Chapter Text
“Hollzy! You need to come out with us tonight!” Boyle yelled from across the room.
“Nah,” Hollander dismissed, “Not tonight.”
“Come on!” Dykstra whined, “We’ll be drinking in your honor, it doesn’t make sense for you not to come!”
“In my honor?”
“Yeah, as a fuck you do that bitch Kent.”
“Oh,” Hollander shrunk, seemingly shy at the comment Ilya knew was alluding to Kent’s behavior that night. The other player had been particularly horrible to Hollander, in a way that made every Centaur play even more aggressively, ultimately resulting in a blow out win, “You know, maybe I can…”
“No games for four days…” LaPointe sing-songed, convincingly.
“Alright,” Hollander conceded, “Fine, yeah, good team bonding, I guess!”
The locker room whooped in response to Hollander’s defeat, but Ilya sighed internally. He had been trying to spend as little time with him as possible, which was very difficult considering they worked and literally slept together.
A part of him was happy that Hollander was going to finally indulge in a little fun with the team, and Ilya tried to focus on that part. The other man needed a break from all the stress he had to carry, and he deserved to have a good time with the team. Ilya would just try to keep away from Hollander as much as he could, which would probably be easy, considering Hollander most likely would find a corner to reserve himself for the night.
That plan fell through a bit, however, when the pair were immediately nominated to order and deliver the drinks for the table.
“We’ll get…” Ilya counted the heads at the table, “twenty-six mystery shots, please.”
“Twenty-six?” Hollander repeated, obviously unhappy with that quantity.
“Two for each, yes.”
“Oh, um,” Hollander directed himself to the bartender, “Do you have any ginger ale?”
Ilya knew Hollander drank ginger ale with his meals sometimes, but he didn’t know he liked it enough to pay the overpriced cost on a night out for it. He smiled slightly to himself, it was just so Hollander.
The bartender looked a bit bemused, “Yeah, I mean, I do, but…?”
“Actually, just a beer, please,” Hollander backtracked, “Whatever you have on tap.”
“Shane Hollander can have whatever he wants here.”
Ilya frowned. They were in Toronto, not Ottawa, what did that mean? His frown deepened as he noticed Hollander was basically blushing at that comment.
“Actually, make that three.” Hollander looked at Ilya as he added, “In case some of the other guys want it, too.”
Hollander slid some money on the bar, way too much even for the amount they had bought, “You can keep the change.”
The bartender grinned, “Thanks, it’s an honor.” Ilya rolled his eyes.
They returned to the booth with the many drinks, met with much excitement from the rest of the team.
“What are they?” Hayes asked.
“Mystery. Each of them are supposed to be different.”
Several of the guys laughed. “I hope there’s some nasty shit mixed in,” Dykstra said.
They all- minus Hollander- grabbed a shot and took it, laughing at Dillon, who got one mixed with tabasco and began to beg for someone to hand him one of the beers. After a while, Ilya dragged anyone who could be convinced to get on the dance floor with him. Since they were in Toronto, the DJ was playing a lot of Drake, who Ilya had a particular affinity for.
He glanced back at the booth, noticing that Hollander wasn’t there anymore. Left after one beer, Ilya laughed in his head. Well, at least he came for a bit.
However, Ilya then turned his head toward the bar, and saw Hollander sitting on a stool, chatting with that annoying bartender, body leaning over the wood. Ilya turned to one of the girls dancing next to him.
“What’s your name?”
The girl giggled, even though Ilya didn’t make a joke, “Abby.”
“Hi Abby, I’m Ilya.” He shouted over the music.
Abby giggled again, turning to dance closer to Ilya. Pretty soon his hands were on her hip, her back pressed up against him. He tucked his head in the crook of her neck, slowly pressing light kisses. He only looked up when he felt a buzz from his phone. It was from Hollander.
Hey what time do you think u will be back to the room?
Ilya stared at the message, aware of the irrational irritation bubbling up in him.
I think I will leave soon, he lied. He actually had no intention of leaving for at least a while longer.
Oh, okay.
Ilya furrowed his brows. Very little information in the response.
Why?
No, that’s no problem Then, after a second, I’ll probably be back late then.
Ilya looked up, scanning the bar. Hollander was nowhere to be found, and neither was that bartender. If Hollander wasn’t going back to their hotel, he was going back to this random bartender's apartment. All because Ilya was being unreasonably dickish.
No, it is okay. Go back to room. I can crash with Hayes or something.
Are you sure?
It’s whatever.
There was no answer to that message. Ilya put his phone back into his pocket, putting his focus back on Abby.
“Wanna get out of here?” He said into her ear.
She turned around, again giggling, “Sure.”
“Can we go to yours? I’m stuck in a hotel.”
“Sure!” She began to lead him to the exit.
Dykstra slapped him on the shoulder from beside him, “Fucking dirty dog.”
Ilya just shoved him back. “Whatever. Just cause you can’t get any.”
When they finally got outside to the quiet street, Abby asked him, “You’re a hockey player, right?”
“Yes.”
“Not for Guardians, though.”
“No,” Ilya confirmed, “Ottawa.”
Abby giggled, “God, my friends are gonna be so mad at me!”
When they arrived to her apartment, Ilya quickly got to the point. Abby was fun, and she seemed to really enjoy it, which Ilya always liked. Irritatingly, Ilya couldn’t really focus on her completely, which had been his problem the last few times, too. His mind kept wandering to Hollander, and that pesky bartender, and what they were currently up to in that hotel room. He tried really hard to get that out of his head during the important bits, though.
Afterwards, he asked Abby if she minded if he smoked. “Not in here!” She squealed, and directed him to the fire exit. She didn’t join him, so Ilya sat alone in the cold Toronto night, trying to get enjoyment out of his cigarette.
Can I come back to the room now? Ilya sent Hollander. It was almost two in the morning by now, and he expected to get no response, meaning Hollander was safely asleep, and the room was clear. However, a message came back a couple minutes later.
Give me twenty.
Ilya huffed, even though he had no right to be upset. Hollander was a grown man, what right did Ilya have to be annoyed that he wasn’t following his own self-inflicted bedtime?
After he snuffed out his cigarette, he returned to say goodbye to Abby. They exchanged numbers and a quick goodbye kiss. He was exhausted and already feeling the beginning of a hangover by the time he finally arrived back to his hotel room. Hollander was asleep. He looked peaceful.
Ilya felt a pang of jealousy at the peacefulness. He was sure his own sleep would be quite a bit more restless.