Chapter Text
Ilya was smirking before he even watched the video. He got the notification that read “@ottawacentaurs tagged you in a post” and he knew exactly what it was.
He was in the kitchen, sitting over a bowl of cereal, as he tapped on the notification to watch, snickering as he thought back to the day Harris asked him to do some media to introduce Shane as a Centaur.
–
Two days prior
“Okay, Ilya, I’m going to have you sit on that stool there while I finish getting set up. Once I get you mic’d, we’ll get going.”
Ilya grunted in agreement. He liked Harris and he liked doing things for the Instagram page. Some of the other guys hated it, but not Ilya. It was fun when he could get teammates to join in, but he didn’t mind doing stuff by himself. Every now and then, Harris could convince Troy to participate, but Ilya was almost certain there were ulterior motives involved. Harris made it easy to sing Christmas carols and silent disco for the camera. It helped that Harris was always so excited.
It made Ilya feel excited too.
A minute later, tripod set up with his phone positioned just right, Harris stepped up to Ilya to clip a mic onto his team branded shirt.
“Ready?” Harris grinned, brushing Ilya’s shoulders.
Ilya nodded, “Da.”
Harris stepped back behind the phone, hitting record and starting with his own intro, “Alright, Centaurs fans. We’re here with your captain, Ilya Rozanov, to help us introduce our newest Cens player, Shane Hollander.”
Ilya shined at Shane’s name, thinking about how Shane had no idea this was even happening. He was just obliviously hanging out at Yuna and David’s house with Anya. A family gathering that Ilya was sure to join after this.
“Hello, Ottawa and friends,” Ilya greeted, waving at the camera.
“So, Ilya,” Harris was smirking and Ilya could only imagine what kind of fan service Harris was about to make him participate in. “We just signed Shane Hollander - former captain and star center of the Montreal Voyageurs-” Ilya tried not to grimace and growl at the mention of that godforsaken team. “You two were drafted the same year and had quite the NHL rivalry over your respective careers–”
“Harris,” Ilya scolded. “Whatever you were going to ask, I do not want to answer this kind of questions. These are boring and nobody wants to hear me talk about bullshit rivalry from ten years ago.”
Harris snorted, “You didn’t even let me finish. There was a joke in there, but you ruined it.”
Ilya groaned. He usually was much more patient with Harris, but talking about his early career against Shane was not his idea of a fun use of media time.
Harris rolled his eyes, seeing he needed to get back on track, “Would you say you know him well?”
Ilya almost laughed, assuming this was the joke Harris was talking about. “Do I know Shane Hollander well? I would say so, yes.”
Every inch of him, inside and out.
“What would you say your relation to him is?”
Ilya could lean into the amusement now. “This feels like police interrogation. He is my husband.”
“With that kind of title, it seems like you’re the most qualified to answer questions about him so our fans can get an inside scoop on our new friend. I’ve got some rapid-fire questions. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind.”
Ilya nodded, teasingly saying, “I hope I will not be sleeping on couch tonight after this gets posted.”
Harris chuckled as he read from a list on his iPad, “Alright, let’s start easy. What’s Shane’s favorite food?”
“Shane is pretty strict eater, but he likes good burgers, sometimes pasta.”
“Coffee order?”
“Black. Very boring. Just like his personality,” Ilya smirked through the answer.
“Morning person or night person?”
“Morning,” Ilya said immediately, then paused. “But angry about it.”
Harris laughed. “Superstitious?”
“Maybe not superstitious. More like particular about some things.”
“Neat or messy?”
“Neat. The mess appears only when he is stressed.”
Harris nodded along, scrolling his list. “Music or silence in the car?”
“Music.” Ilya rolled his eyes fondly with a smile on his lips, offering more context, “But only his music. Mine is ‘too stressful,’ which I believe is rude.”
Ilya could see in the look on Harris’ face that he was answering exactly how he wanted.
“Okay, it’s been a long week - how is Shane going to recharge?”
Ilya knew Sex, lots of sex was the wrong answer, despite it being true. So, he went with the next best thing, “A nap. Maybe a movie.”
“Alright, last one, I think - Type A or Type B?”
Ilya froze, brows dipping way too close on his forehead, “These are blood types?”
Harris choked on his inhale as he laughed, “No, no. They’re personality types.”
Ilya let his face relax a little, not mostly curious. “Oh? I do not know these.”
Harris paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling but seeing nothing as he thought for a moment. Ilya saw this expression almost every time someone had to explain an English term. It often made him question how well English speakers even understood their own language. “It’s not an exact science, but Type A is very organized, driven, needs a plan, hates being late. That sort of thing. And Type B is more laid-back, go-with-the-flow, and chill. Maybe less organized. Care-free.”
There’s a beat.
Then Ilya’s face lit up.
Ilya coughed a laugh, “Oh, English has a word for this?”
Harris shrugged, adjusting his beanie, “Yeah, kind of.”
“Type A,” Ilya declared, so proud of himself. “Absolutely Type A. Extremely Type A. Painfully Type A.”
Harris shook his head at how ridiculously convicted Ilya was sounding. “So… not even a little Type B? You sound very confident.”
“Da. Yes. He plans vacations in spreadsheets,” Ilya continues, warming to it. “He schedules his whole life. He has backup plans for the backup plans.” Ilya considered this seriously. “Type B is a myth to Shane.”
“So, would you say you’re the Type B in the relationship?” Ilya knew Harris knew the answer to this, but Ilya answered anyway. It’s for the viewers, the fans.
“They say opposites attract, no?”
Harris nodded, hugging his iPad to his chest. “Is there anything you want to say to Shane or to the fans about Shane before we end here?”
Ilya slowly nodded as so many thoughts rushed to the surface.
“To our fans: thank you for supporting us and always cheering us on. Even when we lose. We will do less of that with Shane, just you watch,” he winked at the camera. “And to Shane: I cannot wait to be on the ice with you as your teammate, your linemate. I give up playing center for no one but you. Lyublyu.”
–
Ilya smiled as he finished watching the trimmed down version of his little interview with Harris. Harris did a great job keeping the important bits and presenting Ilya and charismatic with a lot of personality. Ilya never got to be this way when he was with Boston.
Ilya was finished with his cereal, so he took care of his dishes before heading downstairs to find Shane in the gym.
Shane looked up from where he was lying on the bench, face a little sweaty. “Morning,” he grunted through his press.
“Good morning,” Ilya smirked, watching Shane for a rep or two. He stepped in to spot him as Shane began fatiguing. “How long have you been down here?”
“No idea.” Shane breathed, placing the bar back on the rack and sitting up. He guzzled some water, eyeing Ilya suspiciously the whole time. “What have you been up to this morning?”
“Just admiring Harris’ work on the video for the Centaurs.”
Shane raised his brows in question.
“They introduced our newest star forward, Shane Hollander. Well, I introduced our newest star forward, Shane Hollander.”
Shane grabbed his phone from the ground, pulling up Ottawa’s Instagram page. Ilya took a seat next to him on the bench to watch the video all over again. Although this time, he was watching Shane’s reaction more than anything. Eye rolls and huffed exhales, some chuckles under his breaths and even a few mutterings of “asshole” and “fuck you.”
At the end, Shane turned his eyes to Ilya, full of love and annoyance and everything else they always felt so deeply for each other. “Lyublyu,” Shane said in response to Video-Ilya.
“Lyublyu,” Ilya whispered, kissing Shane’s sweaty lip. Ilya said it again for good measure.
“I can’t believe you told the whole world I was painfully Type A.”
Ilya snorted, “You are Type A. I am… Type whatever I want.”
“That’s actually not how it works.”
“Harris said it was not perfect science. Besides, that’s very Type A of you to tell me how it works or doesn’t.”
Shane laughed and Ilya joined him, “Shut up and kiss your Type A husband again.”
And as a Type B, Ilya did what his Type A husband said, leaning in for another kiss.