PercyPiglet664



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    17 Jan 2026

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    There’s a sudden cacophony of yells. As Shane turns to find the source of the noise, the only thing he can see is red splattered across the ice and a #81 jersey.

    For an absurd moment, all he can think is “my parents are at this game. Hayden and Jackie are in the stands. Thank god the kids aren’t here.”

    He doesn’t remember moving, but the next thing he knows, he’s kneeling in a pool of blood with his hands on Ilya’s neck, certain that he was about to die.

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    16 Jan 2026

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    "Rozy," Brian, the team doctor says, "talk to me, buddy. That puck clipped you pretty good, how’s the pain?"

    Ilya blinks. He clenches his jaw against a wave of nausea. He rests his cheek on the ice, and the cold helps a little.

    "Bad. Very bad." He swallows. "Is Shane here?"

    -

    or, in the final MTL/BOS game of the year, ilya takes a puck to the head.

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    They call it a Lucid Interval. A brief moment of clarity after a traumatic brain injury where the patient appears fine. Awake. Alert. Happy.

    ​After the hit, Shane Hollander wakes up. He jokes with the nurses. He smiles at Ilya. He makes plans for the summer.

    ​Ilya Rozanov just outed himself to the entire world on live television to save him, but he can't save him from this. Shane isn't getting better. He is dying. And these are the last conversations they will ever have.

    ​A story about the hit, the confession, and the long, slow silence that followed.

    They weren't saying goodbye to each other; Ilya was too confident that Shane would win.

    Shane loved winning.

    He lost, the first lost that Ilya didn't enjoy.

    Because he only left Ilya to suffer more.

    (finished, all done)

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