Work Text:
The last person Ilya expected to hear from was Cliff Marlow.
He and Shane had just been outed. Hayden Pike’s stupid FanMail video had gone viral, the commissioner was furious with them, and Shane was spiraling. They were eating chicken parm in a restaurant. Together.
In many ways, this was everything Ilya had dreamed about for the better part of a decade.
So when his phone buzzed, he was startled to see Cliff Marlow’s name light up. Ilya sighed. He supposed he owed his friend (if you could even call him that. Ex-teammate, more like.) an explanation.
“You should take that call,” Shane said, looking at Ilya’s phone. He frowned. “Marlow? Really? From Boston?”
Ilya shrugged. “I will take it if you want me to. But not for long.”
“You should. He’s your friend, right?”
Ilya shrugged again, and answered.
“Cliff.”
“Roz!” Marlow’s voice boomed over the buzz of the restaurant. “Just saw the news man. Congrats!”
Ilya blinked. “What? What news? What are you talking about?”
“You and Hollander, Rozy. I knew that Montreal girl worked you up. I didn’t know it was Shane Hollander. Good for you, bro! Hit that!”
Shane, hearing everything, raised his eyebrows. Ilya frowned.
“Don’t say hit that, Marly.”
“Yeah, well. I know we’ve kind of lost touch a bit, but…I just wanted you to know I support you. Ok?”
Shane and Ilya made eye contact, and Ilya was surprised to find how happy this made him. He hadn’t really given Cliff Marlow much thought since leaving Boston. But he couldn’t deny that it was nice to hear from him, and to hear support coming from him too.
“Thanks, Marly.” Then, after a second, he said, “Next time we play in Boston, let’s grab a beer.” Something he had avoided doing since he left Boston.
“You got it, Roz. Best captain ever! I’ll let you go, but I’m in your corner, man. Fucking beautician!”
“That was nice,” Shane said kindly after Ilya hung up. “Well, for the most part.”
“Yeah,” said Ilya quietly. “It was.”