Chapter Text
“Shane–”
“Ilya, don’t–”
“Don’t check your phone. Please.”
“... Too late.”
Ilya lowers the phone, then lowers his head until it thunks on the table. He can hear Shane trying to talk, his voice coming tinny and small from the phone, and Ilya forces himself to pick it back up.
“–say something, Ilya, please, I know you can probably hear me–”
“I’m here, Shane.”
“Okay, thank you,” Shane sighs. There’s heavy silence for a moment, and then they both try to speak at the same time.
“Are you okay?”
“They are old.”
“Sorry what?”
“The photos,” Ilya sighs. “They are old. I can’t remember exactly when, maybe 2013. Maybe earlier, later, I don’t know. It was a while ago.”
Shane pauses for too long, and Ilya doesn’t know what to make of that, until he says “I know. You look young. Really young.”
“Yes. And stupid.” Ilya lets his head thunk on the table again. He keeps the phone pressed to his ear this time.
One hour ago, Ilya’s agent called. He said it was bad, that someone had a hold of some intimate photos, and that TMZ would probably publish any moment. Ilya’s first thought had been his and Shane’s messages, and if he had sent any pictures lately. But they were usually careful not to include their faces, so then Ilya had thought of that album on his phone, but none of those had his face in them either. So whatever photos got leaked couldn’t be that bad, could they? But then how did anyone even get photos from his phone? Could they have his messages too? Could this out Shane?
His catastrophizing was cut mercifully short when his agent assured him the photos did not come from his phone.
“As far as I know, no one has accessed your personal files or devices. This appears to have come from an outside source.”
“An outside source? I do not just send anyone pictures like this, who is the outside source?”
“You didn’t send anything. These are pictures from a party.”
“A party? I don’t remember taking my dick out at a par– oh.”
Ilya did, faintly, remember taking his dick out at a party, if you can call it that. Someone’s hotel room, two girls, Marly, and room service and a line of something. Was it strip poker they had played?
He barely remembered the rest of the call with his agent. He went out to his backyard, lit a cigarette, and refreshed a google search of his own name for a while. On the third cigarette, it appeared.
It was TMZ after all, and the pictures were bad. Two of them, grainy and dark, but undeniably Ilya Rozanov. In one, he’s standing facing the camera but looking away, gesturing and laughing, clearly unaware that someone’s taking his picture. He’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and neither is the girl semi-hiding behind him. In the other, he’s facing away, playfully grabbing the girl as if to pick her up.
So his dick and his bare ass are both on the internet now. Great.
In the present, Shane’s voice comes through the phone again.
“Did you even know these existed? That someone was taking photos?” Shane asks, so gently that Ilya wants to cry.
“Yes, I think so. I remember noticing a girl taking pictures, and telling her to stop that and delete, but… I guess I noticed too late,” Ilya says into the woodgrain of the table. He focuses on the smooth feeling of it on his forehead, and tries his hardest to recall this specific drunken night half a decade ago. “I was very drunk, and I probably did cocaine. I think it was after playoffs, before I went home for summer.” After a pause, he adds “Marly was there.”
Shane sighs, and Ilya wishes he were close enough to feel Shane’s breath on his face, and then kiss him to get him to smile again, even though Ilya didn’t feel like smiling.
“In the grand scheme of things, this isn’t that bad. You didn’t take the pictures, so you could say you didn’t know they were out there, and they’re old, so you can say you already don’t do stuff like this anymore.” Shane only stops for a breath and then keeps going. “So your coach might yell at you, and maybe the league gives you a warning, but what could they really do? You’re too important to bench over something like this, and if for some reason they’re actually mad, you were already planning to leave Boston soon anyway so there’s no point in trading you.”
“Yes, I think you’re right.” Ilya’s grateful that Shane can be this way, so cool and logical, when it’s not himself in the spotlight. For all that Ilya likes to do to take care of Shane, and pull him out of a freak out, and be the talker when Shane can’t, Shane can take care of Ilya too. He knows the MLH, and how to behave and how to take responsibility, and he knows Ilya’s worth to the league. Shane Hollander is probably the best person he could have on his side right now, besides an actual PR professional, and thankfully Ilya has recently secured Shane Hollander as being always on his side.
He just wishes Shane didn’t have to do this stuff for him. Shane Hollander doesn’t get his dick broadcast to the whole world, because Shane Hollander doesn’t play coke-fueled games of strip poker. And Ilya would bet a lot of money that Shane Hollander doesn’t actually want to have to manage the fallout of this type of thing either.
Neither of them speaks for a moment. Ilya breaks the silence by saying “I should probably call Marlow.”
“Could he be… in any other pictures?”
“I don’t think so. But maybe.”
“Okay, yeah, you two should talk. And I’ll see what my mom has to say–”
“No.”
“Ilya.”
“No, Shane, not for this.”
“This was years ago, and someone else took these and released them. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“So if I took the pictures myself I should be ashamed?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying it’s not your fault.”
“Of course it’s my fault, no one made me do coke or take my clothes off.” Ilya doesn’t know why he’s arguing. It should feel good that Shane is trying to comfort him, assure him that everything will be okay. It’s too bad that Ilya doesn’t want to feel okay.
How to describe it? That feeling, enjoying yourself right up until the moment you see yourself from someone else's eyes. And suddenly you feel so small, so immature and disgusting.
Ilya loves to party, he would probably participate in this exact type of bullshit again, maybe minus the coke (until he retires, at least), if it weren’t for Shane. Except if Shane could ever be convinced to play strip poker, then Ilya would be doing this every night. What the fuck is wrong with having fun when you’re young?
You’re not young forever, he thinks. You have other people to answer to, to try to impress. People you actually like, not Alexei, not Papa.
Shane is trying to reassure him, and Ilya can’t stand it. “Ilya. Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re guilty of something. This happens to people, celebrities. It’ll blow over.”
“Okay. It will.”
“Promise you won’t blame yourself for this?”
“Maybe. I will try.”
“Thank you.” He pauses, and Ilya just listens to Shane’s breathing over the phone. It makes his chest hurt.
“I will go call Marly.”
“I’ll call my mom.”
“Shane–”
“Please, just let me get her advice. I know you have your own agent but I trust her.”
“Of course you should trust her, she is your mother. But I do not want your mother to see my dick.”
“I’ll tell her not to look at the photos.”
Ilya knows Shane can’t actually stop her from seeing them, but he has to let it lie. “Okay, Shane.”
“Don’t go online anymore either, okay?”
“I will try.”
“I’ll call you soon, okay? In an hour maybe.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Ilya,”
“I love you too.”
Ilya hangs up before Shane can say anything else, can drag this out any longer. Ilya would like nothing more than to drink himself to oblivion and skip straight to tomorrow.
Practice the next day isn’t as bad as he expected. Somehow that’s worse, that no one teases him. Teasing would mean it’s funny, not that bad, that his teammates just want to rib him, rather than pity him. The inevitable meeting with the coaches and management went just like Shane said it would: he got a stern warning, but really what could they do when it happened so long ago? They know he’s changed now, everyone can see it. Too bad that’s down the drain. He’s just Rozanov again, the loose cannon.
Seeing Marly makes it both better and worse.
“I swear I didn’t know that was out there,” he says from the next shower over, pitched low so no one else can overhear.
“I know. I’m glad you are not in it too.” Ilya really is glad. Sure, misery loves company, but Marlow has a girlfriend now, one who might even last a while, and he doesn’t need this to complicate that.
“I hope Montreal Jane is okay with it. She must be able to tell it’s old.”
Ilya looks at the floor. “Yes, she knows.” Marlow doesn’t even know anything more than the fact that Ilya has a “girl” he’s getting serious with, and yet it makes the shame burn fresh to hear him say that. Ilya has embarrassed his girlfriend. His girlfriend who doesn’t actually exist, technically, and yet Ilya is ashamed. This isn’t how you act when you’re settling down, he thinks. He’s supposed to be done with these kinds of publicity stunts.
Marlow claps him on the shoulder and goes to towel off. “She’ll get over it, Rozy.”
Ilya stays under the spray a little longer, hoping that’s true.
“This is a blatant violation of your privacy, and if you really wanted, we could probably pursue legal action.”
Yuna Hollander pushes her reading glasses back up her nose and takes a sip of her wine. She’s typing away on her computer, looking comfortable on Shane’s couch after dinner at his table, and she still hasn’t looked Ilya in the eye. She’s been here nearly three hours.
Ilya came up for a quick two nights when he had the chance and Shane only had a home game, and Shane’s mom was here too for the night, although she did get a hotel room rather than take Shane’s guest room. She always had meetings and deals to talk about, and this time she had this to talk about as well. It’s been a week since the article dropped.
“I don’t think he’s interested in suing, are you? Ilya?” Shane asks. He’s being so gentle with Ilya tonight, it’s almost too much.
“No, I don’t want to sue.”
“In that case, we could issue a cease and desist, maybe. Selling these photos may have even been illegal, now that revenge-porn laws exist. I can ask the lawyer about it.” She says “revenge porn” like she has never said it aloud before, because she probably hasn’t. Ilya tries to sink further into the couch.
“Mom, it’s only been a week and it’s already been replaced by new celebrity gossip stories. I think Ilya wants to move on.”
“Yes, I do.” Ilya says it to the coffee table, but he flicks his eyes to Yuna. When she speaks, it’s to somewhere around his navel, or up to Shane. Not Ilya’s face, not tonight.
“If that’s what you're sure you want, but just know you have options.” She closes her laptop with some finality. “Shane, 9:30, okay? I’ll see you at the Reebok meeting.”
“Yes, Mom, I’ll be there. Thanks for coming over.” He gets up to walk her out, and Ilya realizes he’s going to lose his chance.
He stands abruptly. “Thank you, Yuna. Thank you for trying to help. I’m sorry.”
He almost accomplished it. She looks up and gets all the way to somewhere around his chin before her eyes stop lifting. She does give him a hug however, and that nearly makes up for it.
When the front door thuds and Shane comes back, Ilya can’t help it anymore. He fights valiantly, but a tear runs down his face anyway, and Shane all but runs back to him. He ends up straddling Ilya’s lap, holding his head in his hands, and Ilya loves so much that this is the position Shane chooses when Ilya needs comfort.
“She could not look me in the eye.”
Shane pulls back. “What?”
“Your mother. She is trying to help me but she could not look at me. She is disgusted.”
“Ilya, she wouldn’t look me in the eye either if she saw my dick. She’ll get over it.”
“This would not happen to you, Shane.”
Shane doesn’t ask him what he means. He must know that no, Yuna would never not look Shane in the eye because Shane would never be in this situation. That Shane would never look so trashy and tabloid. It’s funny, because Ilya never used to care about being trashy, and he still doesn’t really. But Shane cares, Shane would never present himself like that to the world. He’s being awfully nice, assuring Ilya that it’s fine, but it doesn’t change the fact that this doesn’t happen to the Shane Hollanders of the world. It doesn’t happen to their partners either.
Ilya pulls him in for a kiss when he thinks he can bear it. He tries to convey, as deeply as he can, how sorry he is. Sorry that Shane is stuck with him. To say that Ilya loves Shane, and he needs him, is to be unfair to him. Why should he be stuck cleaning up Ilya’s messes, and babysitting him like a child? Just because Ilya needs him? Shane doesn’t need Ilya in that way. What’s fair about that deal?
They go to bed. Ilya will say sorry again tomorrow morning, then. Sorry for acting like a child, for needing a babysitter when he gets drunk, for living a messy fucking life that will never let him rest, even years later, when he’s trying to behave. He feels like a stray dog that’s been socialized and then bit someone anyway.
He’s never been ashamed of his body, he doesn’t really care that the world has seen his dick. He’s never been ashamed of being a womanizer either, and he likes being the life of the party. So what is this feeling? Is this what it’s like to be in love? To feel the need to beg at the feet of your partner and say “Am I okay? Did I do okay? Do you want me to change? Tell me what to do to keep you and I’ll do it.”
He rolls over and yanks Shane in closer with an arm over his stomach. He’ll apologize again in the morning.