Chapter Text
Shane and Ilya's rookie year had officially started. It was a dream come true for them, both playing on talented NHL teams.
There was one thing missing: they hadn't yet announced that they were soulmates. The main reason for this was that they couldn't agree on how to do it. Shane had wanted to write a letter explaining their relationship and hold a press conference, but Ilya had just wanted to do something more casual, like taking a picture of them kissing and posting it on social media.
They were both at the All-Star Game, the halfway point in their rookie season. They'd both had incredible seasons so far: Shane had scored 31 goals so far, and Ilya was close behind with 28. They were both seated on a stage for their joint interview, listening to reporters fire questions at them.
"Ilya," a female reporter began, "You're having a legendary rookie season—both of you are. You said you'd hit 50 goals this year, you've had 28 so far, and we're in the middle of February. Are you still thinking about a 50 goal campaign?"
Ilya took a few seconds to mentally translate the question, brushing his foot against Shane's playfully. "Yes." He responded.
The cameras flashed. "Shane, kind of the same to you," the reporter continued, "You've scored 31 goals. Any chance you wanna speculate as to how the season is gonna end up for you guys?"
"No chance at all." He said, smiling slightly. Ilya groaned quietly. This was shaping up to be a boring interview. His English wasn't good enough yet to be able to give good answers to the media, so he'd been silently relying on Shane to make it interesting.
The audience laughed.
"Question for Ilya first, but it'll be the same for Shane." A male reporter got Ilya's attention away from Shane. Why couldn't the question have been asked to Shane first? If it was, then Ilya would have more time to translate it, and, if he couldn't understand it, he could probably just copy Shane's answer.
"Boston is an original six legendary team that has struggled to get to the playoffs for the past three seasons." He continued. "How much pressure do you feel from the fans, from the hockey world in general, to restore Boston to its former glory—" Shit. Ilya had gotten lost already. "—and how much of that do you take on personally?"
He adjusted his tie awkwardly, becoming extremely aware of the sounds of pictures being taken of him. Someone coughed in the crowd, and Ilya knew he'd taken far too long to answer.
"Uh, sorry. . . Not to jump the gun here," Shane spoke into the microphone next to Ilya. "But, um. . . With Rozanov's permission—" His foot nudged Ilya's under the table, and Ilya nodded at him. "I know it's only been two seasons since Montreal's made the playoffs, but I think I get the idea." He laughed nervously before continuing. "So, look, my mom's the world's biggest Metros fan—she's obsessed." The crowd laughed. "And, like all Metros fans, she wants us to be back in the playoffs regularly, and she wants us to win some cups, and I want the same thing." Shane paused, taking a breath. "I want to be in the playoffs, and I wanna win some cups. I feel pretty aligned with the fans because we want the same thing, and at this point, it's my job to take that personally." Shane nodded twice, signaling that he was done with his answer.
"Ilya?" The reporter asked, bringing him out of the trance that listening to Shane's voice had put him in. Maybe Ilya could rely on him to provide the bulk of the interview answers.
Ilya leaned forward into the microphone. "What he said."
The reporters all laughed, and Ilya nudged Shane's foot back.
"Next question for both of you. You've gathered quite the group of young female fans, and they've all got the same question they want to know your answers to: have your timers run out?"
Ilya noticed Shane tense beside him, and then the question fully hit him. He looked at Shane, unsure how he wanted to answer the question. Ilya bumped his foot again, trying to signal that he could reply however he wanted.
"Yes, mine has."
The crowd erupted with more questions. Ilya noticed Shane had specified his timer, not both of theirs. Did he not want to come out yet?
"Who is she?"
"Is she watching this interview right now?"
"When did you meet her?"
Ilya painfully noticed how it was a girl they were all talking about. If only they knew the truth.
"Ilya, what about you? Has your timer run out?" The reporter who asked the soulmate question inquired again, her voice rising above the others.
"Yes." Ilya nodded.
The confirmation that both of their timers were up drove the reporters insane. This was high-quality information that would be on the covers of tabloid magazines for weeks. After the initial shock died down, their questions became more organized.
"Who are your soulmates?" Someone asked. "Are they anyone your fans may know?"
Shane looked to Ilya, silently asking permission. He nodded back, and Shane reached his hand out to subtly hold Ilya's.
"We're. . . We're actually soulmates." Shane said shakily into the microphone as Ilya rubbed his thumb gently over Shane's knuckles.
The room practically exploded with questions and camera flashes, and it took a long time for the reporters to regain their composure and keep asking questions.
"I thought you were rivals?"
"No." Ilya said. "We never said that."
"Yeah, he's right." Shane added. "We've never actually said anything about our relationship. We just happen to both be really good at hockey."
"When did you two meet for the first time?"
Shane and Ilya smiled at each other. "International Prospects Cup Finals." Ilya said, the memories of that night coming back to him.
"What words of advice would you give to others who might be in the same situation as you?"
"Um, I think I'd tell them to never give up." Shane said awkwardly. "I mean, me and Ilya, we haven't been able to be as public as we'd like, but we've still been keeping in touch and meeting up as much as we can." He took a deep breath, getting back on track. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it can seem really hopeless at some points, but things have a way of working out."
Ilya grinned at him. "You are so boring!"
"Shut up," Shane mumbled, blushing slightly.
"Make me." Ilya challenged.
"Oh my God, Ilya." Shane smiled as he turned Ilya's head and leaned in to kiss him gently.