cliff walked toward the door.

“You know what? Fuck it. Natural selection.”

He reached for the handle.

“Wait,” Hollander said.

Cliff turned.

Shane stepped up to Roz and pecked him quickly on the lips.

“I love you.” He smiled.

Roz’s whole fucking face softened.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Then Shane stepped away from him.

“Okay, Marley.”

Cliff stared at them for a second.

Jesus Christ. They act like they were going off to war instead of spending the next several hours standing ten feet away from each other.

The pounding started again.

“WE’RE FREEZING OUR DICKS OFF OUT HERE!”

Cliff finally opened the door.

Vicky practically fell through it.

“FUCKING FINALLY.”

A blast of cold air came with him, followed by what looked like half the Boston Bears in various states of frozen misery.

And just like that, the condo exploded.

Wet boots. Jackets. Hats. Gloves. Guys yelling over each other. Somebody immediately complaining about the walk. Somebody else demanding to know which pizzas Cliff had gotten. Snow getting tracked across Hollander’s extremely clean floors.

Cliff stepped out of the way and watched Shane’s face change.

There he was.

Captain Hollander.

“Shoes off,” Shane said immediately.

A chorus of groans.

“I mean it. My house, my rules, boys.”

“Hollzy, my feet are wet!”

“That sounds like a you problem, dude.”

Cliff smiled.

Amazing.

Thirty seconds ago the guy had been crawling around under his coffee table hunting for lube like a panicked woodland creature.

Now he was ordering professional hockey players from another team around because they were getting slush on his hardwood floors.

Cliff looked over at Roz.

And almost laughed.

Because Roz had changed too.

The apron-wearing lovesick idiot who’d just told Cliff Shane Hollander was perfect had disappeared.

Cap was back.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, wearing that familiar vaguely bored expression Cliff had seen a thousand times.

Actually, he was pretty fucking good at this.

Then Shane walked past him.

Roz’s eyes followed him all the way across the room.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Cliff caught his eye.

Roz immediately looked away.

Cliff bit the inside of his cheek.

This was going to be so much harder than hiding the lube.

———

The pizza lasted approximately ten minutes.

Cliff had carried nine fucking pizzas through a blizzard and watched a room full of professional athletes descend on them like starving raccoons.

“WHO GOT PINEAPPLE?” Carmichael yelled, holding the offending slice up like someone had planted evidence at a crime scene.

“I did,” Cliff said.

Carmichael stared at him. “Ugh”

“So sorry your highness! Stop being an ass” Cliff retorted

“Some people like pineapple on pizza.” A voice came from behind Cliff

“Who?” Carmichael narrowed his eyes

Shellsy quietly raised his hand.

Everyone looked at him.

Shellsy slowly lowered it.

“Coward,” Cliff said with absolutely no malice.

“Anyways, fuck you Carmichael. Pineapple is good.” Cliff laughed

“It’s fruit… ON PIZZA” Carmichael sneered

“Tomato is a fruit.” Shellsy said like it was new fact

“That’s different.”

“How?” several people said

“I don’t know, but it fucking is.”

Shellsy had already folded two pepperoni slices on top of each other and was eating them simultaneously.

Hollzy was staring at him mouth agape and muttered “Dude That’s...”

“What?” Shellsy said with a string of cheese hanging from his lip

“You know there is like… time right? You don’t have to eat it like… that”

“Efficiency.” Shellsy muffled as a piece of pepperoni fell from his mouth onto his plate

Hollander made a face of disgust

“It’s all going to the same place, Hollzy.”

Shane shook his head and reached for his salad.

The Voyageurs in the room groaned.

“Oh, fuck off,” Shane said.

“You have delicious pizza in your house and you’re eating leaves,” Mitty said.

“It has chicken.”

They all stared

“And avocado.” Shane’s shoulders were back up to his ears. Cliff could see it was more than just the regular chirping. It was something different. 

Cliff grabbed a slice and dropped onto the couch next to Hollander.

“Shut the fuck up. If Hollzy wants a salad, he’ll eat a fucking salad. He’s the best hockey player in this room, so maybe he’s onto something.”

Shane glanced over at him. “Thanks, Marley.”

“Don’t thank me. Just stating facts”

“Merde… from a Bears player that’s saying something mon amie” JJ said.

“Eh he is second best,” Roz chirped as he took an enormous bite of pizza.

“Second?” Hollander scoffer

“Yes.”

“To who?”

Roz chewed slowly.

“Do you need me to explain Hollander?” Roz had that know-it-all face

“Here we go” Pike said.

“Statistics do not lie, Hollander.”

“Which statistics?”

Roz paused.

“The important ones.”

“So like what penalty box minutes?”

Vicky laughed. “Got him, Hollzy.”

Roz looked from Cliff to Vicky. “You play for Bears, why are all my teammates traitors.”

Cliff took another bite of pizza. “Fine you’re tied.”

“We aren’t” Roz and Hollander both said

“I have more Rocket Richards” Roz said matter-of-factly

“Oooooh” Shellsy and Carmichael said

“And I have more cups” Hollander chirped back

“And…Conn Smythe’s” Pike added

“And you have Lady Byng which should be taken back because you are mean” Roz grumbled 

This was what everybody else saw.

Hollander and Rozanov being Hollander and Rozanov.

Chirping. Arguing. Competitive about absolutely fucking everything.

Cliff noticed Connors, Carmichael and Shellsy grinning at one another, likely over the bet on who would kill who first. 

Roz looked at Shane like he wanted to knock him down a peg.

Cliff now knew Roz actually wanted to walk over there and probably kiss the dressing off his stupid salad-eating face.

Jesus Christ.

Knowing was fucking weird.

“Okay fine Cap,” Carmichael said. “If Hollander's second, who's third?”

“Me,” Pike said.

Roz turned slowly. “What?” 

“I mean, I got most assists so….”

“Pike, you aren’t even second best on your own team.” Roz looked incensed. 

“You are like fifteenth best Voyageur.”

Hayden stared at him.

“There are twenty-three guys on the roster.”

“Yes.” Roz blinked.

“I led the fucking league in assists!” Pike scoffed

“Because you pass puck to Hollander and he is best”

Shane immediately looked up from his salad.

“Best Voyageur, I mean,” Roz corrected.

Cliff slowly turned his head toward him.

Nice save, Cap.

Shane’s mouth twitched.

Roz took another bite of pizza like that settled it.

Cliff had to look down at his own slice before he started laughing.

Jesus Christ, he can’t react.

No one else seemed to notice.

“Okay, first of all,” JJ said, pointing between them, “I would like the record to show that Roz just admitted Capitaine is better than him.”

Roz nearly choked. “I did not.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Hollander is best.’” Pike chirped in a terrible fake Russian accent that sounded more like Dracula

“Best Voyageur.” Roz protested

“You added that after.”

“Because you are stupid and need clarification.” Roz was now gesturing wildly from his seat across from Hollander

“No, no,” Vicky jumped in. “I heard it too.”

Roz turned on him. “You heard nothing.”

“I heard ‘Hollander is best’.” Vicky mocked

“Vicky.” Roz whined

“Very clearly, actually.” Vicky laughed. “Full sentence.”

Connors nodded. “Pretty definitive Cap.”

“Why are Bears attacking me in enemy territory?”

“Because this is funny,” Cliff said.

Cliff could see that Hollander was trying so fucking hard not to smile.

“Well,” he said, stabbing another piece of lettuce, “nice to finally hear you admit it.”

Roz pointed his pizza at him. “Do not get excited, Hollander.”

“Too late… all of your teammates agree” Shane smiled

“You are still asshole.”

“Best asshole, apparently.” Shane rebutted

Cliff couldn’t hold it in any longer and he was choking on pizza laughing

“Fuck you, Marley,” Roz snapped.

That only made Cliff laugh harder. “I didn't say anything!” he muffled through his mouth which was full of pizza in an attempt to stifle the laughter. 

“Your face is saying many things.”

“My face is eating pizza.”

“Your face is asshole.”

“Best asshole?” Cliff managed.

Shane and Cliff both fucking lost it.

Roz glared at both of them and Pike was holding his hand over his mouth. 

“Hollander is best,” Vicky repeated in the same shitty fake Russian accent. 

“You sound like Count Chocula.” Mitty laughed

Cliff had tears in his eyes now. These guys were all his favorite idiots. 

As the laughter died down and was just left with snickering Carmichael clapped Roz on the shoulder.

“Cap,” Carmichael said, “it's okay. We're supportive.” Cliff's stomach flipped. 

Shit… Carmichael knows?

“Of what?” Roz questioned

“Your journey.”

Oh shit

“What journey?”

Fuck fuck fuck…

“Accepting that Hollzy's better than you.” 

Oh thank fuck

They all laughed again.

“I have accepted nothing!”

“Denial,” JJ said faux solemnly.

“First stage,” Pike teased.

“That's grief, you idiots!” Roz hissed

“Sounds like you're grieving.”

Roz threw a piece of his crust at Pike. Pike ducked. The crust sailed past him and hit Shane directly in the chest and it landed in his sad salad. The room went silent. Shane looked down at the crust sitting in his salad. Then slowly looked up at Roz.

“...Oops,” Roz said.

Shane narrowed his eyes. “Did you just throw pizza at the best hockey player?”

The room fucking detonated.

Roz dropped his head into his hands.

“I hate this house.”

“It's my house,” Shane reminded him.

Roz looked up. “I hate your house.”

“Alright.” JJ crumpled his napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “Are we gonna sit around debating hockey all night or are we playing?”

“MHL,” Vicky said immediately.

“Mario Kart,” Mitty countered.

“MHL first,” Connors said.

Hayden, who had been suspiciously quiet for the last thirty seconds, reached toward the controllers.

JJ and Vicky groaned

Hayden's hand stopped. He looked around.

“...What?” Cliff started laughing before anyone even said anything.

“Fuck all of you.”

“Nobody said anything, Hayds,” Shane said.

“You didn't have to.” Pike’s brows furrowed 

Roz snatched the controller “We are concerned Pike.”

“Give me the fucking controller.”

“No.”

“Rozy.”

“I am protecting you.”

“From what?”

“Public humiliation.”

“Too late,” JJ said.

“Wayyyyy too late,” Shane mumbled.

Hayden looked at JJ then at Shane. “You're my fucking teammates.”

“We’re trying to save you.” JJ said

“From a video game?”

“From yourself.” Roz added

“Give me the controller.”

Roz tucked it behind his back. “No.”

“I'm not fucking kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“Rozy.”

“Pike.”

“I know how to play.”

The room got quiet. Hayden looked around.

“Oh, come on, I practiced at home.”

“Nobody said anything,” Cliff said.

“YOU'RE ALL MAKING FACES.” Pike exclaimed

“This is just my face,” Carmichael said. 

“Your face is an asshole!” Pike bitched

“Best asshole?” Carmichael asked

Oh this was a thing now

“You weren’t even here” Hayden protested

“Yeah but Vicky told us...” Carmichael laughed

“I’m not THAT bad.” Hayden snapped

“Ok. Is your funeral.” Roz said handing him the controller

Hayden pointed at Shane. “Tell him Shane”

Shane looked back at him. “Tell him what?”

“That I know how to play.”

Shane took a long drink of water. 

“I don't like lying in my home.”

Cliff fucking lost it, then Vicky, JJ and Roz followed suit followed by Mitty, Carmichael, Connors and Shellsy. The entire room was laughing. 

“Hayd, you’re good at actual hockey… it’s fine… and you’re… a really good dad” Shane was clearly placating his friend but it seemed to soften him. 

“THANK YOU.”

“But bud… This is different.” Hollander said kindly like he was talking to a kid

“IT'S HOCKEY.”

“With thumbs,” Cliff added.

“I HAVE THUMBS.”

Everyone looked at Hayden's hands.

Hayden immediately shoved them under his arms.

“Stop looking at my fucking thumbs.”

“They look normal,” Shellsy offered.

“THANK YOU, SHELLSY.”

Shellsy shrugged. “Maybe it's neurological.”

There was half a second of silence before Vicky folded over.

“FUCK YOU!”

“I'm trying to help!” Shellsy screeched

“Okay,” Pike said, pointing at him. “You know what? Turn it on. Right fucking now. I'm gonna destroy you all.”

“Pick yourself.” Roz said

“I was planning to.” Pike said like a petulant school child

“Even better.”

“Why?” 

Roz picked up another controller and settled back onto the couch.

“So when you skate into boards, we know it is realistic.”

“I'M NOT GOING TO SKATE INTO THE FUCKING BOARDS.”

Hayden did indeed skate into the boards. 

Immediately.

Like, fucking immediately.

The game had barely started.

“OH MY GOD,” Vicky screamed.

Hayden's player continued skating directly into the boards.

“I'M TURNING!”

“YOU ARE NOT!” JJ was already crying laughing.

“I AM!”

“Other way!” Shane didn’t have a controller as was actively trying to help Hayden steer his character

“I KNOW!”

“Clearly you don't!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Hayden finally managed to peel himself off the boards after Shane’s help, made it approximately six feet and promptly got leveled by Roz.

“FUCK!”

Roz smiled. “Welcome back.”

“EVERYBODY STOP FUCKING TALKING TO ME!”

Hayden's tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth now. Full concentration. Both hands strangling the controller.

Cliff had never seen him look this focused during an actual game.

“Okay,” Shane said, leaning forward. “Just slow down.”

“Don't coach me.” 

“I'm your captain.”

“Not here.”

“I'm literally trying to help you.”

“Then fucking help me!”

“I'M TRYING!”

“You are yelling! Ooooh I have the puck”

“BECAUSE YOU'RE SKATING THE WRONG WAY HAYD!”

Hayden looked at the screen.

“...Fuck.”

The room exploded again.

“I GOT TURNED AROUND!”

Oh this was going to be fucking unbearable.

Hayden finally got himself pointed in the correct direction.

“There. See? Fuck all of you.”

He crossed center ice.

“Look at him go,” Shellsy said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously. You're doing it.” JJ said

“I KNOW.”

“We're all very proud.” Mitty said

Hayden made it into the offensive zone.

Everyone got quieter.

“Oh shit,” Vicky said.

Hayden leaned forward.

“Yeah. Yeah, motherfuckers.”

He deked around Connors.

“What the fuck?” Connors said.

“YEAH.”

Hayden got around Carmichael.

“Oh shit,” Shane said.

“YEAH!”

“Pass it!” JJ yelled.

“NO.”

“HAYD!”

“I'M DOING THIS MYSELF.”

“PASS THE FUCKING PUCK!”

“WHO'S FIFTEENTH NOW, BITCHES?”

Hayden wound up.

Shot.

Missed the net by about twelve fucking feet.

Silence.

The puck whipped around the boards and all the way back into the other teams zone.

Hayden stared at the screen.

Roz stared at Hayden. “Sixteenth.”

Hayden threw the controller into the couch.

“FUCK THIS GAME.”

———— 

They all took turns playing MHL 13 except Hayden, who after about an hour stood up.

“Okay guys, I’m gonna take off. Jackie and her parents are with the kids, but I should get going.”

Shane looked over. “I was wondering what you were doing here leaving Jackie to deal with her parents alone.”

“Oh, she told me to get the fuck out.”

Shane laughed. “That tracks.”

“Hey, you know I love my in-laws, but they’ve been here for two weeks. They were supposed to leave the same day the storm came in and it’s just been…” Hayden made a vague circling motion near his head.

“Cozy?” JJ offered.

“There are seven people in my house.”

“You have big house?” Roz said.

“Not big enough for seven people for two weeks straight.”

“Where are they sleeping?” Vicky asked.

“Everywhere. I went downstairs at six this morning and my father-in-law was already sitting in my fucking chair.”

“Your chair?” Cliff laughed.

“I have a chair.”

“Oh, you're a dad-dad.” Cliff said knowingly

“Fuck you, Marley.”

“Does it recline?”

Hayden glared at him.

Cliff gasped. “It fucking reclines.”

“Of course it reclines.”

“Does it have cup holders?”

“I'm not answering that.”

“It totally has cup holders” Hollander laughed 

“And a little cubby for the remote” 

“OH MY GOD.”

“It's a good fucking chair!”

“Does your father-in-law know it's your chair?” Mitty asked

“He bought me the fucking chair!”

“Anyway, Jackie wanted some time with her parents and told me to go bother you assholes for a few hours.”

“Aw,” Roz said. “She sent you on a playdate.”

“She did not send me on a playdate.”

“Did she tell you what time to be home?”

“No.” Hayden was clearly lying

“Did she pack you a snack?”

“Fuck off.” As he looked at his bag that likely had a snack in it. 

“Did she say, ‘Have fun with your little friends’?”

Hayden started to walk away “I'm leaving.”

“Hayds wait, one round of Mario Kart and then you can go.” Shane was smiling at him.

Hayden stopped. “Fine… just one though.” Sounding exasperated

“One.”

“Then I'm leaving.”

“Deal.”

Shane was laughing as he switched games. Cliff watched him. There was something about that laugh.

“What?” Cliff asked.

“Nothing.” Hollander was still smiling.

“Okay.”

Whatever.

“Four player,” Shane said, picking up a controller. “Me and Hayds.”

Hayden looked at him. Just looked at him and Shane looked back. Cliff noticed something passed between them and narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll play,” Roz said immediately.

“I'll play too,” Carmichael said.

“Perfect,” Shane said.

Team Red vs Team Blue was up on the screen

Roz grabbed a controller. “Bears versus Voyageurs.”

“Sure,” Pike said nonchalantly

“For money.” Shane asked casually.

“Money?” Roz said

“Yes.”

“Sure. Easy money.”

Hayden coughed.

Shane looked at him.

Hayden looked down.

Cliff's eyes narrowed.

What the fuck was that?

“How much?” Shane asked.

“Hundred.” Roz said

“Each?”

“Yes.”

Carmichael looked at Roz. “Wait, why am I suddenly in for a hundred bucks?”

Roz gestured at Hayden.

“Did you not just watch him?”

Carmichael considered that.

“Fair.”

“Fuck you,” Hayden said.

“Two hundred from us, two hundred from you,” Roz said.

Shane looked at Hayden.

“Hayds?”

Hayden sighed.

“I mean, I was trying to go home.”

“We don't have to.”

“You sure?” Shane asked.

Cliff looked at him.

Why the fuck was Hollander making that face?

“Absolutely,” Roz said.

“Okay.” Shane shrugged. “If you're sure.”

Hayden scratched his jaw. “Fine.”

“Oh, this is gonna be ugly,” Vicky said.

“Very,” Shane agreed.

Roz smiled.

Cliff caught Shane looking at Hayden again.

Hayden's mouth twitched.

Oh.

Oh, these motherfuckers were up to something.

Character select came up.

Carmichael started scrolling.

Roz immediately started asking questions.

“Who is fastest?”

“Depends on your kart,” Shane said.

“Which kart is fastest?”

“Depends on your character.”

“Then who is best character?”

“Depends how you drive.”

Roz glared at him.

“You are being intentionally unhelpful.”

“We're playing for money!”

“You are bad host.”

“Pick somebody, Rozy.”

Hayden had already selected Rosalina. He didn’t hem and haw, he went straight to his choices like it was old hat. 

Cliff noticed.

Shane was nearly as fast with his choices. Shane picked Toad on a Mr. Scooty with a Cloud glider

“Rosalina?” Carmichael said.

Hayden looked over. “Problem?”

“No. Just didn't expect you to pick… a lady.”

“Why?”

“Can we just play?” Shane said after picking a cart and glider with exacting speed. 

Roz picked Bowser.

Carmichael picked Yoshi.

The race loaded.

“Last chance,” Shane said.

Roz snorted.

“You are scared.”

“Terrified.”

Cliff looked at him again. Shane was a terrible fucking liar.

Three. Two. One.

Pike hit the boost perfectly. Shane did too. Meanwhile Roz drove directly into Carmichael.

“MOVE!” Roz yelled

“YOU HIT ME!” Carmichael whined

“Why you start next to me?”

“YOU DON’T PICK WHERE YOU START!”

“Guys,” Shane said calmly, already pulling ahead. “You're doing great.”

“Shut up, Hollander.” Roz seethed

Hayden hadn't said a word. He wasn’t yelling or swearing. He didn’t have his tongue sticking out while he tried to remember what the fucking buttons did. He was just... Driving. Really fucking well. Hayden took the first corner in a perfect drift, then another. And this dude took a fucking short cut over the grass, boosted with a mushroom to a ramp.

“Oh shiiiiiit,” Vicky said.

Pike released the drift boost and shot forward.

Carmichael looked over to Haydens section of the screen. “What the fuck?” and turned back just in time for Pike to fire a green shell backward.

Crack.

Direct fucking hit. Carmichael spun out.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Hayden kept driving. “Sorry.”

Shane snorted. “No you're not.”

“No, I’m really not.” Pike laughed

“Hold on.” Cliff sat forward. “Dude… Pike.”

“What?”

“You’re fucking good.”

“It's Mario Kart.” He scoffed “Shane and I play on roadies”

“And… I play with my kids.”

“You say you have no time for video games because children!” Roz bitched as he was in 7^th place

“Yeah. Who the fuck do you think I'm playing Mario Kart with?”

Shane burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” Carmichael said.

Another green shell appeared behind Pike.

“Oh fuck you,” Carmichael said.

Pike glanced at Carmichaels side of the screen. He fired. The shell bounced off one wall. Then another.

Crack.

Carmichael spun out again.

“NO FUCKING WAY.”

Cliff stood up.

“Did he just bank that?”

“Yep,” Shane said.

“He fucking BANKED IT?”

“Yep.”

“You knew?” Roz was now in ninth place

Shane was openly laughing now.

“Yep.”

“You motherfucker.” Carmichael yelled

“Hayds was like THE best Mario Kart play at Hockey camp when we were kids. No one could even touch him” 

Onscreen, Pike picked up three green shells.

Shane saw them. “Oh, you're fucked.”

“Who?” Roz demanded as he had finally climbed to 4^th place. 

“Everybody.”

Pike fired the first.

Crack.

Carmichael.

“FUCK!”

Second.

It ricocheted off the barrier.

Crack. To the computer playing as Birdo. 

“WHAT?”

Third shell. 

Pike held onto it.

“Why you don't shoot?” Roz demanded.

Hayden didn't answer.

“Pike.”

Nothing.

“PIKE.”

“Shh,” Shane said.

“Why shh?”

“He's hunting.” Shane whispered ominously 

“What does this mean?” Roz wondered

Hayden fired.

The shell shot forward, hit a wall, ricocheted across the track and nailed Roz coming around the corner. 

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

Hayden smiled.

“There he is.” Shane was whooping

“What the fuck Pike?? Are you, a sniper?” Cliff's jaw dropped. “You did all that with GREEN FUCKING SHELLS?”

Everyone turned toward him.

“Green shells are my favorite. They are better” Pike finally said like he was some wise old sage. 

“They're WHAT?” Vicky said.

“Better.”

“They don't fucking home!”

“Exactly.”

“THAT MAKES THEM WORSE.”

“If you can't aim.”

“OH, FUCK YOU, PIKE.”

“This motherfucker spends one hour in the boards on MHL and one round of Mario Kart and suddenly he's fucking John Wick!”

“WITH TURTLE SHELLS!” JJ screamed.

“I told you my thumbs were fine!”

Cliff looked at Shane.

Hollander was fucking beaming. Not surprised. Not even a little.

“You set this up,” Cliff said.

“I did not.”

“Bullshit.”

“Roz was the one to suggest money.”

“You fucking baited him!”

“How?” Shane's eyebrows went up.

“You knew he'd fucking murder them!”

“Marley, I can't control Roz's gambling decisions.”

———

Three more races later, Roz and Carmichael were officially down two hundred dollars and Roz was swearing in Russian.

Shane was fucking doubled over.

Pike's Rosalina danced on screen in first place. Shane had finished third overall. Carmichael was seventh.

Roz was tenth. Tenth!

“Oh my God,” Carmichael said, staring at the standings. “This was such a fucking grift.”

“YOU TWO HUSTLED US!” Roz bitched. “HOLLANDER, GIVE BACK LADY BYNG NOW!”

That sent Shane right back over.

“I didn't make the bet!” he managed.

“You knew!”

“Knowing Hayds is good at Mario Kart isn't a crime.”

“You had insider information!”

“It's not the fucking stock market, Rozy.”

“Two hundred dollars,” Shane said, holding out his hand.

Roz glared at it. “You are rich.”

“And?”

“You don't need it.” Roz pouted

“Neither do you.”

“I need it more now.”

“That's generally how losing works.” Shane deadpanned

“Fuck you.”

“Pay up.”

Carmichael groaned and reached for his wallet. “I can't believe I got hustled by fucking Pike.”

“Welp.” Hayden put his controller down and stood. “Thanks for the money, boys. I gotta go.”

Roz looked at him. “You cannot leave.”

“I absolutely can and I am.”

“We do best two of three.”

“We just did four races.”

Roz waved that away.

“Mario Kart, MHL, then another game. Best two of three games.”

“That was not the bet.”

“It can be.”

“Nope.”

“Pike.”

Hayden was already putting on his coat.

“Sorry, guys. Playdate's over.”

Shane walked him to the door and high-fived him.

Roz looked personally betrayed.

“You cannot take money and run, Pike!”

Hayden zipped his coat.

“Actually, that's the best time to run.”

“Next time, no green shells.” Roz snarled

Hayden laughed. “Next time, double or nothing.”

Roz's eyes lit up. “Yes.”

“NO,” Carmichael said.

“Night, Hayds.” Shane said

“Night.”

Hayden opened the door, then looked back at the boys.

“Thanks for the gas money, Rozy.”

“FUCK YOU, PIKE!”

Hayden was still laughing when the door shut behind him.

———

The door shut behind Pike.

Roz stared at it. “I want rematch.”

“He's gone, Cap,” Vicky said.

“Next time.” Roz muttered

Carmichael dropped back onto the couch. “I'm not fucking funding your next time.”

“You lost too.”

“Because I trusted you.”

“This was your first mistake.” 

“Good to know.”

Shane came back from the door. “Board games?”

“Sure,” JJ said.

“Something without fucking shells,” Carmichael grumbled.

Shane went over to the cabinet and pulled out a box.

“Scattergories?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Cliff said.

As Shane pulled out the box a packet of single use lube fell out…

“Uhhhhh…” Vicky said.

Shane froze. Cliff froze. Roz froze.

The little packet sat there on the hardwood floor.

Motherfucker.

They'd missed one.

Of course they'd missed one.

They'd found enough lube in this condo to grease a fucking Zamboni and somehow they'd still missed one.

“Hollzy?” JJ said.

Shane looked down at the lube packet on the ground.

“Is that lube?” Shellsy said loudly

“N-No.”

Cliff closed his eyes.

Great start kid.

“It says astroglide,” Shellsy stated.

“Okay, then why did you ask?” Shane said bitchily

“Why is there lube in your board games dude?” Carmichael asked

Shane bent down and snatched it up. “I-I- don't know.”

“How do you not know?” 

“Because I don't keep an inventory of every fucking thing in my house, Carmichael.”

“You keep lube with Scattergories?”

“Apparently.”

“Is it part of game?” Roz asked with a smirk

Cliff looked at him.

Roz's face was completely fucking blank.

Shane's eyes narrowed.

Don't you fucking dare.

Carmichael was laughing now. “I'm just trying to figure out the circumstances here.”

“There were no circumstances.”

“There was clearly at least one circumstance.”

Shane's ears were going pink.

Cliff could see the panic starting to creep back in.

Time to move this shit along.

“Jesus Christ, leave Hollzy alone,” Cliff said. “A single guy has lube in his house. Alert the fucking media.”

“Is this your Boston girl?” JJ said

“Boston girl?” Connors asked

“Lily” JJ stated

Cliff's stomach dropped.

Oh fuck.

Shane looked at JJ. “Why do you remember that?”

“Because you were being weird about her.”

“I wasn't being weird.”

“You were absolutely being weird,” Mitty said.

“Who the fuck is Lily?” Vicky asked.

“Some girl Hollzy was seeing but she lives in Boston,” JJ said.

Cliff glanced at Roz.

He was doing an incredible job of looking mildly interested in this information about his own fucking boyfriend.

“Ohhh,” Carmichael said, looking back at the packet in Shane's hand. “So that's the circumstance.”

“No,” Shane said.

“Come on, Hollzy.” JJ said “This girl was a wildcat, you should have seen the scratches on Capitaine.”

Jesus Christ.

“Why are you all so fucking interested in where I put my dick?” Shane scowled

“Because you bagged Rose Landry so you must be like… with only hot ass women” Carmichael said.

Shane stared at him. “That's your logic?”

“What? It's not bad logic.” Carmichael shrugged

“It's…”

“Rose Landry is fucking gorgeous and you landed her” Vicky said.

JJ pointed at Shane. “And Lily left scratches.”

“Can we stop talking about the scratches?”

“No,” JJ said immediately.

“Grrrrreat.”

“Wait,” Connors said. “How bad were the scratches?”

“Oh my God,” Shane groaned.

“Bad,” JJ said. “Like all down his—”

“JJ.” Shane interjected

“What?! And one time she left a hickey on his hip. You should see some of the texts—”

Shane's head snapped up.

“Shut the fuck up. How did you see those texts?”

“I looked over on the bus! She sent you crazy shit, Capitaine.”

“You read my fucking texts?”

“I didn't read them.”

“You just said you read them!”

“No, I said I saw them.” JJ stated snottily

“WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?”

“Reading is intentional.”

“Oh, that's convenient.”

“Your phone was right there!”

“JJ.”

“I'm just saying.”

Shane's face was completely fucking red now. Cliff looked at Roz. Roz wasn't smirking anymore. In fact, Roz had become very interested in the Scattergories box.

Oh.

Cliff knew that fucking face.

“What did the texts say?” Vicky asked.

“Nothing,” Shane said immediately.

“I wasn't asking you.”

“JJ?”

JJ thought about it.

“Mostly stuff about missing him.”

Cliff glanced at Roz again.

Still looking at the box.

“That's not crazy,” Shellsy said.

“No, there was other stuff.”

“There was not.”

“Cap.”

“JJ.”

“She sent you that thing about the hotel.”

Roz coughed. Shane looked at him. Cliff looked at him. Roz cleared his throat.

“Pizza.”

“What?” Vicky said.

“I choke on pizza.” Roz lied

“You're not eating pizza.” Roz looked down at his empty hands.

“Before…” Roz’s looked down

Jesus fucking Christ. These two are the worst liars on the planet. How did they hide this for so long. 

“What thing about the hotel?” Carmichael asked.

“I don't remember exactly but something about making him watch her and something about nine inches and riding.”

“Damn Hollzy ok?”

JJ laughed. “Anyway, Lily is definitely real.”

“Thank you for your investigative work,” Carmichael said.

“You're welcome.”

Cliff sat back.

This was fucking incredible.

Roz had apparently been sending Shane filthy little love notes for years, and JJ had spent however long thinking Hollander had some wild Boston girlfriend named Lily.

And now Cliff knew.

Fuck.

He really had wanted gossip. Turns out gossip was a lot more stressful when you knew the answer and the answer could ruin careers.

“Can we play the fucking board game now?” Cliff asked.

“Wait,” Vicky said. “Is Lily hot?”

Shane looked across the room. Right at Roz. Only for a second.

“Extremely.”

Roz's mouth twitched.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Cliff grabbed the Scattergories box.

“Great. Lily's hot. Hollzy's getting laid. JJ's a walking fucking privacy violation. Everybody caught up?”

“I have more questions,” Carmichael said.

“Nobody fucking cares.” Cliff said as he laid out the board. 

Roz looked at the box.

“I don't know this.”

“You get a letter and categories,” Shane explained. “You have to come up with something for each category that starts with that letter.”

“Easy.” Roz said

“And if somebody else has the same answer, neither of you gets the point.”

“Still easy.” Roz said

“And everyone gets to vote if your answer is bullshit.”

Roz paused.

“Who decides bullshit?”

“Everyone.”

Roz's face changed. “I don't like this.”

“We haven't even started.”

“Democracy is flawed.” 

“Oh my God,” Shane muttered.

They spread themselves around the coffee table, everyone grabbing a sheet and pencil.

“Okay,” Shane said. “First list.”

He rolled the giant letter die.

S.

“Easy,” Vicky said.

Shane flipped the timer.

The room went completely silent.

For about four seconds.

“Does ‘The’ count?” Shellsy asked.

“No,” Shane said.

“What if the actual title starts with The?”

“Ignore the.”

“Why?”

“Because those are the rules.”

“That's stupid.”

“JUST WRITE.”

Pencils scratched furiously.

Cliff got through the first four pretty easily.

Girl's name: Sarah.

City: Seattle.

Something in a kitchen: Spoon.

Easy.

He glanced over.

Roz had his entire body curled around his answer sheet like he was taking the fucking SAT.

“Stop looking,” Roz said.

“I'm not.”

“I can feel you.”

“That's creepy.”

“Then stop.”

“Thirty seconds!” Shane announced.

“Don't tell me time!”

“That's literally my job.”

“It makes worse!”

“Twenty-five seconds.”

“Hollander!”

“Twenty!”

“You are asshole.”

“Best asshole,” Mitty said quietly

Cliff snorted.

Oh, this was never fucking going away.

The timer ran out.

“Pencils down.”

“Wait.”

“Pencils down, Rozy.”

“I have one more.”

“Too late.”

“I know answer.”

“Then you should've written faster.”

Roz scribbled something.

“CHEATING!” Vicky yelled.

“I had thought already!”

“Doesn't count!”

“It was in my brain!”

“Your brain isn't the fucking answer sheet!”

“This game discriminates against slow writers and non-native English speakers.”

“Hear-Hear” JJ said

“You're just mad you lost two hundred dollars.” Connors said

Shane picked up his sheet.

“Okay. Girl's name.”

“Sarah,” Cliff said.

“Fuck,” Connors said.

“Sarah,” Vicky said.

“Goddammit.”

“Samantha,” Carmichael said.

“Stephanie,” JJ said.

“Sofia,” Mitty said.

“Susan,” Shellsy said.

Everyone looked at Roz.

“Svetlana.”

“Oh, that's good,” Cliff said.

Roz looked smug. “Of course.”

“One point.”

“City.”

“Seattle.”

“Fuck.”

“Seattle.”

“Same.”

“Sacramento,” Carmichael said.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Stockholm,” JJ said.

“St. Petersburg,” Roz said.

“That's two words,” Vicky said.

Roz stared at him.

“And?”

“I don't know.”

“Both start with S.”

“Actually Saint—”

“Don't,” Cliff told Vicky.

“I'm just saying.”

“Let him have it.”

“Thank you, Marley.”

“Something in a kitchen.”

“Spoon.”

Half the room groaned.

“Spatula,” Mitty said.

“Stove,” Shane said.

“Sink,” Carmichael said.

“Salad,” Roz said.

Shane looked over.

“Salad?”

“Yes.”

“That's not necessarily in a kitchen.”

“Where the fuck is your salad from twenty minutes ago?”

Shane paused.

“The kitchen.”

Roz held out his hand.

“Point.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Things at a beach,” Shane read.

“Sand.”

“Surfboard.”

“Sun.”

“Sunscreen.”

“Shane,” Roz said.

Shane stopped.

Cliff slowly looked up.

“What?”

“Shane.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I'm not a fucking beach thing.”

“You can be at beach.”

“The category is ‘things at a beach.’”

“Yes.”

“I'M NOT A THING.”

“You are.”

“No, I'm not!”

“You exist.”

“THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME A THING.”

Roz looked around the table.

“Vote.”

“Absolutely not,” Shane said.

“You don't control vote.”

“IT'S MY NAME.”

“Still starts with S.”

“That's not the fucking issue!”

Vicky was already laughing.

“I'm giving it to him.”

Shane stared at him.

“What?”

“I've seen you at a beach.”

“FUCK YOU.”

“Me too,” JJ said.

“JJ!”

“Technically, mon ami—”

“NO TECHNICALLY.”

“Cap you did do that beach shoot for that energy drink” Mitty said

Carmichael raised his hand.

“Point.”

“Oh my God.”

Cliff looked at Roz.

Roz was trying not to smile.

And suddenly Cliff knew exactly why the asshole had written Shane.

Of course he had.

Fucking sap.

“Fine,” Shane snapped. “Then I get a point for Shellsy under things found in a kitchen.”

Shellsy looked up.

“Why am I in your kitchen?”

“I don't fucking know. Apparently people count now.”

“Have I been in your kitchen?”

“You were when you needed a drink!”

Shellsy turned and looked toward the kitchen.

“Oh yeah.”

“POINT,” Shane yelled.

“No,” Roz said.

“WHY NOT?”

“Category was something in kitchen. Shellsy is not thing.”

Shane stared at him.

“YOU JUST SAID I WAS A THING.”

“Different.”

“HOW?”

Roz shrugged.

“You are more thing-like.”

Cliff put his forehead on the table.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I want that on a T-shirt,” Carmichael said.

“I hate all of you,” Shane muttered.

“Point for Shane,” Roz said.

“I DON'T WANT THE POINT ANYMORE.”

“Too late.”

They made it through two more lists. Roz became increasingly impossible.

Letter B.

Things in a park.

“Bear.”

“No,” Shane said.

“Why?”

“There aren't bears in parks.”

“There absolutely are bears in parks.”

“Not that kind of park.”

“Card does not specify.”

“It's obviously talking about a city park.”

“Where does it say city?”

“It doesn't have to!”

“Then bear. In bear park. In National Park like Jellystone!”

“That’s not even a real park…”

“Vote.”

Roz got the point.

Shane was furious.

Things at a wedding.

“Bride.”

“Bouquet.”

“Best man.”

“Bear,” Roz said.

Shane's pencil hit the table.

“NO.”

“Could be.”

“NO.”

“Outdoor wedding.”

“YOU CANNOT JUST PUT BEAR FOR EVERYTHING.”

“I didn't. I put borscht for things that are red!”

“THERE IS NOT A BEAR AT A WEDDING.”

“You don't know every wedding. Russian weddings have bears”

“I KNOW ENOUGH WEDDINGS. There are no bears…”

“Or… could be mascot.”

“WHY WOULD A WEDDING HAVE A MASCOT?”

“Fun couple.”

Cliff was laughing too hard to breathe.

“No fucking point for bear,” Shane said.

“You are not democracy.”

“FINE. VOTE.”

Every Bear's hand immediately went up.

Shane looked around.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Five to three,” Roz said.

“YOU'RE ALL BEARS. YOU'RE VOTING FOR YOURSELVES.”

“Democracy,” Roz said.

“That's not democracy!”

“You were very excited about democracy ten minutes ago.”

“I WAS EXPLAINING THE RULES.”

“And now rules work.”

Shane dropped his head into his hands.

“I fucking hate this game.”

“I like it now,” Roz said.

Outside, the wind howled hard enough to rattle the windows.

Shane rolled the die.

M.

“Go.”

The timer started.

Everyone bent over their sheets.

“No talking,” Shane said.

“Nobody is talking,” Vicky said.

“You are literally talking right now.” Shane said

“Because you talked to me.” 

“I wasn't talking to you.”

“Then who were you talking to?”

“EVERYBODY.”

“That includes me.”

“Oh my fucking God.”

“You're wasting time, Hollzy,” Cliff said.

“I hate all of you.”

The timer went off.

“Okay,” Shane said. “Pencils down.”

Roz kept writing.

“Rozy.” Mitty said

“One second.”

“Pencils. Down.”

“I know word.”

“Then you should've known it four seconds ago.”

Roz reluctantly dropped his pencil.

“Okay. Things that are cold.”

“Milk,” Cliff said.

“Milk,” Connors said.

“Fuck.”

“Montreal,” Vicky said.

“That counts,” JJ said immediately.

“Absolutely,” Mitty agreed.

“Metal,” Carmichael said.

“Good.”

“Moon,” Shellsy said.

Everyone paused.

“Is the moon cold?” Shellsy asked.

“You wrote it!” Shane said.

“Yeah, but now I'm wondering.”

“It is cold,” Roz said.

“Thank you, Cap.”

“Minus one hundred thirty Celsius at night.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Roz said.

“Why the fuck do you know that?” Carmichael asked.

“I know things.”

“Apparently.”

“Moscow” Roz said

“Point.”

Shane looked at his sheet. “Next. Things you shout.”

“MOVE!” Vicky said.

“MOM!” Shellsy said.

“Why are you shouting for your mom?” Cliff asked.

“I don't know. Emergency?”

“What kind of emergency?”

“One where I need my mom.”

“Fair.”

“MOTHERFUCKER,” Carmichael said.

Half the table groaned.

“Fuck, that's good.”

“I have motherfucker,” Connors said.

“Goddammit.”

“Me too,” JJ said.

“Nobody gets it.”

“Roz?” Shane asked.

“Marley.”

Cliff looked up.

“What?”

“Marley.”

“Why the fuck would you shout Marley?”

Roz shrugged. “I do.”

Vicky nodded. “He does.”

Carmichael nodded too.

“Actually, yeah.”

“When?”

“Practice.”

“Games.”

“Locker room.”

“When you leave your shit on bus,” Roz added.

“Okay, fuck you. Fine. Point.”

Roz smiled.

“Things you shouldn't touch.”

“Mouse trap,” Cliff said.

“Motor,” Connors said.

“Molten lava,” Mitty said.

“That's two words,” Vicky said.

“Shit” Mitty said

“What's yours?”

Roz looked down.

“Moose.”

Silence.

Cliff nodded slowly.

“You know what? Yeah.”

“Absolutely,” Carmichael said.

“Don't touch a moose,” Vicky agreed.

If there was one thing Canadians and Russians could agree on… it was… Do not fuck with Moose.

Shane looked back at the list and sighed.

“Things you find under a bed.”

“Money,” Cliff said.

“Magazine,” Connors said.

“Mouse,” Shellsy said.

“Why is there a mouse under your bed?” Vicky asked.

“Why do you think I was calling for my mom?”

“Shellsy… you’re an enigma” Carmichael said.

“Mitten,” JJ said.

“That's good.”

“Monster,” Mitty said.

“Oh, fuck you. That's great.”

Everyone looked at Roz.

He was already smiling.

Shane immediately pointed at him.

“No.”

“I didn't say.”

“I can see your fucking face. Whatever you wrote, no.”

“You cannot reject before hearing.”

“Watch me.”

“Meatball.”

“No.”

“You didn't ask why.”

“I don't fucking need to.”

“Dog takes meatball. Dog goes under bed.”

“That's an entire fucking story you invented to get one point!”

“It explains meatball.”

“THE CATEGORY ISN'T ‘THINGS A DOG MIGHT STEAL AND THEN TRANSPORT UNDER A BED.’”

“Vote.”

“Fine! Who thinks meatball counts?”

Every Bear's hand went up.

JJ raised his too.

Shane's mouth dropped open.

“JJ!”

“I'm sorry. I need to see where this goes.”

Shane looked at Mitty.

“Don't.”

Mitty slowly raised his hand.

“Mitty!”

“Democracy, Hollzy.”

“OH, FUCK ALL OF YOU.”

The wind slammed against the windows again.

Harder this time.

The lights flickered.

But stayed on. They stopped for a moment but then resumed.

P.

“Okay. Go.”

Pencils started moving.

Cliff got halfway down the list before the lights flickered again.

Once.

Twice.

Everything went black.

Silence.

Then Rozy’s voice:

“Do not worry, Shane bought enough one-hundred hour candled to light all of Montreal.”

“Fuck off…”

Something crashed.

“Fuck!”

“Who was that?”

“Vicky.”

“Why are you moving?”

“I WAS LOOKING FOR MY PHONE.”

“You can't fucking look for it, it's DARK.”

“THAT'S WHY I NEED MY PHONE!”

Cliff started laughing.

A phone flashlight finally came on.

Shane was standing in the middle of his living room with his hands on his hips.

Roz was still sitting at the coffee table.

His pencil was moving.

Shane stared at him.

“Are you still fucking writing?”

Roz didn't look up.

“ROZY.”

“Power outage is not my fault I will win this.”

“PENCILS DOWN!”

“I have three more.”

“THE ROUND IS OVER.”

“Why?”

“BECAUSE WE CAN'T FUCKING SEE.”

Roz finally looked up.

“I can.”

He pointed at Vicky's phone.

Shane stared at him. “You are unbelievable.”

“Thank you.” 

“That wasn't a compliment.”

“Nothing counts! The power is out!”

“Convenient because you were losing.”

Shane's mouth dropped open.

“I was not fucking losing.”

“You were.”

“By TWO POINTS.”

“This is losing.”

“We weren't finished!”

Roz shrugged. “Then finish.”

Shane gestured around them.

“THE POWER IS OUT.”

“You have four thousand candles.”

“They're one-hundred-hour candles!”

“Even better.”

Cliff laughed. “He's got you there, Hollzy.”

Shane glared at him.

“Fine. You want to finish?”

“Yes.”

“By candlelight?”

“I am not afraid of dark.”

“Nobody said you were.”

“I’ll start lighting the candles” Hollander took his phone flashlight to the hall closet that held dozens of candles, and several flashlights and passed them around. 

Carmichael sat forward. “Oh, we need stakes.”

“No,” Shane said.

“Yes,” Roz said at the exact same time.

Shane looked at him.

“Of course.”

“What stakes?” Roz asked.

Carmichael looked around the condo.

Then toward the windows.

“Well, none of us are fucking leaving.”

“Okay?”

“Loser gets last pick of where they sleep.”

“Ohhhh,” Vicky said.

“That's good.”

“Wait,” JJ said. “No. Bottom two.”

Shane frowned. “Why bottom two?”

“Because then they have to share.”

“Share what?”

“Your bed Hollzy… It’s the only one big enough for two” JJ laughed “I’m guessing the rest of us are sleeping on couches?”

Cliff could see Hollander was doing the math in his head

Oh.

Oh, this could be fucking interesting.

“Ugh, fine!” Shane said

Cliff looked at him.

Roz looked at him too.

“Scared, Hollander?”

Oh, you motherfucker.

Shane's eyes narrowed.

“Of Scattergories?”

“Apparently.”

“Fuck you.”

“Then play.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Cliff sat back.

Jesus Christ.

They were both terrible actors. But everyone else here was dumb as fuck and probably had enough concussions between them to run a study. 

They finished the last round.

Then Cliff totaled the scores.

“Okay.”

“Who lost?” Carmichael asked.

Cliff looked down.

Then looked again.

No fucking way.

“What?” Shane asked.

Cliff looked across the table at him.

Then Roz.

“Well.”

“Marley.”

“This is fucking funny.”

“Who lost?”

“Hollzy and Roz.”

Silence.

Shane blinked.

Roz leaned over.

“Show me.”

“Why?”

“I don't trust you.”

“Fuck you. Look.”

Roz took the score sheet.

Shane immediately leaned over his shoulder.

Cliff watched both of them scan the numbers. They clearly had not lost. 

Roz crumpled it in his hand. 

“There is mistake,” Roz said.

“There isn't.”

“Recount.”

“I already did.”

“Rozanov it’s fine.” Shane said faux exasperatedly 

“This is because you reject meatball.”

“WE GAVE YOU MEATBALL!” Shane yelled.

“Then something else is wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong. We fucking lost. You can sleep on top of the covers or something”. 

“Ohhhhh shit,” Vicky said. “Hollander and Cap have to bunk together.”

Connors started laughing. “Oh, this is perfect.”

“How is this perfect?”

“Hollander and Rozanov sharing a bed! I gotta put this in the group chat”

“No!” Cliff, Shane and Ilya all said simultaneously 

“Bet's a bet.”

“I DIDN'T KNOW YOU PEOPLE WERE GOING TO PUT ROZANOV IN MY BED.”

Cliff had to look away. He absolutely could not look at either of them. He was going to fucking lose it. He wished for a moment Pike was here to commiserate with. 

“I don't want sleep with Hollander either,” Roz said.

And Jesus Christ, the performance. Arms crossed. Disgusted little curl of his lip. Like being forced into Shane Hollander's king-sized bed was a human-rights violation. Cliff knew this motherfucker was ELATED.

“Good,” Shane snapped. “Then don't.”

“I honor bets.” Roz said with some decorum

“Of course you fucking do.”

“I have integrity.”

Shane actually choked. “You cheated at Scattergories!”

“Strategy.”

“YOU WROTE MEATBALL.”

“And democracy approved.”

“Oh my God.”

“Sorry, Hollzy,” Vicky said. “Rules are rules.”

“Bet's a bet, Hollzy.” Cliff smiled

You're welcome, kid.

———

By the time sleeping arrangements were settled, Shane's condo looked like a teenage sleepover but it was giant adult male hockey players.

Blankets everywhere. Pillows everywhere.

Bags shoved against walls.

Vicky had already changed into some of Shane’s sweatpants and somehow acquired one of Shane's blankets.

“That's mine,” Shane said.

“Not tonight.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sleepover rules.”

“There are no sleepover rules.”

“There are absolutely sleepover rules,” Shellsy said.

Everyone looked at him.

“What?”

“Why do you know sleepover rules?” Carmichael asked.

“I had friends growing up.”

“Debatable.”

Shellsy ignored him. “First, nobody actually goes to sleep when they say they're going to sleep.”

“Correct,” JJ said.

“Second, snacks.”

“Obviously.”

“Third, somebody has to tell a ghost story.”

Shane immediately shook his head.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it's my fucking house.”

“What does that have to do with ghost stories?”

“Because when you all leave tomorrow, I still have to live here.”

Vicky slowly smiled.

“Hollzy's scared of ghosts.”

“I'm not scared of ghosts.”

“You look scared.”

“I feel annoyed.”

“Scared-annoyed.”

“That's not a thing.”

“You scared, Hollander?” Roz asked.

Shane looked at him.

“No.”

“We can leave candle on for you.”

“Fuck you.”

“For at least one hundred hours.”

“Il—Rozanov.”

Cliff laughed.

“Okay, ghost stories later. What else?” Shellsy thought.

“Truth or Dare.” Connors said

“No,” Shane said.

“You can't say no to everything.”

“Watch me.”

“Never Have I Ever?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Most Likely To?”

Shane considered.

“That's less terrible.”

“Great.”

“Wait,” Carmichael said. “Are we seriously having a sleepover?”

They all looked around.

Nine grown men.

Snowstorm.

No electricity.

Blankets.

Candles.

A plate of snickerdoodles sitting in the middle of them.

“Yes,” Mitty said.

Carmichael nodded. “Okay.”

———

“Okay,” Shellsy said. “Everybody points on three.”

“What's first?” Cliff asked.

“Most likely to get arrested.”

“One, two, three.”

Every single finger pointed at Roz.

Roz looked around.

“Fuck all of you.”

“That wasn't even close,” Vicky said.

“For what crime?” Roz asked.

“Doesn't matter.” Carmichael said

“It matters to me.” Roz bitched

“Public indecency,” Carmichael said.

“Streaking” Cliff said.

“International incident,” Shane added.

Roz pointed at him. “You would bail me out.”

Shane didn't even hesitate.

“No, I wouldn't.”

Cliff looked at him.

Liar.

“Next,” Shane said quickly.

“Most likely to cry at a movie.”

Three.

Everybody pointed at Shellsy even the Voyageurs.

“WHAT?”

“Absolutely,” JJ said.

“Based on what?”

“You cried at Up.”

“EVERYBODY CRIES AT UP.”

“I didn't,” Roz said.

Shane turned toward him. “You cried at—”

Roz's eyes flashed.

Shane stopped.

“...nothing.”

Cliff's eyebrows went up.

Oh, I desperately need to know what that was.

“What did Rozy cry at?” Vicky asked.

“Nothing.”

“Hollander.”

“At winning the cup?” Shane was clearly covering

Roz gave Shane a tiny nod.

Cliff caught that too.

“Everyone cries when you win the cup” Connors scoffed

——ROZ CAP 🫡——

Cliff: Tell me what movie made you cry?

Roz: Shane’s mom show me Steel Magnolias. Was very sad.

Cliff: Ok everyone cries at that one

Roz: Sally Field should have won Oscar

———

“Most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse.”

Everyone pointed.

A few pointed to Cliff. 

One to JJ. 

The rest went to Shane.

Shane looked around. “Why me?”

“You seem prepared,” Mitty said.

“You probably have an emergency binder,” Roz added.

Shane didn't answer.

“Hollzy!” Vicky laughed

“It's not a binder.” Shane protested

A cacophony of groans, ‘oh my gods’ and ‘holy shit’ filled the room

“It's a folder!” he continued

“YOU HAVE ZOMBIE FOLDER?” Roz sat up mouth agape

“NO! I HAVE AN EMERGENCY FOLDER.”Shane looked cross

“Does it have a zombie section?” Roz questioned

“No!” Shane was blushing

“Where is this folder. Give?”

“NO!”

“So that's a yes.” Shellsy muttered to Connors. 

————

The game went on for a little while longer as Roz and Cliff passed around beers and more snacks and eventually Shane was outnumbered and a game of Truth or Dare was happening despite his protests. 

“Truth or Dare?” Shellsy said

“No,” Shane said.

“You don't even know who I was asking.” Shellsy complained

“Doesn't matter.”

“C’mon Truth or Dare, Hollander?” Roz said with a smile

“No.”

“That is not one of the choices.”

“Then I'm not playing.”

“Scared?” Roz asked.

Shane looked across the living room at him. “Of Truth or Dare?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Shane protested

“Then play Hollander”

“Fine. Truth.”

The room erupted.

“Oh, come on!” Connors yelled “You can't start with truth!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because it's boring,” Carmichael said.

“Then don't ask me.” Shane looked absolutely cross.

Cliff could see Shellsy thinking “Okay. Who in this room would you least want to be stuck in an elevator with?”

Shane looked around. “Roz.”

“Fuck you,” Roz said immediately.

“See?” 

“Why me?”

“Because you'd make it worse.”

“How?”

“You'd start pressing shit.” Shane scoffed

“I would try to get us out.”

“Exactly.”

“I am not dying in elevator because you are afraid to press button.”

“What button gets you out of a broken elevator?” Shane rebutted 

“I do not know. This is why I press all of them.” Roz said matter-of-factly

“That's why I picked you!”

“Good. I don't want be stuck with you either.”

“Great.” 

“Great.”

Cliff looked between them.

Fucking convincing.

“Your turn, Hollzy,” Shellsy said.

Shane looked around the circle.

“Vicky. Truth or dare?”

Vicky considered. “Dare.”

Shane smiled.

“Oh, no,” Vicky said.

“You chose it.”

“I don't like your face.”

“Go outside and make a snow angel.”

Everyone started yelling.

“YES.”

“Fuck yes.”

“Absolutely.”

Vicky stared at Shane. “In this blizzard?”

“You don't have to leave the building. There's snow piled up on the balcony.”

“It's like two degrees outside.”

“Dare's a dare Vicky” Cliff countered

“I'm gonna get my pants wet! I didn’t bring extras.” He protested

“Sounds like a you problem dude.” Shellsy laughed

Two minutes later, after Shane grabbed some of his own sweatpants from his room and promised them to Vicky when he was done, they were all crowded against the glass doors while Vicky stood barefoot on Shane's balcony in only his boxers shivering”

“GO!” Carmichael yelled through the glass.

Vicky flipped them off. “I'M GOING FUCKERS!” He dropped backward into the snow.

Immediately he started to yell “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

The entire living room collapsed. Vicky thrashed his arms and legs approximately twice before scrambling upright and sprinting for the door. Shane locked it and smiled

“YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE.” Vicky said

“BEST ASSHOLE” they all chimed

“Oh fuck you all” Vicky yelled as Shane let him inside

“MY BALLS ARE INSIDE MY BODY.”

“Don't sit on my couch.”

“FUCK YOUR COUCH.” He said as he ran to the bathroom to take off his boxers and put on Shane’s sweatpants

He emerged a minute later holding his snow covered boxers. 

“In hindsight, this was a mistake Vicky’s now free-balling in my sweatpants” Shane grimaced “Put your clothes in the washer I’ll do a load.”

Vicky turned toward the circle the back of his head still damp with snow

“Roz. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Of course,” Cliff said.

Vicky's eyes narrowed. Then he smiled. “Oh, I got it. Let JJ doe your hair!”

Roz's face fell. “No.”

Everyone screamed. “YOU PICKED DARE DUDE! You gotta do it!”

“Different dare.”

“Nope.”

“I will go in snow.”

“Nope.”

“Naked.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shane muttered.

“Still no,” Vicky said.

Roz considered. “Fine.”

JJ was already moving. “Sit.”

“I don't like how excited you are.”

“Sit down, Rozy.” JJ said sternly and thickening his Quebecois accent

Roz sat cross-legged on the floor as JJ disappeared toward the bathroom.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“For supplies.”

“No supplies!”

“It's hair!”

“You need hands only! What supplies?”

JJ returned carrying a brush, hair ties and several little clips. Roz stared at him.

“Where did you get these?”

JJ looked at Shane. Everybody looked at Shane.

Shane looked around. “What?”

“Why do you have butterfly clips?” Carmichael asked.

“Th—They're not mine.”

“Whose are they?”

“I don't fucking know...” Shane defended, but it was clear to the whole room he knew exactly whose they were.

“You just said they're not yours.”

“Because they're not!” Shane blushed.

“Then whose are they?”

“They're probably... uhhh... Rose's.”

That seemed to satisfy everybody except Roz. Roz was staring absolute daggers at Shane. Cliff caught his eye.

Jesus fucking Christ. If looks could kill…

Cliff had seen Roz with more women over the years than he could count. And now that Cliff knew about Shane, there had probably been men too. Fewer, maybe. Who fucking knew. Shane was different. Cliff couldn't remember hearing much of anything about Hollander's dating life. Granted, they weren't teammates, but Shane Hollander was famous enough that if he'd been getting around, somebody would've fucking talked.

Then there had been Rose Landry. Everybody knew about Rose Landry. That hadn't just made headlines. That shit had made the actual news. Cliff had never thought of Roz as a jealous guy. Even with Svetlana, who Cliff and about half the Bears had tried hitting on at one point or another, Roz had always been more protective than jealous.

But right now? Ilya Rozanov was fucking jealous of Rose Landry. Cliff almost laughed.

Oh, this is incredible.

JJ sat behind him.

“Don't move.”

“I don't trust you.”

“You shouldn't.”

Ten minutes later, Ilya Rozanov, captain of the Boston Bears, had six tiny ponytails sticking out in different directions, each adorned with a butterfly clip. He looked absolutely insane… and deeply unhappy about it. He sat on the floor with his arms crossed over his chest, lower lip pushed out just enough that Cliff knew he was sulking but not enough that Roz would ever admit to sulking.

Vicky was lying on the floor, face down laughing into the rug. One arm stretched uselessly toward Roz like he'd died trying to reach him.

“Stop laughing,” Roz said.

This only made Vicky shake harder. Cliff looked at the six ponytails. One of the butterflies was pink.

“You look great, Cap.”

“Fuck you, Marley.”

Roz reached up like he was going to touch one.

“DON'T,” JJ snapped.

Roz's hand dropped immediately. Cliff fucking lost it.

“I hate all of you.” Roz pouted

Carmichael had tears running down his face. Cliff looked over and across the room, Shane had gone completely silent Hollander had both hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking, face bright red from trying not to laugh. Roz noticed too. His sulk deepened.

“You especially.” Roz muttered like a petulant toddler

That did it, Shane folded in half.

“I didn't even do anything!” Shane wheezed

“You are enjoying.”

“I am not.”

“You are crying.”

“I can't help it, you look like Cynthia from The Rugrats!” Shane could barely get the sentence out. 

Roz glared at him. Shane looked up again, took in the butterfly clips, and immediately lost it all over again. Cliff watched Roz try very hard to stay pissed at him. He made it maybe three seconds. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Even looking like a six-year-old had done his hair at a sleepover, the bastard couldn't stay mad when Hollander laughed.

“You look really pretty, Rozy.” Shellsy said in his best most comforting voice

“Thank you.”

That only made Shane laugh harder. JJ held up his phone and snapped a photo

“Delete it.” Roz demanded

“I didn't take one!” JJ lied

“Give phone.”

“Fuck off.”

“Give.”

“No, this is my new phone background” JJ laughed

“C’mon Truth or Dare!” Vicky yelled.

Roz turned.

“You.”

He pointed directly at Shane. 

Shane's laughter stopped. “Me?” 

“Yes. Truth or dare and you already did truth?”

Shane glanced around. Then straightened his posture. 

“ Fine, Dare.”

“Ooooooooh!” Carmichael cackled

Roz smiled.

Careful, motherfucker.

“Wear Bears shirt.”

Shane stared at him. “I'd rather go outside.”

“You said Dare.”

“No.”

The Bears fucking erupted.

“YES!”

“CAP!”

“GET HIM ONE!”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Shane warned

Roz was already getting up.

“Sit the fuck down Rozanov, I’m not wearing shit!” 

“I have extra in roadie bag.” Roz’s voice trailed off down the hall gleefully

Oh, this is hilarious.

Roz came back with a Bears T-shirt and threw it at Shane. He caught it and held it away from himself like it was contaminated.

“I'm not wearing this.”

“Dare is dare.”

“I am the captain of the Montreal Voyageurs. I cannot wear this!”

“Yes. Will look very good. Black and yellow compliments you well”

“Fuck you.”

“Put on.”

The Bears started chanting.

“PUT IT ON! PUT IT ON! PUT IT ON!”

“I FUCKING HATE ALL OF YOU.”