Chapter Text
Shane tuts as he stares at the television screen. Ilya is pressed between the wall and the mic, wiping sweat from his forehead. He is fidgeting, full of restless energy, but Shane can tell he's exhausted. His eyes are looking sharp and his mouth is twisted into a frown. He looks every bit as intimidating as the first time they met.
It's a live broadcast and the questions have been dragging on way too long. “Come on,” Shane murmurs. They need to wrap it up soon. He's pretty sure Ilya has been favouring his right leg ever since Fyrer smashed him into the boards. He looks like he's holding his wrist stiffly too. He should be lying down, resting, having ice and food brought to him. What are they playing at? Shane taps his phone against his thigh. Come on. He wants to hear Ilya’s voice, a whisper in his ear alone, not this weary shouting to the press.
Another interviewer snaps her hand up. “Rozanov! What do you say to the rumours that you are seeing Yuna Hollander romantically?”
Ilya blinks. Shane stops breathing. Then, slowly, Ilya's face splits into an enormous, toothy grin. A smile of vicious, mischievous amusement.
“No,” whispers Shane, coming forward off the couch to kneel before the television. “No, no, no.”
“There are rumours,” Ilya repeats, eyes gleaming, “that I am seeing Yuna? Shane Hollander's mother… romantically?” A laugh bubbles out of him, a cackle of delight. Shane glares, he wants to shake him, he goes as far as putting his hands together in prayer… but it's no good. Ilya’s whole face has lit up. “Well, Yuna Hollander is a very beautiful lady,” he says thoughtfully.
“She has been spotted attending your matches alone,” the same reporter shouts over the rising hubbub.
“She has? Well, well.” Ilya’s grin is gleeful. “I will look out for her next time.”
Shane groans and slides to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling at his hair. “Please, Ilya. No. Shut up.” The horrible patterned, hotel carpet is scratchy against his cheek.
“Mmm,” Ilya’s voice is rough, flirty. “It’s just rumours. It is true that I have given pleasure to many, many women. But sadly, not to Yuna Hollander. Shane Hollander, I promise, your mother is safe with me. I won't do anything to her. At least, nothing that she doesn't want me to do.” Shane opens his eyes just in time to see Ilya blow a kiss right at the camera, then wink once more.
Shane is still cringing on the floor as the interview finishes. His phone starts to buzz immediately afterwards - Hayden calling. Shane frowns down at it as he answers.
“Is this why you hate him so much?” Hayden asks, sounding uncertain. “Has your mother really been having an affair - ”
“No!” Shane snaps. “No! I don't hate him. They're not having an affair. Please, please, don't put that image in my mind.”
“Are you sure?” Hayden's voice is thick with concern. “There's a photo of her with her arm around him at one of your charity things?”
“We’re friends! They're friends now!” says Shane wildly. “We've had him over for lunch! There's nothing, he's not, she's not…”
“Hey, it's ok… Shane, just breathe. Breathe. Just… it might be worth thinking it over. When you're calm. There's a lot of pictures of them together. Have you talked to her?”
“I'm not going to insult my mother by asking her if she's seeing Ilya Rozanov.”
“No, I mean - perhaps you might want to ask why she's been attending those matches? I mean, if there's an innocent explanation, if she was just collecting game data, I don't know. It's just weird that she was there and didn't tell you. He moved to Ottawa for no obvious reason… what if - ”
This is so far out of Shane's depth he hangs up. Hayden tries to ring him back but he ignores it.
The next call he does accept is from Yuna.
“Darling,” she starts and Shane just groans. “It's ok, it’s ok,” she says. “Shane!” He can hear the smile in her voice and does not appreciate it. “It will be ok. This could even work as a good cover for you.”
“No, Mom, what?” Shane reels and scrambles back to his feet. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just saying, if the press wants to speculate that we're having an affair, it's a good distraction from you two. You know. Until you're ready.”
“Please, please, don't encourage this. This is so messed up. What does Dad say?”
“Oh, we've both been having a good chuckle over it.”
“I don't want… you can't…”
“Darling, we are not going to stop going to Ilya’s matches. I was sceptical when you first asked us but I think you're right. He's wearing himself real thin right now. When I dropped off some pasta at his place the other day, he nearly cried. I made Ilya Romanov cry. With pasta. He's not doing ok.”
Shane kneads his fist into his forehead. This can't be happening. He has been worried about Ilya for some time. Now Shane knows the anniversary of Irina’s death, he can't believe he never noticed how Ilya gets colder and more driven around this time every year. How his smiles are harder to pull from the stone of his face. When it gets this bad, Ilya will refuse to leave practice until he has pushed his body as far as it can go, too far, too hard, and he will smoke and drink twice as much to deal with all the extra aches and bruises. He needs people around him, cheering him on, reminding him he’s more than hockey. More than pain.
But Shane Hollander can't just start attending Ilya Rozanov’s matches out of nowhere. They've slowly been working up to the angle that they could be friends. The charity work is going so much better than Shane expected. He never thought he'd find anything that gives him the same rush as hockey, but the charity fills a space in his heart he never knew he had. The thrill of seeing it do well is tinged with a different kind of pride. Deeper and quieter, but just as necessary as hockey. So there have been plenty of photos of him and Ilya working together. Some even where they're hugging or looking emotional. He has kept quite a few of them. But it hasn't gotten far enough that it would go unremarked if Shane started watching his games. And besides, Shane's barely got time to breathe under his own schedule.
So when Shane was worried enough, when Ilya was starting to sound ragged on the phone, like he hadn't slept in days, Shane went to his parents. Both of them were keen to check in on Ilya and the Centaurs. Shane had thought it would be better if each of them alternated games. Easier to fly under the radar when travelling solo, just one face in the crowd. Shane's an idiot.
“I love you, Sweetie, but I'm going to let you go,” Yuna is still on the line. Shane's been quiet too long. “Call Ilya. This is all going to be fine. Tell him we send our love. Tell him I’m winking back at him.”
“Mom! No!”
“Oh, your father says he’s winking too!” She guffaws down the line and Shane hangs up.
This is an actual nightmare. He presses his palms over his eyes and counts to 300. Then, he looks at his phone again. He has 3 missed calls from Lily. When he rings back, Ilya laughs for a solid five minutes. He is laughing as hard as Shane has ever heard him, barely managing to get out, “Your mom, Hollander!” before peals of hysterical laughter cascade once more.
Shane finds himself smiling too. “You're an asshole!” he says. Ilya just laughs harder. “And Mom is just as bad. She told me to tell you they're both winking back at you.”
“Hollander no, I can't keep laughing, my ribs hurt,” Ilya howls. “Tell her… tell them…”
“Fuck. Off,” says Shane. “I'm not telling them anything.”
“Jealous, Hollander?”
Shane makes a retching noise. “Please, no. God. Stop talking.”
But the thing is, if the ridiculous idea has cheered Ilya up this much, Shane can't bring himself to totally hate it.