Chapter Text
The TV was buzzing like its ventilators were just barely hanging on as they fought the humid summer heat that filled the entire cottage. Shane sat on the couch reading one of his multitude of hockey-books.
How can he even concentrate on that in off-season? Ilya thought as he himself star-fished out on the rug. A large bowl of pretzels glued to his side as he flipped through channels with the dramatic intensity of someone trying to summon entertainment through sheer force of will.
"Ugh, there's nothing!" The Russian groaned loud enough to scare away every loon within 5 miles. "I'm bored."
"You're eating pretzels!" Shane said in his dry tone, not even bothering to look up from his book.
"I'm bored AND eating pretzels."
"you're so dramatic." Shane said, throwing the blonde an unimpressed look.
"I'm Russian."
“That’s not a personality.”
Ilya gasped. “It is a little bit.”
He kept flipping. A commercial for toothpaste. A documentary about rocks. A rerun of a cooking show where someone was screaming about butter.
“This is what Ottawa is like?” Ilya demanded. “Just… Boring? Like you.”
"Fuck off" Shane said but a small smile spread on his face.
Ilya smirked and flipped to the local news channel. The anchor’s voice was aggressively cheerful, like she was trying to sell joy at gunpoint.
"and in national sports news-"
Both men perked up, paying close attention.
"-world figure skating champion Johanna 'Joe' Desmarais made headlines today after coming out as a lesbian through social media-"
Ilya blinked. "Who?"
Shane put his book away and shifted towards the TV. "Oh. That's news."
The screen showed Joe: frilly blouse under a pastel cardigan, hair in bouncing pigtails, smiling brightly as she spoke to the host of a local talk-show.
"I've known for a long time," Joe said, "but I wanted to wait until it felt right. My brother has been out for a long time, but let's be honest that closet was always glass. but for me it was never as noticeable. I don't fit the stereotypes most people associate with lesbians." She gestured at her girly outfit. "But he's always been supportive and has been giving me advice. Terrible advice, but advice."
Ilya pointed at the screen and turned to Shane. "Who is that?"
The Canadian stared at him. "You don't know the Desmarais twins."
"No?" Ilya said with a little tilt of his head that made him look like a lost puppy.
"They're world champions."
"In what?!" Ilya demanded as he curiously sat up.
"Figure skating."
"Oh" Ilya squinted at the screen. "She....looks like a cupcake."
Shane giggled. "She does."
The news cut to a clip of Joe next to an equally as tall man. He looked a lot like her. Her brother. Ilya realized as he stared at the pale skin, messily tied back black hair and perfect posture.
The smooth, calm voice of Matthias Desmarais tingled his brain as Ilya made a small, startled noise. "Oh."
"OH," Ilya repeated, louder. "I- who- what- why does he look like that?" He asked, referring to the pale make-up, intricate eye-liner and black lip-stick.
Shane shrugged. "I don't know"
"He's gay?!"
"Yeah, he's been out since he was sixteen"
Ilya slapped his own knee. "WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THIS."
Shane blinked. "It's not exactly rare in figure skating."
He looked strangely at Ilya. "Why do you care?"
"I DON'T," Ilya blurted. "I'm just- being supportive!"
Shane’s face stayed blank, but his eyes were laughing. “Sure.”
The anchor continued:
“The Desmarias twins are expected to remain in Ottawa next season, continuing to use the Riverside complex as their homebase—”
Ilya froze. “Riverside?”
“Yes?”
“That’s where the Centaurs train.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to be on the ice with them.”
"You are?" Shane said, not getting what Ilya found so exciting.
Ilya stared at the TV like it had just revealed the secrets of the universe.
Meanwhile, Shane looked like he was trying to figure out why this mattered at all.
"Yes!" Ilya said, sitting up straighter and spilling pretzels everywhere. "Same rink! Same ice! Same...air!"
Shane blinked. "Okay. Calm down."
"I am calm," Ilya said, absolutely not calm.
Shane looked at Ilya, confused. "You didn't know who they were five minutes ago."
"I know now," Ilya said, eyes huge. "And he-" He pointed at the TV, even though the image Matthias was long gone. "-he looks...crazy."
"Crazy how?"
"Crazy like...vampire. Or...goth prince. Or....I don't know. He looks like he takes bath in blood."
Shane snorted. "He just wears eyeliner, man."
"Good eyeliner," Ilya said, nodding hard. "very good. Better than mine."
"You don't wear eyeliner."
"I COULD!"
Shane sighed. "Okay."
Ilya scooted closer, pretzels crunching under his knees. “So, tell me. What's he like?”
“Who.”
Ilya stared at him. “Shane. Please. The man. The… prince.”
"Matthias?" Shane shrugged. “I don't know. He skates. He wins. He’s quiet.”
“What kind of quiet?” Ilya asked immediately. “Scary quiet? Angry quiet? Sad quiet?”
“Quiet quiet.”
“That's not answer.”
“That’s all I’ve got.”
Ilya groaned and flopped backward again, arms spread like he’d been shot. “You boring.”
Shane kicked his foot. “You’re being weird.”
“I am not weird.”
“You’re extremely weird.”
“I just ask question!”
“Yeah. Lots of them.”
Ilya sat up again, eyes bright with new panic. “He smile?”
“Sometimes.”
“What smile? Big smile? Small smile? Fake smile? Real smile?”
“I DON’T CARE,” Ilya said instantly, too fast. “I just… want know.”
“Why.”
“I—” Ilya’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “I just want know!”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
Ilya pointed at him. “Do not judge me.”
“I’m not judging." Shane said, confused as hell.
“He have tattoos?”
Shane blinked. “Why would I know that.”
“You know Ottawa things!”
“That’s not an Ottawa thing.”
“Maybe he have Ottawa tattoo.”
Shane stared at him. “Why would he have an Ottawa tattoo.”
"He trains there." Ilya said.
"And? Not everyone gets tattoos of the city they play for, and he doesn't even play for Ottawa, he just uses their rink" Shane said.
Ilya opened his mouth like he was going to argue, then shuts it again. He stared to the rug. At the pretzels. At nothing.
Shane frowned. "What?"
"Nothing!" Ilya said too fast, as if Shane had startled him.
Shane narrowed his eyes. "That's your 'something' voice."
"I have no voice!"
"You have many voices," Shane said dryly. "all of them loud."
Ilya groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms and his next words came out muffled.
"It's...problem."