Chapter Text
The nervousness never goes away. Eight years. Dozens of commercials. Advertisements. Post game interviews.
He was no stranger to being on camera, having it shoved in his face, asked ridiculous questions, private questions —
It was a regular Tuesday. Still, the unease of being videoed, to be judged, had never faded.
This time though? Being nervous barely registered. It was still there of course, combined with the regular worry of being found out, outed but the joy of getting an extra day with his boyfriend during the season overshadowed it.
Ilya kicked him under the table. “What? Are you preparing to lose?”
Shane rolled his eyes, even though he let the smile show on his face, taking advantage of the fact that the cameras hadn’t started rolling yet.
“Asshole.” He huffed, voice fond even as he retaliated with a kick to the shin, smirking as Ilya yelped.
This was their first non hockey adjacent video together. Buzzfeed had reached out to them individually, wanting them to participate in their new series “How well do you know your rival?”
Ilya had been on board pretty much immediately, uncaring for the interview as long as they got to meet. Shane had been more hesitant, worried that they would slip but after discussing with his mom he had given in.
The season had been especially brutal and to make matters worse Boston and Montreal hadn’t had a match against each other in a month. And with the season having just started, Shane was glad for any excuse to see Ilya in person. Sure, they called every night, but it wasn’t enough. Now that Shane had Ilya, fully, he was selfish, no amount of time was enough.
So, they had planned. They had prepared for some questions, decided which ones to get wrong and which ones to get right. It would be fine.
“Alright, Live in 3….2…..1 — “
Shane schooled his face to a neutral one as Ilya did the same,
“Welcome to Buzzfeed Celebrities! Today we are going to see if the line between hate and love is as fine as it appears with Metros’ Shane Hollander and Raiders Ilya Rozanov.”
The host Jessica was saying, the tv behind her ready with the prompt as a backup. “There will be three rounds, each with increasing difficulty. Let’s start off easy. Shane, which year did Ilya win the Stanley Cup?”
“2014”. Shane said automatically, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes. That wasn’t just easy, that was fucking obvious.
Jessica laughed. “Okay maybe that was too easy. Ilya, how many goals did Shane score his rookie year?”
“54” Ilya said, barely waiting for her to finish speaking.
“And Shane, the same question —”
“I scored three more than him that year.” Shane cut in, knowing it was still a sore spot for Ilya. After all, he had boasted he would score the most number of goals that year.
“Sorry, who was the first draft pick again?”
“Well, that pales to being Rookie of the Year.” Shane cut back, the well trodden argument making him fight to hold back a smile.
They were interrupted by a cough. Shane and Ilya stopped immediately, sheepish as Jessica interrupted them. “Maybe we should just skip round one. As entertaining as it is, we simply don’t have the time for you to argue over who’s the better player.”
Before Shane could protest, Ilya beat him to it. “But it will be unfair no? How will we win best rivals if we have one less round than others?”
Jessica waived away his concern. “Almost everyone got the whole of round one correct anyway. And our highest scoring pair only got one wrong. It should be fine.”
Shane frowned. That made it seem like she didn’t think they could beast the other team.
Which was just. Unfathomable.
For one, they were boyfriends. They had the upper hand. Frankly it would be embarrassing if they lost.
Shane looked at Ilya who was already looking at him, his face off expression on. Shane nodded.
Fuck losing.
They were winning this.
~
Shane had never had this much fun in an interview before. The questions had been ongoing and it had turned rapid fire, but neither of them had faltered so far. Frankly, Shane didn’t even care about the others anymore. He just wanted to beat Ilya. He would be damned if he was the reason they lost.
“What is Shane Hollander’s favourite drink?”
“Canada Dry ginger ale.”
“What is Ilya Rozanov’s favourite car?”
“Mclaren P1.” Shane rolled his eyes, the obnoxious orange care that Ilya refused to sell even as he conceded to selling his others.
“Well that’s the last of the rounds we prepared.Looks like we still have time. Do you want to do a bonus round?”
“Da. Need to pick a winner yes?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “If you’re so ready to be a loser, I’ll help.”
“That’s what a loser would say.”
Jessica laughed. “Alright. We’ll make an especially difficult round to determine the winner.”
“What is the other’s favourite food?”
“Tuna melt.”
“Beef burgers.”
“First girlfriend?”
“Jessie Coleman.” Ilya bit out, the barest hint of jealousy still evident in his voice,
It didn’t matter how many times Shane stated he was gay, Ilya was determined to hate anyone he had sex with. Shane would be more annoyed if he didn’t find his antics amusing.
“Svetlana Vetrova.” Shane knew they hadn’t dated officially, that he was Ilya’s first romantic relationship, but the bitterness was still there. The fact that everyone still assumed she was Ilya’s easy, uncomplicated, left a bitter taste.
It was frustrating that they had to hide their committed relationship, while everyone got to flaunt their one week girlfriends and cheat on their wives with zero consequences.
Only a few more months. Shane reminded himself. Then Ilya would be in Ottawa.
“Coffee order?”
“Black, no sugar.”
“Milk, two spoons of sugar.”
A buzzer sounded, interrupting the next question.
“Well, that’s all the time we have.” Jessica said clapping her hands together. “Looks like we’re still at a standstill.”
“Before we end though, we have a confession. The last round consisted of our questions from how well do you know your partner.”
The words didn’t register. Not at first.
Jessica continued though, to Shane’s increasing horror. “Looks like the line between hate and love is fine.”
As the cameras turned off, Shane turned to Ilya, his eyes equally wide mouthing “partner” to himself, the horror he felt reflected back at him.
Well fuck.