Chapter Text
August 2021
Harris was in his office, scheduling posts set to go out this week, blocking off time to film and live tweet during some pre-season scrimmage games. He missed Troy so deeply, but a part of him was glad that he was at his mom’s this week.
Unlike the players themselves, this was more of his busy season as he preferred to prep as much as possible, and then only have live tweeting, post about wins, and the occasional locker room shenanigans to do during the season. It was time consuming enough without those pretty blue eyes to distract and take up his time.
It was then that he heard a polite, almost timid knock on his office door.
“Come in!” he called without really looking up from his screen.
The doorway filled with the tall, broad frame of Shane Hollander.
His heart rate picked up. He still couldn’t believe that Hollander—Shane fucking Hollander—was on their team. He would never admit it to Troy—or Ilya for that matter—but this man was probably the best player since… Well, maybe ever.
It seemed insane that he was in Ottawa, wearing the ridiculous Centaurs logo, and now, standing in his fucking office. He felt like even more of a fan boy than Luca whenever Ilya walked in the room.
Hollander was just like he was in interviews in person, which Harris actually found surprising. Usually, people were actually a lot different than how they were on social media and press interviews, especially those as buttoned-up and reserved as Hollander. He barely had a social media presence; he just reposted stuff from his teams.
His one and only personal post was of his wedding to their captain. It featured a shot of him and Ilya in their suits, holding hands during the ceremony, one of them dancing awkwardly, and a final favorite of them with crouching with Anya, where they both were smiling at each other, clearly so happily in love. The comment had just consisted of the date, 7/10/2021, with a heart. In a way, it seemed overly professional and restrained, just like how Hollander seemed in person.
He was polite, sure, but it was like there was a wall there, preventing connection. Harris knew it was unreasonable to expect an instant connection just because he was also a gay man working in professional hockey. He didn’t expect him to come in, say “Hey, Queen!” and kiss him on the cheek before dishing about Rozanov’s dick, but maybe, some bit of recognition. A “wow, we’ve got the world’s gayest hockey team; we should go on a double date!” would be nice.
Okay, maybe that was also unreasonable…
At least it was unreasonable perhaps for the stoic man standing in front of him.
He shook, and made himself say, “Hey, Hollander! Come on in!”
“Hi, Harris,” he answered quietly. In fact, he sounded, almost choked up?
“You okay?” he asked, now shoving aside his laptop to give him his full attention.
“Yeah,” Hollander answered and sat across from him, “it’s just—I uh—“
Oh shit. Maybe this was serious.
What could possibly be serious that Hollander would come to him about? Oh shit, a social media scandal? Maybe Ilya said something actually stupid to really piss someone off. Maybe they were facing extra heat online with the season ramping up. Oh God, maybe someone leaked a sex tape of them or something? Holy shit, he did not feel prepared to handle that with the professionalism and care that it deserved—
“It’s just, uh, I know I said I would, but I don’t think I can do the video thing.”
What the heck was Hollander talking about?
“It’s just I’ve realized something,” he went on.
Harris noticed that Hollander refused to make eye contact, which made him even harder to read.
“What did you realize?” he asked carefully.
“I literally have no use outside of hockey.”
Harris suddenly remembered.
Last week, he had sent Hollander a text about doing one of the videos that he liked to do with the team. Hollander’s husband took him on drive in one of his fancy cars that made him nauseous but was awesome, Bood showed off with Barbecue skills, Wyatt Hayes ranted like a mad man about comics and showed off his special editions, Luca did a drawing lesson that the fans said reminded them of a Swedish, baby-faced Bob Ross. It was just a way to show the team’s personality off the rink.
That was what Shane Hollander—three time Stanley Cup winner—was stressed about? He was genuinely upset that he felt like he couldn’t do a dumb minute video for Harris.
He found himself laughing, not trying to be mean, but it was ridiculous!
He kinda understood in a way; Troy was the same way, only grumpier. Even his hockey-obsessed boyfriend would play video games or watch a movie now and then.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Harris tried to assure, only for Shane to shake his head. “You have to do something outside of hockey just for yourself.”
Harris found it so odd to be giving advice to this man. He was a living legend and was sitting like a scolded kid in the principal’s office. He was playing with his wedding band in what seemed to be an anxious tick and still wouldn’t make eye contact.
“I thought about what I do for fun, but I figured the X-rated version of Rides with Rozanov wasn’t really what you were looking for.”
Harris choked on air.
Holy mother fucking shit. No way.
He tried to get a drink of water, but that only made it worse. He started sputtering and coughing as Hollander finally looked him in the eye.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” He looked horrified.
“Yes!” Harris managed to wheeze out between gasps and his upcoming shaking laughter. “Yes—oh my God—I’m—“
He gave a final cough, and felt a decision come over him, not unlike the one he’d made last year for an MLH player who needed a life off the ice.
“You are my new favorite. Don’t tell Troy.”
Hollander smiled a little, looking a little pleased and proud that his joke landed.
Harris decided then that Hollander—Shane—was different from his press interviews.
Well. The same. Dry, hockey-obsessed, sure, but also earnest and… almost silly. No one would believe him if he even tried to tell them about this unannounced visit.
With sudden clarity, Harris realized that this was it. This was Shane Hollander’s Yass Queen. An acknowledgement of their shared queerness and branch of friendship to him all wrapped up in a gay joke.
Harris couldn’t explain it, but he knew for a fact—despite having only had a few in person conversations with Shane—that he wouldn’t have made that joke to anyone else on the team. Maybe Troy… but not if he was making his grumpy face. He had a feeling that would scare him off.
Harris felt weirdly… honored. He was trusted enough for Shane Hollander a man who was closeted his entire career to make a gay joke in his office.
That cemented his decision, removing any doubts or reservations.
“Okay,” Harris said confidently, “great.”
“Great?” Shane asked.
“Yeah, we’ll just shift gears a little,” he explained. “What I’m thinking is probably best as multiple videos, a little mini-series.”
“What? No, Harris, I don’t think you understand—“
“No, I understand,” Harris cut him off, hoping it wasn’t too rude, “and I’m gonna help you.”
“Help me?” Shane asked incredulously. “What do you mean? Like with my backhand?”
Harris laughed. He loved this guy. The second Troy was back they were having him and Ilya over for dinner. He and Ilya could eat real food while Shane and Troy talked about macros or some shit.
“No, not with your backhand. With work life balance,” he explained and smiled.
“Well, I’m a hockey player—“
“I know.” He smiled cheekily at the hockey player.
“We only get so long on the ice before we can’t keep up—“
“What are you going to do when you retire, Shane?” Harris asked abruptly, again cutting him off. He hoped his new friend would forgive him and understand.
“Uh…”
“Exactly!” Harris said excitedly. This was going to be fun, and the fans—oh my God—they were going to love it. “That’s why our new series is Hollander Needs a Hobby. It’s perfect! You can thank me later.”
“Can I actually just do yoga?”
“Is that something you do for hockey?”
There was a weighted pause before he admitted, “Maybe.”
“Then absolutely not!” he answered cheerfully.
Shane stood, looking shell-shocked and started fumbling his way out of his office. He reminded Harris of the fawns he saw out on the farm tripping after their moms. So opposite of how graceful he was on the ice. So telling of who Harris was discovering this man was. He loved it.
Under his breath, he heard Shane mutter, “I miss when my team hated me.”
“No you don’t!” he called after him.
He had some calls to make. If Hollander was going to get a new hobby, he might need some new friends to help. Thank goodness he had a whole team of helpful hockey players ready to make friends with the legendary Shane Hollander.