Chapter Text
Rozanov,
I don't understand why I'm writing this. About a mistake I never should've made. I need to forget this and you and everything that happened. Everything in between.
I think there's something wrong with me. Instead, instead, I can't stop thinking about it. You and what happened and everything in between. The press of your skin, the feel of your stubble against my thighs. Rozanov, what have you done to me? Do you think of me, too?
I had a goal, a mission. All I really had was hockey. And I followed it, this dream of giant, blazing glory in a sport I could live forever in. It seemed nearer every day. I could feel it warm my blood. I wanted it, craved it. It was like fuel. If I were a machine. It kept me moving.
And then you came along and you fucked it up, pushed me off course. I want to be angry. I'm so out of my depth here, away from the person I want to be. I feel so lost. But, somehow, the heat of your lips on my cock. The way you say my name against my neck. Rozanov, I felt heaven. For that moment, a second, I didn't mind being off kilter, didn't mind, didn't care, couldn't think. But I could feel. God, how I felt you all around me. Rozanov, you warmed me from the inside, you burned through me like a fever.
I don't know myself anymore. I thought I did. I thought I was so sure of what I am and what I'm supposed to be. I have expectations to fulfill, a person they see me being. I have every reason to become what they want me to. Because it's what I want, too. I don't know
And yet. In the space between us, in that moment. I didn't want it anymore. I wanted something different. Hockey, of course. Always. And. And you.
We need to stop, this needs to end. We are both men with eyes on us. Or, more importantly, we are both MEN. Men with weight on us. There are people out there whose dreams we will have to take care of. Or, that’s what my mom keeps saying. That I have to be perfect down to my bones. Because there’s someone who looks like me that will know for once that they can hold this space too.
We know what the media wants us to be. Rivals. Pre-destined by the world to hate each other. And maybe that’s all we should be too. Cash cows that took it personally.
But I see you and I know. Every time I see you I'm forced to admit to myself that I know this will never end. Not by my hand. I am just human. How can I resist such temptation?
-Hollander
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Hollander,
My God if I kissed you today I would've sewn myself into your skin. I couldn't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You were so good for me, so pretty. Hollander, Hollander, suddenly, with you below me I was fine. I can't, I don't know-
Do you know? Do you know what you do? I lost, we lost and I wanted to hold you. We won, and I wanted you with me, hot and excited. I wanted to feel your forehead pressed against mine. I wanted our sweat to mingle. I wanted to be inside you, I wanted to know you again.
They want all these bits and pieces of me. They pull parts and screws from me and try to fix me into something else, something that will give and give. To them, my voice never echoes. It's never heard.
Shane Hollander, I think you hear me. Please tell me you don't. My hands ache, they long to touch you. It is terrible, isn't it? How do I let myself live through it?
Do you hate me? Do you hate me? You did it for me, didn't you? A show, just for me? You don't know what you do, Hollander. That is the point of this letter. I feel overrun. My eyes, God, Hollander, do you see the way they pin you, devour you? Your eyes, in the dark, they wanted to be devoured.
Here, in this space alone, I want to say I'm sorry. I drank the sight of you like a sinner and I'm sorry I can never tell you this. In these six months, you were all I thought of. But today I could only give what I had. This is all I have left. I gave it all to you. Something you never have to take. Something I think I couldn't bear if you didn't.
But you did. God. Do you know what it does to me, Hollander? That I can consume you and live? You are the warmth beneath my skin. But I am Russian, yes? We are used to the cold.
(I don't want you to get used to it too.)
-Rozanov
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Ilya,
Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. On this paper, I can be brave. Away from you, for just a moment, I can try. I can say your name and mean it.
I am sorry, I ran when you asked me to stay. You have never asked me for more. You have your hands out, you take what I give and I give what I can. I am sorry, Ilya. You asked me to stay and I couldn't. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was in hiding until I realised I didn't hide from you. I didn't grasp it, didn't understand where this weight had come from. I just knew the creaks where my shoulders hurt, just knew that when I fell, the indents were deeper.
And then, in all this, I met you. God, Ilya, I'm sorry. You don't know what it is I feel. I can't bear to tell you. Maybe you do know, maybe this is why I left. In everything, of everyone, maybe you know this best.
Ilya, when I met you, I felt weightless. I didn't understand it. But there, in that moment, when you said my name, the way you said my name, I had no choice but to understand.
Ilya, do you know you kiss like a carnivore? Flesh-eating, I felt bloodless under your mouth. You dig your hands into my hips and I can feel the world center itself around your touch. I'm sorry, again. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't stay.
It feels a little like I'm being checked into the boards by Goliath. This realisation that suddenly, uselessly, I don't want our reality to be within four walls and a bed. Past these walls there is more than what is between us. There is my hockey, my sport. There is my family, my fans, my team, my life. And suddenly, uselessly, I wanted you there too.
You have to know, Ilya, I thought the world was this little thing between us. I thought this was the only place we'd belong, in a littlrle fissure where only we existed. Ilya, did you know you glow like the sun? Ilya, did I make you too small? Slowly, I’m realising no one deserves to fit themselves into fissures. Did you realise this, too? I heard my teammates talk about the way this, us, whatever this is, could be treated in Russia. Did you think of this too? Did it haunt you too? Ilya, are you scared too?
Today, my mother called me at 9:42 PM. She wanted to ask me about a sponsorship for some gym wear company. I don't know what I replied but I must've because suddenly she was wishing me good night. Ilya, all I wanted was for her to know your name too. I want everyone I love to know the sound of it deep in their chest. And I want them to know what my name sounds like when it spills from you like it did today.
Fear. It's such an old, aching wound. I'm sorry, Ilya, I think I've shared this wound with you. Or maybe this is a wound we have always shared. And in the moments between my name and yours we realised it had reopened.
Ilya, I miss you. I can't help it. I wish I didn't.
-Shane
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Shane,
I have my TV on and they are talking about you, Hollander. About you and Rose Landry. I should want to congratulate you. She is a stunning woman, a big name in the industry. Congratulations, Hollander. You've got yourself an actress. You are bigger than hockey. Hollywood's sweetheart.
Shane, do you remember me?
I am trying to be honest. Just for now. My pride, Hollander. It won't let me. She wears your jersey when she shows up to your hockey games. Your name framed across her back, she is yours and you are hers. Hollywood beauty in your arms, the heart of hockey in hers. Poetic, yes?
But I'm a bitter man, Shane. I can't congratulate you yet. I can't stand it. All of it. It hurts my pride to admit this to myself. That she so easily got what I didn't let myself have. That I let myself feel anything at all.
I wish I could leave you behind. I wish I could hate you. I'm trying to. Do you feel it, Hollander? Do you feel me trying? Usually, I can. Usually, I make sure everyone can feel me trying too. But in this room, right now, I wish I could feel it. I don't. I never did.
Anger is easy. You do not need a reason. You do not have to wait for one. Anger is energy, action. Hot. Mindless. There is no anger in this fucking room, Hollander. There is only something that reaches out to you, over and over and over again.
Do you feel this too? This longing? I want you here, I want you here next to me. I want to watch TV with you, I want to give you a massage. I want to see you laugh. I want to know how you put your fucking shoes on, I want to watch you make breakfast.
I want my cushions to bend in the shape of your body. I want to know the different ways my bed will creak when we make love on it. When we fuck on it. I want your smell to stain this house.
I want to watch you play with your hands when you're nervous. I want to see the marks I make on your skin. Do you know how your eyes have learned to speak? That they have learned to be loud?
I want to talk to you about the day we met. I want to complain about my brother. He called me yesterday, drunk and angry. I could barely hear him over the noise in the background. I tried to ask him about Father but I couldn't. That man had alcohol flowing through every vein in his body. I wanted to tell you all about it. I want you to hate him for me.
I want to know you, Shane, and I want you to know me. I long for you.
With love,
Ilya