Chapter Text
Somehow—some way—the Boston Bears ended up staying at his Montreal apartment.
Ilya liked to call it the sex building. Shane had first laughed with embarrassment but now, post tuna melt, the name sat there between them, heavy with unspoken feelings.
Shane Hollander had been seen out with Rose Landry. Rumor has it they’re dating and are the next top couple. They weren’t actually, just friends. But Ilya didn’t know that and he didn’t dare to ask.
⸻
The Bears were supposed to be checking in at a hotel.
Except when they arrived, there was no reservation. No record. No rooms under their name, nothing. With Christmas right around the corner, Montreal was completely booked. Every hotel was filled.
So now there were twenty something professional hockey players standing in a lobby, bags at their feet, irritation growing by the minute. It wouldn’t take long before this turned into a spectacle. A bunch of massive jocks getting kicked out of a hotel right before a game? Scandalous.
Ilya wanted to do anything but call Shane.
He had run. Ilya still hadn’t decided whether that hurt more than when he simply didn’t know. And if Shane really was with Rose, well he didn’t think too hard on it.
But what other option was there?
Ilya stepped away from the group and pulled out his phone and almost like second nature had already pulled up Shane’s contact. He hit call.
Shane picked up on the second ring.
“Ilya?”
“They lost our hotel reservation.”
A pause. “Wait. What are you talking about?”
“The hotel. Someone lost all our rooms. No hotels have any.”
“Oh. Uh.” Another pause. Then, without question, “You guys can crash at mine. I can be there in thirty.”
Ilya swallowed. “Thank you.”
Before Shane could say anything else, before apologies or explanations could sneak in, the line died.
He went back to the team and told them he had a friend’s place they could crash at not to far from here.
The team followed him through the city, toward the back entrance of the building. By the time they reached it, his team started yapping.
“This guy insane or something?”
“You sure this is legit?”
Then Shane opened the door.
Cliff couldn’t help but yell out. “You didn’t say your friend was Shane fucking Hollander?!”
Ilya shrugged. “Did I need to?”
Shane guided them inside and toward the second apartment. “Okay, so. There are three beds, two couches, and a couple air mattresses in here. Sheets and pillows are all set. My apartment upstairs has two more beds, two couches, and more air mattresses. So, like fourteen people here, ten up there. That should work, right?”
Boston’s coach let out a low whistle. “That’s more than enough. You’re doing us a huge solid, son.”
Shane’s smile came easy, the coach was always very fatherly. “I can’t let you guys freeze to death in the middle of Canada right before we kick your ass.”
Their coach laughed. “You’re on, kid.”
They split up, and Ilya immediately moved toward the stairs but coach stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Nope. You’re staying upstairs. Keep an eye on them. I’m staying here.” He gave Ilya a look. “And you better be on your best behavior.”
Ilya nodded and backed away toward the other door.
“It’s the same code as before,” Shane called after him.
Ilya gave no response but he punched it in without hesitation and went inside.
Shane showed the team where everything was, water, bathrooms, toiletries. He kept both apartments stocked, his neurotic self always had. When he offered to order food, they know a good pizza spot near by. The coach asked him to get Ilya to send him the info and they’d handle it from there.
“Sure,” Shane said and the turned, now speaking into the empty hallway. “No problem…”
When Shane entered his own place the team watched them with something akin to disbelief or fear. ‘Roz is gonna kill this guy’, someone mouthed.
Eventually, Shane worked up the nerve to approach Ilya.
“Your coach asked if you could text him the pizza place we like?”
Ilya didn’t look at him. Just pulled out his phone and sent the message.
Shane hesitated. “Can we talk?”
Nothing.
“Ilya?”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, there is. And I feel really bad—”
“Nothing to feel bad about,” Ilya snapped. “Nothing happened.”
He kept setting things up, refusing to meet Shane’s eyes. A few of the guys noticed the tension and decidedly kept quiet.
“Ilya,” Shane pleaded, “I just want to apologize and explain.”
“There is nothing to explain!” Ilya spun to face him, frustration spilling over. “You walked away. It’s done. It’s over. I know what you want now.”
Shane’s expression shifted from shock to disbelief.
“Jesus fuck,” he said. “No. You don’t get it.” His voice cracked. “I fucked up, okay? I panicked. I got scared and ran because I didn’t know what else to do. But that’s not what I wanted!”
He took a calming breath, already exhausted. “Can we talk about this upstairs?”
Ilya hesitated.
“Please,” Shane added.
Ilya sighed and turned toward the stairs. Shane followed, locking the door behind them.
“What about Rose Landry?” Ilya asked once they were alone.
Shane blinked. “What about her?”
“You’re dating her.”
“What? Oh. God, no.” Shane shook his head hard. “No, Ilya. Those are just rumors. I’m gay.”
The way he said it. Plain and steady caught Ilya off guard.
“Okay,” Ilya had spoken more to himself than Shane. “Then what?”
“Can we sit?” Shane asked.
Situated on the edge of Shane’s bed with outside clothes and all because right now is not the time for that no matter how much he cringed.
“I didn’t know if you’d ever want to talk to me again,” Shane admitted. “When you called… I couldn’t believe it.” He turned toward Ilya. “I’m so sorry for running away. That was such an asshole move. It wasn’t what I wanted, it’s just what I knew how to do.”
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “That day… it was nice. It felt real and that scared the shit out of me. But, I really liked it.”
Ilya turned away, staring at the wall.
“This can’t be anything.”
“Would you want it to be,” Shane asked gently, “if it could?”
“It can’t,” Ilya said quickly, trying to leave no room for anything else.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter!”
“It does,” Shane insisted. “Because I can’t keep pretending these feelings don’t exist. I really like you.”
“You don’t.”
“I do. A lot.” Shane reached for his hand, “So much so I spent the entire time from then until now trying to come up with a way to reach out and apologize, I just couldn’t figure out how. This whole time it’s been eating at me and the only thing I wanted was you. But not like how it was before. I can’t go back to this just being a quick fuck. I want you in my life, Ilya.”
Ilya didn’t look at him, but Shane heard the quiet sniff.
“Hey,” Shane murmured, guiding Ilya’s face toward his. He was crying.
Shane straddled him gently and held him close. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
After a moment, Ilya whispered, “If this could be something… I would do everything to have it.”
Shane kissed him, slow and tender. They stayed there, holding each other, stealing soft kisses, content just to be.
Ilya stays there longer than he probably should. They don’t say it out loud, but both of them know it. Shane keeps one hand absentmindedly tracing slow shapes atop his chest right where his heart would be. Like if he stops touching him, he might vanish. Ilya’s cheek is pressed to the top of Shane’s head, listening to his breathing, a constant reminder that this is real.
But the world around them doesn’t stop spinning like they prayed it would.
“I should go downstairs,” Ilya murmurs, voice rough. “They’re gonna think you murdered me or something.”
Shane huffs a quiet laugh, presses a kiss into Ilya’s jaw. “Yeah, I’d rather not have to explain that to your coach.”
Ilya hesitates, then steals one more soft kiss before pulling away. “This isn’t done,” he says, like a promise and a warning all at once.
Shane meets his eyes, challenging him. “No. It’s not.”
⸻
The second Ilya walks into the apartment where his team congregated, every single head turned.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Holy shit,” one of the defensemen mutters. “He lives.”
“You look like you cried,” Cliff chimes unhelpfully.
“I did not,” Ilya snaps.
The room goes silent.
“Oh my god.”
Cliff with a shit eating grin taunts him, “You totally cried.”
“Shut up,” Ilya says, grabbing a pillow and lobbing it across the room. It nails Cliff square in the face.
His coach just watches him for a long moment, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Then he sighs, like a man who has just confirmed something he’s known for a while.
“Pizza’s on the way,” he says. “Go wash your face, Rozy.”
Ilya mutters something in Russian and disappears into the bathroom.
When he comes back, calmer, eyes clearer, Cliff nudges him with an elbow. “So,” he teases. “Shane Hollander, huh?”
Ilya doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t deny it either.
⸻
Ilya spends the night in Shane’s room.
No sneaking. No excuses. Just a quiet knock and Shane opening the door like he’d been waiting for him the whole time.
They sleep tangled together, Shane’s arm tight around Ilya’s waist like he’s afraid he’ll disappear again. In the early hours of the morning, Ilya wakes up briefly and just watches Shane sleep. Watches the way Shane’s face softens. Memorizes it.
For once, he doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for the fall.
⸻
The game comes and goes in a blur of adrenaline and noise.
Boston wins.
Montreal doesn’t make it easy.
Afterward, while the arena is emptying out and the teams are separating again, Boston’s coach catches Shane by the shoulder.
“Walk with me, son.”
Shane’s stomach drops immediately. Deeply rooted fear and anxiety creeps up but he doesn’t let that stop him.
They stop near the tunnel, away from most of the noise. The coach looks at him, really looks at him, and Shane finally gets that he’s not angry. He’s understanding.
“What you did for us,” the coach says, “that wasn’t nothing.”
Shane shrugs awkwardly. “Anyone would’ve—”
“No,” he interrupts gently. “They wouldn’t have.”
Shane goes still, not sure what to say.
“I don’t care who you care about,” the coach continues. “I don’t care who you love. What I care about is character and what I saw this weekend? That was character.” He pauses. “If you ever find yourself needing a new team or family… the Bears would welcome you. And if the league ever gives you trouble, you won’t be standing alone.”
Shane’s throat tightens. He nods because words seem too hard to manage without choking on them.
The older man claps his shoulder once again. “We really need more men like you in this sport.”
⸻
When it’s time to leave it is chaos, bodies flood the alley they had found themselves the first night here. Shane hangs back, unsure of his place in all of this.
Ilya doesn’t hesitate.
He crosses the space between them and pulls Shane into a hug, tight and unapologetic, right there in front of everyone. Shane stiffens for half a second but cannot stop himself from melting into it, arms locking around Ilya tightly.
Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else groans. The coach pretends not to see anything but absolutely sees everything.
Shane doesn’t care.
For the first time, he doesn’t feel the need to hide. Still a little scared but now he knows he doesn’t need to make himself small to survive.
Ilya squeezes him once more before pulling back, forehead resting against Shane’s.
“Text me,” he says quietly.
Shane smiles, heart eyes on display without shame. “Always.”
And as the Boston Bears file into the waiting coach bus, Shane watches them go with his head held high and a heart full. There may be uncertainty in whatever comes next, but he won’t be facing it alone.