Work Text:
2008:
At 17 years old, Shane had grown used to seeing in black and white. It was all he'd ever known, and, to be honest, he was completely fine with that. He'd much rather be able to fully focus on hockey than have to figure out how to balance that with a relationship.
His parents were soulmates, and, as a kid, they'd tried describing colors to him, but Shane wasn't interested. He could easily distinguish objects from each other, and that was what mattered to him. Plus, all the pinnies and jerseys came in different shades so that players who hadn't yet met their soulmate could still identify their team members on the ice.
Shane was obsessed with hockey, to put it lightly. He'd taken the bare minimum classes in high school, graduated a year early, and spent his free time either playing, watching, or training hockey. This dedication ended up qualifying him as the Captain of Canada's World Juniors hockey team. To be prepared, he'd done research on all of the players he'd be up against. Ilya Rozanov was the best by far, and Shane was dying for a chance to meet him in person.
In all of Rozanov's videos, he seemed at ease during even the most complex movements. Being experienced with hockey himself, Shane knew how hard these plays were, but Rozanov made them seem like entry level skills. One of his biggest assets was that he was a very physical player, almost never missing an opportunity to check someone against the boards. However, he still had the intellectual skills to actually manage to play hockey as well, not just beat up the opposing players.
The teams all got to Regina, Saskatchewan, a week early to give the players time to practice, meet each other, and adjust to the different time zone. Team Canada was pretty decent, Shane thought. None of them were near as good as he was, in his mom's opinion, but they were all great team players. This ability helped them to win all the games in their bracket and make it all the way to the finals, which were against Russia.
During the entire competition, Shane had been incredibly busy either working out, being interviewed, playing hockey, or catching up on sleep, so it was only now that he was able to meet Rozanov. Of course, he'd tried to locate him several times before, but he was nowhere to be found.
It was a typical winter day: the sun was shining bright, but it didn't seem to make the temperature rise any. Shane had stepped outside to breathe in some air that didn't smell like the metal and sweat of the facility's gym, and that's when he met Rozanov. He was leaning against the metal side of the building, a cigarette in one hand that refused to light.
"Ilya Rozanov?" Shane asked, carefully approaching him. He didn't want to startle him or accidentally walk up to someone who happened to look a lot like him.
Rozanov looked up and paused, the cigarette still in his mouth but the lighter tucked in his hand.
"Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself." Shane stepped closer, holding out his hand for him to shake.
Rozanov took the cigarette out of his lips and briefly shook his hand without losing eye contact. Shane awkwardly looked down, and they each pulled their hands away. He put the cigarette back in his mouth, and then Shane's jaw fell open.
Rozanov's lips were a gorgeous, cold tone of what Shane had to assume was red or pink, slightly contrasting against his skin. His eyes were a smoky color, similar to the sky around them. Blue. Shane knew that one.
"Are you. . . Seeing it?" Shane asked, not daring to look away from Rozanov's beautiful eyes.
His mouth had fallen open at some point, cigarette forgotten on the cold concrete ground. He nodded, looking into Shane's eyes before laughing and leaning back on the wall.
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2009: Shane couldn't sleep after the draft. Everything up until now had been leading up to the ceremony and announcements, and he had gotten second only to Ilya. Through pure chance, they both ended up in the hotel gym, racing each other on the stationary bikes. When they finished, Ilya's face was tinged red from exertion as he looked over at Shane.
2014: Shane lay back against the headboard of the penthouse bed with Ilya next to him, the chair abandoned at the foot of the bed. The bedroom was cast in an orange glow as they kissed goodnight before Shane left to go back to his own room.
2017: Shane had gotten a nasty concussion and broken collarbone and couldn't play for the remaining month or so of the season. Bored with being unable to exercise fully or watch game recaps as he finished recovering, he decided to go to Boston's game in Ottawa. Of course, he still wore earplugs. Ottawa was close to, if not the worst, MLH team, so the arena wouldn't be too loud, but his mother wanted him to stay on the safe side. About halfway through the game, the camera landed on him, projecting his Boston jersey with the yellow logo onto the jumbotron. He smiled, turning around to reveal ROZANOV written in large letters across his shoulders, right above the 81.
2017: Shane sat between his parents on their couch, watching the Stanley Cup finals. The Admirals had just won, and Scott Hunter was apparently kissing another man on center ice. Shane looked down at his green can of ginger ale. Maybe Ilya and him didn't have to hide anymore.
2017: Shane sat on a rock, watching as Ilya did a handstand underwater. The water was blue, sparkling in the evening sunlight. He'd never felt happier.
2021: Shane stood facing Ilya at the makeshift altar Hayden's children had created. They had random pins in their hair that the twins had styled and grinned as the wedding was officiated by two little girls who begged them to kiss as Ilya slid a plastic, purple ring onto Shane's finger.