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Ilya was a genius. Like, actually.
The next match between Ottawa and Montreal was played in Ottawa in three weeks. On April 1st.
April Fool’s Day.
And Ilya, the ultimate prankster, had the perfect idea.
He just needed to bring Shane on board.
The Centaurs were, understandably, nervous.
It was Ilya’s favourite day of the year, yet he hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t swapped the sugar for salt. He hadn’t touched anyone’s gear…not that he would, but still. There was no surprise confetti, no wrong coffee order, no googly eyes on posters. Nothing.
When he finally turned up for the match, the whole team turned to him, and it was Bood that finally broke the tense silence.
“Roz, what gives?”
Ilya gave him a quizzical look as he carried on dropping his stuff in his locker. “What are you on about?”
“You do know what day it is, right? April 1st? April Fool’s Day? Your favourite day of the year?”
Ilya nodded. “And?”
“And? And we’ve been walking on eggshells since we got here, scared that we’re going to open our locker door to confetti popping in our faces. You haven’t done anything, and that’s weirder in itself.”
“Hey, maybe this is the prank,” Dykstra said, hopeful. “The fact that there’s no prank?”
“I would not risk upsetting pre-game routines. I know how important these rituals are.” Ilya placed a hand over his heart, expression solemn.
It lasted exactly two seconds.
“The prank will happen after the game,” he added, the mischief slipping back in. “You are all safe. For now.”
“That’s not comforting,” Troy muttered.
Their nerves lasted the whole game, getting more intense as the game went on.
Ilya was behaving.
And not just Ilya’s version of behaving, but actually on his best behaviour. There were no chirps that went too far. No gloves dropped. No flying elbows.
At one point, a Montreal defenceman gave him a shove that would normally have earned at least a sarcastic comment, if not a full argument.
And Ilya just… skated away.
Troy noticed first, but by the second period, the entire bench had clocked it.
“This is bad.” Dykstra said under his breath.
“He’s up to something.” Troy replied.
There was a beat, and then Dykstra frowned slightly. “He did say after the game…”
“Yeah,” Bood said.
Dykstra glanced back out at the ice, watching Ilya peel off from a play without so much as a word. “So why is he acting like this now?”
Troy didn’t answer straight away, his eyes still tracking Ilya as he skated back into position, clean and controlled like this was just another night.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “But I don’t like it.”
Because whatever it was, it was coming.
He just hoped it was going to be worth it.
There were less than four minutes left in the game when Ilya skated into the faceoff circle and found himself across from Shane Hollander.
“Last chance to back down, Hollander.”
It was only Troy’s focus on their captain that let him catch the quiet exchange at centre ice.
Hollander’s gaze flicked up, and for a brief second he met Troy’s eyes before returning his attention to Ilya. “No,” he said, almost lightly. “I don’t think I will.”
A small smirk crept across his face. “It’s a tied game. Someone’s got to win.”
“It’ll be me.” Ilya sounded smug.
Hollander looked like he was about to reply, but the referee stepped in for the puck drop, his expression shifting as the smirk disappeared and his focus snapped back into place.
The puck hit the ice.
Sticks clashed immediately, bodies closing in as it broke loose to the side.
Montreal got there first.
A quick pass dragged it over the blue line as Ottawa scrambled to reset, players turning and reaching, trying to get back into position.
It stayed messy. No clean control, just touches and deflections as it was forced toward the slot.
Someone tried to clear it and missed, the puck clipping a skate and changing direction just enough to throw everyone off.
A Montreal stick got to it.
A shot came through traffic, low and fast, catching something on the way through before skidding across the crease.
And then it was in.
The net rippled, and before Ottawa could blink, the final horn went.
There was a moment of silence, before the crowd blew up.
Montreal turned immediately, sticks in the air as they pushed toward their end, the first shouts of celebration cutting through the noise as they gathered together.
Ottawa moved the other way.
They collapsed back instead, skates carving tight turns as they headed straight for the crease, crowding in around Hayes out of habit more than anything else. A couple of them tapped his pads, another leaned in, and one by one they bumped their helmets gently against his in quick, familiar head taps, checking in the way they always did.
Hayes pushed Bood off his back, where he’d practically draped himself, and gave a short nod, already waving them off.
“I’m good,” he waved them off.
The group loosened, but didn’t fully break apart. Ilya drifted in last, slower than the rest, leaning in just enough to tap his helmet lightly against Hayes’.
“I know what will take your mind off this,” he said, amusement creeping into his voice.
Hayes snorted under his breath. “Yeah?”
Ilya didn’t answer.
Instead, he turned and drifted away from the group, lifting his head as he looked down the ice toward the cluster of Montreal players still celebrating.
“Hey, Hollander!”
His voice carried, cutting cleanly through the noise.
Hollander broke from his team, waving a couple of them off as he turned. He flicked a glance up at the big screens and saw exactly what they expected.
The cameras were already on them.
He schooled his face into something closer to curiosity than the grin that threatened to break. “What do you want, Rozanov?”
They drifted closer to each other across the ice.
“To say congratulations properly.”
Their voices still carried, easily reaching beyond the space between them. Around them, the noise in the arena shifted, the earlier celebration fading into something quieter, more focused as people realised something was happening.
The cameras zoomed in further as the pair got closer.
After just a moment, they were face-to-face, in each other’s personal space.
And then Ilya’s hands were moving.
One reached upwards, towards Hollander’s face. The other settled at his waist.
And Hollander let it happen.
The arena went still.
Ilya’s hand cupped Hollander’s jaw, his grip firm at his waist, and he pulled him in.
And kissed him.
Hollander’s hands came up in response, gripping at Ilya’s cheeks.
For a split second, the arena went silent.
“No fucking way,” Troy breathed from somewhere behind Ilya.
“What the fuck?” Bood’s voice followed, louder, disbelieving.
Across the ice, Hayden Pike pushed off hard, already moving, J.J. right there with him as they both headed straight for them. “Shane?!”
And then Ilya pulled back.
Just far enough to no longer be inappropriate, but not enough to create distance.
His hand slid from Hollander’s jaw, catching his hand instead as he turned, lifting their joined hands out wide, head tipping back slightly as he looked up toward the stands.
A grin split across his face.
For a second, the arena didn’t seem to know what to do with that.
Then the noise came back all at once, scattered laughter mixing with something sharper, louder, less certain.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Troy said, skating in hard, stopping just short of them.
“What the fuck was that?” Bood followed, not even pretending to keep his voice down.
The screens above the ice had already zoomed in, the feed tight on their faces.
“Shane,” Pike snapped, grabbing at his arm. “What the hell was that?”
Wyatt drifted in from behind, slower but no less focused, mask tipped up just enough to see properly. “You two trying to start something, or—?”
Ilya didn’t let anyone finish.
Still holding Shane’s hand, he turned slightly, grin still in place like he was enjoying every second of this.
“It’s April Fool’s Day,” he said, like that explained everything. “You are all very easy to scare.”
“That’s not—” Troy started.
The crowd exploded.
Cheers and wolf whistles broke out first, sharp and loud, with the occasional boo cutting through underneath. They all looked up toward the screens, where a still of the kiss filled the display, stamped over with APRIL FOOLS, as if they were in on it too.
“Relax,” he added, louder now, glancing briefly toward the stands, aware the cameras were still fixed on them, even if the feed had cut from the screens. The grin was still plastered across his face, but his tone turned as serious as they’d ever heard it. “When we kiss on the ice, it is not a joke.”
Hollander shrugged, a blush spreading across his cheeks, “It’ll get people talking. About the Foundation.”
There was a moment where no one quite moved.
Then Pike laughed.
It was a fraction too loud, a fraction too sharp, but it passed.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, shaking his head, still holding onto Shane’s arm like he hadn’t realised he was doing it. “You’re an idiot.”
J.J. followed a second later, barking out a disbelieving laugh as he skated in beside him. “That’s one way to end a game, I guess.”
Across from them, Troy let out a short breath that could almost have been a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You know there’s no way you’re getting out of media duties now, right?”
Ilya’s face did something dramatic for half a second. “Barrett, that was the whole point, yes?”
Wyatt didn’t say anything at first, just pushed forward to join them, mask tipped up, eyes moving between the two of them with quiet, steady focus.
Ilya could see pieces falling into place for their perceptive goalie.
Bood, on the other hand, was grinning like he’d just been handed the best story of his life.
“You are unbelievable,” he said, pointing between them. “Absolutely unbelievable.”
Ilya just grinned wider, like this was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.
Shane shook his head, playing it off, but there was something just slightly off about the way he didn’t quite meet Pike’s eyes.
“Relax,” he said. “It’s a joke.”
“Yeah,” Pike said easily.
Too easily. Unconvinced.
He gave Shane’s arm a quick squeeze before letting go. “We’ll talk later.”
J.J. snorted, still smiling. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that.”
Troy huffed out another laugh, glancing sideways at Wyatt, then back at Ilya.
“Yeah,” he said. “We are.”
Bood clapped his hands once, loud enough to cut across them all.
“Right. You’re coming over tonight.”
Pike blinked. “What?”
“My place,” Bood said, already turning like it was decided. “Barbecue. You’re invited.”
“That sounds like a trap,” J.J. said.
Bood pointed at them. “Seven.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Pike nodded, still smiling. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright.”
As they started to split back toward their teams, Pike slowed slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
“Wait,” he called. “How are we meant to find you?”
Hayes didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t worry,” he said, jerking his chin toward Shane. “He’ll sort you out.”
Shane flushed, quick and obvious, looking away as he pushed off back toward his team.
Troy laughed under his breath, skating in close enough to clap Ilya on the shoulder as they made their way back to their goal.
“Well done, man,” he said. “That’s one hell of a catch.”
Ilya’s chest puffed up with pride, a massive grin still stretched across his face.
Around him, the rest of the team looked between him, Bood and Troy with open bafflement.
Bood just laughed, shaking his head. “We’re not explaining it here. My place, after. Barbecue.”
A few of them started talking over each other immediately.
“What—”
“No, you can’t just—”
“You’ve got to be—”
Bood pointed at them, still grinning. “Seven. Be there.”
“You’re unbelievable. At least tell them something.” Troy rolled his eyes.
Bood opened his mouth—
Ilya smacked his arm without even looking at him.
“No,” he said, grin widening. “Keep the mystery. That way everyone has to come.”
Bood’s laughter rang across the ice as the team skated towards their tunnel.
By the time the three Voyageurs arrived, the barbecue was already in full swing.
The folding doors were wide open, the space beyond warm and inviting. Ottawa players were scattered across the deck, some gathered around the fire, others by the grill, most with drinks in hand, all of them talking over each other, laughing easily.
It wasn’t just players. Wives were there too.
That made Shane hesitate for half a second, a flicker of nerves he couldn’t quite shake, even though he knew they’d be looped in soon enough anyway.
Cassie, who had introduced herself at the door, stepped out onto the deck with them, a t-shirt bundled in one hand. “Can someone tell me who invited these three miscreants?”
A loud cheer went up from the group, sudden and bright enough to catch them off guard. It wasn’t that they’d expected a bad reception, but this was something else entirely.
Without missing a beat, Cassie flung the t-shirt across the deck. It hit Holmberg in the face, where he was standing by the outdoor kitchen, dish towel across his shoulders, hair dripping and top clinging damply to him.
“That,” she said, pointing at him, “is what happens when you accept a can from Rozanov.”
Bergy dragged the shirt over his head with a muttered curse. “How was I supposed to know he’d shaken it?”
“Because it’s April Fool’s Day,” someone called back.
“Who does two pranks on April Fool’s?” Bergy shot back.
A few of the Centaurs laughed.
“Beers are in the fridge,” Cassie said, pointing toward the outdoor kitchen. “Help yourselves before they all disappear.” She glanced at Shane, her hand brushing briefly against his arm. “There’s ginger ale in there too, hun.”
Then she was gone again, already moving back toward the house.
With nothing better to do, Shane, J.J. and Hayden made their way over to the drinks.
“Careful,” Bergy said, still towelling off his hair as Shane reached into the cooler, pulling out a can of ginger ale. “Do not take a can from Ilya unless you want to end up like this.”
“Seriously,” someone else added, “he’s shaken a few of them.”
Shane glanced down at the can in his hand. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Bood called from the grill. “Man couldn’t stop at one.”
“Who does multiple pranks on April Fool’s?” J.J. muttered.
“Rozanov,” Troy said, reappearing as he stepped back onto the deck. “That’s who.”
He jerked his chin over his shoulder. “Speaking of.”
Ilya appeared a moment later, weaving easily through the group, grinning as he spotted Shane in the crowd. He didn’t hesitate, just made his way straight to him.
Shane barely had time to look up before Ilya was there.
The can disappeared from his hand.
“Hey—”
Ilya didn’t even look at him, just flicked the tab open with practiced ease.
He tipped it back and took a quick swig, like it was his in the first place, before handing it back.
Shane stared at him, fighting down a smile.
“…you’re unbelievable.” But there was no real bite to it.
Ilya’s mouth curved, faint and satisfied.
Shane took the can back anyway, bringing it to his mouth for a drink.
Ilya stayed there, close enough that their shoulders brushed as he leaned back against the counter beside him.
“Hi.”
Their shoulders knocked, then stayed that way, familiar.
Shane huffed a quiet breath. “Hi.”
Hayden blinked.
Once.
Then he looked at J.J., incredulous.
Bood made a small, strangled noise, hand gesturing between the pair in front of him.
Troy didn’t even try to hide it. “Yeah,” he said. “That. What the fuck?”
“Okay, okay,” Ilya said, clapping his hands once. “Everybody sit down.”
There was some grumbling, a few looks exchanged, but people moved, dragging chairs closer to the fire, drinks in hand.
Ilya waited until they’d all settled, wives included, standing for a moment like he had everyone exactly where he wanted them.
“Right,” he said, lifting a hand slightly. “Listen very carefully, I will say this only once.”
There was a beat—
Then a couple of snorts of laughter broke through.
“Oh my God,” Troy muttered, dropping his head. “Not this again.”
Bood pointed at him. “I told you he’d do it.”
Ilya laughed under his breath as he dropped into the seat beside Shane.
J.J. frowned slightly. “What?”
“It’s a show,” Troy said, waving a hand vaguely. “Old one. He made us watch it on a road trip.”
“What? ’Allo ’Allo is very good,” Ilya said with a small shrug, completely unapologetic, ignoring all the groans and protests around him. “But it's not important right now.”
He glanced at all of them, the humour still there, but something a little more focused underneath.
“Pay attention.”
The last of the chatter died down, though a few people were still shifting in their seats, exchanging looks.
Ilya let it sit for a second, then shrugged slightly.
“You all saw the end of the game,” he said. “Yes?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Troy muttered.
Ilya ignored him.
“People are already talking about it,” he went on, like this was straightforward. “They will clip it, post it, share it. They will search for us.”
He gestured loosely between himself and Shane.
“And when they do, they will see the foundation. Interviews, links, everything attached.” A small shrug. “It brings attention.”
There was a pause.
J.J. nodded slowly, like he was working through it. “Surely that wasn’t the only option.”
“A bit extreme,” Troy added, still watching Ilya. “But yeah.”
Wyatt didn’t say anything, just tilted his head slightly, eyes moving between the two of them.
Hayden let out a quiet breath, something like a laugh under it.
Bood leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking between them like he was finally putting something together.
“Right, okay.” He pointed between them. “But that’s not the whole story, is it?”
Ilya’s expression didn’t change.
Bood huffed out a short breath, shaking his head. “No, seriously. You don’t just do that. Not like that.”
J.J.’s eyes flicked to Shane, then back to Ilya, something dawning there.
“…yeah,” he said, quieter now.
Troy didn’t look away from Ilya. “You shut me down last time I tried to ask,” he said. “So I’m asking again.”
Wyatt shifted slightly in his chair. “It wasn’t a prank, was it?” he asked, almost to himself.
That got a few looks.
Ilya’s mouth twitched slightly.
“No, the real prank was the drinks,” he said. “Just ask Bergy.”
Holmberg muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “fuck you, Roz”.
Hayden folded his arms, eyebrow raised, watching Shane, the edge of a smile still there, but his eyes sharper now.
Bood leaned back slightly, then forward again.
“So what was that kiss about, then, Captain?”
Ilya didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he turned his head slightly, looking at Shane.
“Rasskazhem li my im?” he asked quietly.
Shane didn’t hesitate.
“Posmotrim, kto poymet posle etogo razgovora.”
Everyone’s heads snapped towards Shane.
There was a beat.
Then—
“…what?” Bood said.
J.J. blinked. “Since when do you speak Russian?”
Troy’s head fell into his hands. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Hayden let out a short laugh, a beat too late, shaking his head as he looked between them. “Right,” he said. “Subtle, guys.”
Ilya’s mouth twitched, like he was enjoying this far more than he should.
“I thought it was obvious,” he said.
The brief silence that followed was broken as Luca choked, his Sprite going straight down the wrong way.
“Haasy, you okay?”
“What the—”
“Are you—”
Luca waved them off, still coughing, one hand coming up as he tried to get a breath back.
Everyone had turned toward him now.
He sucked in a breath, eyes watering, then pointed vaguely downward between Ilya and Shane.
“Hands,” he managed, voice hoarse.
Heads snapped down.
Shane and Ilya’s hands were linked loosely on the bench between them, like neither of them had even thought about it. Like it was second nature.
Ilya followed their gaze briefly, then looked back up again, entirely unconcerned.
“Ah,” he said. “Yes.”
Shane huffed out a quiet breath beside him, glancing around at all of them, looking calm despite the blush creeping across his cheeks.
“Yeah,” he said, his grip tightening. “We’re together.”
For a second, no one said anything.
Just the low crackle of the fire, the hum of voices from inside, the faint clink of bottles shifting in the cooler.
Then Hayden burst out laughing.
“Holy shit,” Troy said.
Bood blinked at them like he was trying to reset his brain. “What?” he said slowly. “No. You’re joking!”
Hayden huffed out a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
“We’re not joking,” Shane laughed.
“That’s not—” Bood pointed between them, more emphatic now. “Hazy’s right, isn’t he? That wasn’t a prank. This isn’t new.”
Voices started overlapping.
“Whose idea was it?”
“Was this planned?”
“How the hell did you even—”
“Wait,” Troy cut in, leaning forward, eyes sharp. “Start there. The stunt. The kiss. Who came up with it?”
Ilya grinned. “I did.”
Troy stared at him. “Of course you did.”
Bood let out a snort, “Why are we not surprised?”
Wyatt leaned forward. “How much convincing did you need, Holzy?”
“A fair amount, if I’m honest. We wanted to see how people would react,” Shane shrugged. “Before… doing it properly.”
Hayden laughed. “Roz has been insufferable about this for weeks.”
J.J.’s head turned.
“...weeks?”
Hayden stilled, realising what he’d admitted to, but he squared his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah.”
J.J. blinked.
Then turned straight to Shane.
“He knew?”
Shane tensed slightly beside Ilya, shoulders tightening without meaning to.
J.J. leaned forward, words coming quickly now, all directed at him.
“T’es sérieux là ? T’as rien dit ? Je suis ton meilleur pote, non ? T’avais pas confiance en moi ? J’essayais de te caser avec des mecs et tout—tu savais que ça me dérangeait pas !”
Shane froze, not expecting the barrage of questions.
Then, from the other side of the fire, Chouinard spoke up, just as quickly.
“Hey, calme-toi un peu.”
LaPointe leaned forward beside him, adding, “C’est comme ça que tu réagis?”
J.J.’s head snapped toward them.
“On savait pas non plus,” Chouinard continued, a little firmer now. “C’est pas ton truc à gérer.”
Then, switching easily back into English, he added, “You don’t get to be mad at him for that.”
“Yeah,” Bood said, nodding once. “You don’t get to dictate that.”
“It’s their thing,” Troy added, gesturing between Shane and Ilya. “Not a team announcement.”
J.J. looked between them, the frustration still there but starting to falter under the weight of it.
“Mais quand même—” he started again, weaker this time.
“Doesn’t matter,” LaPointe cut in, back in English now. “You’re not owed that.”
That quieted him more effectively than anything else had.
J.J. dragged a hand through his hair, looking back at Shane now, less sharp but still searching.
“You could’ve told me,” he said, quieter.
Shane met his eyes this time. “I—” he hesitated. “I didn’t even mean to tell Hayden. He just asked the right questions and worked it out for himself.”
J.J. sat silently for a moment.
“This isn’t about you,” Bood said, pointing at J.J. with his bottle. “Don’t make it about you.”
“I’m not,” J.J. muttered, leaning back. “I’m just—”
“Surprised?” Troy offered.
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Troy said. “Join the club.”
A couple of quiet laughs broke through, easing the edge of it.
Hayden leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his drink, like he hadn’t just set that whole thing off.
Bood clapped his hands once, pulling the focus back.
“Right,” he said. “Back to these two.”
He pointed between Ilya and Shane.
“So you’ve been planning this for weeks,” he said. “Working yourselves up to it, and that”—he gestured vaguely outward—“was the plan you landed on?”
“Yes,” Ilya said.
Bood stared at them both for a second longer, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“How long?” he asked again, more firmly this time.
Shane exhaled slowly.
“…eleven years.”
Silence.
“Sorry, I think I’ve still got beer in my ears.” Holmberg sat forwards. “Did you just say eleven goddamn years?”
“I was ten years—”
“Luca, do not even think about finishing that sentence!” Hazy cut in immediately, before pointing at the pair. “You’ve been together longer than half our careers.”
Hayden blinked. “Okay, no—that I didn’t know.”
“And no one—” Troy gestured between them. “No one knew?”
“We were careful,” Shane said.
“We had to be,” Ilya added.
Bood pointed between them again. “No, okay. Back up. Back up. How does that even start?”
Shane let out a breath, already regretting opening his mouth. “We were eighteen,” he said. “Just finished that advert in Toronto, and Ilya decides he’s going to make his move.”
“No, I didn’t make the first move. You did.”
Shane turned to him immediately. “Absolutely not. You were the one… doing things.”
“Only because you reacted first.”
“Wait, wait—hold up,” Dykstra cut in before they could properly get into it. “What exactly happened?”
Shane dragged a hand down his face. “We were in the showers after filming,” he said, then pointed at Ilya, “and he just— started jerking off.”
“Woah, Roz!”
“Captain!”
“Jesus Christ-”
A chorus of voices broke out at once.
Ilya pushed to his feet, unimpressed. “Oh, please. I only escalated because someone was paying a lot of attention.”
That set them off again.
“You were showing off!” Shane shot back.
“You were watching.”
“Because you made it impossible not to!”
“You completely missed my flirting before that,” Ilya said. “I had to try a different tactic.”
“You call that a tactic?!”
“It worked.”
“That does not mean it was a good idea!”
Wyatt had a hand over his mouth now, shoulders shaking. “So this all happened at the same time?”
“Yes,” Ilya said.
“Within seconds,” Shane added.
Troy looked between them. “So neither of you is backing down on this.”
“No,” they both said, at the same time.
“Jesus Christ,” Bood muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“Eleven years,” Troy muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
“Yeah, no, we’re circling back to that,” Chouinard added. “Because what do you mean eleven years?”
“Start there,” LaPointe said. “We skipped ahead.”
Wyatt leaned forward, eyes narrowed slightly. “And the women,” he added. “We’re coming back to that too.”
“Wait, no, no,” Bood cut in, pointing between them again. “We need to be inclusive, were there other men?”
“Absolutely not,” Troy agreed.
“Don’t be so homophobic, Troy!”
“I can’t be homophobic, I’m fucking gay, asshole!”
Shane groaned softly. “Oh my God.”
“You said we could ask questions,” Bood reminded him.
“I regret saying that.”
Voices started overlapping again—
“How did you manage for that long—”
“How did no one catch you—”
“Rose—someone has to explain Rose—”
"Bi people exist, Bergy!"
Shane laughed under his breath, shaking his head, like he’d lost control of the room completely.
“Okay, maybe we could answer these another time—” he tried.
“No,” Troy said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“That’s not how this works,” Bood added.
“You brought this on yourselves.”
“Ilya brought this on us,” Shane corrected.
“I improved your life,” Ilya replied.
“That is debatable.”
“It is not.”
“It absolutely is—”
Someone cut across them with another question, and it dissolved again, voices talking over each other, half-answers getting lost in the noise.
Shane didn’t try to control it this time.
He leaned back into Ilya slightly, letting it happen.
Their hands were still linked, easy, familiar. Ilya’s thumb shifted once against his, absent, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
Shane glanced at him for a second.
Ilya looked back, his real, soft smile visible.
Shane huffed a quiet laugh, something gentler than anything that had come before it.
Around them, the questions kept coming.
Ilya answered them easily.
Shane just stayed where he was, warm and steady, letting it all settle around him.