Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ilya Rozanov doesn't think the Montreal Metros deserve to have Shane Hollander on their mediocre team. Not when they only managed to reach the top after Shane practically dragged them there single-handedly, win after win.

He always found them arrogant, and not in the way the public constantly believes Ilya himself is, because, unlike the Metros, Rozanov is confident on the ice in a way they will never be.

He's really fucking great at what he does, and Ilya can boast about it without giving a shit at what anyone else says since he joined the Centaurs.

That's not the case with Montreal, which — especially in these last two seasons — depended solely on Hollander's skills to reach the playoffs and, last year, to win their third Cup.

Because Ilya isn't a fool, he isn't blind.

He is also not a goddamn idiot.

Those three Cups belong to Shane Hollander, not the Montreal Metros. 

They are Shane’s victories.

The legacy of Shane Hollander — one of the best players in the History of Hockey — which is being wasted on a morally fifth-rate team like the Metros.

When the absolute disaster of the FanMail incident happened a month ago, Pike apologized almost a million times to both Shane and Ilya but the damage was already done and irreversible.

In a cascading effect, all of their plans crumbled, and with them, Shane's heart.

The general atmosphere on the Montreal Metros team had been tense for the past two years, ever since Shane came out as gay to the team and was discouraged by management from ever coming out to the public if he wanted to keep representing the Montreal Metros legacy — Ilya at the time insisted that they were clearly threatening to trade Shane if any inappropriate news about his personal preferences ever came to light, and that this was wrong.

It was an intense fight with Shane, who didn't want to confront anyone or involve lawyers in a situation that would only be emotionally draining for him and not to mention, extremely public which was the complete opposite of their plans while all Ilya wanted to do was to march to the Montreal Metros management's office with Yuna and Farah behind him, ready to drop a lawsuit on them and yell in their faces.

But Shane had a meltdown just thinking about it actually happening, and after Ilya mentally cursed himself for failing to consider that social interactions — and confrontation of any kind, really, how could he ever forget the Tuna Meltdown incident even for a moment? — were more difficult for Shane than he let on most days, he managed to calm his boyfriend down and they reached a consensus: Shane would record any future conversations with anyone on the Montreal team who demonstrated homophobia towards him.

The slurs disguised as jokes in the locker room were frequent enough that they already had a folder full of them, but the reprimands from head coach Theriault and the team managers every time Shane made a formal complaint about the behavior of certain players and their nasty comments had a separate folder dedicated to compiling a case against the Metros.

“Just in case.” Ilya had pleaded with Shane.

“… Okay. But really just in case, then.” Shane reluctantly had agreed at the time.

Now, two years after that difficult conversation, and just a month since they were exposed by a piece of shit who thought he was important enough to meddle and destroy Ilya's life with Shane, their precautionary agreement was becoming more certain rather than just a distant possibility.

Things got progressively worse as they approached the end of the first round of playoffs, and their hockey suspension only intensified Shane's anxiety. 

And if Rozanov's anger was already enough for him to push the other mediocre Metros players against the boards with more aggression than usual on a normal basis — albeit within the rules, much to the Metros players’ misfortune — now it had surpassed stratospheric levels, and Ilya was genuinely considering committing a crime.

Because it became clear during tonight’s game  — which would decide whether the Ottawa Centaurs or the Montreal Metros would advance to the second round of the playoffs — that Montreal no longer cared, or rather not even pretended to care, about Shane Hollander.

The players isolated him throughout the match, and in the first half, Ilya saw Shane argue with his coach at least three times and then be benched. After the third time, Shane didn't say another word.

To anyone.

It's unusual for the team captain on the bench not to talk to anyone, but every time Ilya risked a glance, he could only see Shane looking at the game, but he recognized that look.

The same look of exhaustion and resignation that Ilya himself saw in the mirror before starting therapy and medication for his chronic depression.

That, indeed, was a punch in the gut for the Russian.

Because he knew better than anyone how Shane had been trying to justify his teammates’ reactions — especially Boiziau's, who should have been a close enough friend to understand why Shane had never told anyone about his secret relationship with Ilya.

And he also knew that Shane was desperately trying to convince himself that he still wanted to stay in Montreal in the future, even though deep down his boyfriend knew that their behavior wouldn't improve even if Shane won the fourth Cup for them.

“J.J. will come around. He’s one of my best friends.” Hollander had told Ilya through FaceTime in a hushed, hopeful tone while they were still both suspended and waiting for the dust to settle, but it was clear his boyfriend was trying to convince himself more than Ilya. “He is just hurt that I didn’t tell him sooner.”

It still made Ilya want to punch the lights out of Boiziau.

Shane wanted to believe that a decade of hard work and countless sacrifices — hell, they nearly didn’t even have a chance to be together because of Shane's fear of them being found out — was enough time for people to respect him and understand why he kept such a big secret for so long.

But of fucking course the Montreal Metros didn’t understand.

And Ilya, even though he was absolutely certain that Shane deserved better, because he always did, didn't want to discourage him, didn’t want to break his heart any further.

Not when everything was already difficult enough, and Shane was even more obsessed with following his routines exactly as planned and at the exact time, intensifying his hyper-restrictive diet even though Ilya, Yuna, and David tried to convince him that it wasn't good for him.

But Shane needed to feel in control of something in his life — everything else had already exploded and gone off the meticulously planned plan to reveal their relationship in the summer.

Because Hollander dealt with all his sadness and frustration by throwing himself into spreadsheets, workouts, analyses, obsessively controlling his diet to the point that he did it as punishment.

Punishment.

Jesus fucking Christ.

And it hurt to see him like this in the past month, and nothing Ilya did was enough to pull Shane out of this catastrophic spiral because it was the only thing he thought could control.

Ilya felt useless for not being able to help the person he loves most see that he doesn’t need to do all this to be deemed worthy.

But seeing the Metros treat Shane so badly tonight, ignoring his passes, ignoring all the times he was in front of the net ready to receive a pass and with none of the Centaurs to stop him, all the times Rozanov saw Comeau deliberately bump into him with enough force to almost make Hollander hit his face on the boards, made Ilya's hatred fester inside his chest.

And he plays even harder tonight, physically checking the Metros at every opportunity he could.

The only thing that stops him from throwing his gloves on the ground is the fact that every time a push or play looked like it was going to escalate into a fight, he sees Shane from afar completely apathetic, as if he were paralyzed while everyone else is bloodthirsty and for a war he feels like he already lost.

Shane's defeated look alone is enough to make Ilya want to scream.

And even so, Shane never gives up on the game. He plays hard, intensely, arduously as he always did, with a will to win, never, never stopping, gliding across the ice faster than most eyes could follow, and at times, even Ilya himself has to strain to keep up.

Hollander won the first face-off, but was intercepted by Boodram with a shove that no one from the Metros even bothered to attempt to defend him from, which gave Ilya the advantage to score the first goal.

Still, in the next face-off, Shane takes the lead in the blink of an eye and sprints toward the Centaurs' net, a flash gliding across the ice and dodging opposing players and his own teammates, spinning with the puck glued to his stick among them all with a dexterity that no other player in the league, except Ilya, could even attempt to imitate.

Of course, Ilya dashes after him like a predator chasing his prey, but his boyfriend is annoyingly great at dancing around Ilya like it’s the easiest thing to do. It both annoys and amuses the Russian in equal lengths, though.

And with a precise pass into the bottom left corner, the Metros captain ties the game.

Despite Shane's satisfied little smirk and the smug look he gives Ilya for just a few seconds, his shoulders soon slumped when there was no celebration among the Montreal players going to congratulate their captain.

As if, for them, Shane had done nothing more than his duty.

Ilya made a point of checking Comeau against the boards a couple of minutes later, and immediately turned his back to ignore the homophobic slurs that followed to avoid throwing his gloves on the ice right there.

From then on, everything only escalated.

For every goal scored by the Centaurs, Shane scored one right after with a reaction almost in record time and without any assistance from his useless teammates.

He went head-on, sliding between the players like a soldier dodging bombs and enemy fire in a minefield, stealing the puck in fierce disputes.

And even Pike, as much as Ilya still teased him calling him the 15th best player, is playing better than usual in this game, but his attention is clearly divided between trying to keep up with Shane on the ice to protect him from the Centaurs and at the same time positioning himself directly between the other Metros’ players so they won't interfere with his best friend as they began doing after Shane’s second goal without assist.

Ilya is relieved that Hayden Pike is doing his absolute best as Shane's best friend, the only one in Montreal who genuinely always cared about his boyfriend and who continued to respect him as captain even when, at first, he couldn't understand how Shane could put up with Ilya.

They’ve both come a really long way since Pike found out about their relationship, and even if Ilya cannot be considered Hayden’s best friend, they are close enough that his kids call him uncle Ilya and they often have dinner together.

They still chirp at each other, especially Ilya, because it is too much fun to ever stop messing with Pike.

And tonight, he is fucking grateful that Hayden is protecting Shane.

The tension on the ice worsens exponentially after the second intermission.

Something must have happened in the Montreal locker room, probably a heated argument between Hayden and someone on the team, because he and Shane are sitting on the bench like two children being punished while Theriault looks at them disapprovingly. Ilya notices some rookies clearly uncomfortable with the situation but powerless to do anything about it, and players like Comeau and Drapeau smirking with unconcealed satisfaction when they are the ones who get on the ice and not the team captain and alternate captain.

Ilya makes a point of wiping the smile off Comeau's face this time with a shove that sends him flying against the boards, bordering on illegality but still barely within it, which earns the Russian two minutes in the penalty box.

It was worth it, because even without Rozanov on the ice, the Metros also don't have Hollander there, and that means the Centaurs can handle Montreal's mediocre players.

Under any other circumstances, before the FanMail disaster that is, he would have teased his boyfriend with a wink and blowing a kiss at him that everyone would have interpreted as Ilya once again being a menace.

Ilya doesn't do that tonight, not when Shane is so clearly uncomfortable and retreating into a mask of the focused-hockey player-Shane-Hollander Ilya can see right through.

Not for the first time since the game started, he sees Hollander swaying his right hand to the side of his body as he circles the rink when he’s allowed to go back in — which rattles Ilya’s nerves even more because how dare that stupid coach treat the best hockey player in the league like a child being punished for throwing a tantrum?! — though Shane tries to be discreet about it since Montreal doesn't condone him making meaningless gestures that might confuse the audience.

This only emphasizes that Shane is struggling to regulate his emotions tonight, because he usually tries his best to avoid highlighting what he's doing now in order to avoid having to attend pointless and ableist meetings with the public relations manager that only increase his discomfort and anxiety.

Ilya wants to punch someone.

But he had promised Shane that he wouldn’t start any fights and, if a fight did break out tonight, Ilya would only defend himself and his teammates.

Not being allowed to publicly defend the love of his life was like someone tightening a rope around his body as he was forced to only watch Shane’s spirit be broken.

Ilya is itching for the Metros to start a fight — that’s half of the reason he’d been checking Comeau so frequently into the boards while pointedly ignoring his threats and slurs, even though it made him grit his teeth so hard he’d end up with a migraine later.

The other half, well…

He’d never promised Shane that his teammates wouldn’t start fights, though.

So when Comeau tries to be bolder in trying to make Shane lose his temper and fall even further in the public eye — because Ilya knows exactly that's what he's doing, and worse, with the complacent support of the entire Montreal management and coaching staff — the other player skates past Shane, who isn't that far from Ilya and Barrett, but not before bumping into him and blurting out,

"I bet you're dying to spread your legs for him tonight like a little whore, that's all you and all those faggots from Ottawa know how to do."

But Shane doesn't even look at his teammate, doesn't react even slightly, doesn't furrow his brow, doesn't clench his jaw, doesn't hold his breath, doesn't blink. Absolutely nothing that could visibly reveal whether the comment affected him or not. He simply continues skating as if he hadn't heard the insult, like he’s a robot not programmed to react — which is a bad sign in itself — even though Ilya was barely within earshot and heard it clearly.

The Centaurs' captain only needed to exchange a glance with Barrett. There was no nod acknowledging the silent request. And so, Troy skates closer to the opposite team’s player.

“Why don’t you say that homophobic shit to my face, huh Comeau!? Are you afraid I’ll kick your ass?”

Hook…

A referee skates towards them, noticing that the atmosphere is heating up on the ice and just as he’s within earshot, Comeau sneers at them with disdain. "You? Give me a beating? You're just a bunch of losers and faggots who are desperate for any dick!"

Line…

At the slur, Troy charges into Comeau bodychecking him on the boards in under two seconds.

"You homophobic piece of shit!"

Ottawa’s right wing snarls at him, holding his weight as Comeau struggles to get out. Leaning closer, he says lowly enough so that the referee can’t hear, 

"I think you’re the one who wants to spread your legs, but you're too scared to ask, right? But what if you end up liking the same thing as us, huh? Your homophobic fragile ego couldn’t handle it."

It does the trick.

“You goddamn cocksucker!”

… And sinker.

Comeau finally manages to break free and throws his gloves on the ice, but Troy's already landing a right hook on his jaw before the Metros player can react. Gloves on. 

Unfortunately, Ilya can't let the fight drag on because it risks harming their game, but he lets Troy land three good punches on the Metros player's face before intervening.

The other player gets one lucky punch on Troy’s jaw, but that’s it.

"Barrett, calm down. He talks nonsense, you know this. Let referee do his job, da?"

Troy struggles as Ilya puts his arms under his shoulders and immobilizes him, but it's more acting than a real intention to break free.

"But you heard what he said! He called me a faggot!"

"Don't stoop to his level, Barrett. Is not worth it," The Centaurs' captain is firm, reprimanding his player in front of the referee who checks Comeau's condition, “We heard him calling us slur word to get us fight him, the referee did too and he'll do what is right by the rules.”

Maybe Ilya should have let Troy land a couple more punches.

Anyway.

The penalty applied is 3 minutes for Comeau for inciting violence — after all, the referee had no other alternative since Ilya de-escalated the situation rather quickly and made sure to make it clear that the official had seen everything, including the slurs — and 2 minutes for Troy for roughing, which isn't necessarily fair but is better than Ilya could have hoped for considering they're playing in Montreal.

It’s such a shame it’s a rule the goalie is off limits, though. Ilya would love to drag Drapeau's face across the ice, after all.

With a quick glance at the Centaurs' bench, he sees Coach Wiebe shaking his head in exasperation, but with an unmistakable, discreet, satisfied smile on the man's face. The head coach notices his captain is looking at him and gives Rozanov an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

The game continues, and Ilya manages to take the lead with assisting Haas to score another goal, making the score 4-3.

If Montreal doesn't tie the game soon, it's a victory for Ottawa.

But of course, Shane fucking Hollander wasn't going to let that go easily.

Even though he loses the face-off to Ilya, the Metros captain intensely chases him across the ice after the puck.

It's a fierce skill contest between the greatest rivals in hockey history, making the Russian's blood boil with the effort of facing Shane while simultaneously making his heart race with excitement.

Hollander steals the puck and advances towards the Centaurs' net, but Chouinard and Dykstra are right there in front of the goal to stop him. Ilya watches him dribble smoothly with the puck, which seems glued to his stick, feigning a left turn and then pulling the puck back to the right.

The seconds tick down on the clock, Ilya sees the referee preparing to declare the end of the game when Rozanov spots Pike too close, seemingly unnoticed by the Ottawa defenders, and the Russian curses.

"Blyat!"

Of course, Montreal's alternate captain doesn't miss the chance to get Hollander's perfect, precise pass that sends the puck straight to the tip of Pike's stick at the same moment the left winger swings it straight into the top left corner of the net.

With three goals and an assist from Shane Hollander, the Metros tied the game 4-4 with the Centaurs, sending it into overtime.

Ilya feels frustrated but impossibly more in awe of Shane's ice skills, the feeling of playing against him is only inferior to the feeling of having him in his arms and being able to love him openly.

The already fierce competition takes a turn in Ottawa's favor because even Shane Hollander has his limits — and he has already spent more than an hour playing practically alone against a team with only Pike covering him when he could.

Shane is showing signs of exhaustion, but so is Ilya, having to go head-to-head against him.

At last, the other Metros players seemed to realize that they can actually lose to the team that was once called the worst team in the league, and they started to make up for lost ground, increasing the load on the Centaurs' shoulders so as not to lose their chance to advance to the second round of the playoffs.

That's why, when Rozanov manages to snatch the puck from Hollander and advance towards the Montreal goal, dodging the wingers and being covered by his team, the only thing his brain registers is the movement his body makes, twisting itself and launching the puck straight into the Metros' net, Drapeau unable to catch it.

Ilya doesn't realize that Shane tripped as he slid towards him to try and catch up until the referee signals the end of the match immediately to the roars of the crowd, and he turns to celebrate with his team, only to find his boyfriend being helped to his feet by Hayden.

His eyes scan to see if Shane is hurt in any way, but it's clear that besides the expected aches and pains from a game, it's just physical exhaustion from his tired look and heavy breathing.

So Ilya buries his worry back in before he does something stupid like exposing them even more by personally checking on his boyfriend, and turns to celebrate the victory with the Centaurs.

It's during the handshakes that Ilya once again restrains himself from punching the Montreal players in the face as they greet the Centaurs with evident resentment, but with hateful looks directed at their team's own captain — who, despite apparently looking directly into his eyes — the Russian knows is focused on a point on his forehead because maintaining eye contact is now more difficult than usual.

Shane is close to dissociating, and this gives Ilya a lump in his throat.

Although he is ecstatic about the Centaurs' victory tonight, and incredibly proud of his teammates for finally making it to the second round of playoffs, Ilya can't stop thinking about Shane.

The game against Montreal was only challenging because Shane had been practically playing alone, and still he had made all the Centaurs give their all.

One man facing an entire team of players that Ilya himself had been training hard and mercilessly — a true testament to Shane Hollander’s astounding skills as a hockey player as the Centaurs' sweated and gritted their teeth hard because his boyfriend was faster than everyone else on the ice, with frightening aim and accuracy to put most in the league to shame.

Ilya himself, though he wouldn't usually admit it just to anyone for obvious reasons of pride and also because teasing his boyfriend provided fun and intense flirting — their way of foreplay that guaranteed wonderful sex every time — has no doubt that Shane has always been the best player in the league.

Of course, his boyfriend, with all his Canadian politeness, is too modest in public to hold himself in such high esteem, although when alone with Ilya, Shane also provides his sharp wit and teases him as much as he is teased about which one of them is the best, and why.

He wished that one day Shane would feel comfortable enough to show the world that he knows he is the best in the league, just like he does in the privacy of their bedroom. Shane snuggled up in bed with Ilya after so much teasing, flirting, laughter, and kisses.

Ilya could get drunk just from his kisses alone, because even his Russian tolerance for alcohol doesn't come close to the feeling of kissing Shane.

But even while he takes a post-game shower before heading to the press conference, the other Centaurs are still celebrating and ecstatic about having beaten one of the best teams in the league —  and Ilya doesn't fail to point out, with a sharp remark, that the Metros are only at the top because of Shane.

"We get it, Roz. Without your man, Montreal would be at the bottom of the league." Barrett rolls his eyes, but not condescendingly, rather with the friendly banter the team has built up and used to tease Rozanov when he brags about how amazing Shane is — which he constantly does, to be honest.

"Yeah, cap." Haas agrees with a bit of hesitation, a rookie still getting the hang of things and finding his own voice, but slowly getting past his shyness. "I always thought Montreal was this unstoppable team, but tonight it became clear that they're only like that because of Hollander."

From the amazed look he saw Luca couldn't quite hide as he played against an intense Shane on the ice, Ilya knew he also had a fanboy crush on his boyfriend. Which he, of all the people in the world, understood perfectly.

"Yeah, the guy was incredible tonight. Watching him gave me chills," Bood adds, and the rest of the team nods in agreement.

Shane Hollander made it clear tonight for anyone that he alone carried the Montreal Metros to victory.

Only idiots would argue otherwise, after all.

"Da. Shane is great player, second best in the league and all." The Russian agreed with a shrug, but it was clear from his teammates' amused expressions that Ilya was speaking fondly before turning to stare at Luca again. "But Haas."

"Yes, cap?" The rookie smiles at him, expectant.

With a smile that's only half threatening and half teasing, he adds, "Keep your eyes off my man."

The right winger pales and widens his eyes, stammering, "No, I, it's nothing like that, I don't—"

The Centaurs' locker room erupts in collective laughter.

And so, for a few minutes, Ilya is distracted enough from the gnawing worry in his chest that he manages to go to the press conference without actually diverting to the Metros' and strangling someone.

For Ilya, it was a relief when no one on the Centaurs reacted negatively when he and Shane were exposed last month despite the undeniable shock on the faces of several team members and the general staff, but those who had already participated in Hockey Camps weren't that surprised.

Apparently, he and Shane had been doing heart-eyes at each other all the time that it was a surprise they weren’t exposed before — Wyatt mentioned he’d thought they still weren’t quite ready to cross the line of friendship into something more, and had been just harboring a secret crush on each other from afar.

Ilya cackled for a good five minutes at that, wiping the corners of his eyes as he nodded at the goalie, “Da, was like that in beginning. But was more sex, not so much friends,” and Hayes had laughed along with him.

Being accepted when his relationship and sexuality were openly discussed by his teammates, the general manager, and even the owners, doctors, headcoach, and assistants of the Ottawa Centaurs — basically everyone who mattered in his professional life — lifted a weight off the Russian's heart that he hadn't realized was so heavy.

And yet, Montreal's completely opposite reaction to Shane, while not exactly a punch in the gut, was like the Metros had taken Ilya’s heart out of his chest and stomped on it.

Watching Shane suffer silently for the past month has been devastating, and Ilya has the urge to burn the Montreal Metros to the ground after he's crushed them.

They don’t deserve Shane Hollander.

They never did.

While Ilya is getting ready for a press conference, something that is stupid in itself because if it weren't for his relationship with Hollander being exposed last month, they would have given a short interview in the hallway to the media instead of going to a press room.

It's the same sentiment as the ‘This meeting could have been an email’ meme, and nobody is changing Rozanov's mind — not even Harris, no matter how much the man argues.

He can't wait to get to Shane's apartment to see how he's doing, to make sure he wasn’t  injured and if the Metros hadn’t done anything more to upset him.

Ilya wants to finish this damn interview as soon as possible, because if he ends up running into any of the stupid Montreal team, the Centaurs' captain doesn't know if he'll be able to keep his promise to his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, even Rozanov couldn't single-handedly strangle the entire Montreal team.

With a long, dramatic sigh that earns him an unimpressed look from Harris as they approach the press room, the Centaurs' captain resigns himself to finishing this interview as quickly as possible.

The arrival and the start of the interview are like so many other countless times Ilya has had to do them, boring, a bunch of reporters wanting pictures of his every moment, talking over each other while the Centaurs' team makes sure everything is positioned properly and Harris approaches to explain what to talk about and what not to talk about.

"Preferably, please, don't call Montreal stupid tonight." The social media manager asks.

Ilya rolls his eyes, "Will not be quiet if they speak ill of Shane."

The shorter man sighs in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Ilya, Montreal didn’t even give an official statement acknowledging your relationship. They're not going to speak ill of their best player publicly, it would be..."

"Stupid? Da, is just like them." The Russian crosses his arms, arching an eyebrow with sarcasm.

Harris pauses for just a moment, seems to reconsider what Ilya told him with everything he knows about Hollander’s situation with the Montreal team, and when he can't find a good enough argument to make his case — because he wouldn't, since Ilya had already commented on how the atmosphere had been in the Metros since he and Shane were exposed — his shoulders relax and the expression on his face softens.

"Okay. I'm not going to tell you what you can or can't do to defend your boyfriend, but please, just try not to go too far."

"No promises."

"Please." And when he sees that the team captain is unyielding in his displeasure, he adds, "I think Shane would feel bad if the media had more ammunition against you two."

This disarms Rozanov entirely, because all he doesn't want is to make things worse for Shane — everything is already too much for him, and Ilya doesn't want to make it worse.

At the same time his shoulders sag, something is scratching in his chest, rising to his throat — the Russian recognizes that those are the feelings he would like to be able to say to the media, to the internet, to the Metros, to the haters and homophobes, to the NHL, and for the entire world to hear.

But he can’t.

He will not make things worse for Shane.

"Ok. I will try." Ilya agrees hesitantly after a moment, when the PR assistant signals that everything is ready to begin an interview.

Harris nods, visibly relieved at his cooperation, but before stepping aside to let the captain begin answering the reporters' round of questions, the shorter man presses his lips together as if trying to hold back from saying something.

In the end, the social media manager speaks anyway.

"But if... it happens and they do say something... Do what you need to do. I'll deal with the mess on the internet later."

Ilya holds back a grateful smile just to avoid giving bizarre ideas to the reporters watching him from afar, but nods to Harris. "Thank you."

The interview begins the same way as the others: reporters trying to elicit a negative reaction from Ilya against the rival team, asking questions about the team's positioning, about Ottawa's advancement to the second round, Ilya being sarcastic and making his own observations about the team's performance with evident pride.

The Russian notices out of the corner of his eye that with each question that passes and no one involves Shane's name, Harris's posture eases with relief.

Until a reporter with a baby face is the next to ask his question, which changes the entire tone of the conference and, for those already accustomed to Rozanov, says a lot about what to expect from his temperament.

"What."

There is no questioning intonation in his voice, because that alone should be enough for the idiot in front of him to ask a completely different question instead of repeating it.

Simply a fool who didn't realize her mistake, or overly bold.

The reporter straightened her back, repeating the same absurd question as if it was like Centaurs’ captain was hard of hearing.

“Do you believe, perhaps, that your team’s victory tonight was due to Hollander facilitating your last goal in the final minutes of overtime?

Then, like she doesn’t know the limit of the word stupidity, she adds, as if Ilya can’t understand English.

“I’m asking you if you think him being romantically involved with you has made him… have a lapse in judgment. That’s all.”

“No. I heard stupid question the first time. What the hell. Is everyone here this stupid?” He glances quickly at Harris, watching the social media manager shake his head frantically as the reporter blanches.

“I don’t mean you are stupid because you are woman, I’m not that kind of asshole. But you said Shane Hollander threw the game to me because we are boyfriends. That is stupid.”

The young reporter is clearly embarrassed in front of the Russian, who is almost twice her height and can easily bench press her weight as a warm-up — after all, he already does the same with Shane's weight.

"I, it's just that..."

"It's just that what? First thing, I don't need my boyfriend to throw me the games, my team and I can win them on our own. Second thing, what you said is disrespectful. Hollander would never do that."

"Sorry Rozanov, but everyone is wondering the same thing. Hollander tripped right at the decisive moment of the game that secured the victory for Ottawa, after all." Another reporter, older but equally ignorant, interjects.

Anger burns in Ilya's chest and spreads as it rises up his throat, the captain already fuming and Harris sighing heavily in resignation of the doomsday coming his way.

"Who is everyone? Idiots? Because that's what they are to believe this nonsense. We're talking about Shane Hollander, the perfect hockey player. He would never do that."

With the Centaur captain's fierce reaction, the reporters exchange hesitant glances.

"Maybe he wouldn't want to fight if he won against his own boyfriend."

The anger he feels at the Montreal team extends to these reporters who don't know what they're talking about, and he finds himself nearly snarling at them.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Shane stumbled because he was exhausted from carrying Montreal on his back the entire game!"

He clenches his teeth, his voice dropping and his accent deepening.

“Hollander was the best player on the ice tonight," he declares firmly, daring any idiot there to contradict him with a sharp look.

So Ilya continues fiercely, wanting to make clear to this bunch of idiots what should have already been clear to everyone without him of all people needing to point it out.

But maybe only then, with Rozanov revealing the stark truth, would they realize what happened tonight and it would sink into their thick skulls.

That the Montreal Metros would be nothing without Shane Hollander.

"The Centaurs played as a team should play. I scored the first goal of the game with Barrett’s assist after Boodram intercepted Hollander. With an assist from me, Barrett scored the second goal, and he assisted Boodram on the third, while I assisted our rookie Haas scoring the fourth.” 

The Russian laughs dryly, shaking his head, deeply disturbed by the level of venomous accusation leveled against Shane and the public refusal to acknowledge the real problem.

"But Hollander scored three goals without assist and assisted Pike's goal, or the Centaurs would have won without overtime needed. Shane was the only reason the Metros did not embarrass themselves further, after ignoring their captain on ice like they did.”

And raising his voice, Ilya Rozanov — finally defending his boyfriend in public without caring about the negative repercussions, as he had wanted to do from the beginning — declares furiously,

“It was him against Ottawa’s whole team alone all game, because Montreal, except Pike who has a brain and moral decency, are a bunch of homophobic pieces of shits, who treat best hockey player in the league like shit because he has a boyfriend."

They fall silent at his statement, but Ilya realizes it’s less because of his statement and more due to whatever it is that has nearly everyone in the room checking their phones with shock.

It is enough to send a shiver down Ilya's spine, and he narrows his eyes in alert.

"What happened now? Cat got your tongue or you finally realize your stupidity?” He sneers a them despite the anxiety fluttering in his chest.

Whispers begin to fly around, and Ilya manages to understand exactly three words: Shane, interview, headlines that make his head spin and almost rip the microphone from the table base.

"Someone show me the interview. Now, or I leave." He threatens, but there's not much weight to it when all he can think about is whether Shane is okay and what the hell happened.

Harris quickly approaches, and even he looks like he's seen a ghost, but before he can hand his own phone to Rozanov, someone from the conference room's technical team thought it faster to turn on the screen directly behind Ilya and put on the Montreal press conference.

"Hollander, do you believe that tonight your relationship with Rozanov outweighed your loyalty to the Metros?"

The recording shows the moment when Shane's blank, almost robotic expression freezes for a few seconds and falls hard, the initial shock as he finally processes what was asked delving into a deep betrayal that glints in his eyes and makes him clench his jaw so hard that Ilya can see the veins in his neck bulging with a rage that Hollander so rarely shows — and absolutely never to the media.

He doesn't hesitate, and perhaps that's why what comes out of his mouth next takes everyone's breath away. "You know what? Fuck that."

Ilya gets to watch what must be the most malicious and disrespectful interview he's ever seen in his entire career — because it's clear to him that Shane wasn't there of his own free will, not when the Montreal managers and coach were in the corner seemingly taking pleasure in seeing him accused by the media, with the situation they set up for him.

The Russian feels his whole body vibrate with the absolute and profound hatred he feels at seeing the situation to which they subjected the man he loves, in what can only be described as punishment for a defeat for which Hollander was not to blame.

Hearing Shane tear into the reporters about the right they and everyone else suddenly seem to think they have over his relationship with Ilya is, to a certain extent, diabolically satisfying because when the camera splits the screen between Shane's face in a deep, furious expression and the reporters' absolutely shocked.

It would be something that on any other occasion would amuse Ilya, but now it only worries him.

Because he knows his boyfriend, and Shane is going to be completely devastated when he's finally in a safe place.

“Do you know why the Centaurs won tonight’s game? Because they fucking deserved it. They trained hard for it. They also didn't question the trust they built with their captain, they didn't disregard his commands tonight, they didn't treat their captain as someone less deserving of the C on his arm just because some self entitled jerk outed his relationship with another player."

The Metros’ captain clenches his fists, and Ilya shudders at the sound of him almost growling at the bald reporter, so much hatred gleaming in his brown eyes and dripping from every word instead of the overly polite, conversation-defusing reply that it’s impossible not to notice.

And everyone certainly notices, because now that everyone at Ottawa's press conference can clearly see and hear what happened, nobody even dares to breathe.

Rozanov grips the microphone so tightly in his hand because it finally becomes clear what happened in Montreal's locker room during the intermissions, if he still had any doubts.

But this is big and important and heartbreaking in so many ways.

It's Shane admitting on national television that his team intentionally and vindictively abandoned him for the entire game. It's Shane admitting what he's felt since the moment the video of them kissing was widely released.

It's Shane finally accepting that Montreal never deserved him, and Ilya recognizes the moment that realization weighs heavily on his boyfriend's face and he almost chokes on it all, the words spilling out of him like an avalanche of repressed emotions.

And it's also Shane deciding that enough is enough.

Ilya doesn't need to pull up today's game statistics, because he paid attention to Shane throughout the entire match and knows exactly how many assist chances he created that would have resulted in goals.

Assists which were blatantly ignored by the Montreal’s left and right wingers because they were too busy bodychecking the Centaurs’ players and being homophobic scumbags when the referee was just out of earshot.

It doesn't matter Wyatt is a goalie who statistically managed to stop more than 40 shots on goal in a single game, because if the other Metros had at least tried, the result of today's game would have been very different.

Rozanov counted 5 occasions where Hollander's passes would have gone in because they were perfect shots — like the goal he assisted Pike on. And another 3 assists that while wouldn’t have gone inside the net, had Shane’s own teammates not purposefully interfered doing random passes or ignored him while he was right in front of the net, the Centaurs would have been fucked.

Ilya clenches his teeth and fists as Shane's shrill, almost hysterical laughter grates in his ears and breaks his heart.

It hurts to see him suffering.

It hurts to see him vent about how Montreal had been treating him since he came out as gay to the team, and how the team management and the head coach blamed him for the poor performance, for disrupting the team dynamic, and for making everyone uncomfortable by revealing his personal preferences.

If Yuna was watching this shameful excuse of a press conference, which she probably was, Ilya is absolutely certain that she must have already taken the necessary steps to ensure that Shane is secured — even if it involves suing the Montreal team.

The Metros might try to accuse Shane of libel, but Yuna Hollander wasn't going to let it go that far, not when Shane had compiled so much evidence against them.

She would drag Montreal to the ground in a heartbeat to defend her son.

And David wouldn't even try to convince her otherwise, because he too would jump in to take drastic measures against the team to whom his son had sacrificed so much for and was treated like trash by them.

Ilya watches with burning, tear-filled eyes as Shane's breath ragged on the screen, and how his boyfriend must be holding back a mental breakdown as much as he can because, even on the brink of an impending dissociative episode, he still knows he's not in a safe place.

The Russian swallows hard, starting to get up from his chair because all he wants is to go to Shane and make sure he's safe to feel his emotions without getting hurt.

But it's Shane's voice that makes Ilya freeze right where he is, his breath catching in his throat as the bitter smile announces a headline that promises to shock the hockey world.

"Before I was even drafted by the Metros and every single game since signing with them — every award and Cup won until now, my entire professional life in the NHL, no one had ever known a Shane Hollander, professional hockey player, who wasn't in love with Ilya Rozanov from the start."

Shane Hollander just admitted for the whole world to hear that he's been in love with Ilya Rozanov for over ten years, and that makes the Russian's eyes burn even more intensely and his chest swell.

He wants to cry, scream, laugh, and hug Shane.

All at the same time.

But even Rozanov chokes in surprise when, unexpectedly, Hollander doesn't stop there, deciding that if he's going to break the internet, he's going to do it on an atomic level.

Because Shane Hollander, in a display of conviction and self-confidence that only Ilya Rozanov knew he was capable of, declares that he is the best player in the league.

And Ilya definitely can't hold back his shocked laughter when Shane not only announces that he's no longer going to play for the Montreal Metros because he's now a free agent and deserves a team that respects and recognizes his value — making it clear that this is something Montreal has never done especially since he came out — but he also promises to do everything he can to ensure they never lift a trophy again.

This is his Shane.

His boyfriend, a fiery, impetuous, determined, assertive, confident hockey player and the fucking best in the league.

The Russian watches, the now former Captain of the Montreal Metros, turn his back on everyone at the press conference without even looking back, shoulders straight and chin held high.

But it's the subtle change in his expression that puts a pit of lead in Ilya's stomach, because he recognizes the moment when Shane's brain shuts down and his body keeps going.

A hand lands on his shoulder before he can do the same as Shane, and he snaps around to yell at whoever it is, until he comes face to face with a red-rimmed-eyed Harris.

"Pike's with him. He's safe." The social media manager whispers out of microphone range.

Ilya feels immediate relief knowing that Shane is as safe as he could possibly be given the facts, but he notices the noise in the press room has returned with the agitation of reporters desperate for yet another headline, and his shoulders tense and his expression turns furious.

Harris nods to him, and Ilya takes a deep breath before turning to the microphone one last time.

Fuck the rest of the interview.

He's going to end this charade once and for all, and Crowell can go french kiss a cactus.

He begins, barely controlling his heavy breathing and blazing eyes, "Shane's right. You have no right over our lives, our legacy and our relationship."

Because if Shane shouted for the whole world to hear that he'd always been in love with Ilya, then Ilya can do the same.

They owe nothing to anyone, but Ilya wants to shout for everyone to hear that Shane Hollander is his as much as Ilya is Shane’s.

"Shane is the best hockey player I know. He’s smart, reads the entire game in seconds, he knows exactly who will be where and when and where the puck is all the time.”

Clearing his throat, the Russian wants to make it clear once and for all how deeply he admires his boyfriend and will not tolerate anyone continuing to speak ill of him.

"Is infuriating how skilled he is, really, because Shane is precise, level-headed, focused, and dedicated at what he does. He is honest and works harder than anyone I know. Shane loves to win and would rather die than let me win.” A small but genuine laugh escapes him involuntarily, but Ilya quickly suppresses it because he's not finished yet and this isn’t the place to be vulnerable right now.

The simmering irritation in his chest from before quickly grows as he thinks about how devastated Shane must be at being accused of deliberately losing the game, and the Centaurs captain's voice deepens again.

“He would never lose a game on purpose, the Metros are bloodsucking ungrateful opportunists who take advantage of Shane until he is exhausted and then try to blame him. They didn't have his back when he needed it most because almost whole team are disgusting jealous homophobes."

Ilya slams his fist on the table in front of him angrily, causing the nearby reporters to jump back, their eyes wide. “He won three Cups for them and they treat him like garbage!”

Ilya takes a deep breath, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and feeling like it's going to burst out of his mouth, but it's not from fear.

It is from euphoria.

And when he thinks of Shane again, his sweet, irritatingly perfect, and adorable, stubborn, intelligent, brave and beautiful Shane, and what he just did on national television, Ilya feels a deep pride.

His Shane was so, so brave.

So Ilya will be brave for him as well.

"It took us years to accept we felt this way for each other, years we lost because we were afraid of our feelings. I was afraid and I did everything to suffocate how I felt about him. It was agony. But is not anymore."

The Russian swallows hard, refusing to cry in front of these vultures even though his eyes are burning so much and his throat is so tight it hurts.

The camera flashes are almost blinding, and the reporters start talking over each other, trying to get Rozanov to answer them, but nothing in the world would stop him now.

"Shane Hollander is the best thing that happened to me, there was nothing and no one that made me feel the way I feel about him since first time I saw him.”

He declares proudly, no longer afraid as he adds next the news that will also rock the hockey world and fuel his boyfriend’s own headlines.

“I’ve been in love with Shane Hollander longer than I have been professional hockey player. From first time he came to talk to me with that beautiful smile and his annoyingly cute freckles at the Junior World Championship in Regina, Saskatchewan. Even if it took me years to realize that.” 

Ilya realizes belatedly that his chest burns and how haggard his breathing is, and he takes a deep breath, trying not to break his teeth as he clenches his jaw tightly while turning to glare intently at the nearest camera, wishing he could destroy the Montreal Metros with laser vision.

"You say it's our fault for falling in love with each other. As if you own us. But you don't, you never did. You accuse us of losing games to each other on purpose, but you can't do half of what we do. How about you say that when you can do it?" He snorts a condescending laugh, laden with sarcasm and venom. “Say what you want about me, say it's my fault, I don't give a fuck. But don't talk about Shane like he's not the best player in the fucking league, because he is."

And with one last stare at the camera, in what he knows is his most bloodthirsty look, Ilya doesn't threaten, he swears to himself and to the whole world.

"Montreal will get what they deserve when they hit rock bottom again, because they never deserved everything Shane sacrificed to put them back on winning Cups again and without him, they are nothing.” Rozanov snarls. “Tonight’s game was final proof. They’ll regret how they treated him. Mark my words."

The reporters, bristling and in shock from all the revelations and twists of the night, argue amongst themselves as they try to catch up with the Russian, who storms out of the conference room with a single mission:

Find Shane and take care of him.

The drive to Shane's apartment is longer than it has any right to be, with him in the back seat and Harris driving around town like a madman while Barrett desperately clings to the "oh shit" grab handler that would have made Ilya laugh if the occasion were different.

But the Russian can't find humor in the situation with so much anger and hurt in his chest every time he remembers the damn interview Montreal forced his boyfriend to give as if he were to blame for the Metros' defeat.

Ilya runs his fingers through his curls and pulls, trying to breathe and calm down. He won't do Shane any good if he can't get his emotions in order before seeing him.

In the end, worry wins and he throws his head back in the back seat, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"You sure Hayden's with him? That he's okay?" He asks hoarsely and opens one eye to see Harris looking at him in the rearview mirror.

"Pike texted your phone saying that he and his wife were with Hollander at his apartment. He said Shane was nonverbal, but after that I couldn't read the messages anymore as your phone was blocked."

Ilya curses and runs his hands over his face this time, even though he was expecting it, "Blyat."

After long minutes of silence that drag on the way to what can only be the longest way to Shane's apartment, Troy starts a conversation.

"So..." He begins hesitantly, and Ilya doesn't miss the chance to see Harris sigh heavily beside him. "You two have been involved since you were, what, like 18?"

"Troy." The social media manager uses a tone of reprimand mixed with frustration. "It's not the right time."

"What? I'm just surprised. Roz only told us they'd been together for four years, I didn't expect it to be longer."

Groaning, Harris shakes his head in disbelief. "Ignore him, Rozanov. My boyfriend is dense about certain things."

Ilya snorts a genuine laugh through his nose, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I see that. But is okay to ask, everyone already knows anyway." He shrugs, the exhaustion of the game finally catching with him and making his body ache with discomfort.

Ilya chuckled softly as Barrett smiled victoriously at his boyfriend, who just rolled his eyes and made a sudden stop at the traffic light, causing him to lean against the car's dashboard in fear.

Harris pretended it wasn't intentional, but they both knew it totally was.

Troy cleared his throat and turned slightly to look at Ilya.

"So, since you two were 18?"

"17, actually." The Russian shrugged. "But we only chirped at each other about who would win championship. Russia won."

He noticed Harris raising an amused eyebrow at him. "In this case, chirping means flirting."

The Russian didn't deny it, but the small smile gave him away anyway.

"Six months later Boston drafted me and Montreal drafted Shane. I met Shane at hotel gym in the middle of the night. We competed to see who could last longer on the bike exercise."

Troy burst into laughter. "Jesus, Rozanov. What were you measuring in the middle of the night?"

The Russian raises an eyebrow and adjusts himself in the seat. "You sure you want to know what happened, Barrett?"

This time it's Harris who laughs, as his boyfriend pales and quickly turns forward again, shaking his head desperately, after Ilya had wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and pointed to his own crotch.

It's Troy's turn to groan in frustration and mortification. "I don't know if I want to keep hearing this story."

"Oh, too bad for you, sweetheart, because now I'm the one who's invested." Harris smiles happily and a little mischievously, finally the longest traffic light in Montreal turning green for them.

Because apparently Harris doesn't care about disregarding speed laws, but he does draw the line at the fucking traffic lights.

"We didn't fuck, relax Troy. We met again at the next championship, Canada won, and we only saw each other again in Toronto."

"For the CCM endorsement ad shooting, right?" And when Ilya nods affirmatively, Harris pauses for a few seconds before frowning. "I'm not judging, I swear I’m not. But it doesn't seem like you two were... interested in each other."

The Centaurs captain rolls his eyes, but understands where the media manager's hesitation comes from. "Da, it was just flirting and teasing at first, not much. But I was fascinated by the boring hockey player with the pretty smile and charming freckles."

Ilya's affectionate smile, with the memory of a much younger and more innocent Shane, betrays his true feelings and makes Troy coo at him. "Aww, look at that, Harris, he was really in love."

"Stop." The Russian rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

He just told the world the truth, after all.

"After that, we just... kept seeing each other, when he was in Boston or I was in Montreal for games, on and off. Not exclusively though.” He clarifies, even if his reputation as a ladies-man during those years is well-known. “Things changed four years ago for us, after he got injured in the game against Boston the year the Admirals won the Cup. We spent summer together at his cottage and Shane had the idea I could play for Ottawa so we could be closer and create a charity named after my mother to spend more time together and change the narrative of how the public saw us, but without the media suspecting anything. I told him I loved him, he said it back, and here we are.”

Ilya cut short the rest of the story not wanting to talk about everything that happened until he could admit his own feelings because it was too much vulnerability for him to handle right now.

"Wow, Rozanov. I didn't imagine that. It must have been agonizing to be in love and not be able to say it." Harris grimaces and gives him a compassionate look in the rearview mirror.

"Da. But it is not anymore. We're happy."

Nobody mentions the disaster that was them being exposed a month ago, much less the two shocking press conferences tonight.

"Wait, wait. I think I missed something. What happened at the CCM ad shooting?" Troy frowns.

The silence in the car lasts for long seconds, until Harris breathes heavily, muttering, "God give me patience, because if you give me strength I'm going to strangle my boyfriend."

Ilya laughs until he's breathless, Barrett looking between the Russian in the back seat and his exasperated boyfriend driving.

His face morphs with horror as it dawns on him, and Troy curses at his own stupidity. "Fuck."

"Yup, you walked right into it, honey."

When they finally arrive in front of Shane's two-story building, before getting out of the car, Ilya takes a deep breath. The long detour Harris deliberately took, despite frustrating him at first because he wanted to get to Shane as quickly as possible, also didn't take more than five minutes longer than expected. And it ended up helping Ilya calm down and focus on what was important.

Hesitating before opening the door, Ilya looks at the couple one more time.

"Thank you... For today. For everything. And sorry if I made your life more difficult, Harris."

The media manager rolls his eyes, but smiles at him. "It's okay, Roz. It just so happens that I'm very good at my job, I can handle it."

Ilya knows this doesn't mean it will be easy with the flood of news and the social media audience, and that the Centaurs' public relations and media team will have their hands full to deal with it all.

But Harris is good at what he does. And Yuna Hollander is even better at coordinating everything with Farah.

One way or another, everything will work out.

This time turning to Barrett, who looks at him curiously, the Russian also thanks him.

"Thank you for dealing with Comeau."

Troy shakes his head, laughing a little. "No problem, captain. I was dying for that punch."

Harris raises an eyebrow, realizing what happened, but doesn't comment on it.

The couple finally says goodbye one last time, and Ilya finds himself again with a lump in his throat and a racing heart as they leave.

He hurries into the apartment, no longer able to contain his worry for Shane as he fumbles with the keys in his pocket.

When he finally enters, slightly breathless, the Pikes are waiting for him tensely in the living room.

Luckily, they don't seem to expect Ilya to sit down and have tea with them, because they soon say goodbye and the Russian can finally check on his boyfriend.

First, he gets rid of his sneakers and picks up Shane's scattered on the floor, putting them away, before starting to remove the clothes on the way to the bedroom and folding them, knowing that textures could bother Hollander at this moment.

Ilya doesn't hesitate, but slowly enters the room and notices the sniffles and suppressed sobs that break his heart become more evident when Shane realizes he has company.

"Moye solnyshko, I'm here." Ilya approaches as quietly as he can.

Already feeling tears welling up in his eyes, he kneels beside the king-sized bed without touching Shane, just waiting to be addressed.

"What do you need from me?" The Russian asks gently, sniffling as his voice falters.

Shane looks so small, curled up in bed, turned away, not moving except for tearful sighs and heartbreaking sobs.

Ilya should have dropped that damn interview as soon as he found out what happened, because Shane wouldn't be suffering alone.

Although his boyfriend doesn't show any sign of acknowledging him, Ilya waits patiently, without invading his personal space in bed, murmuring words of affection and reassurance.

But it's long minutes later when Shane's breath catches in his throat and he starts muttering against the pillow soaked with his tears that Ilya's heart sinks even deeper when he can make out the words.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—”

"Shane, no, lyubimyy, no, you're not stupid. Please don't talk about yourself like that." Ilya sobs, unable to hold back his own tears any longer.

Shane's chest trembles as his crying intensifies and grows louder, and Ilya nearly chokes when he sees him start pulling at his hair.

“Hey, hey, shh, I’m here, shhh, look at me, moye solnyshko. Please.”

The Russian begins to grow frantic, voice breaking, not wanting to crowd Shane, but worried that he might hurt himself.

Swallowing his own tears, Ilya carefully lies down on the bed to give Shane time to realize what he's doing and, even more slowly, begins to wrap his arms around him, attentive to every shudder and gasp of air that might indicate that this is worsening his condition.

Gently, he covers Shane's hands, which are tightly intertwined in the dark strands of hair, and begins to massage them tenderly.

"I'm here, Shane, shhh, it's okay, I'm here."

It's not quick to calm Shane down enough to stop trying to tear his own hair out, or to get him to match his breathing with Ilya's before he faints from lack of air — but Ilya doesn't count the time it takes until Shane finally recognizes him, the voice so small and sad that it makes the Russian want to cry more, swallowing hard so as not to get lost in his own intense emotions.

And when he can finally hear him call his name, when Shane finally recognizes who is with him and turns around in bed to snuggle into his arms, it's a relief just like the time he could finally see Shane with his own eyes after the concussion and broken collarbone from Marlow colliding into him years ago.

"Ilya. Ilya. Ilya. You're here, you’re here—"

Bringing him to rest his head under his chin, the blond kisses the top of his boyfriend's head, sniffing and rubbing his face affectionately. "I'm here, lyubimyy. Shhh, just breathe for me."

Shane's chest filled with air for the first time, and although his breathing was still a little labored, at least now it didn't seem like he was going to suffocate.

“Just like that, moye solnyshko, in and out... Breathe."

When his boyfriend finally swallows what seems to be the end of his choked sobs and visibly relaxes against his body, Ilya sighs in relief.

"Ilya." Shane calls him in a whisper after a few minutes.

"I'm here, Shane."

“Ilya.”

“Yes, my love. I’m here.”

"Ilya,” Shane shudders beneath his arms, the pain echoing in his voice as it breaks, “They said I tripped on purpose."

“You didn’t. Shane, you didn’t trip on purpose.” The Russian states firmly, but keeps his voice soft. “Everyone with eyes could see you tripped because you were exhausted from playing the whole game on your own, my love.”

"They should— they should know better,” Shane sobs, his whole body trembling as he tries to snuggle even closer to his boyfriend. “I’ve spent ten years playing with them.”

“I know, I know. They are stupid assholes.” Ilya bites his lower lip to avoid talking more about the Montreal Metros, because at this moment they are not his priority and thinking about them will only bring back the hatred.

Shane doesn't need that now.

"I gave— I gave them so much. So damn much. And it seems like it was all for nothing, nothing at all."

Noticing that his boyfriend's breathing in his arms is becoming ragged again, the Russian swallows the lump in his throat and continues to reassure him.

"Shane, breathe, okay? Keep breathing, sweetheart, everything is alright."

"No, everything's not alright. Nothing about any of this is even remotely okay.” Hollander’s whole body shudders, as he frantically shakes his head as the tears intensify and make Ilya’s chest feel damp. “Nobody spoke to me during the game, nobody listened to me. And J.J. couldn't even look at me, Ilya. I thought he was one of my best friends."

Damn. He should have hit Boiziau, after all.

Despite this, the Centaurs’ captain does everything he can to try and calm Shane down, even if it means trying to defend someone he wants to punch in the face for making his Shane cry.

"Shane, my love, everything will be alright. J.J. will understand soon, okay? Is exactly as you said, he is just hurt because he thought you didn't trust him."

A dry, bitter laugh makes Ilya shudder.

"You were right. The Metros never cared about me."

His stomach drops. Out of everything Rozanov had said since they were outed by the FanMail, he wished Shane hadn't focused on this at this moment.

Because it's hard to argue against something he's pointed out so fiercely.

Ilya tries anyway,

"Shane, is not your fault."

"But isn't it? I was foolish to believe they would accept me. Even after seeing the opposite every day since I told them I'm gay."

Hugging Shane closer as if it were possible while Ilya's other hand rises to his head and begins to stroke his scalp the way he knows his boyfriend likes, humming in disagreement.

"Is not your fault they are idiots, lyubimyy. They lost best player in the league because they are homophobic jerks."

Shane lets out a weak laugh. "You really think so?"

Rolling his eyes affectionately, the Russian is relieved to know that Shane is slowly relaxing his body. "I know so."

After that, Hollander is silent for such a long time that when Ilya thinks he has fallen asleep, the small, uncertain voice calls him again.

"Ilya..."

"Yes, my love?"

Shane hesitates, before shifting in bed and starting to move away from Ilya, who was making circular caresses on his back.

The Russian grumbles in disagreement at moving away, but when he finally manages to see the rich brown eyes and the freckles he loves so much staring back at him, despite the tear stains and red nose, it's still the most beautiful thing in the world.

"What am I going to do now?"

And Ilya smiles, moving a hand to gently caress Shane's face, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes.

"You're alive, my love. The world hasn't ended." And tenderly, he adds, "And now you can plan our wedding in peace."

Shane laughs at that, nestling his cheek against Ilya's warm palm. But still with a hint of moisture in his eyes, he asks,

"Do you still want to marry me even though I'm essentially unemployed right now?"

This makes the Russian stammer, unbelieving that this is even a thought in Shane's head at this moment, but when he notices the small, amused smile on his lips, Ilya rolls his eyes and laughs, throwing his head back.

"Hollander, if everyone did not have to wait until July 1st to make offers, you would already have one from every team in the fucking league." And still laughing, he adds, "You're not unemployed. You’re… on holiday break."

Shane shrugs, his smile trembling slightly.

"Do you think... the Centaurs would be interested in me?"

Ilya freezes for a moment, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

Until last month it was still certain that Shane intended to continue with the Montreal Metros despite the awkward atmosphere when the players remembered he was gay, so even though Hollander's free agency period was approaching, Ilya didn't dare allow himself to dream about how good it would be. ...of them playing together, instead of against each other.

Well, not often.

Okay…

Maybe Ilya dreamed about it a little more than he dared to admit even in his own thoughts.

Why entertain that idea when the chances of it happening were almost zero?

But now that wasn't the case the case anymore.

The bright smile that spreads across his lips makes Shane's eyes sparkle in response. "Are you sure?"

"Well, if Ottawa wants me..."

"They'd have to be idiots not to want you." The Russian interrupts him.

Unintentionally and out of nowhere, tears slowly stream down Ilya's face, making Shane's eyes widen and lips part.

"Ilya, we don't have to play on the same team if you don't want to."

Shaking his head quickly, the Russian sniffs and snorts a laugh.

"God, Hollander. Of course I want to play on the same team as you, I wanted that ever since I traded to Ottawa. I just..."

Noticing Ilya’s struggle with finding the words to express himself when he is so clearly emotional, Shane looks at him with slightly moist eyes, and does it for him.

"But you thought it would never be possible?"

Ilya nods, sniffing. "Da. Yes."

"I want that too. To be able to play with you all the time, like in the All-Star Games." This time, Shane is the one who gently wipes the tears from Ilya's face. "I've wanted this for a while, I just didn't know how you would react to us not being able to be rivals anymore and compete against each other."

"How long have you been thinking about this?" Ilya loves being able to count the freckles on Shane's nose when he's so close, but he loves even more seeing him relax enough after something as intense as what happened today.

Because Ilya makes him feel safe.

More quietly, Shane admits with a hesitant smile and a little embarrassment.

"The first time I thought about it was right after I told Montreal I was gay... And since then I've thought about it from time to time. About what it would be like for us to be on the same team." Shane laughs softly, "Sleeping and waking up next to you. Having breakfast and going to practice together. Going home at the same time."

The Russian's heart warms.

"I want the same thing. Everything." And with a voice full of emotion, he adds, already feeling his eyes burning with new tears. "I wish I hadn't wasted so much time pretending I didn't love you since I first saw you."

Shane's eyes shine with emotion too, his voice choked as he also admits. "Me too. But we have the rest of our lives to love each other."

Ilya rests his forehead against Shane's, their noses brushing together as he whispers,

"Ya tebya lyublyu, Hollander. I have since we were stupid teenagers."

Pressing back, Shane whispers once more, "I love you too, Rozanov. I have always loved you," before their lips meet.

Just because he managed to distract Shane enough to get him verbal again and calm him down when he almost had a terrible meltdown, doesn't mean what happened tonight won't trigger other episodes.

Hollander won't want to get out of bed the next morning, his body heavy and his head clouded enough that he feels like if he tries to get up, he'll collapse on the floor, and Rozanov will do everything to make Shane feel good again.

He'll give Shane space when he wants to be alone for a bit to regulate himself by reading his books, and give him as much ginger ale as he wants as his comfort drink. He'll prepare a bath when Shane's nose wrinkles at the idea of ​​feeling the shower water hitting his skin, and he'll massage his scalp while carefully washing his dark hair.

Shane will accuse him of spoiling him, and Ilya will laugh and won't deny it.

Because that's exactly what he'll be doing.

They don't have to deal with the rest of the world right now, not with the upheaval that both of their interviews caused in the hockey world, or the reactions from fans and the media, or with Montreal's accusatory statements.

And they don't have to deal with all of that on their own.

Because they're not alone.

They have Yuna, Farah, and Harris steering the social media ship. David offering his unconditional support and chicken parmesan. Hayden and Jackie checking in from time to time to see if they need anything.

The entire Centaurs team defending them on social media, public shaming the Metros and mobilizing campaigns against homophobia in hockey, which is almost the entire Ottawa fanbase, at least half of the Montreal fans who actually recognize everything Shane dedicated himself to in almost a decade with the team, and support from the Boston fans as well, encouraged by Ilya's oldest friend, Cliff Marlow, and all the players he captained who have since gone to other teams.

The dinosaur Scott Hunter and the other Admirals as well.

All the decent teams in the league will come to Shane Hollander's defense and offer their support in the face of baseless, cruel, and homophobic accusations.

Tens of thousands of people who care about them, and who will burn Montreal to the ground.

And when they go to sleep again, Ilya will hug Shane knowing that everything will be alright.

Keeping his laughter low-key so as not to wake Shane, Ilya will take the greatest pleasure in completely annihilating the Metros on the ice, in every way possible.

For now, he will focus on the second round of the playoffs and on organizing his wedding with Shane, who, despite not being able to move to Ottawa right away, spends more time at Ilya's house than in his cold Montreal apartment.

In July, Shane will officially sign with Ottawa and they will get married.

And the Russian will smile scornfully one night that summer, a wicked glint in his eyes because the Montreal Metros don't know half of what's coming their way — and how bitterly they will regret it when Shane and Ilya step onto the ice together side by side to the cheers of the crowd, Hollander-Rozanov in their jackets gleaming proudly in gold.

Ilya almost feels sorry for Pike, but then he would have to feel sorry for the rest of the league for having to deal with the two best players on the same team because the Montreal Metros were too stupid to lose Shane Hollander.

Oh well.

It turns out that Ilya doesn't feel sorry in the slightest.