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It starts, as most things between them often do, after sex. Not immediately after - when brains are fuzzy, feelings are syrupy slow, and time melts into itself like honey. They’ve done this dance enough times to know that making a commitment after sex is about as productive as attempting to fix a sleep schedule at three in the morning. No, the thought comes much later, after a shower and fresh sheets and enough tangerine slices to feed an army.
Strangely enough, it’s Shane who brings it up first. He’s got his glasses on - a manipulation tactic in itself - and he’s trying to keep the pout from his still-swollen lips as he thumbs through the romance book in his lap. Ilya had made fun of him approximately one time for his cheesy choice in novels, but started holding his tongue when suddenly Shane was learning about new positions in bed and dirty talk phrases that drove him wild. So, he pointedly did not mention anything when Shane had toweled himself dry, pulled on a new pair of boxers, and grabbed the novel off of his nightstand.
“Should we come out?”
Ilya’s eyes practically pop out of his head. He coughs once, twice, then reaches over to grab Shane’s fancy water bottle and takes a long sip. When he clears the shock-induced blur from his eyes, Shane is looking at him innocently, as if he hasn’t just turned his entire world upside down.
“Should we… what?”
Shane shrugs. He grabs the bookmark from between the back cover and tucks it neatly into the page he’s ending on. Ilya had dog-eared his book once when Shane had fallen asleep halfway through an action scene, and Ilya woke up to complete chaos. “Come out.”
“Like… as gay?”
“No, as Mormon.” Shane rolls his eyes. He sits up straighter against the headboard and looks away, suddenly feeling a little bashful. “It’s stupid. Just an idea.”
Ilya knows he has approximately three seconds to fix this before they have another dog-eared book tantrum. He puts his phone away and sits up as well. “No, no. Not stupid. I’m just… confused.”
Shane huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, keeping his gaze away from Ilya. “I’m just… tired. Of hiding. Of not being myself. Of not being able to be with you.”
“But we have plans,” Ilya points out. He’s the last person who would be opposed to suddenly revealing their decade long relationship, but Shane is the first person on that list, and he doesn’t want him to do anything he’ll regret later. “Remember? Next year, free agent, you come with me and join best team in the league…”
Shane rolls his eyes, but he’s no longer steaming from the ears, so Ilya counts it as a win. “I know we have a plan. I made the plan. I’m just-“ he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I’m sick of plans.”
Ilya gasps dramatically. He cups the side of Shane’s face, dragging his gaze to him, and puts on his best concerned mother face while he brings the inside of his wrist to his forehead to check his temperature. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Shane?”
“Fuck off,” Shane responds fondly. He pushes Ilya’s hands away, but maneuvers them so he can lay across his chest, blindly placing his glasses on the table next to his book. Ilya flicks the light off and turns their bedside fan on, the soft buzz filling the air with comfortable white noise. “Ignore me.”
“No, I do not think I want to,” Ilya says, rubbing his hand down Shane’s bare back. “You are serious about this?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” Shane moves to tuck his head in the crook of Ilya’s neck. “I think… I think now that we have an idea of when we can come out, it feels impossibly far away. I don’t think I can wait another year.”
Ilya hums. He scratches the nape of Shane’s neck, if only to feel the relieved little exhale against his own skin. “Okay, then.”
“That’s it?” Shane pulls his head up to face Ilya, his eyes wide. “You’d really do it?”
“Shane,” Ilya levels with him, cupping his face again. He rubs his thumb along Shane’s freckles. “I have been wanting for years, in secret. If I do not have to keep this secret a day more, I will be the happiest man alive.”
Shane looks between his eyes, trying to find the lie in his words. He must not find it, because a grin spreads across his face, and he leans forward to plant a quick, sweet kiss to Ilya’s lips before settling back down in his embrace. He’s quiet for another moment, but Ilya can hear the gears turning in his brain. “Okay. We’ll have to come up with a new plan, then.”
“I thought you are tired of plans,” Ilya teases, his eyes fluttering shut as Shane nips along his neck in retaliation. “In the morning, yes? Am too tired to make sexy plan with sexy fiance.”
“I love you,” Shane says, just because he can. Because he spent far too long not being able to say it. Ilya pulls him impossibly tighter.
“I love you too.”
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
They start slow.
It can’t be too drastic of a change. The only people that know about their relationship are in their close inner circle - Yuna, David, Rose, Hayden, and Svetlana. Shane has vetoed the idea of just posting a video saying, “hello world, I’m gay!”, and Ilya was scolded harshly about the consequences of ripping their equipment off and taking Shane in front of a sold out arena. So - slow.
Shane recalls one of Rose’s many dating stories. She’s no slut, as much as she wishes she was, but she goes on lots of dates to fill her time in different cities. He remembers her mentioning something about a soft launch. He is hopeful that he and Ilya have fans smart enough to piece two and two together, and that when, two weeks after the bedside discussion, they post an Instagram story in the same restaurant, people will question it.
They wait until they leave the restaurant to post, for safety reasons (to avoid being swarmed), but Shane’s hands tremble like he’s under direct attack anyway. He posts the booth on his story - no sight of Ilya, but if anyone were to compare the two, they’d be able to connect the dots and see that they are very clearly sitting together. The same picture in the frame on the wall, two plates on the table, one shared appetizer.
Shane loses a lot of respect for his fan base when, two days later, not a single person has made the correlation. He’s desperately scrolling through Twitter, searching up his own name and Ilya’s name, and although shipping accounts aren’t new to him, he finds himself lurking on them. Still - nothing.
He sighs, frustrated, as he plops himself down on the couch next to Ilya. “They didn’t get it.”
“Yes,” Ilya says easily. “Because you post cryptic story. So what?”
“I thought they’d... I don’t know. Talk. Put it together.”
“Put what together, sweetheart? That we were at the same restaurant?" Ilya drapes an arm across the couch and runs his fingers through Shane’s hair. “Is not enough.”
“Wait-“ Shane pulls away, determination in his eyes. He grabs his phone and positions his and Ilya’s coffee cups on the table, carelessly grabbing Ilya’s leg and putting it up on the coffee table. Ilya allows himself to be manhandled. “Hold on, move your- there we go.”
Shane sits back down, pressed against Ilya’s side, and takes approximately thirty-two pictures before finding the right one. From the angle, you can clearly see two cups as the main focus of the picture, and anyone with eyes would notice the Ottawa Centaurs logo on Ilya’s sock from his position on the table.
“Get your gross foot off the table,” Shane comments. Ilya rolls his eyes but pulls his foot down, snuggling into Shane and hooking his chin over his shoulder as he watches his fingers dance hesitantly over the keyboard.
Lazy weekends in, he captions it. He presses ‘post’ before he can talk himself down. Ilya promptly reposts it on his own account. Shane powers his phone off..
It’s less than an hour later when Ilya’s phone buzzes - a link from Svetlana to a TMZ article. Shane’s heart is pounding in his ear as Ilya clicks on it.
————————————
RIVALRY OFF THE ICE?!
Shane Hollander of the Montreal Metros and Ilya Rozanov of the Ottawa Centaurs pictured spending an afternoon together via their respective Instagram stories. An inside source reveals the two have been mandated to do more PR, and that their rivalry is still very real.
“Rozanov just hates him,” our source reveals. “This is the MLH’s last attempt at trying to conjure up some kind of friendship between the two. I mean — have you seen how they act together? I wouldn’t put a single dollar on them being anything other than arch rivals for the rest of eternity.”
Neither Hollander nor Rozanov’s teams have responded to our questions.
————————————
“Idiots,” Shane exhales, shaking his head. “We are surrounded by idiots.”
“Maybe they just need it more clear,” Ilya suggests. “We should post a sex tape.”
Shane slaps at him. “No, you pervert. We are not posting a sex tape.”
Ilya pouts. He pulls Shane closer on his lap and grabs a handful of his ass. “We need to go bigger. Give TMZ real news to talk about, yes?”
Shane hates the way his cheeks warm at the idea. He kisses him - slow, wet, a promise for something more - and pulls back to sit against his thighs. “What do you have in mind?”
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
In theory, Shane should have known better than to let Ilya plan phase two of their public coming out. He’s not quite sure what he was expecting - a Scott Hunter reprise, perhaps, where Montreal beats Ottawa and, before they clear the ice, Ilya skates over and captures Shane in a ridiculously public kiss, finally giving the world the correct idea.
Shane should have known better.
He’s in Hayden’s basement when the interview starts. An ice cold ginger ale in his right hand, the TV remote in his left. Shane is feeling nauseous by the time Ilya steps up to the table, a determined glint in his eyes, and juts his chin toward the closest reporter.
“Tough loss, Rozanov,” the journalist starts off camera. It had been a tough loss; all losses on home ice are. There’s something even worse about losing surrounded by your fans, who are loyal enough to cheer even when you walk away from a 5-2 defeat. Ilya barely flinches.
“Yes,” he says plainly. Shane scoffs quietly and rolls his eyes.
“This is Ottawa’s fourth loss in a row since coming back to the new season,” the journalist continues. “We have to wonder if there’s some kind of pattern here.”
“The pattern,” Ilya leans in a bit closer. “Is that we do not score enough goals.”
Light, easy laughter breaks out. Shane relaxes into the back of the couch, takes a sip of his Gatorade, and presses his leg against Hayden’s.
“On a lighter topic,” another journalist calls. “We know you’re a private person, Ilya, but we wanted to ask about the recent posts made between you and Shane Hollander.”
“Who?”
Shane squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t do this. On screen, Ilya waits for the laughing to subside before continuing.
“Yes, yes. Shane and I are very close. Very close.” He’s looking into the camera as he speaks, as if he’s talking directly to Shane, and it settles both of them down a bit.
“You must see our confusion. The two of you have been rivals for nearly a decade - why are you suddenly hanging out?”
Ilya considers this for a long moment. He takes a sip of his water and clears his throat. “Is not sudden. I have spent every summer for three years with Shane at the cottage. Only now we post it, yes?”
The murmurs off screen get louder. Ilya settles back against the chair, looking satisfied with himself, and finishes the half-full glass of water.
“Sorry, just-“ someone starts, confused. “You two are friends?”
Ilya shrugs. He looks to the side, a telltale sign that his agent is telling him to get the hell off the stand, and grabs the microphone, bringing it closer. “More. I love him.”
“Are you worried your friendship will distract you from your competition and leave Hollander coming out on top?”
Shane knows where Ilya is going the moment the sentence ends. He fumbles to turn the TV off, but spills the ginger ale in his other hand, face already red as Hayden watches him in amusement.
“Trust me,” Ilya grins. “Shane Hollander will never come on top. He enjoys being bottom far too much.”
The next minute moves somehow faster than light and slower than molasses - Ilya is quickly ushered away from the media table, Shane finally finds the goddamn power button on the remote, and Hayden is left staring at him blankly.
“Dude,” he breaks the silence. “Gross.”
Shane buries his sticky hands in his hair and groans. “Well. There’s no way to twist that, is there?”
————————————
LANGUAGE-BEDROOM-BARRIER?!
Ilya Rozanov of the Ottawa Centaurs suffered an unfortunate English mishap during a post-game interview earlier today, where he stated that his rival, Shane Hollander, is his “very close” friend, whom he “loves”.
“The guy doesn’t speak English,” our inside source reveals. “Like — you really think he’d get up and confess his undying love for Hollander in a press conference filled with journalist scum?”
When asked about his friendship with Hollander, Rozanov revealed that he has spent the last three summers vacationing at Hollander’s cottage. Our source went on to say, “Yeah, I mean, the guys all go. It’s a big thing every summer. Hollander hosts, Rozanov cooks. It’s a bonding thing for the older guys in the league. I mean — the real old guys. None of the rooks are invited.”
Rozanov finished the conference by making - what we legally have to call it - a hockey reference to him being on top, with Hollander on the ‘bottom’. Was this another language slip, or is Rozanov’s new technique found in the form of emasculating his counterpart?
Our inside source had no comment on the ‘bottom’ statement.
————————————
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
He’s overstimulated before they even find a seat at the dingy Ottawa bar Ilya drags him to the night before their game. The floor is sticky, the place is completely packed, and there’s a light flickering in the corner that is driving Shane absolutely insane.
It doesn’t help that, although Shane is all in on the coming out aspect, he’s still strung tight. He’s so used to isolation, having to hide, that he’s checking his six every few moments, trying to see if there’s anyone to spot him and Ilya together.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Ilya tuts, keeping his hand on the small of his back as he leads him toward the bar. “No more being scared. This is on purpose, yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane agrees, though his heart isn’t in it. He watches as Ilya leans over the counter to order a vodka for himself and a ginger ale for Shane. “Two vodkas. Please.”
Ilya raises an eyebrow at him. “You want to drink?”
“Liquid courage,” Shane provides weakly. He grabs the glass and downs it in one go, his face pinching together at the burn, and tries not to feel embarrassed when Ilya chuckles at him. He goes to order another but Ilya shakes his head.
“Do not want to be hungover for the game, do we?”
He leans in close to Shane’s ear as he speaks, the distance - or lack thereof - sending shivers down his spine. Shane nods meekly and watches Ilya’s throat work around his own drink. “So… we just wait for someone to take a picture?”
“No,” Ilya disagrees. He places his empty glass on the bar and snakes his arm around Shane’s waist, tugging him against his chest. “We give them something to take a picture of.”
Shane would love to blame the speed in which he agrees on the vodka - to say he’s drunk, he’s not thinking straight (or thinking gay), and he can’t be held responsible for his own decisions. But he can’t, because he’s dead sober as he allows Ilya to lead him to the dance floor, moving through the crowd with his wide shoulders, making space for the two of them.
And, well, if that isn’t a metaphor for their relationship, Shane isn’t sure what could be. Though he calls the shots in their day-to-day experiences, Ilya’s the one consistently making the moves - creating a space for Shane to exist within his own life, his own environment, his own heart. The thought of this sidles up beside the vodka in his stomach, relaxing his growing nerves.
“I can’t dance,” Shane prefaces, having to nearly yell over the loud music. Ilya leans in closer and places both of his hands on his waist.
“No? But I see these hips move very good.” Ilya tugs him impossibly closer, grinding his hips against Shane’s. Shane scrambles for purchase on his arms, his fingers digging into Ilya’s biceps, and closes his eyes as he lets the rhythm of the music guide his body. “Good.”
“Is- is anyone looking?” Shane asks, stepping forward to be able to dig his face into Ilya’s neck. He feels a hand move from his waist to his ass, squeezing tightly.
“Ah, yes,” Ilya responds. “Everyone is getting off.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Shane chokes, his face as hot as the rest of his body. His breath catches as he’s bumped into from behind, and he pulls himself away from Ilya, trying to catch his breath.
“You are okay?” Ilya asks, his hands moving up for a brief second to grasp him by the shoulders. Shane takes a deep breath and nods, looking around instinctively before grabbing one of Ilya’s hands, sliding it down his body to his own ass. He wishes he could take a picture of the way Ilya’s gaze hardens into something deeper, something more wild.
“Just- kiss me,” Shane decides, his breath caught in his throat. Ilya tilts his chin up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back, his eyebrows raised in silent questioning. Shane leans in, kissing him again, and tries to stop his brain from ruining the moment.
Eventually, the bodies crushing Shane at every angle become too much for him to deal with, and he holds Ilya’s hand tightly as the other man leads him out of the bar, shoving him against the wall of the back alley and planting one on him. Shane barely has time to kiss back before a surprised noise is heard from beside them, and he instinctually shoves Ilya off.
“Is he okay?” A woman asks, her face pinches as she assesses Shane. He blinks at her in confusion. “I’m a nurse. That is not how you do mouth to mouth.”
“He is fine,” Ilya dismisses. He grabs Shane’s hand and pulls him away from the alley, into his car, and drives them home with the promise of continuing his poor mouth to mouth the moment they get back home.
————————————
PANIC AT THE DISCO?!
Montreal's own Shane Hollander spotted at a bar in downtown Ottawa, seemingly being comforted by Ilya Rozanov while he experiences a panic attack. Hollander, who has publicly stated his struggle with anxiety, was seen irrationally thrashing around on the floor of the bar in tribulation. Rozanov was pictured giving a friendly hand to a rival - or maybe even a friend - in need.
Furthermore, the Russian center was reportedly spotted outside of the nightclub, where he appeared to be giving Hollander mouth-to-mouth. Our thoughts and prayers go out to Hollander and his family in this time of medical distress.
“Rozanov is a good guy,” our insider source reveals. “He wouldn’t just stand around while Hollander is freaking out, or god forbid, having an emergency. He’s a boots-on-the-ground kind of man. I didn’t think he was first-aid certified, but in his line of work, you must pick up on some basic medical training, right?”
Could the mandated PR experience be working, or is Rozanov simply a softie with a heart of gold?
————————————
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
“Enough is enough,” Shane decides, his face twisted in the way that means he definitely did not get enough sleep last night. Ilya doesn’t even need to look at him to know this is true, as he woke up multiple times overnight to the bright glare of Shane’s laptop in their bed, his body tense. “The pictures from last summer. Post them.”
Ilya raises an eyebrow. “The Polaroids?”
Shane turns bright red. “No, asshole! The ones where we have clothes on.”
Head tilting, Ilya pretends to deeply consider. “I am not familiar.”
The microwave beeps. Shane grabs his Tupperware from inside, mixing it up with a fork before sticking it back in for another three minutes. He leans against the counter and pouts at Ilya. “The ones of us at the cottage. You know which ones.”
Ilya kicks himself up off the chair, making his way up to where Shane is stewing. He wraps his arms around his waist and waits to feel his body relax into the embrace. “Yes. I know the ones. Am only teasing.”
“Well, don’t,” Shane bites, but it sounds a lot less intimidating from its place, muffled in Ilya’s hoodie. “This will be it. There’s no way we can post a picture of us kissing and TMZ twists it.”
Ilya pulls back slightly. He kisses him on the cheek. “I am sorry this is so hard.”
Shane melts. He pulls Ilya closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and sniffles quietly. He feels Ilya’s hands tighten around him.
“Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Ilya’s voice is thick with concern, quiet in the way nobody but Shane has ever heard. It only makes the tears leak from his eyes faster.
He can tell Ilya is nervous by the way he rocks them slightly, tutting at him and rubbing all over his back. Shane soaks up the affection until the microwave beeps again, pulling away and wiping his face.
“Talk to me,” Ilya prompts quietly. “Are you… having regrets? We can call this off. Go back to nice, comfy closet.”
Shane takes a shuddering breath. “It’s not- it’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
And maybe Shane just says it to lighten the mood, or to watch the concerned pitch of Ilya’s eyebrows melt into his perfect skin, but he purposely makes his voice more upset when he says, “They thought my dancing was a medical emergency.”
And Ilya - well, Ilya is only human. He looks away, very clearly trying to hide the bubbling laughter in his chest, but falls victim to a chuckle. Shane stares at him for a long moment before bursting out into his own laughter. The two of them are doubled over in no time, sucking wind to calm their burning stomachs.
“Was it that bad?” Shane wheezes out, his eyes tearing up again, though not from crying. Ilya takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
“No, no, was not-“ he chokes out another laugh. “Yes. Is not good.”
He barely manages to miss the wooden spoon Shane chucks in his direction.
After Shane’s ground beef and veggie mix is eaten, the two of them take to the couch, snuggling up against one another as they scroll through the locked album on Ilya’s camera roll. Inside are years of photos, dating back to the second year they hooked up. Shane remembers being horrified at the idea of Ilya’s iCloud being leaked, but today, he’d take it as a blessing. As long as they didn’t get to the messages… that may be a career-ender.
“That one is nice,” Shane says, chin hooked over Ilya’s shoulder. It’s a .5 image from the last time they were at the cottage, taken from Ilya’s perspective. The lake is calm in front of them, and Shane has his head in Ilya’s lap, eyes closed in a peaceful expression. Ilya nods against his chest and selects it, moving onto another one. “I look weird in that.”
“You look perfect.”
“You are biased.”
“Mm, no.” Ilya shakes his head. “Word is bisexual. Come on, Hollander. Get it right.”
Shane tugs on a curl. His heart flutters when Ilya selects the second photo, one that Yuna had taken at a dinner two weeks before they’d had to head back to their respective provinces. There’s a cake in front of them - a two tiered vanilla beauty that marks the two year anniversary of them making their relationship official, and Ilya is staring at the camera while licking a stripe up Shane’s cheek. Shane’s face is pink, but his grin is the widest he’s ever seen. He silently presses a kiss to Ilya’s head in approval.
Ilya, of course, throws in a thirst trap - a mirror selfie of the two of them, shirtless. In the image, Shane’s wearing a loose pair of gym shorts, while Ilya dons a pair of grey sweatpants. Ilya’s free hand is tight around Shane’s waist - a possessive, familiar touch. Shane allows it, only because he looks extra ripped in it.
“What should I caption it?” Ilya asks. Shane wraps his arm around his shoulders and rubs along his pecs. Before Shane can even consider a suggestion, Ilya smirks and types his own.
“Summer Lovin’? Is that from Grease?”
“Yes. You are my Sandy. Very boring girl who does not smoke cigarettes,” Ilya explains. He looks mighty proud of himself. “And I am big handsome man with leather jacket.”
“I should not have let you watch that.”
Ilya leans up and presses a wet kiss to his jawline. Shane wipes it off before nodding, trying to keep himself calm as Ilya posts the series of pictures. He stares at Ilya’s phone as he powers it off, then squeaks in surprise when Ilya flips them, pinning his wrists to the couch.
“Now, I show you that You Are The One That I Want.”
“Ew.” Shane shoves his face away, his nose scrunched in disgust. “No more Grease references.”
“Boring.”
————————————
INTRICATE AI-HACKING SCHEME IN THE MLH
A new and very improved hacking scheme has hit the MLH. The victim in question is a man who has been mentioned dozens of times in the last three months - the Russian-Canadian menace, Ilya Rozanov.
The Ottawa center was targeted by this scheme earlier today, when three clearly AI-generated pictures were posted to his public Instagram. The first depicts a man who appears to be Shane Hollander, Rozanov’s sworn rival, with his head in his lap. The second is a poor quality, botched edit of the two of them sharing a romantic moment. The third is a mirror selfie of the two jacked men, though their faces are not present, so it is very easy to assume it was stolen from another website.
“Oh my god. That is so clearly fake,” our inside source reports. “I mean, just look at Hollander in that second picture! He looks like his face went through three rounds of photoshop. This is only happening because Rozanov said they spend the summer at the cottage, but I can assure you, these pictures are all generated by a computer.”
We are required to share online safety resources below, and must say, it is incredibly disappointing that Rozanov would not have enough information to know not to click on sketchy links over Instagram DM.
“It was probably some porn-bot,” our source goes on to say. “Rozanov is a dog. If you send him a link that says ‘I-will-hack-you-dot-com’, but write a message saying that there’s hot singles in his area, he will click it.”
There has been no comment from Hollander or Rozanov on the alleged hacking.
————————————
Shane deletes Instagram the next day. Ilya is forced by his manager to do a PSA on online safety. The two of them hang their heads all the way through the rest of the season.
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
the all-seeing third eye @dabforpalermo
so we all know things have been insane lately re: hollanov, and as the official truther of this beautiful ship, I decided to compile all of the evidence that their relationship is real.
(1/43)
number 1 tkachuk defender @babybrady
And this is why women shouldn’t be watching sports.
> naji @vanillatunamelt
Bruh wtf are you on about… your masculinity is so fragile you can’t deal with two hockey players being shipped together????!
> evil victoria @cannibalreids
just loud and wrong
> izzy @izzymacaroniii
yeah u would be a tkachuk fan
mellie @uhbucky
guys loosen up and let people have fun. if they want to ship two sexy guys together who cares?
> ams @gimmehollanov
finally someone with a brain around here
>> amelia @parkerscamera
a hollanov stan with a brain?!
>>> dove @mcSLAYvid
oomf i don’t mean to alarm u but they just reported that pigs r flying outside… and hell froze over… what has the world come to
> tiffany @ultravioletilya
the guy nobody invited:
>> mellie @uhbucky
they are not gonna pick u lollllll
a @danmei_rot
There’s no way you guys are actually taking this seriously, right???
> millz @unknownilyaax
I’m gonna hold ur hand while i tell u this… they deadass posted pictures of them kissing
>> a @danmei_rot
Ai slop.
k @RIVALKEITH
Me when I lieeeeee
> Ree @raeceeee
people just believe everything these days omg
casper @onthefkncover
If u put 2% of this energy into finding a job we’d have a day of peace on here
Kai @svbbyshane
omg I’ve been needing a thread like this… to put my ass to sleep. you guys see two men interact twice and think they’re together it’s insane
> Garden of Eden @LaMarieThorez
worried for op’s screen time if they’re out here coming up with this bullshittttt
Chris @shilya_rozander
Nice try… Rozanov would never settle for someone like Hollander.
> Juko @jukoist
“Someone like Hollander” what do u mean by that 🤨
>> Chris @shilya_rozander
I mean if Rozanov was gay, which he’s NOT, I’d think he’d want someone different. Not like him. He needs a man who isn’t in hockey, someone who can ground him. A gentle soul.
>>> Juko @jukoist
… yeah wipe ur chin when ur done buddy he’s not gonna pick you
m <3 @inthemorg
Sorry but the grammar in this is absolutely diabolical. At least take a course on writing before making a post like this.
> sushi @sushiwriterhere
mister homo over here looking at the grammar
Brad @singledad67
Hockey is not the place for this LBTG crap. Rozanov and Hollander are straight, respectable men. Let’s be mature, guys.
> zzz @osakur3
dude has 67 in his username talking about being mature 😭
>> Brad @singledad67
? That is the year I was born.
>>> zzz @osakur3
Oh my god hi!! This is 𓀂𓂘 𓂀𓂳𓃱 do you remember we went to Mesopotamia high together? We used to be a problem in miss ishtars irrigation class.
soapy @bofadeeznutz
watch ur back girl they’re gonna put u in the pdf 😭
> the all-seeing third eye @dabforpalermo
if hollanov has no believers i’m dead
>> lewth @molarsweet
August 24th, 2029.
>>> the all-seeing third eye @dabforpalermo
???
>>>> soapy @bofadeeznuts
yall do NOT want to be dabforpalermo on august 24 2029
holeanov @holeanovv
U guys pmo there’s no way Hollander is a bottom
> sushi @sushiwriterhere
shane hollander
>> holeanov @holeanovv
Shane Hollander
>>> sushi @sushiwriterhere
from the montreal metros
>>>> holeanov @holeanovv
From the Montreal Metros
> lesbian hudson williams @bottomeyesshane
this has to be the craziest take i’ve seen this side of the century
a is back in her smau writing era @louistwatchesme
omg oomf mention?!?! she was the one who saw them at a jewelry store looking at engagement rings
> madz @bonkuz0
did oomfs nose grow when they told u this?!?!
>> meg @hotcocohollanov
on EVERYBODY’s soul (yes you) i saw this with my own two eyes
>>> madz @bonkuz0
omg did u know they invented these things called cellphones that have cameras u can use to take an image to back up the crazy statements ur making?
>>>> meg @hotcocohollanov
omg did u know you will begin to cough in 6 days
mrs. pike @shaydentruther69
delete your account.
> bri cheese @bribrokenberry
LOLLLLL u think shane would ever settle for hayden?!?!
>> mrs. pike @shaydentruther69
not too much on my glorious king hayden pike
>>> cryptic sighting @theGarbagePoet
there ARE some original sentences, wow!
KIKINATOR @timfker
One day you all will realize this was real and you will feel very very stupid. I cannot wait for this day
> morgen @fxded_stxrs
ok prophet 😭
jay @buckisthejuice
I’ve sent ur location to 4 million spiders btw… #shayj will rise and may every tongue that speaks against them be cut out
> van @mexicansnoopy
wait did the Etsy witch respond?
>> jay @buckisthejuice
yes she said it’s a 5-7 business day wait for the potions so I expedited the shipping
>>> van @mexicansnoopy
perfectttt #downwithhollanov
krys @nichirinbullets
45°29′46″N 73°34′10″W
> the all-seeing third eye @dabforpalermo
?? that’s my fucking address??
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INTERNET EXPLODES AS #HOLLANOV TRENDS
Well, you think you’ve seen it all, until there’s a 42-tweet thread of someone attempting to ‘prove’ that Ottawa’s Ilya Rozanov and Montreal’s Shane Hollander are, in fact, in a romantic relationship. Though we have reported on all the allegations made, and have proven them as false, fans of the so-called ‘ship’ are adamant that there is something going on beyond the rivalry.
“I don’t even have social media,” our inside source claims. “I wouldn’t know what people are talking about. But, fans love to talk, and I think you really have to take everything they say with a grain of salt.”
Our source went on to say, “if you seriously think there’s even a one percent chance that Hollander and Rozanov are together, you’re insane.”
So we leave it to you, dear readers. Is there a reality in which Hollander and Rozanov are together? We think not.
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‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
“You’re sure about this, man?”
Shane looks up, trying to keep the panic from his eyes as he nods at Hayden. The other man gives him an encouraging smile and reaches behind Shane’s neck to unclasp his chain, pulling the ring off of it and handing it over.
“You didn’t do it right,” Shane grumbles, sliding it onto his own finger. Hayden rolls his eyes.
“What, you want me to get on one knee?”
Shane feels the cool weight of the ring on his finger, adjusting it with his thumb. He’s yet to wear it out like this, in public, where he knows there’s going to be dozens of cameras on him. But he’s sick and tired of the media spinning things, so he knows he needs to set it clear. And what better way to do it than at a press conference following their shutout win against the Admirals.
“I’ll be in the back,” Hayden reminds him as they make their way to the media room, his hand lingering on Shane’s back. “Just… I don’t know. Start making bird noises if you need me to step in.”
“Yeah, that’ll be a good headline,” Shane says dryly. “Shane Hollander is gay, engaged to his rival, and also dabbles in bird calls.”
“Everyone needs a hobby.”
Shane exhales in relief when Hayden squeezes the nape of his neck, trying to keep his anxiety down. He knows how this is going to go. They’re going to spot the ring, ask about it, and then, like Shane and Ilya practiced, he will lean forward into the microphone and confess that the Hollander-Rozanov name will officially become hyphenated in the summer. It’s flawless - nothing can go wrong.
“Shane, good game today,” one of the journalists starts. “This season has been one of your best, and though Montreal won’t be advancing further to the cup this year, we are still very proud of your efforts. Now, before we start, can we ask about the ring?”
Shane can feel his pulse drumming in his throat. He looks at Hayden, who gives him an encouraging smile and two thumbs up, and clears his throat once before addressing the journalist.
“Of course,” he starts. The room goes quiet, everyone waiting to find a line to write down to sell their story. He takes a slow, deep breath through his nose. “Three weeks ago, I got engaged.”
The energy of the room instantly bursts. Shane winces as he’s suddenly yelled at by multiple reporters, all desperate to be the one to ask the question. He looks over at the only journalist waiting patiently with her hand in the air and nods toward her.
“Who’s the lucky lady?”
And - really. Shane should expect it. He’s never come out to anyone except his close friends and family, and there’s no reason to assume he’s not straight. But still, the way everyone immediately assumed it’s a woman rubs him the wrong way. He takes a sip of water and inhales slowly.
“I, uh…” he finds his way back to Hayden again. “It might come as a shock - I mean, it will come as a shock, but I want to share that… that Ilya Rozanov and I are together. Romantically.”
And… well. Perhaps it’s the way he says it. Hesitant, afraid, meek. Maybe it’s the awkward laugh he gives when the entire room silences itself. Shane isn’t sure what it is exactly, but all he knows is that a beat goes by, then another, then everyone is bursting out laughing.
“That’s a good one, Hollander,” a reporter near the front chuckles. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Best of luck to you and the bride.”
Shane feels he may explode. He blinks a few times, trying to contain his disappointed surprise, when the questions quickly turn to his performance on the ice. He answers on autopilot, feeling completely separated from his body, and picks the same female journalist as before. She stands and clears her throat.
“Shane, does your joke about marrying Ilya Rozanov have anything to do with the fact that your team just wiped out the Admirals, captained by the openly gay Scott Hunter?”
Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I- what?”
Before he can try and defend himself, his agent ends the press conference, kicking everyone out as Shane collapses his head onto the table in front of him. He feels a sympathetic hand land on his back.
“That was a fucking disaster,” he groans out to Hayden, who hisses through his teeth in agreement, then keeps a comforting hand on his arm the whole drive back to the airport.
It isn’t until the next day, the beginning of their four day break, when Shane realizes exactly how much of a disaster this truly is. He’s back in Ottawa with Ilya, stomach full of meal prep and head full of joy, when his phone buzzes once. Then twice. Then upwards of ten times while he rushes to grab it.
“Shane, this is bad,” his mom says in lieu of a greeting. He puts the phone on speaker and motions for Ilya to come over. “Have you checked the news?”
“Have I… what?” Shane reaches for Ilya’s phone. He types in the password and tries to keep his breathing even as he spots the headline.
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HOMOPHOBIC HOLLANDER?!
Breaking News:
Shane Hollander of the Montreal Metros accused of homophobia after making an insensitive joke regarding gay marriage. This is especially hurtful due to its timing — following a shutout game against the New York Admirals, where Captain Scott Hunter resides as the only openly gay player in the MLH.
Our insider source confirms this is not the first time Hollander has expressed his negative opinion on the LGBT+ community, and has stated, “Shane’s an old fashioned kinda guy. He’s fine with that gay s**t, he just doesn’t want it shoved down his throat. Doesn’t want anything shoved down his throat, if you know what I mean.”
Our team has reached out to Hollander’s representative staff and is awaiting a response.
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Shane exits out of the tab and goes on Twitter, heart falling out of his ass when he sees what the first trending search is:
Shane Hollander Homophobic
He clicks on it, ears ringing as he scrolls through hundreds - thousands - of tweets accusing him of being something he’s physically incapable of being. Ilya picks up Shane’s phone, taking it off speaker and quietly talking to Yuna while Shane works himself up.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-“
Ilya takes the phone away from him, pulling it out of reach when he swings for it again. “You are done.”
“What the fuck are they saying?” Shane tries to grab at it, but Ilya holds it away, shaking his head. “Give me the fucking phone, Ilya.”
“No,” Ilya repeats. Shane realizes he must have been scrolling for a while, because Ilya is off the phone with Yuna, and the sun is starting to peek behind the horizon. He tries one more time for the phone before Ilya puts it down, grabbing Shane by the wrists tightly and holding him in place. “Will do nothing but make you panic.”
“I’m already fucking panicking!”
“Then there is nothing we can do right this second.” Ilya tightens his grip, just slightly, so Shane feels the sting of his fingernails against his skin. He coughs out a rapid breath and shakes his head.
“I’m so fucked. I’m so fucked,” Shane rambles, eyes burning with tears. “Shit. I need to call Scott. He’s gonna think I’m a piece of shit. I need to talk to my publicist, I need-“
“You need to breathe,” Ilya cuts him off, shaking him slightly. “You will pass out.”
“I just- I’m so fucking stupid, I can’t even come out properly. I’m such a fucking idiot-“
Shane is interrupted when Ilya presses him back against the fridge, the cool surface grounding him slightly as it digs into his back. He’s hyperventilating now, sucking in breath quicker than he can exhale it, and Ilya moves his grip to his waist, pulling him in for a tight hug and squeezing him from every angle.
“You’re okay, Shane. You need to breathe.”
“I’m gonna get fired, they’re gonna sue me, everyone’s gonna fucking hate me,” he rambles, fists tight where they’re grasping the back of Ilya’s sweater.
“Shane,” Ilya pulls back slightly. He cups his face. “Do you forget you are not actually homophobic?”
Shane blinks. Oh. “I’m… I’m not…?”
Ilya’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools his impression. “No, sweetheart. You are not homophobic. You are gay.”
“Can’t it be, like… internalized or something?” Shane asks, wide eyed and teary. Ilya deserves a medal for the way he doesn’t laugh at him. “Like, can’t I be homophobic from the inside?”
“I am very close with your insides,” Ilya soothes, though he can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “I would know if they were.”
Shane swats him away. He braces his hands behind him, taking a few deep breaths, and tries to make a plan in his head as he considers what to do first. He considers his priorities as he dials Scott Hunter’s phone number.
“Hey, rook,” Scott greets, his voice easy. Shane squeezes his eyes shut and puts the phone on speaker.
“Look, Mister Hunter, I’m sure you’ve seen everything going on. I just want to say that I am so- so sorry, and that they completely twisted my words,” he begins, chewing on his thumbnail as he rambles. “I promise you, I’m not homophobic. I believe love is love! And - uh, even if it’s gay love, I’m supportive. I mean, I guess I kind of have to be-“
“Rook,” Scott cuts him off. “You sound like you’re about to keel over.”
“I just-“ Shane takes a shaky breath. “If I’m being honest, sir, this complete shit show is my own fault. I’ve been trying to, you know, come out for the past year. Ilya and I - Rozanov, obviously - have been trying to go public with our relationship, which - uh! Surprise! We’re together! But, uh, it’s just… not working.”
There’s a dead, tense sort of silence on the other end of the line. Shane thinks he’s dug himself in such a deep hole that he’s gonna have to lay in the dirt forever. Ilya rubs a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.
“Sorry…” Scott finally speaks. “Let me get this straight. You two have been trying to come out?”
“Hah, yeah,” Shane laughs awkwardly. “I mean, we tried with the pictures in fall, then that interview, then the club, then the - what was it again? Oh, the pictures on Instagram, and I just - I finally got enough courage to just say it. And nobody believes us.”
Silence again. Scott shifts on the other end of the phone. “Right. So… I have to confess something.”
Ilya’s head tilts a little from his spot next to Shane. Scott takes a deep breath before continuing.
“I, uh. I may be at fault here.”
“You what?” Ilya finally speaks, his gaze hardening into a glare as he stares down Scott’s contact. “What do you mean?”
“You know how… uh… every time you guys did something, there was always an article that came out? And the, uh, the inside source or whatever was denying it?”
Shane blinks. Ilya makes a little mhm noise.
“Yeah. That… that might have been me.”
The phone nearly slips out of Shane’s hand in shock. He puts it down on the counter, bracing his hands on either side of it, and bends down. “You… you were the reason nobody believed a word we said?”
“I thought… I don’t know. I thought you guys were just a little dumb. That you were being outed. I didn’t want it to go down like that, so I just… called up some news anchors and lied.”
Ilya’s hand stills on his back. Shane thinks he may throw up.
“I’m sorry, guys. I really didn’t mean to cause this much harm. I just… I thought you posted those stories by accident, or you got hacked, or Rozanov had a slip up during that interview.”
“I fucking-“ Shane takes a breath. “I told an entire goddamn press conference that we were engaged.”
“Yeah. That one wasn’t my smartest move,” Scott replies sheepishly. “I should’ve just asked you guys, but I know how… uh… how defensive you can get. I didn’t want to make this harder than it had to be.”
Ilya takes the phone. “This is your fault, Hunter. You fix this.”
The line goes dead.
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
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HOLLANOV CONFIRMED
The past year has been a whirlwind of drama surrounding hockey players Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. Their alleged romance was confirmed to be true when, overnight, photos were shared online of a private wedding between the two. The pictures depicted Hollander and Rozanov standing hand in hand, sharing an incredibly intimate (and, quite frankly, far too raunchy) first kiss as husband and husband.
As everything else to do with the LGBT+ community and the MLH, we have Scott Hunter to thank for the confirmation. The images were shared to his public Instagram account, with the caption:
“Sorry I locked you two in the closet.”
Hunter ended his three-slide post with a ten second video of the newlyweds dancing, and though we will take responsibility for everything said on this website, we do not wish to redact our statement regarding Hollander’s dancing skills. For everything else, we apologize from the bottom of our hearts for the confusion and speculations shared about the two players. We have since blocked the number of our inside source.
This is among many big news breaks for Shane Hollander, who signed to join the Ottawa Centaurs next season to be alongside his husband.
We wish the pair a happy, healthy, and cup-winning marriage, and urge all readers to do their own research before publicly stating their opinions. Fully and honestly:
Our bad.
Read more about Scott Hunter’s activism below:
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