Work Text:
[December 08th, 2017. Boston, MA]
There is snowfall outside TD Garden. Ilya can see the white blobs falling down on the North Station train tracks from where he stands, just in front of the office of management.
It’s windy, and so the heavy snow almost looks like the static on the TV when he was a child, the shape of the Bunker Hill Memorial bridge genuinely hard to make out.
He hopes Shane’s flight tomorrow won’t be impacted, way too excited to see his boyfriend. They haven’t seen each other in weeks, two months actually, now that he thinks about it. Late night face time calls help, but he misses Shane terribly. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. Not to anyone but Shane, at least.
As he leans against one of the windows that look out over the Charles, Ilya tries to make a list of all the things he has planned for this weekend. He needs to win his game against New York tomorrow, maybe get Scott Hunter to admit how old he is, needs to get a few groceries and some Canada Dry from the store, needs to pick up Shane from the airport tomorrow, get some dry cleaning done, and, he dreads this part a little, needs to tell management that he’s leaving Boston at the end of the season.
Boston has grown on him, over the years. He understands why so many of the college students stay.
Still, if he wants to follow Shane’s plan – and he really does! – then he will be moving to Ottawa next summer. Be closer to Montreal, establish public friendship with Hollander, win at least four more cups, retire, and marry Shane for real. That’s the plan.
Two steps of that plan have already been set into motion: He has confirmation from Ottawa that they would love to have him as their new star center and that they can afford him, and thanks to Yuna Hollander and her unrelenting efforts, a foundation has been established in Shane’s and Ilya’s names.
In October, the week before regular season officially started, they had a press conference announcing the Irina Foundation – much earlier than they had originally anticipated – and Shane and Ilya had officially followed each other publicly on Instagram. All very exciting.
Ilya shakes his head at the memory. How they had sat next to each other, so similar to their first press conference all these years ago, just after their draft, and yet so different. Under the table, Ilya had carefully run a finger up and down Shane’s thigh, earning a scowl and a serious look. He had just laughed in response and turned back to the reporters in front of them.
While they still had to be careful with public affection and the perception of their public personas, it was at least known that, off the ice, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were friends.
Ilya laughs to himself now, remembering how the press had reacted.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
During a sweaty post-game interview following their season opener against Nashville, a reporter from one of the smaller outlets had asked Ilya about his contentious relationship with Hollander and their newly founded mental health initiative, rather than asking about the hattrick he had scored, his two timeouts, or the team’s general performance. Ilya had laughed, his eyes bright and a big, smug grin on his lips.
“No, we are friends.”
Again, the reporter had tried, and unknowingly repeated the same phrase that Yuna Hollander had said, with such astonishment, just a few months earlier:
“But… you hate him,” the reporter stammered, baffled.
Ilya had laughed again and shaken his head.
“Lie. Liar told you that.”
He had looked directly into one of the cameras.
“Hollander is valued friend, yes? Second best player of MHL, is very respectable. But weak backhand.”
Then he had laughed again and announced that, since nobody seemed interested in asking about his goals tonight, press was over. He would like to take shower now, thank you.
All eleven reporters, the camera people, and even the Raiders’ social media intern had stared after him in confusion. Shane Hollander was his respected friend?
A few hours away, watching the post-game press on his phone at the airport, one Shane Hollander hadn’t been able to keep down a good chuckle. Although he would certainly show Rozanov just how weak his backhand was the next time they were together.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Ilya hears a door opening. Somewhere behind him, somebody tells him that management is ready to see him now. He tries to get one last look at the bear statue in front of TD Garden, steeling himself to be brave, put on his best performance to sell the Boston Raiders on the story that he, Ilya Rozanov, just really wants to play for the Centaurs instead.