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Alex Robbins arrived in Ottawa with a smile sharp enough to cut skin.
Not literally, of course. Nobody in the Ottawa Centaurs locker room would have described him as dangerous during his first week.
They called him confident. Friendly. Charming.
Coach Brandon Wiebe called him “a promising addition”.
Harris Drover called him “camera-ready”.
Ilya Rozanov called him “tiny baby rookie”.
Only Shane Hollander disliked him immediately.
And Shane hated himself for it.
Because Shane knew jealousy could make ordinary things look ugly.
He knew his brain sometimes latched onto danger signals until they became unbearable. He knew he could obsess. Spiral. Overanalyse every look and every touch until it hollowed him out from the inside.
So when Alex laughed too long at Ilya’s jokes during the first practice, Shane told himself he was imagining things.
When Alex stared openly at Ilya in the locker room, Shane ignored it.
When Alex said, “I used to watch all your interviews.” while looking at Ilya like he hung the moon, Shane tightened his grip on his stick until his knuckles hurt and said nothing.
Because Ilya was beautiful.
Everybody stared at Ilya.
That wasn’t new.
The problem was that this time Shane couldn’t escape it.
The first thing Alex Robbins learned about the Ottawa Centaurs was that nobody shut up.
The second thing he learned was that Ilya Rozanov somehow got louder when he laughed.
“Coach says you play wing, yes?” Ilya asked as they walked through the practice facility. His accent curled around the words, rough and warm at the same time. “You score pretty goals or ugly goals?”
Alex grinned. “Goals are goals.”
“Wrong answer,” Ilya declared. “Ugly goals count more because defensemen cry after.”
Luca Haas barked out a laugh from across the hallway. Wyatt Hayes nearly skated into a wall because he was listening instead of watching where he was going.
Coach Brandon Wiebe pinched the bridge of his nose like he regretted his entire profession.
“Rozanov.” he warned.
“What? I am mentoring rookie.”
“You’ve known him for six minutes.”
“Exactly. Important developmental stage.”
The locker room laughed.
Alex laughed too, mostly because everybody else did.
And because Ilya Rozanov was impossible not to look at.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Curly light-brown hair damp from practice. Blue eyes full of constant amusement, like the world existed specifically to entertain him.
Alex had watched him for years before getting drafted. Everybody had. One of the best players in the NHL. Flashy, talented, infuriatingly charismatic.
And beside him, quietly unlacing his skates, sat Shane Hollander.
The other best player in the NHL.
Shane was the opposite of Ilya in almost every visible way.
Still handsome - painfully handsome, actually - but quieter. Dark hair falling over his forehead. Brown eyes that noticed everything. Freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks. He moved with calm precision even when he was exhausted.
While Ilya filled every room he entered, Shane seemed to fold himself smaller inside it.
Coach Wiebe pointed at Shane. “Hollander’s your linemate for drills today.”
Shane looked up immediately.
Alex had seen interviews. Everybody knew Shane Hollander hated attention from strangers. People online called him shy, awkward, robotic, intense.
Alex thought he just looked cautious.
“Hey.” Alex said, offering a hand.
Shane hesitated exactly half a second before shaking it. “Hi.”
His grip was warm.
“Welcome to Ottawa.”
“That’s it?” Ilya gasped dramatically. “No speech? No tears? Shane, you are terrible host.”
Shane’s mouth twitched.
That surprised Alex more than anything.
Apparently Shane Hollander smiled for exactly three people in existence, and Ilya Rozanov was clearly one of them.
“You talk enough for everybody.” Shane muttered.
“True.”
Ilya smirked proudly like it was a compliment.
Alex noticed the look Shane gave him then.
Soft. Fond. Automatic.
Interesting.
By the end of the week, Alex had developed three strong opinions.
One: the Centaurs were terrifyingly good.
Two: Harris Drover, the team’s social media manager, had no respect for human dignity.
And three: Ilya Rozanov was absolutely, definitely bisexual.
That part wasn’t news. The entire hockey world knew it. Ilya had come out years ago in an interview and somehow made the whole thing look easy.
Alex admired that.
NHL culture had gotten better over the years, but not perfect. Not even close.
And yet Ilya carried himself like he’d never once doubted he belonged.
Alex caught him after practice one afternoon while players drifted toward the showers.
“Hey,” Alex said. “Can I ask you something?”
Ilya sat on the bench, towel around his neck. “Depends. If you ask me help moving furniture, answer is no.”
Alex laughed. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then maybe.”
Alex leaned against the locker beside him.
“I just think it’s cool,” he said carefully. “That you came out. At your level. That took guts.”
For once, Ilya went quiet.
Not awkward quiet. Real quiet.
He scratched at his jaw thoughtfully.
“Maybe little,” he admitted. “But hiding forever is exhausting too.”
Alex nodded slowly.
“You helped a lot of people.”
Ilya shrugged, uncomfortable with sincerity for longer than ten seconds.
“Also helped internet discover I have nice ass.”
From two lockers away, Troy Barrett yelled, “You talk about your ass every single day!”
“Because it is elite!”
“HR violation.” Harris called from the doorway, already holding his phone up to record.
Everybody laughed.
Everybody except Shane.
Alex noticed him sitting silently at his stall, head lowered as he taped his stick.
He wasn’t upset exactly, but something in his shoulders had tightened.
Three days later, Harris posted the picture.
Alex didn’t even know he’d taken it.
It was after practice. Him and Ilya standing side by side in the hallway laughing about something stupid. Ilya’s arm draped over Alex’s shoulder.
The caption read:
rookie already corrupted unfortunately 😔
Within twenty minutes the comments were chaos.
OH???
THE CHEMISTRY???
Ilya collecting blond twinks again
they look GOOD together
new favourite duo unlocked
Alex stared at his phone, amused.
Across the plane, Ilya was laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink.
“Look at this one,” he wheezed, shoving the phone toward Shane. “‘They look like enemies-to-lovers fanfiction.’ What does this even mean?”
Shane barely glanced at the screen.
“People are weird.”
“Yes but funny.”
“Mhm.”
Ilya’s smile faded slightly.
Shane turned toward the window, earbuds going in.
Alex watched the interaction carefully.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Shane stared at the comments until the words blurred.
His stomach felt sick.
Rationally, he knew none of it mattered.
Ilya loved him.
Ilya came home to him.
Ilya slept curled against his side every night with cold feet and terrible Russian soap operas playing at 2 a.m.
But jealousy wasn’t rational.
Jealousy whispered things quietly.
Things like:
Alex is easier than you.
Alex is open.
Alex can flirt back publicly.
Alex isn’t ashamed of wanting him.
Shane hated jealousy.
It made him feel childish.
Worse, it made him feel out of control.
He sat on the team bus staring at his phone screen long after he should have stopped reading comments.
Alex and Ilya would make such a hot couple.
Ilya finally found someone who matches his energy.
He knew they were jokes.
Mostly.
But every comment slid under his skin anyway.
Even as a kid, emotions felt like trying to carry water in his hands. He felt things too intensely and expressed them too little.
His parents understood.
Ilya understood.
But sometimes Shane feared that one day understanding wouldn’t be enough.
“You’re spiralling.”
Shane looked up.
Hayden Pike, his best friend and one of the few people who knew about his relationship with Ilya, dropped into the seat beside him.
Shane grimaced. “I’m not.”
“You read comments again?”
“No.”
“You do this thing with your jaw when you lie.”
Shane immediately unclenched his jaw.
Hayden snorted.
“Dude.”
Shane rubbed a hand over his face.
“I know it’s stupid.”
“Then why are you acting like Rozanov’s getting married tomorrow?”
Shane stared down at his ginger ale bottle.
Because Alex was flirting.
Because Ilya liked attention.
Because Shane couldn’t compete with people who knew how to say what they felt out loud.
“He likes compliments.” Shane muttered quietly.
Hayden blinked. “Ilya?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, no shit. He’d frame compliments if he could.”
Shane huffed despite himself.
Hayden leaned back.
“You know who he goes home with every night, right?”
Shane didn’t answer.
Because lately he wasn’t sure of anything.
“Shane?”
He jerked violently.
Ilya stood in the kitchen doorway holding two bottles of ginger ale.
Concern darkened his expression immediately.
“You okay?”
Shane looked away too quickly.
“Fine.”
Lie.
Ilya knew it was a lie.
Shane knew Ilya knew.
Still neither of them said anything.
Because Shane was terrified of sounding pathetic.
And because Ilya still didn’t understand what Alex was doing.
Alex flirted constantly.
Not aggressively, just enough.
Enough compliments. Enough touches on the arm. Enough lingering smiles.
And Ilya, oblivious disaster that he was, accepted it all cheerfully.
“Your shot is insane.” Alex told him during practice.
“Yes.” Ilya agreed immediately.
Wyatt nearly choked laughing.
“See?” Shane muttered under his breath.
Ilya turned toward him instantly. “What?”
“Nothing.”
But Shane’s chest ached anyway.
The worst part was that he couldn’t talk about it.
He wanted to.
Every night he wanted to tell Ilya that he was scared.
Scared of losing him.
Scared that maybe after years of secrecy, maybe eventually Ilya would want somebody easier. Somebody public. Somebody who could stand beside him openly without freezing in terror.
But whenever Shane tried, the words locked inside his throat.
And every time Ilya asked what was wrong, Shane answered:
“I’m fine.”
Which was becoming less believable by the day.
Meanwhile, Alex had started trying to recruit allies.
Subtly at first. Then less subtly.
“You ever think Shane’s too quiet to lead?” he asked Luca after practice.
Luca stared at him for a long moment.
“No.”
Alex laughed awkwardly. “I just mean…”
“I know what you mean.”
Luca walked away.
“You know,” Alex told Wyatt casually, “Shane’s kind of emotionally checked out sometimes.”
Wyatt frowned immediately. “No, he isn’t.”
“I’m just saying. Captains are supposed to connect with the team.”
Wyatt stared at him.
“Dude. Stop talking.”
Alex laughed it off smoothly.
But he kept going.
Little comments.
Little suggestions.
Little poison drops.
That conversation repeated itself in different forms with nearly every teammate.
Evan Dykstra pretended not to hear him.
Troy Barrett actually looked offended.
“You don’t know Shane.” Troy said flatly.
Alex raised his hands defensively. “Relax, I’m just saying…”
“No,” Troy interrupted. “You’re trying to start shit.”
Harris, sitting nearby editing videos, muttered without looking up, “And you’re doing it badly.”
Alex flushed. Still, he kept trying.
None of them realized why.
None of them realized Alex thought Shane was competition.
For leadership. For the team. For Ilya.
And every single time, Shane noticed.
But Shane couldn’t explain why it hurt so much without revealing everything.
So he stayed silent.
And Alex interpreted silence as weakness.
Ilya remained catastrophically oblivious.
“Alex thinks my one-timers are sexy.” he announced proudly one morning.
Shane nearly drove into a snowbank.
“What?”
“He says my shot is erotic.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It SHOULD be.”
Shane gripped the steering wheel harder.
Ilya glanced at him finally.
“You are quiet lately.”
“I’m driving.”
“You always drive.”
Silence stretched.
Then softly:
“Did I do something?”
Immediate guilt punched through Shane’s chest.
“No.”
But he sounded wrong even to himself.
Ilya’s face fell slightly.
“Okay.”
Shane almost told him then.
Almost admitted everything ugly and humiliating clawing around inside him.
I think Alex wants you.
I think you like it.
I think eventually you’ll realize I’m too difficult.
But fear sealed his mouth shut.
Because what if saying it aloud made it real?
The suffering became physical after a while.
Shane stopped sleeping properly.
Stopped eating enough.
His thoughts looped endlessly.
Alex touching Ilya’s shoulder during practice.
Alex laughing too close to his face.
Alex posting comments under Harris’s photos:
gotta stay close to my favourite superstar
Everybody thought it was harmless.
Except Shane noticed how calculated it all felt.
And worst of all… Ilya smiled at it.
Not because he wanted Alex.
Because he thought it was funny.
But Shane couldn’t separate the two anymore.
Every smile felt like another cut.
Alex escalated after that.
Subtly. Cruelly.
He started sitting in Shane’s spot beside Ilya during meals.
Started posting selfies with Ilya online.
Started making comments specifically when Shane could hear.
“You smell good.” Alex told Ilya in the locker room one morning.
Ilya blinked. “Uh. Thank you?”
“What cologne is that?”
“Shane bought it for me.”
Alex’s smile tightened for one fraction of a second.
Then returned.
“You have good taste.”
Shane felt nauseous.
Alex looked directly at him while saying it.
That was when Shane realized.
He knows.
Maybe not everything, but enough.
Enough to enjoy this.
Ilya realized something was seriously wrong during the New York Admirals game.
Shane missed a pass.
Shane never missed passes.
Then he hesitated during a power play.
Then he took a penalty after getting distracted watching Alex crash into the boards beside Ilya.
By the third period, Ilya was worried enough to stop chirping entirely.
Which terrified everyone.
“You okay?” he asked quietly while they sat side by side after the win.
Shane nodded too fast.
“Yes.”
Lie.
Ilya knew every version of Shane’s silence.
This one hurt.
And suddenly a horrible thought dug into his chest.
Maybe Shane was done.
Maybe years of hiding had finally become too much.
Maybe he wanted out and didn’t know how to say it.
The idea made Ilya feel physically sick.
The club was loud enough to shake the floor.
Music pounded through Shane’s ribs while teammates crowded around two pushed-together tables.
Everyone was drinking except Shane, who nursed ginger ale while watching Ilya laugh at something Wyatt said.
God, he was beautiful.
That was part of the problem.
Ilya was magnetic. Everybody wanted him.
And Shane… Shane was good at hockey.
That was easier than being good at people.
Originally they sat shoulder to shoulder.
Shane relaxed a little at that.
Then Troy demanded shots from the other side of the table, and Shane volunteered to grab drinks mostly because he needed thirty seconds to breathe.
By the time he returned, Alex was in his seat.
Talking close to Ilya’s ear.
One hand resting casually on Ilya’s forearm.
Shane stopped walking.
Only empty seat left was at the far end of the table.
Shane sat down silently.
Across the table, Ilya finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
Shane looked away first.
The hurt on his face hit Ilya like a punch.
Oh no. No no no.
He stood immediately.
“We dance.” he announced loudly.
Wyatt groaned. “You always say that like it’s a threat.”
“It is.”
The team migrated toward the dance floor in chaotic clusters.
Ilya maneuvered desperately through bodies trying to reach Shane.
But Alex stayed attached to him the entire time.
Talking. Laughing. Touching.
And suddenly all the puzzle pieces slammed together in Ilya’s brain.
Oh. Oh, this idiot was flirting.
“I think you’re incredible.” Alex shouted over the music.
Ilya stepped backward slightly. “Alex…”
“No seriously. You’re funny, and everyone loves you, and…”
Alex placed both hands on Ilya’s chest.
Ilya grabbed his wrists gently but firmly.
“Hey,” he started carefully. “I think maybe you misunderstand…”
Alex kissed him.
For one stunned second, Ilya froze.
Then the crowd shifted.
And over Alex’s shoulder, he saw Shane.
Saw the exact instant Shane’s face broke apart.
Not angry.
That would have been easier.
Just devastated.
Shane turned immediately and walked away.
“Ilya?” Alex said, confused.
Ilya shoved him backward hard enough to stumble.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Then he ran.
The freezing air outside hit Shane like knives.
His hands shook uncontrollably.
He could still see it.
Still see Alex’s mouth on Ilya’s.
Still see that horrible second where Ilya hadn’t reacted fast enough.
Ten years.
Ten years hiding and loving and building something fragile together…
And maybe it still hadn’t been enough.
“Shane!”
Footsteps thundered behind him.
Then warm fingers grabbed his wrist.
Shane yanked free automatically.
“I didn’t kiss him,” Ilya said immediately, breathless. “Shane, I swear to God… I pushed him away!”
“You let him touch you for months!”
The words escaped before Shane could stop them.
Ilya stared at him in disbelief.
“What?”
““He flirts with you constantly and you just laugh! You smile at him, you encourage him, you…” Shane said quietly, staring at the pavement because eye contact felt impossible right now. “You like compliments and flirting and people wanting you and I’m…”
“Shane.”
“I’m not enough for you.”
Ilya looked genuinely horrified. Then angry.
Not at Shane. At himself.
And suddenly Shane realized the horrifying truth:
He genuinely hadn’t known.
Because Ilya trusted people too easily.
Because manipulation didn’t occur naturally to him.
Because he never imagined somebody would deliberately hurt Shane just to get closer to him.
“Oh, малыш.”
The Russian slipped out instinctively.
Ilya cupped Shane’s face with both hands.
“You think I want anybody else?”
Shane swallowed hard.
“You didn’t stop him.”
“For one second because I was confused!”
“You smiled at him all month.”
“I smile at everybody! I smiled at parking officer last week and he still gave me ticket!”
Despite everything, Shane made a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a sob.
Ilya softened instantly.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
Slowly, Shane did.
Blue eyes locked onto his with terrifying intensity.
“I love you,” Ilya said firmly. “Only you.”
Then his expression sharpened again.
“And now I am done hiding.”
Shane froze.
“Ilya…”
“No.” Ilya took his hand firmly. “You spent years scared people will not accept you. Fine. I understood. But now some asshole kisses me and you think maybe I leave you because nobody knows you are mine?”
The possessiveness in his voice made heat rush into Shane’s face.
“Ilya…”
“I should have fixed this sooner.”
Before Shane could argue, Ilya pulled him back toward the club.
“Ilya, wait…”
“No.”
“I’m not ready…”
“You are terrified,” Ilya corrected gently. “Different thing.”
Shane’s pulse hammered violently.
But Ilya never let go of his hand.
The team looked up when they returned.
Alex stood awkwardly beside the table looking pale.
Harris looked seconds away from filming a documentary.
Ilya marched straight to the centre of the group.
Then he wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist.
The entire table went silent.
Ilya pointed directly at Alex.
“You touch me again,” he said calmly, “and I break every finger in your hand.”
Dead silence.
Alex swallowed.
Then Shane whispered, horrified, “Ilya…”
“We have been together almost ten years,” Ilya continued loudly. “TEN. YEARS.”
Beat.
Then Wyatt exploded out of his chair yelling, “FUCKING FINALLY!”
The table erupted.
Luca started clapping.
Evan yelled, “ABOUT TIME!”
Troy looked emotional enough to cry.
Harris immediately shouted, “I OWE BOOD FIFTY DOLLARS!”
Zane Boodram slammed both hands on the table triumphantly. “I TOLD YOU THEY’D COME OUT BEFORE THE CUP FINAL!”
Shane blinked rapidly.
“What? You knew?” he whispered.
Coach Wiebe, somehow also at the club because apparently adults had abandoned structure entirely, sighed into his beer.
“You two weren’t subtle.”
Shane stared around the table in horror.
“You knew?”
Troy looked deeply offended.
“Buddy. You look at him like he hung the moon.”
Luca nodded. “And Ilya looks at you like he’d stab somebody in a parking lot for breathing wrong near you.”
“Correct.” Ilya agreed immediately.
Then he pointed aggressively around the table.
“AND NONE OF YOU SAID ANYTHING?”
Troy barked a laugh. “Dude, Harris literally has a folder called ‘married already honestly’.”
Harris defended himself instantly. “For content organization!”
Shane buried his face in his hands.
“Oh my God.”
Warm laughter rolled around the table.
Not mocking.
Fond. Safe.
Ilya rubbed circles against Shane’s back.
Then Luca’s expression darkened as he looked toward Alex.
“Oh, and by the way,” he said, “this guy’s been trying to get everybody against Shane for weeks.”
Ilya went terrifyingly still. Dangerously still.
Alex paled.
“What?” Ilya asked softly.
Nobody in hockey trusted softness from Ilya Rozanov.
Troy leaned forward. “He kept trying to convince us Shane shouldn’t lead. Wanted allies. He kept making comments. About Shane being emotionally distant. Weak leadership. Not good for team chemistry.”
“And flirting with you whole time.” Wyatt added.
Alex finally snapped defensively.
“Oh please. He IS emotionally distant.”
Wrong thing to say.
Very wrong thing.
“You do not know him.” Ilya said.
Quiet. Dangerous.
Alex laughed nervously. “Come on, I’m just saying maybe the team needs…”
“The team needs YOU gone.”
Silence crashed down.
Alex stared at him.
And for the first time since arriving in Ottawa, Alex looked small.
Because now everybody saw him clearly.
Not charming. Not confident.
Just cruel.
“You manipulated him,” Ilya said, voice shaking now. “You made him miserable for weeks because you wanted attention.”
Alex looked toward Shane.
Maybe expecting agreement.
Shane only stared back coldly.
“You knew…” Shane said softly.
Alex hesitated. Too long.
That was answer enough.
Ilya lunged forward.
Several teammates grabbed him instantly.
“ROZANOV.”
“I KILL HIM.”
“You cannot murder rookie at club!”
“HOLD ME BACK THEN.”
“It’s literally what we’re doing!”
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped Shane.
Ilya immediately twisted around toward him.
The rage vanished from his face instantly.
“There you are.” he whispered.
And Shane realized…
Not once during all of this had Ilya chased Alex.
Not once had he hesitated after understanding the truth.
He had only chased Shane.
Only Shane.
Warm hands cupped his face carefully.
“You believe me now?”
Shane swallowed hard.
“Yes.”
Ilya kissed his forehead gently.
“Good.”
Then immediately pointed at Alex again.
“I still want hit him with chair.”
Ilya looked at Shane. “And you are too nice. This is your problem.”
Shane muttered, “You have enough anger for both of us.”
“True.”
That earned a laugh from the table.
The tension finally broke.
Music swelled again around them while teammates started talking all at once.
Harris immediately pulled out his phone.
“Absolutely not.” Shane said instantly.
“Oh come on…”
“No.”
“One photo!”
“Harris.”
“Your coming-out post would break the internet.”
“I don’t care.”
Ilya leaned toward Harris thoughtfully. “Can you make Shane look extra pretty?”
“I ALWAYS look pretty.” Shane muttered automatically.
The entire table froze.
Shane realized what he’d said.
Ilya made the most lovesick sound any human had ever produced.
“Oh my God, marry me.”
Shane’s face turned violently red.
“Shut up.”
“No.”
The internet did, in fact, lose its mind.
Mostly because Harris somehow convinced them to allow exactly one picture.
In it, Shane looked overwhelmed and flushed while Ilya grinned beside him like the happiest man alive.
Caption:
some secrets are very badly kept ❤️
The reactions were immediate.
And overwhelmingly supportive.
Not perfect. Never perfect.
But far better than Shane’s nightmares had prepared him for.
The next morning, Shane sat cross-legged on his couch staring numbly at his phone while Ilya made coffee.
“They are nice.” Shane said quietly.
“Told you.”
“One person said my freckles are ‘romantic’.”
“They ARE romantic.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means I kiss handsome man.”
Shane looked up helplessly as Ilya leaned down to press a kiss into his hair.
Warmth spread through his chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
“You okay?” Ilya asked softly.
Shane considered the question honestly.
For the first time in years, the answer came easily.
“Yes.”
Ilya smiled.
Then immediately ruined the moment.
“Also now I can fight people publicly when they annoy you.”
Shane groaned. “That’s not a benefit.”
“It is for me.”
Alex got transferred three weeks later.
Not because of the incident specifically.
Mostly because the locker room chemistry had become catastrophically awkward.
Before he left, though, he stopped by Shane’s stall after practice.
“I really am sorry.” he said quietly.
Shane nodded.
“I know.”
Alex shoved his hands into his pockets awkwardly.
“For what it’s worth, you guys are kind of disgustingly perfect together.”
Across the room, Ilya yelled, “WE KNOW.”
Alex laughed despite himself.
Then he looked back at Shane.
“You’re lucky.”
Shane glanced toward Ilya automatically.
Ilya was arguing with Wyatt about whether soup counted as a beverage.
Completely serious. Completely ridiculous. Completely his.
“Yeah,” Shane admitted softly. “I am.”
Six months later, the wedding looked less like an elegant ceremony and more like a hockey team had emotionally adopted an entire country club.
Harris cried before Shane even walked down the aisle.
Troy cried because Harris was crying.
Wyatt cried laughing at both of them.
Coach Wiebe looked exhausted beyond human comprehension.
Yuna Hollander kissed Shane’s cheek before the ceremony and whispered, “You look happy.”
That nearly broke him. Because he did.
He really, really did.
When Shane reached the altar, Ilya immediately teared up.
“Oh no,” Luca whispered loudly. “He’s gone.”
“I am NOT gone.” Ilya snapped while visibly crying.
Shane laughed under his breath.
God, he loved him.
Loved the smirk and the loudness and the ridiculous ego and the way he always reached for Shane first in crowded rooms.
Loved the way Ilya never once made him feel broken for being quiet.
When it came time for vows, Shane’s hands shook.
Public speaking still felt like being skinned alive.
But Ilya squeezed his fingers once.
Steadying. Waiting.
Shane inhaled carefully.
“When I met you,” he began softly, “I thought you were annoying.”
The guests burst into laughter.
Ilya looked delighted. “True.”
“You talked too much. You kept trying to hug me.”
“You looked huggable.”
“You called me ‘pretty boy’ during practice.”
“Because you are pretty boy.”
More laughter.
Shane smiled helplessly before continuing.
“And then somehow… you became the safest thing in my life.”
Silence settled warmly around the room.
Shane swallowed hard.
“I spent a long time afraid people wouldn’t understand me. But you always did. Even when I couldn’t explain myself properly.”
Ilya’s eyes glistened.
“You never asked me to become somebody else,” Shane whispered. “You just loved me exactly as I was.”
Ilya fully started crying.
Wyatt whispered, “Holy shit.”
Shane laughed shakily.
“So… thank you. For being patient with me. For staying. For making me brave enough eventually.”
Ilya wiped furiously at his eyes.
Then he stepped closer for his vows.
“When I met Shane,” he declared emotionally, “he looked at me like he wanted murder me.”
“I did.” Shane admitted.
“But underneath, he was soft.”
Shane’s face heated immediately.
“And now everybody knows it,” Ilya continued proudly. “Which is nice because I was dying keeping secret. You know how hard it is not posting boyfriend online for TEN YEARS?”
Harris yelled, “THANK YOU.”
Ilya pointed aggressively at him. “YOU suffered least.”
The guests laughed again.
Then Ilya looked back at Shane.
And all the humor softened into something unbearably tender.
“You are my favourite person,” he said quietly. “Every version of you. Quiet version. Angry version. Jealous version.”
Shane covered his face briefly.
“Yes, jealous version too,” Ilya insisted smugly. “Very cute.”
“Keep talking,” Shane muttered, “and there won’t be a wedding.”
“There will. You love me too much.”
Unfortunately true.
Ilya smiled softly.
“You make world feel calm,” he whispered. “You make me feel home.”
Tears burned behind Shane’s eyes.
“And no matter who looks at me,” Ilya finished, voice steady now, “I only look for you.”
Silence.
Then Jackie, Hayden’s wife loudly sobbed, “THAT’S SO ROMANTIC.”
Everything dissolved into chaos after that.
Exactly the way it should.
And when they finally kissed, surrounded by cheering teammates and crying friends and cameras flashing everywhere…
Shane realized something almost funny.
All those years terrified of being seen.
Only to discover that the people who loved him had seen him the entire time anyway.