Chapter Text
J.J stood awkwardly on the front step, trying to think of what he’s going to say to Shane that won’t get him a black eye. He really hopes that Rozanov isn’t here, he’s getting pissed off just thinking about being in the same room as the guy. J.J doesn’t have any clue how Shane can tolerate him, let alone date him.
Before he can get too deep into his thoughts, the door opens. He looks up and- of course. Ilya fucking Rozanov is standing right in front of him, shirtless and leaning against the frame like the smug motherfucker he is.
“Boiziau” Ilya spoke, his accent curling around the name.
“Rozanov” J.J gritted out. “Where’s Shane?”
Ilya turned his head back, calling into the house “Moy Lyubimyy, your guest is here.” He stepped aside, gesturing for J.J to come in.
~
J.J stands in the middle of the room as he looks around, taking in his surroundings. A throw blanket is draped on the back of the couch, looking like someone was using it before he arrived. A can of coke sat on a coaster on the coffee table alongside the remote. The replay of an old game was playing on the TV, volume low and Russian subtitles underneath. He lets his eyes roam, spotting a bookshelf full of books with Russian titles, some hockey ones, and ones about Japanese culture. He finds framed pictures on top, some looking older than others. He sees a picture of a young Shane, arm curled around what looks like a young Ilya, his tongue sticking out toward his lips. The place looks like it’s well lived in- by both of them.
Jesus.
Ilya was standing in the kitchen, looking at J.J. He doesn’t say anything, just eyeing him as his expression changes when he finds a new thing to focus on. He wasn’t sure that J.J knew that he actually lived with Shane. He has been, for a while now.
Their thoughts get interrupted when footsteps are heard coming down the hall, Shane appearing seconds later. He’s in a pair of sweatpants and a faded Boston hoodie, a size or two too big for his frame.
“J.J- hey” Shane says, a nervous tone in his voice, his body tense.
“Capitaine.”
Shane keeps looking between Ilya and J.J, trying to figure out what he should do next. Ilya makes the decision for him, sauntering towards him, kissing him on the forehead as he continues toward where Shane just came from.
“I’ll let you two talk, yes? Call me if you need anything, I will be in our room.” He brushes Shane’s cheek before disappearing down the hall, footsteps fading and a door closing.
The two of them stand there for a few tense seconds before Shane speaks up.
“So, you wanted to talk?”
~
J.J has no idea how he’s going to start this.
The two of them have just been sitting on the couch, an awkward silence ringing out for the past minute. He doesn’t like how tense his friend looks.
“You’re living together?” J.J asked, looking around again.
“Uh- yeah we have been for a while now…” Shane won’t look at him, his voice awkward. “I’m uh- learning Russian too. That’s what I was doing in the other room.” Ah, so that’s what all the Russian books were for.
Another few tense seconds go by, J.J’s starting to feel really fucking uncomfortable. He looks over and zeros in on the old photo of Shane and Rozanov together, a sudden flash of anger passes through him.
“Why did you lie to me? I thought I was your friend, but you told Hayden and hid it from me.” His voice sharp, accent thickening along with his anger.
Shane’s head shoots up, looking at him for the first time since he got here.
“J.J you are my friend, and I didn’t tell Hayden, he figured it out on his own. I haven’t told anybody about me and Ilya, all the people who do know have found out on their own- not from me.”
“And who exactly knows?” His tone doesn’t change, question sharp.
“Just Hayden, my parents, Rose, and Ilya’s friend from Russia.” Shane looks down again.
“So not only does Hayden know, but your parents, your fucking ex, and some random woman?” J.J’s voice rising, his tone turning angrier.
“It wasn’t my choice! I was going to tell you, just not now. Later”
“But you still lied to me! For years, you have been fucking the man we all hate, the man I thought you hated.” J.J seethed, not comprehending why Shane couldn’t have just told him. He feels like he’s the last one to know, he thought he was important to Shane.
“I never said I hated him! The idea that we hated each other was written up by the media, and you guys fed into it. I have never said anything about hating Ilya.” Shane stood up, going to pace in front of the TV, his face scrunched up with anxiety. “There’s a reason I, we, never told anybody. It wasn’t safe- it still isn’t.”
J.J got up too, voice getting louder. “Not safe? Not safe? What the fuck do you mean not safe? Why didn’t you tell me!” J.J let the burning heat of anger and betrayal swirl in his stomach. “You couldn’t have told me that you were fucking the enemy the entire time? Have you thrown games for him? Told him our plays?”
Shane stops pacing, his face hardening, lips thin, anger replacing anxiety.
“Seriously? You’re going to accuse me of cheating? Me? How could you ever think that?” Shane’s voice was tight.
“Well obviously I don’t fucking know you as well as I thought I did! Maybe you are capable of cheating, maybe that’s what you’ve been doing this entire time!”
He saw movement from the corner of his eye, looking over to see that Ilya walked back into the room, probably summoned from the rising voices. He was looking between J.J and Shane, body tense like he’s waiting to lunge.
“Is everything okay?” Ilya asked, eyes focused on Shane.
Those three words set J.J off further, whipping around to fully face the Russian. “You. Are you letting Shane cheat for you? Is that what this is, a way for you to win games and get your fucking dick wet? You fils de pute.”
Ilya just stands there, lips curling into a sharp grin. “I get dick wet either way. You are fucking dumbass if you think that Shane would ever cheat, he would rather die.” His tone dripped in condescension. He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.
That’s fucking it.
He lunges toward Ilya, fist connecting with the corner of his jaw, making his head snap to the side. “Espèce d'enfoiré! Ourquoi tu ne peux pas juste fermer ta putain de gueule pour une fois, espèce de putain de Russe stupide?” (You fucking asshole! Why can’t you just shut your mouth you stupid fucking Russian?)
Before he can throw another punch, he’s being dragged by his collar, back slamming against a wall, an arm being shoved against his throat. He’s face to face with a severely pissed off looking Shane. The arm against his throat presses harder, making his breathing wheezy.
“Si tu ne fermes pas ta putain de gueule, je te promets que je vais te casser les dents.” (If you do not shut the fuck up I promise I will knock your teeth out.) Shane spits out with so much venom it feels like the words were stabbing him. He slams him against the wall again, J.J’s head cracking against the dry wall.
J.J just looks at him, his eyes wide. All anger instantly rushes out of him, fear taking its place.
“You are going to not say another word. You are going to get the fuck out of my house, delete my number, and pray that your pads are going to protect you the next time I see you on the ice. Understand?” Shane’s voice filled with anger, his breath shallow and quick.
He looks over at Ilya, who was standing to the side behind Shane, eyes filled with heat aside from anger.
“I said, understand?” The arm presses harder.
J.J’s eyes dart back to Shane, nodding his head as best as he can, taking a deep breath when the arm is taken away. He spares another glance toward Ilya, looking back at Shane, eyes wide.
“Go.” The word said with so much finality.
J.J doesn’t waste another second, rushing to the door and throwing it open, not bothering to look behind him as he quickly gets into his car and speeds off.
Holy shit
He fucked up.
He fucked up so much.
He’s going to fucking die the next time he sees Shane.