saturnv



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    They’d agreed on a plan. It was cautious. Designed to keep them safe. Laying the foundation for a future after hockey. It didn’t include Shane going nuclear one fucking day into pre-season, blowing up his entire life on something he should’ve expected to happen if he was being honest with himself.

    Or, when the long game falls apart, Shane and Ilya need a new plan. (Or or, from the ten year plan to the one week speed-run.)

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    10 Mar 2026

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    “What are you—” Ilya began, but the words died on his tongue. “Holy shit.”

    “I was trying to tell you.” Shane ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, willing the heat in his cheeks to fade. “I don’t know what happened. It must’ve been some sort of mistake. I didn’t. I mean—”

    “Holy shit,” Ilya repeated, more stunned than before, his gaze sweeping over the room that looked like Cupid himself had thrown up across every square inch of it, and there were many. It was the penthouse suite, after all.

    OR: A hotel mix-up leaves Shane with a decorated room on Valentine's day.

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    10 Mar 2026

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    They’re in Boston on Ilya’s couch when it happens. They’ve lapsed into a comfortable silence, a muted game on in the background, Ilya’s head in Shane’s lap and Shane’s fingers in his hair. Ten minutes ago, they were tugging and twisting and curling; four minutes ago, they grew slow and tepid. When they go entirely still, Ilya turns in his lap to look up at him, ready to chirp him for falling asleep, but his breath catches in his throat at what he finds instead. Shane is not asleep, but he is not awake either.

    While visiting his boyfriend, Shane has a verbal shutdown in front of a woefully-unprepared Ilya for the first time.

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    10 Mar 2026

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    Shane's eyes squeeze closed again. “We had reason to put rules in place. Protocol. If ever—if it got to a place where, if he was ever feeling like he might—"

    Hayden’s body understands before his mind catches up. His blood runs cold for a second, stuck on the scrunch of Shane’s face, the clench of his fist, how desperate he’d been to see Rozanov—Ilya—just now. To make sure that he was okay. Here, in person.

    Not hurt. Alive.

    “Oh,” Hayden hears himself say distantly. “Oh, fuck, Shane.”

    --

    or, Ilya needs a place to go, and Hayden's happens to be the closest. It turns out to be a good thing.

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    09 Mar 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “Did I do something wrong?” Shane asks, his voice cracking on the last word. He detests being vulnerable and asking for reassurance, even from people he’s comfortable with. And he would probably describe this situation as literally anything but comfortable.

    He bites his lip and hopes the blood he draws will distract him from the stinging in his eyes.

    “No, Hollander,” Rozanov answers. “It was not you.”

    “Okay, well, if it’s not me, will you at least look at me?” Shane snaps. “You don’t kiss me all night, except for that one time in that disgusting fucking bathroom, you don’t want to talk to me in bed, and now you won’t even look at me anymore. How am I supposed to think that that’s not about me? Do I really mean that fucking little to you?”

    Or: What if Shane actually sends the text in Vegas?

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    08 Mar 2026