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Shane is in Ottawa, specifically sitting on Ilya’s couch – watching his game against Boston – waiting for him to come home.
The couch is comfortable as he nurses his ginger ale. They had been apart for only 2 weeks this time, though it still felt like an eternity. It always did.
So, he was excited about the fact that they had 3 days this time. 4 days if Shane skipped the non-mandatory practice – he probably would, for the first time in his whole life.
Because he just loves Ilya. Too much, he thinks sometimes.
He also has a different reason to be excited, though. They’re nearing the end of the season and Shane was planning on telling him that he wants to come out.
Because he does.
He wants to so badly it hurts.
His contract with the Voyageurs ends at the end of this season. It’s genuinely a good idea – he thought, a new start – so he is going to surprise Ilya with the fact that he’s signing with the Centaurs.
He doesn’t even want another season with his team.
So, he sits here, like a teenage boy, giddy. On Ilya’s couch because he knows what he’s about to tell his fiance.
He’s made peace with the fact that the Voyageurs weren’t supportive. He had already done that – a long time ago. Maybe even since Scott Hunter had come out.
Especially since he came out to his team – they weren’t outright hateful but they might as well have been with the way they reacted,
Either way, it’s been a long time coming and he’s glad with the decision he has made.
And the next couple of days were the perfect moment to share that with him.
He stares at the tv in front of him.
Ilya has the puck, he’s driving it flying forward against the boards and passes it onto Haas who’s waiting on when Ilya passes the puck – Haas takes it gracefully, and even goddamn scores, which makes Shane cheer involuntarily – but not before Ilya gets checked.
Ilya hits the boards hard, he hits them harder than is normal.
He gets pushed into the boards aggressively by a Boston defenseman. It’s not a normal push – it’s the kind of push you give when you’re still secretly harbouring hard feelings for your ex-teammate.
Shane doesn’t catch the defenseman’s name.
Nor does he care.
He can’t care as he’s watching Ilya go down.
Go down hard.
It’s not a normal hit – he thinks. It’s a hit that he can only hope has him out of the game for ‘just’ a couple of weeks.
It does seems normal at first.
But then Ilya doesn’t get up.
But there is blood.
Too much.
There is way too much blood.
Fuck.
Medics scramble to get to Ilya.
Boodram had already been fighting the defenceman.
Hayes – the fucking goalie, goalie – had joined in to help him.
Shane is grateful about that for a moment – he is grateful until the camera pans back to Ilya – laying quietly on the ice.
Marleau has even given the defenceman a hit.
Shit.
This is bad.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
This is really bad.
More blood.
Ilya gets lifted onto a stretcher.
Shane looks at the puddle – no, heap – of blood on the floor.
He tries to look back at Ilya but the camera has already been panned away.
Shit.
Who even is Ilya’s emergency number?
He prays to god that it’s someone who knows about them.
No one knows about them.
Not except for his parents, Hayden and Rose.
Fuck.
This is all his fault.
They – he – should have told more people. He should have allowed Ilya to tell more people.
But it’s too late.
Ilya has left the screen and all Shane is staring at is the players going to their respective sides.
“There’s only one hospital in Ottawa.” His moms voice rings through his head, “If anything ever happens to me or dad, you go there, okay?”
Fuck.
He can go see Ilya.
He knows where Ilya is.
He doesn’t even know when his mom had told him that.
He must have been, what? Nine years old?
He doesn’t care, not for one second.
Wind blows in his face as he steps outside of the door.
He’s wearing one of Ilya’s hoodies and he doesn’t have the time to go back and grab a coat.
He should be grateful that he had the decency to put on shoes.
The car ride there might be the longest and quickest he’s ever gone. It feels too slow – way too slow – though, on the other hand, he’s sure he’s speeding 10 kilometers over the speed limit at all times.
He gets about 5 minutes into the drive until tears start streaming down his face.
What if Ilya wasn’t okay.
What if the hit had been bad enough to kill him.
What if Ilya can’t remember Shane from the force of the hit.
From the blunt rotation of his head bleaching out any memory he’s ever had.
Every possible worst case scenario hits him for the next 15 minutes until he stops himself at the worst.
What if he’s not allowed to go see him? And what if they won't believe him when he introduces himself as his fiance at the front desk. What if Ilya dies and no one will believe him.
He needs to calm himself the fuck down because he’s about 1 minute away from the hospital now.
He parks his car – quickly, and probably really messily. He doesn’t give a single shit about that right now.
He’s walking to the front desk when he gets stopped, panting, probably looking like shit, with his eyes red as blood and looking like a lunatic.
He realises he has the hood of Ilya’s hoodie still on, he scrambles to take it off only to stare straight into Troy Barret his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing in Ottawa?” He asks, his voice also raspy and still.
Shane pants, sheer panic spreading through every centimeter of his body.
Suddenly he gets cold, really cold.
“I–” He can’t finish his sentence because Barrett is already speaking again.
“If you’re here to fuck with him, please leave.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh God, Shane’s actually here. In public.
He looks to his left where about half of the Ottawa centaurs are sitting, all in different stages of distress but shocked to see the Montreal captain here to check in on theirs.
Something different surges through him, happiness, this time.
Ilya is loved.
Really loved.
He’s loved enough for someone to stop Shane from seeing his rival-turned-friend – fucking fiance, actually – simply because he might fuck with him.
“No, I–” His voice is gone again, hoarse and broken.
Barrett drops his hands from his shoulders as he realises.
Shane sees the moment Barrett realises.
Sudden fear washes over again. But it disappears just as quick when he looks Barrett in the eye to see him give a stern nod.
He remembers how Ilya was so glad to finally tell someone he was bisexual. To be able to tell anyone, finally.
And now he realises why exactly Ilya chose Barrett, he genuinely looks nice in this moment.
Nothing like the Toronto defenseman he once was.
Barrett stares at him with what could only be described as understanding.
Barrett gives him another nod and lets go of his shoulders.
He leans in for a second, “Go see him, I won’t tell.”
Relief floods him fully.
He hadn’t even realised how scared he was about that.
“Thank you.” He simply responds while walking over to the front desk.
The receptionist is surprised to see him – clearly recognising who he is, he hopes to be wrong because of the information he is about to give – though he doesn’t seem unkind. The man just looks at him sympathetically.
He sucks in a deep breath.
“I need to see Ilya Rozanov.” He ends up with, he hopes it comes off at least half as composed over as he wants it to. Because he doesn’t feel any bit composed.
The love of his life could be dead right now.
Laying on an operation table – unmoving and cold.
The man types something on his computer, looking at his screen briefly before looking back up at Shane.
“I just need you to confirm your relations with Mr Rozanov.”
Something hard catched him inside his throat which stops him from speaking momentarily.
He looks back to his left at the Centaurs who are trying – failing miserably – to make it seem like they’re not listening to what he’s saying.
He decides to not give a shit and blurts out the first words he can think of.
“I’m–” He stumbles over the first word.
Fucking idiot.
He tries again, this time succeeding.
“I’m his fiance.”
He tries to whisper it as silently as he can, but by how he’s feeling and how his throat is closing up he should be glad he was able to say anything at all.
He hopes no one heard it except for the guy in front of him.
The man stares at him with wide eyes – he definitely knows who they both are, because if you know one of them, you know the other – “If you’re lying that is a serious crime and can be–”
“I’m not lying, I–” He holds up his hand which holds his ring up and hopes that that hopefully somehow proves it.
Shane lets out another shaky exhale as the receptionist nods.
“He’s currently in surgery but will be in room 3.14 when he’s done.” The man smiles nicely while reading whatever is on his screen.
“Is he– Will he be okay?” Shane asks, his throat slowly opening up again.
“His condition is stable as of right now, you can go take a seat in the waiting room. I’ll inform his doctor that his family is here, you’ll be the first to receive updates.” His family, that sounds nice. Really nice.
His throat fully lets go of the lumps in it as the words leave the man’s mouth.
Ilya will be okay.
He’s sure he looks physically more relaxed.
The moment only stretches so wide as he realised that there might be additional problems.
The Centaurs are in the waiting room – or what was called a room, it really was just in the main entrance area – Ilya said that they will be supportive.
He goddamn hopes they will.
He slowly makes his way to a water dispenser and grabs a cup.
One side of him is screaming that it’s insanely unhygienic to just grab water out of a dispenser like this. but his other half is dead inside and he can only hope that water will fill that.
As if water could ever fill the emptiness that Ilya being gone would cause him.
His other half wins.
He puts the cup under the dispenser and watches water slowly pour into it.
Shane takes the cup to his mouth to take a sip.
He chokes on the first.
His throat allows the second and third.
He walks over to the waiting room filled with large hockey players – all of which look incredibly small right now – he recognises them all immediately.
He also just doesn’t give a shit about that right now.
He takes another sip.
After which his phone rings.
The constant buzz of the ringing shakes him a bit as he spills some of the water over him, “Fuck,” he mutters silently under his breath.
He leans over to put the cup on the table in front of him before grabbing his phone.
It’s his mom.
Of course it’s his mom.
He picks up almost immediately.
The woman on the other end sounds nothing like his mother, though he knows it is by the way his dad is reassuring her in the background.
Jesus Christ, she sounds almost as distraught as he is.
“Mom,” He pleads, almost like a prayer, knowing the way his tone is sounding. Knowing she knows what state he is in even over the phone.
Boodram looks at him for a studying second before turning back to his phone.
He’s still not sure if they had heard his earlier words.
“Sweetheart,” Yuna says over the phone, “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know mom, I–”
He pauses, the lump in his throat back.
He forces himself to calm down.
“I said it, I mean, I told the guy at the reception that he’s my fiance.”
He whispers the last word as quietly as possible.
But he did say it – in front of an entire NHL team.
He finds it weird that he sounds relieved.
He’s glad that he said it, that it’s off his chest.
Like some stone was weighing him down.
But he also knows that he doesn’t know how far this will go, who heard and who will tell people.
It’s like throwing a pebble in a lake and not knowing how far the rings of water created by the force of the stone will travel.
It’s scary.
It’s the not knowing.
Though he doesn’t care for that right now as he listens to his mother talk.
“Have they told you anything yet?” She asks, a little less distraught.
“He’s in surgery, but because I informed…it they’ll tell me first. I guess I really am just his closest family.” His voice breaks on the last word and he has to force himself to not cry again.
“Okay sweety, call us, okay? We’ll be there when he’s ready.” She says.
“I will, bye mom, I love you.”
He hangs up before she can say it back.
He doesn’t care.
He starts tapping his foot on the floor instead.
He looks down before his head is forced back up by a voice a couple of minutes later.
“He’ll be okay, Luca, I promise you.”
It’s Hayes – he sees as he looks to his left.
Haas, Luca Haas, star-rookie, is crying because his captain is in danger.
And Wyatt Hayes, their goalie, is rubbing his back reassuringly.
Maybe Ilya was fucking right.
Maybe this team is amazing.
Haas looks up at Hayes with a soft glimmer in his eyes.
He then looks at Shane who averts his gaze immediately.
“’M sorry.” Is all he can get out quietly.
He hopes, really hopes, that he isn’t on their bad side already.
It’s then Dyckstra who speaks next.
Shane looks up at the man, he doesn’t stare back back, probably not even noticing Shane, as he starts speaking.
“He’s seeing a girl right? Jane, or something like that. She should be informed, right?”
His voice might be just as cracked as everyone else’s was.
Shane lets out aloud breathless laugh,
Had he not fucking heard the words that had just left Shane’s mouth.
Shane chokes on the sip of water he was already struggling to work through his throat.
“No, he’s not seeing a girl.”
He pulls his hoodie back over his head.
Everyone still looks at him.
“Wait–” Someone mentions, somehow not having seen him before.
“Hollander, why are you–”
He tries not to cry when he hears his name.
He fails.
Another tear streams down his face.
Barrett looks at him with a knowing look.
Shane lifts his cup in acknowledgement, trying not to show his face as he slumps even further back into his seat.
Hayes leaves Luca’s side as he sits next to Shane.
“You’re like his best friend now, right?” He asks.
Shane lets out another choked out and dry laugh.
Hayes looks slightly taken aback and takes his hand abruptly off of his back where it was in the same place as it has been on Haas’.
Shane tries to stop tapping his foot, though he knows he’ll fall back into it in a few seconds.
He finishes his water.
“I– uh–” He tries.
He’s done a lot of fucking trying for one day, he thinks.
Ilya wants to come out – he can say it.
“It’s okay, I get it.” Hayes attempts to reassure him.
“No. You don’t, I–”
It comes out mean and cold.
He probably looks mean and cold right now.
And still Hayes has walked up to him.
Jesus.
Why can’t he just fucking say it.
He seems like fucking a dick.
“We– Ilya and I–,” He corrects.
“–are in a relationship. Engaged, actually.”
He chokes less than he thought he would on the words.
He chuckles again.
Everyone knows it’s not because it’s a funny situation.
Everyone knows it’s out of the desperation of love.
“Wow.” Is the first response, he doesn’t track who says it.
Shane looks at his water like he regrets finishing it already.
“I’m sorry, this is not how we wanted to tell you.” Shane says, everyone’s eyes now fully looking at him.
He doesn’t feel judged.
He isn’t judged.
They don’t really care.
They don’t care at all.
It feels like they’re fine with this.
They’re fine with this.
They probably still love Ilya.
They still love Ilya.
They–
“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, but are you okay?”–
‘Of course it’s okay’ like he wouldn’t be called slurs and worse if he were to tell his own team.
Like he wouldn’t be hate-crimed if he ever dared to tell his team.
Like they wouldn’t write slurs on his locker and jersey if he did tell them.
Well, they had already done that, not that he would ever tell anyone, though.
Because they’re right, it is wrong.
Not that he cares right now, because he loves Ilya.
For some sick reason.
–It’s the man he recognises as Zane Boodram, the man sitting opposite of him.
“No I– Fuck no I’m not.”
They let him speak.
“It’s really not okay. None of it is.”
‘I should just be normal’ Those words are left unspoken. Left in the empty part inside of him that knows it’s still wrong. That he’s still wrong. That he should have a wife, maybe a kid or two.
That it shouldn’t feel this right.
That being with a man – being with Ilya – shouldn’t feel this right.
Nevermind feel right at all.
“Ilya, he could be– what if he’s dead.”
His voice cracks again.
“Every fucking thing we went through, long distance, 10 years of being nothing but physical and a fucking plane crash and what kills him is what we both love.”
He chuckles again.
He doesn’t feel happy.
He feels like dying.
He doesn’t realise what he had said before someone’s already speaking.
“Shane, Shane Hollander?”
He looks up at the doctor standing in front of him.
He bites the inside of his cheek.
He draws blood.
Definitely not as much as Ilya had lost, he thinks.
“You’re Ilya Rozanov, his…boyfriend?” The doctor questions, slightly unprofessionally.
Shane doesn’t give a shit.
He nods, “Fiance, but yes.”
“And you’re okay with these people also being in this room while I share how he is?” The woman asks, looking around curiously, though this time not unprofessionally.
Hayes’ eyes go wide next to him as if saying ‘Fucking please let us be in here.’
More eyes open at him, pleading.
“Yeah,” He mutters silently, “Of course, they’re his family.”
He says the last part more towards the men than to the doctor in front of him.
She smiles at him reassuringly, “Okay, we’re glad to inform you that he will be okay. You can go see him.”
Shane eyes go wide as his heart flies back up to his chest from where it had sank towards the bottom of his stomach.
He doesn’t track what the doctor finishes saying – not really.
Ilya is okay.
Ilya is alive.
They will get married.
They will be on the same team.
They will be happy.
Ilya will be happy.
And he hopefully will too.
Before he gets control of his own body he gets up and scrambles towards the elevator.
“Thank you.” He says to her, “Thank you, thank you so much.”
Before he leaves he says one more thing.
“He’s in room 3.14, please come if you want to.”
The elevator opens as he reaches the third floor.
He finds room 14 and immediately opens the door.
Ilya is there.
Ilya is still alive.
He moves to go sit next to him and grabs his hand.
It’s still warm and he can still feel a pulse.
Ilya’s eyes open fluttering a few minutes later.
He looks around like he’s confused at who is holding his–
“Shaaanee,” he says happily before looking around.
There are a few nurses in the room.
He gestures for Shane to move a little closer so he can whisper something.
He does whisper something.
“We’re not alone,” he slurs.
“Shane, they can see us.”
Ilya looks like he’s worried that Shane will be mad.
Shane isn’t mad.
Not at all.
Instead, Shane feels the tears pooling in his eyes.
Begging to come out.
Instead he represses them.
“I know sweetheart, it’s okay.”
“Shane,” Ilya says again, every time after the other it comes out more prayer-like.
“You came.”
“Of course I did, asshole, you went down.”
Shane presses a kiss against Ilya’s forehead.
“Everyone came, Ilya, everyone loves you.” He murmurs – more to himself than to Ilya – as he runs his fingers through Ilya tousled curls.
“They–” Ilya stumbles over his words – like tasting his tongue in his mouth for the first time.
“Say it in Russian, sweetheart.” He tells Ilya, his hand never leaving Ilya’s cheek.
“They know?” He manages to get out, Shane sees he’s trying – and failing – to repress a smile.
“Yeah, they do.”
He smiles fondly.
And then Shane lets out a shaky breath.
“Fuck– God, Ilya I was so scared, I thought you were gone. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
He explains and Ilya furrows his brow.
He strokes his thumb over Ilya’s brow – hoping to unfurrow it.
It works a little bit.
“Shane, what do you mean?”
Ilya asks worriedly.
“I’m done with it. With hiding.” He explains.
Ilya’s furrow immediately gets replaced by a smile.
Ilya tries to reach his hand up to cup Shane’s face but winces.
Shane grabs his instead.
“I want to tell people, and I want to tell the world. And I want to leave Montreal and I want to join the Centaurs.”
Another tear streams down his cheek.
As does one down Ilya’s.
He wipes it away instinctively.
Someone chokes from behind Shane.
“Booood!” Ilya exclaims excitedly.
“Did you hear that! Shane will join us!”
“I did, Roz.” Bood smiles fondly.
Shane looks around to look at him.
“If that’s okay, of course, I–”
“If that’s okay? First we bag Rozanov and then we get Hollander? This is like every hockey player's wet dream.”
Shane forces another tear back into his eyes.
They really don’t care.
Except if they had all forgotten somehow.
Before he can explain again Ilya is already shaking his head.
“Nuh uh, not true.” His accent is thick with the medicine coursing through his blood.
“Shane Hollander is my wet dream.”
He states it proudly.
Shane shuts Ilya off with a hand on his mouth.
“Ilya!” He reprimands like a mother punishing her child.
Ilya licks it.
Shane doesn’t pull away.
Then, Ilya presses his tongue against Shane’s hand and leaves it out of his mouth.
Shane finally pulls away.
He wipes his hand on Ilya’s shirt.
“Ew, gross, Roz.”
He hears Hayes state as he walks in.
Shane winces.
He winces hard.
Everyone probably sees it.
He waits for the guys to continue.
He waits for another ‘Ew,’ not because of teasing but because of ‘he’s a faggot.’
He holds Ilya’s hand tighter and braces his shoulders like waiting for a physical hit.
Except they don’t.
They don’t continue.
And Hayes stares at Shane with immediate regret – though Shane can’t see it at this moment.
This time Ilya’s hand does come up to cup his face.
“It’s okay, солнышко.” Ilya whispers silently.
He traces his thumb over Shane’s cheek.
Shane thinks back to when he had come out to his team and all he had gotten were slurs and hateful comments.
And Ilya had held him all night telling him it would be okay.
Ilya had lost the game the next day.
From staying up and getting no sleep.
Ilya said he didn’t care and that he only cared about Shane.
Shane didn’t get that, not fully. Not until now, where he would throw every game for Ilya to be okay.
Now, he realises, he would score a goal in his own fucking net if that made Ilya be okay.
He realises his shoulders are still raised.
He can’t get them down.
It’s a trauma response.
“Shane, it’s okay, Wyatt is just joking.” Ilya pulls Shane a bit closer to him.
Ilya presses a kiss against his forehead, then a little lower to reach his lips.
Shane hesitates.
Shane also sees the moment Ilya notices he’s hesitating.
Ilya forcefully pulls him closer to kiss him.
The kiss is incredibly gentle.
Neither of them have their mouths open.
It feels more like a warm embrace than it does a kiss.
Ilya’s lips are chapped but familiar.
Shane pulls his head back again after a few seconds.
Ilya gestures back to Bood, Hayes and now also Haas and Dyckstra standing there.
Shane doesn’t look.
He can’t look.
“Shane,” Ilya says weakly. “It’s okay.”
Shane breathes again.
Hayes speaks again.
“Hey, I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable–”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” He says it like he should be apologising for being in love with Ilya.
Should he?
“We’re not homophobic, or anything.” Hayes says quietly, giving Shane space.
“They accepted me when I came out.”
Shane is sure he has never turned his head that quickly.
He turns his head to meet Troy Barrett’s gaze.
Shane suddenly gets why Ilya wanted to tell Troy.
Shane is also suddenly aware that he’s staring at Barrett with his eyes wide and a shocked expression.
“You’re–?” He can’t get the words past his lips.
Not even past his throat, if he’s being technical.
“I know, I know, the league's biggest bigoted asshole turns out gay!” He says theatrically while waving his hands.
“Shane, I told you they would be okay.” Ilya says.
“I know, about a million times, but I never thought a hockey team could actually be accepting. I still don’t if we’re being honest.”
Shane lets out a shaking laugh.
“I’m sorry Ilya, I’m so fucking sorry.”
He lets his forehead rest against Ilya’s.
“I’m just so fucking scared.”
He leaves the words ‘I’m not even sure I accept myself’ in the cavern he had built in his heart of things he would never tell anyone.
Though it had opened once before.
Like a dam – pouring out uncontrollably – that time it had gone well, he thinks.
Because his heart had suddenly burst open when Ilya told him he loved him.
If he will ever share this though? He’s not sure.
“I love you so much, it’s scary.” Shane mumbles against Ilya’s lips.
“Ya bolshe tebya lyublyu, Shane.” Ilya says before kissing him again.
Shane fully leans in this time.
“You’re so brave.” Ilya says again between kisses.
Maybe for the millionth time in their life.
“Uhh…Bood?” A voice asks.
Shane doesn’t turn around because Ilya is already beaming at the man.
“Coach!” He smiles groggily.
“Hello Rozanov.” Wiebe smiles.
“Have you met my fiance yet?”
Shane’s cheeks turn beet red.
“Fiance!?” Hayes chokes out.
“Of course, I had to lock him down immediately.”
Ilya looks the happiest he has in a while, Shane thinks.
“Okay, Mr Rozanov,”
Shane pats his shoulder.
“There are three points I want to make, how the hell do you know what locking down someone means, I proposed to you, so I locked you down, we waited for way too long either way and please shut the fuck up before you say anything else.”
Shane concedes.
He tries to furrow his brow but a smile takes over his face instead.
“How long is way too long?” A shy voice, Shane recognizes it as Luca Haas’ voice, says.
Shane mutters something in terror and disbelief under his breath because Ilya is high and he’ll tell pretty much anything asked.
“Summer before rookie season!” Ilya beams.
“What the fuck.” Hayes gets out before he gets a hand shoved in his face.
“Ilya.” Shane disciplines with a faux-mean tone.
Shane shakes his head again.
He turns around to face coach Wiebe.
“Hi, everyone, I guess.” He smiles awkwardly.
“Rozanov,” Wiebe says.
“Are you that high or is Shane Hollander really your fiance?”
Shane returns the awkward smile.
“No, I mean, yes, we’re engaged.”
“And it’s serious?”
“Very serious!” Ilya adds helpfully.
“Shane will join us next season!” He smiles and the blush immediately takes over Shane’s face again.
Coach Wiebe opens his eyes wider if possible.
He sputters, clearly trying to get words out but failing.
“I– We don’t want to hide anymore, and my team wasn’t even supportive of me just being gay, let alone dating Ilya Rozanov, my contract ends this year and I’m fully willing to take a huge pay cut and–”
Wiebe cuts him off.
Shane continues his awkward smile.
Luca Haas looks like he had just seen a ghost and turns pale immediately – presumably from excitement.
“You’re actually–?” Wiebe asks.
“Yeah, I mean, we’re already out for the playoffs, I haven’t re-signed and I’m planning on signing with Ottawa as soon as the season ends.”
Ilya pulls on Shane’s hand to get him closer.
Ilya smirks.
He smirks knowingly.
“We will have long time at the cottage, where I will bend you–”
Luca Haas lets out a shocked breath from behind him.
Ilya promptly gets another hand shoved in his face – this time practically in his mouth.
“Nuh uh,” Shane smiles painfully, because he does feel the most embarrassed he has ever felt – probably.
“You’re going to fully heal before anything.”
Ilya pouts dramatically.
“And what did I say about speaking?”
Ilya tries to open his mouth.
Shane looks at him with a piercing gaze.
“Shane honest to god motherfucking Hollander has tamed Ilya Rozanov.”
Bood says, probably still taking everything in.
“It makes sense, they’re the only people at their level and they’re, like, two incredibly powerful sources pulled together by the universe – like it was its plan for them to end up together all along.”
Shane feels another dry tear fall from his cheek.
“Jesus Christ Haas.” Hayes says from beside him.
“Something tells me this isn't the first time you’ve thought about them being together.”
Dyckstra adds unhelpfully which makes Haas turn red immediately.
“No I mean I haven’t–”
"Oh, you so have.” Ilya jokes.
“It was trending on tumblr in like 2013 but you guys weren’t– wait, you actually were?”
"Together, I mean?”
Ilya smiles again.
Shane gives him another pointed look.
“Shane–”
“No, but yeah, we’ve been– uh–”
He chokes on the words.
How the hell is he about to explain that they’ve been hooking up for over a decade.
“We’ve been fucking since rookie season.”
Ilya takes him – forces? – him out of misery.
Well, at least he can blame it on Ilya and the drugs.
“Jesus, again, that’s like–”
“A long time, yeah.”