Chapter Text
May 2014
Ilya hadn't acknowledged Shane in five months. Not a single call or text. Nothing. Just pure, unfiltered radio silence since that day in Soichi, and even before that.
"No, I did not answer your boring texts."
Shane didn't think those words would hurt him so viscerally. Him and Ilya weren't anything substantial. They played against each other fiercely, had some glorious fun afterwards and then went on with their own lives as the seasons passed by them. And that was fine. Well, it had been fine. It was all meant to be transactional. Fleeting, even. But standing there back in Soichi had been different. He desperately tried to cling to the hope of reaching Ilya. The hope of finally getting answers on why he hadn't been responding, of why Shane had been left in the past like some burden unworthy of holding on to. However, all he felt was the irreparable stab of being shattered as the deteriorating rope, which their relationship had been built on, was wretched from his hands as if it had never existed in the first place. Like he didn't deserve it.
"We are not anything."
So they were nothing. Nothing? That was it? All those years for Ilya to break it off just like that? Like it was the easiest thing in the world to tell Shane to fuck off, to go away.
Ilya didn't even text him after he'd won the Stanley Cup.
He had been slightly jealous, yes, but also undeniably happy for Ilya. Sitting there with the rest of his teammates at Hayden's house, watching Boston bring home a cup with pure joy and exhaustion on their faces, had been so rewarding even though Shane wasn't the one winning. It had taken him a whole lot of courage and unsent drafts, but he had managed to scrap together a single message in the hopes Ilya would be in a good mood and decide to humour him.
Shane's congratulatory message went unread. Like all of his other, useless texts.
Ilya was far, far away from Shane. He was walking away as Shane was left on his knees, praying that he would stop, praying that he would turn around and realise that Shane could be worth keeping.
But the MHL Awards were fast approaching, and there was still no sign of Ilya wanting to even talk with him at all.
Shane's heart felt like it was being slammed into the boards repeatedly, over and over and over again until it stopped beating. The problem was that his heart never stopped beating for Ilya. He didn't understand why, but all he knew was that the stupidly arrogant, charming hockey player with golden curls and breath-taking moles was most definitely to blame.
Ilya had been his first everything.
But Shane had just been one in a million.
It hit Shane then, that he wasn't cut out for the brutal grip of... Whatever they were. He couldn't even call what they had love. It wasn't that. Shane didn't want it to be that. He didn't even understand his own sexuality or feelings about it, but It was more like a ball of desire, irrationality and selfishness wrapped up in a bow and labelled as something 'special,' or 'fun.' Because if that was what love was, then Shane would rather never experience it at all.
Ilya had poisoned him with something that Shane couldn't explain. All he could explain was that he needed to be cured as soon as possible.
"Not everything is about you, Hollander!"
The utter force of the yell resonated in his mind, reliving the memory of that night all those years ago during their rookie year. He was right. Of course, Ilya was right. Nothing was about him. Shane was just a past-time. Something to hold but never to keep. He had been overly stupid to think anything otherwise. He should have left Ilya alone back then. Why did he think Ilya actually cared about him? Why would Ilya ever care? Shane wasn't as pretty and he definitely wasn't as female as Ilya's other flings. Flings that Ilya probably did care about. At least, more than he cared about Shane.
Please, Shane pleaded, why can't you just respond once? Just tell me that you're done. Tell me that you're finished with me so I can delete your fucking contact off my phone. So I can pretend we were never anything but rivals in the first place.
Everything hurt. Everything hurt and he couldn't even fucking tell anyone. It hurt so much that Shane was going insane with each day that brought him closer to the awards. He couldn't even be excited for what he could potentially win because he was getting closer to the day he'd have to face Ilya and pretend that everything was fine, that he was unaffected by the silence because Ilya wasn't supposed to matter to him.
He just wanted to forget it all and leave it to fester and rot in the past.
Shane didn't realise it then, but his heart was already locking itself up into a labyrinth of self-hatred, regret and longing. It was binding him to a curse that he couldn't escape. His heart had been sealed whole, and it had silently vowed to never let anyone close enough to hurt it again.
Hockey. He should've just focused on what was important. Hockey had always been a constant in his life, the thing that had stayed marginally the same throughout the course of time. The thrill, the team, the competition. Shane loved hockey. If he had to love one thing in every universe, he'd choose to love hockey every time.
He would continue to love hockey. He would continue to just love hockey. He could spend all his time honing his craft and pouring his energy into something much more sustainable than any sort of rocky relationship with Ilya. Shane couldn't open up his heart to anyone, but he could continue to open it up to hockey and let that fill up his days so he didn't have to feel this awful feeling any longer than he had to.
He didn't want to feel this pathetic anymore.
So he would just try to feel nothing instead.
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June 2014
The MHL Awards was as boujee as ever, but it never failed to surprise Shane. From the cascading diamond-crusted chandeliers to the luxurious linen of the table cloth, he always found something to look at and take a mental note of for his own properties.
"Mister real estate."
Ilya's voice teased him involuntarily, infesting Shane's mind again after he'd tried so hard not to think about him. He'd been doing that a lot lately. He hadn't realised just how many things he had simultaneously tied to Ilya's being, how many things reminded him of the russian no matter if Shane wanted to think about him or not.
Shane pointedly ignored the painful pang in his chest, taking measured breaths and hoping no one could tell he was a bundle of nerves that was one step away from exploding.
Stop thinking about him, you idiot. He shook his head, willing Ilya's facial features out of his brain as hard as he could.
He hadn't seen Ilya at all yet despite the fact that they were presenting an award together. Curse the MHL for pairing them for literally anything and everything under the pretense of rivalry. Was he purposely ignoring him? Was he secretly thinking the exact same way about Shane? No. He shouldn't kid himself. Ilya was probably busy with other people, going round and mingling like a normal person would do without a second thought about their boring hook-up who they'd ghosted for six months straight.
Shane rarely drank alcohol but he thought this cruel situation called for at least one glass of champagne. Maybe two or three if he really wanted to forget everything for a few blissful moments.
But he wouldn't take a glass till after he presented the award. All eyes would be on him and Ilya, so he couldn't afford to be tipsy when speaking. God knows what he would do with Ilya in his vicinity whilst being inable to control himself under the influence. Shane almost laughed at how pitiful the image was.
Eventually, he was pulled into conversation by some of the lighting crew back stage who pleasantly surprised Shane when he learned that they were avid fans of the Metros. They talked animatedly about how well Shane did this season and how he definitely deserved MVP. In the back of his mind, Shane knew that the MVP award would be most likely going to Ilya since he had won Boston a cup and built that team back into a playoff contender from the ground up, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He liked his fans, most of them were polite and respectful so it wasn't as annoying talking to them as some of the other teams had it.
"Mr Hollander, you're on in five!" One of the many voices that were scurrying behind him called out, causing Shane to tense ever so slightly. Still no sight of Ilya and they were on in five minutes. What the fuck was he doing? Shane had forgotten just how fucking immature that asshole was. He was probably getting sucked off in one of the bathroom stalls, having the time of his life whilst Shane wallowed in stress and annoyance.
With all his might, Shane walked over to one of the wings of the stage, straightening his tie and running his hands down his lapels in a final attempt to smooth it out perfectly. He felt like he was dragging his legs along with every step he took closer to the stage as they protested weakly, like they too did not want to see Ilya Rozanov at all. But on the contrary, Shane also wanted to see Ilya miserably. He hadn't seen him off the ice in person since Soichi. All he wanted to do was run his hands through those coils of gold, and kiss him roughly on the lips till they were both out of breath panting. He missed Ilya terribly, but he also had a million reasons to hate him right now. Instead, he ran through his lines for the sketch which they would act out before they presented the award.
Completely wrapped up in his thoughts, he failed to see Ilya slink up next to him until a few moments later, looking slightly out of breath like he had been doing something and had to rush. Typical. Shane almost wanted to scoff. At the same time, he almost wanted to shove Ilya off stage and into his hotel room. He did neither. Instead, Shane checked his watch, and probably looked like an idiotic mess doing it.
"Wow, nice watch." Ilya began sarcastically with his usual demeanour. "So, you get it for free or what?" He continued, teasing Shane about his brand deals.
Shane really wanted to fucking punch him. And he also really wanted to sink into a puddle on the floor and die on the spot as his anxiety shot up tenfold.
He turned away from Ilya. He couldn't bare to look at his stupidly perfect face for longer than he had to. Instead he looked towards the stage where the stand and microphone waited for them. "Where the fuck were you? We're on in five seconds." He bit back, hoping Ilya caught on to his clear anger.
"Eh, twenty five seconds." Ilya just shrugged as he jokingly corrected with a flippant attitude.
Shane didn't know what else he expected really. "What were you even doing?" He finally said through gritted teeth, not really wanting to know the answer but not being able to keep his thoughts to himself. He could never control himself with Ilya.
Out of the corner of his eye, Shane could see Ilya glance at him. "I was busy." He responded easily, like that was the only explanation that he owed him.
He could feel his heart breaking the longer he heard words fall out of Ilya's mouth. "With who?" He practically spat and shocked himself with the amount of unfiltered jealousy he heard in his own voice, but Shane couldn't care at this point. He wanted Ilya to know just how much he'd fucked him over. Some part of him wished Ilya was going through the same pain too.
Ilya didn't respond. Again. He just walked onto the stage as the announcer called out their names. Why did Shane think he deserved a response? It wasn't like Ilya was obligated to tell him anything. Shane forced his own feet to move a step behind, attempting to focus on the cheers of the crowd instead of the crushing tension between them.
Shane didn't know what happened after he left the wing, it was like the world around him blurred into one fuzzy memory that he was looking at from the outside. He knew he was presenting, but he couldn't hear the words coming out of his mouth, nor could he hear Ilya's. It felt like he was choking on sand that left a more than nasty taste in his mouth. It felt like he was drowning. He was trying so hard to swim but all he could do was let the water take him to wherever he belonged. Wherever was far away from Ilya. Wherever he could forget the taste of his lips or the caress of his thumb. What was he doing again?
Then everything got incredibly loud again.
"And the most important thing.." Shane stated stiffly, suddenly hearing himself again. His ears rang slightly.
Ilya finished his part of the scripted line with ease, "Is the friends we make along the way," Earning him a laugh from the audience. "And, before we give out award, can I get a selfie with you?" Ilya asked, reaching into his pocket to take out his phone.
Shane suddenly hated the script with a fucking passion. "What?" He followed along awkwardly, trying to calm his nerves down so they didn't wreck him in front of everyone entirely.
"Come on, when will this ever happen again, buddy?" He held out his phone at the ready.
Shane thought he smiled at the word buddy, but his brain was a frazzled mess that was running on autopilot, so he couldn't tell. Curse Ilya and his gorgeous accent. "Okay, fine, but hurry up." He heard the crowd laugh loudly once more. Briefly, he thought it was amusing that his misery was their joy.
Unexpectedly, It felt like ice water had been dumped over him.
He could feel the sensation of something on the back of his neck as he looked up to Ilya's outstretched phone above their heads.
A weight.
A hand.
Ilya's hand.
That was not in the fucking script.
Shane almost shivered, abruptly feeling heat rise up his cheeks at the touch. It's okay, he reassured himself. Everything was fine. He was fine. He could deal with this.
He was not fine when the stupid russian's hand began trailing down his back, inching suspiciously closer and closer to his ass. Shane fought to keep the strained smile on his face as he stared at himself and Ilya on the phone, or more specifically stared at Ilya's awfully prideful smirk. Fucking asshole. He watched Ilya tap the button on the screen painfully slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying every moment of it.
Shane let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Ilya finally released him, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "Great, give me your number I'll text them to you!" Ilya grinned.
He made a strenuous effort to look out towards the crowd instead of the man beside him, "No chance," the audience laughed again, clearly amused by the banter despite knowing it was all just scripted shit that came alongside being a famous hockey player. It was a fucking clown show. He guessed it fit since it felt like he was the biggest clown of all in whatever game Ilya was playing.
Shane fiddled with the envelope nervously, "And the MHL award for the most sportsman-like player goes to.."
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Shane couldn't breathe.
He tugged at the collar of his shirt roughly as he walked hurriedly back through the wings and then out towards the bathrooms. He felt like he was clawing at his throat, trying to gasp for breath but no air was being taken in despite all of his hard efforts to force his lungs to co-operate.
Noisily, the corridor was filled with hundreds of incessant footsteps that echoed profusely, bouncing off the polished floors and becoming irritatingly loud. Shane prayed no one noticed the mess he was right now. The harsh, unforgiving lights above contrasted the dim back stage lighting immensely, and Shane winced at the change. He could still hear the boisterous crowd. It almost felt like they were growing even more tumultuous even as he got further away from them. Shane could practically feel his blood rush through his body, taunting him with that 'pins and needles' feeling that he despised.
Half frantic, he shoved the bathroom door open, crossing over towards the sinks with an elongated mirror placed directly above them and shoving his palms onto the counter as he let the sink support most of his body weight. He didn't bother looking up at himself in the mirror, he knew he looked utterly pathetic.
God, this wasn't happening. This wasn't happening at the MHL awards. He needed to suck it up and get it together. What happened to separating personal life from work life?
Well, Ilya was the crossover in both of them. Fuck.
Just on cue, the bathroom door swung open once more, revealing a seemingly relaxed Ilya as he walked in and leaned up against the paper towel dispenser next to the sink, opposite Shane.
Shane was able to take a deep breath at his arrival, feeling the air finally caress his lungs again.
Speak of the fucking devil, Shane thought in half self-pity and half amusement. He turned to face Ilya, his eyes already tracing over the face he'd missed for six months, expecting an apology or some sort of excuse. And then Ilya opened his mouth and Shane had never wanted to kill a man more.
He let out a quiet huff of laughter, "Well?" Ilya asked nonchalantly with a tilt of his head and a smirk.
Well? Well? Ilya expected Shane to say something first? Ilya had ghosted him for six fucking months and he expected, what, a 'welcome home'? Did he expect Shane to open his arms as if Ilya wasn't at fault and a complete and utter asshole? He hadn't even said sorry, hadn't even given him an ounce of an explanation, hadn't even confessed that he missed Shane as much as Shane had missed him. Had Ilya even missed him at all or was he just expecting to fuck his way into Shane's forgiveness? Was that what this was? Was Ilya just looking for an easy time and knew that Shane would eventually cave and give into him and his selfishness? Shane was more than furious. He was exasperated, he was hurt. His heart ached and his head throbbed with sadness, bitter yearning and quiet anger. How could Ilya be so calm, so collected as if they had been nothing? As if Ilya hadn't hurt Shane by turning him away back in Soichi? As if he hadn't just ran his hand down Shane's back in front of literally everyone? He thought he was more than a quick fuck to Ilya. It physically pained him to see now that he was wrong.
"Well, what?" Shane scoffed miserably, "What the fuck do you want, Rozanov? You haven't answered a text from me in, like, six months!" He tried to keep his voice relatively low, but failed completely, his anger overflowing. "You won't even acknowledge I exist unless there's a fucking camera pointed at us and then it's for some fucking clown show!" Shane could feel the tears brewing in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He would not cry in front of Ilya. "So yeah, what the fuck do you actually want from me? Well?"
"I want you to suck my dick." Ilya replied in a low voice, seemingly unphased by Shane's outburst.
Shane couldn't fucking believe the nerve of this guy. Shane couldn't believe his heart could break any further but it just had at those words.
"Oh, fuck you! You are unbelievable. You suck my dick." He tore his gaze off of Ilya, forcing himself to look away in embarrassment. He didn't know why he said that last part. Usually, repeating what others said back worked out for him.
Shane tried not to back away when Ilya stepped forward, grabbing Shane's chin and forcing him to look back again. Damn, Shane really wanted to kiss him right now. He really wanted to do everything and anything to Ilya right here on this bathroom floor.
Ilya leaned in, holding Shane in place so he couldn't look away. "Maybe ask nicely," His voice was etched with sultry. "Hm?"
But his heart still hurt at the thought of being nothing more than an object of gratification.
"..No." Shane's tone wavered, his voice barely above a whisper. He placed a hand on Ilya's chest, pushing him away.
Ilya let himself be pushed, and for a split second Shane could see something akin to confusion and panic on his face.
"No." He repeated, now sounding resolute. "You think you can, what, blow me into forgiving you? I'm not that fucking desperate, Rozanov. I'm not one of your fucking toys you can pick and choose when to play with!" He felt his heart sink deeper into his stomach the more he yelled at Ilya. Shane was overwhelmed by all the emotions that were flooding through him. It was getting harder to breathe again.
Suddenly, the bathroom felt all the more constricting.
"Six fucking months." Shane whispered now, all the fight leaving him and being replaced with gnawing dejection. He couldn't even bare to meet Ilya's gaze.
When Ilya said nothing, Shane understood he was not getting an apology or an explanation, and understood where he stood with Ilya in his ranking of hook-ups. It was over. He took that as his cue to leave. After all, he still had the MHL awards waiting for him.
"Hollander..." Shane heard Ilya's quiet beckon.
He did not look back.
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The night stretched exhaustingly on.
Even as Ilya went on stage to collect his award for MVP, Shane was still battling between anger and regret and longing all at once as he clapped along with the audience quietly. He wanted to celebrate Ilya, wanted to show him that he was happy for him despite being a little jealous, but he also wanted Ilya to know that he was in the wrong, that he had hurt Shane and that he should feel sorry for what he'd done. It was easier said than done.
The whole night had been a nightmare and he was willing it to end as soon as possible when he took his fourth glass of champagne, despite his better judgement.
He knew he'd regret it tomorrow when he had the world's worst hangover which would affect his whole morning routine which would therefore make him even more irritable alongside the hangover, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd deal with it tomorrow.
Ilya had disappeared from the after party a while ago after pulling out a packet of cigarettes and excusing himself from his team who were doing shots upon shots. It made Shane feel a bit sick watching them throw back shot after shot. Yes, he had been watching Ilya the whole time. What else was he supposed to do when all he could think about was that damned Russian?
He hated it when Ilya smelt of cigarettes. However, right now, he'd do anything to be close enough to Ilya to smell him. Even if that meant putting up with that awful, nicotine scent.
Downing the rest of his glass, Shane decided enough was enough. He wanted to go back to his hotel and pass out, away from all the blaring noise of chanting and whatever else anyone did during an MHL Awards After Party. He didn't want to sit here wallowing in the misery that he created after he pushed Ilya away. (Even though it was mostly Ilya's fault in the first place) He set his glass down onto the table and then found Hayden who was a little more tipsy than Shane.
"Shane! There ya are, man. I was wondering where you were." His voice slurred just slightly as he patted Shane on the back. "You'll win next year, for sure."
Shane gave a slight smile at Hayden's drunken attempt at consolation, though losing the MVP award was not what he needed to be consoled over. "Yeah. Listen, I'm going to head back to the hotel, okay? You know I'm not cut out for shit like this."
Hayden nodded in understanding, and Shane was glad he didn't push for him to stay longer. "Yeah, man. I'll let the others know. You want me to call an uber?"
"No, I'll call, don't worry about it." Shane clapped Hayden's back to which Hayden gave a smile.
They both said their goodbyes for the night before Shane stalked down his mom and dad.
They had disappeared early on into the night, and Shane had a feeling his mom was practicing her art of making connections for his future. He rolled his eyes fondly at the thought.
Eventually, he spotted them off in one of the many corridors of the building, his mom was fixing her hair into a bun whilst his dad held the hand-held mirror steady for her. His heart took a break from tormenting him as warmth filled his chest at the sight. Sure, his life right now was pretty fucked but at least his parents were doing better than he was.
He walked over to them and then reached over to help his mom fix the bobby pins in her hair.
David spoke first at Shane's arrival, knowing Yuna would be too engrossed in making sure all her fly aways were tucked in as neatly as possible, "Hey, champ."
"Hey dad." Shane replied with a faint smile before refocusing on the bobby pins once more.
Like mother like son, he supposed.
Once Yuna was satisfied with her bun, she turned to Shane and put her hands on the side of his arms, squeezing. "Hey, baby. How are you feeling? Having fun?" She said with a smile, her tone soft yet firm.
"Yeah, lots." He lied. It was easier and Shane really didn’t feel like making his mom think he was only stroppy over not winning MVP.
"Good, that's good. Why are you over here then? Shouldn't you be having fun?" She asked, looking slightly suspicious of him. David was also eyeing Shane, like he knew something Shane didn't.
Shane briefly wondered how his parents could always tell when something was bothering him. "I was, but I think I want to head back. I'm tired. Just wanted to say goodnight before I left."
"Are you sure?" She raised a brow but then seemed to back track when she and David exchanged silent glances, "Alright then, sweetie. It's been a long night hasn't it? Go get some rest, okay?" Yuna gave a smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, like she had wanted him to stay longer for some unknown reason.
Shane nodded, grateful his parents weren't outright pushing for him to stay because he definitely did not think he could stand being in the vicinity of Ilya any longer. He said goodnight to both of them and exchanged a few hugs before he began heading towards the exit.
"Don't forget we leave for our flight at twelve tomorrow!" He heard his mom call out as he walked down the hall, he gave a wave in acknowledgement but didn’t look back.
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Shane sat silently in the back of the uber, his head leaning against the window as he stared at the scenery passing by.
He was thinking about a lot of things like what he'd do when he got back to the hotel, what he'd do once he was back in Montreal, what changes he'd make to his diet for the upcoming season and what lines within his team he would change in preparation so that the Metros would hopefully bring back a cup. But one singular, annoying Raider kept popping into his mind no matter how much he tried to dampen the thought of him. He could escape Ilya physically, but escaping Ilya mentally was a whole different story. One that seemingly had no end. Fucking asshole.
Running his hand over his face in frustration, his heart lurched once more as he recalled the event in the bathroom. At the same time, he could feel a headache coming on, probably from the amount of alcohol he consumed earlier. Shane was already regretting that immature decision.
Shane was exhausted in more ways than one, and his brain wouldn't give him a fucking break over Ilya.
Maybe he had been too harsh. Him and Ilya weren't explicitly labelled as anything, so Shane shouldn't have expected any special treatment. He should've treated it like he usually did. Something transactional, something routine. Fuck, he really should have taken Ilya up on his offer. He would've asked nicely too, had he not been blinded by hurt.
He couldn't tell if it was the alcohol talking, but something was continuously urging Shane to take out his phone and text Ilya, despite the fact he still had yet to get any responses to the previous ones.
Shane wanted to chalk the action up to being drunk, but he knew it was so much more than that. And that scared him. He still pulled his phone out anyway, too tipsy to really think of the consequences. The brightness of the phone worsened his brewing headache.
He found Ilya's contact in his message list: Lily.
Smiling at the memory the name evoked, he clicked on the contact and then stared at the message box for a while, contemplating.
'I'm sorry.' He ended up writing after a few drafts that ended up unsent and deleted. His finger hovered over the send button, hesitating.
Would Ilya want a text from him? Would he even want an apology? If he were Ilya, he probably would've blocked Shane's number by now.
He hit send anyway.
Relief flooded through him, washing away the tension in his shoulders as he relaxed and placed his phone back into his pocket. At least he could say he tried to apologise. With his newly found reprieve, he glanced back out the window just in time to see them approaching an intersection.
The traffic light blinked yellow as the uber drove forward.
To Shane's bewilderment, the light transitioned red but the car continued on.
Before he could even say anything to the driver, his peripheral vision caught a truck charging directly at him.
Fuck.