Work Text:
The entire situation was Shane Hollander's fault.
Or maybe it was Ilya's fault.
Actually, no.
It was definitely Ilya's fault.
The CCM commercial had been his idea from the beginning.
The marketing people had wanted two young stars. They had thrown around a bunch of names. Some American prospects. Some Swedish prospects.
And Ilya had immediately said:
"What about Hollander?"
The room had gone quiet.
"Hollander?" one producer had asked.
"The Canadian kid?"
"Yes."
"The guy from the IPC final?"
"Yes."
"Your rival?"
Ilya had shrugged.
"He is good player."
That had been technically true. It had also been a lie.
Shane Hollander wasn't just a good player.
Shane Hollander was a problem. A gigantic problem.
Ever since January.
Ever since the IPC final.
Ever since Shane had shaken his hand after winning gold and said:
"See you next season."
Nobody should have been allowed to smile like that while winning. It was unfair.
Now it was July.
The commercial had been filmed.
The day had somehow been even worse than expected.
Because spending twelve hours pretending to be rivals on camera while secretly wanting to spend more time together was apparently exhausting.
Then came the showers. Then came the locker room.
Then came the longest two-minute conversation in human history.
Nobody had said anything directly. Nobody had actually explained anything.
Shane had looked at him. Ilya had looked at Shane.
Shane had quietly said:
"1410."
Ilya had nodded. That was it.
Two future NHL superstars. Two supposedly confident adults.
And somehow that was the best they could do.
Incredible. Absolutely elite communication.
Now Ilya was heading toward room 1410.
Trying very hard not to think about why.
Trying very hard not to think about Shane.
Trying very hard not to think about Shane's eyes.
Or freckles. Or smile. Or anything else.
The elevator arrived.
He stepped inside. Pressed fourteen.
The doors closed.
Finally.
Peace. Silence. A chance to organize his thoughts.
Unfortunately, life apparently hated him.
The elevator stopped on the sixth floor. The doors opened.
And there stood a woman he recognized immediately.
Shane Hollander's mother.
Oh no.
Yuna Hollander looked surprised.
Then pleasantly surprised. Then delighted.
"Oh!"
She stepped inside.
""I am Yuna Hollander."
Ilya briefly considered jumping through the elevator wall.
"Hello."
Yuna smiled.
"I've wanted to meet you."
This was somehow the worst possible opening sentence.
The doors closed. The elevator began moving again.
Yuna looked at the control panel.
Then looked at him. Then looked at the control panel again.
"You are going to fourteen?"
"Yes."
She nodded thoughtfully.
Ilya stared.
"You are going up now?"
"No."
"What?"
"I was actually going downstairs."
"What?"
"I changed my mind."
That sounded insane.
"You changed your mind?"
"I saw you."
"And?"
"And I thought I'd say hello."
This woman was terrifying. Not because she was intimidating.
Because she was friendly. Friendly people asked questions.
Questions were dangerous.
Yuna folded her arms.
"So."
"So."
"You're quieter than I expected."
"I get that a lot."
"No, you don't."
"Okay. No."
She laughed. Unfortunately, she had the exact same laugh as Shane.
Which immediately distracted him.
Wonderful. Perfect. Exactly what he needed.
Yuna continued smiling.
"You know, Shane was very impressed with you at the IPC."
Ilya nearly tripped over absolutely nothing.
"He said that?"
"Oh yes."
"What exactly did he say?"
She thought about it, then shrugged.
"Mostly hockey things."
Disappointing.
"Things like?"
"That you were annoying."
Ilya grinned.
"Good."
"That you never stop talking."
"Also true."
"That you smile after every hit."
"Yes."
"That you're impossible."
"Excellent."
Yuna laughed.
"You're enjoying this."
"Very much."
The elevator climbed higher.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Each floor brought him closer to room 1410.
And somehow made this conversation worse.
"So tell me," Yuna said. "What made you suggest Shane for the CCM commercial?"
Ilya froze. Completely froze.
Because apparently even producers talked.
Fantastic.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"You know that?"
"The producer mentioned it."
Ilya stared at the elevator wall.
Traitorous producers.
Yuna watched him carefully.
"You really wanted him there."
"He is marketable."
Yuna burst out laughing.
"Marketable?"
"Yes."
"That's your answer?"
"He has face."
"He has a face?"
"Good face."
Yuna laughed so hard she had to hold the railing.
Ilya felt personally attacked.
"I am serious."
"No, you're not."
"Okay, maybe not completely."
"That might be the most honest thing you've said."
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Two floors left.
Survive two floors.
That was the mission.
Yuna shook her head.
"You know, before today I wasn't sure what kind of person you were."
"Oh?"
"I thought maybe arrogant."
"Reasonable."
"Maybe difficult."
"Also reasonable."
"Maybe a little scary."
"Very reasonable."
She smiled.
"But you're actually kind of ridiculous."
Ilya pointed at her.
"This is slander."
"It isn't."
"It is."
"It really isn't."
The elevator dinged softly.
Thirteen.
One floor remaining.
One floor from freedom.
One floor from Shane.
One floor from…
"What are your plans tonight?"
Ilya almost choked.
"Plans?"
"Yes."
"Normal plans."
"What kind?"
"Hotel plans."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
Yuna laughed again.
"You're terrible at this."
"At what?"
"Conversations."
"Yes."
That answer surprised both of them.
For a second they simply stared at each other.
Then Yuna smiled warmly.
The kind of smile mothers had.
The kind that made Ilya unexpectedly uncomfortable.
Not because it was threatening, but because it felt nice.
Something in his chest twisted. A feeling he immediately ignored.
Yuna nodded.
"I like you."
That caught him off guard.
"Why?"
"You seem genuine."
Ilya snorted.
"Big mistake."
"Maybe."
The elevator arrived.
Fourteen.
The doors opened.
Yuna didn't move. Neither did Ilya.
Then she grinned.
"Well."
"Well."
"I'm going back downstairs."
"Good plan."
"But it was nice meeting you."
"You too."
She stepped backward as the doors started closing, then she pointed at him.
"And tell Shane I said hello."
Ilya nearly suffered cardiac arrest.
"What?"
"If you see him."
"Oh."
Yuna smiled innocently.
"Good night."
The doors closed. The elevator disappeared.
And for several seconds Ilya stood alone in the hallway.
Frozen. Motionless. Staring.
Then he looked toward room 1410 and groaned.
"Mother of God."
Then he walked down the hallway.