Kunamana



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    “You didn’t like it the last time we tried it,” Shane said.

    Ilya gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Was years ago. Maybe it is an acquired taste, like licorice.”

    “You also don’t like licorice,” Shane pointed out.

    “Yes, but I keep trying it because Luca likes it so much.”

    “And then you make a face and tell him how awful it is.”

    “When have I ever told you your dick is awful?” Ilya said, looking mildly offended. “I am its number one fan.”

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    29 Mar 2026

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    “Can’t hang out tonight, Hayd. I have plans.”

    “Bullshit,” Hayden responds. “You never have plans.”

    Objectively, this used to be true. Nowadays Shane has many, many plans, between his nightly plans to look at Ilya’s penis through Skype and his various long-term plans laid out helpfully in his notebook, Canva (For Ilya’s sake. He is a visual learner), and more recently, Excel. Shane loves that excel sheet. He’s colour coded it.

     

    In 2017, Shane Hollander spirals and proposes to his boyfriend of 4 days (or 7 years, or 9 years, or not his boyfriend at all, depending on how you look at it), which leads to a lot of plans, weird theories in the Montreal Voyageur locker room, some Twitter drama, and Ilya Rozanov entering his WAG era.

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    29 Mar 2026

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    Shane picks up on the third ring.

    “What?”

    Ilya closes his eyes, humiliation twisting his gut. Still, though, it’s nice to hear his voice. His shoulders sag a little. “Hollander?”

    “I don’t–” Shane sighs, long and heavy. “Why are you calling?”

    Why is he calling? Ilya couldn’t answer. Not in any way that makes sense, anyway.

    Voice wobbling, Ilya says, “I am sorry.” He inhales, breath hitching horribly. “Was mistake.”

    On the other line, Shane goes quiet. Then, shuffling around, he says, “What’s going on, Rozanov?”

    Or: Ilya calls Shane in the middle of the night, and against his better judgment, Shane comes to find him.

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    29 Mar 2026

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    Shane's breath catches on a sob, and he muffles the sound with his hand. Everything feels like too much. He’s naked, and he can feel entirely too much on his body, inside his body, and he hates how it's starting to feel gross. His head is pounding, and he can't even focus on placating his mind when his lungs are also screaming in his throat for breath.

    Ilya hears, and his hands reach out to hold Shane, tension lying in every part of his body. “Shane—”

    “Don't touch me,” Shane snaps, more desperation than yelling as he rips his arm out of Ilyas's grasp. His tears have nowhere to go now, and they finally spill over, hot and humiliating, down his cheeks.

    Ilya freezes in place, hand hovering mid-air. A myriad of emotions flicker across his face: confusion, hurt, fear. Ilya takes an unconscious step back like someone shoved him. His body curls in on itself, trying to make himself appear smaller.

    He looks... terrified. Like, Shane just called him a monster, and he believes it.

    OR: inspired by the fight in the long game when ilya had told shane he could have sex with other men because he did not believe in cheating.

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    29 Mar 2026

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    “Is it your wedding day?”
    Shane sputters. “Sorry?”
    “The tuxedo,” she points out. “You look like you just got married.”
    “Oh,” Shane says dumbly, glancing down at his rumpled suit. “No,” he adds.
    -
    Or the one where that one night in Vegas gets a little out of hand for Ilya and Shane and a marriage by accident could turn into one of convenience. And maybe, something more.

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    29 Mar 2026