Chapter Text
Shane did not have a lot of friends growing up. His mother used to tell him that it was normal to feel different. Shane had, in her words, his sights set on something greater. Not everyone would—or could—understand that. It was easier for him to accept her explanation. He had always felt weird compared to the other kids. Blaming his inability to connect with others on his drive was easier than acknowledging that something might actually be wrong with him. It was true, somewhat. It was hard to make friends when you turned down any invitation to hang out in favor of practice or travel games. Except, it was hard for Shane to make friends on his team, too.
Different. That’s what his father would say when Shane came back home from hockey practice sniffling away tears after being checked into the boards by one of the older kids. They had laughed at the way he had tried to correct their form when they were practicing slapshots. Calling him names. Saying, ‘aren’t you just a little know-it-all.’ There is nothing wrong with you, Shane. His father would tell him. You’re great. If they don’t see that, then something’s wrong with them.
No matter what his parents said, the weird, oil-slick shame he felt every time something happened that made him feel other followed him far past peewees, on into Juniors, and even the draft.
Then, there was that other problem. The girl problem.
Shane had one long-term girlfriend in high school—Jessica. But a lot of the time, it felt like she was sort of just there. If felt that being with her was something he did because it was another one of those things that he was supposed to do, not because he actually wanted to. Jessica was fine, nice, and by all accounts pretty. Except, Shane didn’t think that you were supposed to think your girlfriend was fine.
After the CCM photoshoot, things—changed, for Shane.
Being with Rozanov—Ilya, God, being with him had been more than just fine. Shane would have loved to be able to chock it up to some grand discovery that he maybe wasn’t one hundred percent straight. He would have loved for it to have nothing to do with the person and more to do with the fact that person was a man. Ilya felt like more than that, though. Shane had spent so much of his time growing up feeling as if he was speaking a different language than everyone else. It was like he was some animal at the zoo stuck behind a wall of glass, gazing out at the people passing by but never really being with them.
But with Ilya?
Ilya spoke English with a thick Russian accent and sentences with words missing, but somehow Shane felt understood.
‘You look pretty,’ he had said, face close. His tongue snapping on the t’s. Shane’s heart had done a stutter-step at the words, but he had scoffed them off anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time a hockey guy had teased him for being a pretty-boy. Except, when Ilya had repeated himself, there was an earnestness to it that Shane did not expect.
That, coupled with the fact that the shoot together had been Ilya’s idea, that Ilya had admitted to wanting to see him again, had Shane feeling warm and seen in a way he had never really felt before. When Ilya had asked Shane for his room number, he had given it gladly. When Ilya knocked, Shane opened.
*
The moment after the—encounter, for lack of a better word, was a precipice that Shane was teetering on the edge of. Ilya had said ‘I should go,’ and had headed for the door in what felt like slow motion. In front of Shane stretched two possibilities:
If Shane let Ilya leave, then maybe, maybe they would get more clandestine moments like this in the future. Maybe they would share looks across the ice. Maybe they would bump shoulders at MHL events. Maybe they would see each other again, but maybe not. The maybe not of it all cut Shane like a knife in a way he did not expect.
If Shane stopped him, maybe they could be something more. Maybe he would have someone who seemed to understand him, even as they spoke different languages. Maybe he would have someone look at him and, and really see him for once, and everything that Shane could never figure out how to say. Maybe he could have Ilya. Just the possibility of having Ilya sent him rocketing forward.
“Stay,” Shane said, the word punched out of him before he could fully think it through.
Ilya paused at the door, hand on the handle.
“Hollander,” Ilya huffed. His shoulders were tight, and he did not turn around.
“Shane,” he corrected, taking a single, brave step forward.
“Shane, then,” Ilya sighed, “this is not good idea.”
“If I recall correctly, it was your idea,” Shane joked, smile wry.
“Yes, yes. The—the messing around, maybe but,” Ilya waved a hand in the air as if it would encompass everything he could not find the words in English to explain, “staying is more, maybe too much.”
“It’s already more, isn’t it?” Shane asked desperately. He felt like a kid again then, off balance and unsure. Maybe Shane had misread things… again. It wouldn’t be unlike him to reach the wrong conclusions, to miss a social cue. Maybe today didn’t mean the same thing to Ilya as it had meant to Shane. Maybe all he wanted was an easy—
“Yes,” Ilya breathed, the word cutting off Shane’s spiraling thoughts. “Yes, I did not want it to be so, but, but I cannot escape you, Shane Hollander. I cannot escape your name, or your hockey, or your face, or your stupid, pretty freckles.” Ilya was still facing the door. His hand remained on the handle.
“Then stay,” Shane repeated, brave, begging, voice cracking, “please.”
Ilya let out a grumbling growl as he seemed to rip his fingers away from the door, turning back towards Shane and scooping him up by the thighs before lifting him back onto the bed. Shane let out a startled yelp.
“О боже, ты так прекрасна, умоляешь меня,” Ilya spoke the words into Shane’s neck, and Shane shivered with them, “okay, okay I stay.”
“How long?” Shane asked, breaths heavy, tilting his head back as Ilya pushed closer into him.
“I do not know, forever maybe, we will see,” Ilya answered, pressing another kiss into Shane’s skin.
Forever. The thought sent Shane reeling. He could have this forever.
*
“It wouldn’t be good… right? If we told people?” Shane asked, voice quiet. He rubbed the smooth fabric of the sheets between his fingers, attention fixed down.
“One blowjob and I am already getting ‘what are we’ talk?” Ilya smirked. His face softened when he saw the painful twist of Shane’s lips. “Hey, Hollander, we tell no one anything you do not want, ok? Anyways, is… would not be good for me, I think, if people knew,” Ilya said, words thick.
“Because of your family?” Shane asked, glancing upwards.
“Mmm,” Ilya hummed, “and because of Russia. Is not…good there. For people like me. I would not be able to go home again.”
“I’m sorry,” Shane breathed, lowering his head to rest on Ilya’s shoulder. He watched the way the warm light of the hotel room lamps shifted off of the cross dangling from Ilya’s neck.
“Is no great loss,” Ilya said, “my father—my brother—they have not… I have not had family for long time. Not since my mother. Even still. Is maybe best to not, what is word? Show off? No, ad-ver-tise.” The word stretched into three long syllables as he said it, like taffy on his tongue. “I think—hmm. I think maybe I will not lie, if someone ask. But maybe best until I have citizenship to not be—so obvious?”
“That makes sense,” Shane agreed, nodding from where he sank down against Ilya’s chest. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of thing yet anyways—coming out. Maybe… I mean, someday obviously. But not now. Not so early in our careers. I don’t want to be known as—as the gay player, ya know? I’d like to be Shane Hollander, best center in the league, first.”
“Second best,” Ilya corrected firmly.
“Asshole,” Shane huffed, smacking him on his bare stomach lightly.
“Hey, hey! I just tell you I would not lie!” Ilya chuckled, swatting Shane’s hands away.
“I guess you’ll just have to work for it then,” Shane taunted.
“I guess I will,” Ilya smiled, and he leaned down and kissed Shane.
*
“You will be Jane,” Ilya said, pulling Shane’s phone from his hands. They were standing next to each other by the hotel door, early morning sunlight drifting through the curtains. The both of them had put off getting up for as long as they could. Now there were flights to catch, and Shane’s mom had already knocked on his door once this morning before Shane had sent her away with a panicked, I’m getting dressed, wait for me in the lobby.
“And who will you be?” Shane asked, taking the phone back from Ilya. He felt a tug in his chest as their fingers brushed.
Lily: Hi 😉
Shane looked at the message on his screen and smiled.
“It will be a while, yes, before I see you again?” Ilya asked. Ilya shifted heavily from one foot to the next as he said it, shoes scuffing softly against the rough hotel carpet.
“A few months,” Shane nodded.
“Then do not be stranger, Jane,” Ilya reached up to brush the freckles on Shane’s face with his thumb. “Gimme kiss,” he whispered.
Shane’s stomach flopped over at the words, and he leaned forward to press a kiss into Ilya’s lips.
“I will miss you,” Shane admitted quietly.
“да,” Ilya agreed. He gave Shane one last, sad smile as he slipped out the door and into the hall.
Shane stared at the door for a few long moments, even after it was shut.
*
@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer✅ I would like to give a special thanks to CCM for the opportunity to collaborate! Thank you for having me! #CCMCampaign #Ad [Photo Attached]
@IlyaRozanovOfficial liked this tweet.
@HockeyStixxx His mom wrote this post and you cannot convince me
otherwise.@MiaMetroz we are so excited to have you on the team this season!!! #RookieSeason
@LoverrErra what have hockey fans been hiding from meeeee send me to the boy aquariummmmmmm 🏒🐟
@IlyaRozanovOfficial✅ Is official, I am in new CCM ad, right next to pretty face of Shane Hollander. Only thing he can beat me in is beauty contest. #CCMCampaign #Ad [Photo Attached]
@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer liked this tweet.
@HollanderBabe24 the man did not stutter. 😭
@BostonWAGOneDay already chirping at him before the season even starts. What kind of psychological warfare is this man waging???
@TeamFreeWilly he’s Russian it’s in his blood.
@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer✅ see you on the ice.
*
r/Hockey
u/BostonForTheCup: How do we all feel about Ilya Rozanov?
Ok everyone! This is a post mostly for the Boston fans, but if you want to have actual, nuanced takes in the comments and not just be an asshole because you hate Boston you are welcome to join in as well.
I was excited when we drafted Rozanov first overall. He was a strong player, won the Prospect Cup, and seemed like he could bring a kind of physicality to the game that the Raiders definitely need.
But now there’s this whole rivalry thing with Shane Hollander? I know they faced each other in Juniors a few times, obviously went 1-2 in the draft, and then there’s Montreal’s and Boston’s history… anyways my point is yes, there is a rivalry. The rivalry makes sense. But Shane Hollander seems to be like… the ‘golden boy’ of hockey. Butter couldn’t melt in that kid’s mouth. I’m just worried with the way Rozanov seems to be (i.e. a bit combative and cocky at times) that he’s going to be the villain in this story.
I mean… they did a CCM ad together and he was already chirping him in his official Tweet! I just don’t want this to get messy. I want my team to focus on playing hockey, not dropping their gloves on and off the ice.
u/underthehill you’re telling me… you don’t want a hockey rivalry… to get messy?
u/byebyeboston look, that tweet probably was a contractually agreed upon jab. Everyone and their dog wants to make money off of this rivalry. They’re playing it up for the cameras.
u/RaidMeDaddy I don’t care if Boston becomes the villain in this story, so long as we win cups, who cares?
u/HockeyHead 100% He could call Hollander a slur on live TV for all I care, so long as we’re winning.
u/RaidMeDaddy ok actually I would not go that far.
*
“Ilya, Ilya!”
In the grainy video on Shane’s phone screen, reporters called out to Ilya from where he stood, sweaty and shirtless outside of his locker room. His curls were damp, and his chest seemed to heave from the exertion of the game he had just won, beating Scott Hunter and New York handily 4-2 in their first matchup.
“Your first game against Montreal is next week, can you tell us how you’re feeling?” one of the reports asked.
On Shane’s screen, Ilya smirked.
“Is—Canada, yes?” Ilya asked, brow scrunched up as if he was confused.
“It’s Shane Hollander’s team!” A voice called out from behind the camera.
“And he is… goalie, yes?” Ilya questioned. He paused for a moment before cracking a smile. “Yes, will be good to play number two center in the league. Finally, some decent competition.”
Shane, despite the cockiness in Ilya’s words, warmed at the compliment.
“So, do you think Hollander has a chance to beat you in the scoring race this year?” A reporter asked.
“Ah, Hollander is very good. Not so good as me, but then again, who is?” Ilya joked, and the crowd outside his locker room chuckled in response.
“Asshole,” Shane mumbled to himself, fond.
“And what do you have to say about your rivalry with Hollander? Or the rivalry between Boston and Montreal’s programs?” A man asked, pushing his microphone forward.
“Is nothing better,” Ilya answered, “I cannot wait. Has been long time since I have chance to face Hollander on ice. Too long. I am… ah… as Marly says, ‘fired up.’”
The video on Shane’s phone ended, and Shane closed the browser, still smiling. He opened up his messages and scrolled to Ilya’s contact.
Jane: I saw your interview after the New York game, asshole.
Jane: …are you really looking forward to playing me?
Lily: yes
Lily: of course.
Lily: Hunter is old and slow and all I could think about when I beat his sad team and made them cry was next week I get to see you. Get to play you for first time in so long. Get to touch you.
Lily: I
Lily: I have miss you, Солнышко
Jane: I’ve missed you too, Ilya.
Jane: I can’t wait to see you.
Jane: And I can’t wait to beat you 😉
Lily: And you call me asshole!
Lily: No!
Lily: You are true asshole!
Lily: Soon, I see you.
Jane: Soon.
*
“God,” his mother scoffed, sitting across from him at the restaurant, “did you see that interview Rozanov gave after his New York game?”
Shane tried hiding the edge of his smile behind his hand. It was lunchtime, and the restaurant around them was busy. Shane was meeting his parents for lunch for the first time in about a week.
His father glanced up from his menu, “did he say something?”
“Doesn’t he always? The attitude!” His mother seemed indignant. Shane could see why, given the circumstances, but he didn’t know what to say to make the situation any better. Instead, he kicked the ground with his foot absentmindedly and thumbed at his own menu.
“Asked if Montreal was in Canada!” His mom continued, turning towards Shane’s father, “acted like he didn’t know who Shane was!”
“Mom,” Shane said quietly.
“I mean—I mean come on—”
“Mom.” The word was firmer this time, and his mother stopped her rant to look up at him, “it’s fine.”
“He shouldn’t say things like that,” she protested.
“He was… he was making a joke, mom. It’s fine. He’s not a bad guy, really!” Shane explained.
She huffed, “I just think it isn’t very sportsmanlike is all.”
“He texted me, after—” Shane admitted quietly, a part of him, a big part of him, could not stand to hear his mother talk badly about Ilya, “I’ve had his number… since that CCM shoot? He told me after that he was looking forward to playing me next week. Honestly. He meant nothing by it. He was just making a scene for the cameras.”
“If you say so,” his mother drawled, rolling her eyes.
It was frustrating, for Shane. If he said too much, if he gave Ilya too much benefit of the doubt, then surely his mother and father would see right through him. Shane wasn’t good at making friends, they knew that. If he was somehow friends with Rozanov of all people, Shane was sure that they would put two-and-two together.
Shane wanted to fight his mother more on this. He wanted to tell her that Ilya was a good person. That sure, he was a cocky asshole, but that he… that he was nice, too. Kind. That he cared about Shane. Instead, he just gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the menu, shoving the feelings down. He didn’t like lying to his parents. He just couldn’t figure out how to tell them, either. Shane would, one day. He promised himself that.
*
@IlyaRozanovOfficial✅ Happy to announce that I WILL be pounding Shane Hollander tonight! That ass is MINE!
@CliffMarleau✅Brother, please ask me before you post shit like this.
@BostonWAGOneDay pounding him into… the boards… right? RIGHT?
@HollanderBabe24 in my dreams 🙏🙏🙏
@HockeyFan81 PLEASE have someone proof-read this man’s Tweets.
@IllyaRozanovOfficial✅ what is ‘proof-read’? Internet tells me this mean fix errors. What error? I said what I said.
@HockeyFan81 I’M SCREAMING
@CliffMarleau✅🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️