Summary:

And the problem is, it’s just too much fucking fun to prod him like this. When they’d met outside the rink in Regina, Hollander was polite, pushing back only a little. But it’s clearly getting to him: his silver medal, number two pick. The only person in his way, ever, is Ilya. Ilya wonders if anyone except the two of them even cares. He can’t remember the last time he cared about beating someone as badly as he wants to beat Hollander these days. Perhaps it’s a side effect from being forced to see his name right next to the guy’s for months on end. Rozanov and Hollander, Rozanov against Hollander, Rozanov versus Hollander. On, and on, and on