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The morning at the gate had eventually dissolved into the usual chaos that followed a team waking up in public. The Centaurs looked less like professional athletes right now and more like a group of sleep-deprived college students who had survived a long night at the airport.
Hair was messy. Jackets were wrinkled. Half the team was clutching coffee like it was life support. But the mood had improved the moment the gate agent finally announced their rescheduled flight.
Boarding was in twenty minutes now. Everyone perked up immediately. Equipment bags were quickly zipped. Chargers unplugged. Jackets thrown back on.
Across the seating area, Shane was adjusting the strap of his carry on while Ilya stood beside him finishing his last of a bottle of water.
Shane looked significantly more awake than he had two hours earlier. Mostly because he had spent the entire morning defending himself.
“I cannot believe you people took pictures,” Shane muttered for probably the tenth time.
Nearby, Bood leaned against the back of a chair with a grin. “Oh relax, Hollander. It was adorable.”
“It was private.” Shane spat back.
Wyatt snorted from behind him. “You were asleep on the airport floor holding hands with your husband.”
Shane shrugged.
“That’s not private, dude.” Wyatt spat right back at him.
Shane glared. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”
Ilya, standing next to him, just looked faintly amused. He bumped his shoulder lightly against Shane’s. “You survived.”
Shane looked at him like he’d personally betrayed him. “I survived because of you.”
“Exactly.” Ilya smirked.
Across the gate area, Harris sat hunched over his phone. He had the expression of someone doing something extremely stupid. And extremely funny. He scrolled through the photos again.
There were several.
The best one—the best one—was the one Evan had taken from a slightly elevated angle.
Shane and Ilya curled toward each other on the airport floor. Backpacks under their heads. Hands linked together between them. It looked ridiculously soft.
Harris grinned. “Oh yeah,” he muttered to himself. “This one.”
He opened Instagram and typed quickly.
Flight cancelled. Team had to sleep in the airport like animals.
Meanwhile Rozanov and Hollander turned it into a hallmark movie.
He attached the photo. Then tagged them both. @ShaneHollander24 @IlyaRozanov81
He hovered over the post button for exactly one second. Then he hit it.
Upload. Done.
Harris locked his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. Completely satisfied.
None of them noticed. Not Shane. Not Ilya. Not anyone else.
Because the boarding announcement started at that exact moment.
“Passengers for Flight 247 to Ottawa are now boarding…”
The team grabbed their bags. The moment moved on. And somewhere on the internet, the post began spreading.
Within twenty minutes it had already passed ten thousand likes.
Within an hour it had reached all of hockey Twitter.
Someone reposted it with the caption: “WHEN THE CAPTAIN AND HIS HUSBAND FALL ASLEEP HOLDING HANDS AT THE AIRPORT???”
Fans started screaming. People zoomed in on the photo. Someone circled their hands in red. Someone else pointed out the backpacks as pillows. Another person noticed the snow outside the windows.
It was, objectively, a perfect candid. And the fact that neither Shane nor Ilya had acknowledged it yet made the internet even more feral.
Meanwhile, thirty thousand feet in the air, Shane and Ilya had absolutely no idea.
Shane had turned his phone onto airplane mode almost immediately after the initial boarding call. He shoved it into this pocket without even checking any notifications. Ilya had done the same.
The entire team was mostly asleep again within fifteen minutes of takeoff. Harris, sitting three rows back, watched the like count climb every time he briefly checked his phone before switching to airplane mode himself.
By the time they landed, the post had completely exploded.
Ottawa greeted them with gray skies and cold air. The team shuffled through the terminal like a group of zombies after the early flight.
Shane pulled his phone out as they walked toward baggage claim. The moment airplane mode turned off—
His phone buzzed. Once.
Then again.
Then again.
Then again.
Shane frowned.
“What the—”
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Ilya glanced over. “Why is your phone going off like it is dying.”
“I don't know.” Shane looked down at the screen.
Notifications were stacking up faster than he could read them with mention, tags, and texts. Dozens of them.
“What the hell happened?” Shane was asking himself quietly
His phone buzzed again.
A text from Shane’s mom popped up in the family group chat that included Shane, Ilya, David, and Yuna.
Mom: You and Ilya look adorable.
Shane blinked. “What?”
Another message came through immediately after.
Dad: Your mother showed me the picture. Very cute.
Shane froze. Slowly. Very slowly.
He turned toward Ilya. “Umm…did we post something?”
Ilya frowned. “No?”
Shane opened the message thread. Yuna had already sent the picture.
The airport photo. The one of them sleeping. Hands clasped together.
Shane stared at it in horror. “Oh my god.”
Ilya leaned over his shoulder, then went very still. “Where did this come from?”
Shane scrolled back up. Yuna had included a link to the original post.
Shane clicked it. The Instagram page loaded.
Posted by: Harris Drover
Shane made a noise somewhere between a scream and a groan. “HARRIS!” Several teammates looked up from their phones.
“What?” Harris spoke from behind him.
Shane spun around. “You posted it?!”
Haas blinked innocently. “Posted what?”
Shane shoved the phone in his face. The picture. The likes. The comments.
The number was already in the millions.
Harris burst out laughing. “Oh yeah that blew up.”
“You knew?!” Shane tried to lower his voice.
Troy looked over Harris’ shoulder, then started laughing too. “Oh my god it has 79 thousand likes.”
Boyle nearly dropped his bag. “No way.”
Troy grabbed his own phone. “Last time I checked.”
Shane looked like he might pass out. “I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t.” Troy informed him, knowing Shane loved all of them in his own way.
Ilya took the phone from Shane’s hand and studied the post again.
His expression didn’t change much. But there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “You tagged us.”
Haas shrugged. “Of course. You’re the stars.”
Shane buried his face in his hands. “My parents saw it first.”
Bood laughed. “Your parents?”
Shane groaned. “I found out when my mom texted me, you know.”
Bood clapped Harris on the shoulder. “Worth it.”
LaPointe nodded. “Absolutely worth it.”
Ilya handed the phone back to Shane. Then rested a hand briefly on the back of his neck. “Could be worse.”
Shane looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t see how.”
Ilya shrugged. “You could still hate sleeping on floor.”
Shane stared at him for a long moment. Then sighed. “Oh, I still hate sleeping on the floor.”
Behind them, Haas refreshed the post again. The like count kept climbing. And the comment section had completely lost its mind.