Chapter Text
Ilya Rozanov's timer had reached five minutes in the locker room. He quickly threw on his coat and left the room, saying he needed to smoke. None of his teammates protested; most of them smoked themselves, and they were used to the somewhat erratic behaviors of their captain. There was no way this was happening. Most people had to wait until their 20s or 30s before their timer even reached the one-year mark. He was only seventeen! Thankfully, his father hadn't come along on the trip to bother him about it, and he hadn't mentioned it to any of his teammates.
The hockey rink he'd be playing at in the final game tomorrow was inside a huge, industrial building. It was a maze inside, with exits marked by letters. Many of the doors were locked to keep the heat inside the building. Ilya knew this was probably a safety hazard, but he was too panicked to think about anything other than escaping. At every turn, there were the same three posters: an abuse hotline, a concert two months from now, and some huge rodeo that would take place in the summer. It was psychologically disturbing to him, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to make it outside.
He tried to calm himself down by thinking rationally. He knew it couldn't be anyone on his team; he'd already met all of them months ago. Maybe one of Team Canada's sisters would walk by him and say hi. All he knew was that it had to be someone he'd never met before.
He finally found an exit—exit H, to be specific— and leaned against the wall. It was cold outside, and he was glad he'd thought to put on his beanie and jacket before leaving. Trying to occupy his mind, he pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket.
Ilya had been planning this moment for a long time. He wanted it to be a one-on-one meeting; he'd heard horror stories of how people met their soulmates at huge events, where there were too many people to ask and their soulmate was never discovered.
Fuck. The lighter wasn't working. Maybe it was too cold? No, he'd been in colder temperatures in Russia, and his lighter had worked fine then. Plus, it'd been kept warm in his pocket. Perhaps it was out of fuel? No, he'd bought this one less than a week ago when the plane landed in Canada.
He kept trying to light it. Maybe it'd work eventually.
"Ilya Rozanov?" A voice asked, suddenly appearing beside him. Ilya looked up to see who it was. "Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself."
There was no fucking way. This had to be a joke. Surely it hadn't taken him five minutes to find an unlocked exit? He could check his timer, but that would reveal too much to Hollander. Ilya hadn't told anyone that his timer was close to running out, and he certainly wasn't about to let his rival captain know.
Hollander stuck out his hand, smiling. Slightly frozen in place, Ilya reached to shake it, looking him up and down, before trying again to light his cigarette. He was also wearing a beanie and had on a winter jacket over a gray sweatshirt. If Ilya had been wearing it, he knew he'd look ridiculous, but Shane managed to pull it off well.
"Oh—I- I'm not sure you're supposed to smoke here?" Hollander asked. Ilya knew enough English to tell that it was intended to be a statement, but Hollander made it sound like a question, as if he himself wasn't sure about the smoking rules.
Fuck yes! His lighter finally worked. He slipped it back into his pocket, realizing that Hollander was waiting for a reply. Of all the times to talk to Ilya, now was not a good time. He was panicking and nervous, and the days leading up to the final game contained the most English he'd ever been surrounded by in his entire life. He was actually quite good at English, but his mind had gone blank with things to say in it, and he doubted Hollander was fluent in Russian.
"Okay." Ilya said, hating how stupid he sounded. To cope with it, he put his cigarette to his mouth again, watching as Hollander smiled awkwardly.
"You're an awesome player to watch," Hollander said, trying to fill the silence.
"Yes," Ilya replied anxiously. Fuck, where was his soulmate at? Surely she'd appear any second now.
Hollander moved to lean against the building next to him. Fuck, he wasn't leaving. After a few seconds of silence, he moved away again.
"Anyways, I should go. Th- They're waiting for me, but, um. . . Good luck in the tournament." Hollander stuck out his hand again. Hadn't he just done that less than a minute ago? Ilya needed him to go as soon as possible. Wanting to be polite, Ilya shook his hand again.
As Hollander turned to walk away, Ilya decided to say something, finally figuring out how to speak English.
"You will not be so nice when we beat you."
Shane turned around and fucking grinned at him. "That's not happening," he said.
Ilya shrugged. "See you in final,"
Hollander lifted his hand to say goodbye and turned around to officially leave. Ilya took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled, thankful that the awkward interaction was over. He checked his timer, waiting to see how many more seconds he'd have to wait until he met the love of his life.
The timer was up.
Fuck. It suddenly hit Ilya that his soulmate was his sworn enemy and rival, Shane fucking Hollander.
"Hollander, wait!" Ilya shouted after him, running to catch up to Hollander before he went back inside.
As predicted, Hollander stopped and turned around, confused at why Ilya was suddenly so interested in talking to him.
"Hollander!" Ilya reached him. "Timer. What does it say?"
"Oh, um. . ." Hollander paused, reaching into his pocket to fish out his timer. His face fell.
"Hollander. Timer." This could not be happening.
"Fuck," He said weakly, looking at the circular piece in his hand.
"Hollander. Do not fuck with me." Ilya grabbed the timer from Hollander's hand and looked at it. Fuck. It was also up.
Hollander looked at him with wide eyes. "Is- Is yours out too?"
"Yes, you fucking asshole!" Ilya showed him his identical timer. "Is this a fucking joke?" he said angrily but quietly, not wanting to catch the attention of anyone who could be nearby.
Hollander looked like he was going to cry. "No— I-" He took in a shaky breath, "It's real. I- I knew I'd meet my soulmate during the tournament, but it was stressing me out and I didn't play well. I haven't looked at it in a week!"
"Fuck," Ilya muttered. This could not be happening. "Listen to me. Listen." He gripped Hollander's shoulders. "You do not tell anyone about this." Hollander nodded rapidly. "This is our secret. Do not tell parents, coach, teammate, or friend." He nodded again, and Ilya took a deep breath, handing his phone to Hollander. "Give me phone number."
He entered his number as directed to. "You will be Jane," Ilya said, "for safety. I cannot be seen texting your name."
Hollander gave the phone back, and Ilya checked to make sure he'd actually added his name and number to his contacts list.
"Well, good luck." Ilya nodded at him and started walking back towards the rink. He opened his messaging app and typed a short message, numb fingers flying over the buttons. Shane stood behind, still too stunned to speak or move, until a buzz from his phone startled him.
"Room 105. Tonight."