Chapter Text
Today, Shane felt important to note, was shaping up to be a good day at practice. Perhaps even a great one.
It started with skating and line work. Coach Desjourneys wanted them to practice skating backwards. He wanted them to be as fast going backwards as they were going forwards; he especially wanted them to be able to cleanly switch between the two. This was a mandatory once-a-week drill to Desjourneys (sometimes twice a week), and not everyone liked it, especially the rookies, but that was understandable.
Shane, however, did. One might say he was in his element.
“Jesus. Fastest player in the league back at it again,” Connors commented as Shane finished his run by skidding to a stop next to him.
“I guess,” Hollander huffed.
The team had split into four groups, and he had beaten the other three he was against by a considerable margin.
“Wow, how modest,” the brunet teased.
That earned him a light smack in the arm and a shake of the head. Connor laughed as he moved forward in the line. Shane started skating towards the back.
On his way there, his eyes caught Ilya’s.
“Almost as good as me,” Rozanov said with a smile.
“Oh, you think you can do better?” Shane asked, giving him a look that was half-challenge and half-flirtation.
“I know so.”
The Canadian laughed. “You can try.”
When he finally got to the end, McKimmie was at the back, waiting for him with a look of awe.
“Dude, how did you do that?” The rookie asked.
Shane smiled and whispered, “Just, watch our footwork. See if you can copy it. You’ll get there.” He nudged the kid’s shoulder as he turned to stand behind him.
Shane kept riding that feeling well into the shooting drills and the 6 vs. 6 scrimmages. And yet, the more practice went on, the more he started to notice something was off with Ilya.
To start, the man had driven here separately. And well, he had managed to hide his emotions pretty well, but there were moments when he thought no one was looking, where he developed this distant look in his eyes. Then, there were times he took a second too long to answer someone.
There was a specific moment where Ilya stood a little too still during one of the resets, his hockey stick resting loosely against the ice. He snapped out of it when someone called his name and went back to normal as if nothing had happened.
Shane frowned when he saw it. Unfortunately, however, he didn’t have much time to dwell on it.
“Hey, Hollzy!” Connor said as he skated up to him. “We still on for tomorrow?”
Hollander blinked and echoed, “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” his friend smiled. “Brunch, remember?”
“Right.” Shane gave the slightest nod. “Yeah. Totally.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It was in the back of his mind, sure, but he hadn’t thought about it until right now.
The man studied him a bit longer than necessary.
“Cool,” Connor said, but there was a hint of suspicion in his tone. “Please don’t bail.”
Shane laughed and shook his head. “I won’t.”
Connor bumped his shoulder lightly before pushing off, already moving back into the drill. Hollander, meanwhile, lingered a second longer.
His eyes tracked back across the ice. Ilya stood with the others, staring at him. The eye contact only lasted a moment. Rozanov broke off first to turn toward Sebbin and laugh at something he said.
Shane exhaled through his nose and pushed off to rejoin the play.
The brunch spot for Shane, Connor, Cliff, and Victor was this small place right near the Boston Public Garden. They sat inside, but stuck close to the big front windows.
Of course, the first thing they talked about was hockey. The playoffs were starting soon, after all, and Shane had helped the Raiders get there. The Metros obviously didn’t make it this year. The Admirals, however, did. Scott, for whatever reason, was playing a much better game this season. That made the Admirals competition to the Raiders. And, there were other teams where it was decided they should at least look out for: San Jose, Washington, Toronto, Tampa, Chicago, and Minnesota.
It took only twenty minutes, however, for them to seek a new topic of conversation.
Shane knew the basics of social interaction: be polite but try to have at least some humor; look attentive even if your brain really doesn’t want you to; answer a question in a way that doesn’t create extra work for people, but try not to overexplain; etc., etc.
And yet, Connors - like Ilya - somehow made it easy for Shane not to fall into that cycle. Victor and Cliff, however? Not so much. They weren’t as easy to read.
“Shane,” Victor said. “You’re, uh, playing better. You feeling better?”
“Yeah,” he replied, nodding, trying not to make it sound like he was forcing the words out. “A little.”
“Good. It shows.”
Shane hummed softly, unsure of what to do with that.
Cliff, after taking a sip of his coffee, asked, “Fait que… vivre avec Ilya, ça va-tu encore?”
“Yeah, everything’s good,” Shane replied. “Juste… Ilya, il… oublie ça.”
“No, I get it,” Cliff nodded along. “Mais sois patient avec lui, ok? Dis-lui que la porte est ouverte.”
“J’ai essaye.”
“C’est bon.”
There was a brief lull as the server dropped off their plates. The clatter of dishes gave Shane something to focus on, something predictable.
Connor picked up his fork almost immediately.
“Okay. Serious question,” he said, leaning forward. “And, I know, based on what you ordered that you’re currently leaning a particular way, but I gotta ask: do you seriously prefer pancakes over waffles?”
“Yes, dude absolutely,” Victor said without hesitation. “Pancakes are just better.”
“Wrong,” Connor stated.
Victor frowned. “No, not wrong.”
“It is,” he insisted. “Waffles are structurally superior.”
Cliff pointed his fork at Connor. “Non, non, les pancakes, c’est mieux. More simple,” his shoulders raised in a partial shrug.
“Exactly!” Victor said.
“You’re both insane,” Connor shot back.
Shane glanced between them, something in his chest loosening slightly, as he cut into his veggie omelette.
“Shane?” Connors asked, turning towards him.
“Uh,” he said as he picked at his food. “Waffles.”
Team Pancakes gave him a look.
“I mean,” Shane continued, shifting. “Connor was right. It is structurally superior. You can fit the berries in the little squares.” He stabbed some of his food and popped it into his mouth.
“Exactly!” Connor said excitedly. “See? He gets me.”
Cliff made a face. “Traître.”
Shane huffed out a small laugh. “Sorry.”
“Pas grave… même si t’as tort.”
Later, the group wandered around the Boston Public Garden. Shane found himself wishing he'd come sooner. It was beautiful here. There were a multitude of trees and April flowers, vibrantly colored, already blooming in the cool Spring weather.
“T’vois, I’ve never actually been here before,” Cliff noted, as they walked along the path. Him and St-Simon walked in front while Hollander and Connors walked behind them.
“Really, man?” Victor asked. “Not even with Sarah?”
Marleau shook his head. “Not really, non. But, maybe I should. Tsé, it’s kinda nice.”
St-Simon laughed. “You better. Kate and I loved this place.”
“Vic’s ex,” Connor whispered to Shane.
“Oh,” Hollander replied in a similar volume. His brows furrowed. “Did they-? Was it an amicable split?”
“For the most part, yeah,” he shrugged.
Victor glanced at the blooming tulips to their left and smiled softly. “Kate always loved to sit at this bench by lake up ahead. We’d sit there for hours, talking about everything and nothing.” He shrugged. “It was easy, you know? Before things got complicated.”
Cliff kicked at a pebble, looking thoughtful. “Ça a l'air bien. Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out on those quiet moments. Sarah pis moi- ben… we’re still figuring things out.”
“You know, I don’t think that ever stops,” Shane pitched in. “The figuring things out part.”
“Amen to that,” Connor replied as they walked by a statue.
There was a brief lull as they turned down a path lined with trees just starting to bud.
“I think,” Shane added, quieter now, “it’s just… sometimes it’s easier to deal with when both people are on the same page about it.”
Connor glanced, attentive.
“And when you’re not?” Victor asked.
Shane hesitated. He thought back to the morning when Ilya was cold and distant. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Then you just… try not to make it worse,” he said.
Cliff hummed softly like he understood more than was being said.
Connor nudged Shane with his elbow as he said, “Or, you give it time. Let people catch up.”
Hollander let out a breath. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
“Hey,” Shane called out, using his feet to take his shoes off.
“In here,” Ilya called from the direction of the living room.
Hollander approached, slower than usual. The open floor plan allowed him to easily find Ilya stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes. The TV was on, but with low volume.
For a second, Shane just watched him. Then, he stepped closer and leaned over him.
“Hi,” he said with his voice barely above a whisper.
“Hello, solnyshko,” Ilya replied as he moved his arm and blinked up at him. Then, he smiled. “How was your outing?” He moved to sit up. “You did not get murdered, I see. Very promising.”
Shane huffed a small laugh. “Barely.”
That got a real smile out of his partner, though it faded quickly.
“No, it was good,” Hollander said as he sat down. “I had fun.”
“Good,” Rozanov responded. “You deserve it.”
Shane tried not to think about how those words sounded as he kept the conversation going. “Yeah, we just got brunch, walked around and talked.”
“Talked,” Ilya repeated somewhat carefully. “Very social of you.”
He nodded. “Trying something different.”
A somewhat uncomfortable silence passed between them.
Shane looked at his boyfriend more closely.
“You okay?” He asked.
Ilya didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”
Shane leaned back onto the couch, eyes still on him. “You didn’t text me.”
“You told me only do that if I needed something,” Rozanov responded, moving his arms in a partial shrug. “I needed nothing.”
“That’s not-“ Shane stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. “Okay.” He looked away.
Give it time, he reminded himself.
The words sat heavy in his chest.
“Hey,” he said after a moment. “Next time, you could join us, if you wanted.”
Ilya’s expression flickered. Then, he smiled.
“Maybe,” Rozanov muttered.
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.
Shane nodded anyway.
They fell into a quieter silence after that. The TV continued to murmur in the background. Shane let his shoulders just barely touch Ilya’s. The man didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, resting his head against his boyfriend’s arm.
Shane let it happen. Then, he moved his arm around him and brought him closer. Ilya snuggled against his chest.
Give it time.