Willowthetree



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    Shane had spent time—a lot of time, really—thinking about retirement. It came with the territory; on average, hockey players retired in their 30s, with a few outliers playing into their 40s. The really good ones got maybe three decades out of it all before putting the stick down and hanging the jersey up. In his mind, Shane liked to think he’d be one of them, playing till he hit forty-five, ending on some high note—the Centaurs winning their nth or so Cup, maybe—before fading, slowly, into the background.

    It turned out it would all just end in a random game, with a random team, boom— all so definitively over that Shane was left falling, completely flailing, clueless about any next step.

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    14 Jan 2026

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    "You have to come to the locker room. Now."

    Shane frowns. Holds up his notebook. "I'm busy."

    "Forget that, man. It's all over the news. Ilya Rozanov has just defected from the Soviet Union."

    Red Army superstar Ilya Rozanov defects from the Soviet Union. A Cold War-era hockey au

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    11 Jan 2026

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    “You’re going to Boston.”

    Long after Farah hangs up, the words keep echoing in Shane’s head. If he had thought his thoughts had been chaotic this morning, when his biggest problem had been his rival potentially fucking him when he came to Montreal in two weeks, that’s nothing compared to the code-red panic that started the instant he found out he was being traded to Rozanov’s team.

    Rozanov, who was supposed to be his great career rival. Rozanov, who he’s hooked up with twice now. Rozanov, who had been planning on coming to Shane’s apartment in Montreal to fuck him the next time they saw each other. God, how on Earth is Shane going to walk into his locker room in Boston in a few days time?

    The impending awkwardness of dealing with Rozanov is almost enough to eclipse the hurt he’s trying to ignore. The knowledge that Montreal values him so little that they’re willing to dispose of him only six months into his rookie season. Almost, but not quite.

    -

    Or, Shane gets traded to Boston AU.

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    09 Jan 2026

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    Shane Hollander hadn’t really had a choice in enlisting—his father had been a fairly decorated Flag Officer in the Royal Canadian Navy, for one, which didn't exactly alleviate any pressure. He didn’t really know how he’d ended up in Québec—everything had been a very stressful blur—but he knew it’d been a mistake. Shane knew that from the moment he arrived at the Saint-Jean Garrison. From before then, even. But backing out was absolutely not a choice. Not now.

    Ilya Rozanov was supposed to be good at this. It ran in his blood. In his name. His father had been a Lieutenant for the Morskaya Pekhota. But, of course, Ilya hadn’t been deemed good enough for that. So he was in fucking Canada, surrounded by people he could barely understand and yet was expected to obey completely and immediately. And Ilya Rozanov had never been particularly good at submitting in the first place.

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    06 Jan 2026

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    “My apartment,” he says, keeping his tone deliberately even. Casual. “I mean… it’s close by, right? You could stay there instead of dealing with the hotel nonsense.”

    The words hang in the air between them, fragile and irrevocable. Rozanov goes very still.

    Shane feels a flash of panic—wonders if he’s misjudged, if he’s pushed too hard and too fast. He rushes to fill the silence, almost tripping over the words, trying to frame it the way he rehearsed in his head.

    “It’s more practical, right?” He adds. “Less media. No teammates. You’d have your own space. And it’s only until flights start up again. You can leave first thing when they resume.”

    --- After Rose, after Florida, but having barely reconciled since, Shane and Ilya are stuck in Montreal during a snow storm. Shane offers for Ilya to stay in his apartment, and offers up the rest of his heart with it. Or, an alternate take on what happens after Episode 4.

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    01 Jan 2026