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Summary
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander have hated each other for three seasons. kind of hate where Ilya hit Shane into the boards so hard his ears rang for a week, and where Shane's smile after blocking Ilya's game-winning shot was the most devastating fuck you either had witnessed.
So when Ilya shows up at Shane’s apartment at 2am on a Tuesday, barely standing, blood dried at his hairline and his hands shaking so badly he can barely knock, Shane doesn’t understand what to do at first, or why Ilya is here, of all places.
He opens the door.
Ilya has a split lip, bruises turning dark across his cheekbone, His eyes are hollow in a way Shane’s never seen them before. He tries so hard to hold himself together, there’s something about seeing him like this. Ilya, who’s never been anything but sharp, mean and untouchable, that makes Shane’s chest feel like it’s ready to cave in.
“Jesus Christ” Shane breathes. “Ilya-”
“Didn’t know where else to go.” Ilya’s accent is thicker when he’s barely holding on, all his carefully practiced English slipping. He won’t look at Shane. “I-sorry. This was stupid. I’ll-”
“Who did this to you.”