Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shane knew that his parents wanted him to settle down. They weren’t subtle: David mentioned how much his grandchildren would love to spend summers at the cottage, Yuna refused to throw away Shane’s baby toys because they might need them one day. When they ran into Hayden and Jackie at the arena, David hinted that if they happened to know anyone nice, maybe Shane could join them on a double date. It wouldn’t be so bad if Hayden didn’t jump at the opportunity to set Shane up with one of Jackie’s friends. 

He was only in his mid-twenties, but compared to many of his teammates, he might as well have been on the verge of dying alone. Hockey players didn’t usually stay single for long, and now that Shane and Rose were just friends, the matchmaking had picked up again. It was unavoidable, really, since Shane had a broken collarbone and was staying with his parents instead of joining the Metros in the playoffs. 

“You shouldn’t be looking at screens so often,” Yuna scolded as she sat down next to Shane on the couch. 

“My head’s fine,” Shane muttered and texted Rose back. The concussion had gotten much better, and though Yuna meant well, he was going a bit stir crazy. He hadn’t lived at home for an extended period in years, used to a lifestyle of road games and his spacious Montreal apartment. Even in the summers, when Shane saw his parents weekly if not daily, he at least had his own cottage with his own space. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Yuna asked. 

“Nothing,” Shane replied. There wasn’t anything to do. No swimming or working out if it meant using his arm, no watching television or looking at his phone for more than a few hours a day. 

“Linda and Scott from down the road- you remember Linda and Scott, right?”

“Is that the cottage with the solar panels?”

Shane’s phone buzzed and he picked it up, expecting Rose, but he felt his lips curving upwards when he saw it was Ilya. Detroit’s arena fucking sucks, the message said. 

“That’s them,” Yuna said. “They’re coming over for lunch.”

“That’s nice,” Shane said. His fingers tapped out a reply: What are you talking about? It just opened this season. 

“They’re always asking about you. It’s been so long since they’ve seen you,” Yuna continued. 

“I guess.” Shane pressed his lips together to hide his smile at Ilya’s reply: It should close this season too. 

He nodded along as Yuna discussed their neighbours. Nothing’s worse than Calgary, their arena is falling apart. Then he added: It’s probably full of asbestos. 

“Shane, are you listening to me?” 

Shane looked up at Yuna, nodding. “Yeah, sorry.”

He felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. His fingers itched to check, to keep talking to Ilya before he was swept back into playoffs. Shane understood; it was only the second round, but Ilya needed to keep his team focused through the rollercoaster of emotions and intense hockey, and that meant less time to text Shane. 

“So you’ll eat with us tomorrow?” Yuna asked. 

“Sure,” Shane shrugged and then sighed. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. 

“Let me show you a picture,” Yuna said as she pulled out her phone. 

“A picture?” Shane took the opportunity to read Ilya’s reply: What the fuck is asbestos?

Old construction material. It causes cancer and stuff, Shane sent back. He held his breath until he saw three dots appear - Ilya was still looking at his phone. 

New York must have the most then, came Ilya’s reply. 

Yeah, their arena is pretty old, Shane sent back. Probably the oldest in the league, now that he thought about it. Maybe he should avoid spending so much time there next season, if there was likely to be a lot of asbestos. The hotel would have a gym he could use instead. 

Shane was pulled out of his thoughts by the buzz from Ilya’s reply: I am more worried about Scott Hunter. 

Shane breathed out a laugh and then looked over at Yuna nervously. She was still scrolling through her phone with a frown on her face. He began typing again but flinched when Yuna exclaimed loudly. 

“Here! Look at this,” she said and handed her phone to Shane. 

He put his own phone down on his leg and looked at her screen, confused. It was a Facebook post of a young blonde woman, smiling at the camera as a campfire lit up her face. He looked up from the phone at Yuna, who was watching him expectantly. 

“Who’s this?” Shane asked, but the sinking feeling in his stomach already told him why Yuna was showing him this picture. 

“Shane, honey, did you listen to anything I said?” Yuna sighed. “That’s Linda and Scott’s daughter, Sarah.”

“Mom,” Shane groaned. This was all Ilya’s fault for distracting him. 

“What?” Yuna said defensively. “Just come to lunch and meet her. Unless you and Rose are…?”

“I told you,” Shane sighed. “We’re just friends.”

“Then there’s no problem,” Yuna said, pleased. Shane didn’t reply. He certainly couldn’t say sorry, Mom, but I’m actually gay. Oh also, I’m maybe-possibly-probably-definitely in love with Ilya Rozanov. 

Shane shook his head. He couldn’t dwell on that for too long, not when he was sitting beside his mother in the family cottage. He picked up his phone instead and started typing: I just got set up on a date and it’s all your fault, so you can’t get mad. 

Shane stared at the draft message for a moment, cursor blinking back at him, then deleted it. Would Ilya care? Shane couldn’t dwell on that either. He pushed it all out of his mind, along with the fact that Ilya still hadn’t mentioned Shane’s invitation to the cottage. 

Except then Ilya did come to the cottage, and he hadn’t slept with anyone else since Shane, and they loved each other, and they were planning a future together.

It was all Shane could think about as he sat on a rock and watched Ilya swim in the lake. The reality that there even was a they to think about was surreal. It was always Rozanov versus Hollander, first and second draft picks, captain of the Raiders and captain of the Metros. And now, there was Ilya and Shane. 

“How’s the water?” Ilya called. 

“You’re the one in it,” Shane mumbled, distracted by Ilya’s face lit by the summer sun and lake water trickling down his neck to his shoulders. 

“Yeah, but I want to know what you think,” Ilya said, and suddenly there was a shock of cold water splashing against his skin. 

“Fuck you! What if my phone was in my pocket?” Shane huffed. 

“Ah, it’s not,” Ilya said, wading towards Shane. “You left it on the table. It’s been ringing all morning.”

“I should go check it,” Shane mumbled. “It might be an emergency.”

“No,” Ilya groaned, kissing Shane’s ankle and leaning towards him. The cool temperature of his hands made a slight shiver crawl across Shane’s skin. “Gimme kiss.”

“You’re cold,” Shane complained, but he was already leaning in. They had spent years exploring each other’s bodies, yet Shane felt a renewed need to touch Ilya constantly. It felt different than before, and also like they had always been like this, like they were coming home. 

“Come swim,” Ilya said, looking up at him. Shane didn’t know how to say no, he didn’t want to say no anymore. He slid into the lake with a sharp intake of breath. 

“It’s cold,” Shane complained again. 

“You just are not used to it,” Ilya said, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist and pulling him closer. Shane smiled, circling his own arms around Ilya’s shoulders, and then crying out as Ilya fell backwards into the water, pulling Shane underwater with him. 

“You asshole!” Shane shouted when he resurfaced, but it was undermined by the smile on his face and laughter in his voice. 

They splashed each other, both trying to dunk the other’s head back underwater. The warm July air was a soothing contrast to the cooler water, the sound of water lapping against the rocks was all that could be heard as their roughhousing settled down. 

“I really should check my phone,” Shane mumbled as he leaned in to give Ilya a soft kiss. Ilya hummed in response, pulling Shane back in for another lingering kiss. 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Shane said, kissing Ilya on the cheek before climbing out of the water and wrapping a towel around his shoulders. He looked back at Ilya standing in the shining lake water for a moment before making his way towards the cottage. There was still a small smile on his face as he slid open the door, lifting his head up and jumping back when he saw David standing in his kitchen. 

“Fuck!” Shane shouted, hunching over slightly and clutching at his chest. 

“Shh,” David said quickly, “don’t ruin your silent retreat.”

Right, the silent retreat. That’s what Shane was doing, all alone at his cottage with no visitors. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but you weren’t answering your phone,” David continued. “I just forgot my charger here, and your mom only has the new one.”

Shane opened his mouth to reply, but David put a hand up, pushing Shane’s phone towards him from where it sat on the table and nodding at it. 

Shane tried to keep a straight face as he picked up his phone to type, but Ilya’s laughter from the car rang through his head. A silent retreat would sound fake if it was anyone but Shane. 

He turned his phone around to show David what he had written in his notes app: It’s okay, Dad. I might add another week onto the silent retreat. I think it’s helping me focus. 

David nodded earnestly, patting him on the back before gesturing towards the front door. Shane nodded and followed him to the front door as David got into his car and waved. 

“Oh,” David said, rolling down his window and sticking his head out. “Don’t go swimming alone with your concussion, your mom will flip.” 

Shane nodded and gave him a thumbs up, watching as David pulled out of the driveway and his car rumbled down the dirt road. Once he was out of sight, Shane let out a loud breath, part relief and part laughter. He ran a hand over his face and walked back to the lake. 

“My dad was here,” Shane said as he stepped onto the dock. 

“What?” Ilya exclaimed, his head popping up from where he was floating on his back in the water. “Here?” 

“Yeah, in the kitchen,” Shane said as he sat down on the dock and put his legs in the water. Ilya swam over to him, resting his folded arms on Shane’s thighs. His cool touch was a contrast to Shane’s warm skin, already heated up again in the sun since he had left the lake.

“Did he figure it out?”

Shane ran a hand through Ilya’s damp hair, pushing it off his forehead and trailing his hand down the side of his face. He liked staring at Ilya, now that he didn’t have to hide the emotions bubbling under his skin. It helped that Ilya was the most handsome man he’d ever seen.

“No,” Shane replied, “he didn’t stay long. He didn’t want me to talk, silent retreat and whatever.”

Ilya laughed, and Shane ran a finger across where his smile pushed up his cheekbones. 

“They think you are crazy,” Ilya said, eyes sparkling. 

“No, they think I’m a hermit,” Shane muttered. 

“What is a hermit?” Ilya asked, resting his chin on his arms. 

“Someone who never leaves their house.”

Ilya laughed again, “That is you.”

“It’s not,” Shane complained, even as Ilya’s laughter brought a small smile to his face. He paused for a moment, not sure if he wanted to bring it up, then eventually said, “My mom tried to set me up on a date a few months ago.”

“A date?” Ilya’s eyebrows furrowed, and he lifted his head from Shane’s lap. 

“With the neighbour’s daughter,” Shane said. When Ilya’s expression didn’t improve, he added: “It was horrible, Ilya.”

“Mm, tell me more,” Ilya replied. 

Shane huffed but obliged: “My parents were both there, so were hers.” 

“Sexy,” Ilya said, smirking. 

“Shut up,” Shane replied. “The first thing she asked me was if all my teeth are real.”

Shane smiled as Ilya’s laugh rang out across the lake. “It’s not that funny.”

“It’s pretty funny,” Ilya said, still with a wide smile on his face. The date - if you could call it that - hadn’t been an enjoyable experience, but Shane would share his painful matchmaking stories if it made the frown leave Ilya’s face. 

“So,” Ilya said, “are they real?”

“Alright,” Shane said flatly, moving to get up, but Ilya grabbed onto his waist and Shane settled back in place. 

“Is okay,” Ilya said, leaning in closer. “Open your mouth, I will check with my tongue.”

“Fuck off, you know they’re real. And that does not make me want to kiss you,” Shane huffed, actually getting up this time and walking back towards the cottage. He heard the sloshing of water as Ilya climbed out of the lake.

“You always want to kiss me,” Ilya called after him. Shane didn’t reply; it was, unfortunately, true, but he wouldn’t give in and admit that.

It was hard when Ilya eventually had to leave. He drove Ilya back to the airport on his way to Montreal to get back into training; Lanaudière didn’t have the facilities for a professional hockey player, and Shane especially needed to get back to working out after being sidelined for months with his injuries. It should’ve been easier to say goodbye. Now that they were together, they would be texting and video calling and planning to spend as much time together as they could, yet watching Ilya walk away was harder than ever. He was in love, he had been in love for a while, and now they were finally acknowledging it. Shane couldn’t think about anything else, and even with all of that, Ilya still had to leave. 

It made Yuna’s matchmaking even more unbearable. To try and pair Shane with anyone other than Ilya felt like a joke. What he felt for Ilya was like a physical presence beside him, an elephant in the room that was hard to ignore, and as much as Shane wanted to keep it secret a bit longer, it also sometimes felt crazy that people could look at him and not see the traces of Ilya all over his words and actions.

“Your dad and I were out with some of his colleagues the other night,” Yuna began as the three of them sat down for dinner on a Friday night in Ottawa. They wanted to spend Labour Day weekend with Shane, but Ilya was driving up from Boston the next day. He told his parents that Hayden and Jackie were bothering him to meet up in Montreal for dinner, which was partially true, Hayden had been pestering him about coming over for dinner, except there was no way Shane was spending a single second of the weekend away from Ilya. 

“The new student hire at work is a big fan,” David said, passing Shane a pitcher of water. 

“That’s nice,” Shane said, filling up his glass. “I can sign something, if you want.”

“He’d love that,” David said, pleased.

“The director was at dinner, too,” Yuna said. 

“The one who always forgets to unmute in meetings?” Shane asked and then put a forkful of salad in his mouth. 

“That’s the one,” David replied. 

“He was telling us about his daughter,” Yuna said, picking at her food as she watched Shane’s reaction. 

“Mom,” Shane groaned. “The season is about to start. I’m not interested in any blind dates.”

“Shane,” Yuna said softly, “I just want you to find your person.”

His parents were looking at him from across the table, David’s hand covering Yuna’s. I found my person, Shane wanted to say. He wanted to be with Ilya, only Ilya, now and in the future. A rush of emotions flooded Shane: longing to see Ilya in person again, appreciation for how much his parents cared for him, and guilt. Guilt that he was keeping such a big part of himself and his life a secret. It wasn’t sustainable, all the sneaking around and lying. And he wanted his parents to know, he realized. He wanted them to know Ilya, to welcome him into their family and treat him like their son, to see how happy Shane was. He wouldn’t out Ilya, not without his permission, and the whole in-love-with-his-rival thing was probably a bit much right out of the gate, but Shane could start somewhere. 

“Mom, Dad,” Shane began stiffly, “I, uh… I want to tell you something.”

Yuna and David exchanged a glance, and Yuna sat up slightly in her chair. 

“We’re listening,” David said, putting his fork down. 

Silence fell over the room as Shane took a deep breath, eyes looking between his parents and back down at the table. He closed his eyes and said, “I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Yuna said, but Shane couldn’t bring himself to look at her expression. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, his voice breaking slightly. “I did try, I mean, I know I complained about the dates, but I did really try. I just… I can’t help it.”

“Oh, Shane,” Yuna said softly, and then he heard the scrape of her chair across the wooden floor and felt her arms wrap around his shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry we made you feel like you couldn’t tell us.”

“We’re so proud of you, Shane,” David added, his hand rubbing Shane’s back gently. 

They stayed in that embrace for a moment, Shane sniffling and wiping his eyes, before Yuna and David sat back down across from him at the table. 

“I didn’t mean to drop it on you so suddenly,” Shane said wetly, taking a sip of water and rubbing at his eyes. 

“I think… maybe we thought you might be gay,” Yuna said. 

Shane looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“We know you pretty well, Shane,” David said. 

“It was just… then you dated Rose in the fall, in public for the first time, and I thought maybe we were just assuming,” Yuna replied, picking up her fork. 

“Yeah, that was… We’re still friends,” Shane said awkwardly. He wasn’t about to go into detail about the trajectory of his relationship with Rose. “I did want to tell you sooner, but...”

“We understand, Shane,” David said. “No apologies necessary.”

There was a lull in the conversation, Shane taking small bites of his food to occupy himself as he tried to process what just happened. He came out to his parents. And now they were eating dinner, and it was fine, but Shane still felt a bit off balance. He wanted to call Ilya, to tell him what had happened and hear his voice. He wished he could feel his arms around him too, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. 

“You know,” Yuna began slowly. “That director I mentioned, he has a son, too. He’s a bit older than you, but-“

“Mom,” Shane groaned, and Yuna lifted her hands in the air and dropped the subject. 

He should’ve known that it wouldn’t last. Yuna was nothing if not determined, and she was determined to find Shane a date. 

A few weeks later, the Metros were playing in Ottawa against the Centaurs for their season opener, so Shane flew in a day early to see his parents. At least, that was what he told himself. It had nothing to do with the fact that Ilya was going to sign with Ottawa in the summer, and Shane couldn’t stop thinking about where he might live, maybe close to Shane’s childhood home, and whether he wanted a house instead of an apartment, and Shane was getting ahead of himself again. 

(Ilya had laughed, grabbing his hand and looking at him fondly as Shane insisted on driving through a neighbourhood he thought Ilya might like before dropping him off at the Ottawa airport. 

“I still have a year on my contract,” Ilya said as Shane turned off of the highway. 

“I know,” Shane muttered. “It’s just to look. For fun, or whatever.”

Ilya laughed again, switching to hold Shane’s hand with his left and moving his other hand to the back of Shane’s neck. 

“Yes, your real estate fetish,” Ilya said. 

“It’s not a fetish,” Shane insisted. Living space was important, and Shane simply recognized that. 

“So you will not want me to blow you on the side of the highway after this?”

“Shut up,” Shane said, heat pooling under his cheeks. “Look, this is the neighbourhood I was talking about.”

When they got back on the highway, Shane ended up taking the next exit and pulling over on an empty dirt road, where Ilya wasted no time before unbuckling his seatbelt and sucking him off. But that had nothing to do with the houses. That was just Ilya.)

Yuna picked Shane up from the airport the day before his game so they could stop for groceries. That should’ve been his first warning: usually David took care of the groceries. But he still followed Yuna through the aisles, hat pulled low on his head as he pushed the cart. 

Yuna put a bottle of olive oil into the cart and turned to Shane. “I just need to get eggs and then we’re done. Could you go get in line for the cash?”

“Sure,” Shane nodded, already turning the cart towards the front of the store. 

“Wait,” Yuna called, grabbing his arm. 

“Yeah?”

“It has to be the third cashier. Check the numbers before you get in line,” Yuna said firmly. 

“Okay,” Shane replied, frowning a bit as Yuna walked away. That was his second warning, but he still pushed the shopping cart towards the check out and got in line at cashier three, even though the line up was shorter at the first cashier. He looked around, trying to figure out what was special about this check out line. It wasn’t the express lane, it had the same magazines and gum options as the other lines… 

Yuna appeared behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder and whispering, “What do you think?”

“Huh?” Shane asked. 

“He’s cute, right?” Yuna titled her head towards the cashier. Shane looked over and saw a young man with a trimmed beard and reddish-brown hair operating the cash. It was then he realized - Yuna was trying to match him up with the cashier. 

“Mom,” Shane warned, anxiety spiking in his stomach, but it was their turn to load their groceries onto the belt and Yuna slid past the cart to smile at the cashier. 

“Hey, Mrs. Hollander,” the cashier said cheerfully as he began scanning their items. 

“Hi, Liam,” Yuna said with a smile. “How are you?”

“Not bad, you?” Liam replied. Shane finished loading their groceries onto the belt and moved to start packing them up once they were scanned. He wanted to make this as short as possible. 

“I’m great, thanks,” Yuna said, glancing over at Shane. “This is Shane, my son.”

Shane waved quickly without making eye contact. He felt both panic at his mother trying to set him up with a man in public, and indignation that his mother was trying to set him up with a man in public. Why would he want anyone else when he had Ilya? Of course, his mother didn’t know that, but still. 

“Nice to meet you, Shane,” Liam said, scanning the last item. 

“Yeah,” Shane said, then turned to Yuna and handed her his card: “I’m going to go load the car.”

He grabbed the last item and didn’t wait for a reply before pushing the cart towards the exit. Fuck, that was so embarrassing. The cashier didn’t seem particularly starstruck, so maybe he didn’t recognize Shane, but there was no way he was waiting around to find out. He reached the car and stared blankly at the trunk. He didn’t have the key. 

The metal was hot through his shirt from the late summer sun as he leaned against the side of the car until, eventually, Yuna made her way over and unlocked it. 

“Why did you run away?”

Shane huffed and began loading the car in silence. He waited until they were both in the car to take a deep breath and say, “You can’t try to set me up with random men in public. I’m not out yet, Mom.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Yuna insisted, turning to face Shane instead of starting the car. 

When Shane just stared out the window and didn’t reply, Yuna’s tone softened. 

“I’m sorry, Shane,” she said gently. “I really didn’t tell him anything, but I didn’t think about how it might make you feel.”

Shane nodded, offering her a weak smile. “It’s fine, Mom. I just… No one can know, okay? It’s too risky to give hints to a stranger, not knowing if they’ll tell someone.”

“Okay, honey, I understand,” Yuna said. She patted his hands, which were folded in his lap, and started the car. After a few moments of driving, she said, “Did you think he was cute?” 

Shane groaned, leaning his head back against the seat. “Mom, please.”

“What? I just want to know your type!” Yuna glanced over at him as they stopped at a light. 

Shane closed his eyes. He had a type: it was Russian, blond curls, a bit of an asshole in the best way but also completely soft and loving. That had been his type since he was seventeen, and it wouldn’t be changing now. 

Shane couldn’t say all of that to his mom, not yet. He settled on a muttered “I don’t know” instead. 

That night, from his childhood bedroom, he called Ilya. A smile spread onto Shane’s face as soon as Ilya appeared on the screen. 

“Hi,” Shane whispered. 

“Hi,” Ilya replied softly. “Is that your bedroom?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, turning his phone for a moment so Ilya could see. 

“Wow,” Ilya said, amusement in his voice. “No wonder you tell me to play in Ottawa. You want your favourite player to play for your favourite team.”

Shane looked around his room, still covered in Ottawa Centaurs posters and jerseys from when he was a kid. He felt heat rise to his cheeks; he was so used to his childhood bedroom that he hadn’t thought about it through Ilya’s eyes. 

“You’re not my favourite player,” Shane mumbled, trying to hide his smile at the offended look on Ilya’s face. 

“If not me then who?” Ilya said. 

“Scott Hunter’s Cup run was pretty impressive,” Shane said mildly. He could see why Ilya enjoyed teasing him, it was pretty cute to see Ilya pout. 

“No fucking chance,” Ilya said grumpily. He flopped onto his bed and shoved his face into his pillow. 

Shane laughed, “Come back! I want to see your face.”

“No,” Ilya’s reply was muffled by his pillow. Shane smiled, endeared by this sulky Ilya. 

“My mom tried to set me up with a cashier today,” Shane said casually, and as expected, Ilya’s head popped up from his pillow. 

“What? Why?” Ilya said, his voice sharp as he turned onto his back and held his phone over his head. Shane’s eyes trailed over the curve of his neck into his bare shoulders, now visible with the new angle. 

“I don’t know,” Shane murmured, entranced by the shift in Ilya’s muscles as he switched the hand he was holding his phone with. He never seemed to be wearing a shirt, but Shane wasn’t complaining.

“You would never date a cashier,” Ilya said as if it was a matter of fact. 

“Hey,” Shane said, looking up at Ilya’s face with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ilya gestured vaguely with one hand and simply said, “You are too competitive.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a cashier,” Shane said defensively. He wasn’t elitist. 

“Yes, this is true. I would date a cashier,” Ilya said with a shrug. 

“You’re not allowed to date a cashier,” Shane said, his frown getting deeper. 

“Okay, I won’t. Only you, no cashiers,” Ilya said softly, and Shane’s frown melted away. “Unless you need money after retirement.”

Shane watched Ilya laugh with a roll of his eyes, but it was hard to keep a stern expression when Ilya looked so happy. 

“I make more money than you,” Shane pointed out when Ilya was done laughing. 

“Wow, sugar daddy,” Ilya replied, and then he was laughing again at whatever he saw on Shane’s face. Once his laughter died down, they just looked at each other for a moment. Shane wanted to reach through his screen and pull Ilya through, trap him in his arms and never let him leave. 

“I miss you,” Shane said softly. 

“I miss you, too,” Ilya replied with a bittersweet smile. 

They didn’t see each other in person until early November, when the Raiders came to Montreal for their first matchup of the season. Shane felt like he was going to vibrate out of his own skin. Ilya had landed late last night after a game in Toronto, and he wouldn’t be able to sneak away from his team until after their game this evening. Knowing he was so close and still out of Shane’s reach was torture. 

Shane stood in the Metros dressing room, re-taping his stick for the second time since he sent Ilya a text with the location of a supply closet in a dead-end hall in between the home and visitor dressing rooms. When his phone buzzed, he accidentally dropped his stick in his rush, the sound of it clattering to the ground echoing through the room. He gave an apologetic smile to Hayden, who raised his eyebrows at him from his seat on the bench, but he deflated when he saw it was Yuna and not Ilya messaging him. 

“My mom wants to see me quickly before the game,” Shane explained to Hayden as he walked out of the room and down the hall. His feet stopped mid-stride when he saw an unfamiliar man standing beside Yuna, but it didn’t matter, Yuna had already heard his footsteps and turned to see him, quickly walking towards him with the man in tow. 

“Shane,” she called out happily, “There’s someone special here to meet you!”

Shane didn’t reply, watching warily as they approached him. The man seemed familiar up close, but he still couldn’t place him. 

“I’m Simon Lefebvre,” the man said, reaching out his hand to Shane once he got closer. 

“Shane Hollander,” he replied, shaking his hand once before pulling away. 

“I was just telling Simon that we went to a CF Montreal game last year,” Yuna said. 

Right, that was where Shane knew him from: he was the captain of Montreal's soccer team. Aside from casual sewer ball games, Shane didn’t interact much with any sports other than hockey. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Shane,” Simon said sincerely. 

“I’m going to look for David,” Yuna said and winked at Shane over Simon’s shoulder. Shane resisted the urge to groan or sigh, partially the regular annoyance he felt at Yuna’s undying matchmaking, but mostly frustration that he was standing here instead of finding Ilya before the game. It wasn’t long before Shane had to get ready to play, and it wasn’t easy to sneak around in skates and twenty pounds of equipment. If Shane had to see Ilya for the first time in weeks at the faceoff dot, where he had to pretend they were just rivals, he might lose his mind. 

“I’m a huge fan,” Simon said to Shane once they were alone in the hallway. 

“Oh, thanks,” Shane said, not sure how to respond. He shuffled his feet, the sound of his slides scraping across the floor filling the silence. It seemed presumptuous to offer to sign something, especially considering Simon was also a professional athlete, but Shane didn’t know what else he should say.

“I was wondering if you wanted-,” Simon began, but a loud voice echoed through the hall, and Shane felt his whole body melt at the sound. 

“Hollander!” Ilya called, and Shane turned to look at him. He was wearing his Raiders athletic wear and his curly hair was poking out from under his baseball hat; Shane swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Except maybe Ilya naked, or Ilya at the cottage. Or Ilya naked at the cottage, which was not a helpful thought for controlling himself in public.

“I am impressed, Hollander,” Ilya said. “I didn’t think you had friends.”

“Fuck off,” Shane muttered. It hurt: not the chirp, but hearing Ilya call him Hollander like they were nothing. And that was stupid, because Shane wasn’t ready to tell his parents about him and Ilya, let alone ready to tell the whole world and for the shitshow that would follow, so of course they were going to be acting like rivals and nothing more. They had agreed on it, even. Yet Shane still felt like he was curling inside of himself with each time Ilya called him by his last name. 

Simon cleared his throat once he realized Shane wasn’t going to say anything else. “I’m Simon Lefebvre. I play soccer in Montreal.”

“Ilya Rozanov,” he replied. “I play hockey. Sometimes in Montreal.”

Simon looked at Ilya’s flat expression, over to Shane, who was also looking at Ilya, and then let out a short, unsure laugh. 

“Right, I figured,” Simon said, offering a tight-lipped smile. 

“I am looking for a storage closet,” Ilya said, glancing at Shane briefly. 

“A… storage closet?” Simon asked, clearly confused. 

“Yes, for tape.” Ilya said. He folded his arms as he looked at Simon with a haughty expression. “Hockey players have equipment, yes? Lots to think about.”

“Oh,” Simon replied, his light tone was forced. “I would’ve thought you guys had staff to help you with that stuff.”

“We do,” Ilya said. “That is why I’m here to talk to Hollander.”

They both turned to look at Shane, Simon with a mix of confusion and concern, and Ilya with a faint smirk. It was then that Shane realized he had barely said two words since Ilya arrived. 

“Fuck you, I’m not your assistant,” Shane mumbled before looking at Simon and asking, “Are you okay to find your way back to your seat? I should get rid of Rozanov and get ready to play.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Simon said. “You guys aren’t going to fight or anything, right?”

Shane couldn’t tell if it was a joke or real concern, maybe both, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t function with Ilya this close to him. 

“No,” he said at the same time that Ilya said “Maybe.”

Shane shot Ilya a look and then smiled thinly at Simon. He turned back down the hallway, holding his breath until he heard Ilya’s footsteps following behind him. He turned a corner and opened the door to a rarely used supply closet. As soon as the door was locked behind Ilya, Shane cradled his face in his hands and kissed him. 

“Shane,” Ilya murmured gently, and Shane’s body fell limp against him, leaning his head against Ilya’s shoulder. 

“Shane,” Ilya said again, sterner, when he didn’t reply. “You are cheating on me with a football player?”

Shane’s head snapped up suddenly. “What? No. No!”

He took in Ilya’s face in the dimly lit closet and saw a soft look on his face. Ilya kissed him again and said, “Just a joke. But he was into you.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Shane frowned. 

“Yes, he was. I know this,” Ilya insisted, tapping his finger on Shane’s nose. “Is a silly game. I could kick a ball, no problem, but you put him on skates and he falls over.”

Shane just looked at him, taking in the feeling of his warm body under his hands as he slid his hands from his cheeks, down his neck and resting on his chest. He wasn’t sure why Ilya was talking to him about soccer, of all things, when they were finally alone. 

“Why aren’t you kissing me?” Shane asked eventually, and Ilya wasted no time before slotting their mouths together. 

The Raiders would win the game in the shootout after a close overtime, and Shane tried not to let it affect his mood as he sat in his car in the parking lot behind the arena. It was never easy to lose, but there was nothing worse than making it all the way through regulation and overtime just to lose in the shootout. He sat up in his seat and unlocked the passenger door as he saw Ilya’s shadowed form walking across the parking lot. 

“What a fucking game, huh?” Ilya said with a grin as he slid into the car. 

“I guess,” Shane said with a sigh. 

Ilya leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I like when you are grumpy over losing.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Shane said, trying to make his voice sound light but just sounding high pitched instead. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, checking to make sure there were no fans waiting at the exit before turning onto the road. 

“You are,” Ilya said. “Is cute.”

“You’re cute,” Shane muttered childishly. 

“No, I am hot. You are cute,” Ilya smiled, then added: “You are hot, too. And pretty. But also cute.”

Shane felt warmth climb from his chest up his neck. He didn’t know what to do with compliments; it felt like something he needed to reject, to curl himself away from, but with Ilya, he wanted to curl up against him instead. 

“You’re cute,” Shane repeated. “You didn’t see your face when you were watching dog videos at the cottage.”

“Shane,” Ilya said flatly. 

“Ilya,” Shane tried to imitate his tone. 

“Why are you competing about this?” Ilya asked fondly, grabbing Shane’s hand. 

Shane huffed, but the moment was interrupted as an incoming call from Yuna rang through the car. 

“If I don’t answer, she’ll just keep calling,” Shane said apologetically. 

“I will be quiet,” Ilya said and put his hand on Shane’s thigh instead. 

“Your hand has to behave, too,” Shane said sternly as he accepted the call, resolving to get through the conversation as fast as possible. 

“Shane, are you driving?” Yuna’s voice came through the speakers. 

“Yeah, I’m almost home, so I can’t talk long,” Shane said. They were still fifteen minutes from his apartment, but Yuna didn’t need to know that. 

“Too bad about that game,” Yuna said. “You’ll get Rozanov next time.”

“Yeah, next time.” Shane glanced over at Ilya briefly, who was smirking at him.

“Enough about that, though. What did you think about Simon?” Yuna asked earnestly. 

“Mom,” Shane sighed, “we talked about this.”

“I didn’t tell him anything! But listen, honey,” Yuna said, “he came out as gay last year, and he’s also an athlete. And he’s definitely interested in you!”

Shane glanced over at Ilya, waiting for some sort of I told you so expression, but his face was unreadable. He just looked out the windshield of the car, hand tighter on Shane’s leg. 

“Well, I’m not interested,” Shane said firmly. 

“Shane,” Yuna said disapprovingly. It made Shane’s shoulders hunch a bit; he didn’t like disappointing his parents. “Why won’t you just try and get to know him?”

“I told you, I’m not interested in… that right now,” Shane said. It didn’t feel right to say he wasn’t interested in dating, that he was too busy or didn’t want a relationship right now, not when Ilya sat beside him, his hand warm even through Shane’s pants. “Anyway, people will get suspicious if we’re out together.”

“You can be friends with a gay guy,” Yuna insisted. 

“I know that,” Shane groaned. “But people will still talk, and I’m not going to force him back into the closet.”

“Fine,” Yuna said, her voice clipped. “I’ll find someone else.”

“No, Mom-,” Shane began, but she had already hung up. He knew she was frustrated with him, but he was an adult, and it wasn’t the nineteenth century where he needed his parents to arrange a marriage for him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at Ilya again, who still had a strange expression on his face. 

“Sorry,” Shane said, placing his hand on top of Ilya’s. It was uncomfortable to have Ilya listen to his conversation with Yuna; Shane would’ve told him about it anyway, but usually when he retold matchmaking stories, he got to focus on the parts that would make Ilya laugh and tease him. Ilya wasn’t laughing now. 

Ilya turned his hand over to hold onto Shane’s, squeezing once. 

“You can tell your parents,” Ilya said eventually, his voice measured and expression still cloudy. 

“Tell them what?” Shane asked as they stopped at a light, and he took the opportunity to study Ilya. He was unfairly handsome, even bathed in the red light of the traffic signal and an hour removed from a long hockey game. When Ilya didn’t elaborate, Shane asked, “Do you mean… about us?”

Ilya just shrugged, still not making eye contact. Shane turned back to the road as the light turned green and took a moment to think. It was naive, maybe, or it was just that they were in their honeymoon phase, but Shane was confident that Ilya was it for him. There wasn’t anyone else, that wasn’t what made him hesitate to tell his parents about their relationship. 

“I want to,” Shane said honestly, “but I want to do it properly, I guess. I want them to have time to meet you, not the Ilya Rozanov that they know from sports broadcasts. I want them to know you like I know you.”

Shane held his breath and glanced over at Ilya as his words hung in the air. It was still new to them, being this honest about their feelings and to each other, but Shane wanted to get better. It felt like he had succeeded when he saw Ilya smile, like a warmth spread across him. 

“I want to know them too,” Ilya said. He brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed Shane’s knuckles, and then continued: “But maybe they do not need to know me exactly like you know me.”

“What?” Shane turned in his seat to face Ilya once he pulled into his apartment’s parking. When a smirk crossed Ilya’s lips, Shane sighed. “Ilya, do you ever not think about sex?”

“When I am with you?” Ilya paused, pretending to think. “No.”

Shane sighed and opened his car door, looking around the parking lot before waving for Ilya to follow. He huffed and rolled his eyes as Ilya grabbed at his waist and smacked his ass while climbing the stairs behind him, but it was Shane who pushed Ilya up against the wall of his apartment as soon as the door was closed. 

The next week, the day before the Metros hosted San Francisco, Shane walked down the street towards a fancy Mexican restaurant that Yuna and David had been wanting to try. They were in town for the game, and Yuna had made a dinner reservation for them in a private room so fans wouldn’t bother them. He stepped in to the restaurant and gave the host Yuna’s name, then studied the menu while the waitstaff checked the booking. It all looked good, but Shane had a diet to stick to, and it meant he needed to find something with enough protein. The staff led him to a room at the back of the restaurant, but when Shane stepped inside the room, a man sat there instead of his parents. It was Joshua Perkowski, a defenceman for San Francisco, Shane realized. 

“Hey, Hollander,” Perkowski said awkwardly. 

“Uh, hi,” Shane said and began turning back to the door. “Sorry, I think they brought me to the wrong room.”

“No, um…” Perkowski trailed off, avoiding eye contact with Shane. “This is the right room.”

Shane stood staring at Perkowski in confusion. Why was he here? They played in different conferences, paths only crossing twice a year, and sure, they were playing each other tomorrow, but they weren’t friends by any means. Shane sat in a chair, adjusting the plate and cutlery slightly so he had something to fidget with. 

“I needed someone in the league to talk to, and your manager said you’re, um… you’re an… ally,” Pertowski said quietly. 

Shane closed his eyes for a brief second before opening them again. Right, his manager. Which meant this was really his mother’s doing. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Shane said flatly, trying not to let his annoyance at Yuna’s meddling seep into his voice. 

“I probably should be talking to Scott Hunter, but I figured if you’re an ally, you might be willing to listen anyway,” Perkowski began, and Shane nodded hesitantly, not knowing what else to do. 

Shane felt guilty as he listened to Perkowski talk about how sometimes he looked at other men for a little bit too long, and he didn’t know if he was attracted to them or if he just all in his head about it, and if he was gay, he wouldn’t feel like he could come out, even though Scott Hunter did, because he was a third pairing defenceman, and what would Shane think, as a straight man, if one of his teammates was gay? It was probably shitty, but Shane couldn’t bring himself to correct Perkowski, to say that actually Shane was gay. So instead he nodded along, trying to offer reassurance; really, Shane was the last person who should be giving advice or comfort on the subject, considering how often he spiralled into a panic at the thought of coming out. If Yuna thought this would somehow turn into a date, she would be very disappointed to hear that Perkowski didn’t seem to think this was anything more than a therapy session. 

By the second hour mark, Shane was getting desperate. They had moved on from Perkowski’s sexuality crisis, and now it was the fact that he didn’t know how to tell his younger brother that, in no uncertain terms, he did not have the skill to make it to the NHL. Shane felt exhausted from trying to appear engaged while he was wishing he was anywhere else, and then he felt bad about that, but not bad enough that he stopped himself from pulling his phone out when Perkowski left for the washroom. 

Shane hurriedly typed out a text to Ilya: Call me in five minutes!!

Then he turned his ringer on and left his phone on the table beside their long-empty dishes. He busied himself with cleaning up their table, his head running through a repetition of please Ilya, please Ilya, please Ilya. When Perkowski came back into the room, he closed the door behind him and settled back down in his chair. 

“Should we order something else to eat while we talk?” Perkowski asked, picking up the dessert menu. 

“I don’t like to eat sugar,” Shane said, “but you go ahead.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Perkowski said, putting the menu down and leaning his arms on the table. “My brother refuses to start a performance diet, and I’m always-“

Shane’s phone began ringing loudly, and he tried to make a convincing show of looking at the screen and frowning like he hadn’t expected it.  

“Sorry,” Shane said to Perkowski, “I should take this.”

“Yeah, of course, dude,” Perkowski said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his beer. 

Shane offered him a tight smile and accepted the call, putting his phone to his ear and turning down the volume so Perkowski couldn’t hear the voice on the other side. 

“Hello?” Shane asked. 

“Shane,” Ilya said, sounding a bit concerned. “Is-“

“Oh my god! Is everyone okay?” Shane exclaimed, raising his voice a bit. That was believable, right? 

“What the fuck?” was Ilya’s reply, and Shane put a hand to his mouth, hoping to pass it off as a shocked reaction, when he really just needed to hide his smile.

“Okay, I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Shane said, looking over at Perkowski and pointing to his phone, who looked back at him with wide eyes and waved him towards the door. 

Shane stood and grabbed his coat, walking out the door and saying into the phone, “Try to stay calm, deep breaths.”

“I hope you are saying this to yourself,” Ilya said flatly. 

Shane laughed as he approached the front of the restaurant, pulling his phone away from his ear to talk to the staff. 

“Could I pay? Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush,” Shane said apologetically. He didn’t want Perkowski to catch up to him, but he also didn’t want to leave him with the bill. 

Once dinner was paid for, he put the phone back to his ear as he walked down the street. 

“Hi,” Shane said, a bit giddy that his plan had worked. 

“Is this normal Shane or crazy one?” Ilya asked. His voice was warm with amusement. 

Shane laughed, “Sorry, I needed to escape. Do you remember Perkowski?”

“Perkowski?” Ilya asked. “Yes, I think. Defenceman.”

“Yeah, for San Francisco. My mom tricked me into having dinner with him,” Shane sighed and pulled his jacket tighter around him as he crossed the street.

“You were on a date?” Ilya asked incredulously. Shane could imagine his unimpressed expression as he raised his eyebrows.

“No,” Shane said firmly. “It was more like he talked at me while I ate dinner.”

“And you were alone?” Ilya said, but it didn’t sound like a question.

“Well, yeah,” Shane admitted, “but honestly, it wasn’t a date. He called me straight at least three times.”

“Ha,” Ilya let out a short laugh. “He won’t go to dinner alone if he thinks he has no chance to fuck.”

“Jesus, Ilya,” Shane said, taking the stairs up to his apartment so the call wouldn’t drop in the elevator. “I really don’t think he was trying anything. Anyway, I’m not interested, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, doesn’t matter,” Ilya said. “San Francisco comes to Boston next week.”

“You can’t fight him,” Shane said sternly, opening his apartment door and toeing off his shoes. 

“Ah, so you care about him,” Ilya said grumpily.

“I care about you,” Shane said. “I don’t want you to have brain damage.”

“Fine, no brain damage,” Ilya said with a sigh, as if it was a major concession. 

After an awkward conversation with Perkowski during warmups when he asked Shane if everything was okay with his emergency, the Metros beat San Francisco the next day. It was a decisive 5-2 victory, and Shane left the arena in a good mood. He checked his phone as he left the dressing room and frowned at the message from Ilya, which included a screenshot of Shane checking Perkowski into the boards during the game and the words “You were flirting, weren’t you?” 

Shane sent back a question mark, and then added, Who flirts like that?

You, came Ilya’s quick reply. And then: When you want me to fuck you after the game. 

Shane felt his face get hot, and he looked around to make sure none of his teammates were nearby, as if they could look at Shane and see what Ilya had written. He walked through the arena on his way to the parking lot to say goodbye to David and Yuna before they drove back to Ottawa, staring at his phone with fingers hovering over the screen. His first instinct was to deny it, to try and rid himself of any embarrassment, but Ilya was obviously still thinking about his dinner with Perkowski, whether he was joking about the flirting or not. It must be uncomfortable for Ilya, having Yuna constantly setting up Shane with other men and being unable to say or do anything about it. 

Shane typed “I don’t want him to fuck me” and then deleted it. It was true, but maybe bringing Perkowski back into the conversation wasn’t the right move. He tried “I only do that with you” and then deleted that, too. It was too dull, too boring. Ilya already knew that, anyway. Shane went through a few more drafts, now standing still in middle of the quiet parking lot, all of his attention on his phone. 

Finally, he grew frustrated at himself and typed, “That’s only for you. I was hoping you’d make me come tonight.” 

He stared at it for a second and then sent it before he could back out. Regret hit him immediately. Did it sound like he was flirting with Perkowski just to rile Ilya up? Or maybe it was too dismissive of Ilya’s concern. The message sat in their text conversation like a ticking time bomb, waiting to be read. It was fine, Shane told himself. Ilya would tease him, probably, or tell him he was boring. That was okay, that was normal. Shane could do normal. 

“Shane?” Yuna’s voice carried across the parking lot. He looked up from his phone, startled, and shoved it in his pocket like its very presence would incriminate him. David was zipping up his coat as Yuna gave Shane a concerned look. 

“Sorry, just, um, texting someone back,” Shane said. He walked towards his parents, offering what he hoped was a casual smile. Maybe he should look into acting classes, if he wanted to keep his relationship with Ilya a secret. 

“Was it Joshua?” Yuna asked excitedly, her hand grabbing onto David’s arm. 

“Joshua?” Shane repeated and Yuna just raised her eyebrows. Oh, right, Perkowski. Why the fuck was Yuna on first name basis with Perkowski? “No, Mom. I don’t even have his number.”

“Who’s Joshua?” David asked, looking in between them. 

“Perkowski, plays for San Francisco,” Shane said, but David didn’t seem to be any less confused. 

“Shane’s potential love interest,” Yuna said, and Shane rubbed a hand over his forehead. The conversation with Ilya had made him forget how annoyed he was about being tricked into dinner with a random player. 

“No, Mom, that’s- no, he’s not, just no,” Shane stumbled through his words. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Perkowski being a love interest, like Shane was some sort of romcom character, or cry in frustration at how persistent Yuna was. 

“It didn’t go well?” Yuna asked. 

“No, I was basically his therapist,” Shane replied, and then remembered he was mad at Yuna for setting him up. “I can’t believe you lied to me!”

“You wouldn’t go otherwise,” Yuna said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“I mean, yeah, exactly!” Shane said with a huff. 

“You two are so similar,” Yuna said, and Shane frowned. He wasn’t self-absorbed like that, was he? Yuna continued: “He’s sweet. You never give anyone a chance.”

No, he didn’t, because he was already in a relationship. Shane felt a sudden, strong urge to just blurt it all out, tell his parents that he was crazily, recklessly in love with Ilya Rozanov. But he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t a lie when he told Ilya he wanted to do things properly, and he didn’t want to out Ilya on a whim, even if it was just to his parents. 

“Dad, can you get her to stop?” Shane begged, but David just shrugged. 

“It would be nice for you to settle down,” he said, and Shane closed his eyes briefly with a sigh. 

“How about Noah Tremblay? Apparently he’s bi,” Yuna said, pulling out her phone and scrolling. 

“You shouldn’t be telling me that,” Shane muttered. “How do you even know, anyway? Did you take a league-wide census?”

Yuna’s ability to network and find information was impressive in any other context. Well, it was admittedly impressive in this context, considering Scott Hunter was still the only openly gay player in the league, but Shane wasn’t in the mood to compliment her. 

David pointed at Shane and said, “A census would be interesting. There would be a lot of good questions to ask.”

“Here,” Yuna said, ignoring both David and Shane’s comments, instead turning her phone to show Shane a picture of a nondescript hockey player with short black hair. She then turned her phone back around, scrolling a bit, before reading: “He plays for Winnipeg. He loves Tim Horton’s, hiking in provincial parks, and tapping his own maple trees.”

Sometime after the first fact, Shane’s hand had returned to cover his face. 

“He’s very… Canadian,” Shane said flatly from underneath his hand. 

“Shane, honey,” Yuna said, moving her hand from David’s arm to touch Shane’s forearm gently. “You’re Canadian.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shane snapped, and then felt a bit guilty. “Maybe I want to get to know all kinds of people.”

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he quickly pulled it out, eager for an excuse to end the conversation, but his mouth fell open when he saw it was a message from Ilya: You are desperate for my cock, yes? 

Shane felt arousal spike in his stomach, the heat of it flooding up to his cheeks. It shouldn’t be so easy for Ilya to affect him, eight years and counting of being together in some way or another should’ve given him some immunity. His head snapped up when he heard his mother’s voice start talking. 

“Okay, fine,” Yuna said, already scrolling through her phone again. “How about-“

“Sorry, Mom,” Shane interrupted, already starting to back towards his car. “I’m really tired, and you guys should get going if you’re driving back tonight.”

Yuna and David seemed confused by his sudden departure, but Shane didn’t turn back or offer any further explanation, just waving over his shoulder as he hurried to find his keys and unlock his car. “20 minutes” was all he texted Ilya before starting the car and driving towards his apartment. He wouldn’t be able to have Ilya in person, but they had been perfecting the art of video calls since the summer. 

The month and a half before they would see each other in person still dragged by. A system had been put in place, mostly by Shane, about when they would call or video call or just text, which was most of the time, but there were times that they broke those routines. Shane wouldn’t complain, not when it meant more time together. 

“Ilya?” Shane asked as he picked up the phone. He wasn’t expecting a call from him; it was late in the evening and Ilya was on a road trip right now, which made finding a time when he was alone more difficult.

“What is so good about these other fucking hockey players?” Ilya said, his tone irritated and sharper than Shane remembered hearing for months now. He liked when Ilya was a bit sharp, when he used his quick wit, but not when it came from a place of real anger. 

“What?” Shane said, sitting up from where he was lounging on his couch. 

Everything had been easy between them since the summer. Navigating their plans for the future, how to keep their careers and each other, that was more difficult. But when it was just Shane and Ilya, it became simple. Sometimes Shane overthought what he wanted to say or felt out of his depth - he had never had a boyfriend before, and he had never really been a good boyfriend, not one that was truly invested in the relationship - but they had been making it work, together. The edge of irritation in Ilya’s tone was something that Shane had forgotten, something that he wasn’t necessarily sure he knew how to handle the right way. 

“The fucking players you date. They are so perfect, yes?” Ilya growled, his sarcasm angrier than the light teasing he normally used. 

“What?” Shane said, feeling his heart rate pick up. “I’m not dating anyone else!”

He had been trying to get Yuna to stop, but maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. Ilya might’ve become tired of it, no longer willing to put his career at risk for Shane. It would be understandable, really, but it would destroy Shane anyway. There was no going back to a life without Ilya, not after he knew what it was like to be loved and to be known, to be loved by Ilya, who was so attuned to Shane. 

When Ilya just let out a harsh breath, Shane continued: “Ilya, listen, I really didn't want to date any of those guys. I don’t want to date them. I wouldn’t have gone to meet any of them if I knew what my mom was doing. I know the matchmaking thing is a problem, but I’ll make her stop, okay? I should’ve made her stop sooner, I’m sorry about that-“

“Shane, the problem is not you,” Ilya interrupted, and the softness that had leaked into his voice made Shane pause. “It’s me, I am the problem. I did not mean… I’m sorry. I got very fucking annoyed, but not at you.”

“Okay,” Shane said quietly. “It’s okay to be annoyed. And I really don’t want to date anyone else.”

As easy as it was to be together, to be Shane-and-Ilya, it was hard to be a secret. Shane felt his emotions grow so big, and Ilya was the only one who could receive them. It was okay when it was positive emotions, when Shane felt so much love for Ilya that he couldn’t keep it in, but when all that affection was kept a secret, it turned into a bittersweet longing. Ilya had to receive that, too. Shane couldn’t fault Ilya for being annoyed and having nowhere else to go with it, unable to tell the world that Shane was his and he was Shane’s. 

“Is not that,” Ilya sighed. “Well, not just that. Your mom, she rejected me.”

“What?” Shane said. He was starting to feel like a broken record. 

“Svetlana went to the Montreal game, yes? I asked her to give some hints that I fuck men, not just women,” Ilya said calmly, as if that wasn’t a fucking insane thing to do for a man in a secret relationship with another man. 

“That’s why you asked me to get her tickets for the game?” Shane asked in disbelief. “You said she was in Montreal for a business trip!”

“Yes, my business,” Ilya said, and Shane leaned his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Anyway, your mom said you are not gay, which is very funny,” Ilya continued, ignoring Shane’s “hey!” in protest. “But then she said if you were gay, I would not be your type!”

Shane heard the sharp edge of irritation from before creep back into Ilya’s voice. 

“She doesn’t know you, Ilya,” Shane said softly. He paused, trying to think of how to solve this, before saying, “I’ll find an excuse to bring them to Boston for the game next month, and we’ll tell them then, okay? She’ll love you.”

“Yes, she will love me,” Ilya said firmly, “but I will make her love me before we tell them.”

“Ilya,” Shane said, feeling nervous about what he might be planning. 

“Shane,” Ilya said back. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,” Shane said, but the nervousness hadn’t receded. He did trust Ilya, but he also didn’t like not having control of the situation. 

Shane tried to bring it up again over the next month, including when they met up when the Metros visited Boston, but Ilya just brushed it off. He seemed happy, though, so Shane focused on what he could control: disrupting any possible plan Yuna may have to set him up on another surprise date. He made sure to travel to every dinner reservation with his parents, he shut down any mention of men he might like, and he put a ban on meeting guests at the arena, citing his need to focus on the game. It was working, and Shane was feeling pleased with his accomplishments as November turned into December. 

Except now the league’s Christmas break was approaching, and all Shane could think about was finding a way to spend it with Ilya. He knew that Christmas was celebrated in January in Russia, but Shane couldn’t stomach the thought of Ilya spending three days alone in his Boston apartment while the rest of the league visited family. Whether or not he would’ve visited them, or even wanted to visit them, it was the first year since Ilya’s father had died and he cut off contact with his brother. Whatever he felt, it would be a difficult mix of emotions. 

It was two weeks before the break when Shane brought it up. They were video calling, Shane from a hotel room in Columbus and Ilya from his apartment in Boston. Hayden was out with the team for dinner, but Shane had begged off so he had the room to himself. The teasing and complaining from his team was worth it.

“Will Svetlana be in Boston over the holiday break?” Shane asked, propped up against the headboard of the bed. He hoped he sounded casual, like nothing was amiss and Shane wasn’t trying to scheme his way into having Ilya visit him. 

“Hm, don’t know. Probably not, she goes to Russia for a few weeks for Christmas,” Ilya said. He was lying shirtless on his couch, holding the phone out in front of him where Shane could see muscles shift in his shoulders and biceps. It was surely part of his plan to seduce Shane, even though Hayden could be back any minute and Shane wouldn’t be able to look his friend in the eyes again if he caught him in a compromising position. Shane was strong enough to resist. Probably. 

“I was thinking,” Shane began slowly, “would you attend the charity event before Christmas, the one hosted by the NHLPA?”

“Ah, you want to put me to work?” Ilya said teasingly. “I have millions, and it is not enough?”

“Fuck off, it’s a charity event, we won’t get paid,” Shane said, but his chest was warm at the idea of them sharing a bank account. Everything about sharing a life with Ilya made him a little insane, even finances.

“I will go if you will be there,” Ilya said with a soft smile. 

“Yeah?” Shane asked shyly, already excited about the idea of seeing Ilya in person. 

“Yeah,” Ilya confirmed. 

“It’s in Toronto, so I’ll ask my parents not to attend,” Shane said. He began running through the logistics in his head. 

“I don’t want to take you from your family,” Ilya said, adjusting the throw pillow under his head. “Bring them, too. You will have your own room, yes?”

“Yeah, of course, but if we don’t tell them about us…” Shane trailed off. We wouldn’t be able to spend as much time together, you’ll be alone in Toronto, we won’t spend Christmas together. 

“Not at holidays,” Ilya said. “I don’t want to fuck up your time with family.”

You’re family, Shane wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to get the words past his lips.

Instead of three days in Toronto with Ilya, just Ilya, Shane walked into the charity event with Yuna and David on either side. 

“I wish you would’ve bought a new suit for this,” Yuna muttered to Shane, picking at the sleeves of his simple black suit. Countless suits lined Shane’s closet for game days; it didn’t make sense to buy a new one just for a single event. 

They walked over to the bar, where David began chatting casually with the bartender. Shane’s eyes scanned over the crowd of league officials, players, and charity personnel, not finding who he was looking for. 

“What do you want to drink, Shane?” David asked. 

“Ginger ale, thanks,” Shane said absently, still searching until he heard the clink of a glass against the counter behind him. He turned around, taking a sip of his drink and nodding along to David’s small talk. 

Suddenly, Yuna grabbed Shane’s arm and whispered, “Rozanov is coming right for us.”

Shane spun around and his jaw fell open. Ilya was wearing a well tailored suit, much more formal than the simple suit Shane wore, with a tie sitting neatly against his throat. He was unfairly handsome, as always, but Shane couldn’t look away from his hair. His perfect, golden curls were gone, straightened out and smoothed neatly away from his forehead. He looked good, Shane didn’t think he could look bad, but his curls were gone. It was true, that it was important to appreciate things while they’re still there, because Shane didn’t realize how much he adored Ilya’s curly hair until this moment. It was like physical grief fell over his shoulders; all he wanted to do was run over to Ilya and run his hands through his hair until it curled around his fingers. 

“Hollander,” Ilya greeted. “Nice to see you again.”

Shane just nodded, still in mourning, so Yuna stepped in. 

“I’m Yuna Hollander,” she said. “I don’t know if we’ve formally met.”

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Hollander,” Ilya said, offering her a gentle, closed mouth smile. 

Shane closed his mouth, but the shock didn’t dissipate. Who was this man, who had Ilya’s face but not his curls, who had Ilya’s voice but spoke softly and politely? 

“Your suit is lovely. Do you have a tailor? I’m looking to find one for Shane,” Yuna said. “I wanted him to dress up a bit for once, but he insisted on wearing one of his game day suits.”

“I can find the name before our next game,” Ilya said. Shane waited for the smirk, the teasing lilt to his voice, a quick wink. Nothing came. Ilya just kept talking: “I think you have outshined all of us tonight, Mrs. Hollander.”

“Oh, thank you,” Yuna said, giving him a small smile. Was she… blushing? Yuna didn’t blush, not over greasy compliments from hockey players. And outshined? Shane had never heard Ilya using that kind of vocabulary. It felt like they were living in an alternate reality. 

“It is a great charity,” Ilya said. Because suddenly Ilya Rozanov did small talk, apparently. And then, when David turned away from the bar with a glass of vodka, Ilya said, “Good evening, Mr. Hollander. I am Ilya Rozanov, nice to meet you.”

David shook his hand and then gestured over his shoulder at the bar. “They’ve got a great selection of liquor, if you’re interested.”

“Thank you, but I am trying not to drink alcohol during the season,” Ilya said without a hint of sarcasm. 

“I’ll have vodka,” Shane said, turning back to the bar and putting his glass of ginger ale down. If Ilya wasn’t going to be himself, Shane wouldn’t either. 

“Are you sure, Shane?” Yuna asked, putting a hand on his arm. 

“Yeah, I’ll have that one,” he said to the bartender, pointing to a bottle that had a small Russian flag on its label. “The Russian one, please.”

As soon as the glass of vodka was placed in front of him, he picked it up, turned around, and drank the entire glass in one shot. 

Jesus, fuck, it burned. Shane spun back around to grab his forgotten glass of ginger ale and downed it. Ilya liked this stuff? It was like chugging lighter fuel. But when he looked back at Ilya, he just had the faintest smirk on his face, like Shane was being the strange one. 

“Are you okay?” David said. Both of his parents were looking at him with wide eyes, but Shane was focused on the flicker of his Ilya that he saw in that smirk. 

“It’s good Russian vodka,” Shane choked out, glaring at Ilya even as his eyes still watered slightly from the alcohol. “You really don’t want any? Are you too fucking boring, Rozanov?”

“Shane!” Yuna scolded. And then to Ilya, she said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It is okay, Mrs. Hollander,” Ilya said, smirk faded away but amusement still twinkling in his eyes. “I think he must be stressed from hockey. It happens.”

Shane watched as Yuna began chatting about the night’s event and the different guests in attendance. Ilya nodded along, listening intently. As if he cared that the vice president of hockey operations was in the room. As if he cared about networking at all. Shane wanted Ilya back, his Ilya, who would make a sarcastic comment about the NHL executives, who would tease Shane about his plain suit, who would charm Yuna in his own way, not through pretending to be someone else. 

Soon, Ilya was pulled into discussion with a league executive who came to the bar for a drink, and Yuna was tugging Shane through the crowd towards the director of officiating. 

“Rozanov seems to have mellowed out,” Yuna said. “Or maybe he just puts on a show for the cameras.”

Shane just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to talk about Ilya right now. 

The evening continued that way, Shane being pulled from executive to executive as Yuna made her way around the room. At some point, David caught up to them, but it didn’t take long before he wandered off again. Shane couldn’t blame him; he would be doing the same if Yuna didn’t have a strong grip on his arm. 

The speeches began and dragged on, each speaker trying to outtalk the previous one. Shane peered around the room until he found Ilya, and- right, he had straightened his hair. It should be a crime, some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. Would the curls break free? How long would it take? Fuck, this was possibly the worst Christmas ever. Maybe if Shane begged Santa, the curls would come back. He glared at Ilya’s head of hair from across the room, hoping to intimidate it into obeying him. 

He probably shouldn’t have drank that vodka on an empty stomach. Or gone back for the second shot. Or third. 

Back in his hotel room, Shane flung the door open once Ilya texted, grabbing Ilya by his suit lapels and pulling him inside. 

“Wow, hi,” Ilya said, but Shane didn’t reply. He undid the tie and placed it on the dresser, then he shoved at the suit jacket. 

“Off,” Shane grumbled, but Ilya’s hands were holding him at the waist, the suit jacket getting caught around his elbows. 

“You missed me? We were together all night,” Ilya said with a smirk, helping Shane pull his jacket and shirt off before returning his hands to his waist. 

“That wasn’t you,” Shane muttered as he folded Ilya’s clothes on the dresser. 

“No?” Ilya asked, voice warm. Shane’s eyes flickered up, feeling a bit more settled at the sight of his wide smile and gentle gaze, but then frowning again at the sight of his hair. 

“No,” Shane said, grabbing Ilya’s shoulders and pushing him backwards towards the bathroom. “That was… evil Ilya.”

Ilya laughed, allowing Shane to guide him through the hotel room. 

“Shane, you are drunk.”

“Am not,” Shane mumbled, fiddling with Ilya’s belt once they made it to the washroom. He huffed and stepped back, pulling off his own shirt, pointing at Ilya’s belt, and demanding, “Take that off.”

Ilya obliged but kept his pants on, catching Shane’s hands as he reached for the button of his pants. “We should sleep first, I think. Let you sober up.”

Shane shook his head insistently, taking his hands out of Ilya’s and pushing down his pants and underwear, crouching to grab his ankle and pulling off each sock. 

“Shane,” Ilya said gently, but Shane peeled off the rest of his own clothes and moved Ilya into the shower. The feeling of Ilya’s bare chest under his palms distracted him momentarily, catching his attention enough to leave a kiss on his collarbone. But he was on a mission, so he reached over Ilya’s shoulder to turn the shower on. It was a bonus that doing so brought him closer to Ilya. 

“Fuck!” Ilya shouted, flinching away from the spray of the shower. “Is fucking cold.”

“Needs to be hot,” Shane mumbled to himself, trying to turn the shower handle from behind Ilya. Once the water heated up, he cradled Ilya’s face with his hands, giggling at the unamused expression on his face and kissing him twice, and then tilted his head back into the water. 

“You think I’m dirty?” Ilya asked, hands wrapping around Shane’s waist and rubbing at his back softly. 

Shane didn’t reply. He focused on shampooing and conditioning Ilya’s hair, trying to scrunch the hair between his fingers as he went. He leaned back in Ilya’s embrace and frowned. It still looked straight. But it was wet, maybe it would be okay when it dried. 

They rinsed off and exited the shower, Ilya seemingly content to let Shane guide him around and drop a towel over his head. Shane rubbed the towel over his hair, trying to twist it in different directions. 

“Not a dog,” Ilya said from under the towel. 

Shane ignored his comment and continued until he was satisfied, pulling the towel off and appraising Ilya’s fluffy mess of hair. It wasn’t quite right, the strands weren’t as perfectly curled into wavy ringlets like they normally were, but it was closer. Shane stepped forward to check the back of Ilya’s head and stumbled, leaning heavily on Ilya as he grabbed his biceps, but he was pleased with what he could see of Ilya’s hair. 

“Okay,” Shane said, pulling back to look at Ilya’s handsome face. Too handsome. Probably unhealthy for Shane’s heart. But that was his Ilya, the one that was smiling at him and brushing wet hair off his forehead. 

“Okay,” Shane repeated. “You can fuck me now.”

Ilya burst into laughter, kissing Shane’s cheek and grabbing a towel. He began drying Shane’s body, wrapping the towel around his shoulders, and Shane could feel puffs of his laughter against his damp skin. 

“Why’re you laughing?” Shane grumbled. 

“I think we will go sleep, actually,” Ilya said, a smile still on his face. 

“But we’re never together,” Shane whined, dragging out his words. 

Ilya just guided him to sit on the bed, moving to dig through Shane’s suitcase until he found a pair of loose boxers for him to sleep in. Shane crinkled his nose at the disheveled state of his clothes as Ilya shuffled him under the covers. 

Ilya followed his gaze to the suitcase and sighed, “I will fix it, okay?”

Shane nodded, lying back against the pillow. His body melted into the mattress, suddenly heavy. He closed his eyes as he listened to Ilya moving around the room, then the bed dipping as he finally climbed in beside Shane. 

Shane rolled over and rested his head on Ilya’s chest, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Maybe he was drunker than he thought. 

“See,” Ilya said, arm wrapping around Shane. “Together.”

Shane smiled. He had expected a different kind of evening with Ilya, but they were together. That was enough to make him happy. 

They spent most of the next day, Christmas Eve, together too; Shane pretended to consider an offer to hang out from some players in Toronto over breakfast, and as he hoped, Yuna excitedly encouraged him to spend time with his friends. It wasn’t a complete lie: Ilya was a player in Toronto that he was going to spend time with. They were both flying out in the evening, Shane back to Ottawa for Christmas and Ilya back to Boston. It didn’t feel fair to send Ilya back alone, but he insisted. It wasn’t even Christmastime for him yet anyway, he said. 

They wouldn’t reunite until mid-January, when the Raiders came to Montreal for their last matchup of the season. Three days before, during their routine nighttime call, Yuna’s matchmaking came up again. 

“Does your mom talk about any players these days?” Ilya asked. Shane peered at the small screen of his phone - Ilya was trying to be casual, sorting through clothes he needed to wash before the Raiders’ road trip, but something about the tone of his voice was off.

“No,” Shane said, “I made her stop trying to set me up before the holidays. She’s been pretty good about it.”

Ilya hummed in response. There wasn’t any relief or satisfaction, like Shane expected.

“Why?” Shane asked, picking up his phone from where it was propped on the kitchen counter so he could see Ilya better.

“You should ask her about it,” Ilya shrugged. “Maybe she will say me.”

Shane paused, not sure how to reply. He didn’t want to deny it, not when it might hurt Ilya, but he didn’t want to raise his hopes that Yuna would come calling with an offer for a blind date. 

“She thinks she has to take my side in our rivalry, or whatever,” Shane said instead, his thoughts coming out a bit stilted. “So I think… maybe it’s time we just tell them. About us. She’s going to love you. They both are.”

Ilya put his clothes aside, and Shane waited for him to collect his thoughts. He didn’t always know how to approach conversations about family with Ilya, but he meant it when he said his parents would come to love him. It was inevitable for anyone to love Ilya, Shane thought, if they were let past his outer shell. 

“I think we probably should, yes,” Ilya said eventually. 

“Are you okay with that?” Shane asked gently. 

“A little terrified,” Ilya said with a smile, “but I want them to know. They are important to you.”

“I’m terrified, too,” Shane admitted. “They’re going to be surprised, but I really meant it when I said they’re going to love you.”

“I hope so,” Ilya said quietly, looking away from the camera. 

“They will,” Shane said firmly. “And even if they don’t, I won’t let you go.”

Ilya laughed, “This is a threat?”

“A promise,” Shane said, looking fondly at Ilya’s smile. “I wish you were here.”

“Three days,” Ilya said. And then he smirked: “I have something we can do now.”

Shane playfully rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he took off his shirt. It would suffice to have Ilya over the phone for now. 

On the day of their game, they met up quickly in the afternoon. Shane didn’t want to wait until he had to sneak around at the arena to see Ilya. They decided that they would tell David and Yuna about their relationship at the All-Star Game in February, when they would all be in the same place for an extended period of time. Having a plan made Shane feel better. He didn’t want to be sneaking around like a teenager, and he certainly didn’t want to test how long Yuna could control herself before the matchmaking started again. 

Shane glided up to centre ice at the start of the game, crouching at the faceoff dot opposite Ilya. Somehow he still wasn’t tired of seeing Ilya on the ice like this, even after eight years. 

“Gonna have to send you home with zero points tonight, Rozanov,” Shane said. 

“Inconceivable,” was all Ilya said in response. 

“What?” Shane said, surprised. “Where the fuck did you learn that word?”

“I watched a movie on the plane. Princess Bride.”

“Why?” Shane asked. He hadn’t seen it, but it didn’t sound like something that was Ilya’s style. 

“To study,” Ilya said simply. Shane had even more questions, but the ref blew the whistle and dropped the puck. 

The Metros ended up winning by a slim margin, hanging on to a 4-3 lead as the Raiders pulled their goalie. It made Shane’s good mood fit right in with his teammates as he hurriedly undressed and showered. 

“Got a hot date?” Hayden wiggled his eyebrows at Shane as he pulled on his clothes. 

“No, Hayd, just need to say bye to my parents before they drive back,” Shane tried to seem irritated, but he was feeling too excited about seeing Ilya, even after the afternoon they spent together and the game against each other on the ice. His giddiness surely didn’t help convince Hayden, but it was impossible to subdue. At least, until he walked down the hallway towards the exit, where Ilya was already standing beside Yuna and David.