Chapter Text
Shane Hollander was not a boring person. He knew this at heart. He had his own private world of intricate thoughts and was a man of discipline, with a dry wit and a capacity for passion and love that had once felt bottomless. But he had never ever considered his life dull. That was until he started seeing himself through Ilya Rozanov’s eyes.
Over the last ten years with his now fiancé, the word had become a silly little banter between their shared vocabulary. It had started in those early rookie days. Ilya, with his messy hair after a late-night hookup at a forgettable hotel room, had looked at Shane fumble through his thoughts once they tried to arrange their next meeting.
“Hollander,” he had said, “you are so incredibly boring.”
At first, Shane had worn the label like a badge of honor. The joke was a sign of intimacy between the two of them. It meant Ilya and he were close enough to have their own inside joke. It was their thing.
He had never once thought that that joke, when repeated enough, would start to sound like a fact. He didn’t see the way he was beginning to lean into it as a defense mechanism. If he was "boring Shane Hollander," he was safe. Boring was stable, right? Boring was predictable. And if he were predictable, he wouldn't accidentally say the wrong thing and make Ilya realize that the mystery of their rival-turned-lover era was over.
It wasn’t all at once, though. There was no single moment where the term of endearment became a sour taste in Shane’s mouth, just a slow accumulation of instances where Ilya kept hitting a nerve he didn't even know was exposed.
By the time they were sitting at dinner with Hayden, Harris, and Troye, being boring felt like a second skin. The restaurant was one of those places in Ottawa that Shane liked because it had consistent lighting, a predictable menu, and the acoustics allowed for actual conversation—the kind of place Ilya usually called a 'retirement home' before they even walked through the door.
The conversation had drifted toward how they all spent their off-season time.
“I’m telling you,” Troy said, gesturing with a breadstick, “I looked at the renovation plans Harris did, then at the sledgehammer, and I realized I’m just not that guy. I could not understand shit of what any of it meant.”
“You need Hollander,” Ilya said. He was leaning back, his arm draped casually over the back of Shane’s chair. “I think Shane knows every corner of house already. Like he has map in head.”
The table chuckled fondly, even Shane.
“It’s true,” Hayden added, grinning at Shane. “I remember back in Montreal, Shane was the only one who actually read the league’s collective bargaining agreement. We’d be at a bar, and he’d be explaining escrow levels.”
“He is man of many thrills,” Ilya said, his thumb brushing against the back of Shane’s neck. “I remember when we moved in. I want to buy this stupid neon sign—vintage, very cool, but very old. Shane? He spends four days reading about fire ratings for 1970s wires. He is like this… he loves boring tasks.”
The table laughed again. It wasn’t mean-spirited; it was just a quirk of Shane that they loved. But the Canadian felt a cold knot form in his stomach. The neon sign hadn’t been about being ‘boring’. He had spent those four days researching because he was terrified of anything happening to the first home they had ever owned together. He had done it because he loved Ilya, and they spent many days away from home.
He looked down at his drink. He’d ordered a ginger ale because they were training, and he liked being the one clear-headed enough to handle the drive home.
“What can I say?” Shane said, forcing a dry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Someone has to be the designated adult.”
For the rest of the meal, Shane played his part, nodding in the right moments, offering his boring observations, and making sure that the bill was split correctly.
The drive home was quick, but quiet. Shane drove them back to their place without any remarks about what they talked about during dinner. Ilya, unaware, just hummed along to the overplayed commercial pop song that was coming out of the radio.
However, when the garage door rumbled shut once they got home, Shane killed the engine, creating a thick silence.
Ilya didn’t move to get out immediately. He stayed slumped in the passenger seat, the bright screen of his phone illuminating the sharp lines of his face. “You’re very quiet, zaya.” Ilya said, not looking up from his screen. “You didn’t like the steak?”
Shane stared through the windshield at the blank grey wall of their garage. He felt a strange tension in his jaw. It wasn’t just the dinner, though. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say, 'Hey, Ilya. I know you love me and I love you, but I'm afraid you're going to wake up one day and realize you miss your wild bachelor life.'
“The steak was fine,” Shane said. He forced his hands to uncurl from the steering wheel. “I’m just thinking about the schedule for tomorrow. We have that early media thing, and I want to get to the rink before traffic hits.”
It was the ultimate no-question-asked answer. Because Ilya expected Shane to worry about traffic. He expected Shane to be the one with the schedule. By giving him exactly what he expected, Shane was ensuring there were no reasons for Ilya to look too closely at the awkwardness in the air.
Ilya finally looked over, his brow furrowing slightly. He studied Shane’s face for a beat, searching for anything else. But Shane kept his expression neutral.
He let out a soft sigh, reaching over to catch the back of Shane’s neck. His fingers were cold. “We are off clock now. You will have grey hair at twenty-nine if you don’t stop. Go inside. I bring mail.”
He gave Shane’s neck a final squeeze before opening the door.
“I’m fine, Ilya. Just tired,” Shane added, more for himself than for the man already stepping out into the garage.
Ilya offered him a tired smile over the roof of the car, buying his excuse. He had no reason to doubt it, after all. Shane had spent years making sure of that.
Shane sat in the dark for another minute. He realized, with a sudden clarity, that he had built a cage to hide the fact that he didn't know how to be interesting enough to keep Ilya interested in him forever.