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Ilya Rozanov is not a jealous person.

Seriously. He is not.

He can get envious, sure. Truthfully, he is a pretty envious motherfucker.

After all, everyone around him has always had it better.

Better parents, who are alive and kind without having to try. Better siblings, who don’t give migraines every time their name pops up on the phone. Better countries that don’t criminalise men for wanting to suck cock from time to time. Better teams that actually remember how to play hockey. Better brains that don’t play tricks and say things that are just downright mean, even if they're mostly true.

Just better everything.

Everyone has it better.

Everyone has a lot. A lot that Ilya wants, craves, and desires.

He can be greedy, despite his wealth. He can be envious, despite his blessings.

But one thing he isn’t is jealous.

If anything, it’s rather an unfamiliar emotion.

Because jealousy isn’t the same as envy, you see. Envy is wanting something that belongs to someone else.

And Ilya wants. Ilya has always wanted.

But jealousy is the terrifying fear of losing something you already have.

What has Ilya ever had that he was afraid of losing? What has he ever had that he needed to hold onto with both hands because he didn’t want it ripped away from him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Everything he could stand to lose, he lost at the age of twelve. When his mother left him, she took everything else with her, too—the possibility of a half-decent father who bothered to give a shit now and then, a brother who was kind when their mother reminded him to be, a country to think back with love and longing.

It’s all gone now.

There is nothing he has—owns—that he fears to lose.

He owns a lot, sure. His apartments, cars, trophies and medals.

They could take it all from him, and Ilya probably wouldn’t even try to fight them back. On some days, he wishes to throw it all away himself. Throw it into the fucking canal he drives by every day.

Maybe throw yourself in, too.

Anyhow, the point is, he is not a jealous person.

That is, until he met Shane Hollander.

It’s different with Shane.

Everything is different with Shane.

His brain, which somehow manages to pull away from the dark thoughts that lurk around when he isn’t careful. His dick, which seems to valiantly want to please the other man at any given opportunity.

And his heart.

God, his heart has been doing all kinds of things since Shane came into his life.

Among those many things, his heart is also jealous.

Ilya almost doesn’t recognise it at first.

After all, despite knowing each other and having each other for almost a decade, he never really owned Shane. Sometimes, despite being in a loving, committed relationship for a year now, he believes he still doesn’t.

So, this new and unfamiliar feeling in his chest…it’s got to be jealousy.

It’s unfair. He understands it.

It’s ugly, too. He utterly resents it.

Back in Russia, they have a saying. Ревность и любовь — сестры.

Jealousy and love are sisters.

His people believe that one cannot exist without the other—that they are two sides of the same coin.

Ilya can’t understand why. He can’t understand how something so ugly can exist in the same breath as something so beautiful.

His mother would disagree with him. She used to tell him, when Ilya went to her, confused and worried, that love can be ugly sometimes.

That papa only hits her because he loves her very much. That Alexei only yells at Ilya because he worries about him.

But Ilya doesn’t get it.

He didn’t then, and he doesn’t now.

Because Shane is all that is good and beautiful in this world, and Ilya can’t imagine loving him in any way that is tainted by ugliness.

So, he tries.

He tries not to feel jealous.

He tries not to act like a lunatic when some useless journalist fails to read Shane’s mind and know that he has a boyfriend.

He tries not to growl at the girl at the bar who dares to ask Shane to dance with her, even though Ilya is right fucking there.

He tries not to shove a puck down Ikonen’s throat when the defenseman from Finland compliments Shane’s skating skills with one too many adjectives.

He tries not to reply to every thirsty comment under Shane’s carefully curated Instagram posts with a ‘fuck off, he’s mine’ or ‘I called dibs, bitches’.

Ilya has never had these kinds of deranged thoughts in his whole life, except for where Shane is concerned.

It’s absurd, really, considering those poor fools don’t even know that Shane is spoken for. But that doesn’t stop the ugly beast inside of him from emerging every time someone so much as smiles in Shane’s direction.

But still, he tries. He tries every single day not to taint his love for Shane with this ugly, unfamiliar emotion.

It’s hard work, since his boyfriend is very pretty and a lot of people want him.

But Ilya likes to think he’s doing a fairly decent job at curbing his jealousy. 

At least until Peter Landry comes into their lives.

Rose Landry has been a plague upon Ilya’s life since 2016.

Ilya is one of those people who doesn’t believe you can be friends with your exes.

Svetlana doesn’t count, of course, since she was his friend way before she became an ex.

He knows a lot of people do it. But he just doesn’t get how you can be someone’s ‘friend’ after claiming to be in love with them. He doesn’t think he could ever just be Shane’s friend. He’d literally rather die.

Sure, not everyone who has been in a relationship has been in love, too. Shane was never in love with Rose, and Ilya believes him.

But surely Rose had a little crush on Shane? Surely, she considered hiring an Etsy witch to make Shane return her feelings. Ilya wouldn’t judge her for it. After all, these are all normal thoughts people have about Shane Hollander.

So, when Shane decided to keep Rose Landry around, even after their breakup in 2017, Ilya was more than a little annoyed.

He tried not to show it. Especially since he understood how important it is for Shane to have people he can be himself with and talk to about things he’d otherwise have to hide.

Ilya hated her.

Then he slowly tolerated her.

Mostly because she makes Shane laugh, and Shane looks so pretty when he does that, and Ilya is too endeared to grumble about the source of it.

He might be a jealous man. But he is not an asshole.

He wants Shane to be happy, and he isn’t too egotistical to want to be the only person who can make Shane happy.

All this to say, Ilya likes Rose now. Partly because Shane likes her, but mostly because he knows Shane is extremely gay and therefore Rose could never be a real threat to their relationship, at least not anymore.

So, Ilya finally makes peace with Shane and Rose's friendship. He even decides to stop scowling at her every time they meet at some event or another for the Foundation. 

Because he is an adult.

Because he is kind and forgiving and mature.

But then, Rose—like the life-ruining evil witch that she is—goes and introduces Shane to her brother.

It’s a good thing Ilya never really liked her anyway.

The most annoying thing about Peter Landry is not his coiffed strawberry-blond hair that is somehow always in place, even underneath his helmet. Ilya suspects the man uses his sister’s exclusive styling products from Hollywood because there is no way his hair just naturally stays like that.

It’s not his piercing blue eyes, which are objectively prettier than Ilya’s—but not prettier than Shane’s, of course.

It’s not even his dimples—and yes, he has dimples. On both sides. Fucking asshole.

The most annoying thing about Peter Landry is that he plays hockey, too.

If there is one thing Shane loves more than cock, it’s hockey.

Sometimes, Ilya thinks it’s a tie.

There are also days when his brain starts telling him things he doesn’t want to hear, that Ilya believes Shane decidedly loves hockey a lot more than cock—or Ilya’s cock, to be specific.

On days like that, Ilya often wonders if Shane would even be attracted to him if he didn’t play hockey—or if he didn’t play good hockey.

The latter is a scary thought. Especially now that Ilya is in Ottawa and it is painfully clear, even after just a couple of games into the season, that the Centaurs are not making it to the playoffs anytime soon.

Even with Ilya, it’s simply not possible.

It’s a shit team—statistically and historically.

But maybe Ilya can change that. Maybe under his leadership, the Centaurs might even lift the Cup one day. That’ll probably make Shane really fucking horny.

Peter Landry is a decent hockey player.

He is new. Just a rookie.

He is only a couple of years younger than the two of them—Ilya checked, obviously. It’s not uncommon. Some rookies join the league in their mid or late twenties, after developing in European Leagues or collegiate hockey. This guy belongs to the latter group. Because he went to college. Cornell, Ilya remembers, since Rose keeps name-dropping at any given opportunity. Ilya doesn’t know what the big deal is about Ivy League universities, but Shane’s parents seem to think it’s impressive. 

“You gotta be really smart to get into a school like that,” Shane’s father had explained, and Ilya had done his best not to scowl like a child.

“I like McGill better,” Ilya had noted, which made David smile. So, that was that.

Ivy League degrees aside, Peter Landry is still a rookie. He is not a star, not like Ilya. But Ilya must admit, much to his own annoyance, that the defenseman has got potential.

He tries not to feel threatened by it all. He tries not to feel threatened by this random man who turned up out of nowhere.

Honestly, it shouldn’t matter that Peter Landry is a hockey player with dimples.

Because Shane Hollander loves Ilya Rozanov.

Even if most people in the world don’t know it and probably won’t for a very long time.

Ilya officially meets Peter Landry during the All-Star game.

He is honestly a little confused as to what the guy is even doing here since he only joined the league a few months ago.

Sure, Ilya himself played in All-Star Game during his rookie season. But he is Ilya Rozanov. It’s already been established that this Peter guy is nothing like him.

But here he is anyway, among all the other seasoned hockey players, grinning with easy confidence like he’s been here all along. Maybe it has something to do with his movie star sister’s influence. Maybe the NHL just likes drama, putting him on the same team as Shane.

Ilya, on the other hand, is on the opposing team. Even though all he wants to do is fight by Shane’s side, not against him.

Make no mistake, fighting against Shane is a special kind of thrill. Ilya revels in it, because no one challenges him the way Shane does—both on and off ice. But playing on the same team, on the same line, side-by-side is something else entirely.

They’re a team. They’re partners. 

In those moments, when the pucks move between his stick and Shane’s, when they surpass words and speak a language that no one else can decipher, Ilya’s brain enters another dimension.

Hockey is always fun. Ilya wouldn’t do it otherwise.

But playing by Shane’s side elevates the sport into something more. It’s not just fun, it’s transcendent.

So, it’s utterly infuriating when Ilya has to play against him, and this Peter Landry guy gets to be on Shane's team.

Sure, he plays well or whatever. But that’s not the problem.

He winks at Shane after blocking the left winger on Ilya’s team. He pats the C on Shane’s chest when Shane unsurprisingly scores the first goal within the first five minutes. He says something, something stupid surely, that makes Shane laugh so loud that Ilya hears it all the way across the ice.

So, it’s really not his fault when Ilya checks the fucker against the boards, a little harder than necessary, during the third period.

It’s fine. No broken bones or whatever.

Ilya reminds his boyfriend of that when Shane sneaks into his room later that night and complains about it.

“Why are you so upset?” Ilya demands, more than a little annoyed. “He is a defenseman. Not baby bird. He can take a hit.”

“It was unnecessary, Ilya, and you know it.” Shane groans. “It’s just All-Star, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh? So, we should play bad hockey?” Ilya raises a brow.

Shane, who has never played bad hockey in any day of his life, looks offended by that. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean then?” Ilya clarifies because he wants to know why Shane is so upset over this.

It’s not like Ilya isn’t known for being aggressive on the ice.

Shane knows it. Shane likes it even.

At least, that’s what Ilya thought.

What has happened over the course of a single weekend that Shane suddenly feels the need to defend this random man and reprimand his own boyfriend?

Shane sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. “Rose was worried.”

Now he’s got to worry about Peter and Rose both? Who next? Their grandmother?

He probably wouldn't be talking to his ex if you had anything interesting to say. 

“Maybe Rose shouldn’t watch hockey,” Ilya says, trying not to sound bitchy and failing terribly.

“Ilya.”

Oh, he knows that tone.

It’s the one that makes him a little scared, like those creepy loon noises, signalling there is a threat nearby and he should seek cover.

It’s also the tone that makes him inexplicably horny.

“I’d like to tell her,” Shane says quietly, when Ilya heeds the warning and momentarily pauses his hissy fit. “About us, I mean.”

“Oh,” Ilya says in surprise.

Rose doesn’t know about them. Only that Shane is gay.

Shane has been telling more people this season—his friends, his team, and his agent, among others.

Not about Ilya. Never about Ilya.

Honestly, he is a little surprised that Shane has been considering telling someone about them. He knows how much strength it must take for Shane to put aside his worries and do this.

Ilya immediately wraps an arm around the man's shoulder. “I didn’t know you were thinking that.”

“I was. I am. I mean, Hayden knows. And Rose is my only other close friend,” Shane points out, chewing on his lip. “It’d be nice to tell someone outside the hockey world that you’re my boyfriend, you know.”

“Okay.” Ilya smiles, suddenly all else forgotten. Because he gets to be Shane Hollander’s boyfriend, and that’s really all he cares about.

“So, it’d be great if you could stop roughhousing her brother because I really don’t want her to think my boyfriend is an asshole.”

“But I’m not an asshole.” Ilya pouts. “I give you many kisses and make you come thrice in one hour. You will tell her this instead.”

“I won’t be telling her any of that,” Shane says incredulously. “But I can tell her that you brought Peter a drink as an apology and regret your behaviour on the ice.”

“I did not buy him a drink.” Ilya frowns.

“You will when we go downstairs in an hour to join the others,” Shane says, checking his watch.

Ilya doesn't bother fighting it. He already knows he’s going to do it, since it’s important to Shane. But that doesn’t mean he won’t complain and pout his way through it.

“And what will I get if I do all of this?” Ilya asks, pulling Shane closer by his jacket.

“Behave first.” Shane presses a kiss to his jaw. “Then we’ll see.”

Ilya behaves, alright. He turns on the charm to the maximum setting and offers a sincere apology to Peter Landry. He even presses a kiss to his forehead. He’s pretty sure he freaked the man out, but Shane rewards him with a top-tier blow job when they sneak back into Ilya’s room, so it’s all good.

Except that Peter Landry is just like his sister. By which, Ilya means that he is a plague too.

Ilya expects the man to disappear into oblivion, but somehow, he spreads further and further into Shane’s life. 

Ilya is lounging on the comfy couch at the Hollander residence, tucked underneath a quilt and precariously balancing a bowl of ice cream on his thigh as he texts his boyfriend.

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Your goal during second period 🔥🔥🔥

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Scott Hunter didn’t think so lol. 

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Of course not 😆

He is jealous of your stats and beautiful butt

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

I will let him know.

Going to the Kingfisher to hang out after.

Tell mom and dad I said hi!

Ilya puts his phone away, pleased that Shane is visiting a gay bar on his own, without Ilya having to plead and pout to make it happen.

His boyfriend is getting bolder and braver. It’s a good look.

Ilya suddenly wishes he were in New York too, and not stuck in Ottawa with Shane’s parents. But Yuna and David are so nice and so lovely that Ilya can’t even bother to pretend to be annoyed about it.

“Shane says hi,” Ilya informs, closing his messaging app and opening Instagram again.

“He can’t even bother to text us directly anymore?” Yuna scoffs, but without heat. “We have to find out through you?”

“Sorry.” Ilya sighs dramatically. “He loves me more than all of you.”

“That he does.” David hums at the TV. “Honey, our show is starting.”

“One minute, please.”

“Yuna, you said you’ll watch it with me this time.”

“I promised Shane I’ll finalise the guest list for the gala by tonight!”

David gives Ilya a look. Ilya shrugs helplessly.

He knows a thing or two about partners who are way too serious about arbitrary deadlines.

“I will watch the show with you, David.” Ilya volunteers because there is never a bad time to score points with Shane’s parents.

“Thanks, kiddo,” the man says pointedly. “You hear that, honey? I’m watching the show with Ilya.”

“Hell yeah!” Yuna shouts, a little too enthusiastically. “Rose confirmed!”

Ilya, who knows she is barely paying attention to them or the TV, walks over to her first and looks at the laptop screen. “Confirmed for what?”

“For the gala,” Yuna reminds him. “Shane and I agreed, considering it’s our first gala for the Irina Foundation, we need as many high-profile names as possible.”

“Ah,” Ilya says. “I can ask some of my friends. I know four F1 drivers.”

“The ones who like to party or the ones who like to donate to charity?” Yuna raises an eyebrow.

“I know one F1 driver.” Ilya amends and shoots off a text immediately, making a mental note to follow up later. It’s awfully late in Monaco anyway. “Do we really need Rose Landry?”

“Yes. We need as many as possible.” Yuna nods firmly. “Which is why I’m glad she’s bringing her brother.”

Ilya can’t help but frown. “He is not high profile.”

“He was in All-Star this year,” Yuna says, as if that’s enough reasoning.

“But he is rookie,” Ilya argues.

“A promising rookie,” Yuna corrects. “He’s already assisted seven goals, and an average 22:31 ice time per night is nothing short of remarkable.”

You think she ever referred to you as remarkable? Probably not.

“Besides,” Yuna adds after a long pause, eyes still on the laptop. “It’s not a bad idea for Shane to make hockey friends outside of the Voyageurs.”

“What’s wrong with the Voyageurs?” Ilya asks in confusion.

Yuna’s eyes briefly drift to her husband, but she doesn’t respond to his question. Instead, she closes her laptop and smiles at Ilya. “You can get some rest, sweetie. I will watch the show with David.”

Ilya is angry.

He knows it. His team knows it. Maybe all of Ottawa knows it.

It’s their first game against the Red Wings, and the Centaurs lost.

Losing a game sucks regardless of who you are playing. But losing a game against Peter Landry’s team sucks more than usual.

Ilya wanted this win. He told his team as much.

He doesn’t know what he is trying to prove, or to whom. But he can’t help but feel like he’s proven a point tonight.

Was Shane watching? Was Shane disgusted? 

“Good game, man,” the defenseman nods and holds up his fist.

Ilya briefly considers twisting the man’s arm the other way before he remembers the promise he made to Shane. He simply nods back.

He is too angry for words. He is too tired for English.

Because it isn’t jealousy that he feels right now. It’s the same familiar pull of envy again.

Look at me. I’m Peter Landry. I play for my home team, and I’m doing so great.

Fuck this guy.

The post-game interviews are a nightmare. So much so that when Ilya is back in his hotel room, there are several texts from Shane.

Ilya barely reads through them before he calls his boyfriend and flops onto the bed face-first.

“You okay?” Shane asks.

“You watched the game?” Ilya asks, voice muffled by the mattress.

“It wasn’t that bad, Ilya,” Shane tells him.

Wasn’t that bad. Not the words you want to hear from your boyfriend with a competency kink. Ilya wants to pull out the sheets and hang himself right then and there.

“Peter Landry had a good night, I think,” Ilya mumbles into the mattress again.

“His ice-time definitely increased tonight,” Shane observes with a hum.

Ah. So, Shane watched him too.

He watched both of them.

Who did he watch more? Who impressed him more?

Ilya hates this. He hates that he even has to think this way, uncertain and insecure.

He hates that he is back to square one and doesn’t know where he stands with Shane.

The worst part is that Shane has done nothing to deserve this kind of scrutiny from Ilya. He has given no indication that he is even remotely interested in Peter Landry.

It’s all in Ilya’s head. He knows that.

But that asshole is not the only thing plaguing Ilya’s mind right now. Ilya has to prioritise, for he is battling bigger demons than a defenseman with dimples.

“I do not like him,” Ilya says, because he wants Shane to know.

“Who?”

“Peter Landry.”

Shane chuckles at that.

Ilya scowls and lifts his face off the bed. “What’s so funny, Hollander?”

“Why do you always say his full name?” Shane asks, chuckling again. “You do the same with Rose.”

It’s mostly a habit. One of the many things he picked up from Russia and struggles to part with, despite not having visited for years now.

It’s not a rule or anything. He’s just not used to it. Ilya calls most people by their last name. With the Landrys, it’s confusing. But he doesn’t want to call them by their first name. Not really. Calling someone simply by their first name doesn’t feel right to him. It feels too…affectionate. Ilya has no affection for anyone in the Landry family.

He doesn’t tell Shane any of it. It probably makes no sense to him, and Ilya is too tired to explain anyway.

“Rose and Peter are boring names. Probably hundreds of people like that,” Ilya says in the way of an explanation.

“Sure.” Shane keeps smiling. “Not everyone has a cute, unique name like Ilya, right?”

Ilya scowls even further. “Ilya is not a cute name! It is the name of warriors!”

“Is it?” Shane seems intrigued, giving him a look that says he’ll definitely be Googling it later.

“Yes,” Ilya confirms, but decides to change the topic. He doesn’t particularly feel like a warrior right now. “How is the gala planning?”

“Good,” Shane nods, pleased. “Mom is setting up a Skype meeting with the organising team to get us all on the same page. You better behave.”

“Ah, so I can’t make kissy faces at the camera?”

“No.” Shane shuts it down immediately. “You’ll be in Montreal next week anyway. So, we can join the meeting together.”

“Maybe I want to make kissy faces at other people.”

“At Rose?”

“Ugh, why is she there?” Ilya groans.

“Because her brother volunteered to be part of the organising team.” Shane shrugs. “Maybe she wanted to join him.”

Ilya brings the phone closer to his face. “Why did Peter Landry volunteer?”

Maybe it’s not all inside Ilya’s head after all.

“I dunno,” Shane hums, distracted by some notification that pops up on his screen. “But it’s a good thing. I was worried no one would volunteer, and I’ll have to do all the work by myself.”

“You like doing all the work,” Ilya says. “Except in bed.”

“I’m hanging up on you now.”

Ilya doesn’t mind Skype meetings.

He actually enjoys them very much. But the Skype meetings he enjoys involve fewer clothes and more moaning.

This one has too many clothes, too many people and too much jargon. But Ilya sits there and nods along as Shane and Yuna inform the organising team about the tasks that need to be handled for the gala they are planning for the end of the season.

It’s a lot of work, and way too early to be worried. But both Shane and Yuna are worriers in their hearts and planners in their minds. It’s not a great combination.

It doesn’t matter, though. He’ll turn up anyway. For every meeting. Because this is for the Irina Foundation. Shane and Yuna are doing this because they care.

So, of course, he’ll turn up. Even if it means waking up early on his off day. Even if it means having to stare at the Landry siblings, who look too good even when they are pixelated.

They are good-looking. Ilya can admit that, even if it pains him to do so.

Peter Landry, in particular, has no business looking like that. Despite being taller and broader and blonde-haired, he is very much like his sister.

The kind of face made for the screen. The kind of face people want on magazine covers. Now that he is slowly getting famous, Ilya wonders how many brands would approach the man, if they haven’t already.

Maybe Shane would give him a tip or two on how to do modelling as a side hustle. Ilya has no doubt that Peter Landry would be very much interested in Shane’s tip.

Because he is staring. That motherfucker.

Sure, there are many people at the meeting. But Ilya can tell. He can fucking tell that fucker is staring at the tiny square with Shane and Ilya.

The audacity is as annoying as his face.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining.” Shane greets everyone politely. “Uh. Rozanov is here with me. We met earlier today to go through the budget. If anyone has any questions about the budget, we can add it to the agenda. Because we discussed it earlier. This morning. When we met for coffee.”

There was no need to say any of that. There is no need for an explanation at all.

Isn’t the whole point of this charity—other than to help people who need it—to convince people that they’re friends, and not rivals? Friends don’t explain why they hang out, do they? So, why does Shane feel the need to explain Ilya’s presence in his apartment? Even though everyone here knows they’re friends? Even if they’ve been working together for months now?

Even if someone assumed something, would that be the worst thing in the world? They both know everyone here, having worked with them before.

Well, except for Peter Landry.

Did Shane clarify for his benefit? Why is it so important for Peter Landry to know this?

A part of Ilya, the reckless one who almost lost Shane once, wants to grab his boyfriend by the face and kiss him right here. Stake his claim or whatever.

But he doesn’t. Mostly because he is terrified that Shane will come up with some lame excuse—like a bee flew into his mouth and Ilya sucked it out— to explain the kiss, too. Ilya doesn’t want to hear that.

“Jeez, Rozanov, you good there?” Boiziau, who probably joined the team to impress some poor, unsuspecting girl, frowns at him. “How bad was that budget meeting?”

“The budget meeting was great!” Shane says defensively and looks at Ilya. “Right?”

“Yes.” Ilya agrees. “I’m not morning person.”

“Isn’t it 11 am in Montreal?” Peter Landry asks.

“And?” Ilya glares at him, and the man shuts up.

“Anyway.” Yuna clears her throat, and they all straighten up for some reason, including Shane. “The purpose of this meeting is to delegate who will be handling what. Let’s start with the venue, yes?”

It goes on like that. From choosing the venue to finalising the menu. Ilya nods and hums where necessary, eyes trained on Peter Landry, who, to his annoyance, stares right back, rising to the challenge.

Ugh, fucking defensemen.

“It’d also be good to invite people from academia,” Peter Landry notes when they eventually move on to discussing the guest list. “There is a considerable body of research published on the mental health of professional athletes.”

Ilya almost rolls his eyes at that.

He doesn’t like the way Peter Landry speaks. The way he feels the need to use big words and long sentences. It almost feels like he is doing it just to mock Ilya.

“Of course,” Shane gasps, and immediately writes the idea down in his little notebook. “That’s a brilliant idea, Peter. Thanks.”

Ilya tries not to scowl.

Brilliant idea? Really? Any idiot could’ve thought of that.

Sure, Ilya didn’t think of it. But that’s because he was too busy thinking of other brilliant ideas.

Like slowly running his hand up Shane’s thigh.

His fingers barely reach the inseam of his boyfriend’s shorts when he feels Shane’s fingers wrap around his hand and yank it away, putting it back by Ilya’s side.

Ilya tries not to scowl even harder.

“Peter, did you have any thoughts about the invite?” Shane asks. “Rose said you can help with the design.”

“You can?” Yuna sounds impressed.

“Kind of,” the man chuckles, scratching his neck. “I dabble with graphic design.”

“He’s being modest.” Rose Landry rolls her eyes fondly at her brother. “He actually helped design the poster for my last movie.”

“Oh shit, for real?” Boiziau blinks.

“I just did the background stuff.” Peter Landry waves a hand.

“The one with the web?” Shane raises an eyebrow. “That was pretty cool.”

Okay, that’s it.

“We should hire professionals,” Ilya interjects before this can turn into a whole-ass fan club. “It is a big event. Big people will be there.”

“I mean, Peter knows what he’s doing,” Rose notes carefully. “He went to Cornell.”

“Really?” Ilya replies. “I didn’t know. You only mentioned five times.”

He feels Shane pinch his thigh and bites back the next retort.

“I agree with Ilya,” Yuna says, and Ilya tries not to preen at the screen. “It’s best that we leave everything to the professionals, especially given all your schedules. But it’d be great if you could have a look at the design and give feedback, Peter.”

“Of course, Mrs Hollander,” the man says dutifully, and it takes everything in Ilya not to stick out his tongue at him.

“I guess that leaves the rest of the delegating,” Yuna looks at her notes again. “Shane, do you want to handle the menus?”

“Do you want us all to eat rabbit food?” Ilya asks her.

Rose and Boiziau laugh at that. But Shane doesn’t.

Ilya immediately feels like an ass.

He just wanted to take back control. Show he’s good at stuff too.

Liking making stupid jokes.

He didn’t mean to make it at his boyfriend’s expense.

Nice. Take it out on your partner. Papa would be proud. 

He tries to reach out under the table again, maybe squeeze Shane's hand to tell him that he didn’t mean it, before someone else speaks up. “I can help Shane with the menus.”

“Peter’s an excellent cook!” Rose announces.

“Oh, he’s chef now, too?” Ilya asks dryly. “Next, you will say you are ballet dancer.”

“I mean, no, but I am pretty flexible,” the man notes.

Okay, that’s it. Ilya needs to throw the laptop away. Maybe burn it.

And then he will go to Detroit and set fire to Peter Landry, too.

“Thank you, Peter,” Shane says, sounding relieved. “I’m not great with menus anyway. It’d be lovely to have your help.”

Lovely.

Ilya doesn’t like that word.

It would be nice to have your help. It would be good to have your help. It would be wonderful to have your help.

There are so many useless words in the English language.

Shane could’ve said any of those things.

But no. He said lovely.

It would be lovely to have your help.

Lovely. Love.

Ilya doesn’t like that word at all.

“I did not mean to joke about your food,” Ilya says after, once the meeting is over and the Landrys are out of sight—but not out of mind. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Shane frowns. “It was funny.”

“Yes, but it was, hm, not sensitive, yes?” Ilya tries.

“Why?”

Shane stares at him. 

Ilya simply stares back.

They stare at each other.

They could do it. They could talk plainly.

Ilya could say what’s on his mind.

It’s not normal, Shane. You think about food too much. You don’t kiss me if I eat chocolate. You rarely eat when we go outside. It doesn’t feel like a diet. It feels like punishment. I’m worried about you.

But then…then Shane would say things back.

Shane could say more than one thing back. Shane could say so much that Ilya probably won’t be able to look him in the eye again.

So, he keeps quiet instead.

Not because he has nothing to say. But because there is plenty he doesn’t want to hear. 

“Just not nice to make jokes in important meetings,” Ilya says instead. “But I will help you with the menus too.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane asks. “What will be the hors d'oeuvres? Cheetos and pizza crusts?”

“Okay, Mr Funny Guy,” Ilya huffs.

“You are supposed to help Rose with the guest list,” Shane reminds him. “You guys know a lot of famous people.”

“But I don’t want to work with Rose Landry,” Ilya groans. “I want to work with you.”

“Okay, then tell my mom you don’t want to follow her plan.”

“Hollander, are you crazy?”

“That’s what I thought.”

Shane is on the phone.

He’s been on the phone for over 30 minutes now. Talking to him.

It’s one of those days when Ilya has second thoughts about moving to Ottawa. He doesn’t regret it. Of course not. But he can’t help but think that it hasn’t changed much either.

Shane feels close, sure. But he doesn’t always feel accessible.

There is a difference, he thinks, and yet he doesn’t know how to explain it to his boyfriend.

They were speaking on the phone—Ilya in Ottawa for a home game and Shane away in Winnipeg—when Shane excused himself, saying Peter is trying to call him.

Ilya wanted to ask his boyfriend to block that asshole’s number. But before he could do so, Shane simply hung up on him, saying I'll be back in a minute’.

It’s been more than a minute now. Thirty of them, in fact.

They are still talking. Ilya knows because Shane’s phone is still busy.

When Shane calls him back, 42 minutes later, Ilya almost considers not picking up. But he does it anyway. He already lost 42 minutes to Peter Landry’s greed. He can’t afford to lose any more to his own arrogance.

“Hey, sorry. Rose seems to be home for a break, and we got chatting,” Shane explains when his face lights up Ilya’s screen again. “She got a couple of her Marvel co-stars to attend the gala. Isn’t that awesome?”

“You were talking to Rose? For 42 minutes?”

“What? No, I was just—wait, were you timing me?” Shane blinks.

“You were gone for a long time.” Ilya shrugs.

“Sorry,” Shane says again, and Ilya feels a little guilty. Because Shane is doing all of this for their foundation, while all Ilya has done in the past couple of weeks is stalk the defenseman from the Red Wings.

“No sorries.” Ilya shakes his head. “What did you talk about? For 42 minutes?”

“Just about the gala,” Shane tells him, looking a little excited. It makes Ilya think that if it wasn’t for hockey, Shane would’ve loved event planning. Or any job that lets him boss people around. “Actually, Peter had some ideas about the charity and our event roster next year—”

“Oh, he is telling us how to do our jobs now?” Ilya crosses his arms.

“This is not our job, Ilya. Our job is hockey,” Shane points out. “You and I are both out of our depths with this thing. It doesn’t hurt to get advice from other people with experience.”

“And Peter Landry has experience running hockey charity?” Ilya scoffs.

“No, but he seems to have a lot of experience running charity drives in Cornell,” Shane says, sounding impressed. Ilya digs his fingers into his thigh and lets them stay there.

“David said only smart people go there,” Ilya notes quietly.

“Go where? Cornell?” Shane clarifies and then shrugs. “Sure. Ivy League is not easy.”

Neither is hockey.

But hockey is the only thing Ilya is good at.

He isn’t good at school, or cooking, or event planning or graphic design or flashing non-existent dimples.

Peter Landry is good at hockey and at a hundred other things.

It makes Ilya wonder if he is good at sex, too.

Can he swallow Shane to the root? Can he get Shane to the edge with his words alone? Can he make Shane come hands-free?

Ilya doesn’t know.

Shane probably doesn’t know either. But what if he starts getting curious?

Yearning for Shane is not a new feeling. Ilya is intimately familiar with the ache of it. But competing for Shane’s attention is new.

Unlike Ilya, who has a hundred thoughts poking at him at any given time, Shane likes to focus on one thing at a time. And that thing, at least when Ilya is around, is usually Ilya. Unless they are playing hockey.

But now, it feels like there are other things competing for Shane’s attention, too.

Especially after Shane came out to his team.

Ilya has overheard Boiziau trying to set Shane up with a guy. More than once. While Shane rejected those offers, Ilya can’t help but feel that it’s only a matter of time before they find someone perfect for Shane and make him an offer he can’t refuse.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Ilya, who once again got dragged away by his own mind, raises an eyebrow at Shane.

His boyfriend tugs at the hem of his hoodie. “University, I mean. Do you ever think about it?”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. It’s a simple answer. “Do you?”

He almost regrets asking the question. Because what if Shane does want that?

The normal things normal people do in their normal lives?

Go to college, get a degree, and find a 9-5 job.

What if he wants an uncomplicated life? Ilya can’t ever imagine fitting into that life, not with all the baggage he carries around.

“Sometimes,” Shane admits, almost shy for some reason. “Both my parents went to uni. But we got drafted so young—”

“What would you study?” Ilya asks him, propping his head against his hand.

“I don’t know,” Shane says, flushing even more. “Maybe business management.”

“Of course. Mr Businessman.” Ilya grins.

“Shut up. What would you study?”

Ilya allows himself to think. “Psychology.”

Shane laughs at that.

It’s not a mean laugh, but the sound of surprise hurts regardless.

It’s not that absurd an idea, is it?

Ilya has always been curious about mental illnesses, as one would be after losing both their parents to things that hurt their brains.

Maybe if he had a degree in psychology, he could understand his own problems better. He might even admit out loud that he has problems that need more understanding.

It’s not a crazy idea, he thinks. But Shane seems to look taken aback by his answer. 

In moments like this, Ilya realises just how much Shane doesn’t know about him. Just how much Ilya actively keeps from him.

Sure, Shane knows more than most people. But that doesn’t mean he knows everything. Ilya isn’t sure if he ever wants Shane to know. He doesn’t think they can have what they have and do what they do if he ever allows Shane to see all of him.

It’s too much for anyone. Especially for Mr One-Thing-at-a-Time.

“Why is that funny?” Ilya asks him.

“It’s not,” Shane says quickly. “I just thought you’d do something like—”

“You think I’d be dumb sports guy who can’t study, hm?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I am failing my classes. Maybe I need help from cute boy from the business course who will tutor me.”

Shane’s eyes widen at that. It’s so fucking endearing how much Shane enjoys roleplay—just how much he needs to get out of his own head and be something else. Someone else.

A bellboy at a fancy hotel. A lost tourist in Moscow. A clueless customer at an auto repair shop. A strict teacher who secretly harbours a crush on his hopeless student.

Ilya indulges him every time. He takes Shane out of his head, from that place where he has to be Shane Hollander of the Montreal Voyageurs.

Ilya will take Shane anywhere and let him be anything.

But only as long as Ilya gets to be there with him, too. Only as long as Shane doesn’t leave him behind.

They might not be real, these fantasies and scenarios. But Ilya still doesn’t want to be alone.

He wants to be with Shane. He wants Shane.

He needs Shane.

“I’m sure we can come up with a study plan that will help you pass your classes,” Shane says, clearing his throat, settling into the role slowly. “You will need to focus, though. No shenanigans.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Ilya hums. “I have never heard of it. Because I am a good boy.”

“Sure, you are.”

“But it is hard for me to focus when I study,” Ilya admits with a pout. “You will need to find creative ways to motivate me.”

“I might be able to think of something.” Shane grins at the camera. “Lesson one is how to be quiet in class. Do you think you can be quiet for me, Rozanov?”

Ilya lets out a soft groan, proving that he indeed can’t be quiet. He opens his mouth to apologise and then gasps at the screen. “Shane. Wait.”

“What?” Shane stiffens immediately. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it,” Ilya promises. “Get your glasses.”

Shane chuckles as he leaves the frame. Ilya shucks off his clothes in the meantime, waiting for his boyfriend to return.

When Shane does, shirtless and glasses in place, things escalate a lot quicker than Ilya would’ve liked. He did want to last for longer than 42 minutes.

It’s fine, though.

No moment spent with Shane, however short or long, has ever been taken for granted.

Any moment spent together, even when miles apart, is always better just because Shane is there.

“Do you think you’d want to be with me if we met in university instead?” Shane asks, fighting sleep with his endless curiosity.

“Depends,” Ilya hums. “Will you still have freckles?”

“I guess so.”

“Then yes.”

“Wow. You’re only with me for my freckles, huh?” Shane chuckles, but it turns into a soft yawn.

“And that tight ass,” Ilya adds.

Shane chuckles again, the sound softer than before.

Ilya wants to ask him the same. He isn’t curious like Shane, nor is he concerned about hypothetical worlds, not when he is eternally fighting to make sense of this one already.

But he wants to know anyway.

He wants to know if Shane will choose him if they meet in a different world.

But Shane is already asleep, phone fallen away from his hand, showing Ilya the bland ceiling of his hotel room.

Ilya can’t help but feel like it’s a good thing.

Because that voice inside his head—that one that has been slowly getting louder these last few months—tells him that if it comes to it, Shane probably wouldn’t choose him in this world, let alone in other ones.

Montreal plays Detroit tonight.

Ilya desperately wishes the game were in Montreal. He wouldn’t have thought twice about driving for two hours, just so he could wait for Shane in his apartment and remind his boyfriend who he belongs to.

Not that he thinks Shane has forgotten or anything. But it doesn’t hurt to remind him.

Especially because the Red Wings have been on a winning streak lately.

Especially because the Centaurs lost their fifth game in a row yesterday.

Detroit doesn’t win this one. Of course not. Not against Shane Hollander.

Ilya doesn’t like losing. He supposes no one does.

But losing to Shane is different. It somehow still feels like a win, knowing you only lost to the best of the best.

Something tells him Peter Landry feels the same way. He wouldn’t have skated over to Shane and Hayden Pike otherwise, lingering for far too long and talking about God knows what.

They are talking about you and your pathetic team. 

Shane throws his head back and laughs. Ilya tries to convince himself that Shane wouldn’t laugh like that—not at Ilya’s failures. Not when Ilya gave up everything, including the chance to ever touch the Cup again, just so they could have a shot at a real relationship.

“What was the joke?”

“What?”

“You laughed. After the game. With Hayden Pike and Peter Landry.”

“Oh?” Shane squints at the camera, as if he doesn’t even remember. Ilya doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Hayden probably made a lame joke.”

Well, that’s definitely a possibility.

All Hayden Pike does is make lame jokes. And get his wife pregnant. And tell Shane how much better he can do than Ilya.

Does Hayden Pike think Peter Landry is a better match for Shane? Probably.

But who cares about the opinions of a guy who also believes Pluto is not a planet? Asshole.

It hasn’t slipped his attention that Hayden Pike is fond of Peter Landry, too. Ilya remembers how friendly Pike had been with the other man when they all met up for another one of Yuna’s online meetings.

He called the man by his first name.

He said Peter. He even called him ‘buddy’.

Buddy.

This guy, who has been in their lives for no more than a few months, is a buddy now.

Ilya is still Rozanov.

That’s kind of the scary part about all of this.

It’s not even just that Peter Landry might have feelings for Shane—or that Shane might eventually develop feelings for him too. It’s the fact that everyone else seems to like Peter Landry.

It’s the fact that Peter Landry is likeable.

So much so that Hayden Pike called him ‘Petey’ once. All the while, he still utters Ilya’s name like it’s a slur.

It’s not Hayden’s fault or Peter’s fault. It’s no one’s fault but yours. How are they to blame for your inadequacies? You don’t have much to offer. There isn’t much of you to love. How is that anyone’s fault but your own?

Ilya shuts down that voice.

It’s louder now. Harder to shut down.

But he shuts it out and focuses on the only thing that matters.

“You look pretty,” Ilya whispers in Russian.

Shane, who is adjusting the collar of the navy-blue shirt, smiles at that. “Thank you. Rose invited me over for dinner at her parents'. God, I hope it won’t be awkward.”

“Is Peter Landry going to be there?”

“You mean at his own house?” Shane chuckles.

“He still lives with parents?” Ilya makes a face.

“I think it’s nice.” Shane shrugs. “My parents would probably like it if I still lived with them.”

Of course. Of course, they’d like it.

Because Shane is a good son. Because David and Yuna are good parents.

The Landrys are all probably the same.

They would probably never understand how desperately Ilya trained for hockey, pushing himself to death, so he could get drafted and get away from his family.

Yeah. Yeah, they wouldn’t understand at all.

These are people who run to their families, not from them.

“You are dressing up for Rose Landry’s parents?” Ilya asks him, burrowing deeper into the mattress. It’s too early for bed. But he’s too tired for much else. He tries not to think too much about it.

“I’m dressing up because the paparazzi follow Rose like flies, and I don’t want to look ugly in the pictures.”

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s not what you said when they took pictures of me and her when we got papped outside that Japanese restaurant.”

“I said you look ugly together. Not separately.”

“That makes no sense.” Shane rolls his eyes and turns to look at himself in the mirror, giving Ilya a gorgeous view of his gorgeous ass. Fuck, Ilya wants to lick his screen.

“You are wearing your best jeans,” Ilya observes.

“Rose told me to wear it.”

“I think Rose wants you to fuck her brother.”

Shane whirls around at that. “Ilya, what the—”

“Shane, lyubimyy, she is trying to set you up. You know that, yes?”

Shane stares at him, like a startled baby deer. “Wait. Really?”

Ilya sighs at that.

Shane is a lot pretty and a little oblivious. A dangerous combination. It means he never knows when people are hitting on him. For fuck’s sake, even Ilya had to jerk off in front of him in a communal fucking shower for Shane to get the hint.

“Yes,” Ilya confirms, because Rose Landry is not that slick.

“Hm,” Shane says, considering this possibility. Fuck. Did Ilya just plant something in his head? Why did he have to open his big mouth in the first place? “I don’t think so. Maybe she just wants her brother to spend more time with other hockey players. He’s a rookie, remember?”

“He is a rookie. Not a new baby.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “She invites you to meet her parents. She tells you to dress nice. She asks you to wear jeans that make your ass look fat. She wants you to fuck her brother, Shane.”

Shane opens his mouth and closes it again. Then he bites his lip, chewing it slowly, as if he’s battling his own thoughts.

It’s kind of the cuter, in-person version of the dilemma Shane has when they text, typing and retyping his messages, overthinking every word instead of just being honest.

Ilya doesn’t push. He knows nothing good ever comes out of pushing Shane and forcing him to step out of his comfort zone.

He knows Shane likes to take his time, even to write a simple text. Because he wants to do things the right way. Because Shane needs to say the right thing.

So, Ilya waits. He waits for Shane to find the right words.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shane tells him after a moment. “Peter is probably not gay.”

Oh.

Those are not the right words to say at all.

Peter Landry likes cock.

Ilya knows it in his heart of hearts.

He’s always had an excellent gaydar. Especially in the NHL. The only time he slipped was with Scott Hunter, but that’s mostly because Hunter is a thousand years old and his vibes were too ancient for Ilya’s youthful gaydar. So, that one doesn’t count.

There aren’t many queer hockey players, but however many there are, Ilya is certain he will sniff them all out. Who knows, there might be one or two in the Centaurs, too. Statistically speaking, Ilya can’t be the only queer one in this pathetic, depressing team.

But Peter Landry is gay. Or bi, at least. Ilya knows it.

Ilya has been stalking that entire family for the past few weeks.

Rose’s older brother John seems straight as one can be, married with two kids now. Matthew, who is in finance—gross—seems to have been engaged to the same woman for four years now. He’s either gay or just lazy. Then there is Rose herself, whom Shane believes is straight, but Svetlana swears she gives pansexual aura. Whatever that means.

And then there is Peter.

He’s got to be gay. At least a little bit. There is no way the Landry parents put out four straight children into the universe. That should be illegal in Michigan.

Ilya just doesn’t have any proof. Not yet. Not except for the numerous occasions he caught Peter Landry practically gawking at Shane like some kind of crazy stalker.

“And how do you know he was looking at me?” Shane had demanded when Ilya brought forward the accusation.

“Because I was staring at him!”

“Doesn’t that make you a crazy stalker too?”

“No, it makes me genius spy. I’m Russian, Shane. Please, focus.”

But the point is, Peter Landry likes cock, and Ilya is going to prove it.

So, here he is, in Los Angeles, attending one of Rose’s movie premieres with Shane. 

They are here separately, of course.

Shane is hesitant about being seen together, which Ilya doesn’t understand since the whole point of the foundation and moving to Ottawa is to normalise being seen together.

Sure, they’ve been spending more time together. In fact, they’ve spent more time together this past year than they have in the past decade combined. But somehow, all of it feels pointless, especially when they are still doing it behind the curtains.

But Ilya listened, if only to put Shane at ease.

He texted an old contact, a model he had hooked up with once, to accompany him for the night.

Shane is here with Rose, stealing all the attention and swirling those old rumours again. Ilya keeps his hand in his pocket the whole time, clenching and unclenching to keep his calm.

For whatever reason, Shane seems to be on edge, too.

Maybe he’s forgotten how exhausting these Hollywood events tend to be. But he’s the one who volunteered to be here, and Ilya jumped at the chance, hoping he could make a point about Peter Landry.

Now he is suffering.

It is too hot in LA, and he is too far away from Shane.

And Peter Landry is nowhere to be found.

After the movie—which Ilya didn’t care much for, but Shane politely praises like the good boy he is—they all attend the after-party. Shane doesn’t talk to him the whole time.

Ilya is suffering deeply.

Then, as if none of this is enough, Peter Landry turns up at the party, dressed in a black mesh shirt that looks practically painted on him. 

Who allowed this? Was there a dress code? Why did no one tell Ilya about this? He would've worn something other than this stupid green shirt if someone had told him! Should he just take his shirt off?

“Petey!” Rose squeals and hugs her brother. Shane smiles pleasantly and pats his back. Ilya only gives a firm nod, while Talia, his model friend, immediately throws herself at the man, realising by now that Ilya is off-limits.

“You weren’t there for the premiere,” Shane observes, as if he were looking for the other man.

“Yeah, I went for the one in New York.” Peter shrugs. “You can only watch this movie once. Ow! Sorry, Rose. It’s true!”

“Whatever, Shane said it’s excellent,” Rose huffs.

“Shane also said sex with you is excellent,” Ilya points out. “His reviews are not honest.”

“Dude,” Rose pouts.

“Can we not talk about my sister’s sex life, please?” Peter groans.

“Yes, let’s talk about your sex life instead.” Rose wiggles her eyebrows. “Did you guys know Peter once—”

“Talia wants to dance with you.” Ilya clears his throat and shoves the woman towards Peter.

Talia, to her credit, immediately seizes the opportunity and drags the defenseman away to the dance floor.

“He’s a worse dancer than you.” Rose chuckles, watching her brother struggle next to the model.

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad.” Shane frowns.

“I have evidence on my phone that says otherwise,” Rose winks.

When she is whisked away by a producer two minutes later, Ilya flops down on one of the couches, gesturing Shane to do the same. He almost fears Shane wouldn’t—that he’d suddenly pretend they’re rivals again. But thankfully, Shane only hesitates for a second before sitting down. Although he leaves room for a whole other person between them.

“This party is bad,” Ilya says to no one in particular, squinting at the ugly disco ball twirling above them. “I miss Moscow.”

He didn’t mean to say the last part out loud.

But it’s true.

The parties in Moscow are better, even if Ilya can only be half himself in that city. But it’s not like he doesn’t pretend here, too. Here, across the ocean, he has to be a different kind of careful.

Careful with his English. Careful with his meanings. Careful with not rolling his eyes at whatever TikTok-viral song plays in the background.

“I thought you liked LA. Hot city with hot women, right?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Shane.”

“Stop.”

“lyubi—”

“Not here.”

Ilya shuts up. What else is he supposed to do?

Peter Landry returns shortly, sitting right in between Shane and Ilya. He grins pleasantly, clearly drunk on champagne, and his dimples catch the lights from the disco ball above.

God, Ilya has never wanted to throttle anyone more.

“You guys want something?” the man asks awkwardly when neither Ilya nor Shane speaks. “A beer for you, Shane?”

“No. I’m good.” Shane shakes his head.

Shane doesn’t drink during the season, Ilya wants to point out in annoyance. If he is going to blatantly flirt with a man, Peter Landry should have the decency to get to know him before.

When the silence settles again, Shane turns to the defenseman awkwardly. “You don’t have to keep us company. You can enjoy the party.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Peter waves a hand. “Rose told me to keep an eye on you anyway.”

Of course she did. Ilya is going to throttle her, too. It’s so fucking obvious what she is trying to do.

“Careful,” Ilya says. “If you ignore hot model for hockey players, people might think you are gay.”

The glare that Shane sends him is cold enough to make the beer in Ilya’s hand freeze. But Peter doesn’t seem particularly bothered.

“That’s okay,” the man shrugs easily. “I’m gay anyway.”

“Oh,” Shane says softly.

So softly that Ilya almost misses it.

Suddenly, this whole plan of his feels very stupid. He doesn’t remember what he was trying to prove or why he even came here.

He wants to go back to Ottawa.

No. Maybe Boston. Maybe Russia.

No. He wants to be in Shane’s bed. Under the covers. Just the two of them and no one else.

“Fuck, that’s not how I meant to tell you at all.” Peter Landry laughs, dimples in full force and clearly drunk more than he thought. Ilya wonders if he was seeking out liquid courage for something specific.

“You were going to tell me?” Shane asks carefully. “Did Rose—”

“No. No. Of course not,” the defenseman says immediately. “I…I have some old friends in the Voyageurs. Miitka?”

“Ah,” Shane says.

“Shane. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to believe rumours—”

“It’s fine. It’s not a rumour. Just gossip,” Shane replies. “I, uh, I’m gay too.”

There is an awkward silence on the couch.

Ilya wonders if he should come out too—Great, we all like sucking cock, now get away from my fucking boyfriend.

But he can’t do that. He isn’t allowed to do that.

They can’t both be out of the closet. Shane doesn’t think it’s safe. The last thing Ilya wants is for Shane to feel unsafe, especially about their relationship.

“Does your team know too?” Shane asks the other man.

“No. No, I haven’t told them. Since it’s my rookie season and all.” Peter exhales. “I’m working with Rose’s strategist to figure out a proper timeline.”

Ilya suddenly wants to throw his beer at something.

He isn’t mad at Peter. At least not at the moment.

He is mad that any of them has to consider any of this.

Plans, strategies, timelines, and risk mitigation.

What the fuck? Hockey players do so much worse and get away with it.

Why can’t they suck cock in peace? Why does everything need to come with a contingency plan? Why can’t everyone else mind their fucking business?

You'd like that, wouldn't you? You always like to get away with all the ugliness and pretend everything is fine. Typical. 

Suddenly, the party is too loud. No. It’s not loud enough. Ilya needs it to be louder.

“I should get back to my hotel,” Ilya says, getting off the couch.

“Oh,” Peter Landry says softly.

“I’m not running away because you are gay, Landry.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “I have early flight.”

“Oh, okay.” The man smiles dopily.

“Shane?” Ilya says, all but offering his hand.

Shane hesitates, eyes drifting to Peter. “He seems pretty drunk. What if he blurts it out to someone else? I should stay with him until Rose comes back.”

Ilya doesn’t have the energy to fight him. But he doesn’t have the energy to stay back with him either.

When Shane joins him in his hotel room, it’s well past 2 in the morning. Ilya, still awake, watches silently while his boyfriend changes out of his clothes, meticulously does his skincare, before climbing into bed.

They don’t talk.

Not about Ilya’s model friend. Not about Shane’s cold behaviour. Not about Ilya leaving early.

It’s not surprising. There is a lot they don’t talk about in their relationship.

Ilya wonders at which point it’s all going to blow up. He wonders who is going to suffer more.

“It’s nice, right?” Shane asks in the dark room.

“The movie?”

“That there are more of us,” Shane corrects. “Feels…feels less scary somehow.”

“Are you scared?” Ilya asks, turning to his side.

Shane turns too, facing him properly now. “Aren’t you?”

Only when you are not by my side, Ilya wants to say, but squeezes Shane’s hand instead.

So, Peter Landry is gay.

But that doesn’t have to change anything, right?

Just because he is gay, it doesn’t mean Shane is going to like him.

After all, there are plenty of gay men in Canada—and in the rest of the world—and somehow by some miracle, Shane still picked him.

That should be enough. That really should be enough.

But tonight, all Ilya can think about is—why me?

Maybe it’s because it’s been a devastating night already. They lost to Buffalo, which is embarrassing on a regular day, and downright disgusting on a shit day like this.

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen Shane in weeks. He is waiting. For the next time he gets to hold the man in his arms and know he is real, that they are real.

The waiting makes him anxious. It plays tricks on his mind, saying Shane will get tired or bored. Or worse, Shane simply wouldn’t want to come back to Ilya.

Isn’t that the worst thing in the world? To leave someone you love for no reason at all? To leave simply because you could?

He could ask Shane, of course. He could ask him the two little words that terrify him so much. Why me?

But he is somehow more terrified to know Shane’s answer.

What if it isn’t enough? What if…What if Shane doesn’t have an answer at all?

What if Shane chose him simply because Ilya was the only available option, and Shane being Shane, doesn’t want to bother ruining something that works just fine? At least for the moment.

What happens when things change?

What if Ilya can’t play hockey anymore? What if his dick stops working for some reason? What if the nightmares he keeps having—the ones he can’t tell Shane, let alone admit to his own self—get worse and he takes it out on Shane?

So much can change. So much can happen that Shane simply decides no more and decides to leave.

It isn’t just scary because if he loses Shane, Ilya could stand to lose everything—a home, a family and a whole life. A fucking future.

It’s scary because if Shane leaves him, it means Ilya isn’t good anymore.

Shane only gives up on something if he believes it’s bad for him.

Candy. Carbs. Social media comments.

Ilya doesn’t know if he is good or not. All he knows is that Shane is good. Shane is as good as anyone can get.

Not just because he donated to an Alzheimer’s charity for a man he’s never met and started a foundation for a woman he never grieved. Because he cares for Ilya, who is living and breathing still. He cares for Ilya, who has historically been a difficult person to care about. Or so he has been told.

But Shane cares. Shane is good.

So, if Shane likes him, that means something about Ilya is good too, right? At least a little bit?

All Ilya wants to do is hold onto that small bit of goodness.

But he doesn’t know what it is or how to do that. He is terrified to ask Shane for advice.

Why me? Why me? Why me?

The terror of it threatens to choke him. So, he picks up the phone and calls Shane. If not to ask the question, because he probably never would, but at least to hear his voice.

“You invited Peter Landry to camp this year?”

He doesn’t know why it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth, the same way he doesn’t know why they lost to Buffalo today.

It’s a stupid day filled with stupid choices, he supposes.

“Technically, my mom invited him,” Shane says when he responds on the other side. Somehow, that irks Ilya even more. “Also, hi.”

“Hi,” Ilya repeats dryly. “Shane, why is he everywhere now?”

“What is your problem with him?” Shane chuckles, as if this is funny somehow. “Do you have some kind of fictional vendetta against him like you do with Scott Hunter?”

“Scott Hunter vendetta is not fictional. He is old, and his face is stupid. And Peter Landry wants to fuck you.”

“You once thought Rose wanted fuck me, too.”

“They both want to fuck you. That entire family is trying to fuck you. I think we should call the police. Put restraining order for your hole.”

“Ilya, are you drunk?”

“Hollander, this is a serious problem!”

“Just because he is gay, it doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.” Shane scoffs. “Maybe he’s a bottom too.”

“So, that’s your problem? Not that he wants your hole?”

“Ilya, I swear, if you don’t stop saying that word—”

“It’s wrong, you know,” Ilya informs seriously. “You fucked Rose Landry. Now Peter Landry is trying to fuck you. All the holes are connecting. This is basically incest.”

“Didn’t you sleep with those Swedish twins in Cabo?”

“They were not identical. It does not count!”

“You are such a hypocrite.” Shane scoffs again. “And you sound drunk. Did you drink?”

“Maybe.”

“Ilya.”

“I miss you, solnyshko.”

“I saw the game,” Shane says quietly.

Ilya doesn’t want to talk about the fucking game. He doesn’t want to talk about hockey. He doesn’t want to talk about the fact that they haven’t seen each other in three weeks.

“I miss you,” Ilya says again, because that’s the only thing worth saying.

“I miss you too,” Shane repeats. And then. “I have a game in the morning.”

“I know.”

“Against Detroit.”

“I know.” Ilya nods again. “Beat his ass for me.”

“Isn’t that like homophobic?”

“Will you throw the game if I say yes?”

“Fuck no.”

Ilya laughs at that. He presses a kiss to the phone and then does it again and again and again. Until Shane tells him to stop.

“Shane.”

“Yeah.”

“The game was bad today, yes?”

Shane is quiet for a moment. He is looking for the right words. Ilya lets him.  

“There will always be bad games.”

There.

Simple. Practical. Real.

Good job, Hollander.

“But you still love me? Ilya asks.

He can’t believe the words left his brain and slipped out of his mouth.

The fear of Shane being disgusted by Ilya’s losing streak is very real. But it’s one thing to be scared of the possibility, and another to voice it out loud.

Because the only thing worse than being a loser is being a whiny loser.

God, he’s pathetic today.

He should probably hang up and go to sleep before he says anything else that is supremely dumb.

But Shane doesn’t laugh at Ilya’s stupid question or even berate him for it. He simply brings the phone closer to his face and presses a kiss.

He doesn’t kiss his fingers and press them to the screen, like he always does. Because kissing the screen is so gross, Ilya. There are so many germs on that thing.

But Shane does it now.

A kiss to the screen. The way Ilya does.

Ilya smiles at that. He smiles at the small sacrifice.

Yeah. Okay.

Shane loves him.

Shane Hollander has always brought out the best and worst in Ilya.

On the ice, he always brings out the best. That’s for certain. So much so that plenty of commentators have mentioned it during their games. Ilya agrees, for he genuinely believes he plays his best when he is going up against Shane.

Sometimes, especially lately, it makes Ilya ache to want to play by Shane’s side. They haven’t in a long time, not since the All-Star game ages ago.

He just doesn’t see it happening, not unless a miracle happens.

Montreal will never take Ilya. They value discipline and structure too much—which makes it a boring-ass team, even if it’s a successful one.

And Shane would never come to Ottawa in a million years.

Shane is attracted to success, not sob stories.

Which is precisely why Ilya needs to stop waking up in tears every morning, nightmares be damned, and get his shit together.

He’s got to win a game. Before Shane forgets who he fell in love with.

They play against each other tonight.

Ottawa doesn’t win. Of course, it doesn’t.

But it’s the best he’s played since the season started, and it’s no coincidence that it was his first game against Shane, too.

The night can only get better from here.

They will go back to Shane’s apartment, fuck until both of them pass out, and everything will be alright again.

If Ilya has to stay awake all night, just to make sure Shane doesn’t find out about the nightmares or the tears, then that’s not a big deal.

It’s a good night. Ilya is not going to let anything ruin it.

Which is why, in retrospect, Ilya shouldn’t have opened Instagram after the game. In his defense, he was mostly there to see if the NHL had posted a slow-motion gif of that crazy slapshot Shane did in the second period, which almost got Ilya hard on the ice.

But instead of seeing his boyfriend do sexy things in slow motion, what Ilya gets to see is his beautiful Shane—still sweaty and flushed from the game—sandwiched between Rose Landry and her stupid fucking brother.

Why are they even here? When did they come to Montreal? Why didn’t Shane tell him?

He is glaring at the selfie—at the annoying good-looking Landry siblings—and wonders if he will be deported from Canada if he pushes them both into the river.

He picks up immediately when Shane calls him a few minutes later, very unsurprisingly, to inform him about the change of plans.

“Let me guess,” Ilya says dryly. “Rose wants to go for dinner, and Peter Landry will be there.”

“Did she already text you?” Shane asks in confusion. “I didn’t know she had your number.”

“She didn’t. I guessed.”

“How the hell did you guess that?”

“Shane, I don’t want you to go to dinner with Rose Landry and her brother.”

He knows what he sounds like. He knows, okay? He fucking hates it too.

“Well, it’s not just me. Rose wants you to come too,” Shane points out.

“Or does she now?” Ilya says dryly. Is she trying to set up her brother with Shane and try her luck with Ilya? The audacity of this woman. “Did you tell her about us?”

“No. Not yet. I haven’t had the time to—”

“You should. Tonight.”

“Oh?” Shane sounds unsure. “With Peter there?”

“Yes. With Peter there,” Ilya nods vehemently.

“I don’t know, Ilya,” Shane says, sounding more nervous than hesitant now. “Peter is in the NHL. It’s not that I don’t trust him. But what if he lets it slip or—”

“If you don’t tell them, she will try to keep setting you up with her brother, Shane.”

“Jesus, Ilya. It’s just dinner!”

“Dinner I am also invited to, yes? So, Rose doesn’t have to be third wheel.”

“You are overthinking this. I will send you the location—”

“I’m not coming, Shane,” Ilya says, sharper than he means to. Then he sighs. “You can go if you want.”

“Oh,” Shane says, his voice quiet. “You don’t want to spend the night with me?”

How could he even ask that? How could he even say that ridiculous thought out loud when Ilya has been looking forward to this night for weeks? How could he even insinuate that as if he isn’t the one who threw away the precious little time they have for themselves for a stupid dinner with the Landrys?

“I’m not in the mood for fancy dinner,” Ilya says. “I will go out with team. They are going to club, I think.”

“Are you guys partying?” Shane asks, sounding confused. “But you lost.”

He doesn’t mean for it to be rude. Ilya knows that. Shane only asks because he is confused and curious. It’s always that way with him.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss Ilya off.

“So only winners can party?” Ilya scoffs. “Okay, I will tell the Centaurs Shane Hollander said that.”

“Ilya, that’s not what I—”

“Goodbye, Shane. Enjoy dinner.”

Ilya doesn’t go out with the team, obviously. He’s pretty sure they all already hate him. The whole point of the Centaurs signing him was for Ilya to bring the team to glory. But he hasn’t done that. He is not even close to doing that.

Losing is one thing. But losing when Shane is winning is another.

Ilya wonders if future hockey fans will even remember them as rivals. He doesn’t think so. Not if it keeps going like this.

Shane hasn’t lost a single game in the season. Not to mention that he’s scored in every single game. He’s playing at a different level, like he’s got a secret goal in mind. He’s always been good, yes. But this is something else. There is something else at play here. It makes Ilya wonder if he is playing for both of them, as if Shane knows Ilya won’t be scoring shit this season.

He isn’t jealous. Of course not.

Shane playing so much better than him doesn’t make him jealous. It makes him scared.

Of being forgotten. Of being left behind.

Not just by hockey. But by Shane himself.

He opens Instagram again, which is a big mistake. Rose Landry has posted another photo. Not even a story. It’s a post. A proper post.

It’s a picture of Shane and Peter.

The two of them are smiling at whatever she is saying. Peter’s little finger is almost touching Shane’s hand. Why are they sitting so close anyway? Why couldn’t Rose sit between them? Are there not enough chairs in the restaurant?

Ilya is so irritated that he feels hot all over. He takes off his shirt and throws it on the floor.

It’s not even the picture that irritates him, or the stupid caption that says, ‘my boys 🥰’.

It’s the comments. Ilya knows better than to read them. And yet.

Hundreds and thousands of people confirm Ilya’s worst fears, saying the most unhinged things.

@justaholeforhollander I’m going to start a rumour 🫣

@buckybarnesgirlfriend Shane said I will become a Landry one way or another.

@lucahaaslesbiandefender I didn’t know this was an option…

@jonsnowisalive BOTH. BOTH. BOTH.

@inthesinbinforlife peter landry I was not aware of your game!!!

@milfyunarights omg shane is legit blushing you guys I am gonna screammmmm 😭😭😭

@jersey24ismine their babies will look beautiful 🥺

Ilya almost reports that last one for hate speech.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

Not a single mention of Ilya.

Of course not. Why would they mention him?

It’s not like they know he is Shane’s boyfriend. It’s not like they know Shane is Ilya’s everything.

No. No.

Ilya will not accept this. Ilya will not be forgotten.

He needs to remind people who he is. He needs to remind Shane what he is missing tonight.

Most importantly, he needs to remind Peter Landry to step the fuck back and stay in line.

It’s not new.

Fighting for Shane’s hand might be. But competing? No. Not at all.

Ilya is good at competing. He is good at fighting for his place.

He will not let Ottawa make him forget this.

He pulls down his sweatpants, maybe a little more than he should, and snaps a selfie—everything from his collarbones to his partially visible bush painted in the low lighting of the lonely hotel room.

He posts it on his story without another thought.

No caption. No emojis. No nothing.

Not even his face.

He checks Twitter fifteen minutes later. As predicted, people seem to have lost their minds.

It’s all ‘one chance ilya please once chance’ and ‘let me suck on your belly button’ or ‘if he waxes his bush, I will kms’ and ‘good luck to whoever is bouncing on it tonight’.

Ilya might have liked that last one. Just for the chaos of it all.

More tweets appear almost immediately. More thirst. More screaming.

Ilya sinks deeper into the mattress. Now that feels right.

He scrolls until the whiny child inside of him stops complaining. He reads until the lonely adult inside of him feels a little loved.

But as always, with Twitter, good things never last.

@hollabackgirl24 I just think it’s interesting that Rozanov feels the need to post a thirst trap on the same night Shane is trending with his beautiful ex rose and new bestie peter. Like if you want attention that bad, maybe try winning a game, I guess???

Ilya stares at the tweet for far too long. Then he reads the replies under the tweet.

Then he reads some more. A little more.

He reads until he can’t remember what his fans were saying before, only this small group of people who seem to think Ilya is deliberately trying to steal Shane’s thunder.

Ilya never wants to steal anything from Shane.

All he does is wait for Shane to give him his time and his love. Ilya is scared to steal it. Fuck, he is even scared to ask for more.

orst of all, how could they assume Ilya would ever do anything to hurt Shane? That he’d want to ruin Shane’s night? Or his day? Or any minute of his life?

Because they don’t know you love him. And they will never know. The love you have for him will die with you. One day, Shane won’t remember too.

Ilya shuts down those thoughts immediately. They keep getting darker every day.

But he doesn’t have time to address that right now. He needs to deal with Peter Landry, who is a very real and very immediate threat to his life.

He opens Instagram again. An update account for him has already reposted his selfie. But Ilya doesn’t bother reading the comments there. He goes to Rose’s profile again. But she hasn’t posted anything.

He knows Rose is an expert. She’d never post anything from the restaurant while she is still there. She posted that photo of the two of them over an hour ago. Which means they left at least two hours ago.

Where are they now? Why didn’t Shane call him?

Did they go back to Shane’s apartment?

Is Peter Landry in Shane’s apartment? Something about it feels so wrong and nauseating. Ilya feels like he might throw up from the mere thought of it.

He calls Shane. But Shane doesn’t pick up.

Ilya throws his phone at the pillow before burying his face in it so he can let out a muffled scream.

A knock on the door pauses his meltdown. It’s surely one of the guys from the team. Bood is eternally trying to get Ilya to bond with the team. Ilya should tell him to fuck off. Maybe nicely.

But it’s not Bood on the other side.

It’s Shane.

Ilya stares in disbelief, only for a few minutes, before grabbing Shane by his stupid jacket and pulling him inside before anyone can see him.

Shane doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes drift around the room, as if he is searching for something—or someone.

“Team is at the club,” Ilya explains, just to put him at ease. It’s not like any of them are close enough to crash in Ilya’s room anyway.

Shane doesn’t respond.

Ilya rubs his forehead. “Why are you here, Shane?”

Shane doesn’t respond again. Instead, he simply steps forward, right in front of Ilya, and drops to his knees. Ilya barely processes what’s going on before Shane pulls him out of his sweats and swallows him down in one smooth motion.

“Shane, what the—blyat!—Hollander, wait—”

But Shane doesn’t wait. He pulls back, only to look up at Ilya with those bottomless eyes, before he gives his cock a long lick, from root to the tip.

Ilya, God bless him, lets out a string of curses in Russian and finds purchase in the man’s hair to hold on for dear life.

He doesn’t come. He doesn’t want to. Not yet.

He yanks Shane off him, which takes tremendous self-control, and shoves the man into the bed. When he comes tonight, he wants it to be inside Shane. He wants every single inch of him to be touching every single inch of his boyfriend.

He doesn’t want space. He doesn’t want anything or anyone to be between.

Just them. Please. Just the two of them.

He tells Shane as much.

The words whispered into the crevices of his body, muttered in a language Shane barely understands. But Ilya hopes it still counts. He hopes it’s enough.

He hopes he is enough.

Ilya is hard—and a little confused.

In his defense, he can count with one hand—not with the one currently wrapped around his dick—the number of times Shane has dropped his gloves.

But more than that, he can barely remember the time Shane got into a fight with his own teammate.

Ilya knows the goaltender is a piece of shit. The man always has a nasty thing or two to chirp at Ilya. While Ilya gives back as good as he gets, he never expects Shane to do anything.

Drapeau isn’t bleeding. But the way Shane shoved him against the boards, so violently and so murderously, has Ilya palming his dick like it’s his own homemade porn.

Fuck, Shane is so hot when he is angry. Ilya should annoy him more often.

He doesn’t know what exactly happened on the ice.

Truth be told, he was barely paying attention.

It’s Montreal vs Detroit again tonight. Their third and final game for the season before the playoffs. Ilya almost decided not to watch, exhausted after his own game and not wanting to torture himself further by seeing his face.

Besides, it’s getting a little boring, if he is completely honest. Every game with the Voyageurs is almost the same. Their goaltending is decent, and their defense needs work. But it’s Shane who shines, as always. It is Shane who drags them forward and closer to the Cup every time. The whole thing makes the Voyageurs a little predictable.

They are leaning too much on Shane.

It’s not good. Definitely not sustainable.

But then again, who is he to complain when he does the same shit?

So, he doesn’t tell Shane about it. Besides, it feels embarrassing to give out hockey advice when your own team hasn’t won a game in months.

When Shane calls him, it’s late.

Ilya has come twice and has tucked himself into bed, too.

But he isn’t asleep yet. Sleep doesn’t come easily these days. Not many things do.

“First, you steal all my goals. Now you are stealing my personality. What next, Hollander? You will start speaking with Russian accent soon?”

Shane is quiet.

Quieter than usual.

Ilya can’t even hear him breathing. Which usually means he is holding his breath in—along with his emotions.

“Sweetheart?” Ilya sits up in bed.

A loud exhale reaches Ilya, and Ilya lets out his own in relief. Shane’s voice is barely audible when he finds his words. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why did you do it then?” Ilya asks because Shane never does anything without a cause.

“Drapeau was just being an ass,” Shane sighs. “Like, it’s not even a big deal. He’s said a lot worse in the locker room. I just didn’t want Peter to think that I allow—”

“Wait. What? Peter?”

“Peter came out to his team,” Shane told him. “I thought you might have heard too.”

Ilya would have, if he bothered enough to hang out with his teammates.

Maybe he should.

He can’t be a useless boyfriend, useless captain, and useless hockey player all the same time. Something has got to give, right?

“Drapeau said something,” Shane goes on when Ilya stays quiet and gives Shane space to take, for his words to be heard—apparently unlike in his locker room. “I—I just couldn’t let him say that. I couldn’t let Peter think someone in my team would say shit like that.”

Ilya has a thousand things he wants to say.

Will you do the same for me? Will you defend my honour too? They have said so much worse about me. Even Hayden. Where were your fists then, Hollander? Where was this righteousness?

But this isn’t about him. He doesn’t want to make it about him.

Not when Shane is clearly unravelling on the other side.

“You are a good captain,” Ilya tells him.

“A good captain wouldn’t shove his own teammate.”

“A good captain holds his teammates accountable.”

He can practically hear Shane’s smile when he speaks next. “Who taught you that word?”

Ilya smiles too. “Your mom.”

It’s the truth.

Yuna advises him way too often, not hesitating for a moment to put Ilya in his place, the way she would never with Shane.

Ilya is grateful.

For the advice and for the lack of hesitation.

“If I were a good captain, they wouldn’t be saying this shit in the locker room in the first place.”

They. Not he. They.

More than one person. How many? Which ones?

Shane would never say it, and Ilya knows better than to ask.

He makes a mental note to corner Hayden Pike during their next meeting instead.

“That’s not your locker room, dorogoy. That’s just hockey,” Ilya tells him tiredly, pacing around his bedroom, hoping it will stop him from running outside to his car and driving all the way to Montreal just to give Shane a hug.

“Is Ottawa the same?” Shane asks him.

It makes Ilya think for a moment.

It makes him realise it isn’t. The realisation catches him off guard.

It’s not that the Centaurs are perfect or anything. Definitely not on the ice.

But Ilya hasn’t heard anything that has made his head snap up, or his fists clench. Not even from the rookies.

They either don’t say dumb shit because they are scared of Ilya or they just don’t have any dumb shit to say.

It’s unusual, he realises.

Maybe there is something here. In this stupid, useless team.

Something Ilya can still harness. Something that can help him take the team where he wants them to be.

But for now, he focuses on Shane.

“We can’t control what other people say, sweetheart,” Ilya tells him gently.

“I know,” Shane says in a voice that sounds like he wishes he could.

“Is Peter Landry okay?” Ilya asks, because he is not a complete asshole.

“Yeah. Yeah. He is fine.” Shane sighs, sounding tired now. “Hasn’t touched his food though.”

Ilya stops pacing. “You are in his hotel?”

“No, I asked him to come over. Didn’t feel like he should be alone. He seemed pretty shaken up by what Drapeau said,” Shane admits quietly. “Rookie, remember?”

“Yes.” Ilya swallows; his throat feels like it’s full of dry ice. “You are having fun?”

“Eh, we’re just watching a documentary.” Shane yawns a little.

“Sleepy?”

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

Ilya leans his head against the wall. “You are a good captain. And a good hockey player. And a good man. You are so good, Shane.”

“Don’t make me horny,” Shane whines. “I have a guest.”

Ilya rubs his forehead against the dry wall. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Shane replies. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Ilya. Sleep well.”

When Shane calls him in the morning, Ilya waits until the seventh ring to pick up.

Maybe it will help Shane think that Ilya slept well, or that he went to sleep at all.

The next time Ilya sees Peter Landry is in Detroit for their last game against each other. 

Detroit wins, but it’s still a good game. The Centaurs push harder this time. Ilya even scores twice.

He wonders if it has anything to do with the team bonding session he got Wiebe to organise last week. Ilya not only planned it, but participated too. Some of them had been surprised by his suggestion, but all of them turned up anyway.

It was mostly okay. Ilya spent most of it missing Shane and trying not to fall asleep since he was dangerously sleep-deprived. But it was okay.

It clearly helped. Ilya makes a mental note to organise more once they return to Ottawa.

He is walking out of his post-game interviews, already pulling off his tie, when he runs into a familiar figure, grinning at him brightly. “Hey, there.”

“What are you doing here?” Ilya says, already annoyed.

“This is literally my home.” Rose Landry chuckles.

“Oh? You live in arena?” Ilya asks dryly.

Rose decides to ignore his jab and walks with him, easily matching his pace. “Are you going out with your team after?”

“Yes,” Ilya says, even though he has no plans of doing so.

“Oh,” Rose hums. “I was hoping you’d want to join me for dinner.”

Ilya stops walking and turns to her. “Rose Landry, are you hitting on me?”

Rose’s eyes go wide in horror. “What? No! I was just—You look like shit, by the way.”

“Wow, you have a very interesting way of flirting,” Ilya tells her.

“I’m not flirting with you.” Rose groans and lets out a little huff. “Shane asked me, okay?”

Ilya straightens at the mention of Shane’s name. “Hollander asked you to flirt with me?”

“Dude, I am not flirting with you, stop it,” Rose hisses. “I actually wanted to invite you both over for dinner. Shane came over last time.”

“I know.” Ilya tries not to roll his eyes.

“Now it’s your turn,” Rose informs him.

“You invite all hockey players over to dinner?” Ilya raises a brow.

“Just the ones I know will help my brother feel a little bit better, especially after that shitty game with Montreal,” Rose says pointedly. “Shane said you could do with an outing too.”

“Did he?” Ilya does roll his eyes this time.

“It’s just dinner. Peter looks up to you, you know.”

More like Peter looks up and down at Ilya’s man. More like Peter is trying to steal Ilya’s man.

The last thing Ilya wants to do is have dinner with Peter Landry and his entire family.

But maybe this is actually a good opportunity.

He could go to Peter Landry’s home. Finding out things he is hiding behind those abs and dimples. He can use that information to make Shane hate him.

You never know what you’ll find in someone’s home.

Besides, it’s not stalking. It’s just information-gathering.

It’s research. Shane loves research.

Maybe Peter Landry doesn’t organise his spices according to the alphabet. Maybe Peter Landry dog-ears his books. Maybe Peter Landry forgets to empty his pockets before doing his laundry.

Ilya could collect evidence and show it to his boyfriend.

Shane would immediately be disgusted. Shane would kick Peter out of summer camp and the gala organising team.

Then Ilya and Shane will live happily ever after.

Yes. Yes, this is a good plan.

“I have team outing,” Ilya says anyway, because he’s not about to make Rose Landry think he’s easy. He is—but only for Shane. “But I will join after.”

“Great. My mom makes the best Detroit-style pizza,” Rose grins.

Oh, well.

Who is he to say no to pizza?

The Landry home is everything Ilya expects it to be. Mostly, it’s just achingly unrelatable.

A wall full of photographs of endless memories. The couch a little worn from Friday movie nights. The kitchen smells of something distinctly home-made, where the secret ingredient is probably love.

It’s a house full of people who get along. Brothers who don’t yell at each other. Parents who don’t look at their children as if they are a disease.

And they have a dog.

A very large and adorable dog. A dog with the most boring and predictable name ever. A dog whom Peter apparently adopted from a local shelter.

Ilya is incredibly annoyed.

“Does Shane know you named your dog after his idol?” Ilya asks, giving the angel a well-deserved kiss. “He will get Government of Canada to sue you.”

“We’re lucky he didn’t name it Hollander,” Peter Landry’s mother laughs, shoving another pan of pizza onto the table. “Petey was obsessed with that boy growing up.”

“Yes,” Ilya says, because yes.

This is a fact. He knows this. He is here to put an end to it.

Ilya knows that, realistically, half of Canada is obsessed with his boyfriend. He also knows that they probably say and do worse things in their bedrooms compared to Peter Landry, whom Ilya pegs as very vanilla.

Maybe that’s what he should expose.

He should go to the man’s room, grab his laptop and find his porn history. Because Peter Landry would watch porn on his laptop. Because Peter Landry will never watch anything scandalous enough to consider deleting his search history after.

Shane will be appalled. Shane will cry into Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya will fuck him better afterwards, and then, they will live happily ever after.

Yes, great plan indeed.

“Many people are obsessed with him,” Ilya points out, because he needs this asshole to know he’s not special.

“Were you?” Peter asks him curiously. “Who was your idol?”

“Me.” Ilya shrugs. “We have mirrors in Russia, you know.”

Peter Landry laughs loudly.

He has a nice laugh.  Ilya must make sure this man never laughs around Shane ever again.

“This is nice,” Rose hums into her glass of wine, eyes twinkling at Ilya, when dessert—a pile of heavenly-smelling Biscoff cookies—makes it to the table. “I’m glad we’re all getting along.”

Ilya scratches Gretzky behind the ear and leans closer to her, grabbing a cookie for himself. “I know you are conspiring something, Landry.”

Rose raises a surprised eyebrow. “How do you know that word?”

Ilya doesn’t like it when people do that—act all surprised when he uses a big word.

How does anyone know any word, really?

They read it. They hear it.

Isn’t that how language literally fucking works?

“I learn it from the KGB,” Ilya says, instead of telling the truth, which is that he learned it from the Pike twins while engaging in a very elaborate plan to steal some maple leaf cream cookies from the kitchen pantry.

He doesn’t tell Rose any of that. Mostly because he can’t explain what he was doing with Pike’s children in the first place. But partly because he doesn’t like indulging people when they make him feel small, even if it’s unintentional.

Shane is the only exception, like he is with most things.

Because Shane never asks in surprise or condescension. Shane’s questions always come from curiosity.

It’s never ‘how do you know that word’ but always ‘who taught you that word?’. As if he is endlessly intrigued by Ilya’s life, including his vocabulary.

Suddenly, just like that, Ilya wishes Shane were here.

It doesn’t matter that this might be some of the best pizza he’s ever had, or that the Landry family—as much as he hates to admit it—is actually really nice or that Gretzky the Dog has the most adorable nose ever.

He wants to be with Shane.

Yes, forever. Yes, in public. All that. Of course.

But right now. He wants to be with Shane right now.

He wants to be able to go home to Shane after every game.

He wants to call him from the lame team outings that Bood keeps trying to drag him to. He wants to call him from the hotel rooms that feel too big for one person. He wants to pay for the stupid airplane Wi-Fi and talk to Shane until they are both in the same time zone again.

This is a sickness. You are sick.

You wouldn’t be this obsessed with him if you were busy winning games. But you can’t even do that properly anymore.

He turns to Peter instead. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Maybe he can call Shane from the bathroom. Tease him through the phone.

Make Shane come from all the way here. In the Landry home.

That’ll show this entire family to stay away from Ilya’s man.

They go up the corridor, Gretzky the Dog following them, to Peter’s room. Every inch of the wall is lined with trophies and medals. Ilya wonders if the man deliberately brought him here to show it all off.

“I have separate room for trophy,” Ilya informs the other man.

“That makes sense.”

“Mine is much bigger,” he says. No, leers. Ilya really can’t help himself sometimes.

Peter Landry laughs at that. “I’m sure it is.”

He points Ilya to the bathroom, which, for some reason, smells like flowers. Like lavender.

Peter Landry smells like lavender, too. It’s probably some fancy soap his fancy sister bought for him.

Shane would hate it, Ilya immediately thinks. His boyfriend prefers unscented hygiene products—seaweed or eucalyptus if he’s feeling fancy and indulgent.

Peter Landry doesn’t know that. Ilya knows it.

He just wishes the rest of the world knew how much he knows Shane, too. How much he loves Shane. All of him. 

He throws a grin over his shoulder as he closes the door—Shane would never fuck you in the shower, lavender-smelling loser—just as something familiar hanging in the back of the door catches his eye.

Ilya all but pries the door open again. “Why is this here?

Peter Landry, who is sitting on his bed and munching on a Biscoff cookie, blinks. “What?”

Ilya partially closes the door again and yanks Shane’s dark blue Voyageurs hoodie and waves it at the other man.

“Oh, right. That’s Shane’s hoodie.”

Ilya hates it.

He hates the way Peter Landry says Shane’s name. He hates that the man is allowed to say Shane’s name—with no consequences whatsoever.

They don’t know.

They don’t know how hard Ilya has to try to stop himself from using Shane’s first name when a journalist brings him up during an interview. They don’t know he still has nightmarish flashbacks—like last night—of the time Shane literally ran away when Ilya said his name out loud for the very first time.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Calling someone by their first name.

It’s not even a particularly interesting name.

Shane.

It’s generic. It’s boring.

It’s made for his boyfriend.

Ilya, every time he says it, feels his heart stutter a little bit. He’s never taken it for granted, not once.

And here is this guy, just throwing it around, like it’s no big deal.

It’s unfair. It’s ugly.

“Yes, I know it’s Shane’s hoodie.” Ilya tries not to scoff. “You steal it?”

“What? No!” Peter Landry looks horrified. “He gave it to me.”

Ilya frowns at that. “He gave you his hoodie? As gift? Because you are fan?”

“No! I mean, I am. A fan. Sure. But no. He gave it to me because I kind of accidentally spilt the Ginger Ale on my jersey the last time I was there”

“You ‘accidentally’ spilt Ginger Ale on your clothes,” Ilya says, with air quotes and everything.

“Yeah.” The man nods, like Ilya’s some kind of idiot. Like, Ilya didn’t invent this move. Like Ilya didn’t once very intentionally spill Ginger Ale on the crotch of his pants and ask Shane to suck it out, which ended up making his jeans a lot wetter.

“I didn’t steal it,” Peter Landry says when Ilya is quiet. “I was going to give it back.”

“No need.” Ilya exhales, clutching the hoodie tight in his fist. “I will give it back. We have game soon.”

If he throws the hoodie out of the window on the way back to the hotel, because it smells like lavender now, then Shane doesn’t have to know that.

Game days with Shane are Ilya’s favourite.

It’s not just about the guaranteed sex at the end of the night, where Ilya gets to score no matter whether he wins on the ice or not. It’s about everything leading up to the game.

It’s about the anticipation, the way Ilya feels like a livewire, knowing he is going to play against his favourite player in the NHL—his favourite person in the whole world.

But today is even better than regular game days because Ilya gets to take Shane out tonight.

He’s been planning it for months, obsessively stalking the social events happening in Ottawa and Montreal to find an opportunity for a date night. Something Shane will agree to without having a panic attack about it.

Ilya has learned his lesson by now.

He doesn’t want to spring something on his boyfriend out of nowhere. Shane doesn’t react well to surprises. So, Ilya played the long game. He planted the seed in Shane’s head months ago, the idea of them going out together, maybe hanging out with their friends even. Shane made a noncommittal sound, since the idea was arbitrary at the time. It gave Ilya enough motivation to start searching for the right opportunity.

It took weeks of careful planning—and some begging and manipulation–to make this day a reality.

But it’s here. It’s finally here.

Fabian is performing at one of the sexiest clubs in Montreal tonight. He was originally supposed to perform in Toronto, but Ilya made sure he would come to Montreal instead. He’ll have to make sure to send Fabian flowers later.

Shane agreed to go with Ilya, which is the biggest surprise of all.

Because even though they’ve done it before—been seen together in a club or with their friends from camp–you can never really tell with Shane.

He’s said no before, because it was too soon or too risky or too weird.

It’s always too something. Ilya is always too something.

But Shane said yes, and Ilya already knows this is going to be the night of his life—and not just because he scored twice on the ice tonight.

He dresses up, wearing one of his favourite shirts—the one Shane likes to run his hand over because the material feels nice to the touch. He lets the rookies on the team drag him to the club, as if this isn’t his plan from the get-go.

It only takes four minutes for the best night of his life to turn into a walking nightmare.

Because they are here. Both of them.

“Oh shit,” Hayes says from his side. “Should we go to a different club? The Voyageurs seem to be here, too.”

“So?” Bood shrugs. “And isn’t Cap friends with Hollander?”

“Are you? Or is that like a PR thing?”

Ilya doesn’t even know who asks the question. He certainly doesn’t bother answering. He walks up to Shane instead, who is involved in a very smiley conversation with the Landry siblings.

Shane is always smiley around Rose. Ilya knows that. Ilya doesn’t mind it either. Well, mostly.

But now he is smiley around Peter Landry too. What are they putting in the Detroit water—or their pizza? Why do these people make Shane smile so much?

Apparently, they do have a lot in common.

Ilya overheard a couple of weeks ago, when Shane was on a phone call with Peter Landry for the gala organising, saying they use the same task tracker app. His boyfriend seemed so excited that someone else was using the same stupid app.

Ilya didn’t even know there were apps for this kind of thing, let alone that people cared enough to track their tasks. It’s not that he doesn’t have responsibilities—especially back in Russia. But he never had the luxury of relying on anyone else to do them—not even an app that cost 72 Canadian Dollars and a ridiculous amount of storage space on his phone. Ilya had to delete his pet simulator app to make space for it. Which means no more petting and feeding and playing fetch with cute virtual puppies on his phone. Shane has no idea the sacrifices Ilya makes for him.

Maybe that's what they're all smiling about. Another stupid app that brings them even closer. 

Ilya likes that Shane has friends who hang out with him. For someone who is way less social than Ilya and way more intolerant of shenanigans, Shane seems to have more close friends than Ilya ever did.

Because no one wants to be around you. They can smell it, you know. The rot in your brain. How is that Shane’s fault?

Ilya takes a swig of his vodka, procured as soon as he spotted the evil siblings, and taps Shane on the shoulder since he doesn’t even seem to notice Ilya’s presence in the club yet.

“Hollander. Hello.”

Shane turns around. Ilya watches the moment as Shane’s mouth stretches to say his first name, but then quickly narrows for the safer option. “Rozanov. Hey.”

It’s unfair. It’s unfair. It’s unfair.

Rose immediately hijacks the conversation and starts singing praises about Peter Landry, who is here for some reason, even though he has a game in Toronto in three days. Yes, Ilya looked into his schedule to know the fucker's movements. So, what? It’s called being prepared. Shane would appreciate it very much.

“Peter, that’s crazy,” Shane chuckles when Rose recounts a story from their childhood—something about playing hooky or hockey. Ilya isn’t paying attention, not to much else other than how easy Peter’s name falls off Shane’s lips.

“We should take a selfie,” Rose announces, holding up her phone without waiting for permission. Ilya doesn’t bother smiling. He doesn’t have a reason to.

Rose assesses the photo and turns to her brother, pinching his cheek with two fingers. “You look good, Teddy.”

“Teddy?” Shane frowns. “Isn’t it, Petey?”

“No. No. Teddy is what we call him at home. Because Petey here used to—”

“Rose, I’m cutting you off.”

“—go to sleep clutching a teddy bear—”

“Rose, oh my god, stop!”

“—every night. They had matching pyjamas and everything.”

“Cute,” Shane comments. Ilya could honestly throw up. “I mean, all kids do that, right?”

“Who said anything about being kids?” Rose wiggles her eyebrows.

“I hate you,” Peter Landry glares at her.

But there is no heat. The words mean nothing.

Ilya, who has heard the same words from Alexei more than once, knows how to spot it when someone actually means it. Peter seems to love her very much.

“Don’t you, er, have siblings?” Peter Landry asks awkwardly when he probably notices Ilya has been standing there like a ghost, not contributing to the conversation at all.

Ilya nods once.

“What does he do?” Rose asks him, chiming in. 

“Can he play hockey too?” Peter adds.

Ilya, who doesn’t have the fucks to deal with this, not tonight, clutches his glass tighter and offers a distraction. “Let’s take another selfie. Better lighting now.”

“Oh, yeah!” Rose looks up, where the lighting seems to have changed colours, and immediately holds up her phone. She assesses the photo again and smiles at her brother. “You look so handsome.”

“Rose, stop,” Peter mutters under his breath.

She is being so fucking obvious.

How is Shane not seeing this? How is he not uncomfortable with this?

Or maybe he doesn’t mind it? Maybe he agrees with her, too?

Ilya kind of doesn’t want to find out. But it turns out, tonight doesn’t give a shit about what Ilya wants or doesn’t want.

“What? I can’t give a compliment to my brother?” Rose scoffs and turns to Shane. “Doesn’t he look handsome, Shane?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Ilya says before he can stop himself. 

It’s not that Peter Landry is ugly or anything. He is, unfortunately, a very good-looking man—like one of those actors from the old Hollywood movies Svetlana likes to watch sometimes.

The problem isn’t his face. It’s that it’s next to Shane’s right now.

And no one can be handsome, or even come close to it, when they are standing close to Shane.

Because Shane isn’t handsome.

He’s gorgeous. He’s stunning. He’s breathtaking.

He is beautiful in the way men rarely are and exquisite in a way most women try to be.

And he does it all so effortlessly. The skincare routine is just that, a routine.

Ilya has seen Shane’s face when he wakes up. He’s seen it when Shane cries during sex. He’s seen it when Shane’s face was swollen after a bad hit on the ice.

And his boyfriend has not been beautiful.

Peter Landry is handsome. Ilya could admit it out loud.

But what would even be the point?

Why appreciate fireflies when you carry sunsets in your pocket?

“That’s not very nice.” Rose looks at Ilya a little disapprovingly.

“Dude,” Shane hisses at him, too.

Oh, he’s dude now, is he? He was Rozanov before, and he’s dude now.

“I was joking,” Ilya says, because he doesn’t want to ruin Shane’s night. “You look nice, Landry 2.”

“Yeah, you look very handsome, Peter,” Shane adds. Very handsome? Handsome should’ve been sufficient, yes? “Rozanov here just likes to—”

“Ilya,” he says before he can stop himself. “My name is Ilya.”

Shane stares at him for a moment. There is a look in his face that Ilya can’t decipher, not with all the vodka in his head right now. Shane clears his throat and looks back at Peter. “Ilya here likes to be an ass. Don’t mind him.”

“I don’t mind.” Peter Landry shrugs, because he is apparently some kind of saint.

“We should dance!” Rose announces. Oh god, does she ever give up? “Shane, you’re with me.”

“Am I supposed to dance with him?” Ilya points at Peter.

Shane throws a panicked look at Rose. “It’s probably not safe—”

“I know.” Rose’s face softens as she squeezes Shane’s arm and turns to her brother. “You owe me a dance, Teddy Bear.”

“I’m going to step on your toes,” Peter tells her as he takes her hand and they escape to the dance floor without another word.

Ilya doesn’t waste a minute and turns to Shane. “Why are they here?”

“Rose is in Montreal. I thought I told you,” Shane tells him, as if that answers the question. As if that explains his presence here.

“No. Why are they here in the club?” Ilya clarifies.

“You said it’s safer if we’re with friends,” Shane says, quoting Ilya back to him. Ilya wants to scream. “Hayden and JJ couldn’t make it tonight. So, I invited Rose. It’s a good thing she was available. Otherwise, we’d have had to cancel.”

What does that mean? Can they never be seen out together without a buffer? Without a friend, an ex-girlfriend, a family member or a colleague? How long do they have to do this until it’s ‘normal’ and ‘safe’ to be seen together alone? How long before Shane decides it’s too much work?

Ilya opens his mouth and closes it again. There is much he wants to say, but this isn’t the place for it.

Besides, the last thing he wants right now is a fight.

He wants to fix this. He wants things to go back to normal. As normal as they can be in this clusterfuck of a life.

“We should take a trip.”

Shane blinks at that. “A trip?”

“We have three days free next month,” Ilya explains. “We’re both free. I checked the schedule.”

“Ilya, it’s two weeks before playoffs,” Shane tells him incredulously.

“Okay. No trip. We go to cottage.” Ilya compromises, getting desperate by the minute.

Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me.

“Ilya,” Shane says, the name coming easy, now that nobody is around, which makes it sound all wrong in his ears. “We have to train for the playoffs.”

“You have to train for the playoffs,” Ilya points out truthfully. “Not me.”

They haven’t gotten kicked off yet. Not officially. But it’s going to happen soon. There is no reason to delude themselves into thinking otherwise.

Shane is quiet for a long time. Ilya pretends to listen to the Doja Cat song blasting in the background since Fabian isn't here yet.  

“Do you hate me for it?” Shane asks him, his voice barely audible. “For Ottawa?”

No, Ilya wants to say.

No, I could never hate you.

I could never touch the Cup again, and I could never hate you.

I could never win another game in my life, and I still could never hate you.

Don’t you get that? Don’t you get that you mean more to me than hockey ever could? That you mean more than anything and everything else?

That I’d give up hockey in a heartbeat? For you? For us?

Ilya doesn’t say any of that, of course. He has some self-preservation left still.

The words might sound romantic to anyone else. But to Shane Hollander, it might as well be the final straw.

He’d be disgusted. He’d be horrified. He’d be turned off forever.

He’ll leave Ilya without a second thought.

But that's not why you keep this shit to yourself, yeah? You'd never say this shit out loud because you know he'd never say it back. He'd never choose you over hockey. You know it. He knows it too. 

“I don’t hate you, Shane,” Ilya says, because he knows Shane needs to hear it. “This was bad idea. Sorry.”

Shane is quiet again for a moment. Ilya knows he’s trying to fix it, too. “We can go to the cottage in the summer.”

It’s not a solution.

Just a reminder of a promise made a long time ago. A reminder of what they can have—all they can ever have.

The cottage.

The home with the glass walls where they pretend to be free. The place in the middle of nowhere where they pretend it won’t matter if anyone sees them.

“Sure,” Ilya replies, staring at the Landry siblings on the dance floor, both of them whispering and conspiring as they moved their annoyingly flexible bodies. “I don’t like them.”

“Yeah, you are being very obvious about it.” Shane snorts. “Rose is my friend, Ilya.”

“Why is he here?”

“I told you. Rose is filming in Montreal—”

“No. Why is Peter Landry here?” Ilya clarifies. He looks at Shane again. “Did you invite him?”

“He wanted to come,” Shane replies.

“That is not what I asked.” Ilya shakes his head. “Did you invite him?”

Shane stares into the can of Ginger Ale. “It won’t be so weird if other queer hockey players are here with us.”

Ilya inhales sharply at that. “You think two of us together is weird?”

“No. I mean, not us, specifically. But just two guys randomly hanging out in a club is kinda weird, isn't it?”

“Did your team tell you that?”

“No! I mean—all I’m saying is the optics are weird if two male hockey players-”

“So, two female players is okay? Did your team tell you that, too?”

“This isn’t about my team! Get off them, Ilya!”

“It is homophobic, Shane.”

Shane’s jaw drops at that. “I’m not homophobic!”

Now it’s Ilya’s turn to be quiet.

Weird.

Weird is a word other people would use to describe a queer relationship. He’s heard it before. In his home. In the locker room.

And now from Shane.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, which is the thing.

He certainly doesn’t have all the words to have this conversation in English.

But he knows Shane has a problem. He knows Shane’s anxiety doesn’t exactly make it any better.

It’s not that he thinks Shane is ashamed to be seen with him. But he knows Shane thinks it’s easier and simpler and safer not to be seen at all.

He isn’t exactly hiding, no. Shane is pretending like he has no reason to hide. He wants to be known as Shane Hollander, hockey player. Not Shane Hollander, gay man.

But it doesn’t work like that.

Ilya wishes he could tell him. Ilya never wants to tell him.

Maybe he should tell Yuna and David.

They will know how to fix it. Ilya doesn’t.

He is not good at fixing things. He just makes them worse.

“Why do you do it?” is all Ilya can ask, because he wants to help. He wants Shane to stop hurting. “What are you so afraid of?”

The slacked jaw clenches so hard that Ilya all but hears it rattle against the walls. Suddenly, they are on the ice.

This isn’t Shane Hollander, gay man. This is Shane Hollander, hockey player.

“What am I afraid of?” Shane repeats the words venomously. “You are seriously asking me that? Like, that’s something you actually want me to answer. Seriously, Ilya?”

Yes.

Yes, Ilya would like that.

He’d rather they talk than pretend like this long game of theirs isn’t slowly killing them both.

Well, it’s killing Ilya, at least.

Peter Landry laughs in the background. It really is a pretty sound. Ilya wants to shove it back down his throat.

“This was a bad idea.” Ilya sighs, mostly to himself.

“What are you talking about?” Shane groans softly. “It was your idea. You wanted to go out. Now you don’t want to go out. I’m so confused. I’m tired of it.”

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

“Shane!” Rose shuts, running over and grabbing Shane by his arm. “Shane, come on. Your turn.”

Shane goes easily. Shane leaves Ilya.

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

“You know, Broadway should weep she picked Hollywood. She’ll dance all night if you let her.”

Ilya turns to his side and stares at Peter Landry. He is sweaty now. Little droplets of sweat were running down his partially open shirt. His strawberry blond hair looks somehow even better when it’s wet and pulled back.

Good thing Shane isn’t here to see any of it.

“You know Shane fucked her, yes?” Ilya asks him. “Shane fucked your sister.”

Peter Landry blinks. “Uh. Yes? I know?”

“Good.” Ilya nods, taking a sip of his vodka.

“I mean, I know it didn’t work out. But she likes him a lot.” Peter smiles softly. “I’m happy for her. She doesn’t have a lot of good people around her. Definitely not in Hollywood. And she’s good for Shane, too, I think. We all need friends outside of hockey, right?”

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

“You think Shane is good?” Ilya asks him.

“You don’t?” The man raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his own drink. Then he chuckles. “I mean, I guess you do. You guys started a charity together. Cool stuff, by the way.”

“Yes.” Ilya nods.

“I…I remember what you said about your mother. At the press release,” Peter Landry says, his voice hesitant. “It really meant a lot, you know. My brother left hockey and went into finance because all this shit was too much for him. A lot of us try to carry it alone. I…I wish more people were open about this kind of thing.”

“Yes,” Ilya says again, tighter this time.

“But I guess being more open also means exposing the worst parts of yourself. So many hockey players feel like they need to act all macho and be an asshole on the ice. It’s all part of the problem.”

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

Ilya gives him a look. “You are giving me advice?”

“No. No. No,” Peter Landry says quickly. “Besides, I already know you’re not a real asshole. Shane told us you’re actually really nice.”

Ilya should probably focus on the fact that Shane has been saying nice things about him to other people. But Ilya’s brain has other priorities right now.

“You talk to Shane a lot?” Ilya asks him.

“Not a lot,” Peter Landry says after a moment. “We’ve just been talking lately because of the gala.”

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

“Give me your phone.” Ilya holds out a hand. “I want Uber. My phone is dead.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay,” Peter Landry says as he unlocks his phone and opens the app, passing it to Ilya.

Ilya takes it and stands up. “I will go to bathroom now.”

“Okay?” the other man says in confusion, and Ilya doesn’t wait around to answer any questions.

He makes his way into the single-stall washroom and locks the door behind him. He closes Uber and opens the messaging app.

Good God, Peter Landry seems to be popular. He’s gotten two dozen messages just today, and none of them is spam or scams—or the promotional shit from Taco Bell that Ilya diligently reads.

He scrolls through all of it and finds the text thread with Shane. He doesn’t hesitate when he opens it and sees their last exchange.

[From: Shane Hollander]

Fabian is really good. I promise!

Please come.

Ilya feels sick. Why is Shane literally begging this man to crash their date night?

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

[From: Shane Hollander]

And Rozanov will be there too. And some other Centaurs.

We have some stuff to discuss about the gala. So, we’re making the most of the one night we have in Montreal.

[To: Shane Hollander]

You don’t have off days, do you? 😂

Fine, I’ll come. Rose already bullied me into it anyway 🫠

Also, FYI, I finally got through to my contact at the Trevor Project.

She can come to the gala, but she has some suggestions for the agenda.

Will tell you more when I meet.

[From: Shane Hollander]

That’s fantastic, Peter! Thanks so much! 😊

Ilya leans against the cold walls of the bathroom and lets his head thump back a little harder than necessary.

Why didn’t Shane ask him to help?

Sure, Ilya doesn’t know anyone in the Trevor Project—or what the Trevor Project even means. But he’d have figured it out for Shane. The same way he figured out how to add high-polyphenol plants into his diet, incorporated mobility stretches into his daily workout and learned the difference between a Flat Fold and a Spa Fold for his towels. 

Ilya would always try for Shane. So, why didn’t Shane ask him to help?

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

It makes him scroll higher, read every single exchange between. There is no flirting, sure. But there are so many compliments. So many ‘thank you’s and ‘this is great’s and ‘you are the best’s.

Peter Landry isn’t flirting with his boyfriend. But he’s slowly become someone Shane can depend on.

Somehow that’s even worse.

It’s Ilya’s job. Ilya should be the one Shane relies on. Ilya should be his rock.

But Ilya isn’t anyone’s rock right now.

Not his team’s. Not his boyfriend’s.

If anything, he is the kind of rock that drags people down. The kind that people have to cut off to save themselves.

The kind of rock that gets left behind. Even by its own family.

Peter Landry isn’t like that. It’s evident from his messages, and not just with Shane. Because, of course, Ilya stands there, ignoring the knocks on the bathroom door, and reads through the rest of the threads on his phone.

With his friends. With his team. With his coach.

With his sister.

His sister who thinks he is perfect for Shane Hollander.

[From: Rosie]

Bitch, if you won’t tell him tonight, I will!!

[To: Rosie]

I’m begging you to stop 😭

I don’t want to scare him 🫣

Also, we don’t know if he’s single...

[From: Rosie]

He is.

I asked 😎

NOW STOP BEING A BABY AND DO SOMETHING!!!!!

I want to go on double dates with Shane 🥺

[To: Rosie]

Stop making this about you 🥲

[From: Rosie]

No 😋

She reminds me of Svetlana—of the bond they used to share. The place that settles naturally somewhere between a best friend and a sibling.

But Ilya doesn’t have Svetlana anymore. Not like he used to.

It’s his fault, of course. He didn’t bother keeping in touch after moving to Ottawa. She can only do so much to chase after him.

Now their text thread is dead, except for the occasional check-in.

Everyone gets tired of him eventually, right?

But not in Peter Landry’s life.

Ilya opens another thread.

[From: Mom]

Are we confirmed for dinner next week?

Let me know what toppings your teammates like

Not Leblanc. I don’t like him. I will be putting extra salt on his slices 

[To: Mom]

It was an accident, mom! He didn’t mean to hurt me...

And yes, confirmed. I’ll get back to you on the toppings. But these guys will eat anything lol

[From: Mom]

Dad got you the cashew cheese by the way

[To: Mom]

I can eat normal cheese once in a while 😫

[From: Mom]

I’m not getting you sick after a game

You go through enough

[To: Mom]

I don’t want them to find out about it...

[From: Mom]

If they make fun of you for a dietary restriction I will smack them all

[To: Mom]

Stop!!

Rose already threatened them 😂

[From: Mom]

Good

Have you talked to your boy yet?

[To: Mom]

NOT. MY. BOY.

BYE

[From: Mom]

Bye, honey

Love you

[To: Mom]

Love you more ❤️

There is something stuck in Ilya’s throat.

Feelings he’ll never get to experience. Words he’ll never get to speak.

Love he’ll never get to give and receive.

Peter Landry gets to have it all, doesn’t he?

Ilya considers throwing the phone into the toilet. A childish part of him wants to punish Peter Landry and take all this love away from him.

But it won’t be that easy.

These are real people. Not just names on a device.

Unlike Ilya, who is only loved through a screen—although even that is gone now, thanks to his departure from Boston—Peter Landry is loved by real people.

Real people who know him and love him anyway. Real people who don’t get tired of him.

Real people who can give some of that love to Shane.

Because that’s what happens when you’re in a relationship.

You bring more love into someone’s life. Family. Friends. Colleagues. Cute dogs.

You give them so much more, not just yourself. 

The way Shane gave him Yuna, David and the Cottage. 

Ilya doesn’t have much to give Shane. Just himself.

And even that isn’t enough.

His love is confusing. His love is tiring.

Shane is confused. Shane is tired.

Shane is leaving.

Not now. But soon.

Ilya can see it so clearly now, and he’s going to do everything he can to stop it.

In the first week of the playoffs, Shane drives to Ottawa.

The Centaurs are already out, to no one’s surprise. The Voyageurs made it in first, again, to no one’s surprise.

Ilya doesn’t need to be told that Shane is going to be busy for the next two months. It is unlikely that he will see his boyfriend, even when he plays in Montreal, just two hours away. Ilya wishes he could attend the games. He knows he will be one of the many thousands of people who will be there to cheer Shane on, and it ultimately won’t really matter, but he still wants to go.

But he can’t. So, he won’t.

If Shane finds out, he will get anxious about it, thinking of a hundred ways it can go wrong and a thousand things people will say. Ilya knows how important hockey is to Shane. So, he does his best not to jeopardise any of it.

Which is why it’s a surprise when Shane informs him that he is going to drive to Ottawa in the afternoon.

It’ll have to be only for the night since Shane’s team leaves for Philadelphia for the first game the day after.

But Ilya knows a compromise when he sees it.

They couldn’t go on the trip Ilya wanted or even spend time at the cottage. Things have been tense since that night in the club.

So, this is Shane’s way of smoothing things out.

It’s either that or he’s coming here to break up with Ilya.

Ilya won’t let him. Because Ilya has a plan.

Shane has him pushed against the front door the moment he steps into Ilya’s home. Then he gets on his knees, with something feral in his eyes, as he pulls down Ilya’s sweats and takes him into his mouth.

Ilya lets him. He always will.

After, once he’s gotten Shane off with his hand to take the edge off, Shane pulls him into the couch and burrows into Ilya’s chest, humming contentedly.

“Are you okay, zaychik?” Ilya asks him, running his fingers over Shane’s hair.

“Hm. Yes. Good.”

Ilya isn’t a stranger to the mind fuck that is the NHL playoffs. He knows how exhausting it is, physically and mentally. He knows it sucks the life out of you, especially if you are a player like Shane and Ilya, who must carry their teams on their shoulders, knowing the world is always watching.

Usually, Ilya doesn’t have much time to worry about Shane during the playoffs, other than when they meet on the ice.

But this time, Ilya can see. Ilya is standing on the outside now, with no team or game to worry about, and he can see the exhaustion settling into Shane’s already rigid frame.

Ilya wishes he could take it from him. Ilya wishes he could pull it out and shove it deep inside of himself, where he keeps everything else he’s taken and carried for everyone else.

His brother’s debts.

His father’s helplessness. His mother’s loneliness.

But he can’t do this for Shane.

Hockey is many things, but it isn’t kind.

Besides, to be this good at it, as good as Shane is, there is always a price to pay.

“I miss you,” Shane says into the silence, and Ilya holds him a little tighter. “I’m going to miss you a lot more during the playoffs.”

“Does Shane Hollander want playoff sex?” Ilya chuckles. “Because I told you. Sex makes you play better. Not worse. It is science, Hollander.”

“I didn’t mean sex, asshole.” Shane smacks him. “And it’s still no. I don’t want to risk an injury.”

“I can be gentle,” Ilya notes—gently.

Shane hums at that and doesn’t say much else. Ilya’s arms remain tight around him, squeezing Shane in the way that he likes.

It’s nice to know that Shane misses him. But it’s terrifying that Ilya doesn’t know how long these feelings are going to last.

With the Centaurs playing so poorly and Ilya’s head getting worse, when exactly is Shane going to decide enough is enough?

Ilya doesn’t want him to leave. Of course not. He wants Shane to stay forever.

But he doesn’t want Shane to stay all the time. Not when it means Shane will see the ugliest parts of him.

He doesn’t think Shane would want to stay all the time either. There is only so much of Ilya that anyone can bear, and Shane already bears the worst of it.

He needs to find a solution. He needs to fix this.

He can push Ottawa until they break. He can make it to the playoffs again.

He can go to therapy. He can, God forbid, take medication too.

He can become Ilya Rozanov, the Russian Terminator again.

Not this snotty child who wakes up from nightmares and calls for his mother. Not this depressed captain who can barely pull himself together, let alone the rest of the team.

He can do all of this. He knows he can.

He just needs some time...and a distraction for Shane so his boyfriend doesn’t notice just how bad things have gotten—or how much worse they can get if Ilya doesn’t get it together soon.

Thankfully, distracting Shane Hollander has always been easy.

There are two things that never fail.

Sex and hockey—and it turns out, Ilya isn’t the only one who can offer both to Shane.

“You don’t have to be lonely.”

“Hm?”

“During playoffs. Or hockey season. You don’t have to be lonely.”

Shane tenses in his arm. “Are you going to visit? Because we can’t—”

“No, Shane.” Ilya sighs. He wishes Shane didn’t say it out loud so much. Ilya knows. Ilya knows they fucking can’t. “I mean, you can still be…not lonely. There are other hockey players.”

“Yeah, right. Because hockey is known to be an emotionally supportive work environment.” Shane snorts. “I don’t want to talk to anyone about it. I guess I can talk to Hayden. But it’s fine.”

Ilya takes a breath. He knows he has to be direct, or they can go like this all day. “I didn’t mean talking. You can have sex, yes?”

Shane sits up properly. “What do you mean?”

“The whole point of moving to Ottawa is to be close. But we barely see each other­—”

“The whole point of moving to Ottawa was to rebrand our rivalry and focus on building a different dynamic. It’s why we started the charity and—”

“Yes. Yes. But you are lonely, yes? It’s not fair,” Ilya points out. “You don’t have to wait until you are back in Canada to get fucked, Hollander. It’s not, ugh, what is the word? Not good in long term?”

“Sustainable?”

“Yes. Not sustainable,” Ilya points out, feeling a little more confident about his pitch. He is using the right words, at least. He is making sense.

“You’re saying our relationship is not sustainable?” Shane repeats, face falling a little.

“No. I’m saying it’s becoming difficult, and it doesn’t have to be difficult,” Ilya says, as carefully as possible, and takes Shane’s hand. “Maybe this is a good opportunity, hm? For you to explore.”

“Explore?” Shane repeats the word with a frown.

“Not everyone has sex the same way, moy lyubimyy,” Ilya tells him gently. “People like different things.”

“I know that. I’m not a virgin,” Shane bristles.

“No, but you have only been with me, yes?” Ilya reminds him.

“You know I’ve been with women. And the two guys I told you about,” Shane notes seriously.

“What was that like?” Ilya asks him. “Did that make you learn something about yourself?”

Shane stares at him for such a long time that Ilya thinks he is recounting those experiences in his head, the way he does a tape review to study the play of a game. Ilya is not sure if he wants to be here for the feedback.

But he means what he says, though.

Shane doesn’t have a lot of experience, not with men. If he only gets to explore his sexuality with Ilya, then it’d be unfair.

Ilya himself has had sex with countless people, and every single time, especially in the early days, it has been a revelation. It taught him things about himself, about his body and his pleasure, that Ilya would’ve never learned otherwise.

Sure, he learned most of those things through his sexual experiences with Shane. But there were others who taught him some things. 

Shouldn’t Shane be allowed to have others, too? Is it not selfish to gatekeep his journey this way? To hoard all his pleasure like a greedy goblin that can never get enough?

“I don’t understand the point of this conversation,” Shane says, standing up now. “Are you saying you want me to have sex with other people?”

“I’m not saying I want you to,” Ilya shakes his head, because he needs to be clear about that more than anything. “I’m saying you can if you want to. The ball is in your basket, Shane.”

“That’s not even a—what does this even mean?” Shane demands, looking pissed now. “Are you going to sleep with other people, too?”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head vehemently. “I had a lot of sex. I have experience, Hollander. This is for you.”

Shane frowns for a moment before sinking on the couch again, far away from Ilya. “Do you want me to get more experience? Have I done something wrong?”

“Shane—”

“Is it because I’ve been falling asleep after sex lately?” Shane asks, twisting his fingers together. “It’s only because I’m so tired from the games. I know that’s my fault. But I don’t need to have sex with other people to fix that. I need to work with my trainer. I can build my stamina. Then I can stay up longer. And we can go another round or two if you want.”

“Shane.” Ilya sighs softly and scoots closer to him. “It’s not about that. I don’t mind you falling asleep. I want you to rest. We don’t have to have sex if you are tired from games.”

“Now you don’t want to fuck me at all?” Shane’s voice rises as he climbs off the couch again. “What do you want, Ilya?”

I want you not to regret this. I want you to never leave me.

I want to be good for you. I want to be healthy for you.

I want to be enough, Shane.

But I am not. Please. Give me some time.

Let someone take care of you until I fix this.

It is okay. I promise. It will be okay.

Ilya truly believed it would be okay.

Because he knew Shane’s heart belonged to him. At least for the moment.

He’d very much like to keep it that way. Forever, if possible. So, if that means Shane will share his body with others, then so be it.

Besides, Ilya has slept with dozens of people while his heart belonged to Shane. So, he doesn’t see why Shane can’t do the same if he wants to.

“I want you to take opportunities you have,” Ilya told him. “I don’t want you to waste time waiting for me to fuck you. Not when other people want to fuck you.”

“Sure, let me just go on Twitter and put out an expression of interest—”

“Jesus, Hollander. I’m not stupid. I didn’t mean random people. Some people can be safe, yes? De-Discreet?”

“Have you talked to someone about this?” Shane asks him in confusion. “Did…Is there someone you have in mind? Do you want to watch? Is that it? I know that’s a thing. Hayden told me it’s a thing.”

“Stop talking to Hayden about sex. His advice will get you pregnant.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “I don’t have anyone in mind. I…I just know some people are interested.”

“Some people?”

It’s now or never. Ilya exhales softly.

“Peter Landry.”

Shane opens and closes his mouth several times. “Did he tell you that he wants to fuck me?”

I want to sleep with Peter Landry, Ilya! I don’t care if he wants to fuck me, Ilya! I don’t find Peter Landry attractive, Ilya. Why would I care about Peter Landry, Ilya! Stop obsessing over Peter Landry, Ilya!

None of that.

Does he want to fuck me? Did he tell you? When did he tell you? Does he think I'm hot?

Ilya can hear it. Shane is curious. Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?

“He didn’t tell me directly. But I know,” Ilya says tightly.

“Oh, you can read minds now?” Shane scoffs.

“I knew you wanted to fuck me, yes?” Ilya demands. “I can tell, Shane. He wants to fuck you.”

“So, what if he wants to fuck me? Some random person on the internet wants to fuck me too.”

“But Peter Landry is safe, yes?” Ilya reminds him. “And you like him.”

Shane doesn’t say no.

Ilya would’ve fallen on his knees and apologised for this whole thing. He’d have admitted it’s borderline stupid and completely self-destructive. He’d have held Shane for hours and told him he never wants to share Shane with anyone ever.

But Shane doesn’t say no.

He likes Peter Landry.

He is doing that thing again. The thing where he is assessing the situation before he speaks.

And Ilya already knows the outcome of this assessment.

“Isn’t this cheating, Ilya?” Shane asks him quietly.

“I don’t believe in cheating.” Ilya shakes his head.

All the confusion and trepidation in Shane’s face is instantly replaced with pure outrage. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“You can’t cheat on me, Shane. I don’t own you. You are,” Ilya sighs, looking for the words in English, “you are own person, yes? You have choice. You always have choice.”

“I know that,” Shane grits out. “Does this mean you can sleep with someone else, and it won’t count as cheating either?”

“I told you I’m not going to sleep with anyone else.” Ilya reminds him.

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?” Shane asks, letting out an incredulous laugh. “You are un-fucking-believable.”

Is it really unbelievable?

Ilya has never had a serious relationship before. But even with his casual flings and situationships, he had always been honest about it. He never expected anyone to be loyal to him, and he was never loyal back.

There was no commitment. Only pleasure.

He knows this is different. He knows that, obviously.

But he doesn’t understand why they can’t have a committed relationship and still be allowed to explore pleasure outside of it.

If they trust each other and communicate well, then it should be fine, yes? What is so hard to understand?

“This isn’t about me, Shane. I told you. I don’t want to sleep with anyone. But if you want to be with Peter Landry—”

“God, what is your obsession with him?” Shane demands furiously. “Why are you so hellbent on him fucking me?”

“Because I want you to be safe! He is a good person.” Ilya admits begrudgingly.

“Then you go fuck him!” Shane snaps.

Ilya sighs and walks over to Shane, reaching out for him. “You like him, yes? You spend a lot of time with him.”

“For the Foundation, Ilya!” Shane groans. “I take it seriously.”

“I take it seriously, too.” Ilya frowns. “It is for my mother.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Shane clenches his fists. “Why are we even talking about Peter right now?”

Peter. Peter. Peter.

“Because you like spending time with him,” Ilya says and tries not to make it sound like an accusation. “You said he is like boy version of Rose.”

“I meant physically!” Shane throws his hands up. “Just because he is gay and he plays hockey and is good looking, it doesn’t mean I want him to fuck me! Do you want me to fuck Scott Hunter next?”

“Don’t make jokes when we are fighting, Shane.” Ilya almost laughs.

“We are fighting then?” Shane clarifies. “Just so I’m clear, we’re fighting because you proposed an insane idea and are bullying me into it.”

Bullying?

Shane thinks Ilya is bullying him.

Ilya, who would literally rip out of his own heart for Shane to be happy?

“It is not an insane idea,” Ilya grits out, anger bubbling now, too. “A lot of people do it.”

“Well, I don’t!”

“Will you think about it?”

“Why is it so important to you that I sleep with someone else?”

“Not someone else. It’s not safe. Peter Landry is—”

“You say his name one more time—”

“Peter Landry. Peter Landry. Peter Landry.”

Shane lets out a deep breath. “I’m not sleeping with Rose’s brother, Ilya.”

“Okay,” Ilya says, because he can see why that’d be a problem. “Then we will find you someone else.”

“No, we will not! This is not some group project we can work on together!” Shane shouts. “If you want to go fuck someone, then go fuck someone. Stop trying to get me to do it too, so you’d feel less of an asshole about it.”

“I fucking told you I don’t want to fuck anyone else—”

“And I told you I don’t want to either!” Shane growls. “So, why the fuck are we even fighting?”

Because I’d rather fight about this now than do it ten years later. I’d rather you not realise how lonely you are after we get married.

Or you’d rather he fuck someone else and figure out you are useless and leave you for good. You want him to leave now rather than do it ten years later.

No. No.

That’s not what this is about!

“I was only trying to help you, Shane,” Ilya says tiredly.

“No. No, you are proposing an idea that is yours and trying to pass it off as mine,” Shane shakes his head. “I know you are struggling with your team. So, if you want to go back to your old ways to feel like you’re fucking winning at something, then just say that.”

“Is that what you think?” Ilya asks him, the words barely audible. “That I am loser who needs a good fuck to feel better about myself?”

“I didn’t call you a loser—”

“You said worse.”

“Ilya. Ilya, why are we fighting?” Shane asks, sounding exhausted, his body folding forward. “I don’t want to do this. I’m so fucking tired.”

He’s tired of this. He’s tired of you.

“Can we please not do this right now? I need to focus on the playoffs. If you want to talk about our sex life, then we can do that. But I am so tired of—”

“If you are so fucking tired, then fuck off. Why did you even come here?” Ilya snaps before he can stop himself.

Shane stares at him for a long moment. Then he nods once, slow and sure.

“You’re right,” Shane closes his eyes. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Then he turns around and walks out of the front door without another word.

Ilya doesn’t chase after him. He knows there is no point.

You can’t make Shane stay if he wants to leave, and Ilya would never try to force him.

It’s why Ilya is so terrified about their future.

He just wants to be good enough. He wants to be enough as he can be, so Shane would choose to stay with him.

You weren’t even enough for the woman who literally gave birth to you. How could you be enough for a man who can have anyone in the whole world?

Ilya screams into the empty house.

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Did you get home safe?

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

You have read text. So, I think you are home safe.

And I asked Hayden Pike 🫠

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

I love you, Shane ❤️

Goodnight

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Good morning 🌞

Can I call you?

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

I’m sorry, moya lyubov 💔

Please answer my call

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

We can talk after game, yes?

I know you want to focus. Sorry.

Goodnight 😇

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

(Attached Image)

I saw cute dog during run today

Not cute like you 🤭

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

I’m watching old game from last week

Williams took a bad hit. So Philly second line defense will be weak

And their goalie is distracted because of trade

You probably know all that already

My genius boyfriend 😊

Get rest, Hollander

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

(Attached Image)

Do you like selfie?

My sad face because I miss you 🥺

Send one back if you miss me too 🥰

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

(Attached Image)

More sad now because you didn’t send selfie 😔

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Goodnight, dorogoy 💙

I will try to dream of you

I will sleep better

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Good luck with game tomorrow

Philadelphia will go home crying 😈

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

I told you. You will win

Cup is yours this year too 😎

So greedy, Hollander 😫

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Ice left knee before bed, solnyshko

That was scary hit during third period

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Sweetheart, please

Shane Hollander is a stubborn bitch.

Ilya knows this. Ilya loves it.

It’s a pain on the ice. But it’s glorious off the ice—to watch his boyfriend stand his ground and refuse to bend to the ways of the world.

Sure, Shane is a rule follower. Yes, Shane isn’t spontaneous.

But he follows those rules because he wants to, not because someone asked him to. He sticks to his plans because he enjoys it, not because someone expects him.

Shane, his beautiful Shane, cannot be convinced to do something he doesn’t want to do.

Ilya assumes it’s because he’s an only child. After knowing his parents for the last two years, Ilya knows they spoiled Shane plenty growing up.

But right now, Shane’s stubbornness is driving Ilya insane.

He hasn’t answered any of Ilya’s texts since their fight three days ago.

Ilya had convinced himself it was because Shane wanted to stay focused for the first playoff game tonight.

The Voyageurs won. Of course they did. Shane scored two goals, too.

He had expected Shane to text him back after the game.

It’s well past midnight now.

Shane wouldn’t have gone out with the team. He doubts any of them did, considering it's the playoffs. The Voyageurs are boring and strict about that kind of thing.

Which means Shane is in his hotel. Shane is deliberately ignoring Ilya.

How long is this silence going to last?

Is he not going to talk to Ilya until the playoffs are over?

Or is he never going to talk to Ilya again?

Oh God, is it over?

Did Shane break up with him?

Ilya has never been broken up with before.

The last person to pull something like this on him was also Shane, who walked out of his Boston home and turned up with a girlfriend weeks later.

Is he going to do that again? Is Ilya going to see pictures of him in tabloids with a different Landry this time?

Ilya is freaking the fuck out and googling flights to Philadelphia when his phone vibrates on the coffee table.

He almost twists his wrist trying to snatch it with lightning speed.

“Shane?”

It’s quiet on the other side of the line. Except for Shane’s soft breathing.

It’s late. Maybe he is asleep.

Maybe it’s a butt dial.

Ilya wonders if it’d be creepy to stay on the line and listen to him sleep. If it’s all he can get of Shane right now, then he’ll take it gratefully with both hands.

“You really wouldn’t mind if I had sex with someone else?”

It is only then that Ilya realises how much he minds it.

Because Shane isn’t asking, like he did before, why Ilya wants this. He is asking if Ilya wants it at all.

Ilya doesn’t. He really fucking doesn’t.

But why is Shane asking now?

Is he worried Ilya will regret it? Has Shane changed his mind and wants to double-check if Ilya is still okay with it?

Did Shane meet someone at the hotel? Are they in his bed right now?

Did Shane fly to Detroit on a whim and let Peter Landry fuck him? Is he feeling guilty now? Is he in love?

Is that why he didn’t respond to Ilya’s texts for three days?

The mere thought of it makes him throw up.

Because sex with Shane is life-changing. Even if it’s just sex.

Ilya remembers the first time. And the second time. And the third time. And every time after that.

Even back then, even when all he felt was curiosity and mischief, he was…he was so…God, he doesn’t even have the fucking word for it.

He doesn’t have a word to describe, not in English or Russian, how he felt about Shane in those early years.

But he felt something. Something so intense and beautiful that he kept chasing it for the rest of his life. He feels it still.

Even now. Always.

That feeling he doesn’t have a name for.

The thought of losing that to someone else sends his entire body into panic mode, like he might fall apart from the inside out.

Jealousy, which had been a stranger to him his whole life, is now a close personal friend.

But this isn’t about him, is it?

No. No, it is not.

“Of course not.” Ilya hears himself say. “If that is what you want.”

Shane lets out a growl. “I don’t want, you fucking moron.”

Oh.

Oh, good.

Oh, thank fucking Christ.

“Ilya.” Shane sighs out his name, and God, he sounds so fucking exhausted. Ilya wants to lay him down and kiss every single inch of his body. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Ilya sighs too.

He decides to be honest—or at least as honest as he can be.

“You said you were lonely,” Ilya confesses quietly.

“I said I missed you,” Shane corrects him.

“It is not same thing?” Ilya asks in confusion.

“I don’t think so,” Shane answers after a moment. “I would probably still miss you even if I were with someone else. I have missed you when I was with someone else.”

Poor Rose Landry. Ilya should probably be nicer to her.

Maybe if she disowns her brother. They will see.

“I just want you to be happy,” Ilya says softly. “And I feel like you are not happy right now.”

With me goes unsaid. But surely Shane gets the message.

“I am happy,” Shane tells him, but he doesn’t sound convincing at all. Or maybe he is just tired. “I’m just…I can’t…Things are just really weird right now.”

“With the team?” Ilya asks carefully.

“I don’t feel good. We just won a game, and I don’t feel good. I can’t feel good. I feel like I can only feel good once I win the Cup. But I’m afraid I won’t feel good even when I win the Cup. I’m worried I’ll never feel good again. And that’s fucking terrifying because hockey is the only thing that makes me feel good. Other than you.”

“Oh.” Ilya breathes. “I like making you feel good.”

“And you do. Well, not when you say dumb shit like you did last week. But you do. I promise. I am happy. I just…I just need to focus right now. Stay focused and keep my head down, you know. I think I need to recalibrate.”

I think you need therapy, Ilya wants to say.

God, they both do. What a pair.

“Okay, solnyshko. Whatever you want.” Ilya presses a kiss to the phone. “You will feel better after you win the Cup. Then I will beat up all your teammates.”

“Don’t beat anyone up,” Shane tuts. “They’re just, you know, they’re fine. Everyone is just stressed.”

“I know,” Ilya says, because he does. “I don’t want you to be more stressed. You deserve the best, Shane. Best team. Best boyfriend.”

“Well, I think I have one of those.”

“You are talking about me, yes?”

“Do you really have to clarify?”

“Your boyfriend only has one Stanley Cup. Your team has two.” Ilya shrugs. “I know you are slut for Stanley Cup, Hollander.”

Shane chuckles at that, and the tightness in Ilya’s chest unravels, just a tiny bit.

It’s okay. They will be okay.

“I want to talk more. About the fight. And everything else,” Shane tells him. “But I should probably go to sleep right now.”

Ilya smiles at that and checks the time on his phone. He presses another kiss. “Goodnight, Shane.”

“Ilya,” Shane says.

“Yes?”

“The playoffs are not the same without you.”

Ilya bites his lip and presses one more kiss. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

Ilya watches the playoffs with Shane’s parents.

It’s only a half-hour drive, so he doesn’t really mind. Besides, with Yuna next to him, commenting on every move as if she were the coach herself, it’s hard to miss Shane.

“Tough luck for Peter,” Yuna says after the Red Wings get knocked out. “But he’s winning Rookie of the Year.”

The Bears got kicked out early, too, but Ilya is glad they made it to the playoffs, even if he didn’t. He wanted to send a text, at least to Marleau and some of the others. But he couldn’t find the right words. He knows there is no bad blood, but he also knows he’s disappointed them deeply.

Don't take it personally. Disappointing people is all you know how to do. 

“Landry’s so old,” Ilya wrinkles his nose.

“He is younger than you,” Yuna notes, which is really rude, by the way.

“He can’t eat cheese,” Ilya counters, because that sounds like a weakness, and Yuna Hollander doesn’t care for weak points.

David gives him a quizzical look before passing him a glass of vodka. “There are all kinds of people in hockey. It’s a wide spectrum.”

Ilya doesn’t know what spectrum means. But he once heard David say Shane is probably in it. So, he assumes it’s probably something nice and just nods along.

“He’s been so helpful with the gala, too,” Yuna notes.

Ilya, not for the first time, wonders if the Hollanders would prefer a nice boy like that for their son.

He won’t ask it out loud, though. He is not that stupid.

Besides, he doesn’t need these people knowing Peter Landry is gay and is an actual option.

Ilya knows they care for him.

They should be in Montreal now, watching Shane dominate the playoffs and win yet another cup.

But they are here with him instead.

Ilya has a suspicious feeling that Shane asked them to stay back. But the fact that they listened still means a lot.

A part of him wishes they had the option to go together. What if they could all be at the Bell Centre and cheer for Shane from the family box? Wouldn’t that be nice?

Ilya knows he can’t. He probably never will.

The world wouldn’t know of their love until they both retire, and Ilya will never get to watch Shane play and be proud of him in front of the whole world.

Always so ungrateful. Always finding something to complain about. No wonder everyone leaves you.

Ilya clenches his fist and focuses on the game, watching Montreal demolish New York.

It’s fine. He is happy with this.

Watching Shane on the TV. With Yuna and David by his side.

He really shouldn’t complain. That’s true.

To love is to sacrifice.

That’s what Ilya thought he did, to be honest, when he offered to be in a relationship that wasn't exclusive, at least not for Shane.

He sacrificed Shane, or parts of him that Ilya thought only belonged to him.

Because he loves Shane and love means letting go sometimes, even in bits and pieces, so the rest of you can hang on.

He wishes he could explain it all to Shane, but doesn’t really know how to say any of it.

It isn’t just difficult to do in English, but it’s impossible to explain to someone like Shane, who rarely ever loses people, and instead keeps collecting them like Pokémon cards.

It’s okay. Ilya can try.

He can try to use the words he has and hopes Shane will understand. He hopes Shane will forgive him.

The Montreal Voyageurs win the Cup exactly two weeks later.

Yuna pretends not to cry. David pretends not to see.

Ilya smiles the whole time until his cheeks hurt. He blows kisses at the screen.

He watches Shane lift the cup.

He sees the man smile, the one he practices for the media, and Ilya’s own smile dims a little bit. But he claps and cheers anyway, shouting in Russian and teaching David some words, so they can shout together.

His phone rings half an hour later. Ilya walks out to the kitchen and picks it up.

“I know I’m never touching the Cup again, but leave some for the rest of us, Hollander.” Ilya chuckles, almost hiccupping with joy.

Shane doesn’t talk. He only breathes, loud and shallow.

“Shane?” Ilya says worriedly.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Shane whispers, the words barely audible.

Ilya closes his eyes and promises himself never to let go of this man again, ever. “Come home to me, sweetheart. I will kiss it better.”

They live in the real world. So, realistically, it takes Shane five more days to come back to Ottawa after finishing the victory parade in Montreal and wrapping up all his media duties.

Ilya waits, as patiently as possible, and spends the days trying to pull himself together.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

He cannot afford to lose Shane. Not just because he loves Shane more than life itself, but Shane is all that he has right now. That much has become abundantly clear in the three days Shane refused to speak to him.

Ilya doesn’t have family anymore. Svetlana is estranged. He doesn’t have a team he can rely on.

He has no one.

He knows that’s not healthy. He knows it’s not safe either.

He puts together a mental list to make some changes.

He should reach out to Svetlana again and hope she can forgive him for ghosting her.

He should sit with Wiebe and Bood, and maybe even the rest of the team, and try to get into the spirit of things. He’s here to stay. He’s got to accept that and make the best of it.

He should probably get a dog. Two, maybe. But he should start with one.

A therapist if things get worse. But he doesn’t think it will. Not if it manages to do all the other things.

He doesn’t know if he will do it all or not. It depends on that voice in his head. The voice that is still there—that is still whispering him ugly, hurtful things that Ilya sometimes says out loud to himself in the mirror.

But most importantly, he needs to be careful with Shane. He needs to stop starting stupid fights and stop pushing him and…and just stop.

He knows Shane loves him. A lot, actually.

But Shane doesn’t need him. Shane wants him. The same way Shane wants to be the best hockey player in the world.

Ilya understands that. He is used to that.

After all, he is very desirable. People want him.

But wants can be replaced. The thousands of Boston fans who abandoned Ilya as soon as he moved to Ottawa are proof of that.

One day, Shane can stop wanting him too. Because Ilya can stop being desirable to him.

But it’s not the same for Ilya. He doesn’t just want Shane.

He needs Shane.

He needs Shane the same way he needs air and water. He needs Shane to live.

So, he can’t afford to lose Shane. He just can’t.

When Shane makes it to Ottawa, Ilya shoves him against the wall and starts unbuckling his jeans.

Shane immediately puts a hand to his chest. “Ilya. Wait. We should talk.”

“Talk?” Ilya groans. “Hollander, are you serious? We haven’t had sex in almost three months. My dick is about to fall off.”

“I know. Fuck. But we should probably discuss—”

“I want to suck off three-time Stanley Cup Champion.”

“Ah, fuck.”

They don’t talk.

Not until two more rounds of fucking. Not until Ilya drives them to the cottage the next day.

Ilya is kind of glad.

The cottage is his safe space as much as it is Shane’s. Nothing bad can happen here.

“Can we talk now?” Shane asks after putting their luggage away.

“Ugh.” Ilya groans, flopping onto the couch. “You and talking.”

“You think I enjoy doing this?” Shane puts his hands on his hips. “We don’t have to talk so much if you didn’t create problems that need addressing so often.”

Ilya sighs and sits up properly. “Okay. Sorry. We can talk.”

Shane walks over and settles next to him. He sits close enough that Ilya knows he isn’t masking any anger. He takes Shane’s hand for good measure and holds it in his own.

Shane sighs softly. “Why did you say that to me, Ilya? All that stuff about sleeping with other people.”

“If I ask you yes or no question, will you answer honestly?” Ilya asks, and Shane nods easily. “Do you want to fuck Peter Landry?”

“No.”

Ilya opens his mouth and closes it again. Okay, that’s good. “Fine. But he wants to fuck you.”

“So, you assume I want to fuck him back?” Shane demands.

“Well, you can’t fuck him back. You are bottom—”

“Rozanov, I swear—”

“Yuna thinks he is going to win Rookie award this year,” Ilya tells him.

“It’s definitely a possibility.” Shane shrugs. “Although that kid from Colorado has a real shot, too. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Peter Landry is good,” Ilya admits, and the words feel rancid in his mouth. “He is good hockey player. Good guy. He’s also gay. I just...You don’t think your parents would like you to be with someone like him?”

“So I should date who my parents want for me? What is this, the 19^th century?” Shane makes a face.

“David wanted you to find a nice man in Montreal, remember?” Ilya mumbles.

“My dad married my mom, so he really doesn’t get to have a say about marrying nice people.” Shane rolls his eyes. “Why are you talking this way? You know my parents love you. You know I love you, too.”

“For now.”

“Ilya,” Shane whispers. “Is this about Ottawa?”

It is, and it isn’t.

But it’s easier to nod and say yes.

Ilya doesn’t even know where to begin with everything else. He doesn’t even understand what’s going on with his own mind, so he doesn’t want to scare Shane with it. Not yet anyway. Shane has got enough going on. And Ilya is fine, mostly. He’ll sort this out soon enough. Things will get better once he starts winning again.

“It’s been terrible. This season. I have been terrible, yes?” Ilya admits tiredly. “I just thought you’d want to date someone better.”

“If I have to date someone better than you, then I’d have to date myself, and that’s just not possible,” Shane says with a scoff.

“Peter Landry—”

“Peter is a rookie,” Shane cuts him off. “And his stats are not that impressive. Did you see him during the playoffs? His ice time was a lot lower, and he barely protected their goalie. Those block shots against New York were embarrassing.”

“Damn, Hollander. You are mean.” Ilya can’t help but chuckle.

“Just honest. I think the pressure got to him,” Shane says pensively before looking at Ilya again. “He’s still good for a rookie. Pretty good, in fact. But I don’t want someone pretty good. I want someone great. There is no one greater on the ice to me than you. That’s not going to change because you play for Ottawa now. Believe me when I say, you will hold the Cup again.”

“Hollander—”

“You will do it, and I will be incredibly annoyed because it will mean that I lost, but I’ll still be so happy for you, and I will tell you that I told you so.”

“You have more faith in Ottawa than me,” Ilya murmurs.

“I have faith in you,” Shane corrects him. “You know, my grandma always used to say this thing when I was playing peewee. I’d brood all day if I lost a game, and she’d say that above the clouds, the sky is always blue. It’s a Japanese thing, I think. It means no matter the struggle, peace will come.”

Ha! Sounds like something someone who never discovered their mother’s dead body would say.

“Those are nice words,” Ilya hums.

“They are true words,” Shane insists.

“What happens when you go to MLH awards soon, hm?” Ilya asks him, not quite looking him in the eye. “He’s going to be there. I’ll be here.”

“You mean here, as in Ottawa? Here, as in the city you moved to for me? Because you love me and want to build a life with me?”

“Maybe I moved for the museums,” Ilya mumbles.

“You don’t think I know what you did for me?” Shane asks him in a small voice. “You don’t think I realise what you gave up for us?”

Ilya lifts their entwined hands and presses a kiss to the outside of Shane’s palm. “I will do anything I need to do to be by your side, solnyshko. I…I just wish I could do it all the time. I wish we weren’t so far away all the time.”

“Come with me to the MLH awards,” Shane blurts out.

It’s a beautiful compromise, but an unnecessary one.

Ilya can hear the tremor in Shane’s voice as he says the words. His hand tenses in Ilya’s as if he is already bracing for the impact.

That’s not what Ilya wants.

He doesn’t want it to hurt so much to be together. He wants the opposite. He just doesn’t know how to get there.

“Awards are no fun when I’m not winning.” Ilya huffs dramatically. “But we can go somewhere after, yes? Maybe come back here. Or we can go to New York. Rub the Cup in Scott Hunter’s ancient face.”

Shane smiles a little at that and rests his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “I wish we could go everywhere together.”

Yes.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“One day,” Ilya promises him and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

Shane lifts his head back up, and suddenly he is frowning again. “I’m not done talking about Peter Landry.”

“Oh my god,” Ilya groans.

“You hurt my feelings, Ilya,” Shane says so softly. Ilya wants to chain the words together and strangle himself with them for making Shane feel that way.

“Sorry.” Ilya presses a kiss to his face, and then another. And another. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“I thought…I really thought it was your way of saying you want to sleep with other people again.” Shane swallows. “You were acting really weird—posting thirst traps again and going to parties and hanging out with your exes. I just thought maybe you missed all that stuff.”

“Shane.”

“I couldn’t even be mad at you because I’ve been so focused on hockey this season. I was kind of a bad boyfriend, so it was technically my own fault.”

“Shane, no,” Ilya chastises him. “You are excellent boyfriend. Second best. I promise.”

“Dick.” Shane rolls his eyes fondly.

“I don’t want any of that.” Ilya shakes his head. “I…I was jealous.”

“Of Peter?” Shane laughs.

“It’s new for me too, okay?” Ilya says in annoyance. “I was not allowed before.”

“Not allowed what?”

“I was not allowed to feel jealous.” Ilya reminds him bitterly. “When you were with Rose…it was complicated. I had no right to feel jealous. You were not mine.”

But now Shane is his. Even if the world doesn’t know it, Shane is his.

Ilya still doesn’t believe he owns Shane.

Shane doesn’t belong to him, sure. But Shane belongs with him.

So, Ilya allowed himself to finally feel all those ugly feelings that had consumed him since Rose came into their lives.

He is allowed now, and he doesn’t think he should be made to feel bad about it.

Shane leans forward and presses their foreheads together, breathing Ilya in. “I was always yours, I think.”

“Oh?” Ilya breathes.

“And I always will be,” Shane promises, nudging Ilya’s nose with his own. “So, please believe me when I say I’m not attracted to Peter Landry.”

“Good. Because he eats in his bed.”

“What??”

“I saw him eat cookies,” Ilya adds, because why not. “The sugary ones that crumble.”

“What is wrong with him???” Shane screeches and then frowns deeper. “What were you doing in his bedroom?”

“I went to bathroom when I went for dinner.” Ilya shrugs.

“The main bathroom is downstairs, near the TV room.” Shane frowns deeper.

“Yes, great design choice. You don’t have to miss too much if you need to pee during movie night.” Ilya rolls his eyes and looks at Shane carefully. “You really don’t like him?”

“I’m not attracted to him. Definitely not after the cookie thing.” Shane shudders. Damn it, Ilya knew he should’ve shared that information sooner. “But I do like him. I will probably be friends with him. We’ll be seeing him again at the gala.”

“Ugh, why?” Ilya groans, dramatically falling back into the couch.

“Because he helped organise it, Ilya.” Shane smacks his thigh. “He’ll be there for camp too.”

“He is rookie!”

“Rookies can teach things too,” Shane points out. “It’ll be lovely to have him there.”

“Lovely,” Ilya repeats menacingly.

“Don’t you think it’d be nice to have more queer players there?” Shane asks him softly.

“It is charity foundation, not gay club,” Ilya grumbles.

“Oh my god, if you hate him so much, why did you want me to fuck him?” Shane chuckles, shaking his head.

Because he helps you plan a charity gala for people who are mentally ill, and I’m technically one of the people you raise the money for.

“Because I don’t want you to have regrets,” Ilya admits quietly.

“I could never regret you.” Shane presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Unless I catch you eating cookies in bed.”

“I do not have death wish, Hollander,” Ilya tells him seriously.

“Good,” Shane says, looking pleased, and rewards with another kiss, pressing their foreheads together again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much, too,” Ilya tells him, and then says it again in Russian for good measure.

“You really scared me with this whole thing,” Shane chuckles, in that soft way he does when he is tired and happy, and Ilya knows Shane isn’t scared anymore. Good. Ilya is going to try to keep it that way. Maybe forever. “I thought you wanted to have an open relationship.”

“No. No. No.” Ilya pulls back to clarify, looking at his boyfriend earnestly. “We are closed. This is closed relationship. I’m buying big lock tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“The only thing open about this relationship is your hole.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ilya.”

Life is good after that.

Sure, the nightmares continue. He still hasn’t found the courage to tell Shane about the voice in his head and the darkness that comes with it.

He hasn’t made any plans to bring his team together or reached out to Svetlana. He certainly hasn’t looked for a therapist or considered taking medication.

To be honest, there is no need for any of that anymore.

The voice is barely there. Ilya is barely struggling.

Sure, sometimes he catches himself saying those nasty things out loud, as if the voice has somehow slipped from his brain to his mouth. Sometimes, he hears those ugly words in his own voice, as if dangerous thoughts have become dangerous words.

He barely looks at himself in the mirror anymore. He drinks and smokes enough to help him fall asleep without nightmares.  

But it doesn't matter. It's fine.

Most days are good. Really good.

If it’s because Shane is with him every day, then that’s just a coincidence.

Besides, it’s offseason now, and offseason is for good vibes only! There is no need to bring the house down for no reason.

Of course, not all days are perfect.

Like today.

Shane flew to Los Angeles for the MLH awards last night. Ilya convinced Yuna and David to go with him since they’ve already missed too much because of Ilya.

So, Ilya is all alone.

The cottage is quiet without Shane, and the loons somehow manage to sound even creepier. Ilya records a video and sends it to his boyfriend.

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

(Attached Video)

Come back soon!

They know my bodyguard is not here...

They are planning big attack 😰😰

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

😂😂😂

Flying out tonight ❤️

Peter wanted to hang out btw...

To celebrate his win

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Хуй с горы 🙄

Tell him I said Чтоб тебе дети в суп срали

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

…you want kids to shit in his soup?

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Yes 🥰

Shane wins MVP, of course. Ilya did not doubt that he would.

He watches, eyes soft and heart fond, as Shane walks up to the stage, collects the award from the Commissioner and delivers the speech written by Yuna.

It’s nothing dramatic or funny. Just boring and perfect, like Shane.

He thanks the commission, his team, his trainers, his parents, and, of course, his fans. He doesn’t leave anyone out.

Well, except for Ilya.

But it’s not as if Ilya had anything to do with Shane’s victories. They hardly even challenge each other on the ice anymore. So, it doesn’t matter anyway.

“I might be the one collecting this award today, but I truly wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all the people I mentioned.”

“Kiss ass,” Ilya scoffs fondly.

“I’m grateful for those who could make it here today so that we can celebrate together,” Shane smiles and then looks directly at the camera, nervously adjusting the boutonnière pinned to the lapel of his tuxedo. “And for those of you who are watching from home, know you are with me here, too. Always.”

His hand lingers over the flower for a moment, barely a second, but enough for Ilya to notice because he is fluent in all things Shane Hollander.

It is only then that Ilya realises what Shane is wearing. It is only then that Ilya notices what his boyfriend has pinned directly over his heart.

Ilya grabs his phone, hands shaking and heart melting.

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

YOU WEAR LILY ON YOUR SUIT TO MLH AWARDS????

It’s ridiculous. Shane is ridiculous.

Ilya is going to marry him.

The reply comes a few minutes later, after Shane is probably freed from the clutches of all the vultures backstage.

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Haha, it’s silly, I know

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Not silly!

Very romantic 🥺😭

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Just wanted you here with me today

In whatever way possible

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Ugh Shane

I’m sooo annoyed right now!!!

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Oh?

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Because I want to kiss you 100 times ☹️

[From: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

Can’t wait 😊

Will be home soon! 

They don’t really have a home. Not together. Not yet.

Shane is flying to Ottawa and then driving to the cottage.

It takes Ilya a moment to realise Shane wasn’t talking about the place.

He was talking about Ilya.

Ilya is home. He is coming home to Ilya.

[To: Moya Lyubov ❤️]

I will kiss you 101 times

To Ilya’s absolute delight and annoyance, the gala is a massive success.

It is frankly one of the most well-organised events Ilya has ever attended.

They have loads of fun and generate loads of money, which he’s been informed is what charity galas are all about.

His mother would be proud, he thinks.

She was as fun as she was funny. She’d have had a blast here tonight. Ilya could’ve bitched about Peter Landry’s graphic design skills with her.

He fiddles with the cross through his suit and takes a sip of his vodka while he answers yet another question from one of Hayden Pike’s extremely inquisitive children.

“Damn, these menus look cool,” Hayden Pike says, glancing at the menu on their table. “The colours perfectly match the theme without—”

“Oh, you are design expert now?” Ilya rolls his eyes. “Nobody cares about the menus.”

“Shane does,” Hayden informs. “He made Jackie proofread it thrice. Who, by the way, also thinks the design is great.”

Traitors. All of them.

Ilya won’t be inviting any of them to the wedding. In fact, he will elope with Shane and deal with Yuna’s wrath later.

“Room for one more?”

Ilya looks for his shoulder and stifles a loud groan.

“Sure, man,” Hayden says cheerfully, because that man never reads the room.  “Great party, huh?”

“It is gala,” Ilya corrects, just because he can. “And yes. Yuna did great.”

“Yuna had a lot of help from what I hear. Especially from you, buddy,” Hayden says, and then for some reason leans over to shake the man’s hand. “Congrats on the Rookie award, by the way. Great season. Well-deserved for sure.”

“Thanks.” Peter Landry flashes a smile. “Great season for you too.”

Then there is an awkward silence at the table.

Ilya considers briefly shoving the pretty tablecloth Shane picked out down both men’s throats.

“Yes. Yes. Terrible season for Ottawa. There. No more elephant in the room. Move on.”

Before either man can mutter out a lame apology or jump for an awkward change of topic, the little boy stirs from Hayden’s chest and stares at Ilya again, eyes immediately lighting up with sweet curiosity. “Uncle Ilya, do you have elephants in Russia?”

“Yes, we have elephants in Russia,” Ilya tells the little boy with a smile.

“Won’t they get cold?” Arthur asks worriedly.

“No. They are not in forest. Only in zoo,” Ilya explains. “They will be safe there. But there not many, just few.”

“Oh,” the boy says then. “But won’t they be sad?”

“Yes,” Ilya nods seriously. “Very sad. And lonely. Because they miss their mama and their friends. Zoos are not good. Animals should be free.”

Arthur turns to his father and makes a tiny face of determination. “I don’t wanna go to the zoo next week.”

Hayden looks up from his son and glares at Ilya. “Now I have to plan a whole new family outing. Thanks, dude.”

“You are welcome,” Ilya smiles sweetly.

Peter Landry chuckles softly, looking vaguely surprised. “Wow. You’re great with kids.”

Ilya gives him a look. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Did he expect Ilya to be terrible with children? Why? Because he is Russian? Did he think Ilya would terrorise them instead? Well, that’s rude.

“I’m looking forward to camp,” Peter Landry adds. “I know I’m still a rookie, so maybe I can still learn a thing or two as well. My blocking needs a bit of work, especially in the slot.”

“Yes.” Ilya nods, because it’s true. “Ikonen will be there. He is also defenseman.”

“Oh, you’re not coaching?” Peter Landry asks.

“I’m coaching the children,” Ilya says incredulously. Does this guy want star treatment already? What a prick. “And I’m centre.”

“The best one there is,” Peter notes.

Oh, great.

Just what Ilya needed at a charity gala. Pity.

“Is Scott Hunter not here?” Peter Landry asks carefully. “I was kind of hoping to run into him.”

“I don’t think he RSVP’d, no,” Hayden hums. “Shane said he’s visiting his boyfriend’s family or something.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Peter clicks his tongue with an exaggerated sigh. “He’s my idol, you know. Especially as a queer player.”

Ilya all but rolls his eyes at that.

So boring. And not even in a sexy way like Shane.

“Oh?” Hayden says. “I didn’t know you were queer. Uh. Congrats?”

Ilya sends Hayden an incredulous look just as Peter Landry chuckles and leans closer to the table. “Yep. Very queer. And very single.”

Is that why he is here?

To parade that he is very single and very successful?

If he doesn’t shut up in the next minute, Ilya is going to make sure he will be very dead.

Thankfully, Rose Landry, who is also here because Ilya can never catch a break from these evil siblings, calls over for her brother. Peter excuses himself, nodding at Hayden and Ilya, before joining his sister.

Ilya lets out a soft groan of relief and takes a big swig of his vodka.

“Dude,” Hayden says. “What the fish?”

“There is no fish, Pike. I thought you read the stupid menu.”

“I meant, what the f-I’m telling Shane!” Hayden scowls at him.

“Tell Shane what? That you are going blind? He probably knows. You barely score any goals.”

“I’m telling Shane about that guy,” Hayden hisses, lowering his voice.

Did Hayden clock that Peter Landry is obsessed with Shane, too? Maybe he does read the room once in a while.

“I know you guys are keeping it on the down low or whatever, but it’s still not cool,” Hayden tells him, sounding very serious. “I read an article on Cosmo that said flirting is basically cheating.”

“What the fu-fish are you talking about?” Ilya asks, because he can never summon any patience around this man, especially when Shane isn’t there.

“Peter Landry?” Hayden says, sounding annoyed. “He was totally hitting on you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Ilya jumps off his chair, startling poor Arthur, as he sets off to find Peter Landry, who is standing by the dessert table, speaking in hushed tones with his sister.

Rose Landry’s eyes widen when she spots Ilya, and then she flashes him a wide grin. “Ilya, hello. You look great. Peter, doesn’t Ilya look great?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Ilya is a fucking idiot.

“I need to speak with him alone.” Ilya points at Peter Landry.

Rose’s eyes widen, ever so slightly, before she gives her brother a look and walks away. He waits until she is out of earshot and whirls around to the other man, all but cornering him against an elegant display of macarons.

“You like Shane?” Ilya asks him.

“Shane?” Peter Landry repeats. “Yeah. Sure. He’s a decent guy—”

“No, you don't like Shane?” Ilya clarifies. “You want to fuck him?”

Peter Landry makes a disgusted face. “What the fuck—No! Ew! Oh my god, ew!”

“Ew?” Ilya repeats in outrage, offended on behalf of his boyfriend. On behalf of Montreal. No, Canada. “You think Shane Hollander is ew?”

“Oh my god, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” Peter Landry says in a rush, eyes drifting around the space, as if to see Shane is listening in. “He literally dated my sister. I’m not attracted to him. It’s basically like incest.”

Ha! Shane should be listening to this.

“Besides,” the man adds, licking his lower lip. “He’s not my type.”

“Beautiful doe-eyed men are not your type?” Ilya demands incredulously.

“Not really.” Peter Landry shrugs, unbothered. “I’m more into...Russian stallions.”

Okay, so maybe Ilya made a slight miscalculation.

In his defense, he doesn’t like doing math.

In his defense, love is not given to him abundantly, so it often takes him a while to clock it.

In his defense, it took him nine years to realise Shane had feelings for him too.

Hey, at least his gaydar works fine.

Ilya clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “I’m taken man, Landry.”

Peter Landry deflates, if only a little, and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I told Rose as much.”

“You saw scratches on my back,” Ilya assumes, because Peter Landry won’t be the only one. Half of Twitter is concerned for him. “Yes, I am dating angry kitten. You should keep your crush a secret.”

“It’s not a crush. Just…interest.” Peter Landry huffs, trying to get the higher ground again. “But like I said, I assumed you were taken. There is a rumour in the NHL that you moved to Ottawa for some girl.”

“Rumour is true.” Ilya nods sagely.

“Yeah, I figured.” Peter Landry chuckles. “I’ve been watching you for ages, Rozanov. I don’t think I’ve seen you so besotted.”

Ilya doesn’t know what that means. Leave it for Peter Landry to use unnecessarily difficult words.

“Are you going to tell Shane about it?” Peter Landry asks awkwardly. “He’s like a mutual friend, so I’d rather you didn’t.”

Ilya would rather he didn’t, too.

Shane will never let him live it down. Shane will laugh in his face.

Shane will say ‘I told you so’ for the rest of his life.

“I won’t tell him,” Ilya agrees, for his own benefit. But Peter Landry doesn’t need to know that. “No hard feelings, yes?”

“Of course not, man.” Peter Landry laughs, dimples flashing, and even shakes Ilya’s hand. “Plenty of fish in the sea, yeah?”

Ilya wouldn’t know.

He likes being in a boring fish tank with his beautiful Shane.

“Rejection is good for you,” Ilya tells him, hoping it will make the man feel better. “You already win too much this year.”

Peter Landry laughs again. It really is a Hollywood smile. Ilya still kind of hates it. “Sure. Thanks. But you’re not doing so bad either.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you,” Ilya says dryly.

“No, I meant it,” Peter Landry says, sounding a little sincere. “Ottawa suits you. Even if you are not winning.”

Somewhere, not too far away, Shane laughs at something someone tells him.

Ilya turns at the sound.

Shane catches his eye and gives a little smile, the one that says I just heard something absurd. I’ll tell you about it when we get back home later.

Ilya turns back to Peter Landry and tries to sound sincere, too. “I am winning. Trust me.”

“So, I spoke to Landry.”

“Oh?”

“The one with the dick.”

“Ilya.”

“He does not have crush on you.”

Shane, who is bundled up in the quilt, gives Ilya a perfect look of irritation. “I literally told you that a hundred times.”

“He has crush on me.”

Ilya doesn’t mean to tell him. Like ever.

He knows Shane would make fun of him for it.

Or worse, Shane might even realise Ilya went down a spiral of insecurity and self-loathing for no reason other than that he’s a little fucked in the head.

He’ll realise Ilya is crazy.

But unfortunately, Ilya is a little drunk right now.

Drunk on sex and Shane Hollander.

And vodka.

Besides, it’s been raining since last night, making the cottage cold and cosy enough to remind Ilya a little of Moscow. But better, of course, because Shane is here.

Life is as good as it can get right now.

Yes, it’s perfect. Look at you trying to start a fight again. Look at you trying to self-sabotage.

Pathetic. Predictable. Pussy.

Ilya ignores the voice and stares at Shane, who is frowning in confusion. “Shane?”

“How do you know that?” Shane asks him, frowning deeper. “Did he tell you he has a crush on you? Or is this you assuming everyone has a crush on you?”

“Landry told me, Hollander.” Ilya huffs. “He called me Russian Stallion.”

“Excuse me?” Shane blinks.

“Don’t worry, I told him I’m taken man.” Ilya winks, and then hesitates for a moment. “I’m sorry for creating drama.”

Then, because he is a coward, he makes an excuse about taking a shower first, and quickly escapes to the bathroom.

He takes a little longer than necessary, instantly regretting the vodka and the words.

He shouldn’t have told Shane about it.

Why did he do that? Was he actually self-sabotaging?

Now Shane is going to worry that Peter Landry is going to figure out their secret. Or Shane will realise Ilya gets irritated and angry for no reason, which only Ilya knows is a classic Rozanov trait.

Worst of all, Shane will be annoyed with him.

Annoyed, angry and hurt.

Shane will be tired. Of the drama and insecurities.

He’s tired of it. He’s tired of you.

He should fix this. Ilya is not above begging—and doing whatever else Shane needs to forgive Ilya for this foolish mess.

He hastily wraps a towel around himself and walks out of the bathroom, ready to get on his knees and use his mouth in every way he knows—praise, filth, tongue, teeth and all—when he finds Shane out on the balcony, phone in his ear and pacing around like a restless cat.

“How long have you known? And you didn’t think to tell me? Because I’m his friend?? I’m your friend too, Rose. What the fuck? Yes, fine. It’s not your fault. But I was going to tell you. I swear.”

Shane stops pacing for a moment, the tension in his body melts, the way it always does when someone is gentle with him.

“Thank you.” Shane chuckles softly. “Yes, we’re in love. Yes, for a long time. No, I’m not telling you how big it is! What is wrong with you?”

Ilya chuckles at that and moves to the wardrobe to pull out a cardigan for Shane. 

“For the record, Ilya is not a stallion. He’s a labrador retriever. We took a Buzzfeed quiz together. Tell your brother that he is misinformed and tell him to stay away from my boyfriend.”

Ilya blinks at that, almost dropping the cardigan in his hand. 

“Oh, and I was meaning to tell you, we kind of ran out of spots for camp this year. You know, lots of interest in volunteering. Especially after the gala. I’ll send Peter an email about it. Maybe he can join us next year.”

Ilya blinks again and moves closer to the balcony, tapping on the window.

Shane turns around and gives a small smile before adjusting his grip on the phone. “I gotta go, Rose. Yes, I will tell you more later. Yes, he’s here. No chance. Bye. Love you.”

Ilya joins him on the balcony and drapes the cardigan around his boyfriend. 

Shane pockets his phone and taps his fingers against the side of his thighs. “Hey, is the water pressure in the shower okay? It was off this morning.”

“I thought we still have spots.”

“What?”

“Camp,” Ilya explains. “I thought we still have some coaching spots left. For Peter Landry. Since Max and Leah are going on vacation this year.”

“Oh yeah.” Shane clicks his tongue. “Well, my mom said we should probably reserve the coaching spots for more experienced players. I didn’t want to tell Rose that. She might be offended, you know.”

“Right.” Ilya nods slowly. “Yuna will confirm this if I call her?”

“Why are you calling my mom?” Shane scowls. 

“Because you just benched Peter Landry for no reason.”

“I have my reasons.” Shane scoffs.

“Oh?” Ilya tilts his head.

“He laughs too loudly at your jokes.” Shane crosses his arms. “And he took you to his bedroom. Their guest bathroom is on the ground floor, Ilya.”

“Shane.” Ilya lets out a laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Shane groans in annoyance. “He probably helped out with the gala to get a chance to talk to you. I’m not giving him more opportunities. You said it yourself. It’s a hockey camp, not a gay club.”

“Shane,” Ilya says again. “You are crazy.”

Shane sighs at that. “Yeah. Okay. I guess I’m being a little crazy about this. I’m sorry.”

“No. No. No.” Ilya shakes his head and pulls him into his arms. “You are crazy. Like me.”

Because while Ilya was trying not to think about killing himself at the thought of someone else wanting his boyfriend, Shane looks like he is about to kill Peter Landry for even looking in Ilya’s way.

They are crazy. Truly.

No. Not crazy.

What’s that word again?

Besotted.

Ilya likes that word very much.

He looked it up that night after the gala.

It means so many beautiful things.

To be completely in love with someone and always be thinking of them.

To love somebody so much that you do not behave sensibly.

To be in love so much that you feel drunk with it. To feel crazy with it.

Even in Russian.

Osleplyonnyy. Okoldovannyy. Ocharovannyy. 

So many words for this one feeling.

This feeling, which took over Ilya since the very first time he met Shane. 

Ilya is besotted.

He knows this. He’s always known this.

But it turns out, Shane is besotted, too.

What a pair indeed.

“I’m not attracted to Peter Landry,” Ilya says the words out loud and clear, just because he knows it will put Shane’s heart at ease.

“No?” Shane hums.

“He doesn't find you attractive, he eats in bed, and his idol is Scott Hunter,” Ilya notes incredulously. “Peter Landry is obviously a psychopath.”

Shane lets out a soft chuckle, the kind that lodges somewhere deep in Ilya’s chest, as he drops his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “He can’t have you.”

“No,” Ilya agrees. “I’m yours.”

Shane pulls back a fraction and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said we can’t own other people?”

“I said I can’t own you,” Ilya corrects. “You can own me. All of me, yes? Heart. Soul. Cock.”

“And hole.”

“You said hole!” Ilya gasps in triumph. 

Shane chuckles again and rests his head against Ilya again. “Can I? Own you, I mean?”

“All of me,” Ilya promises once more.

“All of you.” Shane breathes, like it’s a wonder. Like it’s a blessing somehow. “What am I going to do with all of you, huh?”

Ilya doesn’t know yet.

He will figure it out. When he does, Shane will be the first to know.

But for now, there is only one thing Shane can do for him. The only thing anyone who loves anyone can do.

Ilya swallows thickly. “Keep it safe with you?”

Shane softens. His hands tighten against Ilya’s waist and squeeze him there once. “Yeah, okay. I think I can do that.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Not too much?” Ilya asks in a whisper.

“Just the right amount,” Shane whispers back as he pulls away, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s shoulder as he does. “I’m going to get started on dinner.”

He leaves with a soft smile on his face. Ilya shakes his head fondly and decides to follow.

He turns around to close the balcony door, and the sun falls on his face, light bouncing off his necklace, and the heat warming up his damp skin.

The stormy clouds from last night seem to have cleared.

And would you look at it.

The sky is blue.